I look up to my brothers, speechless.
I stare back down at the photo of Emily. She’s wearing her yellow dress . . . the same one she was wearing yesterday. My eyebrows rise by themselves as I try to make sense of this. “When was this taken?”
“No idea, but it had to be lately. She has the bracelet on that you bought her.”
I glance down to her arm, and sure enough, the diamond-and-gold bracelet is on her arm.
Can it be?
I frown-a clusterfuck of questions . . . not my Emily, no.
“We know it’s not you,” Elliot says. “You’ve been hacked; we will prove it. I promise you.”
“What?” I frown, unable to string a sentence together. I drag my eyes up to my brothers in confusion.
“There’ve been transfers, Jameson. Millions of dollars have left our bank accounts with your password,” Christopher says solemnly.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?” I whisper. “I don’t understand.” I glance back down at the image. “When was this photo taken?”
“This is a setup; I’m sure of it,” Tristan snaps. “Emily wouldn’t do this.”
“What?” I frown, unable to believe what I’m hearing. I run my two hands through my hair as I begin to perspire; adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Elliot snaps. “The timing of this image going to print is no coincidence.”
I frown as my eyes come to Elliot.
“Has Emily been in your apartment alone?” he asks.
I stare at him, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion.
“Has she had access to your computers, Jameson?” Christopher snaps.
I screw my face up. “Yes . . . but . . .”
They all sit back in their seats as if collectively coming to a conclusion.
I look between them. “What?” I whisper.
“I think Emily’s working with Gabriel Ferrara. It’s all a little bit too coincidental, if you ask me. She’s been sent in to keep you occupied while he planned your demise.”
“What?” I snap. “That’s preposterous.”
“Yes, it is,” Tristan agrees. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“Think about it,” Elliot snaps. “She conveniently shows up here and, within weeks, has you by the balls.”
“What?” I screw up my face. “Fucking bullshit.”
I reread the story as fury rages inside of me like never before.
Elliot hits the paper with the back of his hand. “What’s this fucking photo, then?”
“A setup,” Tristan snaps.
I stare at the image; she’s holding Jake’s hand and smiling as he kisses her . . . it looks like she’s happy to be there. My eyes flick to Tristan in question.
I have no idea what to think . . . what the actual fuck is going on here?
“I’m telling you, man, it’s a camera angle; you know better than anyone that the right angle can tell a completely different story,” Tristan says.
“Bullshit. Where there’s smoke there’s always fire,” Elliot growls. “Nevertheless, Emily Foster is fucking irrelevant right now. Deal with her later. You’re being accused of embezzlement. You could go to jail, Jameson.”
I run both of my hands through my hair as I bring my focus back to the facts.
I feel a surge of adrenaline rush throughout my body as my skin prickles.
“What’s happened?” I ask. I can hear my angry heartbeat in my ears.
“We’re not sure. Huge bank transfers have been coming out of the accounts, and nobody noticed,” Christopher replies.
“Going to where?” I frown.
“An offshore account.”
“How the fuck am I implicated in all of this?” I glance back down at the image of Emily kissing Jake, and I want to kill somebody . . . Gabriel Ferrara. “I don’t understand.” I drag my eyes to my brother to try and focus on the facts.
“It’s coming up that the transfers were made from your log-in details.”
“What?” I screw up my face in question. “That’s impossible; I haven’t been into our business accounts for months. I have no reason to.”
“That’s what I said,” Tristan snaps. “I handle the money side of things; you all know that.”
“We have the accounts and legal team meeting us at the office at eight,” Elliot replies.
My eyes flick to him. “Does Dad know?”
“Yeah.” He exhales heavily. “He’s meeting us there.”
I clench my jaw and stare out the window as we fly through the streets of New York.
Anger, confusion, and betrayal are all that I see.
I drag my hand down my face and inhale deeply as I try to slow my heart rate down. I feel crazier than ever before.
My reputation . . . my business.
My girl.
I stare out the window, and moments later we arrive at the Miles Media building. It’s just 7:20 a. m., and we make our way to the top floor. I need to be alone before the craziness begins.
I walk into my office, shut the door, and drop into my chair at my desk.
The room is silent . . . and empty.
Through my windows I can see bustling New York below as the city prepares for the day. Everything down there seems so normal . . . so in order.
My temper is simmering like a volcano and dangerously close to exploding.
I don’t know if I’m going to smash something or burst into tears.
Either way, I feel completely unstable.
With my elbows on the desk, I drop my head into my hands; my breath quivers on the intake as I try to calm myself down.
She told me she was going out with Molly and Aaron last night. I go over the conversation we had when she got home.
“How were your friends?” I asked.
“Great . . . it was good to see them,” she replied.
She lied.
I was at home missing her . . . and she was out with another man.
I get a lump in my throat as reality sets in.
I’ve been over here falling madly in love with her . . . while she’s been seeing someone else.
The door clicks, and I close my eyes to try and block out Tristan-I know it’s him.
He knows me better than anyone.
I hear him go to the bar and drop ice into two glasses, then the comforting sound of scotch being poured. He places one in front of me, and my heavy eyes rise to meet his.
He clinks his glass with mine as it sits in my hand. “Well, this day fucking sucks already.” He leans on my desk with his behind.
“You think?” I mutter as I take a sip. I feel the burn as it glides down my throat.
“When was the photo taken?” he asks.
“Last night.”
He frowns.
I clench my jaw as I stare out the window, ashamed that the woman I love doesn’t love me back. “She said she was out with Molly and Aaron.”
He sips his scotch and raises his eyebrows as if surprised that she lied. “I thought she was the one.”
I frown, my chest constricting once more. “That makes two of us.”
Silence hangs between us.
“Let’s just get through this day and prove your innocence.” He sighs as he drains his glass.
I nod.
He watches me for a moment, and eventually he asks, “You okay?”
I nod once, unable to push the lie past my lips.
“We will prove that you’re innocent, Jay.” He puts his reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I promise you.”
I drain my glass and go to the bar for a refill.
He watches me once more, and I know he’s choosing his words wisely. “Tell me that you’re all right.”
I roll my lips, and my eyes rise to his. “I’m all right.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re about to lose your shit and kill someone?”
“If you want to save a life today, get rid of Jake Peters.”
“It’s already done. I called and fired him this morning at five a. m., as soon as I saw the story.”
I take a sip of the amber fluid; it heats my throat as it goes down.
He pauses before he asks, “Do you want me to fire Emily?”
I stare out the window and over the city. “No.”
“I was thinking . . . ,” he continues.
“Get out,” I bark.
“But-”
“Now.”
The door clicks quietly behind him, and I stand and move to the window and stare out over the city.
Adrenaline surges through my body, and I feel the earth’s tectonic plates move beneath me. I sip my scotch as a cold, detached determination takes its place in my soul.
Nobody fucks with me like this and gets away with it.
Get ready to meet your maker, Mr. Ferrara.
Your day is near.