I Do (Hate You) by Sienna Blake
James
I stuck one arm in my favorite gray suit that I’d had custom made the month before, wondering if I should even go to the wedding. The bride had just told me to go fuck myself, the groom hated me, and I’d accused his bodyguard of at least two felonies.
Nah, I was going.
The wedding would be the best time to see Rupert and Clive together and in a public place where they couldn’t escape. I was definitely going to confront them, and I didn’t give a damn if they hated me. The only part I couldn’t take was that Shell hated me too.
I remembered leaving that birthday message, but I never knew how hearing it had humiliated her. What she didn’t know was I had left that voicemail while standing in the rain outside her house after she hadn’t opened her door. I’d seen her at one of Logan’s late afternoon barbecues and Talia had made a little birthday cake for her. I’d tried to talk to Shell, but she said she had to go meet someone. Apparently that was the boyfriend I didn’t know she had. And his grandmother.
I’d taken a picture of Shell blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. She had looked so sexy and cute leaning over the picnic table with her lips puckered that I’d kept the photo and sometimes flipped to it on my phone when I couldn’t get her out of my head. That’s why I always remembered her birthday.
Holy shit.
Shell’s birthday. I quickly did the math and got her birth year too. I went to the safe in my bedroom closet and punched in the six numbers. It beeped, then I heard the whirl of an internal lock opening followed by the door swinging wide.
My hands were shaking as I reached inside the dark shadows of the safe and pulled out a manila folder with the word “ORIGINAL” stamped in all caps. I flipped it over and opened the little metal clasps holding it together and pulled out a pile of papers.
The first sheet of paper said “Rupert Wilson Known Activities And Business Dealings—Confidential.”
I recognized the name of the private investigation firm listed below the headline. I ordered opposition research on all of my business competitors as standard operating procedure and it was all legal. The PIs mostly went through public records to help me figure out the company’s net worth and debt load. That helped me get a better financial picture and figure out how low a CEO was willing to go on a bid.
I had ordered the financial research on all of the firms bidding on the Whitehaven contract, but for Rupert, I had also ordered some surveillance. I didn’t have anything solid on him, but he just seemed sketchy. And to be honest, on some level, I was hoping to find some dirt that would make Shell want to dump him.
I flipped through the financial part of the report, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. His debt load was manageable and he had plenty of assets for loans. He wasn’t even bullshitting about owning a chateau in France.
Then I got to the surveillance part of the report. There was a photo taken through a window of Rupert and Natazia standing very close together in a hotel room, then a second photo of Natazia drawing the curtains while Rupert nuzzled her neck. The only written part of the report noted the date and time of the photos—just a few weeks ago.
I had to show these to Shell. If she didn’t believe Rupert was a kidnapper, this was at least proof that he was a cheater.
I slid the photos back in the folder and looked at the clock on the wall to make sure that there was still time to stop the wedding. There was a flash of a movement in the reflective glass face of the clock, but it didn’t register what it must be until I felt the searing pain on the back of my head.
I felt myself crumple, picturing Shell’s face right before I hit the floor and blacked out.