A smile cracks her features. “You just inherited an entire… empire. You aren’t losing anything.”
I could give two fucks about the empire. Maybe it’s because I have it, but this last week—every piece of it has felt tainted. Every piece is worthless without her. I avoid that thought process and run my hands over her thighs, appreciating the look of her without underwear, the soft brush of her hair against my stomach when she tilts her pelvis.
I slide my hands under her towel, grabbing her ass and squeezing it hard, her eyes lighting up a little at the rough contact. She reaches back and wraps her hand around me, and I forget my next thought.
* * *
“So… why Detroit?” I step over a fallen branch and hold out my arm, helping her over it.
She shrugs, moving back toward the park’s walking path, quickening her steps to avoid the crowd of kids we had gone around. “It was a city I could disappear in. When I left school, this was the city that sort of adopted me. I made friends, found a place to stay, and never left.”
I watch her as she dips, grabbing a Frisbee off the ground and flinging it in the direction of its owner. “What would it take for you to move?”
She glances at me. “I don’t know.” She looks down the path. “I’d have to figure out what to do about my work.”
“I think you should move to New York.”
She stops and turns to me, the wind whipping her hair across her face, and she turns into the breeze to stop it. “Why?”
Because I love you. I want to say it, but I can’t. Instead, I give her as much of myself as I can. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t—” I meet her eyes. “I can’t think of moving forward without having you in my life.”
“And what about Vince?” She asks quietly.
“Vince…” I look around, stepping closer to her and lowering my voice. “Vince once told me that it was nobody’s fucking business what we did with each other when we were alone.”
“So, you’d keep me a secret?”
“No. Fuck no.” I wouldn’t do that to her. After the last decade, I wouldn’t do that to anyone. “I can tell the truth about you without telling anyone details about Vince and I. He was right. It’s not their business. I loved him like a father and a friend. But they don’t have to know that. And you…” I have to stop. I can’t… I close my eyes and say it anyway. “I love you in an entirely different way.”
“You do?” She is thinking, I can see it in the pinch of her eyebrows, the saw of her teeth across her bottom lip.
“Yes.”
“Like a… love-hate way?” She peeks up at me and I see the twitch of her mouth, the attempt to compress a smile.
“No.”
“Like a love-your-boyfriend’s-niece kind of way?”
I growl, deep in my throat. “No.”
She steps closer and tilts her head, looking up at me with pure filthy innocence. “Like a love-goddess-sugar-tits kind of way?”
“Like a love-my-future-wife kind of way.”
She stops. “Wow,” she whispers. “That’s a big way.”
“It is.” I reach up and rub the back of my neck. “Too big?”
She grins. “I like big. I like big…” she moves flush against me, her hands sliding down the front of my shirt. “And long. And…”
I trap her hand before it makes it all the way to my crotch. “And… you’re trying to distract me with sex.”
She wrinkles her nose at me. “I am?”
“Yes.”
“I think you’re the one who started talking about penises.” She doesn’t love me. It’s okay. I’m a fuckin’ baby kitten when it comes to this stuff. Of course, I became attached. Of course, she is flippant and going back home, and only interested in orgasms and jokes. I can handle it, even if I sound like I can’t. I—
“I love you too.” Her nose stops that wrinkle, and she speaks as confidently as the girl who once dove in front of a Rolls Royce.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” She raises on her tip-toes and brushes her lips to mine. “But I’m not leaving Detroit without a plan.”
I’ll get her a plan. I’ll get her a plan so perfect she won’t be able to say no to it. I’ll get her anything she wants in this world, just to hear those words again.
Chapter 41
Avery
SUMMER
“It’s a sweatshop.”
“It’s not a sweatshop.” Marco crosses his arms and fixes me with his sternest look. “It’s a factory. One that will abide by every single government regulation that exists. Fair wages. Fair hours. Reasonable overtime.”
“I’d still be bringing them over here and…” I hang my head. “I don’t know. It feels like a sweatshop.”
“It should feel like an ex-Nike factory.” He turns me around, making me face the building. “You’ve got to use your imagination and picture something different.”
I try. I squint really hard at the giant square building and try to imagine something. “Nope.” I turn my head. “Maybe a giant statue in front would help. I got one at my house. I can get a shipping quote to move it.”
“We aren’t moving the statue,” he deadpans. “My girlfriend loves that statue.”
I snort, and turn back to the building, rubbing my hands together in an attempt to stay warm. “Can we go inside?”
“We own it.” He brings out a set of keys and dangles them in front of me. “So, yes. We can do whatever you like.”
“You bought it?!” I groan and swipe at the keys. “Well, now I have to like it!” I stomp toward the building, glancing over my shoulder and pointing to a low-slung stretch of buildings to the side. “What’s that?”
“Housing,” he calls out, flashing me a cocky smile and jogging to catch up.
“I already have housing,” I grumble.
“Well, now you have more.”
I stop at the front door and flip through the keys, all clearly labeled. Finding the right one, I shove it into the lock and turn the deadbolt, the door swinging open with a loud screech. When we step in, the lights flicker on.
