Dirty Ties

Everything about that diatribe made me question him. And he knew damned well my job was more than budget meetings and marketing proposals.

Logan stepped back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed at his chest. Why would Trent hand off the leadership to him?

I backed up, my mind swimming. But as I took in Logan’s confident coolness and Trent’s unraveling composure, the answer was glaring. “Logan blackmailed you.”

Trent returned to his chair, his vacant expression the only answer I needed.

Blackmail meant they shared a secret. But Trent didn’t trust Logan enough to discuss his threat against Collin, the only reason I was still standing here.

Well, I was done with secrets. I met Trent’s eyes. “If you go through with your plan to frame Collin for murder, I will fight with everything I’ve got.”

Logan didn’t flinch, but the pensive shadow over his face deepened. “What is she talking about?”

Trent ignored him. “You’ll lose. I have powerful connections, Kaci.”

He sprawled in his chair, lazily stroking the armrest as if it were a throne in an invulnerable fortress. Maybe his claim to power held some legitimacy, but it was also arrogant and overreaching. Everyone had a weak spot. I didn’t know what Trent’s was, but it seemed Logan had found it.

“If you fight me,” he said and nodded at the blank screen on the wall, “I’ll leave you with nothing but a ruined reputation.”

The sex tape. Yet one more thing to use against me. The impact of that slammed into my gut. Logan seemed to be surprised by this, his eyes widening as he pressed a fist against his side.

So he hadn’t recorded us with the intention to share it with the world? Why did he care? It was my face on the video. The wife of a right-winged celebrity. It would destroy any chance I might’ve had at starting a new career.

Though none of that mattered if Collin went to prison.

I was trapped, thrashing against an immovable web of ties, and the deeper I got, the tighter they cinched around my throat.

My knees buckled, and my lungs heaved. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. All the hurt and shock and helplessness that had manifested in my stomach rose up. As it boiled through my chest, I darted across the office, lurched into the private bathroom, and emptied my stomach into the toilet.

The misery rushed out so violently and for so long my eyes watered and my fingers locked painfully around the bowl.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind me, and approaching footsteps raised the hairs on my nape. I spit, dragged the back of my hand over my mouth, and climbed to my feet.

Trent held out a towel and leaned a hip against the counter. “One month.”

I stared at the towel, waiting, for what I didn’t know.

He stood between me and the door and tossed the towel on the floor at my feet. “You will work here, and you will not tell Logan Flynt my son is gay. In one month, you and Collin are free to do what you want, to divorce, I don’t give a shit.”

I met his eyes, my pulse pounding in my head. “October twenty-seventh is in one month. What’s happening on that day? Who sent the watch?”

“That’s not your concern. Just do your job and tell Logan nothing.”

Was he positioning Trenchant Media for a merger? Keeping secrets to avoid a scandal? What kind of corporate negotiations were communicated via cryptic watches? I sidled around him, inching my way toward the door. “If I refuse?”

“Then Collin will be taking it up the ass in an orange jumpsuit.”

My cheeks burned with disgust. When it came to degenerate dads, as in I-fucked-my-kid’s-life, big-time degeneracy, I couldn’t help but stand in awe of the all-time prizewinner.

One month. Just a flicker of time. Hell, I’d give Collin a lifetime if it kept him out of prison. “The only reason I’m standing here is because I care about what happens to your son.”

“You’re here because you’re a whore.” The coldness in his voice penetrated my bones. “This”—he cupped me between the legs—“was supposed to be mine.”

My stomach heaved with a long-buried memory as someone opened the door behind me. I shoved Trent in the chest, stumbling backward into Logan’s brick chest of heat and rigid tension. His hands gripped my arms, and I jerked away.

Fuck him. Fuck both of them. I shouldered past Logan and his narrowed eyes and the anger radiating from his tie to his Converse sneakers.

In the office, I slowed my strides and rounded the desk. Strands of hair had tumbled from my bun and hung in my face. I swiped them away as I found what I was looking for.

Wrenching the flash drive from the computer, I shoved it in my bra and straightened my dress. Of course, there were copies of the video, but Trent wouldn’t be jerking off to this one.