Page 49 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I

“What you do want, Max?” I’m curt because he's roped me into doing something I don't want to do.

“How are you feeling?” His tone is composed and concerned regardless of how sharp mine was.

I rub my queasy stomach. “Not well.”

“You can do this, Pais.” He sounds like a coach rallying his team in the fourth quarter when they’re down by a hundred.

I sigh hard. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I have faith in you. If I could do it myself, you know I would, but I don’t have your skill set or anonymity.”

My mouth tightens. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, pressing my lips together. I don’t want to end up looking like one of those bitter people who hates the world and everybody in it, so I deliberately release the tension from my mouth.

“You’ll be done after this, Paisley.”

I snort resentfully. “I can't show my face after this. Everyone I come into contact with at VTI will recognize me when I’m back in the real world. They will know that I infiltrated their company with a fake name, and you know it. But what I want to know is, how are you planning to keep me out of jail?”

He’s silent of course. “You don't have to worry about repercussions.”

“Why not?”

Silence.

I squeeze my cellphone. I want to crush it. “Why not, Max?” I insist.

“Leverage,” he finally says.

I shake my head. “Back and forth, tit for tat, and the wheel never stops turning, which means I’m screwed.”

“I promise you, Paisley, this will be it. You can go back to your life and reconnect with your friends after this.”

Hercules comes to mind. “You know I run the risk of running into Hercules. And he just might recognize me this time.”

“We’ve done the cold run. He doesn’t remember you. Also, he’s out of the country until after the first week of next month. I have his calendar.”

“He doesn’t remember you” rips through my heart like a sharp blade. Ever since I saw Hercules striding through the lobby of the Golden Grand Luxe hotel, I haven’t been able to rid my mind of him. Quintessentially tall, dark, and handsome, he’s all man these days. On that day at the hotel, after snapping out of staring at him, I caught up with him under the portico. Instructed to do something to catch his attention, I dropped my purse on purpose. Instead of chivalrously picking it up, he angled his back to me and continued his phone call and then hoisted himself into the back seat of his chauffeured car. Not only didn't he recognize me, but he shunned me too. I've been comforting myself with the possibility that he was under duress. His phone call was quite spirited.

I sigh tersely. I definitely do not want to hear the details of how Max has violated Hercules's privacy. I think it’s very wrong of him. I could assure him that Hercules isn't his enemy. Maybe his brothers are, and his mother possibly is. His father retired from the family business right before I started college. I remember that because my first thought about him leaving the family empire was “Oh, goody. Maybe he’ll approve of a relationship between me and Hercules.” That was probably wishful thinking. But regardless, Hercules will never be the bad guy in my book.

“Whatever,” I say, flopping a hand dismissively. “I’ll stick to the plan. Get in, find what I’m looking for, and leave without a trace.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

I roll my eyes. “Money, power, vengeance.”

“Grandfather. He would’ve wanted this.”

I let go of images of Hercules, and I see Grandfather instead. Thin with a full head of white wooly hair and probing, yet inviting, chestnut eyes, my grandpa was fit and handsome until his very end. It baffles me that he died of a heart attack. Not only was his beautiful heart one of the attributes I loved most about him, but even at eighty years old, he was probably the fittest man in the room. It's still unbelievable that he died. I thought he’d live to see his hundredth birthday.

I smile nostalgically, recalling how Grandpa never treated me like a pesky child. No matter who was in our presence, from presidents to the pope, he would recognize how important I was to him. And none of us—Max, Treasure, or Lynx—experienced him any differently from the other. That’s why the most powerful motivational tool Max has is reminding me how important Grandfather was to our family. I still miss him so much that my soul aches if I let myself think about him for too long. I miss his life force and his voice and the way I could call him whenever I needed someone steadfast to talk to.

Finally, I no longer feel anxious watching the people walk on the High Line. I hold the phone closer to my ear when I whisper, “I know he would’ve.”

Pressingthe lapels of my winter coat against my collarbone to keep the cold air from streaming down my blouse, I’ve joined the footrace on the ground. On the one hand, I’m glad the distance between where I live and where I work is short. On the other hand, I wish I had more time to talk myself out of what I agreed to do. Max’s last pep talk has worn off, I think because the cold has iced my brain.

I can see the VTI building rising toward the gray sky like a metal-and-glass piston. I fight the urge to hyperventilate. Pedestrians trapped in the universe of their own thoughts sweep past me as if I’m an improperly discarded piece of furniture plopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Max’s last words are stuck in my mind.Would Grandfather have wanted me to do this if he knew it was tearing me up inside? What if he knew I was attracted to the man I’ve set out to double-cross? What if one day, by some great miracle, I fall in love with Hercules Valentine? Would Grandfather have approved? Would he have done what Treasure said my parents, and hers, were sure to do if I fell in love with Hercules—shun me, disown me, and make me feel as if I disappointed him so much that the love he gave me shrinks to a kernel the size of a grain of sand?

Maybe.