Page 18 of A Man of Wealth

“A car is out front. It will take you wherever you need to go,” he says quietly. I turn toward him, but he doesn’t look back at me. He just keeps staring out at the monument.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I open the door and head to the elevator. As promised, I find a car waiting out front. I give the driver my address and watch the sleepy city as we drive through the quiet streets.

My mind is racing through the events of the evening. Jared Pallin is definitely a creepy guy. So far, everything I’ve learned is telling me something is going on with his company. Before Mr. Control Freak Sterling stepped in, I did manage to get Jared’s number. I was claiming to want to interview him about how his company’s latest FDA-approved medicine has been helping children. He seemed very pleased with my idea. Now, if I can just get him alone long enough to interview him properly.

And then there’s Conner. I can’t believe I slept with him. Why did it have to be so fucking good? And why does he have to be so gorgeous? He reeks of money and everything that I hate, everything I left behind.

I’ve done a good job of leading a modest life since living in D.C. No matter how many times my grandmother and brother reach out and try to coax me back, I don’t give in because I don’t want that life. I don’t want to be known as President Westerly’s granddaughter. I never wanted to be a debutant, a trophy wife, arm candy for some power-hungry politician. And that’s what I would be if I went back to them. I know what evil lurks behind that façade of perfection. My family is a fake. It’s devoid of actual love. My brother might be the only one who loves me, and my grandmother is getting too senile to remember her place or her fake front as a doting family matriarch.

The car stops outside my apartment and the driver opens my door and waits until I’m safely inside. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I shut the door. Looking out at the dark street, I see only the driver getting back in his car. I decide I’m sensing things that aren’t there and I hurry up to my second-floor apartment. I get inside and toss my heels off as I make my way to the shower. I can smell Conner’s cologne on my dress as I take it off, and I briefly close my eyes as I feel the slight burn between my legs where he took me to new heights while temporarily erasing the animosity between us. He wasn’t wrong, we do have good chemistry, but it’s a fragile chemistry that could explode in our faces at any given second.

I toss my dress over a chair and remove my still wet panties, dropping them into my clothes bin. I turn on the hot water in my small shower and step beneath it, letting the droplets wash away any trace of the man that momentarily broke down my defenses tonight. He may have been able to do it once, but he won’t be able to do it again.

I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body as I do my nightly routine. I’ve been sleeping in the nude for years. I hate clothing on when I sleep. It feels binding.

I walk back into my room when something about what Conner said earlier makes me stop and frown. He said something about a quote in one of my articles. I walk to my computer and pull up what I submitted to my editor. It reads as I wrote it. Then, I look at the email that I got back from the editor. Also correct. It wasn’t a front-page story, so I didn’t save a copy. I stopped doing that after my first article was published. I’m not vain. It’s just my work.

Out of total curiosity, I click onTheTribune’s archive page. I type in my search and bite my lip as I wait for the article to appear, when it does, I click on it and begin to scroll down. That’s when I see it…what the hell? He’s not wrong, the article says what he claimed it said. I scroll back up and read from the top down. It paints a horrible picture of his mother. Jesus, no wonder why he hates me. I’m so confused. This article is so different from what I wrote. Methodically, I start pulling up all my articles. I make myself a coffee and settle in for a long night. What else has been changed? And who is changing it?

Chapter9

Conner

I’m stewingover the events of last night. I prop my feet up on my desk and lean back. I fucking love my home office. The carved wood ceiling soothes me along with the classical music pumping through the hidden speakers in my shelves.

A knock on my door has me raising my head. Felicia pops her head in and grins. “Relaxing finally?” she asks.

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

She opens the door a little more and props her hip against the doorframe. “Wow, this is a first. A woman has you thinking.”

I glare at her. “I didn’t say I was thinking about a woman.”

“You didn’t have to. Carry on, I’m all done here. I have to take my mom to chemo tomorrow, so I won’t be here.”

“How’s Janet doing?” I ask, lowering my feet. I met Felicia because of her mother. Janet used to clean my father’s house. He fired her after she let me eat a snack while home from college. Yes, my asshole father didn’t want me eating his food. I hired her immediately to clean my apartment, and when she retired, I hired Felicia who decided to take over her mother’s business. She cleans homes for a few people on our street, but I keep her mostly to myself. She’s excellent at keeping my social life organized and some things I don’t want Pricilla to know about.

“She’s doing OK. This round has been tough. She only has one more week.”

“If she needs anything, anything at all, let me know,” I state as I rise and walk over to her. I hug her, and she hugs me back. I let my guard down with her, but not too much. I don’t hug many people, but Janet and Felicia are the exceptions when we’re alone here in my home, away from prying eyes. Besides them and Aiden and Sebastian, only my pledge brothers know my truths and see the real me.

“You should stop by and visit her. She’d like that,” Felicia says as she pulls away.

“I will. Things have just been…busy,” I explain. It’s a lame excuse since they live on my route home from the office, but it’s not a lie that I’ve been preoccupied with things lately.

“Well, I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

I nod and watch as she walks down the side hallway and out the back door. My phone buzzes and I reach into my pocket to check it.

Vivienne: I need to talk to you.

I should meet her at my office or better yet just call, but for some stupid-ass reason, I send her a response with my address since I doubt she memorized it on the drive over the other day, and tell her to come over here.

I go back to my office and try my father again. This time, I get no answer at all. I hate him more with each passing day. He can’t hide from me forever. And he was the one who last called me. It’s always a fucking game with him. He’ll make me track him down for weeks, just so I can have five precious minutes of his time.

I hear a buzz and I look up at the screen on my wall. The motion sensor video camera on my driveaway has gone off, and I watch each camera on my property turn on as Vivienne drives up and parks her car. It’s silver with a red leather interior that’s as fiery as she is.

She’s wearing tight pants and high heels that make her look four inches taller than she is. I grin, she’s wearing a power outfit, how adorable.

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