The Fall of Legend Read online

Page 7


  “No, that’s fine. It’s a family thing. I don’t have to be perfect.” As I say it, I can’t help but wish I had a massive family with rowdy siblings who would put me in a headlock and mess up my hair as a matter of course. Being an only child has been tough sometimes.

  “Okay, then. That’s it. Is there anything you need me to add to my list for the day?”

  Amy keeps a running list of every single project that’s in process, and somehow manages to keep track of everything like she was born for this role.

  “First, you are amazing. Second, what do you think about us designing and selling our own line of stationery products?”

  Amy’s eyes light up. “I was thinking the same thing. Journals, especially.”

  “And fun pencils!” I add with a smile. “It’s like you’re in my brain. I’ll shoot you some notes I made yesterday morning so we can start searching for suppliers to get quotes. I also made a few terrible sketches of ideas I had to show graphic design so they could work on some mockup artwork.”

  “You got it, Scar. I think those would be a great addition to the gift shop area. People are seriously crazy for anything Curated. You’re building an empire. Just like your mom.”

  My smile stretches wider, and I swallow the emotions Amy’s words evoke. “It wasn’t my intention, but I’ll take it. I’ll touch base with you after the appointments on three and before I leave to scout. Sound good?”

  “Deal. I hope you have an awesome day.” Amy gives me a beaming grin as she backs out of my apartment. “And don’t forget to tell Christine I did what she wanted so I don’t get in trouble.”

  “No problem.”

  Just before Amy shuts the door behind her beautifully curly red head, I remember the other important task I have this week. Perhaps the most important task. Getting a plan and a crew together to show up at Legend on Saturday night.

  “Hey, Ames?” I call out.

  “Yeah?”

  “What do I have going on Saturday?”

  She swipes across the screen of the phone in her hand, silent for a beat, before she looks up. “You have a dinner with Chadwick and some pharmaceutical-industry lobbyists at eight thirty.”

  “Shit.”

  Amy’s shoulders shoot back, like she’s ready to go to battle. “You want me to cancel it?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’ll take care of it. But . . . make sure nothing gets added to my calendar from seven o’clock on.”

  “Consider it all blocked out. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it. Thanks again. Talk to you later.”

  She gives me another smile, but this one a bit less radiant. I get the sense that my employees aren’t really fans of Chadwick, but they don’t see the whole picture. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Probably because I’m not ready to take a hard look at the situation and do anything about it right now. Besides, it’s not like I want to date someone else or need to be single.

  As soon as the thought appears in my head, it’s accompanied by blue eyes, dark blond hair, a craggy jaw, sharp cheekbones—and a body carved from granite that can perform amazing feats, like making grown men beg for mercy.

  A flash of heat ignites low in my belly, and an intense need tears through me.

  What in the ever-loving hell was that?

  No. I am not aroused by the simple thought of Gabriel Legend. I’m not. Because that would be bad. Like, really bad. It would be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had in the history of ever.

  No, no, and hard no.

  But the word hard unleashes another wave of longing. I glance at the clock. The minutes are ticking down until my call with Ryan and Christine, and I have to eat breakfast, or I won’t get a chance to because Kelsey will be working on me.

  Food or snooping? That’s the question.

  After another moment of deliberation, I make my decision and stride into the kitchen with my phone in hand. I’ll multitask.

  Ten

  Legend

  “Gabriel, are you there?”

  I groan as I open my eyes, the bright light of morning streaking across my room telling me it’s way too fucking early for someone to be at my door. But considering it’s a female voice and not Bump’s, I can’t get too pissed. Especially because it sounds like Melanie, Q’s fourteen-year-old niece who lives just down the street.

  As I roll out of bed, I snag a pair of sweats and pull them on. I wish I had time to take a piss, but Melanie comes first. I’ve known her since she was a baby, and she doesn’t bother me this early unless it’s important.

  I grab a bottle of water off the counter in the kitchen and chug some before opening the door.

  “What’s going on, Mel?” I ask the girl wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt with her hair in two thick braids. She rocks on the heels of her shoes, clutching the strap of her book bag, and won’t meet my eyes. “Hey. What’s up?”

  When she finally looks up, she has tears in her eyes.

  My first thought is, Who the fuck do I have to kill this morning? But because I know me being pissed won’t help the situation, I duck down a little to get on her level.

  “The guys at the bus stop were being dicks, so I walked away . . . and I missed the bus. Mom is gone. Dad’s already working . . . and I don’t really want to tell anyone else, because you know they’ll get crazy and threaten to kill someone, and that’ll just make it worse.”

  I’m even more glad I kept my initial reaction to myself. “Let me get a shirt and my keys. I’ll give you a ride.”

  Roux shoves her way to the door as she hears Mel’s voice.

  “Can Roux come too? Dogs are way cooler than people.”

  I can’t help but smile at her statement, even though I don’t like her defeated tone. “You’re right on that one. She can come, but only if you take her out first. I’ll meet you both downstairs, and we’ll go.”

  Happily, Melanie grabs the leash off the hook by the door and leads Roux, who comes up to the girl’s elbow, out into the hallway.

