Chapter Eighteen
Dominic
The trip to McLean, Virginia is tedious and long—five hours from LAX.
Still, the outcome should be worth the hassle.
Normally I wouldn’t set foot in the swanky neighborhood, where diplomats and politicians and other powerbrokers live. It isn’t my scene, and if I need to talk to a politician, I can just visit D.C. But this is where Julian Reed lives—with his sixth wife—and this is where he insists on meeting because he doesn’t want to discuss anything on the phone.
Asshole.
The landscaping in the huge yard is immaculate, albeit a bit barren with the weather being so cold. But in summer, the place will look lively…if overly gaudy with so many marble statues and topiaries with no thematic unity.
Climbing out of a black Rolls-Royce, I smooth my suit. First impressions matter, and I want Julian to understand I mean business.
I arch an eyebrow at the stiff butler who opens the door to the ostentatious mansion. Maybe he thinks he’ll crumble like a pillar of salt if he relaxes for a second.
“Mr. Reed is waiting for you in the study,” he announces grandly in the worst faux-British English I’ve ever heard. Then he turns and starts leading me to the second floor. The interior is stuffed with expensive material—priceless silk wallpaper, European crystal chandeliers and a gallery of oil paintings. The problem is the lack of taste. Everything is a giant mishmash, like Julian’s only priority in decorating the place was showing off how much money he could throw at it.
Julian’s study isn’t much better, but the desk and chairs look comfortable enough. Shelves filling up the walls, floor to ceiling, are stuffed with leather-bound volumes—Shakespeare, Milton and Faust. Probably nobody’s touched them. The leather’s still too smooth and shiny.
Julian looks at me from the other side of the desk. “Take a seat.” He doesn’t bother to stand.
I sit and study the man who sired Elizabeth.
He’s naturally blond, although he maintains the color artificially now, and his eyes are cold. His white dress shirt is crisply starched, the collar undone. The ruby eyes on silver lion cufflinks flash an eerie crimson as he steeples his hands.
My research dug up information beneath the wealthy-man surface. Julian is self-made, and married Elizabeth’s mother—Geraldine Pryce—for reasons other than love. The Pryce family is old money, with the attendant power, influence and connections. Being married to such a family confers enormous benefits.
But that didn’t stop Julian from taking his dick out of his pants for extramarital recreation.
Although the man’s personal life is a huge farce, he understands money. That’s the only reason he recovered after losing half his assets to Geraldine in an ugly divorce.
He doesn’t offer me refreshment or make any effort at civility. “What do you want?”
I maintain a calm smile. I didn’t come here to fight. “I thought I was clear in our communication.”
“My assistant didn’t say.”
Bullshit. Time is a valuable commodity for people like us, and he wouldn’t offer to meet if he didn’t know what I was after and at least be open to a discussion.
“The portrait your father did of Elizabeth when she turned eighteen,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow slightly. “What are you offering?”
“Fair market price plus a ten percent premium.”
He smirks. “Ten percent?”
“It’s a generous offer.”
“It would be…if I didn’t know what you’d be getting in return.”
I narrow my eyes. I’m not naïve enough to expect him not to have looked me up, but what does he know about my motives? “What is it you think I’m getting in return?”
“All you young men want a piece of my saintly daughter. They pant after her like dogs after a bitch and jump at her command.”
I pull back at Julian’s crude tone. Whether they have disagreements or not, she’s his daughter. How can he talk about her like this to a virtual stranger?
“You aren’t the first one who’s showed up,” Julian continues. “Nate Sterling came by a couple of days ago, offering not only to buy the painting but to owe me a favor. Incredible, eh?” He snorts. “That proud little fucker owing me a favor…all because he wants to get into her panties.”
Nate Sterling. The very idea that he knows about the deal too—probably heard it from Elizabeth—and tried to grab the portrait first causes searing fury to burn a hole in my gut.
Does Elizabeth plan to pit Nate against me? Get me the portrait and I’ll marry you.
But what about that Tolyan guy?
“Did you give it to him?” I ask, my voice taut.
Julian chortles. “You stupid little fuck. You had no idea you were her second choice, did you?”
Nate doesn’t have it. Relief floods through me, but only for a moment. Julian’s insult about me being her second choice hits close to the mark, and my old wound aches.
Julian continues, “Tell my daughter if she wants the painting, she should either do as she’s told or come crawling to me on hands and knees herself and beg like a good little bitch. If she begs prettily enough, who knows? I might find it my heart to be…lenient. Certainly, it’ll work better than sending me young men who want to debauch her.”
