Laurelin Paige - Forever with You

Okay, she scared me, but there was no reason why she should. What the hell could she do to me anyway?

The bakery had very few customers when I arrived. Though I would have liked to sit at one of the outdoor tables, I took my iced tea and a pesto panini and settled in a seat near the side door. If I wasn’t going to have my bodyguard, then I should at least take some additional precautions. Sitting inside was my version of precaution.

After finishing my food, I set up my computer and opened up my email. There were a few items regarding the club, a random e-card from my brother, and an unread message from Stacy. Ignoring everything else, I opened Stacy’s email and scanned it.

I’m still not sure who wrote the emails. Maybe if you looked at one, it would help. Here’s one of the longer ones.

Below her short note was a forwarded message from the H.Pierce email she’d told me about. Other women might have decided that reading the message wasn’t necessary when Hudson was planning a tell-all.

I have never been other women. I read eagerly.

Before finishing the first paragraph, I was convinced the message wasn’t from Hudson. It was too poetic, too flowery. Hudson avoided analogies and figurative language. Even when he was romantic—something he swore he never was—his phrasing was direct and to-the-point.

This letter was composed of everything Hudson wasn’t. There were references to nature and popular music and relatives. The author spoke of his mother as the rock of the family and his father as a compassionate patriarch. Definitely not the Pierces I knew.

It was a section midway through the letter that confirmed without a doubt that the email was not written by Hudson. The paragraph read:

I’ve studied and learned about the world from books and tour packages arranged by and for the discontented rich, but I’d prefer to one day leave all my life and responsibility behind and travel the earth by whim. Right now, I can say that I love Paris and Vienna, but what do I truly know of these cities when I haven’t lived in them, participated in their culture? Words without experience are meaningless.

I read the last line again. “Words without experience are meaningless.” It was a quote from Lolita. There were other lines that seemed familiar, certainly more quips from other literary classics. Hudson Pierce did not read the classics. His library had no books before I’d moved in. Celia, on the other hand…

A flash of movement out the window drew my attention.

I peered out to find that a couple sitting on the other side of the glass was leaving. What kept my focus was the woman at the table behind them.

Goddamn, speak of the devil.

As my eye caught hers, Celia smiled—the same old bitchy smile she always delivered.

I chewed on my lip, deciding what to do. I could continue sitting in the bakery and text Reynold for a ride. Or I could leave and see if she’d follow.

Or I could talk to her.

There wasn’t anything I burned to say to the woman. I knew that any request I made to be left alone would only result in more harassment. And asking her reasons for her actions wouldn’t get me anywhere. Anything she said to me couldn’t be trusted, so what was the point in conversation?

The point was that I was curious. Curious what she’d try to convince me of, what her body language would say.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I threw my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my computer and walked out to the patio.

To her credit, Celia didn’t blink when I sat across from her.

“By all means, Laynie, sit,” she said, her tone pleasant and condescending and a little bit eager, as though she was looking forward to a confrontation. She probably was.

Without any preamble, I turned my laptop to face her and pointed to the email still on the screen. “This is you, isn’t it?”

She scanned a few lines, recognition flashing in her eyes. “I don’t know for the life of me what you’re talking about, Laynie.”

She liked to say my name a lot—it was a trick I’d learned in grad school. When said in the right tone, it made a person feel patronized. She certainly knew the tools of basic manipulation.

But so did I. “That email, Celia. You’re the one who sent it to Stacy. I recognize your choice of literary quotes.”

“Why, that’s crazy.” Her inflection was exaggerated. “This says it’s from Hudson. Did you hack into his email? I hear that’s typical of women with your condition. In fact, Laynie, should you really be sitting with me? I could still file that restraining order.”

I tilted my head, studying her. She wanted me to threaten a restraining order of my own. But we were playing this conversation on my terms. “What I don’t understand is how you got Hudson to go along.”

“Go along with what?” She blinked innocently.

“The kiss.” I turned the screen back to face me and loaded the video. I pushed play and spun it toward her. “This.”

She watched silently, giving nothing away. When it was finished, she raised her eyes to meet mine, her expression suddenly serious. “So you’ve discovered our little secret.”

She wanted me to assume the kiss was real. I didn’t believe it was. “That you played together? Yes.”

She laughed. “Is that what he told you? I suppose he wouldn’t want you to know what we really meant to each other.”

“Ha ha. I don’t buy it.”

“That I was Hudson’s lover? Suit yourself.” She pursed her lips. “It lasted beyond that, you know. Why do you think I had a key to his place? And when I picked him up at the Hamptons—there was no business trip.”

Lies, lies, lies.

I didn’t have any doubt that every word was meant to instigate me. “You’ve fucked with me too many times to believe anything that comes out of your mouth.” I closed my computer and began stuffing it in my bag. There was nothing to learn from her after all.

Celia shrugged. “I could give you proof, if I wanted to. I know all his bedroom moves. Does he dominate you completely? Does he have a nickname for you? Precious, perhaps?”

Unwittingly, my eyes popped up at Hudson’s pet name. How the hell did she know about that? Hudson had promised me it was private.