It’s empty. I’d envisioned giant machines, production lines, and conveyor belts. But there’s nothing. We step out on a ledge and look down on a cavernous room. “I hope you didn’t pay a lot for this.”
“I should have taken you to a factory first. Then you could envision it. Just… trust me. In six months, this room will be a beautiful, productive space.”
“And you’ll be able to employ four hundred girls.”
“Yes.” He pulls me toward him and places a kiss on my forehead. “We will employ your girls. There’s a commercial kitchen here that will feed all the employees. They can work there or in the cafeteria. There’s a laundry and uniform facility for the employees. We’ll move our HR and accounting departments from New York to here, and the housekeeping crew for the offices and plant alone will be massive. Plus, packaging and shipping and receiving…” He smiles. “Don’t worry.”
“And you’ll use locals too?”
“Yes.” He tugs on my hair. “Stop worrying. Almost all of our full-time employees will be local. We’re promising the city fifteen hundred jobs. This is good for everyone.”
I look down on the plant floor. It seems too easy, though—in actuality—it is anything but. Marco is moving an entire factory for this, closing their Italian plant and moving everything to Detroit. I don’t want to know how much that is costing him, though he swears that he will save money on production, once everything is said and done.
“So… six months.” I look over at him. “And then I’ll be out of the money business.”
“No.” He glances at his watch. “As of… right now, you are out of the money business.”
I push off the railing, objections firing, and he cuts me off before I get a word out. “I’ve spoken to Andrei. He’s going to work with Matt and have him handle things until the transition to the factory occurs.
Matt. I think of the ex-Special Forces agent, a handso
me fortress who has shadowed me ever since Marco visited Detroit and found out about my job. Matt can certainly handle himself, and I’ve closely watched his interactions with the girls in the last six weeks. He is good to them and understands what I’m attempting to do. Still, “I’m not ready. It’s only been—”
“Avery.” Marco looks at me solemnly. “Your job, and your clients are dangerous. You’ve been lucky so far, that no one has seriously hurt you. But now, dating me—I’ve exposed you to an entirely new sort of risk. Someone could kidnap you for ransom. Your clients—” he gestures in the general direction of my neighborhood. “They could kill you for exiting this business. You are inconveniencing them by pulling this workforce out. And you are taking that risk, because of me. I understand that. I hate myself for telling you to do it, but I can’t go another day and worry about you. You’re too precious to me.”
“They don’t even know I’m dating you,” I argue. “Nobody knows.” We’ve bent over freakin’ backward to keep this secret, agreeing to put six months of separation between Vince’s death and any publicizing our relationship, out of respect to his legacy.
“I don’t care.” He folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not risking it. I’m done, Avery. I’m done with anything that puts you the slightest bit at risk. And maybe that makes me an asshole, but I don’t really give a f—”
I silence him with a kiss, and he drops his arms, wrapping them around me and pulling me against his chest. He deepens the kiss and I finally pull away, laughing. “You are an asshole, but I understand.”
And I do. I’ve lived recklessly ever since I ran away from the McKennas. I haven’t had anything to lose, and have made risky decisions because of that. It’s nice to be valued. When he says that he can’t lose me, and I see the worry that fills his eyes…it gives me something I’ve never had—the feeling of being worth anyone’s concern.
I tuck my hand under his arm and turn, standing beside him and look out on the factory floor. “So…” I muse. “This is the future home of Vince Horace.”
He leans over and kisses the top of my head. “Now, let’s get you packed and move into ours.”
Chapter 42
Three months after my move, and I still feel like a guest. Maybe that’s normal when you are constantly waited on hand and foot. I roll over in bed, glancing at the news, and watch the two women open the curtains, put away Marco’s clothes from last night, and set the paper and a hot cup of coffee beside me. “Here.” I sit up. “Gimme.”
She passes me the cup, and I scoot back until I am leaning against the headboard, sipping the Columbian blend and waving at them as they leave. Way too many staff. We’ve had several discussions over this. But Marco doesn’t have it in him to fire anyone. Behind that obnoxious and high-maintenance exterior, he’s a gigantic softie. Plus, whether he’ll admit it or not, he likes the constant attention. I’m not entirely sure he could survive without the ability to clear his throat and have someone trip over themselves to assist him.
There is a knock on the door, and I look up to see Edward, standing stiffly in the doorway. “Miss Horace, your guest is requesting to be brought up.”
I wave a hand forward. “Go for it.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m here.” Marcia pokes her head out from behind Edward. “No thanks to this guy, who thinks that you two are the freaking royal family.” She breezes into the room and launches herself on the bed, the blankets poofing out around her weight.
Edward sighs, one of his deeply disappointed ones, and I hide a smile behind my next sip of coffee. “Thank you, Edward. I’ll keep an eye on her from here.”
“Please do.” He exhales again, then turns, pulling the door closed.
“You’ll keep an eye on me?” Marcia snorts. “What am I, a toddler?”