  Thankfully, Bump doesn’t pop his head out the door as I walk by, because he’d want to go too. I shoot a quick text to Q to let him know Mel missed the bus, but I’m taking her to school so he can tell her mom and dad.

  I wait until we’re a half mile from my place until I start asking questions. “What did those asshole kids say to you?”

  “They kept telling me that I need my V-card punched or I’ll be the school prude.”

  My fingers grip the steering wheel almost to the point of pain. I haul in a deep breath through my nose and let it out my mouth so I don’t lose it. “You’re in eighth grade. Everyone’s supposed to be a prude. You’re way too fucking young for that shit.”

  Melanie drops her head against the seat. “Everyone’s doing it. Like everyone. Even the weird girl who transferred in last year and only wears black lost her virginity. I’m like the only girl in my grade who hasn’t. Everyone knows it too. It’s embarrassing. Someone even shoved a bunch of notecards with the letter V written on them in my locker last week, and they ended up all over the hall floor when I opened it.”

  As she hugs her book bag to her chest, I debate what I should do. My instinct is to walk into that school and interrogate every single one of those little fuckers until I find out who did it, but I can’t. One, I’m not a parent, and that makes it fucking weird. Two, I’d get arrested because I’d want to beat the shit out of the kid who made her cry.

  Melanie fills the silence. “Sometimes I think I should just do it so they’ll stop teasing me.”

  I slam on my brakes at a stop sign, and Roux yelps in the back seat. I throw a hand back to pat her head as an apology as I meet Melanie’s sad eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare let those little pricks peer-pressure you into something you aren’t ready—and shouldn’t be ready—to do. Promise me right now that you won’t do that shit until you’re way the fuck older.”

  “Mom would yell at you for cursing so much,” she replies matter-of-factly.

  “If you’re old
enough to talk about sex, then you’re old enough to hear me cuss.”

  Melanie’s face turns red. “That’s just it. I don’t want to talk about sex. Why does everyone make such a big deal about it? Why do they care that I’m not doing it? It’s my business and no one else’s!”

  Her voice grows louder and louder as we approach the school, and even though I’m glad about what I’m hearing her say, I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

  “You’re right, Mel. It’s no one’s fucking business but yours what you do, except your mom and dad. You tell those boys to fuck off because you’re not into them or their dicks. And if they keep pressuring you or talking shit, tell them your uncle Gabe is going to find them when they’re tooling around town and make sure they understand that you’re a fucking lady and deserve to be treated with respect. We clear?”

  She giggles, still blushing. “I’m going to get in so much trouble if a teacher hears me say that.”

  “Then don’t let the teacher hear. Or better yet, tell them what the fuck the boys are saying to you.”

  Melanie’s grin disappears as she shakes her head. “No, I’ll handle this myself.”

  “Good. And if they give you any more trouble, you tell me, and I’ll handle it. No one fucks with my people, Mel, and that includes you.”

  “Thanks, Gabe. You’re the best.”

  “Now get out of here and go to school. Wait. Give Roux a pat first. She’ll whine all the way home if you don’t.”

  Melanie reaches into the back seat to give Roux a scratch behind the ears, hops out of the Bronco, and swings her book bag on her back. With a wave, she trots up the sidewalk with her head held high.

  Good kid. I just hope I don’t have to kill someone for her.

  Then I think about Scarlett Priest and the prospect of prison if she told anyone what happened yesterday.

  If I’m going down, I’ll scare the living hell out of those kids first. Because that’s what you do for family, even if they’re not blood.

  Eleven

  Scarlett

  My almond-butter toast sits untouched as I stare at the screen with my mouth hanging open. Forget HGTV for a hot second, because watching sweaty men try to put their fists through each other’s face is far more riveting than listening to Joanna Gaines describe all the ways you can use shiplap, and that’s saying something.

  It’s brutal, merciless . . . and yet beautiful all the same. I don’t even recognize myself right now, because I’ve never had thoughts like this in all my life.

  My phone vibrates against the cream-and-pink china plate, and I practically jump out of my seat at the rattle. I slap my laptop closed like someone just caught me looking at porn. Which I might as well have been, because my heart is pounding, my palms are sweaty, and I can’t stop shifting in the chair.

  I force myself to pull it together and answer.

  “H—hello?” Despite my best efforts, I sound breathless.

  “You okay, Scarlett? You sound winded.” This comes from Christine, who often dispenses with normal pleasantries as a matter of course.

  “Fine. Fine. Sorry, just had to run across my apartment. Left my phone in the bedroom.” I cringe at my terrible delivery of the lie.

  “Is this still a good time?” Ryan, Christine’s twin brother, asks. “If you need a minute—”

  “She just said she was fine, Ry. Now, let’s get down to business. This month’s numbers are looking good. We’re still exceeding weekly gross-income targets, and your costs are holding steady. Don’t go getting any ideas about upping your finder’s fee, because I will fight you.”

  Christine’s threat hangs in the air, and I can picture the petite brunette baring her teeth to illustrate it. Thankfully, I know how to handle her, so I agree and plant a flag in the ground, reserving my position for future arguments.

