It takesme exactly three seconds to confirm that nightclubs are not my scene. I feel my face pinching as I look around. It’s beautiful and upscale, I’ll give them that. The music is loud, which I’m okay with. The sea of people willingly grinding against each other? Absolutely not. Marissa must see my apprehension, since she grabs my hand tightly. When she starts pulling me through the crowd, I want to die. Like for real. My skin starts to crawl when hands touch my back, my ass. I’m sure they’re not trying to feel me up, but it still creeps me out. I focus on breathing and keep moving. I don’t think it’s weird that they’re having fun dancing. I love dancing. I think it’s weird that they enjoy paying to listen to music that’s blasted through a speaker in the dark, getting sweaty, and dancing on a sticky floor with a bunch of strangers. It makes no damn sense. And the strobe lights. Jesus Christ, you’d think they’re looking for a fucking criminal in here.
We end up in a VIP section with our own couches, table, and bottle of champagne. Prescott’s doing, of course. I don’t argue because I’m away from the people on the sticky floor. I take a seat and wiggle my feet a little to see if it helps with the pain the heels are causing. They were a high school graduation gift from my mom. It was a nice gesture. I just don’t understand why people pay so much money for uncomfortable shit just because of the label, or in this case, the soles. I take the champagne flute that Prescott hands me. He hovers over us — Wade and Marissa are also sitting down — and gives us a speech that looks very warm based on his expressions. Too bad we can’t hear a lick of it. We pretend though, for his sake, and say cheers loudly before we start drinking more alcohol.
It’s nice that Prescott is here. He’s constantly traveling between Fairview, Rhodes, and New York — Fairview to see his family, Rhodes to see us, and New York, since that’s where he works and the place he primarily calls home, even though he does own a condo here as well. Instead of just going into his family’s law firm right off the bat, he did an apprenticeship in New York and was hired by the company. They have clients everywhere so he’s always traveling. He’s been talking about opening up a firm here and making this his permanent home, but I don’t know if he will.
He says dating in New York sucks. He doesn’t want to date in Fairview and the dating pool here is huge, so I guess it’s a possibility. He and Marissa have been hooking up sporadically for a while now, but that’s all they do. Mar says she wishes she liked him for more than just sex, but can’t see herself with him forever. Pres says the same about Marissa, and since it’s been long enough that they would have made a move by now, they must really mean it. That, and they tell each other about the dates they go on and laugh about it.
“We weren’t supposed to mix,” I tell Pres when he takes a seat next to me. “Now we’re going to feel like double shit tomorrow.”
“Ah, you only live once.” He shrugs and drinks the rest of his champagne in one go.
I shrug and do the same. Marissa follows and Wade has no choice but to do it. In the back of my mind, all I can think is we’re so fucked. Later, though I’m not sure how much later since time is non-existent in the club, I get up and dance with Marissa. We’re still in the VIP section, but there are groups of people also dancing here, which makes me wonder what the point of paying for the area is. The couches? After five, six, or seven songs, the champagne is done and so are we.
Outside, Marissa leans against the wall to take off her shoes and tells me to do the same.
I laugh, throwing my head back. “No way. That’s disgusting.”
“Your feet are killing you and you know it,” she says, slurring. “Take them off or have Wade or Pres give you a piggyback so you don’t get too many blisters.”
“Absolutely-fucking-not.” I shoot them both murderous glances. “Don’t you dare.”
Wade doesn’t listen, but instead of crouching so I can get on his back, he lifts me in his arms like a bride and starts walking. I cross my arms and keep glaring, which makes him laugh hysterically. I laugh with him because I can’t help it. Prescott comes over and snaps pictures of us.
“Don’t post those!” I point at him.
“Give me some credit,” Prescott says, “I made a close friends account and only have ten people in it. No one with Fairview connections.”
“Ah, whatever. I’m over it.” I wave a hand around, as Pres points the phone to the ground and concentrates on whatever he’s doing. “You smell really good, Wade. I mean, you smell like an ashtray, but underneath that, your cologne is nice.”
He laughs again. “You’re funny when you’re drunk, Delilah.”
De-li-luh. Sometimes I forget my full name — Delilah D. Guzman is how I sign it. I tacked on my mother’s maiden name, but with my first name also changing, I knew no one would find me. On all the documents, my name is Delilah Duke Guzman. Marissa and Pres tried to talk me out of that, but I wouldn’t budge. Fucking sue me for wanting to keep a piece of the only thing that has ever made me feel alive. I don’t know why I did it, since the cut just keeps deepening each time I see it on a document. I guess I did it for the same reason I printed out the two pictures I have of us and placed them by my computer. I’m an emotional masochist. It’s kind of funny when I think about it. I don’t feel emotions all the time, and the one I feel constantly is pain. My therapist is so sick of my bullshit, she just shakes her head and sighs when I say things like that.
