Chapter 23

Becka

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Ethan’s shape standing in the doorway.

“Stay back!” I shouted, looking around for something I could use as a weapon. Of course, the only thing I could find was a wine bottle. I grabbed it and pointed it at him.

“Becka, what the hell is wrong with you?” he asked me. “Give me that. If you wanted a glass of wine, all you had to do was ask.” He smiled as if this was all just a big joke. I jerked away and, still holding the bottle in one hand, pointed at the blood on the floor with the other.

“If Oliver is just in hiding away from the press, then whose blood is that?” I demanded. “What did you do with him?” I couldn’t believe it; I felt like I was in the middle of every horror movie I’d ever seen, where the damsel in distress ends up realizing the truth far too late; that she let herself get seduced by the murderer who kills the hero while she’s too busy trying to figure out which one is better marriage material.

But this was real, and Ethan’s figure, domineering and scary in the doorway, was taking my breath away. My eyes were playing tricks on me; he barely resembled the man I’d been so drawn to earlier. And he still hadn’t answered.

“What did you do?” I screeched, my voice sounding foreign even to me.

“Becka, calm down,” Ethan said, holding out his hand to me, palm out, as if he was urging me to not make any sudden moves. “I didn’t do anything to Oliver. I told you that. The blood is mine. I cut myself earlier while I was making dinner.”

“Show me your hands,” I said. “Show me where you cut yourself.”

“It was a small cut,” he explained. “You can’t see it from there.” He held out his finger and I could, by the dim light of the wine cellar, barely see a red mark on his finger.

“All that blood, from that tiny cut.”

“I’m a hemophiliac, Becka. I bleed nonstop whenever I cut myself. I take medication for it, but even a paper cut would bleed far more than you could ever imagine. I promise you,” he said, stepping toward me, “I didn’t do a thing to Oliver.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of everything. “Are you telling me the truth about the hemophilia thing?” I asked.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Besides, if Oliver and I had gotten into it enough for me to cause him serious harm, first of all, though it pains me to admit it, I’d have some marks on me. Second, there’d be a lot more blood around the place—both his and mine.”

I looked into his eyes and couldn’t read what I saw there. I found myself growing more and more annoyed.

“Why can’t you two just be fucking honest with me about anything?” I yelled, tossing the bottle of wine to the floor. It shattered and splattered red wine all over my legs, but I didn’t care. I was done with both of them.

“I used to have a totally normal life,” I said, storming past him out of the wine cellar. He stared after me like I’d gone completely crazy. “I had a dissertation I was working on and I was a well-respected member of my cohort, with the admiration of my professors and an incredibly bright future ahead of me.

Now, I’m caught up in this ridiculous media circus, a huge scandal, and I’m facing the idea of going to jail. You’re hot. Oliver is hot. I don’t know which of you I’d choose if I had the chance, but, as of this moment, I choose neither of you! This is all too much trouble!”

I was standing in the kitchen cleaning my legs off with a damp dish towel. Most of the wine had landed on my shoes, which were ruined, but I didn’t care. Ethan was staring at me in a combination of fascination and mortification, as if he’d never seen a woman lose her shit before.

“Listen, Becka, I know it’s frustrating. But, you don’t understand what all of this media attention could do to Neurotova. It could destroy it. Other companies, competitors of Neurotova, live for times like this. They send in spies disguised as journalists. They head-hunt. looking for scientists who don’t trust that Neurotova can weather the storm, and they entice them to come work for their companies instead.

All of this attention could very well drive Neurotova into the ground. Oliver was smart to go under for a bit. If no one can find him, including the people who he cares about, like you, the safer everyone is, including Neurotova.

“I don’t understand why you care,” I said bitterly, still rubbing red wine from my clothes. “You’ve been trying to destroy Neurotova and Oliver from the start.”

“I wish you knew the truth,” Ethan said. “I wish I could tell you everything. You’d see a far different side of Oliver and of Neurotova if you knew everything that I know.”

“So why don’t you tell me?” I asked, exasperated. I was tired of both of these brothers and their coy language, their secrets.

“It would only make things worse for you. The less you know right now about Neurotova and the history between Oliver and me, the safer you’ll be. I promise.

I know you’re annoyed.” He stared pointedly at the pool of wine. “The entire wine cellar knows you’re annoyed. But you can’t be allowed to know any more than you do. I’m sorry.”

I glared at him. “In that case, I’m going to be alone tonight, with my annoyed thoughts. I’m sleeping in one of the spare rooms. And I’m locking the door. Don’t come to find me, don’t knock on my door in the middle of the night, and don’t think for a moment that I’m going to change my mind and come to find you and sneak into bed with you.

I’m going to sleep now because I’ve had too much to drink and I’m tired. And angry. In the morning, I’m leaving at first light to go back to my apartment.”

