I came here for her.
He knows it.
She knows it, too.
That’s only a problem if there’s something going on here, and my gut says that it’s designed to fuck me over. I don’t know why I’m a target, but I am, and if Harper knows the truth, she’s going to tell me, even if I have to strip her naked and cuff her to my bed to get it out of her.
But I’m still not sure she does. I’m not sure that she’s not being used or even targeted herself.
A thought that I can’t quite materialize claws at my mind, the way so many do until I realize them, until I turn them into numbers that no one but me can understand. I need to be alone and think. I also need Harper naked and cuffed to the bed, but that comes later. Not much later. Tonight. It happens tonight when I decide if I trust her or I just want to fuck her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eric
With a vow to have Harper naked and in my bed tonight, I turn on my heel and walk into the lobby where I stop in front of the receptionist, a pretty blonde I’d guess to be in her twenties—and knowing Isaac, his fuck buddy. That’s what he does. He surrounds himself with pretty women who place him on a throne and kneel in front of him. A thought that has me remembering Isaac’s comment inferring Harper would fuck me to get what she wants, though her fucking me for any reason suits me just fine. Now, if she fucked him, that would be another story, and a really fucking bad one I’d have a hard time believing.
The receptionist eyes the back office where I just exited and then me again, obviously trying to figure out how I got back there without her knowing. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Eric Mitchell, the other brother.”
Her eyes go wide and then as often is the case, they rake over my tats, and then sharply lift. “You’re—as in—”
“The bastard?” I ask, but I don’t have to wait for her reply. I get right to the confirmation. “Yes. I’m him and I’m a stockholder called in on behalf of Gigi to audit the operation. I’ll be working in the conference room, if I have calls or deliveries or if anyone simply wants to share operational concerns.”
The phone rings and she looks awkward, like she’s not sure if she should do her job and answer the phone. “Answer it,” I order. “I’ll wait.”
She swallows hard and picks up the phone. “Kingston Motors, can I help you?” Her eyes go wide. “Mr. Kingston. Yes.” She looks at me. “He’s standing right here. Yes. Of course.” She punches the hold button. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Conference room,” I say, heading to the left of the desk toward a set of stairs that will lead to a lower level opposite Gigi’s private domain. Gigi, who might have convinced Harper that she’s a new woman, but I know better. She has an agenda, something she’s after, something I can give her, and she’s smart enough to know I’ll find out what that is and she’s willing to take that risk.
I take my time going down the stairs, aware that my father could have called my cellphone. He called the office phone to record my reply, or allow Isaac to listen in, or both. Once I’m at the double glass doors of the lower level, I open them to enter the massive conference room, where I head to the end of the mahog
any table and grab the phone, punching the line. “Father,” I say, though that word is acid on my tongue.
“I understand you’re now a stockholder.” His tone is dry, unaffected, but then he enjoys games, and while I don’t, we’re smack in the middle of one.
“I never pass on a steal of a deal. I got it cheap. Those recalls haven’t been kind to your stock or apparently your cash flow.”
“Our cash flow is just fine.”
“Considering you had to sweep Harper’s trust fund out from underneath her,” I say, “I imagine it is.”
“Sweep her trust fund?” He laughs. “That’s a joke. You don’t know half the story, boy, but you will. I’m on a private jet about to head home. We’ll talk and I promise you that even that genius brain of yours will feel enlightened.” He disconnects and I lean back in my seat. I don’t know half the story. He’s right for once where I’m concerned. I don’t know half the story, but I’ll know it all soon.
My cellphone rings and I snake it out of my pocket to find Blake’s number on the caller ID. “Talk to me,” I say, answering the line.
“There are cameras and recording devices in the room you’re in, which from what I can tell has been the case for years.”
“Of course,” I say dryly, finding the idea of my brother recording people and using those recordings against them—me included if I give him the chance, which I won’t—highly probable. “What else?”
“About fifteen minutes after you left your brother’s office, the tech team for Kingston Motors suddenly began deleting chunks of data; which even dumb shits like me that don’t have your genius IQ can assume is to hide damning information before you gain access.”
“Only it’s too late to matter.”
“Exactly,” Blake confirms. “I have everything downloaded as planned for comparison. I’ll send you a secure data file that homes in on exactly what was deleted. It’ll take a few hours once they finish what they’re doing to finish the analysis on our side, but it’ll allow you to see what matters, which is what’s now missing.”
“That’s going to be an interesting study.”