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“Of course not!”
“What’s operation good cop? Is that a thing?”
“It was,” I begin. “A stupid thing.”
“What’s the competency hearing? Is that also a stupid thing? A hearing?”
I exchange glances with Brett.
The wounded look in her eyes kills me. “You were going to put me on trial? For competency?”
“That’s not how it is.”
“You said you trusted me.”
“I do trust you. I was going to call it off.”
“But it’s still on. As of now.” She searches my eyes. “Is it still on? As of this moment?”
My heart feels like it’s cracking. “I was going to call it off.”
“Please, just say. Is it still on? As of now?”
“Yes. Technically it’s still on.”
“Technically.” She snorts. “And all this time, were you guys gathering evidence? To destroy me?” She holds up a hand when I take a step toward her. “Awesome performance. I guess that’s one thing Brett and I can agree on. It was absolutely award winning. Bravo.”
“I wasn’t performing.”
She grabs her purse and her jacket and heads to the elevator door, then stops.
I stop behind her, heart pounding. Is she reconsidering? Remembering what’s between us?
“Vicky,” I say.
Slowly she turns, but the warmth is gone from her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll still give it back. I’ll sign and deliver those papers I drew up. For half a million.”
“Don’t,” I whisper, when I realize the significance of the number.
“That’s my offer.”
“Henry—” Brett starts to say something. I shut him up with a quick look. He widens his eyes. He wants me to take it. It’s way cheaper than the millions we offered a few weeks back.
“This isn’t you,” I say. “You fight for things.”
“I didn’t get the half mill the last time around. So you’ll pay it to me, and if you don’t, the world will learn that Vonda O’Neil and Smuckers run your company.”
“Vicky.”
“It’s Vonda,” she says. “I’m Vonda O’Neil. And I have to say, keeping me on good behavior with the good cop act while you gather evidence for the hearing? Very effective. Who knows what I would’ve done. Maybe even painted those cranes pink, with Smuckers’s face—”
“We’ll pay!” Brett says.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say. “Brett is going.”
“A bank transfer.” She fishes out a checkbook and tears off a deposit slip. “Five hundred thousand and you’ll never hear from me again.”
