Chapter 18

Brooks

I’ve always heard trouble comes in threes. Based on the last three days—yeah, the irony is killing me, too—I say this is a myth confirmed.

Charlotte left and believes that I’m scum, which isn’t far from the truth.

My business partners are suing me for breach of contract to the tune of thirty million, which leaves me scrambling for capital since most of it’s tied up in this building, employees, and quite a few properties across the world. Yes, I have liquid assets, but I’m not that damn rich.

And today…today I’ve learned that Drea is jumping ship to my biggest competitor…and taking five of my assistant senior editors with her.

On second thought, maybe trouble doesn’t come in any number. Basically, trouble is shit hitting the fan and landing everywhere, fucking up what it touches.

“You knew this day would come, Brooks,” Drea says as she packs her things into a medium-size box. “I’ve gone as far as I can with you, and since you wouldn’t get off your balls long enough to actually publish an article about the Sinclairs, I decided to do you a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“The kind that will put your name back where you like it—right up the public’s ass.” She hefts the box in one arm and blows me a kiss. “Don’t worry; you’ll love what I have to say about your princess.”

I don’t move, not even when she tries to brush past me. “If you say one untrue thing about Charlotte, I will end you—professionally. Just to be clear.”

She smirks at me, but there’s fear in her eyes. When she first started working for me, she’d just been fired from a rumor rag that no one wanted on their résumé. By working for me, it gave her a legitimacy the Blitz couldn’t.

“We had a deal,” she all but hisses at me.

“You knew this day would come, Drea. Try to fuck me over and I’ll share your employee record with the world. It’s not private and I wouldn’t be doxxing you. That’s your specialty.”

“Fine,” she grits out. “I’ll keep it on the up and up with the princess, but you, you’re fair game, buddy.”

“Hit me with your best shot, but remember slander and libel are my specialty. I don’t publish anything but the truth,” I remind her.

She gives me a tight fuck you smile and I step back, letting her through. The thing is, I honestly don’t mind her leaving. Career paths are career paths, and Drea has always wanted to be at the top. I knew that about her. Just like she knew that would never happen here as long as I owned Walker Media.

It’s not about her lack of skills or work ethic because Drea is damn good at her job and worked her ass off for me.

Walker Media is my baby, the only thing that mattered in this world. The only thing that gave as much as it took.

Until Charlotte came into my life.

Reminded me of who I used to be.

Reminded me that I had a family who loved and missed me.

Reminded me that I could take a vacation and the world wouldn’t come to an end.

Except it kind of did.

Shaking my head, I walk to my office, closing my door behind me. Then I call down to HR and have them cut checks for rest of the staff that’s leaving me as well as to draft a letter stating that they won’t receive further benefits due to their decision to terminate our contract without thirty days’ notice.

After that’s done, I spend the rest of the day putting out fires and trying to figure out who the hell I can hire to replace them with money I might not have.

Leaning back in my office chair, I rub my temples and attempt to relax. Only then can I strategize.

Think, Brooks. Fucking think.

My phone buzzes and I snatch it up, my heart slamming against my chest when I realize that Charlotte’s texted me.

Charlotte: I’m not pregnant.

Me: I don’t care. I still want you.

I almost punch my fist into the air when those little dots appear.

Charlotte: So does everyone. Cheers, darling.

“What the—”

I tap out a quick reply but the only thing I get in return is a blocked message report.

“Son of a bitch.” I toss my phone onto my desk. That didn’t sound anything like my princess. She’s not annoyingly cocky and she’s never referred to me as darling.

At least I know the truth now. She’s not pregnant, which means I have time to fix shit here without worrying about her getting sick or needing me.

Or her brothers sending assassins to kill me.

I buzz my secretary. “Glenda, let Chen, Swartz, McDougal, and Martinez know they need to meet me in the conference room in ten minutes.”

I meet with my new team, shocking them all with their new duties and salary increases. Easier to hire in-house and have paid interns pick up the slack than hire an additional six people.

Besides, these men and women are hungry. They want to make a difference, report on things that mean something to ordinary people. Exactly how I used to be when I first started.

I frown.

Those things still matter to me, it’s just harder to find those stories.

Or maybe I’ve become immune to them.

It’s close to one A.M. by the time I get home. My apartment is empty, no one is waiting to spring any news or shoot me where I stand. All in all, it’s a great way to end my work day.

