Chapter Twenty-Three
Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #72
Never assume parents always have their kid’s best interests in mind.
The week after Christmas, I returned to work. Brogan and I had been inseparable except for the few days I was at my mom’s house, which I’d spent on her couch watching movies. The doctors said the new chemo meds were effective, and she’d be given her last dose in a couple weeks. She was a fighter and was kicking cancer’s ass.
The past few weeks with Brogan had been a whirlwind of stolen kisses, staying up way too late, and the giddy, sleep-deprived new relationship feeling that washed over me every time I thought of him.
Yellow sunflowers sat on my desk when I entered the building. I smiled, and my heart swelled past capacity. We weren’t in an open relationship in the office, but this was close enough.
A string wound around the base of the flowers, holding a tiny envelope. I slipped it out and opened it.
Meet me at Hillside Park at 8 p.m.
B.S.
Okay, were we going running? Talking about this during work was completely off-limits, but this seemed like a weird request. I shook it off and continued my usual morning ritual of checking my clients’ social media accounts, checking the Cloud, and preparing posts.
I spent the rest of the day buried in paperwork, and by the time I got home to the apartment, I only had forty minutes to shower and change before I had to leave for the park. Such an odd place to meet, but I guessed since he walked Bruce there everyday, it wasn’t too out of the norm.
After washing my face and reapplying my makeup, I pulled my jacket off my chair and breezed out of the apartment. The early-January night still had a bite of winter, and my wet hair started to crisp at the ends.
I sat on the bench that was a central viewing point of the small park.
“You’re very punctual,” came an unfamiliar voice.
My gaze shot up to an older man who I recognized from a photo Brogan had shown me. Brogan’s father.
I wrapped my coat around me tighter. “You sent the flowers?”
“You sound surprised.”
Uh, ya think? “How do you even know me?” But it clicked before he could answer. The guy with the camera a couple weeks ago. He wasn’t from a tabloid. But would Brogan’s father really stoop so low as to have him followed? And why?
“I’ve been following you for a few weeks now.” He tossed a manila folder onto the bench beside me. I opened it up and found zoomed in pictures of Brogan’s condo. Us sitting at the kitchen table. Us kissing at the stove, Brogan’s hands climbing up my back. Us in the bedroom. “Seems you guys have gotten to know each other very well lately.”
My heart sank. If these got out, what would it do to Brogan’s company? And the bigger question—what kind of monster would take photos of his son without his permission?
“What do you want?” I spat the words, closing the folder on our most private moments. My stomach rolled, and I thought I might be sick. My privacy. My body on full display. Someone other than Brogan had seen this, and that invasion sent a ripple of anger and disgust blasting through my veins.
“I have a business proposition.”
“Oh?” What was this, the friggin’ mafia?
“I want you to leak a few of these pictures onto your clients’ accounts tomorrow.” He passed over his phone, and I swiped through images of clients of Starr media in very compromising positions. Positions I’d need at least ten years of yoga and a bottle of wine to even attempt.
My cheeks heated, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “This would be social suicide for these people.”
He grinned. “Yes.”
My lips curled in disgust. A father trying to ruin his only son’s career? Sick. “That would go against everything Brogan stands for. This company means everything to him. What makes you think I’d do that to him?”
He sneered. “Because I have something you want.”
I half expected him to pull out a horrible Italian accent and tell me “I have an offer you can’t refuse.”
“And what would that be?” What could possibly be worth ruining someone’s career, including my own? Nothing.
“I heard your mom is sick.”
I sat there, unable to move. This man had serious connections if he’d found out my mom’s medical history and who I was just by having someone follow me.
“I will pay for all of her medical bills.”
I glared up at him, working to keep my mouth firmly shut. The one thing I desperately needed, and he was dishing it up on a silver platter. Mom wouldn’t even have to worry about paying off the bills. What would it be like to actually be able to buy things I wanted? Splurges on a new wardrobe, accessories, eating out. Things I ached to do. All for the small price of killing Brogan’s dream.