She caught my reaction. “He does, doesn’t he? Don’t you know that he calls all his lovers precious? Did you think it was just for you? He called me that when he plowed into me over and over on his office desk. ‘My precious, my precious,’ he’d say. I’m sure he simply says it now out of habit.”

It didn’t matter if she was telling the truth or lying. Either way, she’d tainted something sacred. Something that meant a great deal to me. That combined with all the other shit she’d pulled?

I snapped.

“Maybe it wasn’t just for me. But this is just for you.” My hand curled into a fist and flew at her face before she could see it coming. From the cracking sound that accompanied my punch, I guessed that her nose was broken.

“You fucking bitch!” she screamed, her hands holding her nose.

“I was thinking the same about you. Though cunt would have been my choice of noun.”

Blood oozed out from between Celia’s hands. “You want a noun? Try lawsuit.”

That was the last I heard before I darted out the patio gate. Afraid Celia would find someone to come after me, I headed straight for the subway.

A lawsuit, huh? Well, it was fucking worth it.

I jumped on the first train that was available and found an empty seat in the back, my hands shaking and my heart pounding.

God, what had I done?

I couldn’t decide if I was scared or exhilarated. Probably an equal combination of both. Because, damn. I’d punched Celia Werner. And probably broke her cute little nose. That was surely going to get a cop or two knocking on my door. And, with her power and money, they’d take her charge seriously. I’d had trouble with the law in the past. Having another incident on my record was not something I was looking forward to.

On the other hand—I punched Celia fucking Werner. And holy fuck did it feel good.

I had to do something, tell someone. I considered my options—Brian had always been my go-to person for getting me out of sticky situations. That had been hard on our relationship, and now that we were getting along, involving him wasn’t my ideal choice.

That put Hudson at the top of my list. He was better suited to go up against the Werners. While I was pretty sure that he would be one hundred percent supportive and take care of anything I needed, calling him with the news promised to be embarrassing. Especially since I’d ditched my bodyguard. He wouldn’t be pleased with that.

Cell service was spotty underground, but I managed to get through. Unfortunately, I reached his voicemail. I tried a couple of times with the same result. Hudson had said he had meetings all day. I was sure that was where he was. I chose not to leave a message. Instead, I texted him to call me ASAP and hoped to heaven I got to him before Celia did.

Because she would try to contact him too. Of that I was certain.

And what about what she’d told me? As much as I didn’t want to let her get to me, I couldn’t help but think about the things she’d said. I didn’t automatically believe her—why would I?

But her proof…

I shook off the idea. Somehow she found out about Hudson’s name for me. That had to be it. There was no way he’d called her that too. And, yes, he was dominating in bed, but anyone who knew him would assume that.

The only reason it continued to nag at me was that I still hadn’t heard Hudson’s confession. Was this what he meant to tell me all along? That he’d been with Celia? That he’d slept with her while with me?

I didn’t think so. I didn’t want to think so. It was too easy, too predictable. Hudson was never predictable.

Except if that wasn’t it…

The alternate possibility that had started to form in my mind was worse than what Celia had suggested. Much worse. Like, it would shatter my world to discover it were true. I couldn’t entertain the idea long enough to work through it, even to try and discount it.

So I didn’t think about it at all. Buried it until I had to deal with it. If I had to deal with it.

Meanwhile, I needed someone to give me some advice. Besides Brian, who would know how police handled battery charges? I considered David and Liesl. Mira and Jack were even possibilities. Finally, I settled on someone who I was sure would be able to handle the situation the best.

Jordan answered on the first ring.

“Hey, I know your shift doesn’t start for a bit, but I’m sort of in a situation and I need your help.”

“I can be at the penthouse in twenty-five.”

He was already about to hang up when I stopped him. “Actually, I’m not there. I’m just walking off the subway at Grand Central Station.”

There was only a minor pause before he asked, “Reynold’s not with you?”

“No.” I should have been more regretful, but I wasn’t. “I’ll explain when I see you. Can you come meet me?”

“Yep. In fact, if you’re at Grand Central, I can be there in ten.”

We agreed on a place to meet. Then I hung up and waited for him to show.

True to his word, Jordan was indeed only ten minutes away. He must live nearby. Funny how little I knew about the man.

We found an empty bench and talked without leaving the station. I caught him up quickly, leaving nothing out. Well, very little out. I didn’t mention what it was exactly Celia had said to cause my fist to fly.

Jordan seemed neither surprised nor judgmental of my story. “Have you called Hudson?”

“I tried. I got voicemail.” I’d tried again while waiting for Jordan with the same result.

“That’s fine. It’s really not urgent. Here’s what’s probably going to happen: Celia will likely have gone to the ER. Because of who she is and the pull she has, I’d assume she’d get the police to take her complaint there. With a simple one-swing hit, the cops will often forget the whole thing. They won’t because she’s a Werner.”

“Could I be arrested?” It was the question most pressing on my mind.

He shook his head. “They’ll track you down and give you a court date. No warrants, no arrests. There will be plenty of time for Mr. Pierce to get the whole thing dropped—which he will. You know that, right?”