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“Good, good, though I can always do better.” That’s the real Jonah. The difference between the two of them has never been more apparent. It might look like dark versus light, but I know it’s a matter of earning what you have versus being given it. Of taking everything on your own shoulders versus using others to get what you want.
“Listen, we’re thinking of hiring a new CFO for Kings Lane and a résumé was passed on to us. Steve Park. I think he worked for you?” Jonah furrows his brow like he’s not entirely sure. I freeze. It’s the employee who Dylan assaulted. I’m not sure what Jonah intends to learn.
Dylan’s face shutters. “That prick?” He laughs coldly.
“He did seem a little aggressive. I heard a rumor he caused trouble at Green Media. I don’t want any part of that.”
“Aggressive,” Dylan scoffs. “More than that. He was insane. Claimed I beat him up. Check the fucking records. I never touched the guy. He was obsessed with taking me down. He falsified documents. Crazy bastard.” He shakes his head, like he was totally innocent.
“Falsified documents? That’s pretty bad.” Jonah frowns and looks at me.
“That can be damaging,” I agree. “Maybe if it was just small stuff…” I trail off, hoping Dylan will fill the silence.
“Small? Ha.” He grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downs it. Lovely. “You call tax filings small? Asshole.”
I control my reaction, but I see Jonah’s eyes widen. Tax filings. To go with the tax fraud. There’s something here.
Dylan’s mouth presses flat. “Don’t think I’m not onto you, Jonah.” He steps toward me and Jonah tenses. “You’re going to hire Steve and try to get information out of him. He knows nothing.”
“Not interested,” Jonah says coolly. “I just want to protect my business.”
“Sure.” Dylan’s face is ugly with hate. All his suave composure is gone. “I saw her outside my apartment.” He turns to me and leers. “I thought you were just a hot reporter, but now I realize you’re his pet.”
“Step away from her,” Jonah says with icy calm. His eyes are flat with rage.
“Or what?” Dylan grabs my wrist and I yank away, but his grip is clammy and viselike.
Jonah’s hand lands on Dylan’s arm and twists. Dylan yelps as his wrist is bent back at an unnatural angle. “Or I’ll break your fucking wrist.”
“You’re a thug,” he pants, pain lacing his voice. Jonah twists harder.
“Maybe so.” Jonah’s smile is a baring of teeth. “But right now I’m glad to be one if it means I could knock you out. Don’t ever fucking touch her again.” He drops Dylan’s arm with a shove and turns back to me.
He’s shaking with anger as Dylan walks away. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“No.” He blows out a breath. “I should be asking you that.” His hand shakes as he runs it down my arm, feathering warm fingers over my skin. He’s careful. So careful. Like I’m precious to him.
“I’m fine. Do you want to leave?”
“Not yet,” he says shortly. “Let’s find the information we need.”
* * *
I’m leaving the bathroom an hour later when I run headfirst into a man’s large frame.
“What the hell?” he exclaims, at the same time I say, “Sorry.” I take a step around him and freeze.
“Eric.” It’s him. In the flesh. He’s pretty and cruel with those pouty lips and that artfully tousled blonde hair. His eyes are small and flat, lit with anticipation now that he’s seen me.
“Callie Thompson.” He peruses my body, boldly, then gives me an insulting smirk. “Learning how to dress, I see.”
My breaths seize in my chest. All the confidence I’ve earned back over the last twelve months drains out of me in a sickening rush. Say something. But all I can remember is the last time I saw him when he told me, "you’ll come crawling back."
“I was wondering when I was going to run into you at one of these events. Surprised you wrangled an invite.”
“She’s with me.” Jonah’s cool voice comes from behind me. He strolls up, looking elegant and unruffled in his tux.
Eric’s mouth parts in surprise and vicious satisfaction courses through my veins. Of course he knows who Jonah is. The whole world knows.
