Deception Read online

  Suzy nodded as my mouth opened.

  “A year?” I asked. “You can do that?”

  “It isn’t sex, per se,” Bryce said. “It’s companionship. It’s a ready-made relationship with a backstory that will provide the perfect alibi for my defense.” He sat back down. “Alexandria would have been ideal, in more ways than one.” He turned his gaze on me. “You know how much I’ve always loved her? But I can’t wait, and frankly, I don’t think waiting would do any good.”

  “There are things in the works,” Alton said.

  “Why?” Bryce asked. “Why is this such a big deal?”

  “Bryce,” Suzy began, “you know it has always been our dream for our families to unite…”

  As she spoke, I stole a glance toward Alton. He was still on the edge of rage, on a warpath. Why? This could be his out. If my theory was correct that he’d intended to sabotage Alexandria and Bryce’s wedding, this could be what he was looking for. Why then did he seem so upset?

  Thoughts and theories continued to churn. If Alton hadn’t been the one to tell Bryce about this company, then I suddenly worried that I wouldn’t be able to prove Alton was responsible for the children not fulfilling the terms of my father’s will. Could I have been wrong about my theory?

  The reason Alton was enraged had to be the codicil.

  If Bryce and Alexandria didn’t marry, no longer would all of Montague holdings go to Fitzgerald Investments, as per our original agreement. With the codicil they’d go into probate. Alton could lose everything. Bryce would be left with nothing. The rightful heirs would succeed.

  I worked to calm my excitement. Our salvation was in sight.

  “There’s more to this that you should know, Laide,” my husband said.

  Since he’d used my name, I assumed Suzy was already privy to the additional information. I tried to concentrate. “Okay?”

  “Bryce, tell Adelaide the name of your companion.”

  “Alton,” Bryce said, “it makes perfect sense. A relationship with Chelsea Moore justifies my trips to California. I can substantiate that we were together.”

  Chelsea Moore? What trips to California?

  “Though you weren’t,” Suzy added.

  “No, we weren’t,” Bryce confirmed. “But we can make it look like we were.” He shrugged. “She’s not bad looking and since she and Alexandria were roommates for four years, we have a plausible reason for not telling anyone about our relationship.”

  I lifted the wine glass to my lips and drank until every drop was gone. Placing the glass upon the table, I stared Bryce’s direction. “That girl? She’s a prostitute? My daughter was living with a prostitute?”

  “It isn’t really prostitution,” Suzy said. “It’s companionship, a relationship…”

  My chest became tight. The answer was right before us, but I couldn’t let him do this to my daughter. “No.”

  Everyone looked my way. “No,” I repeated. “Bryce, you can’t do that. Not to Alexandria. It’ll kill her to think you slept with another of her best friends. Trust me, I know. This isn’t right. I don’t want my daughter living with that kind of pain.”

  His eyes shone as his lips fought the unavoidable need to move upward.

  The wine in my stomach seemed to curdle as his cruel intentions suddenly became clear. “You little bastard!”

  “Laide!” Alton and Suzy said in unison.

  “You little piece of shit,” I continued, glaring toward Bryce. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? It isn’t just about an alibi. You want to hurt Alexandria. She’s with another man and you have your feelings hurt, so instead of manning up, you’re hitting her where you know it’ll hurt.”

  A mask of serenity covered what should have been Bryce’s smug expression. He was the poster child for innocence. He had always been the boy who never did wrong, but was always wronged. The poor young man who’d been unjustly accused. His continence was perfected.

  Maybe he wasn’t just like his father. He had his share of his mother inside of him too. She’d taught him well how to wear the mask and only show the world what was intended for them to see.

  “Adelaide, that’s enough!” Alton bellowed. “We have more important concerns than Alexandria’s hurt feelings.”

