Page 112 of Beautiful Revenge
“Just say it. Is this about the Humphries?” I demand.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s actually the farthest thing from the drama of wealthy families vying for power and money. Remember the guy we discussed yesterday who’s been emailing your father for months? Well, Allen not only made the decision to ignore and delete every email, but he also had the guy blocked in every way from Stonebridge. I’ve become so chummy with this tech guy from corporate security, I’ve added him to my Christmas card list.”
“That’s great,” I note. “But what’s the point?”
Devon looks at his watch. “We are going to be late. Not that the pilot will take off without you.”
“Of course he won’t,” Chrissie agrees before she goes on. “My point is that Jett Cross hasn’t only been trying to connect with your father, but you too. Allen had him blocked from the servers, the phones, and hell, maybe snail mail, if that’s possible. There are so many levels of gatekeeping at Stonebridge, I had no idea. But my new BFF in security who has access to the maze of networks hooked me up. I haven’t even had time to open them all, but there is a big ass file of emails from this guy.” Chrissie lowers her voice and reaches out for my hand. “I’m not sure how to tell you this. Hell, this guy could be from Looney Tune Town and Mr. Protective over here needs to add him to the list of people he’s going to take down in his quest to make you his.”
I don’t have a chance to rein her in because Devon gets to it before me. “Who do I need to add to my list, and what the fuck did he do?”
“As much as I usually adore the way you take a Sunday drive to get to the point, I’m exhausted,” I say. “Who is Jett Cross?”
Chrissie unlocks her phone and turns the screen to me. It’s a social media profile of a handsome man.
Not just handsome.
He’s downright hot.
Hair so dark it’s edging on black. His beard is short and scruffy the way some women go apeshit over. He looks like he just got back from a Mediterranean vacation and has the golden tan as a souvenir. I have no idea what color eyes he has because his shades are too dark. And his stance is just as broody as a frown mars his strong brow line. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and dog tags hang from his corded neck.
“Wow,” I mutter and grab the phone to study him closer. “Am I supposed to know who this is?”
“Yes.” The razor-sharp word is like a dagger shot from Devon’s mouth. I turn to look up at him as he swipes the cell from my hands as if to get him away from me. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
Chrissie is the exact opposite of Devon and grins. “Wow, the Duke of Winslet is jealous. I like it.”
I grab the cell back from Devon and scroll through his social profile which is one lone picture since it’s private. “Who is he?”
“This guy,” Chrissie claims her cell and holds it up to us once again, “is Jett Parker Cross, former Army. He was discharged two years ago. He’s thirty-six years old, single, and never been married. He was raised by his grandmother who is now dead.” Chrissie crosses herself. “God rest her soul, she sounded like an angel of a woman. His middle name is in honor of his mom, Parker Cross. He never knew her. Anyway, he lives in a small town in Iowa. Oh, and he also has a dog and a cat, but I don’t know their names. They were strays who wandered up to Jett’s house. First the cat, then the dog. He said he’s not a pet person, but Lord have mercy, they’re cute—like chubby-baby-cheeks cute—if that tells you anything.”
“This...” I don’t even know where to start. “This is a lot, yet you haven’t actually told me anything. How do you know all this?”
“Because he said so,” she bites and wiggles her phone in my face. “In his emails that I’ve been reading like it’s a New York Times bestseller, dammit. He’s eloquent and endearing and he’s got me hook, line, and sinker. I need to know more, that’s how good these emails are. Each one is like a chapter inhis life that unfolds like a suspenseful biography. He did some dangerous shit when he was in the Army.” She waves her hand at Devon. “No offense, I’m sure your past is equally thrilling. Anyway, every email was sent straight to the Stonebridge dungeon—not that I knew we even had one of those, but that’s what happens when you’re blackballed by Allen Foster.”
“I’m losing my damn patience,” Devon bites and pulls my back to his front. “Who is this guy and what does he want with Harlow?”
Chrissie hikes one brow. “Don’t worry, double-oh-seven. You can continue to rock Harlow’s world with no competition, otherwise it would give me the big ick, because this guy,” she holds up a picture of Jett Parker Cross again, “says he’s your brother.”
I gasp. It feels like she knocked the wind right out of me. “What?!”
“Half,” she amends. “He says he’s your half-brother. It seems Daddy Warbucks had a secret baby back in the day that he never knew about. At least, I hope he didn’t. If he did, I quit. I refuse to work for any asshole who doesn’t acknowledge a child, no matter if it was from a one-night stand or not.”
I have no words.
Devon’s hold on me feels different than it did. Not possessive, supportive.
I just stand here astonished.
“I have a brother?” I utter. “How can that be?”
Devon presses his lips to the top of my head. “You don’t know if it’s true. Who knows what his motive is.”
“He’s six years older than you,” Chrissie goes on. “For what it’s worth, he was born a year before your parents even met. He said he just learned about your dad last year.”
I take the cell back from her and stare at the man who claims to be my brother.
Half ... but brother all the same.
