Page 48

Seven and a half years ago

“Get me London, now!” I holler to my assistant, my stomach plummeting as I watch the free fall of our stock price on one monitor—the red line associated with stock ticker BOC glaring at me—and the trading volume rising on the other.

It’s a bloodbath.

Some bastard is trying to take over the company. A sneak attack, clearly months in the making—getting folks to sell their shares, causing the stock price to dip and then buying it all before we can do anything about it.

My office line is ringing off the hook, no doubt investors or the press wanting to know what the hell is going on.

I pick up the phone. “Yes?” I bark.

“Charles, is the situation under control?” Grandma’s voice comes across the line and I look at the caller ID. Shit. Of course, she’d know about this. It’s only been a few years since she’s handed the reins of the company to me and I am royally fucking it up.

“Yes. I’m working with Patterson on some numbers and we will fight back. I got this.”

“If you need help, call me, okay? Patterson knows what he’s doing. I trust him, and I still have contacts at Deutsche and Barclays. They should back us up.”

My cell phone buzzes and I groan. “Yes, will let you know. I have to go.”

After hanging up, I eye the monitors again and holler, “Patterson, in here, please!”

He strides in, laptop in hand, his cell phone tucked against his ear. “Charles, I just got off the phone with Kenneth from Barclays. They are placing the bids to buy the shares being tossed out right now. We’ll owe them, but we may be able to put a stop to this.”

This is why Grandma asked me to keep him on. This man was one of her top recruits and he’s been with the company since he graduated from college.

He’s brilliant.

My assistant knocks on the door. “Sir, London is on the line.”

Holding up my finger, I answer the call. “Joe, thanks for getting on. Yes, it appears someone’s making a move. We have Barclays in our corner right now.” I nod my thanks to Patterson, who tips his head in acknowledgment. “But I think we’ll need more capital. Can you liquidate our assets at HSBC? Have them front us an emergency loan and we’ll settle the next day.”

My cell phone buzzes again as I listen to the head of finance halfway across the world talk numbers with me.

My mind is in a swirl. I can’t let the Bank of Columbia be acquired under my watch. No fucking way.

My damn cell phone won’t stop buzzing.

I pick it up, looking at the caller ID. Liam.

Rubbing my temples, I murmur, “Give me one minute, okay? A call is coming in.”

I blow out a breath and answer my cell. “Liam, this isn’t a good time.”

“It’s an emergency. I need your help. I can’t get to her—I’m in the air right now.”

I type an email out on my computer. “Who?”

“Our sister! She called me just now. She must’ve called you too, right? It sounds like an emergency. She wants us to meet her somewhere. Can you do it?”

“Liam, there’s a hostile takeover at the company and I can’t—shit!” Another ten percent dip in the stock price.

“Fuck the company, Charles! This is our sister. She’d never call an emergency meeting unless it was an emergency. Please, just check on her, okay? At least make sure she’s fine.”

I delete some words and retype—I can’t think straight right now. My office phone rings again—who the fuck is it now?

“Fine. I’ll call her. I really need to go.”

“Thanks, bro. I can count on you, right? You’re going to check on her?” Liam asks. I hear rustling in the background. “Because if you can’t, I’ll tell the pilot to turn back. But I rather not.”

“Yeah, I will.”

We hang up and I pick back up the office phone and redial London, because of course they hung up on me since I kept them waiting for so long.

“Sorry about that. The call went long. Yes, so I need you to move the funds from this account.”

I fiddle with my phone and see the missed calls. Ten missed calls from Firefly. Three unread texts.

Firefly

I need your help. It’s an emergency. Please. I can’t do this over the phone. Needs to be in person.

Firefly

Charles? I tried calling and you haven’t picked up. Liam is on his way to the airport.

Firefly

I’m scared.

My brows furrow as worry prickles me. What’s going on? Then I shake my head. Firefly is a passionate person. This is the girl who was scared of the dark until she was in high school. Then there was last week when she was scared about the strange noises in her apartment, which turned out to be a leaky faucet. She has inherited her fiery personality, along with all the detested emotional upheaval from our parents. She’s probably being dramatic.

“Charles, Barclays said they got approved for half the funds. I think we need a second backer,” Patterson murmurs from his seat across from me.

Shit. I knew this was going to happen.

I put London on hold and ping my assistant to get Deutsche on the line. I may need Grandma’s help after all.