  “I don’t have any plans to increase the fee at present, but I’m not saying I won’t in the future. You know it’s only a matter of time before someone copies Curated, and then I’ll be competing for product even more than I do now.”

  “She’s got a point, Chris. Even you said the profit margin in this business is ridiculous. We have room if we need it to increase the fee,” Ryan says, taking my side.

  Even though he can’t see it, I give him a chin jerk in solidarity. It has always taken two of us to overpower Christine, even as kids. She may be little, but she’s fierce. Exactly the kind of person you want on your side in pretty much any situation.

  “And until the time comes that we need to increase the fee, it stays where it is,” Christine replies, putting the matter to rest with the finality of her tone. “Now, moving on—”

  “I want to start a stationery line,” I say, interrupting Christine as I reach for my coffee. “Something we can sell online as well. I want to increase our presence and inclusiveness, since not everyone can get here on a Friday to the store.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Ryan says with approval in his tone. “Additional revenue streams are always good. We’d have to lease warehouse space for inventory, shipping, and receiving, though, because you’re already at capacity in the current building.”

  Right now, we have a half dozen storage units where we stash the stuff that’s waiting to go in the store, but we’ve outgrown those too. Ryan’s right.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. It’s time. Initially, I didn’t want employees at a secondary location, because I didn’t want them to feel like they weren’t part of the team, but I don’t see a way around it. It’s not like we can add more space here.”

  “Manhattan . . . where square-footage nightmares are made of,” Christine says with a hint of biting humor. Although she was raised here, when their father retired to California, Christine moved to LA so she could be near him, just in case. Given the sharp edges of her personality, one wouldn’t think she’d worry so much about her father, but she’s doggedly protective of anyone she claims as her people.

  Ryan jumps in, as I’d expect, since this is more his area than Christine’s or mine. “I’ll make some calls and find out what our options are. What’s your timeline on releasing the stationery line?”

  I want to say, Considering I only said it out loud for the first time a half hour ago, I haven’t really thought this through. But I don’t, because Christine will make me think about it for a year before she lets me pull the trigger.

  “Thanksgiving. I want to make sure everyone has their Curated stationery supplies in time for holiday shopping.”

  “I like it,” Christine says, shocking me.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but I’m only agreeing because you’re going to fight me on the next thing. I refuse to take no for an answer, so I’ll say yes now and we can skip the argument.”

  “What?” Confusion underlies my question, but Christine doesn’t elaborate.

  “Just say yes. I already paid for it with your money, so technically you already paid for it. Resistance is futile.”

  “Chris, I thought we discussed that you were going to encourage her, not beat her into submission,” Ryan says, trying to reason with his hardheaded sister about something that I’m completely in the dark about, and it’s not a feeling I enjoy.

  I sit up straighter, preparing myself for whatever is coming. “Could someone just tell me what the hell we’re talking about right now? You’re starting to freak me out.”

  “Scarlett, you know we both care about you and your safety,” Ryan says, his tone calming and reasonable.

  But then Christine interrupts. “You’re taking real self-defense training, and I don’t give a shit whether you want to or not. Ryan showed me the comments on your social media posts. You’ve got three trolls that creep me the fuck out, and since you flat-out refuse to increase security and you don’t want to carry a gun, you have to learn to defend yourself. Unless, you know, you want to end up tied up in a hole in some crazy fucker’s basement where he makes you put the lotion on the skin.”

  My heart seize
s, and I choke out a cough.

  “I told you to handle this delicately, Chris. Silence of the Lambs isn’t delicate.”

  Ryan and his sister trade swipes at each other while my brain shifts into overdrive.

  The trolls. Oh my God. How could I forget about the trolls? That’s who I thought had taken me when I woke up in the rug. How the hell could I forget about them?

  Oh, that’s right. I was worried about actually getting kidnapped, while the trolls are still nameless, faceless ass-clowns who haven’t actually done anything more than leave nasty comments on the daily to let me know all the sick and twisted things they would do to me if they could.

  A shiver rips through me as I remember some of the comments they’ve made.

  You should fucking kill yourself for being so fake.

  You’re a whore, and I know exactly how to treat a whore.

  Your family is a fat-ass big pharma pig living off the sick. You all deserve to die like your mom.

  We’ve screenshotted every comment, taken photos of the dummy accounts they came from, and handed them over to the NYPD, as well as notifying the FBI.

  According to the authorities, there’s nothing they can do about it unless or until it escalates. Christine insisted on hiring someone to look into it, and they’ve only come up with dead ends so far. The account disappears, and a similar comment comes another day from a different account.

  It’s hard to know if it’s the same person every time or if I have multiple haters who wish horrible things on me. Either way, it’s not a good feeling. Especially when it makes getting kidnapped by Bump and brought to Gabriel Legend appear like a best-case scenario. Things could have been so much worse. Because that is seriously not normal.

  The memory of the bone-deep fear and desperation I felt while wrapped up in that rug comes back threefold when I think about one of those sickos waiting for me to wake up.