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Make me forget Charlotte ever existed.
“Honey, while I’d like nothing more than to have your cock in my mouth, this isn’t what you want. I’ve never been what you want.”
I’m surprised by her words. Is this reverse psychology? This isn’t the Victoria I know. With an incredulous stare, I shuffle back.
“We play this cat and mouse game, but the reality is you love Charlotte. Lex Edwards actually loves another human being.” She laughs, holding onto my chest. “Lex, go and make this right. This isn’t you. This isn’t the strong, confident ballsy Lex who pushes my buttons beyond all recognition, who is also is a genius in the business world.”
“She doesn’t want me,” I mumble with my head bowed, my confidence dissolving in a heartbeat.
“That’s impossible. No one can resist Lex Edwards. Look at me.” I gaze into her eyes, not knowing what I’m supposed to be looking for. “You built this empire from nothing. You’ve fought in boardrooms with some of the most powerful men in the business world. My father is threatened by your power and no one, I mean no one, has ever challenged him like you do. You can’t lose this battle because this battle will be your toughest, but it will come with the greatest reward at the end. You understand me?”
I nod, half-listening to her because the reality feels completely different.
“Now, let’s go back in there and try to convince the Hanson Group to sell us their shares in the Wilson Division,” she states with confidence. “Word is that John Hanson is desperate to offload because he has a failed merger in Hong Kong, and it has cost the group a lot of money.
“Victoria… I’m sorry for what happened back in New York.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Consider it forgotten. Besides, I have my eye on someone else if I can get his gold-digging wife to detach from his arm for two seconds.”
Victoria, the shrew, will find a way.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“Yes, and imagine me with the Prince of Luxembourg. What a powerful couple we would make.”
“Going for royalty now?” I shake my head with a knowing grin. “You never cease to amaze me.”
We walk back into the room, ignoring the curious stares from associates who have nothing better to do than speculate. I don’t really care what they think, or even the false news which will spread, I have nothing else to lose, and with that in mind, I do whatever the hell I want to.
Paris actually turns out to be a great accomplishment. We managed to sign on new business, and I’m in my element for the week I spend there. It turns out that back-to-back meetings with new investors as well as business expos provided me with the solitude that I was desperate for.
But all good things must come to an end, and once again, I find myself alone at a loss with what to do.
I’m still not ready to go home, so I flip through my phone and look for places I want to visit. For some reason, Brazil catches my eye. I was there years ago for a business trip, but something draws me back. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like a pull almost.
I book my flights, and the next day, I touch down in Rio de Janeiro, still wondering why I chose to come here.
Wandering the streets of Brazil, I feel like a nomad, alone and with no purpose. A bottle of tequila becomes a permanent fixture in my hand. This city comes alive at night, the crowds freely dancing in the streets, the samba beats echoing through the night. It’s easy to get lost in this diversity as I make my way through the streets not really knowing where I’m heading.
Women reach out for me, beautiful women, offering me their bodies for a night like that’s what I need. It’s hard to resist, but as I stare into their blank faces, it feels wrong. It’s only her face I want to see, so I walk away until the noise lessens, finding myself in a quieter part of the city.
The buildings look more worn down, dilapidated even. The crowd appears different now—rougher. They are no longer friendly and are eyeing me with caution, almost on guard like I’m some sort of threat.
I see a neon light flashing and enter the bar—the tequila is running low in my bottle.
Inside, the music is more somber, the bar not too full, just
a bunch of drunks drinking away their worries. I pull up a seat and ask for a shot. The man beside me pats me on the back like he’s my long-lost friend. I motion to the bartender that all drinks are on me, throwing a wad of cash onto the bar surface. Fear is no longer apparent as the crowd cheers, saluting me, then going about their own business. The drinks keep coming, and my vision becomes more blurred. The man, my new best friend, speaks to me in Portuguese telling me about all the pussy he has fucked this week. His story is somewhat entertaining, and provides me with the welcome distraction I desperately need.
But then he goes quiet.
And my mind allows itself to think.
I want to beat the living shit out of him for touching her, for implanting his baby inside her.
I don’t want him near her.
I wanted him dead.
