Chapter 112
Chapter 112
For one uncomfortable second, I don’t have an answer.
I stare at a point on Hunter’s desk that’s safe and blank and lifeless–anything to avoid the smirk in his eyes. In the silence, my brain replays the conversation I had with Knox last Friday.
I remember challenging him on it. Accusing him of jumping to conclusions because of his own guilt or past or whatever he refused to put into words.
And now I’m about to use the exact same logic on Hunter.
I straighten in my chair, forcing the words out. “You never know what’s running through the mind of a victim.”
“A victim?” he says. “Of what?”
I sigh. “Hunter, I really appreciate the offer. But until I know Mateo isn’t crazy, I can’t accept the promotion.”
“You’re kidding me, right? I put your name forward, and you’re going to make me retract my recommendation? What has a promotion got to do with anything? Is your new office going to be rigged with a bomb? Or does being top staff make you more susceptible to assassination? This is Knox’s doing. I just know it. I’m going to speak to that boyfriend of yours.”
“It’s my decision.”
“So you think I want to murder you?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Mateo? That man has the cleanest record ever. I did my research, you know? I don’t just take whoever as my clients because they have large amounts in their bank accounts. His father was a minister in a church. His grandfather owned a big winery that passed from Mateo’s father to Mateo. That’s how he got the money for this firm. Man just wants a new life. You and your boyfriend are just being paranoid.”
I stand. “I’d just go with my hunch, Hunter.”
“I’m not letting you. You’re taking that promotion.”
“I’ll see myself out.”
I walk out, not rushing but not exactly calm either. I can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my jacket.
He won’t let this go. He’s probably thinking about calling Mateo to confirm what I said, and I hope he does.
I hope he goes straight to him. Pushes him. Presses for answers. Because maybe then, Mateo will be forced to stop circling and just say it. Whatever it is he wants from me or Knox–whatever twisted plan he’s mapped out in that quiet, calculating head of his–he better spit it out.
I’m tired of the guessing. And I can’t keep walking around with bodyguards, waiting for something to happen. Your move, Mateo.
After the close of work, I spot Knox’s men outside the building–stationed like sentinels at the far end of the parking lot. One is leaning casually against my car, arms folded. The other stands by the rear of the car, sunglasses still on even though the sky’s bleeding into dusk.
I smile politely at them. Harper’s punishment in the form of work assignments drained me more than I care to admit, and I’m still reeling from the idea that my so–called promotion has become office gossip. I just want to get in my car and drive home–preferably without anyone else trying to control my life tonight.
But then I see him.
Finn.
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Chapter 112
Chapter 112
For one uncomfortable second, I don’t have an answer.
I stare at a point on Hunter’s desk that’s safe and blank and lifeless–anything to avoid the smirk in his eyes. In the silence, my brain replays the conversation I had with knox last Friday,
I remember challenging him on it. Accusing him of jumping to conclusions because of his own guilt or past or whatever he refused to put into words.
And now I’m about to use the exact same logic on Hunter.
I straighten in my chair, forcing the words out. “You never know what’s running through the mind of a victim.”
“A victim?” he says. “Of what?”
I sigh. “Hunter, I really appreciate the offer. But until I know Mateo isn’t crazy, I can’t accept the promotion.”
“You’re kidding me, right? I put your name forward, and you’re going to make me retract my recommendation? What has a promotion got to do with anything? Is your new office going to be rigged with a bomb? Or does being top staff make you more susceptible to assassination? This is Knox’s doing. I just know it. I’m going to speak to that boyfriend of yours.”
“It’s my decision.”
“So you think I want to murder you?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Mateo? That man has the cleanest record ever. I did my research, you know? I don’t just take whoever as my clients because they have large amounts in their bank accounts. His father was a minister in a church. His grandfather owned a big winery that passed from Mateo’s father to Mateo. That’s how he got the money for this firm. Man just wants a new life. You and your boyfriend are just being paranoid.”
I stand. “I’d just go with my hunch, Hunter.”
“I’m not letting you. You’re taking that promotion.”
“I’ll see myself out.”
I walk out, not rushing but not exactly calm either. I can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my jacket.
He won’t let this go. He’s probably thinking about calling Mateo to confirm what I said, and I hope he does.