Flipping back to my call with London, I instruct, “Yes. The interest rate is fine—a small price to pay to keep the company safe.”

My cell phone buzzes again and this time I ignore it.

Present Day

“I completely forgot about her. Didn’t call her back or text her,” Charles rasps as he stares at the floor in front of him, his eyes haunted.

A weight sinks on my chest as I put the rest of the story together. Obviously, something must’ve happened to his sister that day.

“That night, I got a call from the hospital. They found her trapped inside her car in the Hudson River. She was lucky because a Good Samaritan saw her car plummeting into the water and dove in and saved her. But she was nonresponsive—there was too much trauma—ribs, legs broken, internal bleeding, fluid in her lungs. It was a miracle she was still alive.” His eyes glisten with tears.

“Shit,” I murmur and wrap my arms around him. I would’ve never known he was carrying so much inside him if he hadn’t told me.

He is wearing a mask—a damn good one forged by years of pain and guilt.

“I’m the oldest in the family. Growing up, it has always been us three. My parents,” he scoffs, “are alive and well, but they never cared about us. I often think they had kids because that’s what everyone else did. They didn’t want us. And so, it had always been us against the world. Uncle Ian would do his best to be there for the big events in life—graduation, award ceremonies, playoff games—but we were used to depending on each other.”

A tear streaks down his cheek and my heart breaks into tiny pieces. “I was supposed to take care of them. Put them first. Love them so they wouldn’t even notice our parents were MIA. But I failed. Big time. And now she’s in a coma, half alive, and Liam won’t talk to me.”

I wipe the moisture from his face and turn his head toward me.

His startling, expressive eyes radiate with so much pain, guilt, and so much love for his siblings. I wonder how everyone missed this side of him before.

How were we all so blind?

But you see him now, Taylor. Just like he sees you.

“You listen to me, Charles Vaughn. I don’t know your sister, but I’m damn sure she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up because of her. You didn’t put her in a coma. You didn’t cause her injuries. It was a tragic accident.”

Charles lets out a derisive chuckle and shakes his head. “I tried telling myself that for years, Tay. Years. I don’t believe it, nor does Liam. And he’s right to be pissed at me. I convinced myself saving the company was more important than an SOS from my sister.”

He leans his head on my shoulder, his hands gripping my waist, his hold borderline painful. “Liam called me, you know. He said he’d tell the pilot to turn around if I couldn’t get to her, but I told him I’d take care of it. And I didn’t. She told me she was scared. I thought she was being dramatic. I ignored all the warning signs. I’m not a good man, Tay.”

He heaved out a heavy breath. “Over the years, I’ve wondered what happened to her that day and what she was scared about. The police said there was no foul play and the rain probably factored into her accident. I looked over the records and everyone told me it was not my fault. But I couldn’t forgive myself.”

Charles lifts his head up and stares at me, his gaze bleak. “You were right about me before. I survived on fake charm and charisma. I ignored my family in their time of need for shit that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. I don’t deserve forgiveness or you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. Yes, maybe you should’ve listened to her. Maybe you could’ve done more, but you had an emergency you were dealing with already. You didn’t put her behind the wheel or engineered that accident. If you’d known what was going to happen, you would’ve dropped everything for your sister. You can’t beat yourself up like this.”

He pushes out a ragged exhale as his gaze roves over me like I’m the last lifeline he’s holding onto.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I murmur, “Didn’t you tell me my darkest night wasn’t my fault? When I was beating myself up for the thousandth time for taking a drink from a stranger, didn’t you tell me not to think that way? If I made a different choice that night, a simple choice in retrospect, everything would’ve been different.”

I wet my lips as a burn appears behind my eyes, my voice thick. “You told me it wasn’t my fault, right? You said I was still breathtakingly beautiful, that I wasn’t messed up or fucked up. So you listen to me, Charles. You’re an annoying fucker sometimes, but none of this is your fault. You’re a damn good man, the only man other than my brothers I trust. Nothing is going to change the way I look at you, you hear me? It’s just a fucking pile of shit that is life. What happened to Firefly is not your fault, just like what happened to me is not my fault, okay?”

His jaw works, a muscle pulsing on his forehead. His eyes darken—turbulent like the skies outside.

“Fuck, I love you, minx,” he rasps, and my heart flips and skips several beats.

Then he seals his lips with mine.

I love you too, Charles.