Exodus (The Ravenhood #2)(93)
“Do you want him back?”
“I don’t want to love him,” I whisper hoarsely. “Stupidly, I thought…”
“Thought what?”
“I thought I would see him, and my adult brain would kick in and reason with my stupid heart.”
“That you would see him differently, and it would put your feelings in perspective?”
“Exactly.”
“But that’s not what happened.”
“No.”
“Well, I love you. And if this is what you feel you need to do, and where you need to be, then do it. I’m behind you, and I’ll be here. Just try to get some sleep.”
“I will. I Love you.”
“Love you.”
Making my way up to the bedroom, I feel the weight of the day take its toll. For years I’ve imagined this day, seeing Tobias again and finally being able to unleash some of my anger while gaining the upper hand. But it never works out like I imagine it would. And with him, it never will. But Christy is right. If I ever had a chance of making it with anyone, it was Collin. And despite my emotions winning and the realizations I’ve been faced with, remorse wins as I pull my engagement ring out of my purse, slip it on my finger, and cry myself to sleep.
Ryan sips his coffee and eyes me over his laptop. “He’s going to blow a gasket when he sees this. Daily morning meetings? Moving headquarters temporarily to Triple Falls, and, are you serious?” He points to the list of conditions I handed him.
“Yep.”
“You sure he’ll go for this?”
“Yep.” And he will because he thinks he’ll win. Tobias is overconfident when it comes to me, always has been. Despite the kick to the chest yesterday, I’m determined to keep it business.
Ryan types a mile a minute as I kick back with my coffee, a smirk on my lips.
“You’re determined to piss this guy off.”
“Like I said, he owes me—either way, we’re selling. Go ahead and entertain another bid. Make sure he catches wind of it.”
“Aside from you, what’s this guy’s interest in the company?”
“It’s personal.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”
“Shooting it off now.” He sits back and eyes me. “What exactly are you hoping to gain here?”
“Perspective.”
“And you need it. Why?”
I glance down at the ring on my finger. “Because I need to atone for what I’ve done.”
“How so?”
“People got hurt because of us. People are still getting hurt.”
“This is about a breakup?”
“Not exactly.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he slams his computer shut and shoves it into his satchel before standing.
“Ryan, I’m sorry, but I can’t—”
He snatches his jacket and pulls it on. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Ryan—”
I move to go after him when my phone buzzes in my pocket, a local area code, and a number I don’t recognize.
“Cecelia Horner.”
“Do you think this is fucking funny?”
I can’t help my smile. “Good morning, Tobias. I’m looking forward to working together.”
“This isn’t happening. I’ve given in to all your other demands.”
“All except one. The only one that matters.”
“You do realize you’re fucking with the wrong man.” Not a question.
“You don’t think I know who you are or what you’re capable of?” I hiss walking to the corner of the lobby where I’m not heard and look up at the surveillance camera, knowing his eyes are on me.
“Ezekiel Tobias King, Born Ezekiel Tobias Baran, July 30th nineteen eighty-four, thirty-six-years old, son of Celine Moreau, and adopted son of Guillaume Beau King. A US transplant at age six, you were orphaned at age eleven along with one brother, Jean Dominic King, who died at age twenty-six, no autopsy.” I swallow away the ache with every word.
“You went to France at age sixteen to attend IPESUP prep school to ensure your acceptance to the prestigious HEC Paris to earn your business degree. You spent your time wisely recruiting and vetting old relatives to build an alliance for your cause. After graduating, you started your company, Exodus Inc and went public with it four years ago. The net worth as of the close of business yesterday is sitting just below two billion dollars. Just after you formed your company, you began to search for your last living and close relative, your birth father, Abijah Baran, a French Hebrew and member of Parti Radical until he was diagnosed with schizophrenia at age twenty-eight. Six years ago, you found him. Shortly after, you had him committed to a mental institution, Centre Hospitalier Sainte-Anne, in the 14th arrondissement in Paris, where you visit him annually. A fact you’ve hidden from everyone in your life. His association with certain extremists and his mental disease no doubt one of the reasons why you never married and have no living heirs, and a large part of the reason for your secrecy. That and the fact that the only thing you have ever truly fucking cared about in this life is your immediate family, your personal vendetta against Roman Horner, your ambitious agenda, and getting your goddamn way.” I lift my chin to the camera. “Know your opponent, Tobias. You’re move, King.”