Three days go by at home. I tell Nina I'm sick, and I don't know when I'll be in. She's very understanding, and even calls to ask after me the second day. I never pick up because there's no earthly way I can tell her I'm suffering an attack of my own stupidity.

Thankfully, dad hasn't been home much to dish out hell for skipping work. Mom is too distracted to care, barking at travel agents over the phone, planning her big Dubai excursion.

Thursday evening, Tay calls. I haven't been responding to her texts.

“Did you go and die with no obituary?” she says, as soon as I pick up. Her blunt, no-nonsense humor makes me smile.

“Sorry. I've been laid up for a few days feeling sorry for myself.”

“Oh, you mean what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-men-itis? Yeah, there's a lot of that going around.”

“You first,” I say, hoping a good disaster will cheer me up.

“Surfer dude got bored fucking. I got really pissed when he blew me off last weekend. The end. Except for the fact that he'll never see me in the caramel flavored panties I bought just for him.”

“Caramel, huh?” I wince, imagining it melting down her legs like a bad sundae topping.

“Now, you,” she says, barely giving me time to catch my breath. “What did the Bearded Idiot do?”

“It started well. Grant saved me from Monsier Creep-o. And no, I never got around to telling him off like we planned. Don't ask. Thought I had it made. We went to his club, and started making out in his fancy VIP booth. Then his ex walked in.”

“Ohhh, juicy!”

She's relishing this. I can hear her pink fingernails rubbing together like a damned raccoon. Sighing, I decide to get on with it, knowing I've said too much to leave her hanging.

“This girl, Mina. I guess she used to work under him, his intern or assistant or whatever, months before me. Complete psycho. She hit me.”

“Hit you?”

“Yeah. Fists flying, hair pulling, crazy eyes, the whole bad comedy vibes. Except I wasn't laughing. Grant pulled her off me. I gave them both a piece of my mind, but the more I think about it, I ought to be thanking her.” I'm not sure why it's so hard to talk about this with my best friend. The stupid incident forms a shameful lump in my throat, but I push past it, dropping the big question. “Our catfight knocked some badly needed sense into me, dumb as it sounds. Made me realize I'm risking a lot with him...and for what, exactly? There's no upside to this. Especially not if he's just going to discard me, and leave me pining after him like her.”

“Bekah, you said she was his ex. You're wrong.” Tay's tone chides me, sending my eyebrows up. “Sounds like you ran smack dab into a fuck buddy.”

“Whatever. You know I'm not up on terminology when it comes to casual encounters.”

“No, and I'm not here to make excuses for Bearded Idiot. But is it really a big surprise a man like him has got a few janky skeletons in his closet?”

“You didn't see her,” I say, shaking my head. Every time I see that woman's frantic, hurt eyes in my mind, I want to throw up. “She was insane. Said she'd been coming to the club for months, hoping to catch him there.”

“So, not just a fuck toy, but a crazy one?”

I'm not helping my case. I snort frustration. “Look, maybe I overreacted a little, but not really. I'm not cut out for this like you are, Tay. Normal relationships are what I like, and there's no way this will ever be one. I can't do this. Can't go around the same block again with a man who's been down it a thousand times before with other girls. There's no fun in it when I'll lose everything if this goes bad.”

“Everything, huh? And what, pray tell, are you clinging to that's worth so much now?”

I don't say anything, biting my tongue. There are no words.

Sure, her family's rich too, or we never would've met at the same pretentious academy as girls. But her family doesn't have billions on the line. They don't oversee thousands of employees, or run companies that run investments to power jobs for countless more. She can live off her trust fund forever without worrying about causing mass unemployment if business deals go bad. Without potentially enraging her asshole father into divesting funds she needs to make this world a better place.

“Bekah, come on. I didn't mean it like –“

“Sorry, I have to go.” I cut her off and hang up quickly. It's the smart choice before I say something truly damaging to our friendship.

Grant isn't worth fighting over. Not with my best friend, and certainly not when I become a target for his old sex toys.

Worse, he's still stuck in my head. Stupid smug smile, soft beard, serious inks, and all.

I told myself I'd lick my wounds for a few days and then go back to work. I'd sort out how I'd deal with seeing him then, but after skipping several days, I'm no closer to how.

Tay doesn't understand what's on the line. That's forgivable.

I'm less sure I can forgive myself for the same hole in my head. Because if I'm really serious about everything at stake, if I'm absolutely certain it means anything, I can't keep running. I can't hide from him forever.

I have to end this madness, before it ends me first.

* * *

I feel better after a long, hot shower. I've also left Nina a message saying I'll be in tomorrow at six o'clock sharp. Maybe there's still time to repair my standing with her if I get caught up on the supply requests we started processing before Grant lit my week on fire.