  I stood, confident that I didn’t give a flying fuck what happened to Bryce. The codicil said that if the wedding didn’t occur, all interested parties would have the chance to profess their claim to their rightful share. I was a Montague. My claim was set. If I had anything to say about it, the young man at the end of the table would be the one to suffer—he and his pathetic excuse for a father.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ve done everything I could to follow my father’s wishes. I have nothing to fear.”

  Alton’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell? You read the will before we married. You know what’ll happen if they don’t wed.”

  My pulse quickened at my misstep. I turned toward my husband. “What I meant was that I have faith in you, dear. You took care of the original charges against Bryce. You’ll make all of these other charges go away and then make that dreadful girl follow suit. By the time you do, even Alexandria will no longer care that he’d sought companionship in another of her friends. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to convince Alexandria that Bryce’s heart is still hers.”

  “This arrangement can’t last a year,” Alton said to no one in particular. “Just long enough to convince the lawyers to drop the charges.”

  “And then her usefulness will be done,” I added.

  “And then what? I’m here alone?” Bryce asked. “Hell no. I’ve paid for a year. Besides, I can’t have two ex-girlfriends disappear.”

  “Not disappear, sweetheart,” Suzy said. “Paid to go away. It’s worked before.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Before? Do you care to explain that?”

  Marcus? She was talking about paying off Marcus, her ex-husband, I convinced myself.

  Right?

  DESPITE OREN’S ARGUMENT to the contrary, my priorities were in line.

  My testimony before the Senate committee was complete. I’d emphasized the points I’d set out to highlight. I’d talked with Senator Carroll, tried to get a feel for Severus Davis, and even learned more about the progress he’d hoped to achieve in our negotiations. I’d also introduced myself to Grant Higgins, the senator from the great state of Georgia, as well as the junior senator from Oregon. Now, the Senate Finance Committee’s decision was in their hands.

  The ruling could come down as early as tomorrow. I’d planned to stay in DC and face the committee as they justified their decision.

  I’d like to say that I was confident the committee would call for the rewording of the bill, and that they would back our side—the side of Senator Carroll and others who understood the future ramifications in store in the event of overtaxation of domestic businesses.

  I couldn’t.

  I didn’t trust Higgins, Davis, or the swing votes.

  Nevertheless, I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my time on the chance that my presence in the hearing room would turn the tide.

  It may have taken me years and obvious failure, but I had a new priority. After listening to Charli’s voice, full of emotion and confusion, as she told me about her cryptic conversation with Chelsea, I knew my presence in New York was more important.

  As she spoke, I heard the distraught voice of Jo. I recalled how my days and nights of traveling upset her. Despite the experience of my childhood, seeing my mother’s disappointment and sadness when my father would choose work over her, I’d done the same thing.

  I had been responsible for putting the same sadness in my wife’s eyes that I’d witnessed as a young child, and naïvely, I hadn’t made the connection. At that time, I’d believed my work superseded all else—Demetri Enterprises needed me. Just like the company had needed my father. Unwittingly, I’d fallen into Oren’s footsteps, wearing the same shoes and making the same mistakes.

  Of course, b
ack then, I hadn’t seen my choices as mistakes. After all, I’d been told and conditioned to believe that real men didn’t make mistakes. Every action and decision was a conscious choice. Everything had a purpose.

  Like he was in so many other things, my father was wrong about that.

  Real men did make mistakes. We made decisions for the right reasons, to accomplish the right outcomes, that in the end harmed others—ones we loved. Even though our choices weren’t made with malice, that didn’t lessen the pain they inflicted.

  The real lesson, the one my father forgot to teach me—or maybe one he never learned—was that it wasn’t about making mistakes. They were part of life. It was about repeating them. That was where the real men became separated from lesser men.

  Character wasn’t about perfection. It was about wisdom and the ability to learn and change.

  If I were to talk to Oren, my father would tell me to stay in Washington and face the committee as they read the ruling. I could hear his voice echoing in my head. I’d followed that advice in the past. If I chose to do that again, I was the one who hadn’t learned. I’d made that mistake before. I didn’t intend to make it again.