Plus, there’s nothing of Charlotte here. Not her scent, not any memories of her in my bed, on the floor, or in the shower.

Not one fucking thing.

With a grunt, I fire up my laptop and take it with me to the kitchen where I grab a beer. I get comfortable in bed, take a swig, and crack my knuckles.

It’s time I find out the whole truth and nothing but the truth when it comes to the Sinclairs and their former prime minister.

Hours later and the most I’ve come up with is a eulogy written by that asshat for Charlotte’s parents. It reeks of smugness and fake sincerity. For shits and giggles, I check the server address on the document, which leads me to an info.com email.

In other words, nothing. Again.

I close my eyes and exhale, wondering why I’m bothering at all. Charlotte thinks the worst about me.

Hell, I think the worst about me.

Would it be that bad to publish a portion of the contents? Pin it on Davies; after all, he’s the source and he didn’t specifically say that I couldn’t give him credit.

Besides, if I write up the piece and send a draft to him, then I’m betting the lawsuit goes away. Yeah, Drea and my five assistant editors won’t come back, nor do I want them back, but I’d be able to hire more people.

Except I can’t live with myself if I do it. I can’t subject her to one more second of scrutiny from the press aka me. She’s done nothing to deserve it, and from the notes I read, it was her childhood Nanny who switched them. Some dour-faced woman named Brownstone. Apparently, Imogen was her favorite, so she made her the queen-in-waiting and Charlotte the spare.

I don’t know when they found out, or why they decided to keep things that way, but the simple truth is that their lie isn’t hurting anyone. Not even their country. If Imogen is a good ruler, it shouldn’t matter if she was supposed to be second in line.

Based on Charlotte’s reaction…she never wanted to be first.

On a hunch, I go to my bookmarks and click on Charlotte’s Maiden in the Tower blog. I find her last entry and scan it.

One day I want to leave my tower, if only for a week or two, and experience freedom.

Explore the world.

Walk along the shore, gather shells, fall madly, passionately in love with a rogue or a scoundrel—perhaps both!—have a picnic under the stars and simply be a girl. A normal, regular girl who wants nothing more than to live her life without the burden of her reality weighing heavily on her shoulders.

I know most women want a Prince Charming, but you can have him and the castle. Give me the villain who will take me away from it all…and never gives me back.

“My princess doesn’t want to be queen,” I shout at the screen, sounding like an idiot. “She doesn’t give a damn about it.”

I pull up a blank Word document and let the story flow, adding the images I’d uploaded to my files as I wrote. After two steady hours, my eyes are seeing double and my wrists are burning.

I read it over one last time and open up my email file, then send it to the only person who can make this all go away.

With a firm nod, I set my laptop to the side and start packing my things. There’s no need to wait any longer and I’m confident I can run Walker Media from the Isle—I’ve done it before when I was covering Colin and Della’s impromptu marriage.

My phone rings, like actually rings. Either it’s a telemarketer who has no sense of time or someone in my family’s gotten hurt.

I look at the number but don’t recognize it. My gut tells me to answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Brooks. This is your dad.” Shit. Something has to be extremely bad for him to say who it is, or he doesn’t think I recognize his voice. Either way, this call isn’t going to be a good one. “Briggs was in a waterskiing accident. Hit his head pretty hard and the swelling’s gone down enough for him to finally have surgery tomorrow—shit, later this morning. The doctors said he should be fine, but I wanted you to know.”

My heart slams against my chest while my stomach drops to my toes. “Where are you?”

“Home. He fell in the river.”

“I’m on my way.”

My dad exhales, his voice tight. “I didn’t think you’d agree to come. I thought I’d have to guilt you into it, but…I guess I have Charlotte to thank for that, huh?”

I want to argue with him, but he’s right. Two months ago, as soon as I heard the magic phrase of he should be fine, I would have checked out, gone back to work, or crashed for the night. Sure, I would have gone later to visit and if my brother was at death’s door—abso-fucking-lutely, I would be there.

“Yeah, we have a lot to thank her for,” I agree. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hopefully before they take him back.”

“Take your time. I can’t have both of you hurt,” my dad quips, but I can tell he’s hurting. He’s scared, which means Mom is scared, too.

“Yes, sir. See you soon.” I end our call, text my pilot, who is always on standby due to the crazy salary I pay him, and check my in-box for a response.

Nothing.

