But in my penthouse? Maybe even in my office?
Oh, what a fucking delight of an idea.
It would be like when warriors from the olden days took enemies’ weapons and even heads and mounted them for others to see. It would not be public for everyone to see, but it would serve as a reminder for me that when push came to shove, all bowed to the fucking Vales. The King of Diamonds would exert pressure on whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he would never again see his family name threatened.
And what will Delilah think of this?
I brushed off the thought, even though it warned me that what I wanted to do might not sit well with her. She surely had to know what she was getting into, however.
It took some calls and some messages, but eventually, after reconnecting with Dante and explaining my plan, we had enough leads lined up that in the coming days, we’d find someone to speak to who could help us. I was mildly disappointed to know revenge would take a few days, maybe even a couple weeks, but I was not disappointed to realize we had options that didn’t involve pussyfooting around the subject.
By the time everything had wound down, it was past sunset. The work with Dante—and without Cassius or Lucas, the former to keep him out, the latter to avoid leaks—had invigorated me and absorbed all of my attention. It had been some time since I’d had something that so effectively consumed me, and when such things came along, I tended to obsess over them. You could say Delilah was one of them.
Delilah.
Shit!
I realized only then I’d forgotten to call her for dinner. I looked down at my watch. It was just barely after six.
As a billionaire, I could get into any hotel at pretty much any time, but suffice to say, no amount of money could make me go back in time to inform Delilah that I still wanted to do dinner. Still, better late than never. I picked up my phone and called.
No answer.
Not a concern, I told myself. She was on the phone frequently with her job, and I knew that she’d call me back.
When she hadn’t called ten minutes later, I began to get annoyed. Because I hadn’t called her that morning or afternoon, she was now ignoring me?
Then I realized something.
Her job required her to work odd hours. There was a very good chance that… that she’d gone into the office to do work. Work that I didn’t want her to do.
Almost certainly in the same way she didn’t want me to do the work the King of Diamonds wanted to do. She’d want me to be an effective CFO, sure, but not the ruthless asshole who dominated those who opposed me.
How fucking ironic, I thought bitterly. She was just like me, choosing her work over talking to me. And yet, she was doing this almost certainly because I had chosen this vengeance in the first place. After all, she’d left the fucking note, not me.
In other words, being consumed by vengeance, anger, and jealousy had caused me to push her away. My instincts had failed me.
I headed downstairs, texting for a ride to pick me up to theLas Vegas Times,in an odd mixture of hurry and dragging my feet. I had to get to Delilah… but I desperately did not want to face up to the consequences of my actions. Maybe I was exaggerating it, but…
No, you know what? I would smooth this over. This would be fine. I needed to stop acting like a scared child. I got in the car, ordered the driver to go as fast as safely possible to theTimesoffice, and to wait for me outside. I looked over his shoulder; it said I’d be there in about eight minutes.
I could only hope that in eight minutes, I’d find the proper balance of confident smoothing out without losing myself to the persona that had made me blow past the offer for dinner.
CHAPTER 22
Delilah
What the hell?
That was all I could think about as I sat in the office at theLas Vegas Times.All had seemed so fucking perfect last night; I had intended to stay for breakfast, yet Eric had insisted I hurry to the office, telling me there was a potential scoop about corruption with the chief of police. It honestly turned out to be nothing, but in the time it took for me to look into it, enough hours passed that it became odd that Adrian had not reached back out to me.
Why, though? Was he pissed I had left before he woke up? Had he gotten busy with work? Could he not even send a single text to check in and make sure all was well? If he couldn’t make dinner, why the hell couldn’t he at least have a secretary or someone send a note? It would have been brutally impersonal, but at least I could plan.
The lack of any communication left me angry and scared. Angry that I felt like I had been played; scared that something drastic might have happened that would have prevented an otherwise noble intention to fall through.
So, instead of heading home, I sat in my office the rest of the day, working on a dead-end story related to the chief of policeand calling some old associates of the Morrils. By this point, I wasn’t even sure what aim I was going for with my stories; I mean, I knew what Eric wanted, which was a half-expose, half-feature of the Vale and Morril families. But what particular angle I’d take, who I’d focus on… my mind was too rushed from the night before and the weird silence of this morning.
In good moments, I thought about the way Adrian made love to me. In really good moments, I couldn’t concentrate on work, recalling what he’d done was so arousing.