I flinch. What he’s saying…what he’s demanding of her…
I suddenly want to shower and clean out my ears. He’s her father. Shouldn’t he be more protective of her? Or at least tell me to get the fuck out because there’s no way he’s selling the painting he promised his daughter?
She probably did something to deserve this kind of treatment from her father. She most likely asked for it.
But Julian is still her father.
My dad walloped my ass whenever I gave Mom any lip, but he never, ever talked this way about me or my sister. He was the first to leap to our defense if anybody talked trash about us.
“You always like this to your daughter?”
“What? Give her what she deserves? ” Julian looks at me over steepled fingers. “You think she walks on water because she feeds a few hungry kids and has a pretty face. You’re thinking, Hey, if I get the painting for her, she might like me…maybe even let me fuck her. Forget it. She won’t like you; she certainly won’t let you fuck her. She likes nothing except the damned foundation and the legacy her grandmother left her.” He leans forward. “You know what I despise the most in people? A lack of gumption. And she has none. Always blabbered about wanting to be an artist or interpreter. What is she now? She’s the face of the precious Pryce Family Foundation. Not because she needs to earn money to make ends meet, but because she’s spineless. It makes me want to puke how people fawn over her, call her brave and wonderful and generous for giving money to the poor.”
He’s saying exactly what I’ve been thinking about her. Except it sounds so petty and mean when spoken out loud.
It’s because it’s coming from a man who should be defending her, no matter how misguided the effort might be.
He continues, “They don’t seem to realize it’s easy to be brave and generous when you’re playing with other people’s money. I hope one day the world sees her for the gutless coward she is so she’ll never be able to look down on me…as though I’m somehow beneath her and her precious Pryce family.” Anger and hatred burn in the depths of his gaze. “After all, no matter how much she wants to deny it, she’s half me. And I’ll make sure she never forgets it.”
His mind is made up. There’s nothing I can do to convince him I have no carnal interest in Elizabeth.
“You should’ve told me this over the phone instead of wasting my time.” My voice is cold and hard with annoyance, disgust and something that feels like…sympathy for Elizabeth?
Whoa. No.
Sympathy… Seriously? After all the lies and betrayals between us—and all the things she’s done to ruin me since that night I learned the truth—sympathy?
“And deprive myself of the best entertainment money can’t buy?” Julian claps once. “I like watching men jump through hoops for Elizabeth…and get nothing for it. Their disappointment—and her frustration—are oh so gratifying, providing an old man like me a reason to get up in the morning. And with you, it’s especially sweet because I know you’re doing it partially to pay her back for what she did ten years ago. Except you’ll never be able to repay her. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiles beatifically—a saint blessing the ignorant with the truth.
He knows about the history between me and Elizabeth? And he’s still acting like this? What the hell…
On the other hand, something about what he’s saying feels off. But I’m too angry to process it. I stand up. “You picked the wrong man to piss off.”
Julian chuckles. “I doubt you’ll be any worse than Nate. Really, young people these days…take everything so personally.” He taps his chin, looking up in an exaggerated thinking pose. “On the other hand, it is personal, so I guess it’s okay for you to take it that way.”
Fury bubbles inside me, but I tamp it down. Venting at Julian is a pathetic waste of time. “Then I’ll respond in the spirit in which you fucked with me. Have a good day, Julian.”
I get up and leave without further ado. As soon as I’m in my car, I call Antoine Boucher—my head of security, confidant, best friend and jack of all trades.
“Wow, great minds think alike!” he says in lieu of “hello.” Although he was born and spent the first ten years of his life in Paris, he also studied in London and Boston and speaks excellent English with a trace of a British accent. He claims it nets him more women. “I was just about to call you!”
“About what?”
“This letter you got, but let’s hear why you called first.”
“I want you to dig into Julian Reed.”
“How deep?” Antoine’s voice’s bright with excitement.
“All the way until you hit rock bottom. A man that nasty has to have something in his past.”
“And would this something land him in jail?”
“Maybe. But even if it isn’t that bad, there has to be something he’d rather die than have made public. Everyone has a skeleton or two.”
“Got it.”
I smile as vindictive anticipation coils in my gut. One of the things Antoine loves as much as women and food is finding dirt on people. If he had criminal inclinations, he’d make a superb blackmailer.
“So what did you want to talk about?” I ask.
“You got a letter from Elizabeth Pryce-Reed via her foundation. She wants to meet to discuss a new cause she wants you to fund.”
“Does she now?”
“She proposed dinner. Everyone’s gotta eat.”
I smile grimly. This has to be her countermove to my declaration that I plan to strip her bare and take what she most values. “Have Brian send her two available time slots,” I say, referring to my assistant.
It’ll be fun to see how she intends to stop me.