SCANDALOUS

A week later.

“YEAH. PALM SPRINGS. I KNOW. A driver will be waiting for them downstairs.” I jammed my finger into my temple, rolling my eyes and pretending to shoot myself. Dean, sitting at the chair opposite to me, was chuckling, rolling a joint between his fingers. No fucking way. I was not smoking downstairs with him. Not on my office patio, either. I had too much shit to do.

I paused again, listening to the person on the other side, before responding.

“It’s a one-month program, and for all I care you can chain her to the fucking bed and let her piss and shit into a bowl. She’s not ru

So that Edie will be happy, I didn’t add.

I hung up, taking a long breath and loosening my tie. Dean cocked his head, placing the joint above his ear. Dudebro move, then again, every single thing in the world had the potential to piss me off these days. I wanted to put the Jordan Van Der Zee shit on lockdown, because it was starting to become evident I couldn’t, for the life of me, stop seeing his daughter. And it was ironic, how I was trying to get her mom off drugs when Edie became my very own addiction.

“Luna started young. I don’t think my kids will touch drugs before ten,” Dean commented on my phone conversation.

“Hey, dickface, here, you dropped your sense of humor.” I groaned, scratching my cheek. “The rehab is for Lydia Van Der Zee. Since her husband is too busy to help her and I can’t really ask Rina to do it for me because that’d lead to questions,” I explained.

“Questions to which their answers are yes, I am fucking his daughter, why, I’m glad you asked, yes, we did it in the office, too, and of course, I want a bullet to my head. That’s why I did it in the first place.” He tapped his chin, like he was waiting for me to throw a fist in his smug face.

I got up and sauntered over to the bar by the window, grabbing two bottles of water for him and me. “I’m glad you’re in a good mood,” I noted coolly.

“I’m in the best mood. You finally have a girlfriend.”

“Incorrect. And even if it wasn’t, don’t repeat that outside these walls,” I shot quickly, chugging the majority of my drink.

“If you’re not her boyfriend, then why the fuck are you admitting her mother into a rehab facility? You taking a side job as Mother Theresa?”

Glancing at my watch, I asked myself whether today would be the day she’d finally show up in the fucking office and spare me the agony of walking these hallways without seeing her perky ass in another ill-fitting number she’d stolen from her mom. Even if I never looked at her when she was noticing, I did look. She was my fuel for the rest of the day. She was what kept me going.

“Mmm?” I hummed at Dean, still not committing to answering him. He leaned forward, stroking the J he plucked from behind his ear in long motions.

“What is she to you, man? Why are you helping her so much?”

“Because she needs help, and because her dad will never give it to her.”

Jordan hadn’t missed a day of work in the week Lydia had been in the hospital. He even stayed late most evenings to catch up on work. The relationship between us had escalated to the point where I no longer pretended like he didn’t make me sick, and he no longer acted like he was indifferent toward me. We openly hated each other, and it dripped from every glance and encounter we’d shared.

I locked my office every single day. The unattended, full trash bin had already started smelling like leftover protein shakes and stale coffee, but at least the fucker didn’t have access to my shit when I wasn’t there.

“Speaking of Jordan…” Dean got up from his seat, walking over to the door, his bespoke blue suit so full of swag you’d think he was Conor McGregor. “Thought you should know, he is sniffing to buy one of us out, and he is offering the big bucks. He wants you gone, bro. Do you think he knows about you and Edie?”

Who the fuck knew? But the thing was, Jordan had wanted to get rid of me long before I drilled my cock into his daughter’s mouth, ass, and pussy. I tucked my hands into my pockets. “Probably not. He wouldn’t miss a chance making a scene or taunting his daughter.”

Dean gripped the door handle, swiveling to face me. “Well, watch your back.”

“When have I ever not?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent smoldering in my own wrath. I knew, logically, that my friends would never sell Jordan shit, which meant he was desperate, and I wondered—why? What the fuck had I done to deserve his hatred?

That day, I wasn’t The Mute. I was The Asshole, and I was holding that torch for dear fucking life. Even Vicious couldn’t take it from me. I yelled at Rina for bringing me the wrong sandwich for lunch—she’d been working with me for six months, what the fuck was so difficult to remember?—and fired an intern who’d accidentally sent a contract to the wrong client to sign. I fired her on the spot, without a hearing or even time to collect her things from her desk. I then proceeded to patrol the hallways, shooting ridiculous orders at random people, but it did nothing to soothe my anger.

Edie was still with her mother at the hospital. She said she might drop in to work, just to see me, but she didn’t.

At first, I thought it sucked. But then I looked at the bright side—with her gone, I could finally confront her piece-of-shit dad.

I knew I needed to play my cards right. I couldn’t saunter into his office and tear him another melon-sized asshole. So I waited.

At five o’clock, all the administrative staff tucked their things into their bags and left.

At six, the brokers followed suit.

At six thirty, Jaime, Vicious, and Dean met at the hallway where our offices faced one another.

Vicious knocked on my open door twice, poking his head in. “Shitface, are you coming or what?”

“I’m going to catch up on some crap.” I nodded toward my unlit computer. He couldn’t see it from this position, but he could still smell bullshit from miles away.

He flicked one eyebrow in acknowledgement. “If you’re going to murder Van Der Zee, please note that I don’t practice criminal law and will not be able to help you legally. But if you need someone to hide the body, I’m your guy.”

“How precious,” I commented dryly.

He shrugged, slapping the oak of the door, already spi

Six thirty.

Six thirty-five.

Six forty-five.

At seven, the cleaning staff walked in, talking amongst themselves. I lurked behind my computer—what the fuck was it about the Van Der Zees that brought out the stalker in me?—when I saw the maintenance people heading over to the other side of the floor, I stood up and strolled assertively toward the corner office next to mine. To the biggest, most luxurious room in the building. To where the man who’d hurt Edie and her brother tremendously, and was trying to do the same to me, was working. I expected him to be sitting at his computer and typing away as he always was, but the place was empty. It made no sense. Jordan rarely left the office before eight p.m. Working—making money—was his entire life. I whipped my head and caught a glimpse of him entering the elevator.

And that’s how I knew he was already one step ahead of me.

He’d realized I would corner him and had walked away before I could confront him. But he had another thing coming.