Fortune (39 page)

G
riffen shut Dorothy's office door behind him, then leaned against it, studying his aunt. She looked a wreck. “You rang, Auntie-dear?”

She waved him into the office, sucking greedily on a cigarette, a habit he abhorred. It was bad enough that she smoked, did she have to nurse on the things, like a baby at a teat?

“We have to talk,” she said.

“So I assumed by your frantic voice mail.” He slid into the chair opposite hers and crossed his legs. “What's the big emergency?”

“Skye told me about your proposal.”

Griffen narrowed his eyes. “And what did you say to her?”

“I told her I would love having her as a member of the family.” She stamped out the cigarette. “Of course.”

“Good.” He brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve. “So, what's the problem?”

She opened her mouth as if to answer, then widened her eyes. “My God, Griffen. What happened to your hand?”

He looked down at his bandaged right hand and shrugged. “I had a little accident in the bathroom. It required some stitches. It's nothing.” He met her eyes once more. “Back to your little crisis, Aunt Dot.”

She shifted under his gaze, agitated. “I can't continue this. I just can't, Griffen.”

“Pardon me?”

“I can't keep lying to her. I can't keep pretending—” She began to shake and fumbled around for another cigarette.

He made a sound of disgust. “Calm down. You're acting like a hysterical old fool.”

“I can't help it!” She lit the cigarette on the third try and inhaled deeply, pulling almost desperately on it, as if it would somehow save her life instead of take it. “I hate this. It's not right. I've come to care about her, Griffen.”

“I care about her, too, Aunt Dorothy. I love her. We all do.”

“But how can you…Griffen, you're her brother. It's wrong, what we're doing. You cannot marry your sister.”

At her words, he felt a pinch of annoyance and pressed his lips together. “Dot, dear,” he said quietly, using a tone one would to address a recalcitrant child. “Do you really think this is the appropriate time and place to be having this discussion?”

“I don't care! I'm telling you, I'm ending this charade!”

Weak. She was weak and stupid. But he would control her.

He stood and crossed to her desk. He laid his palms on it and leaned toward her, looking her dead in the eye. “We've talked about this before,” he said evenly. “Before Skye ever came home, we talked about this. We decided this would be the best way. We're into it now, Aunt Dot. We can't get out so easily.”

“But we must, don't you see? We have to find a way.” His great-aunt looked at him, pleading. “She means more to me now than just her value to Monarch's.”

He snorted, not hiding his disappointment in her. Or his mounting irritation. “Easy to say now, isn't it, since the pressure's off?” He leaned closer. “We need her, Dorothy. You need her. Monarch's needs her.”

She crushed her cigarette and immediately grabbed for another. “I've thought about this. We could explain it all to her. She's such a sweet girl, she'll understand. She will.”

“Sure she will.” He straightened, crossed to the window and looked out at the splendor that was the Magnificent Mile.

After a moment, he turned back to his aunt. “Do you remember all the reasons we did this? Do you remember your reasons, what you said when we made our decision?”

She brought a trembling hand to her head, already backpedaling, he saw. Typical, weak female maneuver. Any moment she would begin to whine about how she couldn't remember or that she had been confused.

“I can't…quite remember, Griffen. You know how forgetful I am. You know how confused I—”

“You thought it would be fun,” he interrupted her. “A kind of adventure. Ringing any bells now, Auntie-dear?”

She flushed and guiltily slid her gaze away. “Yes, but…but we were all so angry with Madeline for taking our girl, I thought…I didn't see—” She lit her cigarette; he saw that her hands trembled. “I didn't know her then, Griffen. She wasn't real then.”

“Fun,” he repeated. “I'm sure Skye will feel warm and generous toward you when you tell her that's why you lied to her. Because you thought it would be
fun.
”

“Oh, dear. I didn't think of it that way.”

“How do you suppose she'll look at you when she learns the way you lied to her mother? When she learns it was you, Dorothy, who alerted Pierce of her whereabouts and caused Madeline to run, leaving Skye behind?”

“She wouldn't have to know that part. She—”

“But she would find out. She would end up knowing everything.” He circled her desk, enjoying her trapped expression. “Recall, Aunt Dorothy, that we feared, when Skye learned the truth, she would side with her mother. She loved her very much, you know. Very much. Remember, too, how desperate you were before she came back to us, how overwhelmed? Remember what it was like to see Monarch Design, your love, your baby, slipping into mediocrity?”

Griffen stopped and faced her. “We needed our girl. We needed the one with the gift. If she were tied to me, we were certain she would never leave. No man would come along and steal her away.” He leaned closer. He could all but smell her panic. “We had all decided this would work. That it was the best way.”

