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My hands tremble with rage. “He never told me not to date Clark, so why in God’s name would he have a problem with me working with him to get us, SP, what we want? To get him revenge?”
“Your father never had to separate you and Clark, Dayna, because Harold was always going to do that. Even if you think you could go ahead with this, Harold will never allow it.” We’re so close I can feel Arthur’s words on my face.
“Harold Layton doesn’t head up Layton Oil anymore, Clark does.”
He laughs, hollow and sinister. This is a side to Arthur I don’t like. “Harold Layton controls Layton Oil, he controls that board and he controls his son. The answer from my side is no. I would see you lose the well over making a deal with that man.”
“What are you talking about? First Caspar’s the devil, then Hassan, then Clark. Why don’t you want this? Why don’t you want us to fight for what my father lost?”
He points his finger in my face. “You’re on dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground. You need to walk away.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he turns and storms out of my office. I replay the last two minutes in my head. My eyes sting. Arthur is like a second father to me. I didn’t know he could be like that.
I’m still standing on the same spot, dumbfounded, when Rachel comes into my office with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “From the Friday afternoon office stash.”
“I thought you’d have gone home by now.”
“I kind of got the feeling my friend might need a shoulder and a glass of wine.”
Arthur wants me to back out. Am I risking too much for revenge? He wants me to stay away from the government. After Caspar’s reaction, I understand why. But Arthur’s reaction to Clark and Layton Oil… what the fuck?
“Make it a large, please.”
“You got it.”
I STUMBLE THROUGH the door to my apartment. I only had half a bottle with Rachel, but my empty stomach and absolutely screwed-up state of mind have left me feeling the wine more than I ordinarily would.
So much has happened in the last week. Am I being irrational to think it all started with this godforsaken well? Why won’t anyone fight with me?
I kick off my shoes, dump my coat and bag, and pour myself a glass of Côtes du Rhône. I take it outside to the balcony and lean over the railing, not feeling the cold despite my short-sleeved black dress. I’m in this fight by myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but something is making it hurt more than usual.
I think about Clark, being back in his arms after all this time. It seems like the only place I can block out everything else, the only place I can be myself. The only place I don’t feel alone.
If I took his offer, we couldn’t be together; it wouldn’t work. We couldn’t make decisions in the best interests of our companies and come home to each other. Does it even matter? He could come to his senses and go back to Constance anytime. Even if he didn’t, there’s every chance he’d leave me—that’s Clark. That’s what he does.
But I can’t ignore the part of me that doesn’t want to take that deal and close the door on any chance we might have.
I push those thoughts aside. This well, my father — they’re bigger than Clark, me, us. I have to fight for Roger Cross, for the truth. He never did anything but compete in a market Caspar Kahn wants to himself. My father didn’t deserve to die.
The sound of my intercom cuts off my thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Dayna, it’s Teddy, buzz me in.”
I look at my watch. Teddy? At this time?
I roughly tie my hair in a knot and rub day-old mascara smudges from under my eyes. Then Teddy knocks on the door.
“Hey. Is everything okay? Is Yvette okay?”
“You look like shit,” he tells me. “Are you drunk?”
I jerk my head back. “Wow. This day.”
He closes the door and moves to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of red, then he follows me back out to the balcony.
“So, you’re clearly in a mood with me for some reason, too. Lay it on me, Teddy.” I lean over the railing again and look out to St. Katherine Docks on the opposite side of the river.
