Page 119 of Braving the Storm
“Pity he’s got more connections and media strings to pull than we’ve had hot dinners combined.”
“Ain’t that the truth… but please know I wouldn’t hesitate to spread some grotesque rumors about him and a weekend with a cheap hooker and a confirmed case of syphilis.”
I snort and shake my head. “Does it make it better or worse that I’m almost certain that kind of thing isn't actually a rumor where Antoine is concerned?”
As I reach for my glass of water, my phone starts vibrating on the table.
While every cell in my body perks up in hope the name on the screen will be my cowboy, I’m greeted by the sour taste ofCrispinflashing across the display instead.
“Go ahead, get some fresh air and touch some grass while you deal with that.” Clara nods in the direction of my phone. “Unless you want me to bear witness to her bullshit?”
I hit the green button and wave her off, pushing out of my seat as I bring the phone to my ear.
“Where are you?” My sister demands.
“Hi, Cris.”
“Cut the shit, Briar.”
“You know where I am, or is the tracking in my phone not performing adequately this evening?” I hope she can hear the extra helping of sugar dumped into my words.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second.” Hitting the elevator button, I watch the light begin to climb to meet me here on the tenth floor.
“You create shit and be prepared to lose it all.” Her voice shakes. “You won’t get a cent of Lane Enterprises… none of the shares, none of the property portfolio… I will make sure you are left with nothing.”
“Do your worst, Cris. I really don’t care.”
It’s the truth, I have no interest in my father’s business, or inheriting a dime from his empire.
What I care about is the man I love, and protecting him from these venomous creatures.
“It’s pathetic… whatever you’re trying to look for… you won’t find anything, and all you’ll have done is waste years of your life sitting on your ass in a lawyer’s office.”
Stepping onto the elevator, I pinch the bridge of my nose. At least the offices are quiet at this time of evening, and I’ve got a smooth trip to the ground floor all to myself.
“What would you rather I do? Sit on my ass in that house listening to Antoine fuck his latest bimbo just down the hall? Wait for him to force himself on me one night when he’s coked up and drunk as hell?”
My jaw clenches. Cris is miserable and bitter, and I don’t need to contend with her anger.
“You deserve it.” She bites at me down the phone. “It would serve you right if he did.”
Oh. She. Did. Not.
“What the hell is your problem?” It takes everything to stop myself from outright yelling as the elevator dings, doors swishing open, and the empty lobby greets me.
My entire body trembles with rage.
I quickly cross the marble floor, making a dash for what might not exactly be fresh air here in this godforsaken city, but to at least be able to suck in a deep lungful of warm, evening air.
“You. You have always been the fucking problem.” That’s when I hear it. A hurt, tearful little child in her voice. While I might be speaking to my psychopath of a sibling, the truth behind her foul temper peeks out.
“Crispin, I was only a baby. They tried their hardest to stop thehemorrhaging.” There is a spacious courtyard out here, surrounded by glass and polished marble, with an ornamental fountain in the center. Lights glow at me through the bubbling water.
“You took her away. It was your fault.”
We’ve been here what feels like a thousand times over the years, yet she’s always refused to take responsibility for her own trauma caused by the simultaneous events of my birth and the subsequent loss of our mother.