  That was why, late Thursday night—or very early Friday morning—essentially, a day before I was meant to be back in New York, I was riding the elevator to Patrick’s apartment, to the woman I loved. In her voice I heard her pain and holding her in my arms would trump Demetri Enterprises every time.

  As I rode upward, my mind drifted to Jocelyn. Since Charli, I found myself thinking of my first wife with more appreciation and less sadness. With each day, the guilt over her death lessened as the gratitude for the time we shared strengthened. Jocelyn and I had both been so young. Fresh out of grad school, we thought we had all the answers when in reality we had much to learn.

  I was ambitious and strived to show not only Oren, but also the world what I could accomplish. In that process, I’d neglected her. I’d pushed her to fight for my attention, causing me to do what no husband should do.

  I’d reacted instead of responded.

  I’d failed her.

  Her death would forever be on my hands and my heart, but maybe, with Charli beside me, I could rise above it. Maybe Jo could smile down and wish me the happiness that since her death I’d deemed myself unworthy of having.

  In the quiet elevator, I said a silent thank-you. “Thank you, Jo, for showing me the man I should be. You’ll always be part of me. I’m sorry that I wasn’t that man for you.” I hung my head, keeping tears at bay. “I’ll always regret the consequences of my decisions.” I took a deep breath. “But in the end, because of you, I know that I’ll do everything possible not to let that happen again.”

  As the doors opened, I blinked away the past.

  The corridor was quiet since it was after midnight. I had no intention of waking the entire floor; however, I knew that Charli was here. She didn’t know I was coming, and since landing, I’d been unable to reach her. That didn’t matter. When she didn’t answer, I checked the new app Deloris had installed on my phone. The GPS tracker in Charli’s new necklace indicated that she was in Patrick’s apartment. A quick call to Clayton confirmed her location.

  It did my heart and mind good to know that she was still where she’d promised she would be. That was one of the many things I loved about Charli. She was young, but she wasn’t immature. She didn’t play games. She knew how important it was to me to know that she was safe. Even when she’d walked out of the apartment, she’d gone with Jerrod.

  She’d also given me the opportunity to explain. I’d been the one who needed time. I still needed time, and thankfully, being the amazing woman she was, Charli was giving it to me.

  If I were completely honest with myself, I understood Charli’s desire to be with her cousin. After everything that had happened in the last few days, she didn’t want to be alone in our apartment, the place where someone—someone she’d trusted, someone I’d told her she could trust—had betrayed her. Betrayed us. If being with Patrick gave her the comfort she needed, then that was where she should be.

  Her choice of location was inconsequential. As long as she was wearing the necklace, Deloris had more than Clayton assuring her safety. After all, her well-being, both physical and emotional, was my goal.

  As I neared Patrick’s apartment, my arms ached with the desire to be the one to give Charli everything that she needed for her to feel safe.

  During our conversation about Chelsea, Charli sounded heartbroken and confused. All I could get was that Chelsea had repeatedly apologized, saying that she’d never meant to hurt her. According to Charli, Chelsea had been nearly incoherent, crying and slurring her words.

  Charli didn’t get anything else from the conversation. She couldn’t even figure out her best friend’s location. Was Chelsea in DC? That was why Charli had called. I was there, and she asked if I could find Chelsea.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy.

  It wasn’t like Chelsea wore a GPS necklace.

  It was true that I knew more about her friend than I let on, that Chelsea was working for Infidelity, had not been assigned to Severus Davis as we’d planned, and was quite possibly assigned to someone else—I didn’t know who or where.

  Though I couldn’t tell Charli that Deloris was working to unravel the Infidelity web of deceit and free Chelsea. I could say that we were doing our best to find her friend.

  Softly, my knuckles rapped on Patrick’s door. A moment later, it opened, and Patrick’s tired, light brown eyes peered from around the door. “She’s asleep,” he said as he opened the door wider.

  “I figured. Sorry I woke you.” I’d called his number after speaking to Clayton.