“Not much different from one, actually.” I reach for the remote and turn off the television. “Sleep well?”
“Are you kidding?” She rolls over and crawls up the bed toward me. “One guy offered to tuck me in. Andrei about ripped his ass off.”
I smile, her English still wonky at times, and kick my feet free of the covers. “You should have taken him up on it. Hell, Andrei should have taken him up on it. It’s actually a pretty glorious activity.”
“It is?”
“Yep. They heat the sheets and serve you a cocoa and cookie midnight snack. Then, once you are tucked in, they give you a hand and scalp massage.”
“You full of shit.” She holds up a hand. “Wait. Never mind. I was delivered dental floss on a silver tray this morning, so—yeah. I believe.”
“It’s crazy, I know.”
“It’s damn cool, actually. I mean, Andrei’s is okay…but we ate dinner last week out of a KFC bucket. This…” she raises her arms. “This is the life.”
I grin, because she doesn’t even know the half of it. She’s excited by dental floss on a tray. She doesn’t know that tonight we’re taking the jet to Bimini. The yacht’s there, stocked and ready, to take us through the Caribbean. It’s my thank you to Andrei—and her—for picking up my slack and for working with Matt on the transition. I can’t wait to see her face when she sees the boat. It’s excessive in every sense of the word.
“Come on.” I set my coffee down on the tray and slide off the bed, pushing my feet into slippers. “Let’s go downstairs and find our men.”
Chapter 43
MARCO
LATE FALL
Versace once said that fashion shouldn’t own you. He said that we decide who we are and that we express ourselves by the way we dress and the way we live. I respected Vince for many things, but am ashamed of the way he allowed his image to rule his life. I’m ashamed of the way I contributed to that image, and how I gave up my own self-respect in the process.
It’s time to tell the truth, as best I can, while still respecting his wishes.
I look at Avery, standing to the side, behind all the cameras and crew, and see her gaze move to mine. She nods, and I know I don’t have to do this. I know I can continue hiding her from the world and from the press. But that’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to us. It’s been seven months since Vince’s death, and I can’t hide her a moment longer. Not when I plan to propose to her tonight.
The lights come on, blinding my view of Avery, and I look to the woman, sitting across from me—the GQ terror. I had Paulie call her, with thoughts that this might bring things full circle.
I don’t expect this will be easy. She won’t like my vagueness in the areas of my relationship with Vince—but that isn’t what this interview is about. This interview is about my new life, the company’s new American factory, and the woman I’ve fallen in love with. If she presses me, I’ll tell the truth—that I loved Vince, but love Avery in an entirely different way. If need be, I’ll quote the king himself: It’s none of their fucking business what our relationship entailed.
In preparation for the media storm this interview will create, we’ve made a few arrangements. The first was an exodus from her past—a process that started with a visit to Kirk and Bridget McKenna, who turned out to be a very polite, semi-retired couple, who still, seventeen years later, have no interest in parenting. Avery made her amends with them, wrote them a check that paid off their lakefront mansion, and walked out with a confidentiality agreement that guaranteed that the world would never know the connection between Avery McKenna and Avery Horace. While I didn’t think the check, nor the confidentiality agreement was necessary, Avery seemed to need the closure of an official ‘parting of ways’ so I kept my mouth shut and kissed her when she returned.
Her name change was filed in California by John months ago, and the decree sealed by the court for reasons of privacy. If someone digs hard enough, they’ll hit the truth, but California has over five hundred Avery McKennas, so they’ll research until their eyes fall off before they realize they’re in the wrong state.
Her Detroit apartments and home are now in trusts and filled with legitimate, tax-paying residents, who co
me in on Andrei’s work visas and are employed by Vince Horace, Inc.
I think she’s happy, but I’m terrified that it’s not enough, that I’ve forgotten some task, some piece of her heart that is left unfilled. She’s completed every part of me. I just want to do the same for her. I reach my hand in my pocket and touch the ring box, verifying its presence.
“Mr. Lent.” The journalist smiles and I force myself to return the gesture. “Let’s begin.”
Chapter 44
THE END
Epilogue
AVERY
6 YEARS LATER
* * *
“Must I?” Edward sniffs in disapproval, his face long, features bland.
* * *
“YES!” She jumps to reach him, her ponytail bouncing, the water balloon outstretched. “You have to do the first one, ‘cause you’re the oldest.” She whispers the last word and glances around, to make sure that no one hears.
* * *
“Very well.” Edward takes the hot pink water balloon from her outstretched hand and turns, his back rigid, his dress shoes moving forward, to the edge of the pool. “And now?”
* * *
“Now,” she steps up next to him, her floaties bumping into his pants. “Now…” she says carefully. “You reach back and frow it!” She gives him a careful demonstration, her hand empty, the imaginary water balloon landing somewhere in the middle of the pool. “But try to hit someone.”
* * *
“Like this?” Edward slowly reaches back his arm, his face absolutely devoid of emotion, and then, with surprising speed and agility, flings the water balloon forward, hitting Marco dead center in the middle of his chest.
* * *