I stormed out of the kitchen, leaving a quite speechless Ethan holding a broom and dishcloth above a shattered bottle of wine.

I found my way to the closest guest room, which was just down the hall from Oliver’s main suite. It was a simple room, but it had everything I needed: a bed and a bathroom. I had left my overnight bag in Lisa’s car, so all I had with me was my purse and my phone.

I set them both on the night table and turned down the bed. I stripped down to my underwear and bra and slid between the cool sheets, feeling, for a moment, like a normal human being.

I realized how exhausted I was, and, though I had planned on watching television, I found my eyes fluttering closed. I thought about how my life had been before I’d met either Oliver or Ethan. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I was torn.

My feelings for Oliver were so strong, and those feelings had been confused, but not erased, by the presence of Ethan in my life. Lisa was right; I was incredibly lucky to have two billionaires after me—not because they were billionaires, though that didn’t hurt, but because I had two men who were interested in me. But, did I? And was I incredibly lucky?

Ever since Oliver had come into my life, I’d had nothing but problems, and those problems had only compounded themselves when I met Ethan. I was a simple woman; I didn’t need or want a billionaire’s lifestyle.

And yet, when I thought Oliver was hurt, I had felt my breath tear against my lungs. I still wasn’t completely sure I could trust Ethan, but, really, I had no choice.

I had to agree that if Ethan had harmed Oliver, there would have been more blood. And, Oliver would have put up a fight. No way would Ethan not have marks all over him, defensive wounds, a black eye.

I decided that, when I woke up, I would leave Oliver’s mansion and go home. I’d do my best to forget that either Oliver or Ethan existed.

Ethan

I cleaned up the bottle of wine; Oliver was going to be pissed. It was a collectable bottle of a vintage he’d only managed to get a few bottles of. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice, but, even if he did, there was nothing that could be done now.

I turned all of the lights off downstairs and went back to the bedroom. The sheets were still messy from earlier in the night when I’d been sharing the bed with Becka, and I shook my head, flipping on the television.

I did think for a moment about knocking on her bedroom door; I knew she had gone to the room at the end of the hall. But, her threat was loud and clear in my mind, and the last thing I wanted to do was have another scene. If she started thinking rationally, I’d have a real problem on my hands. Best for her to go to sleep angry, wake up angry, and go back home.

The news was more of the same. Damn Oliver, I shook my head and poured myself a scotch from the bar. He was messing everything up, and, just when things were coming to a head, he’d bailed. Not a lot of what I’d told Becka was the truth, but my not having any idea where Oliver was happened to be true, unfortunately.

If I’d known where he was, I would have flown to get him and dragged his sorry ass back to face everything that was going on. Such a chicken shit.

I sat in an overstuffed leather chair and watched the talking heads on CNN rip Neurotova apart from every side. There was a panel discussion focusing on the financial impact of business on food science and on the American diet.

The heads were saying that scandals like what was happening, where aspects of animal cruelty came into play with food that we put on our children’s tables, was one of the unfortunate aspects of the culture in which we lived.

Of course, an argument ensued about how if the billionaires in charge of businesses like Neurotova were as rich in ethics as they were in dollars, it wouldn’t be an aspect of our culture… and blah, blah, blah.

I zoned out, letting the voices wash over me along with my scotch. When my first scotch was done, I refilled it. I walked by the door and, again, thought about going to Becka’s room and knocking on her door. It seemed so strange to be in Oliver’s house to begin with, but then to have Becka sleeping so close and not be near her seemed downright wrong.

I thought about my lips on hers, how we had finally kissed, finally connected, and how intense our connection had been. Regardless of her past with Oliver, I was sure that I somehow had a future with Becka.

But, as I sipped my drink, I heard my brain negating that very idea. It was so unlike me to even be thinking of her. I had never gotten caught up in a single woman, certainly not to the point of distraction.

All of the decisions I’d been making lately seemed to be relating only to Oliver and Becka and having nothing to do with myself and my own wellbeing. That had to change.

I knew that Becka could never know the truth. Oliver hadn’t told her, of course, outside of letting her know that we were brothers. That was plenty, and I’d had to take him to task for it. Our fight in his office had been long overdue, and it all came as a result of him telling Becka more than she was entitled to know.

The trouble was, she was smart. She was smarter than any woman I’d been interested in for at least the last several years. I had never needed to worry about women asking about my past, my family, even what I did for a living. I met my women at fundraisers and business functions; all they cared about was that I was a billionaire, nothing more.

Becka didn’t give two shits about my billionaire status… and that, I realized, made her the most dangerous woman I’d ever known. I needed to ensure that she didn’t know any more about Oliver, Neurotova, or me than she already did. She already knew far too much.