Revenge #4 (2 page)

She looks exactly the same as she does now, with her ice-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She’s wearing a brown suit, with a tiger-print blouse. But what really gets my attention is how much Nick looks like her. They look exactly like… mother and son.

“Holy shit,” I say to myself.

My anger boils back up. Nick is Maggie’s son, and he didn’t tell me. I never asked, but now I feel betrayed. It’s the sort of thing you should tell people. Especially if you want them to trust you.

The machinery behind the closed elevator doors begins to whir. Nick’s going to be back any minute.

I gather up all the photographs from this box—about a hundred and fifty pictures—and quickly stuff them into my bag. My heart is pounding, and I feel giddy.

I’m being bad. Stealing.

I haven’t felt like this since the time my half-sister took me clothing shopping and tried to make me shoplift. She stuffed some necklaces into my pockets. I was only twelve, and it was early in her stay with us. Back then, I still wanted to impress her. I tried to go along with her plan.

My heart was hammering in my chest like it is right now. I didn’t have the guts to steal from the store. I dumped the necklaces between a rack of clothes before we left.

She never even asked about the jewelry later. She forgot all about it, moving on to the next thing within minutes.

The elevator grinds in warning.

I finish stuffing the photos into my bag. The two thousand in cash is gone, put in my bank account this morning. All that’s in here is my lunch and phone. I zip the zipper and fold the flap over.

A wave of paranoia hits me. Nick will notice, because I never fold the flap over. I unfold the flap, then run to get back on my knees by the mess just as the elevator dings.

He steps out with two big coffees.

“Thanks,” I say, not looking up from the stacks.

“Jessica, I don’t mean to be that guy, but can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Should I put a big, red X on the calendar for today’s date?”

I’m totally caught off guard by Nick cracking a period joke. All the tension I’m holding in my body breaks. I bust out laughing.

He grabs a roll of tape and joins me on the floor to repair the box. He mutters something about this box having personal stuff in it, and covers the top quickly with the torn lid so I can’t view the contents.

I keep laughing, until I have to wipe a tear from each eye. He doesn’t know that I already figured out his secret.

“To be perfectly honest, Nick, I’m not having PMS. Maybe next week.”

“Are things going to get a lot worse? I’m under a lot of pressure as it is.”

I glance up, catching his icy blue eyes. How did I not notice he has the same eyes as Maggie Clark? I must have been staring at the piercings every time I talked to him.

“You tell me,” I say. “Are we going to be perfectly honest with each other?”

“Honesty goes both ways.”

My anger flares up again. I probably will be getting my period next week, which could explain the mood swings. This anger isn’t entirely hormonal, though.

Nick has been working my nerves since yesterday, trying to drive a wedge between me and Dylan. What I really need right now is a friend.

I glance down from Nick’s pierced face, to the ID card near his hip. He’s got a skull sticker over the spot where his last name should be. I point to the sticker. “What’s your last name?”

“Clark,” he says. “The same as the Vice President. I’d say there’s no relation, but we’re being honest with each other. She’s my mother.”

I pause, pretending I didn’t know that already.

“Now you know,” he says. “Honesty. Hmm.”

“You’re a real dick for not telling me that sooner.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he might smile.

“Nick the dick,” I say. “Yup. Nick the dick.”

His mouth moves into an actual smile. That’s interesting. Nick enjoys being called names. I’m not entirely surprised. He’s a weird dude.

“What did you do?” I ask. “Why did your mother banish you to the archives?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

I hate it when people ask that question. How am I supposed to promise if I don’t know what kind of secret it is?

“Sure,” I say carefully.

His hand grazes mine over the pile of papers between us. I’m surprised by how warm his skin is. In this honest moment, he seems more human to me.

I wouldn’t be attracted to him, even if he wasn’t gay, so it’s not awkward when our hands keep bumping into each other.

“Keep this secret, but I’m not actually banished,” he says. “My mother and I are
pretending
to be at war with each other, so people don’t get suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what? Are you two planning a big corporate takeover?” I chuckle at my joke.

He doesn’t answer me, but his hand trembles as he tapes up the repaired cardboard box.