Patience has never been a virtue of mine and it won’t ever be, but Charlotte will have to wait. My family needs me.

I like to think she would get that…and approve.

As my luck would have it, due to a delay from a hurricane that smashes into the East Coast, I don’t arrive at the hospital in Wilmington until after surgery is over and Briggs has been recovering in his room for almost a day.

My parents look haggard, but there is hope residing in their eyes.

“There’s no damage,” is the first thing my dad says. “It was a freak thing…A miracle that he survived.”

My mom nods, tears in her blue eyes. “He looks pretty rough, Brooks, and he broke his leg. So recovery is going to take a while.”

I nod, my body moving forward even though I have no idea where my brother’s room is. “Can I see him?”

“Yes.” Mom grabs my arm. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

When we get to Briggs’s room, I have to stop myself from losing it. He looks so damn small in the hospital bed, his face almost colorless, all the tan from the hours he spends outdoors gone. The bruises around his eyes are the only sign of color. His head is wrapped in gauze and his leg is propped up.

Machines beep and hum, a symphony that is a sharp reminder of what could have been.

I slowly shuffle to his side, unsure if I should take his hand. “Fuck it.” This is my brother. My twin. We shared a womb for Pete’s sake. I take his hand. “Hey, brother, I’m here.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face. “Knew you’d come.”

“You hit your head and broke your leg just so I’d come to see you again?”

His eyes slit open. “Had to think of something you wouldn’t try to weasel out of.” He ends with a squeeze to my hand.

“You’re only punishing yourself by saying shit like that.”

He raises his brows.

“I’m staying for as long as it takes.”

He laughs a little, then coughs. Our mom rushes to his side, fussing over him like she did when we were kids.

“Hold you to that, Brooksy,” he says.

“I’m counting on it.”

Three weeks later, I’m wishing I never agreed to stay to help with Briggs. He’s the worst patient imaginable and I don’t know how his home nurse hasn’t smothered him with a pillow before now.

“So about that lawsuit,” Briggs says as he lies in bed, propped up with a dozen pillows behind his back and under his leg. “I went over it this morning.”

“And?”

“You’re fucked.”

I walk to the window and look out at the river. “How fucked?”

“So fucked that if you didn’t have an amazing lawyer, such as myself, on your side you’d owe them your firstborn.”

“Shit,” I mutter, then turn toward him. “What can I do?”

“Let me handle it.” He grimaces as the nurse comes in and adjusts the pillow under his leg. “I said I’m fine.”

“That’s nice,” is her reply. She keeps adjusting anyway, her mouth set in a stern line. “I’ve got shoes older than you, young man. Either you listen or I take one off and smack some sense into you.”

I bite back a laugh.

Briggs glances at her. “Nice bedside manner, Nurse Ratchet.”

She bares her teeth at him. “Don’t make me give you a sponge bath.”

His face pales and this time I don’t hold back. I laugh so hard that Nurse Ratchet threatens to give me one, too.

I hold up my hands. “I’m not laughing at you, but at him. He’s been a total ass to you. I’m happy to leave right now so you can punish him.”

The nurse smiles at me, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll go check on lunch instead.”

“Thanks,” Briggs says.

As soon as she leaves, I plop down in the chair beside him. “I have to do something, Briggs. I’m going nuts and it’s hard to run a company from another state. I’ve got good people, but I’m the face of Walker Media.”

“Tell me again how you made so much money?”

I flip him off. “Heard from Theo, Charlotte’s brother, today. He says I should come to see her.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I haven’t slept, been living on coffee and nicotine trying to do the work of six people…and I’m not sure if she’s wants me there. I haven’t heard anything else from her.” That fucking text. No way she sent that.

“So go.”

“Can’t leave you.”

Briggs gives me a look. “We’re good. I’m fine. You go.”

“I don’t know.”

My brother sits up a little straighter. “You’ve gone above and beyond what a brother would do, if we’d been on excellent terms before now. The fact is, you’re the old Brooks again, the one I’ve always been able to count on and that’s enough for me. I don’t think you liked who you became. And you lost focus. All that’s back now.”

I sit there, in stunned silence.

“Go get your princess, Brooks, before they marry her off to someone else.”

I bolt from the chair. “I’ll call you.”

“Say hey to Mary Poppins and her sister for me,” he calls out.

Shaking my head, I smile.

Some things never change and I wouldn’t have it any other way.