Michael
8 months later…
"As it turns out, being a complete jerk for years and then calling off your engagement with a socialite isn't great for business."
I look up to find Jonathan slapping today’s copy of the New York Star on my desk.
"I've already seen it. And I kept this quiet for months. I have no clue how the press got wind of it."
Jonathan folds his arms and leans over my desk. He's not just a business partner but also one of my closest friends—and sometimes a royal pain.
"That's not the point. An investor called this morning. They're pulling out of the deal we were negotiating."
Damn. "Why does a broken engagement matter? Amora and I weren't in love. The split was mutual and old news. She's already moving on."
"Don't be naive," Jonathan scoffs. "Her father is a big shot in New York. All he sees is his daughter's reputation in ruins, and now he wants to bring us down too. They claimed someone tipped them off that you can't be trusted to keep your word." He narrows his eyes. "I wouldn't put it past someone like me to do that."
"You're remarkably vindictive."
He gives a sharp, humorless grin. "I know."
I rub my face tiredly, the same face plastered on the front page of this gossip sheet.
"Ruthless Michael Shatters Society Darling's Heart"
Ruthless. It's a label I've carried since pulling some shady moves that secured the building we're in now. Mark Taylor wanted it, so I fought to win it. Simple as that.
"How did this leak?" Jonathan finally sinks into the sofa in my office.
"Someone at the New York Star has a solid source," I reply, nodding towards the paper on my desk. "Neither Amora nor I planned to go public. We've been apart for months, and the engagement was more for show than anything."
Jonathan frowns. “So she didn’t say anything to the press.”
“Like you said, it has to be her father. Amora approached me about the marriage. Said she needed it to prove to her father that she could take over the family business.” I shrug. “I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s nice enough. She’s someone I could bring to investor dinners. No more worrying about me being a player, right? It would have been good for business. The way you’re nodding is not flattering.”
“Well, your reputation is shit.”
“So is yours,” I shoot back.
“Yeah, but I’ve always been an asshole. Your asshole tendencies are new. People are noticing. And you’re getting worse.”
After the accident, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to. I can pinpoint the day I became a different person.
My dad’s death. The accident. Then my mom wasting away. Everything went to shit, and something inside me snapped. I can’t find my way back to the man I was before, and I don’t want to.
“Listen.” Jonathan sighs. “I don’t care if you’re a dick, as long as investors know we can honor the principles we advertise. Loyalty. We don’t fuck people over. Once you get in bed with Kings Lilly, you know we’ll do right by you.” He looks at me intently. “I’m not doubting you, but other people are. This article says you betrayed her trust and her family’s. That’s a direct quote from her father. And a pretty big accusation.”
I slump. “I know.” I’m the public face of Kings Lilly, since Jonathan is far too abrasive to do it.
My phone rings, and my eyes flick to the display. An unknown 212 number. Probably an investor. Or our PR firm, here to help clean up the fallout.
Jonathan stands and scoops up the paper. “Fix it. We’ll talk later.”
George will pick up in one more ring if I let it go unanswered. With a sigh, I lift the phone.
“Michael Bonell.”
“Michael. It’s Cataleya Peterson.”
My whole body goes taut. Cataleya is selling the tiny strip of land next to my parents’ house in Montauk. I need that property. Possibly more than I’ve ever needed anything. It’s a small parcel, with just a little shed and some woods, but it means more to me than she can know.
“Cataleya, hi. Nice to hear from you,” I say smoothly. “Did you get my latest bid for the property?” I submitted it a week ago and I still haven’t heard back.
Cataleya sighs. “I can’t sell to you.”
“What?”
“You know I’m close to Amora. Come on.”
“The article isn’t true, Cataleya. You know that. She’s already getting married to someone else. The guy she wanted all along.”
“I don’t trust you, Michael.” Her voice is hard. “You were willing to fake a marriage to get ahead. Yes, I know about that. Amora told me it wasn’t real. And your reputation is shit.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she keeps going. “I mean it already was before the engagement. It feels like you’re in the news every week for some underhanded tactic or other. I heard a rumor you bribed someone to break a deal off with Mark Taylor just last week. I should sell him the land just to spite you.”
Fuck. Not Mark. The man who hit on my mother at my father’s wake will not be buying the land my father dreamed of owning.
“You can’t.”
“I can, and I’m tempted to. I used to like you, Michael, but now? I don’t know who you are anymore. And I don’t trust you. I’m not selling you anything.”
“Cataleya. What do you want from me? Anything you want. Name it, and it’s yours.” I’m not above bribery, though I don’t think it will sway Cataleya. I’ve known her for years, and she’s stubborn as they come. And oddly principled for someone with such a shitty family.
“Anything?” I can almost hear the wheels turning. She gives a short laugh. “Okay, Michael. Come to Amora’s wedding then. Put your pride aside. Show me you’ve changed. Show me you’re loyal and trustworthy. Show me you respect something other than money and your petty feud with Mark. And then I’ll sell you the property.” Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t think that will ever happen.
“I’ll see you there.”
I hang up with a press of the button when I want to throw the phone across the room. Fucking Mark. And Amora’s awful father. And Cataleya.
Things used to be simple. Hang out with Levi on the weekends in Montauk, surf, party, ignore the lust I felt for his sister. Build my business, make my father proud. But now? Lilly hasn’t spoken to me in two years, my father is gone, my mother is finally eating again after nearly dying, and Mark fucking Taylor is about to steal the piece of my father’s memory that I’ve been trying to get my hands on for years.
“Goddammit.” I curse into the silent office.
Three hours later, I’m deep in a report on a potential acquisition and making notes in the margins when George knocks. We’re going to be outbid on this, I can already tell. And the CEO is friends with Amora’s father. Fuck. Is this what the future looks like? Stonewalled at every turn because of this broken engagement?
Irritation flares. In addition to this acquisition, numbers are down for the month, and our PR team just emailed with another article that’s out about the breakup. This is a fucking disaster.
“I’ve been trying to get a refund of the deposit for the wedding photos.” George frowns. “The photographer is refusing a refund. Amora’s personal assistant booked the most expensive package and paid for the deposit. With your credit card.”
Lilly. That day on the beach. The way she looked. I force my expression to remain blank.
“What’s the reason?” Not that I even care about the money. But any mention of Lilly is a drug. I’ll do anything for a taste. Even pretend I care about a couple grand that she surely needs and I most definitely do not.
“She says it’s against policy. She’s a pretty fierce negotiator.” George sounds impressed. That’s Lilly. She doesn’t back down when she believes in something. She rarely uses it to defend herself, though.
I observe George’s annoyance with mild amusement as they tap at their ever-present iPad. A plan starts to formulate in my mind. An insane plan. One that’s only loosely connected by logic, and mostly made of memories, lust, and resentment. One that might bring Lilly back into my life in the worst way possible but might be the only way to bring my family back together and buy the one thing my father really wanted.
“Get her to come to our office. Then we’ll see how fierce she is.” I nearly bare my teeth. If there’s anything that can intimidate a person, it’s the glass and steel monolith housing our office, the heart-stopping views of the city, and me when I’m in a bad mood. And I have to admit, the idea of intimidating Lilly brings me a little bit of pleasure. She throws me off-balance every time I so much as hear her name. Turnabout is fair play.
“And don’t let her know who I am.”
George arches both brows, then nods and shuts my door behind them.
