Net Worth by Amelia Wilde
4
Mason
Here’sthe real problem with letting Charlotte Van Kempt stand in my foyer. Here’s what it is. I can’t stop thinking about her there. Every time the elevator doors open, I think of her. Every time they close, I think of how hard she gripped that railing. How huge her eyes looked. How red her cheeks were.
All for a kiss.
A tame kiss in comparison to what I wanted to do to her.
Her trembling in the foyer was very different from the woman in my imagination. I pictured a society ice queen. I got the opposite. Charlotte Van Kempt is like the sun fighting through thick clouds. The scent of her reminded me of fresh air. Of possibility.
Many, many filthy possibilities.
God, this revenge will be even better. I’m glad Cyrus didn’t attend the first meeting. That would have been satisfying, but this is much sweeter.
Those possibilities are currently interrupting my work. Again and again and again. There are some silver linings to the situation. Namely, I’m in my private office at home, and I don’t have to stand up all day. I can stretch out my knee under the desk while I exchange emails with the new team leads for the Cornerstone project. I had interim people in those positions before. Some have been promoted. Some have been returned to their regular work. Everyone who has even a tangential part to play in this development has been made aware that I’ll be an enormous pain in the ass until this is finished.
Some projects require a more hands-on approach.
Obviously, this is one of them.
An email comes in from Hades while I’m in the middle of an extended back-and-forth about the numerous contractors we’ll be hiring over the next few days. He emails exactly like he texts, which is an accurate representation of the way he is on the phone. A rare consistency to find in a person.
SUBJECT: Necklace
I’ve located a piece that matches the description. The lot is out of Italy and will be on the mountain in three weeks.
–H
He doesn’t bother saying that he’ll send photos as soon as the lot arrives. He always does. It’s an obnoxious process, finding this jewelry. It dredges up old memories I’d rather forget. And then there’s the secrecy. Rebuilding my family’s fortune means we’re back on the radar of the world at large and anyone who happens to own pieces from the estate.
As for the people who took it from us in the first place…
They’re still out there, too, the fucking cowards. That’s an information game, same as the jewelry but buried deeper.
SUBJECT: RE: Necklace
Three weeks? I thought we were friends, motherfucker.
Mason Hill
CEO, Phoenix Enterprises
A knock at the door. It opens before I’ve said anything, and Gabriel comes in. He sits down in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk without looking up from his phone. I don’t doubt he’s been up—and out—all night, but he looks fresh as a daisy. It’s one of the most obnoxious things about him. Nothing touches him. Nothing so much as wrinkles his shirt.
“In some circles, it’s considered rude to barge in on someone who hasn’t invited you.”
He gives me what I call his party grin, which for some reason I can’t fathom makes people want to talk to him at social gatherings. “It’s brunch day. And you can’t get enough of me.”
“Were they disappointed when you left early to come harass me?”
“Yes,” he says. “Our conversation was finally getting somewhere. They thought it was cute that we spend so much family time together. Which is ironic, because you never answer your calls but are now demanding a weekly brunch.”
“Please. It was one call.” Last night, after I’d sent Charlotte away. The reason I didn’t answer is because I was in the shower with my cock in my fist. It hurts to get off like that, with my knee protesting every second, but not more than my cock hurt from wanting to fuck her.
From wanting to destroy her.
“Mason,” Gabriel says.
Shit. He’s been talking. “Yeah?”
“I need you to talk to your friend at the DOB. My new property in Chelsea needs a historical designation, and they’re dragging their feet.”
“I’d already have talked to them if you were with Phoenix.”
After last week’s brunch, I sent him an updated merger proposal. It would cost him nothing to merge with Phoenix. It would make him several fortunes over. And if anything happened, Phoenix would absorb the losses. It’s a safer bet for everyone.
“I’m not with Phoenix, though. Luckily, my favorite brother owns it.”
“You want a signing bonus, is that it?”
He laughs. “My independence is priceless.”
“Your independence is going to hang you out to dry one day. You, and all the people who depend on you. Why not offer them some job security?”
