Other days you’re driving twenty over through city traffic to save your ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend’s sister from her tyrant of a father.
Luckily, I’m dressed for the occasion. It’s coming up on nine at night. That’s not an excuse to look sloppy.
No one needs to know that after I left the office today I went to a small, exclusive club in Midtown, took over a corner booth away from prying eyes, and sat there until a call from Gabriel came in.
Of course, it wasn’t Gabriel. It was Elise. Her voice shook but her demands were clear. Hospital. Now. Because Gabriel had—
What? Almost been burned alive? Been the target of a murder attempt by Elise’s father? Both, I suppose. Then he’d saved himself by breaking and then leaping out of a second-story window.
I accelerate until I’m going twenty-five over.
This business with the consortium has to end. A belated conclusion, to be sure, but holy shit.
I didn’t tell Gabriel that I arrived at Bettencourt International early enough to see two men in black carrying rolls of plastic tarp in through the back doors. They moved like they’d been there before, and they had company name tags.
At that moment, my animal brain fully realized the threat. I knew in the abstract that Bettencourt mightwantto kill us if we didn’t go through with the initiation.
Apparently he had concrete plans.
I haven’t asked my father if he knew about the tarps, and the men. Maybe he assumed his son would get a pass.
I didn’t. None of us did. And Gabriel’s face during that whole ordeal made me sick with guilt. He looked…haunted. That’s how he looked. Gabriel Hill became filthy rich for a reason, and there’s no doubt in my mind that the reason is hidden in those years after his parents died and I abandoned him.
If I hadn’t…
Well. I did. I will always have been the ex-boyfriend who left him to the wolves. But they still exist, and one of them is Bettencourt, and he and Elise want her sister Catherine out of his reach.
I can’t go back and help him. I can help her. Whatever plans Gabriel has for the consortium can’t go forward while Bettencourt has Elise’s sister as a bargaining chip.
As a prisoner.
The guard at the Bettencourts’ gate shines a flashlight on my ID, squints at it, and smiles. I smile back. Turn up the charm. Thank him in a low, almost sultry voice. He clears his throat and waves me through.
I take the driveway too fast and throw my Range Rover in park at the front steps. One more check in the mirror. I had to take thirty seconds in the hospital parking area to spritz my hair and undo the damage from grabbing at it on the drive over. That’s an old, nervous habit I thought I’d broken.
No evidence of that now. My hair looks drinks-worthy, if not date-worthy, and I’m not nervous.
I’m pissed.
Gabriel Hill, of all people, doesn’t deserve more bullshit in his life. And Catherine is eighteen. She’s an adult. She doesn’t deserve this princess-in-a-tower treatment.
I stride up to the front doors like someone’s watching and knock, one-two-three, on the heavy wood.
One of the doors swings open without delay. A maid peeks out from behind it. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Gloria, right? I remember you. I was at Lydia’s birthday party not long ago.” I put a hand to my chest and flash her a warm, easy smile. “Jacob Chambers.”
Her eyes widen, and she steps back. A glance over her shoulder. The door opens another few inches, then stops. “Mr. Chambers. Of course.”
“I was hoping to speak with Mr. Bettencourt, if he hasn’t turned in.”
A conflicted shake of her head, and Gloria pulls the door open wide. “It’s a bit late for guests, but I’m sure he’d want me to make an exception for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll admit, I’m trading on my father’s name.” I wink at her and step into the foyer. Gloria closes the door with a softclick. “He’s a frequent visitor, I’m sure. Probably insists you call him Wilson.”
“Oh, but he does.” Gloria gives me a quick smile that wavers and disappears. “This way, please.”
I don’t like how nervous she is. Gloria’s one of the senior members of the Bettencourt staff. She’s at least in her forties. A woman like that, for lack of a more polite phrase, has seen some shit. And she doesn’t like what’s happening in the house tonight.