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“So you understand. I will never forgive him. Christine was in therapy for years after those articles. My mom had her arm broken trying to escape from reporters outside the house.” My stomach churns at the memories. The fear in my mother’s voice when she told me they were being followed, the anger and sadness in Christine’s when her girlfriend broke up with her because of Dylan.
Miles sinks deeper into the couch. “That was unforgivable. I’m not saying to forgive him. I’m just wondering if maybe success is the best revenge. Happiness. You should try it sometime.” A pause. “Don’t give me that look. You’re going to say something douchey to push me away, but you know I’m right.”
I swallow down my retort. He’s right. The itch to lash out is always there, even at my best friend. “Happiness. What do I know about happiness? I wouldn’t recognize it if it grabbed me by the neck.”
Miles huffs a laugh of agreement. “Come to the Montauk house next weekend. Enjoy yourself. It would make Lane happy.”
Miles and Lane invited me days ago, but the two of them together are unbearable. So in love. Their eyes practically shoot hearts when they look at each other.
“So I can watch you make calf eyes at your girlfriend? No, thank you.”
“Don’t be a dick. She’s your friend too. She invited some of her friends. The artist who shares Mallory’s studio is coming. She’s pretty and really smart. Talented.” He shrugs, but his eyes are watchful.
“Me. With an artist.” I snort. “Unlikely.” And even more unlikely that I’d mess around with one of Lane’s friends, when it would only end in heartbreak. My assignations are short and to the point. A means to an end.
“Won’t know until you try.”
“When have you ever known me to try?”
Miles leans forward. “Not since Annalise. That’s the point. You’ve been alone since her. You work at all hours, you see your family, you work out like a man possessed. I’m worried about you. Lane is worried about you. And I know Christine is worried about you.” He shoves a hand through his hair, and I feel a twinge of guilt at the mention of my little sister worrying about me.
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” He looks skeptical.
“Really. I just have a lot to do. And I’m not interested in a relationship interfering with my carefully planned existence.” Not another Annalise, that’s for fucking certain. She was like a bomb waiting to detonate. I learned my lesson—to be the best, you’re better off not letting anyone close. I might not be at the top, but I’m damn close, and I intend to stay there once I arrive.
Miles opens his mouth to argue, and I raise a hand. “I hear you. I’m glad you have Lane. I’m glad you’re happy. But a relationship is not for me. It’s a distraction I can’t afford.”
My best friend looks mutinous, but presses his lips together in a flat line.
“Suit yourself,” he says shortly. “But think about the party. And tell me if anything happens as a result of the article.”
I sigh heavily and see him out. Miles will never understand. He was always waiting for Lane. He’s driven, yes, but not in the way I am. And now his life is complete, and he’s gone…soft. My mouth twitches unhappily. Now, he’d shackle me with the same weakness. I can’t think of anything worse. We’re not on top, not yet, and I won’t rest until we are. We have competitors, rivals. Miles is happy with our success, ready to move on to the next phase of his life. I will never move on. This is where I want to be. In this glass tower, controlling everything around me, on top of the world.
Unless Callie Thompson ruins it for me.
The speculation in that asinine article last night was enough to make me laugh. The implication that I’m lonely and jealous of Miles, and looking for a woman. Denise Silverman wants less than nothing to do with me, unless it can help her get back at her boss. Callie doesn’t know that though. I turn back to my email. The article better not have fucked things up for me. If it did… My fist clenches around the mouse briefly. Not a possibility. I didn’t get where I am today by doubting. I always come out on top.
An hour later, I get the call I was dreading.
“I’m done, Jonah.” Denise’s voice is hushed but steady. “He knows it’s me and he’s going to come after me.”
“You said you wanted to expose him.”
“I do. But this job—” Her voice cracks a little and she inhales. “I need this job. I can’t afford to be involved with you anymore.”
I tap my fingers on the desk. “Denise. You promised.” I have nothing on her. I can only rely on begging or bribing her.
“I can’t.” She hangs up and I call back immediately. Straight to voicemail. I leave her a brief message saying I’ll make it worth her while. Whatever she wants, I’ll pay it.
I hang up and set my phone carefully back on the table. I want to throw it across the room, but I settle for shoving back from my desk and pacing to the windows. They’re floor-to-ceiling and give the impression that you’re going to fall into Manhattan. I press my palm to the glass. Fucking hell. Again. My fingers curl against the cool surface. So fucking close. Just like two years ago, when Dylan countered my bid to acquire shares of Green Media by installing his idiot of a brother on the board. And a year before that when he sued me to prevent disclosure of his shady business dealings with Belarussian billionaires.
Fucking Callie Thompson. She couldn’t even have the decency to have a boring name. And those eyes. So blue they unsettled me up close. That sinfully lush mouth. That silky dark hair. I shake my head. She couldn’t have the decency to be ugly, either.
Callista Thompson, born to Maggie and Arnold Thompson in New York City. Twenty-nine years of age. Writes under the pseudonym You Know Who. Mother lives in California. Father is the owner of The New York Star. Resident of the Upper West Side. Responsible for ruining my life.
How dare she? Rage heats my blood. Resentment is a heady rush. I’ve worked too long and too hard for this revenge to have some fucking reporter rip it all away from me at the last second. Not to mention all her lurking around, going after Miles. Going after Christine. My hand twitches against the cool glass. Christine. That was the last straw. Dylan is business. Christine is family. And now she’s in Callie’s sights. Green Media’s too. Dylan and his evil minions have stuck to printing things about me for years. I’m used to the articles. They’ve mostly been lies. Until now.