“Holy shit,” I say. “You are planning a corporate takeover.”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“She wants to push out Mr. Morris? But doesn’t he own the company outright? How can you even do that?”

Nick places his hand over top of mine, on the box lid.

“I’ve told you too much,” he says.

My mind is whirring with a million thoughts.

“But why?” I ask. “Mr. Morris is so nice, and he’s a smart businessman.”

Disdain crosses Nick’s face. He spits out, “Because Carter Morris deserves nothing less than to have his life’s work taken away from him.”

“Are you joking?” I pull my hand away from his. Nick might be gay, but too much body contact is squicking me out.

He leans back and looks me over calmly. “You’re young. I guess you haven’t learned to spot all the sociopaths in your life.”

I snort. “Apparently not.” He seems to be implying something about Dylan, and I shouldn’t take the bait. I bite my tongue.

“My mother built this company,” Nick says. “I saw for myself how hard she worked. She was never around for me, because she was always on call for Carter Morris. In more ways than one.”

“They were hooking up? OMG. Gross.”

A flash of disgust goes across Nick’s usually-calm face. He’s really rattled today.

“Don’t answer that,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone about your secret corporate takeover plans, but you need to be straight with me. What does all this have to do with Dylan?”

Nick blinks several times. “Nothing.” He blinks a few more times. “We want him to sign a high value recording deal. But we could use someone else. Anyone will do. Anyone. Just a pretty face with a good voice.”

I stare at Nick’s face, watching for clues.

“And then what?” I ask.

“None of your business.”

I think for a minute, wondering if Nick will tell me more in exchange for something I know. That’s how gossip with my friends always worked. Corporate secrets are just another form of gossip, I think.

Slowly, I casually ask, “Did you know Dylan has… sort of a sponsor? Someone helping to guide him?”

“No.” Nick’s voice wavers, and his eyebrows raise dramatically. “Really?” He frowns, his forehead furrowing deeply. “What do you know about this sponsor? Are you sure it’s not just an agent?”

A bad feeling twists through my stomach.

I get to my feet and dust off my knees.

Nick is lying to me. I’m sure of it.

He probably does know more about Dylan’s sponsor, but won’t tell me. His facial reactions are totally exaggerated, like he’s overcompensating.

Part of my business degree included a course on psychology, and reading people. Most people are transparent, if you think to look.

“You can tell me anything,” Nick says. He’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor. In his black jeans, his skinny legs remind me of a twisted licorice stick.

For an instant, I feel sorry for him. Nick thinks he has such a great poker face, but he doesn’t.

No wonder he was skittish around Mr. Morris.

He’d probably spill the secret in two minutes alone with charming Mr. Morris.

No wonder Nick’s hiding down here in the basement.

My nerves are zinging with pride that I’ve figured out one piece of the puzzle. If I keep my eyes and ears open, pretty soon I’ll figure out the rest.

Best of all, I can use the information to help Dylan.

“That’s all I know,” I say coolly. It’s not much of a lie, since Dylan hasn’t told me much more. “Now, what can we both do to help Dylan get a sweet contract?”

Nick gets to his feet and brings the box to the metal shelves. He presses the button to get the machinery to slide the shelves over. The powerful motor grinds, and the shelves shift until they slam to a halt. I may have been raised around plenty of farm equipment, but the moving shelves are a little scary.

“Well?” I say, my impatience coming out in my voice. “How do we make sure Dylan gets the big money deal, and not someone else?”

“You won’t like what I have to say.” Nick turns slowly to face me.

“Tell me anyway.”

He flicks his lip piercing with his tongue, then says, “You have to break up with Dylan.”

I cross my arms, the fury returning. “Give me one good reason.”

“I’ll give you two.” Nick counts the reasons on his fingers. “One, he’s more marketable when he’s single. And two, he’s totally in love with you, and being in love has turned his work to shit.”

With my arms still crossed, I tap my fingers on my forearm. “Shut up.”

“You asked,” he says. “Listen for yourself. Get him to play you one of his new
gems
.”