I hope he goes straight to him. Pushes him. Presses for answers. Because maybe then, Mateo will be forced to stop circling and just say it. Whatever it is he wants from me or Knox–whatever twisted plan he’s mapped out in that quiet, calculating head of his–he better spit it out.
I’m tired of the guessing. And I can’t keep walking around with bodyguards, waiting for something to happen. Your move, Mateo.
After the close of work, I spot Knox’s men outside the building–stationed like sentinels at the far end of the parking lot. One is leaning casually against my car, arms folded. The other stands by the rear of the car, sunglasses still on even though the sky’s bleeding into dusk.
I smile politely at them. Harper’s punishment in the form of work assignments drained me more than I care to admit, and I’m still reeling from the idea that my so–called promotion has become office gossip. I just want to get in my car and drive home–preferably without anyone else trying to control my life tonight.
But then I see him.
Finn.
1/3
Chapter 112
He’s pacing at the edge of the lot near the hedge–lined path that leads to the rear building. I don’t notice him at first, but once he steps forwar amber glow of the parking lights, I freeze mid–step.
A sling is still looped around one shoulder, and his good arm swings as he approaches. He looks worn out. Jaw tight. Eyes bloodshot in that way yo get from too little sleep or too much guilt. Or both.
“Sloane,” he says.
Before he can get too close, one of the guards steps into his path.
“Hey, man, who the hell are you?” Finn says, lifting his broken arm like he’s gearing up to fight.
I slow but don’t stop, angling toward my car without looking directly at him.
“Those men are here to protect me from people like you, Finn,” I say
“People like me? What the hell does that mean?”
I stop at the rear door but don’t get in. “What do you want, Finn?”
atly, pressing my key fob so the car beeps open.
He glances at the guard still blocking his path, then pulls his hand slowly into his coat pocket. The motion is cautious–he’s making it clear he’s not pulling anything threatening–and when his hand comes back out, it’s holding a folded photo.
He lifts it in the air.
“I just want to talk to my brother,” he says. “That’s all. Mom wasn’t lying when she said Lydia is alive. Lydia’s here, in New York. I found out she has a twelve–year–old son. She says he’s mine.”
The words hang there for a moment as my brain takes extra time to fully understand them.
“You… impregnated your sister?”
His face twists. “She’s not my sister. She’s my mother’s late friend’s child. We were raised together, but that doesn’t make us blood.”
I don’t respond right away. My hand is still on the car door, but I haven’t moved to open it.
“And no,” he says. “The boy’s not mine.”
I push off the door and take a step toward him.
“Whose child is he then?”
He hesitates. Looks down at the photo in his hand like it might give him strength.
“I can’t tell you that,” he says. “Not yet. I need to speak to Knox first. I need to explain why I lied.”
“Finn,” I say, walking closer now. “Whose child is it? Don’t tell me it’s Knox’s.”
I close the distance and yank the photo right out of his hand.
bent, the corners soft from being handled too many times. I look down.
A boy. Dark hair. Pale eyes. Smiling. He looks like Finn. Or Knox. Or both.
Finn watches me closely, not trying to take the photo back.
“It’s not Knox’s kid,” he says. “And it’s not mine either. Lydia’s just saying whatever story my mom told her to. You know how my mom is–she knows! love kids. She’s probably using this to distract me from thinking about you. To keep me focused on something else.”
He pauses, jaw tight.
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10:43 Thu, 5 Jun GMA
Chapter 112
“Deep down, Mom still believes Knox is the father. She always has.”
“Why does she believe that?”
“Because that’s what I told her years ago.”
“So you lied?”
“I had to.”
“You’re a shitty person.”
“I know that. I just need to talk to my brother.”
I swallow. It’s such a relief to hear that Knox did not have a love child with his adoptive sister, but there are so many questions twirling in my head. Why would Victoria believe all these years that the child is Knox’s and then ask Lydia to pin it on Finn now? Granted, Finn loves children. It’s going to magically put him back together and bla bla bla. But it doesn’t make sense. Is Finn lying? Who’s lying? What’s even the story here? My fingers are still clenched around the photo, but my arms are frozen at my sides.
“Finn,” I whisper. “If this boy isn’t yours or Knox’s, then who the hell is the father?”
His face tightens. “Like I said, I need to talk to Knox. Please. It’s really important.”
