Stealing Her (Covet 1)

I placed my hands on the desk and patted around for a sticky note or something that would help. He had document after document of generous donations, which was just like him.

My hands came up empty, which meant I’d have to confront him when he got home and ask for the one thing he’d always promised me.

Honesty.

Because even when he cheated, he didn’t lie.

Even when he hurt me, he didn’t sugarcoat it.

I got up from the desk and tripped over the rug beneath his chair. I quickly grabbed the side of the desk and knocked over a picture of us.

Thank God the glass didn’t shatter.

I picked it up and stared at it.

We were happy then, just like we were now.

I tilted my head as he smiled at the camera.

And then I squinted.

He looked so much more composed in that picture. It was taken over a year ago, which made more sense, but something else about it didn’t quite make sense.

With a sigh I put it back down on the table. There was a sticky note where the picture had been.

On it a phone number.

And the name Bridge Anderson.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

BRIDGE

I needed a drink. Maybe ten.

After the conversation with my father, I endured several hours of interviews, and my stomach was eating itself from hunger.

I hadn’t been prepared for the flirting.

All the flirting.

Every single woman who interviewed me seemed to think that I was still on the market. That was the most confusing part of the entire day, did he flirt with everyone or did he just use his flirting to get things done? He had more women than men working for him, and they all seemed to be on a first-name basis.

“What the hell, man?” I whispered under my breath. “What were you thinking?”

I was in over my head and had no help. It felt like drowning in a really expensive suit that had a life jacket only Julian knew how to access.

After the interviews, I went immediately to the hospital. The doctor said that Julian could still wake up at any time and that the swelling was going down, but the longer he stayed under, the more concerned they were that he wasn’t going to wake up.

The doctor left to go talk to the nurses.

And I had stared at him.

My brother.

His face was almost completely healed except for a few new scars that plastic surgery would have to fix, and the machine was still breathing for him.

I felt so much guilt I couldn’t speak.

And then I knew I had to.

Maybe he would wake up, maybe I could piss him off enough for him to react.

It was worth a shot.

“Hey, man.” I grabbed his hand and held on. “Just thought you should know that you have the prettiest fiancée I’ve ever seen and that she said my hair was softer than yours.”

His fingers flickered.

I jerked my hand away and let out a small laugh. “Didn’t like that, did you?”

No response.

“Well, at least this means maybe you can hear me, maybe you’ll stop sleeping on the job and get your ass in gear. The world thinks you’re healthy and the CEO of Tennyson. The board knows the truth, that I stepped in to stop widespread panic over one of the biggest buyouts in history.” I sighed. “I don’t want your life, Jules. I swear I don’t. But I’m starting to panic. Okay, I’m already panicking. I need you to wake the fuck up. Dad is . . . he’s breathing down my neck about Izzy. You have a fiancée.” My voice cracked. “A life.” I hated myself so much. I wanted her as much, maybe more than he did. I would fight for her, cheat death for her. “A wedding.”

This time his fingers jolted.

I grabbed them and squeezed.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “I am completely in over my head and from the looks of it, you were too before this happened. I don’t know what your plan was, but I saw your computer. I know I have a trust fund, I know I have a third of the company, so I need you to wake the fuck up so you can tell me what we’re supposed to do with this info.” I cursed again. “Dad said he wouldn’t sign the shares over to me unless I did something, something that would hurt you. Something that would hurt me too.” I dropped his hand and stood. “I need your permission. God, this sounds idiotic, but I need your permission to marry Izzy, to do the right thing by her. I haven’t told her yet, but if I do and she’s upset, which she has every reason to be, then Dad won’t sign over the thirty percent I know we need.”

A soft knock sounded at the door.

Dr. Perkins walked in with an unreadable expression on his face. “His vitals are good, but we still don’t see any meaningful brain activity beyond basic brainstem function. His Glasgow Coma Scale score remains at three.”