Page 4

“His uncle signed the bar over to him—as well as the rest of the family holdings—five months ago.” The smile on James’s face grows wider as realization dawns. “He didn’t tell you.”
No. he didn’t tell me.
“Now, why wouldn’t he tell you—his best friend—about something as monumental as becoming a multi-millionaire?”
A millionaire? I can’t speak, so I just shake my head because I don’t know. I don’t know why Patrick wouldn’t tell me something like that.
“Maybe because he knows what a gold-digging slut you are and he didn’t want to be your latest victim,” Trevor pipes up behind me. “You know who did know, though?”
I don’t have to hear him say her name to know who he’s talking about.
“Sara,” James says grinning at me like he just won the lottery. “He told Sara Howard all about it. Even after they broke up… he hadn’t even fucked you yet, and he knew what a money-grubbing cooz you are.”
I never took anything for either of them. Nothing but shit and more grief than I care to remember. That Patrick might think I did, that he hid something as important as being given his family’s business because he thinks I’m just a whore who uses guys for their money is more than I can take. I need to get out of here. Now.
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me,” I say quietly, just wanting it to be over.
“Oh,” James says, finally standing. “Not one fucking thing.” He comes out from behind his desk to stand in front of me. “I just wanted to see your face when you found out that I’m going to ruin your do-gooder boyfriend and that he sees you for the cocksucking slut you really are. No…” He leans back on his desk, reminding me of what he was doing on it the last time I was here. “The tape of me fucking you like a dog is another matter, altogether.”
“A tape you made without my consent,” I remind him.
“Prove it.” He smiles at me. “You can’t—you can’t even prove that it’s me… matter of fact, the night it was made I was escorting a model friend of mine to a gallery opening, remember? That was the night you went out with Everett Chase.”
The mention of Chase breaks me a little. Reminds me why I’m even here. Seeing the tape James has of us isn’t going to change anyone’s opinion of me because he’s right. Patrick thinks I’m a whore anyway. The only reason I’m still here is because of Chase. He’s a good man, and I can’t let James ruin him because he made the mistake of asking me out.
“And you’re going to release the tape if I don’t… what?” At this point, I don’t even care.
James looks me up and down, his lewd gaze feeling like a million cockroaches crawling over my skin. “Whatever I want.” His gaze settles on my breasts, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips. “With whoever I want. Whenever I want.”
“Why?” I say, finally drawing his attention, asking the question that’s been bothering me since I saw that video. “You made that video months ago—while we were still together. So, why now?”
“Because a dirty little cunt like you doesn’t leave someone like me,” he hisses in my face a split second before I feel his hand slide under the hem of my paint-splattered T-shirt. “And a do-gooder asshole like him doesn’t get to have what I don’t. So, why don’t you get down on your knees and thank me for not showing him what a slut you are.”
He’s all but admitting that he somehow knew that Patrick and I started sleeping together. I want to ask him if it was Sara. If she’s the one who’s been feeding him information, but I don’t because it doesn’t matter. Even if he admitted it, I’d have no way to prove it.
“I’ve got a better idea,” I say, just as James’s hand closed over my breast. “How about you go fuck yourself.” I take a deep breath and shove my keys into his face. I’ve never had to use the can of mace Patrick attached to them when I started opening and closing the gallery by myself, but I use it now.
I spray it right into James’s face.
The second the spray hits his eyes, he screams and tries to shove me away from him, but his hand is trapped under my shirt, anchoring him to me. I keep spraying, even when I feel a heavy-handed fist crash into the side of my face while another one grabs me by my hair and yanks me back. I fling my arm out, raking my nails across James’s face right before I hear my shirt rip and I hit the ground with a hard bounce that rattles my joints in their sockets.
There’s a thick, caustic chemical cloud floating above me. Trevor and Lisa are both coughing and gagging, but Trevor is howling, clawing at his bleeding face where my nails ripped it open, his eyes already beginning to blister.
“You fucking bitch,” he screams at me, taking a stumbling lurch in my direction. “You’re dead. Do you hear me? I’m going to—”
I tune him out and scramble for the door, reaching up to slap at its handle. It swings open, and I crawl out before turning quickly to pull it shut behind me. Leaning against the door, I press my face against it for a second, listening to the chaos behind it.
I’m dizzy. My face hurts. My eyes feel like they’re on fire and I think I’m bleeding, but I don’t care. I feel like I just won the Boston Marathon. Elated and exhausted and ready to do it all over again.
I hear someone clear their voice and I finally open my eyes to a small cluster of people gathered in the reception area on James’s floor. They’re all looking at me, talking behind their hands. Some of them look alarmed. Some of them look like the sound of James screaming like a little bitch is music to their ears.
I can totally relate.
I scramble to my feet and grab my bag off Janine’s desk, knocking her desk phone to the floor. Behind me, James’s office door flies open, and the three of them tumble out, still coughing and choking. “Cari,” James screams, “I’m going to kill you.”
I don’t say anything, I just keep moving. I decide to take the stairs because there’s no way I can wait for the elevator with what’s happening behind me. Just as I turn toward the stairs, the elevator doors slide open. I stand there, feeling suddenly like this is all some sort of dream.
Patrick is in the elevator. At least I think it’s Patrick. It looks like Patrick—but he has a baseball bat and the sort of look that, if I didn’t know him, would scare the shit out of me.