Gabriel finishes with his phone and drops it onto my desk. “They have job security. I’m the best in the business at acquisitions.”
“You could be the best in the business at Phoenix. Better than you are now.”
“No,” he sings, a two-note melody that’s both irritating and exhausting. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, big brother. I just need a little help. A couple of strings pulled. Anyway…”
He keeps talking, and my brain takes a left turn. Charlotte didn’t make it this far into the penthouse. I planned on bringing her inside. Of course I planned on it. But then she was so nervous, so high-strung, and I wanted to take every advantage of her where she stood. Naturally, there were competing interests. It would be a waste of her fearful anticipation to take everything in our very first meeting. It would leave very little for her to lie awake about.
So I didn’t bring her to the living room, or the office. I didn’t bend her body over the desk and cut away her clothes. I didn’t tie her to it with my belt just to watch her struggle against the bonds. Patience is a virtue. It’s also torture. In the moment, I thought if I got her out of the penthouse, I wouldn’t be able to imagine her in any of the rooms. I thought I’d buy myself a little more patience.
It’s been an outright failure. All I can think about is how she’d look naked and shivering, her hips against the edge of the desk.
“Rude.” Gabriel drums his fingers on my desk. “You’re not listening.”
“Not really. Go ahead and start over.”
“Hey, Gabe.” Remy pads in and takes the seat next to him, curling up in it like she’d rather still be in her bed. She has a study group on Friday nights that keeps her out late. I agreed to it because it happens in a building I own near her college campus, on a block that I mostly own, and so security isn’t a problem. It does mean she shows up at five most Saturdays this semester. “Did you just get here? Did you have fun last night?”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to talk to our eldest brother.”
My sister runs both hands over her bedhead. “It’s not going well?”
“I can hear you,” I point out. Another email arrives in my inbox.
SUBJECT: RE: RE: Necklace
The seller was a nosy bastard who wanted to know if you had any involvement with the sale. I told him I’d never heard of you. Poseidon is off the coast and will pay him a visit after a suitable interval.
–H
Well. Everyone counts as a nosy bastard to Hades. What’s unusual is for him to ask his brother—a pirate who masquerades as a shipping magnate—to gather information. It explains why he hasn’t rushed the shipment, or given any indication that it contains something I want. Since the seller brought up my family name, it makes it more likely that the necklace is the correct one.
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Necklace
Thanks. I’ll send you a gift basket for your trouble.
Mason Hill
CEO, Phoenix Enterprises
The necklace reminds me of Charlotte Van Kempt’s naked throat and how quickly it rose and fell in the foyer. I didn’t let myself touch her there. Did not allow myself to press the pad of my thumb into that space to feel her gasp and swallow. I settled for her chin, which is enough to know that a little light choking would make her hot. Telling her she hated every moment made her blush deepen.
It would be satisfying if she did hate my touch, but the poor thing didn’t. It’s a far better revenge to make her want it.
Make it terrible for her, and make her want that, too.
“All I want from him is one whisper in the ear of his buddy at the Department of Buildings. It’s practically nothing.”
“I want him to let me go to Greece. Maybe I can get him to agree while he’s not paying attention,” says Remy.
“You know my terms for studying abroad.”
She lets out a theatrical groan. “Mason, I can’t be the only one who takes a team of bodyguards to the field. They’d get in the way, and everyone would think—”
“I don’t care what everyone thinks, little sister. Your safety is my top priority.”
Remy purses her lips. She’s going to school for a degree in archeology. “When am I going to age out of your obsessive overprotectiveness?”
“When I die.”
“Mason—”
“It’s not a battle worth fighting,” Gabriel says. “Trust me.”
Remy drops her head back against the chair. “At least you got to pick your own team.”
Gabriel snorts. “You think Mr. Obsessive let me choose when I was in college?”
Her eyes go comically wide. “He didn’t?”
“It didn’t matter.” Gabriel grins at her. “I befriended them all so they wouldn’t tell my secrets.”