I head down to the library for some quiet time before I look for a late dinner, but I never get that far. I stop outside the closed door, listening to the voices.

It's dad. He's talking to someone else on the phone over speaker.

Probably Ethan. It sounds like him, but it's difficult to be sure because they're both talking French.

I can't understand a word. But the context couldn't be clearer. This is not a happy conversation.

Dad sounds strained, like he's trying to keep his tone low, controlled. Several more foreign sentences fly back and forth. Then his fist comes down abruptly on a desk. I jump at the noise, catching my heart in my throat.

“Listen to me, you desperate little shrew, I said I'll talk to him again to expedite the bonds for Fabius. That's the extent of my powers at the moment.” Dad slips into English, madder than ever. “As for Rebekah, yes, I'll talk to her, too. Understand I can't make my daughter do anything. She's a free woman, and an adult, as annoying as it is.”

Ethan speaks again. Calmer, softer, using the usual slick, comforting tone I hear him try to emulate every time he works his way closer to me.

“You don't scare me, you know.” My father's footsteps hit the wooden floor as he crosses it, heavy and loud, muffled when he reaches the Ottoman rug. “I told you, I don't care about the damned dirt, or the diamonds you're holding over my head. We're both tainted. If you think you're in any position to push Jeremiah Corbin around, think again. You won't flip. You'll be risking my word against yours if we're both found out. Hell, I'll call up the President of the US-fucking-A and have him sic SEAL Team Six on your ass if you get any bright ideas about busting my balls with your thugs. Hello?”

My heart is racing. It can't go faster, not even when I hear him curse again, and send the phone flying across the room in a fit. It hits the wall with a deafening thud.

Time to go.

I don't walk back to my room. I run, flying up the stairs, nearly bowling over one of the maids preparing to mop the second floor. Muttering an apology, I throw my bedroom door open and slam it shut. I'm safe. I've made it where my father can't find me, whenever he leaves the library in an inevitable, furious huff.

I've eavesdropped on a lot of angry business deals over the years, living in this house. But nothing as sinister as this.

'Rebekah' was never a subject on his lips before. I was a secondary annoyance he had to deal with, and usually turned over to my mother, or my teachers, as quickly as he could.

For the first time ever, I'm the center of attention, and I don't know why.

What kind of deal has he made?

Straining my brain as hard as I can, there are no answers. It scares the hell out of me.

* * *

It's good to be at the office again. After the conversation I heard last night, after it invaded my mind in a fitful, twisted sleep, I'm happy for distractions.

Even if they involve a bearded beast of a man who makes me feel incredible one day, and horrible the next.

I keep my head down past noon, long after he's come in, and decided to keep his distance. I run through the supply and support tickets with Nina, just another cog in a machine. Happy to be nothing more important for a few fleeting seconds.

Grant never bothers me. It's the same on Friday.

He doesn't leave his office, not even to make the rounds with the young men on the trading floor, who always look like they've received a pat on the back from God himself whenever he comes by their cubes and adds his encouragement.

I'm stunned by his absence. Okay, maybe a little disappointed.

I thought for sure he'd hunt me down, delivering all the excuses in the book. I expected an apology.

Oh, she wasn't important like you are, moscato.

She's psychotic. Don't listen to her.

She's out to get me because she knows we have something special.

I've run the make-believe words through my head hundreds of times, crafting the perfect responses. I never get a chance to use them because he's mysteriously absent.

No, not mysterious. Infuriating.

On Saturday, I make up with Tay. We get coffee and Vietnamese food at our favorite little spot in Queens, then spend the evening shopping for shoes.

Sunday morning, there's a knock at my door. “Rebekah, wake up.”

Dad's voice. I jump out of bed, still rubbing my eyes, surprised to see my father standing there in a fresh new suit, a blood red tie around his neck. He hasn't woken me up in the morning like this since I was a little girl on Christmas. “What's wrong?” I sputter, knowing perfectly well it probably has something to do with the eerie chatter I eavesdropped on.

“Nothing, if you clear your schedule for dinner tonight. I'd like you to dine with your mother and I. We're doing the dinner with Ethan. He's discussed it with you before, I trust, so you had plenty of notice. Consider this one more, short notice as it is.”

What can I do? Say no, and choke on the invisible noose coiling around my throat?

“Maybe. What time?” I sigh, turning my doormat eyes to the floor.

“Seven. We'll meet at Filandro's. You know the dress code there.”

“Formal. Lucky I just had my wardrobe dry cleaned.”

