Fake Empire(102)

“Good.”

I watch her leave, then sink down behind my desk. If Asher ever caught wind of what just happened, I wouldn’t hear the end of it for a while. He’s the one who insisted Isabel had feelings for me. After her questions about Scarlett, I thought we’d moved past it. Thought she knew it would never happen. Even if Isabel had expressed interest sooner. I kept sex uncomplicated—and sleeping with a member of the board wasn’t that. And now… I’ve never explicitly promised Scarlett fidelity. But up until the opportunity to cheat was dropped in my lap—literally—doing so didn’t occur to me.

My phone vibrates with a text from my brother.

Oliver: I know you’ve seen the news. We’re back in NY. Meet you at the office at 8.

I stumble as I stand, either from the whiskey or the exhaustion catching up to me. But my steps are steady as I leave my exit and head toward the elevators. There’s no sign of Isabel, nor anyone else.

I know driving is a bad idea, so I flag a cab once I reach the street and give the driver the address for my family’s estate just outside of the city. The trip takes twenty minutes. I start to feel the buzz of alcohol about ten minutes in. But it doesn’t deter me.

After paying the driver and punching in the code, I walk through the front door. Automatically, my feet veer to the right, toward my father’s study. There’s already a light on, but I’m more focused on collapsing onto the couch than squinting at my surroundings.

“I hope you didn’t drive here,” my father comments, rising from behind his mahogany desk and walking over to the fireplace. He pours himself a glass of scotch and takes a seat in one of the chairs that flank the stone façade.

“Is it true?” I ask the ceiling.

My father sighs. Ice clinks as he swirls his glass. “It’s not quite as bad as the press is saying. But yes, there were some questions being asked. It was being handled.”

“Dammit, Dad. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“So you could say exactly what you’ve been telling everyone all day: you had no idea.”

“You should have told me. I’m supposed the future CEO!”

“Nothing future about it. I’m stepping down. It will be official by the end of the week.”

“I—are you fucking kidding me? You’re handing me the keys to the castle…while it’s under attack?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. The company will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?” I snap. “What the fuck then?

“They can’t touch our personal fortune, Crew.”

I exhale and sit up, relieved the walls stay where they should. “Did you do it?”

“No.” My father’s answer is swift and sure. “But…it happened.”

“What do you mean, it happened?”

“Beckett Stanley was leaking information. I found out what he was doing, and I took care of it.”

“Not by telling the authorities, I gather.”

“You know the issues that would have caused. I got rid of him and appointed Isabel to the board in his place.”

I scoff. “Issues. Sort of like the issues we’re dealing with now?”

“There’s no evidence. They won’t be able to do anything.”

I press my palms to my eyes and groan. “Jesus, Dad.”

My father studies me like I’m a science experiment. “What’s the real issue?”

“There needs to be another issue than being investigated and having stock in free fall and—”

“Crew.”

“She married me for my money,” I bite out. “She married the future CEO of a billion-dollar company. Not…this. She’ll get questions. It might even affect Haute and rouge.”

My father blinks, appearing genuinely off-guard. “This is about Scarlett?”

“Do I have another wife?” I snap. I look at my hands, clenching them into fists. “I love her, Dad. I love her so fucking much. I’m pissed at you and I’m worried about the company, but I’m fucking terrified this will change everything between us.”

A slight raise of his eyebrow is my father’s only response to the whiskey-fueled declaration. Normally, I’d rather chew on razor blades than discuss this with my father. “You have more to offer her than money, Crew.”

One of the nicer things my father has ever said to me. But… “She married me for my money,” I repeat.

“She’s the sole heir to billions and is making tens of millions off that magazine and clothing line. You really think she married you for money? She didn’t need to get married, and she didn’t need the money. Scarlett picked you. She chose to marry you.”

“Her father told her to,” I mumble.

“Because they’re so close? Because she’s easily manipulated?”

I scoff.

My father knows how to employ sarcasm. Who knew? “You must have wondered why the engagement was between you and her, not Oliver and her?”

“Oliver needed to travel and manage the international holdings, while I would make New York my home base and strengthen the family business brand.” I parrot the line he told the two of us for years.

“I decided that later. When Hanson and I first spoke about a potential arrangement, the agreement was that Oliver and Scarlett would get married. He’s oldest and stands to inherit just as much as you do. It was the logical choice, on the face of things.”