Twisted (Never After #4)(78)

Chapter 32





Julian





I slam the phone down, irritated that once again, Ian isn’t answering my calls when he works for me. I grab my cell from the corner of my desk and scroll through the latest text messages, noticing a disturbing pattern of me having to check in with him repeatedly, when before it’s always been him blowing up my phone.

He’s never given me reason to doubt him, but I’d be a fool not to take notice of the change.

My fingers fly over the keys as I type out another message to him, anger brewing in the bottom of my gut. If I had known he was going to go AWOL at the same time that Jeannie did, I would have convinced Tinashe to stay in Egypt and oversee the boy himself.

Me: Ian, you have two minutes to call me back before I fire you and give Ciara your job.





I grit my teeth and watch the clock count down, hoping that he remembers I never bluff. I have no time for people who want to play games. While I wait, I glance down at the papers that were just couriered to my door and flip through the pages one more time, staring at the fake signature of my wife signed on the dotted line and backdated to the day of our marriage.

My finger pops out and rubs along the edge of the piece of paper.

Will of Yasmin Karam-Faraci.

It’s always been the plan. Marry the girl. Let Ali die. Kill her and take everything that was supposed to be mine.

Only now, it doesn’t feel as euphoric as I imagined it might. It feels like confusion. A giant war waging inside my mind and body. Everything I’ve always wanted clashing violently with my newest obsession.

The phone rings and I pick it up.

“Boss.”

“How nice of you to check in, Ian.”

I lean back in the chair, rocking slightly as I twirl a pen around in my hand, the smooth plastic rubbing against my skin as it slides through my fingers.

“Just getting things ready for you to be here next week.”

Telling him that I’ll be there earlier is on the tip of my tongue, but I decide not to at the last minute. There’s something fishy going on, and I want to see what it is.

“So you’ve contacted Darryn.”

There’s a shuffling on the line and he clears his throat. “Yeah, yep. Everything’s all good. He’s willing to meet with you. How are things there? With the bi— the uh, the wife?”

Absentmindedly I twist the ring on my left finger, a sharp stab of something piercing through my chest. “Things are going according to plan here. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

“Good.”

“Good,” I parrot.

“Is there… I mean, do you need anything else from me?”

My brow quirks. “I have the will.”

“Perfect. So now what?”

His question irritates me, although it’s a valid one to ask, and I snap at him. “Now you focus on finding that fucking lamp so you can come home. And then you wait to see what I decide to do.”

“What’s there to even decide?” he asks. “You have the will, you married the girl, so either wait until the old man croaks or kill him yourself.”

“Watch your mouth. You know better than to say ridiculous things over phones.”

“Of-of course, boss. I’m sorry,” he stutters.

“I’ll see you in a week. Try and stay out of trouble until then.”

I hang up the phone, fresh annoyance rushing through my veins from talking to Ian and having him ask so many questions I can no longer answer. And then my mind goes back to her.

Yasmin.

She’s all I can fucking think about.

I breathe through the tension in my back, rolling my shoulders and trying to ease the sharp, throbbing pain as my phone vibrates, a text flashing with my driver telling me he’s out front. Opening the right-side drawer in my desk, I drop in the papers, slamming it closed and walking out the door.

My stomach is in knots, wondering if Yasmin will choose to stay here with her father or come to see the boy.

I’m under no illusion it would be for me.

Forty minutes later, I’m on the plane, the engine rumbling beneath me as I sit in one of the four oversize chairs on the left-hand side.

It’s a gorgeous aircraft, one that I’ve been using for the past five years after I bought it for Sultans. An upgrade from the last one, and it made travel much more comfortable with the bedroom in the back— not that I’m ever able to sleep on planes— and the long cream couch on the opposite side of the chairs with a large flat-screen TV hanging in front.

Travel isn’t something new with my position, and I’ve made flying almost like a second home, despite the fact that it’s not something I really enjoy.

I nod at the flight attendant who brought me a club soda on ice and glance at the text from Razul saying they’re on their way.

She’s coming.

Part of me is surprised she’s willing to leave her father when we both know he could go any day. He’s been extra reclusive the past month, especially with the business side of things, but I was almost sure that she’d be too afraid to not be here in case things went south.

I suppose I was wrong.

Selfishly, I’m glad.

And this will be good. She’ll reunite with the boy and I can witness them together, the puppy love in her eyes and the heartbreak aching to be soothed in her soul, and watch him sweep in and erase whatever weird thing has been happening between us.