My jaw tightens as disbelief darkens into anger.

“First, I need some answers,” I demand.

Chapter Two

Olivia

I arrive back at the penthouse early in the afternoon. Noah’s not here, so I change into fresh clothes and eat a granola bar while I wait. I lie down for a nap, but end up just staring at the ceiling; try to work, but stop because I can’t focus; try to read a magazine, then resign myself to waiting on the sofa.

Where the hell is he? He wouldn’t be at the office on a Sunday—this is Noah we’re talking about. I try not to think about the possibility that he stayed the night with another woman.

But if he did . . . well, I’m the one who abandoned our wedding. I can’t blame him for thinking our relationship is over. For wanting to be done with me, and find a new girlfriend who isn’t such a hassle. Even though the last thing on my mind yesterday was hurting him.

God, the nightmare of the last forty-eight hours is still spinning through my head. I can still hear Brad’s voice on the phone, slithering into my ear like some horrible alien parasite . . .

• • •

“Good afternoon, Olivia,” Brad said. “You really should check your e-mail more often.”

“Wh-what do you want?” I choked out.

“Check your e-mail and tell me if you recognize the attached photos.”

I hammered the End Call icon and tapped my e-mail app. One new message. I opened it . . . and my breath froze solid in my throat.

Of course I recognized those pictures. Back when we were still dating, Brad had nagged me to take some sexy naked selfies for him. And I’d caved, because I was still a gullible girl who thought he might turn into a decent boyfriend if I just tried hard enough and gave him whatever his slimy, shriveled little heart desired.

He’d had me convinced that he was a good man and all his selfish, controlling behavior was my fault. Whenever he was mad, it was because I’d provoked him. (Of course, when I was mad, I was just a childish bitch who looked for reasons to get offended.) He’d sulked when I didn’t want to touch his boner; he’d sulked when I suggested he could maybe touch my clit once in a while. Even when I’d caught him flirting with other women, he’d claimed it was because I neglected him.

So I guess I shouldn’t have put it past him to lie about destroying these nude pics either. I’d made him delete them off his phone while I watched, but he must have backed up the files somewhere beforehand. All twenty-two of them. Fuck.

I hit redial. Brad’s phone didn’t even finish one ring before he picked up.

“So?”

Squaring my jaw, I put on the hardest, most contemptuous tone I could. I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice shake. “Do you have some sort of point to make? Or did you just want to remind me what a scumbag you are?”

“Give up and let my father buy Tate & Cane,” he demanded. “I could also ask you to get down on your knees and suck my dick, but we both know you’re not even good for that much.”

“Only because you always jammed it down my throat like you were drilling for oil. Or compensating for something.”

“Do you want the deal or not?” he snapped.

Oh, Brad hadn’t liked that. I could just imagine his curled lip. I felt a rush of simultaneous triumph and terror at having pissed him off.

“I’m afraid this is a limited-time offer. If you want to save Tate & Cane, have your board e-mail me a buyer’s contract by the end of the week. Or I’ll release these photos—destroying your reputation and probably your company’s too—and then Daniels Multimedia Enterprises will just buy Tate & Cane anyway when its deadline is up. One way or another, my father will get what he wants.”

My heart was hammering so hard, I could barely catch my breath. I tried to buy time to think by arguing with him, digging for any crack in his resolve. “Is this all about your dad? What are you getting out of this?”

“Being a good son is its own reward. As well as building a strong company to someday inherit . . . and seeing a snotty bitch get what she richly deserves.” His tone impaled me like shards of ice as he went on. “Whatever explanation you prefer. Pick your favorite; it doesn’t matter.”

So that’s what this was really about—punishing me for daring to break up with him. Even for Brad the Demon Ex, this was insane. I’d never dreamed he’d go so far for such petty revenge.

“What matters,” he continued, “is your own decision. My offer is quite generous. I’m willing to pay millions of dollars for your company instead of just demanding you hand it over.”

I swallowed. “You said I have one week?” I asked, hating how small and weak my voice sounded.

“That’s right,” he said, sounding pleased to have finally reined me in. “Good-bye for now, Olivia. We’ll keep in touch.”

At least, I thought that’s what Brad had said. I couldn’t hear over the rush of blood pounding in my ears. His last words could have been you’re fucked.

And they might as well be. I stared down at my phone, wanting to cry and puke and scream all at the same time. What the fuck was I going to do? What could I do? No way out. I couldn’t think straight. My already-simmering anxiety had boiled over. Animal panic flooded my brain. Can’t breathe. Trapped . . .

Even then, part of me already knew I needed help. I should have asked Noah. But how could I possibly face him? I’d handed Brad the rope to hang us both with. I’d given him exactly what he needed to destroy our fathers’ legacy and six thousand jobs.