“There wasn’t anything to hear,” I said, gripping the wheel. I scowled as I put the car into drive and pulled out. "What were you yelling at him for?" I hated this man with every fiber of my being and if I could return his money right now, I would.
The problem was that I had spent a lot of it and there was no getting that back.
The only person I knew who had enough money to even loan me was Asher, and if I even hinted at what I'd been scheming with Clayton, I was screwed.
“Numbers that could ruin him if the right people heard them spun the right way. Which is exactly what I paid you to do and you've failed to deliver.” He paused on purpose, like he wanted me to squirm. “Three hundred and eighty-seven thousand dollars, Porter. You’ve already spent over half of what I paid you on rent, tuition, that pathetic car repair. It's money you don’t have to give back, which means you need to come up with something now."
My pulse hammered in my ears. God, he was so obnoxious and impatient. It'd been two weeks. Did he expect miracles?
“You think I won’t collect?” he continued. “I’ll sue you into the ground. Garnish every paycheck you ever earn. Tell Asher exactly what his sweet little assistant really is… It's your choice.”
The line went dead, and I didn't mean to, but I accelerated a little too quickly leaving the garage and my tires squealed on the pavement.
Half a million dollars in debt to a man who hated his own brother more than he cared about anything else on Earth.
And the only way out was to destroy the man who’d started to trust me and put his life together a little.
Tears pricked my eyes because I knew how this would end. Clayton would win.
Men like him always won because they had money and power.
And women like me?
They were the losers painted to be harlots and gold diggers, but the one who would suffer most would be Asher.
And I was the only one to blame.
9
ASHER
I sat in the back of the town car staring at the little fridge full of alcohol my body was craving.
My mouth tasted like metal and I could almost feel the bottle sweat on my palms even though there was nothing in my hand.
Clayton’s voice kept looping—mismanagement, embarrassment, Dad rolling in his grave—and every time it hit the wordDad, my stomach flipped like I was going to throw up.
I was forty-eight years old and my brother still made me feel like I was twelve and useless.
My head hurt from holding everything in all day. My eyes burned.
I kept thinking about the Macallan on the bar at home, how one pour would stop the shaking that was crawling under my skin right now. It was wretched and angry, burrowing into my soul like it wanted to eat me alive, and I might just let it.
The car stopped at a light, and I watched some guy on the sidewalk light a cigarette, and the flare of the lighter made me flinch.
I needed a drink so badly, my teeth hurt.
It had been four days since I cut back, and now almost twenty-four hours without a drink. I didn't know if I was brave or stupid, but I was determined to make this change.
As much as I wanted to tell her, Veda was the reason, but it felt wrong putting that weight on her shoulders. We'd only just met. She owed me nothing. But here I was, preparing to get sober for a woman who might only want a fling and nothing more.
My hands shook. I picked up my phone just to have something to do and noticed an email from Robert Lang had come into my inbox.
I didn't open it. Just remembering his face at that last meeting when I tore into my own brother who sat there laughing at me was humiliating.
I canceled the thing and kicked everyone out, then never ended up rescheduling it properly.
I owed my entire board an apology, but in real sincerity, I owed Robert one first.
