Page 5 of Fragile Twisted Vows
Which means that either her family is no longer paying for her schooling, or something happened. Which would explain the job at some random bar that I will find the name of.
Truthfully, as much as a headache that her older sister is, Lucille’s current trajectory is making me curious. After all, I do have some lingering interest in her father and his business, although I’ve never fully been able to trust the man. And while I no longer have the desire to deal with her sister, Lucille might be the perfect way back into this family. She might be the greatest ploy of them all.
“Poor little Lucy,” I say as I fold the resume and place it in my pocket.
It must be awful for her to always be in the middle of her family’s crossfire, but I don’t care. Her father owes me an obscene amount of money for his most recent campaign, money that I intend to collect without the knowledge of his bitchy eldest daughter. And since he’s been trying to evade me, I think it’s time for me to remind him that he’s still in a bit of debt. Even if he could have the feds snooping around my offices and homes.
Because Megan not only filed those papers for attention, but also because her father was sticking his nose into my business when I left the military and came into money. He had way too many suspicions and way too many questions. I think it’s time for me to collect my money and keep his nose away from my life once and for all.
After all, nobody wants a politician snooping around the leader of a cartel business. Not really the wisest decision to make, but Michael Fairchild isn’t truly a smart man.
My driver arrives and I slide into the back seat of my blacked-out BMW. When he speeds off down the streets of Manhattan, I unfold the resume from my pocket. I punch the name of Lucy’s current supervisor in a text to Bruno.
Find out what this man owns.
I hit send and then stare out the window as we drive from Fleur de Femme, all the way to my apartment where the wicked witch of the west awaits.
* * *
“There you are,” Megan Fairchild purrs as she walks towards me in a dark gray pencil dress and black heels.
She’s always dressed modestly, never showing her chest because she doesn’t have much chest to show. Every dress clings to her small, thin frame just slightly, because she barely ever eats. She’s practically a skeleton with a dark brown bob and even darker eyes.
At one point, I used to find her beautiful. Stunning even. The classic, clean beauty that many men often fall for when they’re looking for a wife. And I was. I was looking for security, for a way in. And I found it with Megan Allison Fairchild. But over time, she grew cold and her appearance matched it tenfold. She slowly began to morph into her mother and now, she’s even worse.
She’s an ice queen in a slightly baggy, dark gray pencil dress and honestly, I can’t wait to get rid of her.
“You’re early,” I say as I slide off my suit jacket and place it on the marble kitchen island.
She stares at the tattoos on my arms as I roll up my black sleeves, a slight frown pinching her thin brows together. She hates my tattoos and the way I keep my hair. Hates the scar on my face and the beard as well, which is exactly why I keep those things. Like a human using garlic to ward off a vampire.
But still, her dark eyes travel from my forearms to the top of my chest that’s exposed from the buttons that are undone from my black dress shirt that’s tucked neatly into my tailored pants. She assesses me from head to toe and while usually I enjoy women admiring me, this one I want to throw off my balcony.
“Aren’t you going to say hello? I haven’t seen you in months and you’ve been ignoring my phone calls.” She pouts and I want to slap that spoiled, entitled look right from her thin lips, but I refrain.
We’re supposed to be civil. And if biting my tongue and squaring my jaw means that these papers will get finalized today and she will be out of my life forever, then so be it.
Plus, I’ve got another Fairchild that piqued my interest.
One that’s quiet, moldable. One that’s gullible enough to believe my bullshit and not question my fucking business like this one does.
One that’s not thin like this one, but has curves all throughout her athletic body. One with bright blue eyes and mousy brown hair. One with freckles that dust over her small nose and pink, full lips made to be wrapped around a man’s-
“Earth to Damien. Are you going to respond?” She hisses like the serpent she is and I rip my mind away from the strange thoughts I have of her younger sister.
“Hello, Megan. How are you?” I say as I rub my jaw, my fingers scratching my short beard as she rolls her eyes and walks away from me.
“Fine, not like you care. I’m early because I wanted to review some things in the paperwork before we finalize,” she says as she smoothes her hands over her dress.
Of course she does.
Because why would she ever make things simple or let go of the past?
“Damien, this is my colleague, Brian. An attorney at my firm. He’s come to review some things with us alongside…Adrian.” She sneers as she looks over at the attorney I’ve had for the past ten years.
She’s very ballsy. Staring at a man like that who could snap her neck in under a second, but who I am I to warn her? She’s not my wife anymore. She’s never really been mine to protect anyway.
I’ve got bigger priorities. Ones more important than Megan Fairchild.