“Excellent, I'll see you then,” he says, before taking off. He stops when he's halfway down the hall, just before I'm about to push the door shut. “And Rebekah...thank you for being on top of this.”

It's worse than I thought. My stomach recoils. He rarely ever shows anybody gratitude, much less his own daughter.

I give him my fakest smile and a tiny nod before I fall back inside, closing my eyes as I collapse against the wall.

Remember when I just had to worry about my billionaire boss trying to get my clothes off? This is so much more complicated.

* * *

I've picked a red dress, hoping it'll make me look like one of those animals whose hue screams danger. Filandro's is a stuffy, new money place with gold curtains, crystal chandeliers, and palm trees out the ying-yang.

It's a perfect place to get this disaster over with quietly, or make one hell of a scene storming out.

I'm the last one to show up, as usual. My parents are there, punctual as ever, seated with Monsier Creep-o himself. Ethan turns as soon as he sees them look my way, giving me his trademark half-smile, icy and off.

“Honored you could join us,” he says, rising to take my hand for yet another unwelcome kiss. Jesus, he just always has to get his putrid lips on me.

I mumble a thanks, take my seat, and hide behind a tall menu. It's all exotic sounding fusion dishes crafted by desperate-to-impress three star chefs who studied under four star masters.

A tall Long Island Iced Tea, heavy on the vodka, is my first order. Dad frowns while the waiter smiles. Frankly, I don't give a damn.

Doesn't he understand I'm doing this for him? It's a miracle I'm even here. I'm not letting the business ass-ociate he's pretending to like step all over me. I want nothing to do with Ethan Fabius or his gross kissy faces. But I'll help dad chew whatever it is he's bit off if it helps keep me out of it. What I heard them saying over the phone freaks me out.

Why me? I don't know, but maybe I'll get some answers, if I play this right.

I listen disinterestedly to my parents and Ethan talk France over the table, nursing my drink. Mom practices her fakest laugh, the same kind she'll be using soon on the exotic pool boys in Dubai.

“Cheri, tell me, how are things with Mr. Shaw?” Ethan says, remembering me, shortly after our starters come out.

Too bad he can't forget my presence. He clearly hasn't forgotten me blowing him off the other night, when I thought Grant saved me from a confrontation with this freak.

“Just fine.” I pop an olive into my mouth and chew angrily, feeling my father's warning eyes. “You should really worry about your own business, Ethan. Sounds like you have a lot going on with dad's merger, plus the deals on your plate.”

“Nonsense.” His wine glass shakes as he sets it down, narrowing his eyes when he senses my tone. “I simply ask because I want you to be happy. A woman with your keen zeal for life deserves many things. Most of all a chance to make dreams happen without any fool getting in the way.”

He's talking about Grant. The creep is more right than he knows, but I'm not interested in stroking his ego by giving him any indication.

“I'm sticking it out,” I say, carefully stuffing more olives into my mouth. Dealing with him tempts me to break my teeth on the pits. “This job isn't forever. It doesn't define me. It's good experience, like dad says, and I know I'll gain something from it to do what I'd like when the time comes.”

Yes, something. I'm still waiting for that. So far, all I've gained is an infuriating crush with a man who wants me in his bed before he decides he's had it with his next sucker. One more conquest for him in a long string of many.

“I hope you've thought this through,” he says, twirling his glass by the stem, giving me a half-glance. “Anytime you decide Neolithic isn't for you, come to me. I'll find a position for you, cheri. I always have a few on offer.”

I almost gag on my Long Island. It isn't hard to read between the lines and know exactly what position this despicable man would like me in.

“Not interested,” I tell him again, more ice in my voice than ever before. “I'm not going overseas anytime soon unless it's back to Colombia.”

“Rebekah,” dad booms across the table. His fingertips have gone white as they pinch his fork by the handle. “Show our guest a little kindness. He's made you a good offer, even if it isn't the right one for you now. Apologize.”

We lock eyes. He wants me to bend my knee to him and Monsier Creep-o by default, and I still haven't gotten anywhere close to the bottom of what else they really want with me.

It doesn't make sense. I look Ethan in his ferret face, his ghostly eyes shining, hungry for a bone.

What does he have on dad, anyway? My father surrenders to no one. He can't be so insane he'd bargain me for some kind of crazy arranged marriage...right?

And if he is that crazy...

No. I won't finish the thought.

“I'm not apologizing to a man who's clearly never learned no. I can't do this,” I blurt out. Adrenaline shoots through me as I stand, throwing the burgundy cloth napkin I've been twisting in my lap down on the table. “Look, I don't know why you've latched onto me, Ethan, but I'm done playing. I meant to tell you the other day, so here it is. I'm not interested in you. I never will be.”