“He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”

“Perfect. It’s only Wednesday today. Break up with him tonight. By Friday, he might have a decent song written. Then he can get signed for a million-dollar contract, and everything will work out.”

“No. I’m not breaking up with him. I’ll talk to him about the songs.”

“Let me make some calls.” He picks up the takeout coffee containers and returns to his desk. He picks up the phone and starts making calls.

I return to my seat across from him. I drink my sweet coffee and pretend do some work.

After a moment, details from what Nick told me finally sink in. Dylan’s in love with me? Nick thinks he is. Of course, Nick also thinks Dylan’s new work is shit, so I can’t really believe a word Nick says.

But I want to believe. My heart flutters.
Dylan’s in love.
With me.
Sigh.

Nick turns his back to me and speaks in a soft tone, so I can’t hear him.

The roses Dylan had delivered yesterday sit between me and Nick. Looking at the beautiful roses makes my chest hurt. Does he love me? Dinner tonight can’t come soon enough.

When Nick finally hangs up the phone, he noisily tears a sheet of paper off a notepad. He pushes the paper toward me across the table surface.

I open the folded note warily. The dollar amount written on the paper is more money than my annual salary. I examine the decimal point carefully. This is a lot of zeros.

“I’m getting a raise?” I ask.

“Not exactly. If you break Dylan’s heart so he can write a smash hit song, you’ll get that as a bonus.”

I crumple the paper and chuck the ball at Nick’s face. He doesn’t even blink as it ricochets off his cheek.

“Dylan’s worth more than that to me,” I say.

“If you say so.” Nick blinks three times, then opens a cardboard box and starts taking out items to be archived.

Over the next few hours, we work.

He tries to be friendly, asking me about my hometown and life in general. I give only one-word answers.

He doesn’t bring up Dylan again, but something tells me he’s not letting the issue go.

I don’t care how much they offer me.

I want to be with Dylan, no matter what.

I step out of the lobby of Morris Music at 5:25.

My attention is caught by a black car, squealing its tires crossing a lane. The car squeals to a stop in the taxi pick-up zone.

“The guy knows how to make an entrance,” I mutter under my breath.

Dylan Wolf, looking like a star as always, jumps out of the driver’s side. He comes around to open my door, taking me in with his devilish brown eyes.

“You look good enough to eat,” he says. “Did you wear that all day?”

“Maybe.” I flutter my eyelashes and run my hands over the sapphire blue wrap dress I’m wearing.

He leans forward and sniffs my shoulder, which is odd, but I don’t mind. Laughing, I ask what he’s doing.

“New fabric,” he says knowingly. “Were you shopping on your lunch break?”

My mouth drops open, and I stammer out, “Uhh, no!”

He chuckles and holds my door open as I slide into the leather seat.

Damn him for being so perceptive and figuring out my secret.
I did go shopping on my lunch break. My clothes from home aren’t cute enough for dates, and the new pink clothes Morris Music paid for are too pink.

He gets in the driver’s side and eases into traffic slowly. He grins over at me, as if to say,
how’s my driving?

I tilt my head over and sniff the shoulder of my dress. He catches me doing this and laughs.

“The fabric doesn’t smell,” he says. “I was just messing with your head. You forgot to cut the tag off, and it’s hanging from your left elbow.”

I curse the tag and yank it off the dress, my cheeks flushing.

He changes lanes, signaling and driving safely. Now that I’m in the car, he’s being careful. He might even be going slower than everyone around us, but I’m not going to complain. The first time I was in his car, I was sure the ride would end with us getting T-boned.

He’s still grinning, like he’s proud of himself for getting me flustered about my dress being new.

“You’re such a tease,” I say. “You’ll do anything to get a reaction from people, won’t you?”

He keeps his attention on the road. “The way I see it, we all have the same number of hours in a day. Every human on this planet. There aren’t enough hours to waste on being bored.”

I let out a sharp laugh, “Hah! You wouldn’t last five minutes at my job in the archives.”

“And how long were you there today?”

“Eight horrible hours.”

“Poor baby.” He pouts his lips out, making fun of me, and reaches over to pat my leg. “I’ll put in a good word for you on Friday. I’m coming in for a meeting.”