She’d already had nothing when someone took her stuff. Now she had less than nothing. It was despicable, how a hardworking woman couldn’t catch a break. She did everything the way she was supposed to, going to school and getting educated so she could compete in this world. Instead, it put her in so much debt, she practically drowned. If she hadn’t sold herself to me, what would she have done?
“I’ll keep looking for a place,” she said. “But I’ll need at least another week before I find something nice that I can afford.”
“There’s no rush.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Having her here had been nothing but a pleasure, but that was exactly the problem. I didn’t want to enjoy her company so much. I didn’t want to enjoy her body in my bed so often. I didn’t want to look forward to seeing her every time I came home from work. “Yes. I’m sure.”
I was sitting at my desk when Jillian spoke through the intercom.
“Sir? Are you free for a moment?”
I was looking out the window, daydreaming. I turned around and pressed my finger to the button. “What is it?”
“Well, Coen’s assistant just called me and told me Coen hasn’t been himself all morning. He’s locked himself in his office and won’t respond to the intercom or anything else. I’m not sure if I should bother you with it, but I wanted to let you know.”
If he was having a bad day, why didn’t he just go home? Why did he stick around here? “Thanks, Jillian.”
“Are you going to go down there?”
“No.” I removed my finger from the button then looked at my laptop. I didn’t care if my brother was having a bad day. I wouldn’t go down there and check on him like some kind of friend. We weren’t friends. We were barely brothers. I wasn’t sure what we were. Borderline enemies.
My cell phone started to ring. It was Monroe.
She was always pleasant to speak to, so I answered. “Hey, Cherry.”
Right from the beginning, her tone was different. It wasn’t bubbly and happy like it usually was. “Hey…”
“Something wrong?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news?”
“No. Why?”
She sighed into the phone. “Paparazzi snapped pictures of Simone with some young suit in Central Park. They were holding hands and kissing in broad daylight. She’s not even trying to hide it…”
Just like she did with me, Simone had humiliated my brother in front of the entire world. Did she have the class to at least leave her wedding ring at home? Now I knew why my brother was locked up in his office—because he couldn’t show his face to the world. He couldn’t go home because he shared his space with that whore. “Now it all makes sense…”
“Have you spoken to Coen?”
“No, but my assistant said he’s hiding out in his office.”
“Are you going to check on him?”
My first instinct was to ignore him and carry on with my life like nothing unusual was happening. I’d warned him this would happen, but he refused to believe me. Why should I feel bad for him? Not only had I warned him, but he also stabbed me in the back. He deserved all of this.
But I still felt bad for him.
“Slate?” Monroe repeated.
“No. I’m not going to check on him. I doubt he wants visitors anyway.”
“Slate, this is your brother we’re talking about…”
“Yes, I’m aware of the similarity in our DNA. It was exactly the same when he fucked Simone when she was still dating me.”
“Now isn’t the time to be petty.”
“I’m not being petty,” I said coldly. “You can’t make me care when I don’t care.”
“But you do care, Slate,” she said gently. “I know you do. You’re angry at him, but you don’t want him to suffer like this. Go down there and be there for him.”
“You want me to console him after his wife made an idiot out of him? After she did the same thing to me?”
“I just think you should be a brother to him—regardless of the circumstances.”
I was a man torn in two. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I also didn’t want him ever to experience pain.
“Slate,” she pressed. “Go talk to him.”
“Why do I always let you boss me around?”
“Because you love my cherry.” She hung up.
I set the phone down with a slight smile on my lips, thinking about the woman who set me straight every single day. She was the woman in my bed every single night, the woman who showered with me and listened to me talk about my day. Her stay was supposed to be temporary, but it had turned into a very long sleepover.
I shoved my phone into my pocket and headed downstairs.
His assistant told me he wasn’t responding to phone calls or knocks on the door. The glass walls surrounding his space had been blacked out with the special technology we used to tint the windows. He could see us—but we couldn’t see him.