“Rebekah!” A vein bulges in my father's forehead. He's about to blow. It isn't enough to stop me. Next to him, mom reaches for his shoulder. He sweeps her hand off him.

I've had enough.

“What's gotten into you, cheri?” Ethan blinks, feigning surprise. He tries his damnedest to sound kind, but there's nothing except icy tension in his voice. Like he's daring me to finish what I've started.

“You, asshole.” I pause, just long enough to hear my mother gasp, and then laugh uncomfortably with her hand over her mouth. “I've tried to be nice. I've tried to let you down easy. You know I'm not interested, and yet you still keep coming every time we're in the same room with your stupid, stupid offer to leave everything behind, run off to Europe, and apparently, become your mistress.”

It takes me a minute to realize we've become the center of attention. Too late to lower my voice. Every table surrounding us has their gaze glued to me, the lone figure next to the table, trembling slightly while I look two wolves in the eyes, and plot my grand escape.

“Mistress...what?!” He looks shocked. Appalled.

It's the best act I've ever seen in my life.

Ethan stands, leering over me, his arms folded. Ignoring me, he turns to my father, who never takes his eyes off us as he brings his napkin to his forehead, wiping the sheen of sweat above his brow away. “Is this how your fussy, self-absorbed duchess always talks, Corbin? Is this a joke?”

Dad grits his teeth. “She's talking out of turn, sir, and you have my apologies.”

“Sir?” It drops out of my mouth like something rotten. My head is swimming in red. I can't remember the last time I ever heard dad use the word with someone else. Probably never.

What the hell is going on here? Seriously?

“Rebekah, kindly sit back down, and shut up.”

No. I'm too stunned, too furious, too confused to stand here a second longer and take this abuse. Turning, my heels echo loudly through the restaurant, and I almost knock over a waiter on the way out.

“Honey!” Mom calls after me, but I don't listen.

I think she follows when I burst through the double glass doors leading to the curb, my phone in my hand to call a ride, and something slams me into the wall. But mom doesn't have the strength. I bang my head against the brick so hard my teeth chatter, winding me, and I lay eyes on my monster.

Ethan pins me there, his rough fingers digging into my shoulder.

“What the fuck is your problem, you ungrateful little cur? I've been nothing but nice. Incredibly generous with you, and your family. I'd give you the sun and the stars. Still, you stand, in front of them all, and spit in my face!”

At last, I've met the real Ethan. Freed from the neat mask barely concealing his desperation, his cruel insanity.

If he hits me, I'll scream. But it's happening so fast I don't know if I can. It's like the energy has been sucked out of me, and I'm biting my lip, trying not to taste the faint blood oozing from my bottom lip, grazed by my teeth.

“Get away,” I whisper, hatefully pleading with my eyes.

It just makes him angrier. He tightens his hold, staring me down, down, down into the wall. The concrete rubs the bare skin of my arm like sandpaper. “No one says no to me, cheri. You understand? No one. I'll grant you one more kindness, a full week to forget this, apologize, and come to your damned senses.”

“Never!” I'm this close to spitting in his face. “Do your worst, prick. It won't happen. I'll die before I ever work for you, ever cross continents, ever open myself to your disgusting lips. You're nothing to me, Ethan, and that's all you'll ever be. I don't know what you want or what you have on my father, but I'm never eating out of your palm like him. Never.”

He stands up straight, releasing me abruptly. There's a small crowd gathered around us. They're watching in horror. Several people have their phones in hand, probably on the verge of calling 9-1-1.

“Don't,” he says, a single simple, loaded word. Then he's gone, rushing through the crowd, into the luxury sedan waiting outside with his driver.

“Rebekah! Are you all right?” Mom reaches me first. She throws her arms around me.

“What did he do to you?” Dad asks, sheepish and angry, staring after Ethan's car as it roars down the road, his face a mess of strained emotion.

I don't answer. I'm not letting him help. He's made it clear what he is.

Too late. Too selfish. Too fucking heartless.

Story of my whole life as his daughter.

“Let me go!” I try not to hurt mom as I push her away, running down the street.

I need to get out of here. I run down the darkening streets of New York, half blinded by my tears. I'm too shaken to stop long enough to call an Uber or throw myself in front of a cab.

Flattening myself against the wall, I try to do one thing, and one thing only: breathe.

I can't comprehend what I've just done. Jesus, I don't even get it myself.

I'm scared, ashamed, and more vulnerable than ever. I've used up my limited courage and my luck. Most of all, I'm alone, more than I've ever been.

But I'm proven wrong a second later when my phone starts blasting its sugar pop ringtone in my purse. It's Grant's number.