Lach will never find out about the name change, but I’m sure if he did, he’d force me to erase it. He’ll probably say I’m not worthy of it, or that I lost my chance, or that he doesn’t want me to have the same last name as his actual wife. Fuck, that hurts. I swallow and take a deep breath. I think about what he’ll say when he sees me again a lot more than I should. About what he’ll do. About whether or not he hates my guts, which is a dumb one, since Lachlan holds a grudge like no one else. I know he probably despises me, but maybe the time that’s stretched between us has made him more forgiving. Maybe he’ll wrap his arms around me and kiss me for so long, I’ll forget I was ever without him at all. Those are the stupid little glimmers of hope that keep me going. The reality is that if he does think about me, it’s probably a fleeting memory. Why wouldn’t it be? He’s fucking gorgeous, and now he’s gorgeous, popular,andrich. And even richer now because of his dad, apparently. So, yeah, I’m probably the last thing on Lachlan Duke’s mind.
CHAPTER25
LACHLAN
“Delilah D. Guzman.”Liam slaps a file on my desk.
My desk. It’s so weird to say that. I’ve had enough time to prepare for it, so you’d think it would have hit me by now. It hasn’t. I’m not entirely sure it ever will. I never pictured myself in the corporate world. Why would I? A deal is a deal, though, and I’m a man of my word. The agreement with my father has always been clear — I’d play professional hockey for three years and then I’d retire to take over his evil empire. This isn’t even on the list of things I’m bitter about. I’m sure down the line, I’ll miss hockey, but I genuinely want to be here. I need to.
Duke Tech Solutions gives me access to anyone and everyone in the world. With a few clicks, I can find out every detail of someone’s life, down to what stores they shop at. It’s quite possibly the worst thing for someone like me to have access to. It would be like giving Lyla James access to the president’s nuclear football. None of us would survive her. Everyone would walk around with crippling anxiety, just waiting for her to push that button. In the contract I signed, I agreed not to use any information for my personal gain, so I’m not going to take advantage of Duke Tech. Liam went as far as making me swear on a bible, which was pretty stupid of him. Mom made us memorize half the passages in it, and to me, it’s just another book. I’m really not going to take advantage of the access I have. For this, I had to bend the rules just a little.
Technically it’s not formypersonal gain; it’s for the future of the company. My father was the one who decreed this, so he can’t say anything about how I get the information. I feel my brother boring holes into the side of my head when I swivel my chair around to take in the view of the city. He’s pissed at me for this, but hey, that was the department he chose to be in. At least he knows what the fuck he’s doing. I don’t know how to be the CEO of any company, let alone a billion-dollar one with thousands of employees and four locations around the world. It’s fucking daunting. Sure, my degree is in business, but that paper could never prepare me for the real thing. For the time being, I was working closely with my father and only looking over contracts, making decisions alongside him. Technically, because of this little hiccup, I was working pro bono, which pissed me off. We’re meeting in his office in ten minutes, so the file Liam tossed on my desk arrived at the perfect time.
I look at him. “You’re late.”
He glares at me. “She was hard to find. As you know.”
As I know.Yeah, I fucking know. I’m also aware that there was no way I’d be able to find her on my own, and I didn’t want to outright ask my father for help with this — with anything. Accepting him into our lives fully has been enough of an adjustment without asking for help. Liam had no qualms about it. He’d even helped Mom move her things over to Henry’s estate. He’s too fucking nice.
I’ll never forget the day I agreed to this. I was lying in a hospital bed in Fairview, staring at the black roses sitting by the sink. It was the only arrangement there now. I’d made my mother take the rest home with her. She wanted to throw it away, but I wanted to watch every single petal wither. My father visited, which was already shocking enough, and then he made an offer that came with more zeros than the ones I’d been expecting to make before my life went sideways. It took me a few days to think about it. I added in the clause for the three years of hockey, since originally he wanted me to start at Duke Tech as soon as possible. I’ve managed to transfer all of my anger to Lyla. After all, it is her fault I’m here, to begin with.
I’ve done everything in my power to find her. I stay in touch with Prescott, but the fucker never slips up and tells me shit, so I have to depend on stalking social media accounts. I even pinned a private investigator on Pres and got nothing, but I know he knows where she is. Sometimes, I want to beat the information out of him. Knowing him and his undying loyalty to her, he would let me beat him to death before giving anything away. I look at the file sitting on my desk.
At Duke Tech, we managed to do in a few days what I couldn’t do in three years, and now that I have my answer, I’m nervous to see what I’ll find. Every morning, I envision what I’ll do when I see her again. By the end of the day, I’m so fucking angry that the only thing I’m certain of is that I’m going to make her life hell, which is where I’ve been living from the moment she left. Three fucking years in hell. Three years of wondering where she is and who she’s with.