“I paid them to keep your secrets, asshole. Don’t listen to him,” I tell Remy. “He hires his own people now and he still befriends them because he’s addicted to gossip and mind games.”
“Are you talking about me?” Jameson ambles in with bloodshot eyes, his hair windblown, a tear in the knee of his jeans and a dark streak down one of his arms. A grin on his face, like this is all a very good joke.
“Oh my god, Jameson.” Remy hops up from her chair and fusses over him, tugging at his t-shirt, peering at his arm. “Where have you been? Sit down.”
He shoos her away but takes the seat she left, throwing a hand over his eyes like the light in here is too oppressive to bear. “Why are all of you in here?”
“You’ll be surprised to discover that we weren’t talking about you.” Gabriel watches Jameson with an unreadable expression.
“Who’s playing mind games, then? You?” Jameson uncovers one eye and peers back at Gabriel. “I heard you were at your favorite club last night.”
Gabriel ignores this entirely. “Mason. It’s one phone call.”
“No, don’t go back to that.” Remy perches on the arm of Jameson’s chair and gives me sad puppy-dog eyes. “It’s not even an entire semester. It’s, like, six weeks. And there will be plenty of other people around. It’s not like I’d be going into the field by myself.”
“Correct. If you go, you’re going with your entire security team, so you won’t have to worry about being lonely. Jameson, tell us where you were and if the cops are going to knock on the door of the apartment.”
“It’s six weeks,” says Remy. We’ve been talking about this for at least six weeks. It feels like fourteen years.
“There are no cops.” This, from Jameson.
“You can’t avoid this discussion forever,” says Gabriel.
My knee seizes under the table and I grit my teeth against the pain. It aches constantly whenever I’m standing. Sitting down is usually the solution. But now, with all of them on the other side of my desk, in my office, on Saturday fucking morning, pushing and pushing and pushing—
“It wasn’t me this time,” Jameson says. He’s sitting up now, watching. “Do you want an Advil?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
I get up from my seat to prove it doesn’t hurt. Jameson’s correct. This is bullshit. It hurts to stand up, and it hurts to stay standing. I swipe my phone from the desk and text the chef to tell her we’re eating in the den. “Remy. Pick the show.”
“I have a meeting,” Gabriel says.
“The fuck you do.” I level the phone at him. “You’re staying for brunch, and today we’re eating in the den.” Things are not always better at a dining table. If I’m going to make this work—and I am—then it will take some adjusting. After our parents died, we didn’t have a dining room. Maybe this will be better.
Jameson gets up next. “I’m going to bed.”
“No,” Remy says. “Come to brunch. Please? You can go to bed after.”
This is an old, old act we’re participating in. The only question is whether Jameson and Gabriel are going to play their parts. Lately they haven’t been. I see Jameson at the office more than I see him at home. Gabriel denies that he feels any tension. He puts on that smile of his and disappears back to his business.
But Remy has always had the upper hand. She was about to turn seven when our parents were killed.
When they died.
“What, Jameson, you can’t go another hour without a nap?” Gabriel arches an eyebrow at our brother. “You’re losing your edge.”
“I thought you were abandoning our second-ever brunch for a meeting,” Jameson shoots back. Remy’s eyes move between the two of them. She bites at her lip, forever hopeful that things won’t fall apart. The catastrophe, of course, happened fourteen years ago.
Gabriel rises, making a show of tapping out a message on his phone and sending it. “There. I canceled it. Your move.”
Jameson grins, rubbing both hands over his face. “Give me ten minutes.” He cuts a glance at me. “If it’s more pancakes—”
“It’s waffles, prick. And scrambled eggs.”
“Thank God.” He goes out into the living room and turns toward the bedroom. Remy goes through the larger living room and into the den. Gabriel’s already protesting her choice of show, but he’ll let her have the final say.
My phone buzzes. More email.
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: RE: Necklace
Don’t bother with a gift basket, you insufferable bastard. It was no trouble. After all, we’re close friends.
–H
