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“Just say you miss my dick and we’ll call it a day. And a date.” I could hear the waves crashing on the shore behind Bane. He was teaching at the surf club again. Jealousy prickled the back of my neck.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I rolled my eyes. “I meant as a friend.”
“Yeah. Whatever. I’m here if you need me. Be strong against Daddy Delirious.”
My father had come back from Switzerland all smiles, which meant this particular mistress was a keeper. He didn’t even seem too bothered by the fact the iPad I’d stolen from Trent wasn’t connected to any of his accounts and was utterly useless. He just gave me another assignment, firing orders and not taking one goddamn moment to ask me how my meeting with Theo had gone that Saturday. Or how Mom was doing. Or if I’d taken her to the doctor because her meds were messing her up again.
Bane scoffed. “Fuck Jordan. You keep doing this thing, Edie, where you’re trying to hold the entire universe on your shoulders and sprint with it to the nearest safe haven. You can’t. It’s too heavy. You’ll collapse. Ever tried to see what’ll happen if you let go?”
“No.” I rubbed my face tiredly. “I’ll never let go.”
“Well, then you’ll never be free. Not this year, not next year, not fucking ever.”
The truth hit me in a sensitive place, right between my gut and my heart. Bane was right. My situation was hopeless.
The previous night, I’d cried into my pillow until the imprint of my face settled into it. Not gonna lie—it felt good. I’d tried to remind myself that breaking was necessary in order to rebuild yourself. Only problem was, I had no idea where to start and how to get out of this pickle.
“Talk later, Gidget.”
“Okay.”
He hung up first. Bane didn’t need to see my tears to know that I was tangled in suffocating wires of distress, but he hadn’t invited me out to initiate sex. He should have. I would have slept with him solely for the purpose of pissing off Rexroth, even if only in my twisted head.
And now I was in the office, on the fifteenth floor, at eight o’clock in the evening, about to do something I’d always considered a very hard limit.
Trespassing and burglary. I was looking at jail time if I ever got caught.
Everyone was long gone. It was Monday, one of those summer evenings where the whole world caved into happiness, vacationing or downing drinks at the beach. I relished the quiet, and the fact the next day was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays meant time with my precious Camila and Luna. The fact I got to skip all the dirty work I normally had to do around the office didn’t hurt.
Standing in front of Trent’s door was like facing a firing squad that aimed straight at my conscience. I was running out of ways to justify my behavior, even to myself.
I tried to reason with myself that I wasn’t actually ruining Trent’s life. Not actively, anyway. What was the worst thing that could happen? My father might manage to kick him off of the board of Fiscal Heights Holdings. Rexroth would still hold shares in the company. He would still be a millionaire and have his precious, precious money. He would likely be courted by other companies. So I’d be doing him a favor. He obviously had his priorities all wrong. He’d get to spend more time with Luna. He should fight for her, not with his money and nannies and a team of experts, but with his love.
I tugged at my stupid, out-of-place hoodie, inhaling.
Retrieve the flash drive. I can do that.
Someone was vacuuming the carpeted boardroom while talking on the phone loudly in a foreign language. He was the only person on the floor, and he would never notice me. I was too far. Too hidden. Too careful.
Trent’s office was never locked. Paranoia and anxiety didn’t drive him like they did my father. But that didn’t mean the reception desk in front of his office wasn’t wired like the freaking Pentagon. I’d changed into my black hoodie and a pair of jeans in the bathroom, knowing he could easily spot me on the security camera and also knowing I was going to deny everything he’d accuse me of. For all everyone on the floor knew, I came in that day with a powder blue DKNY dress. Trent could say whatever he wanted—the security footage would show someone who looks nothing like me.
Head ducked down, hoodie covering my hair and face, I pushed the door to his office open in one go, ready to bolt to his desk.
Then froze, heart hammering in my throat.
The sound came to me before the visual. The dry jingle of bracelets hitting one another and skin slapping skin.
