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“You don’t have a kid.” That statement comes from Cash.
“You’re damn right, I don’t. Or at least I don’t know that I do. But according to my friend, they have DNA proof. I have a fucking kid, and I had no idea.”
While Carter paces the room, I shoot Cash a sad smile. “Okay, at least it’s not your kid.”
Chase storms in next. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, and he’s silently fuming.
Oh no.
“Chase, what’s going on?”Cash asks. It feels like we’re piling into a clown car of nightmares.
“Is it true?” He stomps straight up to Cash’s desk and plants his hands on the top, bracing himself so he’s looming over our brother.
Cash frowns in confusion. “Is what true?”
“Did our father take advantage of your nanny who was underage?”
Oh fuck. This is so bad. “Chase,” I soothe, reaching for his arm, “why don’t you sit down?”
He shakes off my touch without acknowledging me. “You’re the head of this family now,” he growls at Cash. “Answer me. Did our fatherrapemy mother?”
Cash nods, affirming the horrible truth.
Chase turns without looking at Carter or me, then storms out without another word.
“Someone needs to go after him,” Cash says, looking from me to Carter with so much pain in his eyes that it almost drops me to my knees.
The room spins around me, but I already know what I have to do. I snatch the phone from Cash’s desk. We’re out of options. I won’t let my family be destroyed.
“Who are you calling?”Cash demands.
I shake my head as I swallow my pride.
He picks up after one ring. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
I close my eyes. That was all the confirmation I needed. Somehow, I manage to choke out, “Jay, I need your help.”
“Consider it done,” he says with no preamble.
Of course he doesn’t need me to elaborate. He orchestrated the entire thing.
“Name your terms,” I say, my voice somehow calm, while inside, I fall apart.
“Marry me, and we merge the companies,” he says immediately. He knew what he was doing.
His every play has already been carefully calculated—plotted—for how long, I’ll never know.
And to think only an hour ago, I was beating myself up over not trusting him at his word. Not believing my heart.
“Nothing comes out?” I ask, using all my strength to keep my voice from shaking.
“I have them prepared to quash everything. Vanessa will be discredited and gone within the hour,” he murmurs into the phone.
“How long?”
“How long what?” he asks.
“How long do we remain married? You’re doing this because you want control of James Liquors, right? So how long do we keep up the marriage charade?”