  My gaze scanned Charli’s cousin from head to toe. His middle-of-the-night persona didn’t match his usual demeanor. Normally, Patrick was the epitome of chic, dressed to the T with a cocky kind of attitude that made you smile in approval and admiration, not turn away in disgust. In the short time I’d known him, I’d come to enjoy his gregariousness. However, in the middle of the night, wearing only an old faded Beatles t-shirt and gym shorts, he looked like any other guy in a dorm, well apart from his receding hairline. That made him obviously older than a coed.

  I noticed the way his chest stayed inflated as he scanned me and shut the door.

  “Sleep’s overrated,” Patrick said as he led me into his apartment.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been inside his apartment. Charli had brought me here to meet him and Cyrus. The building where they lived was nice, more modern than mine, more so than most in the area. Currently the lights in his living room and entry were low and the windows were covered. During the day, I recalled that the apartment had a great view of the park.

  It hadn’t taken Deloris long to learn that Cyrus was in investment banking and Patrick was an interior design intern. Between the two of them, they were obviously doing well. I also knew how their relationship began. According to Deloris, they were on their second year of their agreement. I couldn’t fault them for their part in Infidelity. Maybe the company did have its benefits.

  “Alex was pretty upset about Chelsea,” Patrick volunteered. “I have no idea what’s going on with her and neither does Alex. After Chelsea called, Alex tried but she couldn’t get Chelsea to answer her calls or texts. It’s weird. Before Chelsea’s call, Alex thought her friend was going to be here, like move to New York, possibly tomorrow…” Patrick shook his head. “…today, I guess. Poor thing, Alex has had a lot thrown at her in the last few months. Losing her best friend wasn’t supposed to be one of them.”

  I felt more than a pang of guilt. “I’m responsible for most of what’s been thrown at her.”

  Patrick stood taller. “Not the way I see it.”

  I let out an exaggerated breath. “Well, I don’t know how you see it.” Since Charli was asleep in the other room, I tried to keep my voice down. “The other day she was in the line of gunfire because of me.”

  “The news
said that the victim was the intended target, a domestic thing.”

  That was what the news said, and I knew how they’d been led in that direction. It was a cover to take the heat off of me, to make Charli’s and my presence at the scene fade away as unimportant background information.

  “I can still feel responsible,” I said, turning to take in the semidark living room and wondering which hallway would lead me to my Charli.

  “Yes, sure,” Patrick said, bringing my focus back to him, “you can feel responsible. But if you were the cause of more of her heartache…” His tone suddenly became more confident than cocky. “…I wouldn’t have let you in.”

  My eyes widened, amused that this little runt thought he could stop me.

  “I wouldn’t,” Patrick confirmed, as if reading my thoughts. “You don’t know half the shit she’s put up with in her life. She’s a lot stronger than you think.”

  I didn’t know much of her past, but I never doubted her strength. “I think she’s strong.”

  “Yet you ran here to rescue her?” Patrick asked. “So that you could tell her what to do?”

  What the hell?

  It was my turn to stand tall, at least ten inches taller than him. “I’m not rescuing her. I’m not sure what’s happening with Chelsea, but I do know Charli cares about her. I don’t plan to tell her what to do. I’m here to help her.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to explain my actions to him, but I went on. “I’m here to support your cousin. Help her.”

  The expression of protective brother that Patrick had been wearing since he opened the door morphed into a smile as he nodded. “Right answer. That’s exactly what my little cousin needs. She’s had people telling her what to do her entire life.”

  Oh, I liked telling her what to do, but not about her life or her friends. My demands were more in the directives that included getting her on her knees or lifting her hands so I could bind them. Though that thought sent my blood rushing south, that wasn’t what I sought tonight.

  Tonight I simply wanted to hold her. I’d also like to know more about what Patrick was saying, more about Charli’s life, more about Alexandria Collins. I wanted to know everything. Not because she owed me an explanation or I demanded one, but because I wanted to share everything in her life, present, past and future.