The Devil Wears Black
“As for you, Chase, I really don’t know what to say. Faking an engagement to Maddie. Manipulating your family in order to secure this position—”
“It wasn’t about the position,” I bit out. “It was about you.” The admission felt bitter in my mouth. “I wanted you to think I had my shit together before we said goodbye. I wanted you to be proud.”
It sounded pathetic coming out of my mouth. So much so I wanted to laugh. Dad did laugh. Humorlessly, though. “Evidently, you’ve failed. Your shit is not together. Your shit hit the fan, and now everybody stinks.”
It was Julian’s turn to snicker. Bastard had the audacity to enjoy it.
“Now let’s talk about Clementine.” Dad tapped his cane again, redirecting the conversation to the part that mattered. It felt surreal to stand here in front of my father and watch him unravel every single embarrassing thing his two sons had done in the last decade. “Both of you will need to step up.”
“I will,” I said without hesitation, even knowing what I knew. It didn’t matter. I would always be there for Booger Face, until the end of time, in any capacity, no matter who she belonged to.
“Me too.” Julian nodded, sobered. “God, I’m not a monster. And anyway, a part of me always knew, I guess. Clemmy is mine. Always will be.”
Dad used the very last ounces of his energy to raise the cane, poking it in Julian’s arm. “You do not treat that kid any differently. It is not her fault she was born into the wrong situation. Am I understood?” He hovered the cane between the two of us.
“Yes, sir,” we said in unison.
My father shook his head, sighing. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go apologize to Lori for leaving her with this mess and bring her up to speed.”
He turned around and walked out of my office. It was only when he entered the elevator that I noticed Madison was on the other side of the glass.
She’d heard.
About Clementine. Or at least, what she thought was me fathering Clementine.
About our exposed charade.
About fucking everything.
“Mad, wait.”
But it was too late. She turned around and took the elevator down with Dad.
Chase: You’re not in your office.
Maddie: Thanks, Captain Obvious.
Chase: I’m coming to your place.
Maddie: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.
Chase: I can explain.
(I couldn’t, at this point, but it seemed like something people said often.)
Maddie: Which part, the one where your father uncovered us? Or maybe it’s the part where you screwed my brains out in my office, then proceeded to throw it in Julian’s face when he ruffled your feathers? Yes, Chase. Thin glass door. EVERYBODY heard.
Maddie: Or maybe you can explain the part where you FATHERED CLEMENTINE AND FORGOT TO MENTION IT TO EVERYONE?
Maddie: I thought I hated you then. I was wrong. This, right here, right now, is hate.
Maddie: There’s nothing to talk about. This was temporary, right? You said so yourself. Mission accomplished. You screwed me. You bragged about it. Everyone knows. Now let me go.
Maddie: And one more thing. Be good to Clemmy. That’s the least you can do.
It was pissing rain by the time the taxi stopped by Madison’s brownstone. I tucked the papers into my blazer to prevent them from getting wet, ducking my head as I slipped out of the cab. I punched her buzzer three times, pacing back and forth. No answer. I tried calling her. She didn’t pick up. I could clearly see her light was on through her window. Her plants tucked behind the glass cozily as the rain pounded on the glass from outside. I called and texted and begged for twenty minutes straight before the door opened from the inside of the building.
“Jesus, Mad. Finally. I . . .” I stopped when I saw who it was. Layla.
“Wow, Satan, you look like shit. Which is frankly an accomplishment, considering your genetics.” She bit off the edge of a Twizzler, taking a whole lot of pleasure in watching me soaked to the bone. She was still in. I was still out. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure what I was doing here in the first place. Madison had made valid points in her text messages—this was supposed to be temporary, and now we were uncovered. Done. What did I care if she knew the truth or not? Especially now, when my life was one giant fire in need of extinguishing.
“Let me in.” I scowled, noticing rain dripping from my hair and the tip of my nose. How come I didn’t even feel wet?
“Try again. This time nicer,” she singsonged, crossing her arms over her chest. Her neon-green bomber jacket matched her hair.
“Not familiar with the term,” I bit out.
“Crying shame.” She moved for the door, half closing it in my face.
“Please, may I come in?” I asked loudly. Fuck. She reopened the door.
“What are your intentions with my friend?” She pretended to consider my request, taking another bite of the Twizzler.
Well, I would like to explain myself, fuck her six ways from Sunday, then yell at her for being so goddamn impossible, then fuck her again.
“Talk,” I said, opting for the shorter, safe-for-work answer. “I just want to talk to her.”
The rain was pounding on my head. Layla was taking her sweet-ass time to make a decision. The list of people I wanted to kill was growing by the nanosecond.
“She’s hella upset with you, so you might get through this door, but not necessarily through her door.” She finally opened the door all the way. “Good luck, Satan.”
I raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time. When I got to Madison’s door, a rush of something weird washed over me. I could almost smell Daisy and the flowers and Mad’s shampoo and freshly baked goods through the crack of the door. I wanted to take a shit and a shower and a nap, then have two of her cupcakes with a side of a blowjob. I wanted her comfort, not another fucking quarrel out of the three thousand ones we had on a daily basis.
“Madison.” I pounded on the door. I dripped all over the hallway, my clothes heavy with rain. I couldn’t feel the lower half of my body either. My goddamn ass would probably need to be amputated after it froze off. “Open the door.”
“I don’t think so.”
I wondered how I’d ended up here. Not just today but in general. I’d seen this side of her door so many times, always with a half-cocked plan, forever with some explaining and convincing to do, constantly un-fucking-invited.