She shrank back in her chair. “I've changed my mind, Griffen. When I didn't know her, it was easy to see that what you were saying made sense. She wasn't real, she wasn't really one of us. In a way, I didn't even believe she was real.” She brought a trembling hand to her head. “I thought maybe you were wrong about her. But she really is our Grace.”

He made a sound of disgust and straightened.
There always had to be a weak link. Always had to be a spoiler.

“How exactly are you going to tell her, Aunt Dorothy? Just outright say that we planned to trick her? Will you just blurt out how you had planned to stand by and allow her to marry her brother? For the good of Monarch's?”

The woman paled. “It does sound bad, but we must stop this now, before more damage is done. Before there's no turning back. Besides, once she knows, she'll be partial owner of Monarch's. Who would turn that down? Who would turn down the chance at wealth and position and power?”

“That's right. And angry, she could take it and walk.”

Dorothy went from pale to deathly white. “What do you mean, take it and—”

“Once we reveal to her that she's a Monarch, she has a right to claim her birthright. We could fight her, of course, but we could lose. We probably would. That was always one of the dangers. And one of our concerns. Remember? It played a part in our decision.”

Griffen moved his gaze over his aunt. “The only man you ever loved deserted you, Dorothy. Remember? He deserted you because you were barren. So you had no love and no babies. But you always had Monarch's. It's been your baby, your love. Your everything.” He paused for emphasis. “She could take it away.”

“Dear God.” Dorothy brought a hand to her chest, her breathing fast and uneven. “Griffen, what are we to do? I can't go on this way, but I…I can't lose Monarch's. It would…that would…I just can't!”

“I know, darling.” Griffen returned to his chair, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You leave for Milan tomorrow.”

“Yes, Adam and Skye and I.”

“Good.” He steepled his fingers. “That will give me some time.”

“What are you thinking?” She sat forward, her eagerness almost childlike.

“That you may be right, Aunt Dorothy.”

“Thank God!” She brought a hand to her chest. “Thank God. I was so afraid of what you would say. So afraid you'd be angry with me. That you and I would have to fight over this.”

“Dot, love, you're my great-aunt. I would never fight you. Your feelings are important to me.” He crossed his legs again and folded his hands on his knee. “Don't say anything yet. We must handle this delicately.”

“You're right.”

“We can't lose her. And if we handle this badly—” He snapped his fingers. “She'll be gone, just like Madeline was. Only she'll take Monarch's with her.”

“You're right,” she said again, crushing her cigarette in the already-overflowing ashtray.

She was an emotional wreck, he thought with distaste, God, how he despised weakness. Why was it his burden to be surrounded by such people?

“While you're in Milan, I'll get everything in place. When you return, we'll talk. Just you and I.” He stood. “How's that? Does that put your mind to rest?”

“Oh, yes.” She made a sound of relief. “Thank you, Griffen. You are such a love. I can always count on you.”

“Can I count on you to keep silent until you get back? Not a word, Aunt Dot. It's important.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “You can count on me. I've grown to love and depend on her. I couldn't bear to lose her.”

“I know just what you mean.” He walked to the door, stopping and looking over his shoulder at her. “Don't you worry about a thing. I plan to take care of everything.”

He opened the door and smiled back at her. “No loose ends, Dot. Just you wait and see.”

T
he bar was dark and smoky, filled with biker-types and artists. Not Griffen's usual choice of place for drinks, Chance thought, glancing toward the door. But then, nothing about Griffen's behavior had been usual of late. The other man had seemed strange, off-center slightly, like a mirror image of Griffen, only distorted. Chance wished he could put his finger on what was different about his friend. He had tried, he had given it a lot of thought. Still, all he knew for certain was that lately, Griffen affected him the way fingernails on a chalkboard did.

Chance checked his watch. He had been waiting twenty minutes already. Could be Griffen wasn't going to show. Could be, Chance thought, he was being stood up. He took a swallow of his beer, the brew bitter on his tongue. Could be another fuck-you in two weeks littered with those charming little gems of life.

Could be Griffen knew about him and Skye.

The thought chilled him. He had always known Griffen would be a dangerous enemy. If Griffen knew about him and Skye, he would be an enemy.

Skye.
Chance shook his head. She was in Milan, he knew. Due back in a couple of days. Which was for the best. It had kept him from calling her, from going to see her.

To say what? he wondered, scowling at his own thoughts. Skye had asked if he could give her any reason she shouldn't marry Griffen. He couldn't then. He couldn't now.

“Chance, buddy.” Griffen breezed up to the table. “Sorry I'm late, man, I got hung up in traffic.” He slid into one of the chairs, motioned the waitress to bring him whatever Chance was having, then turned back to Chance. “Interesting place, yes?”

“It's fine.”

“Hmm.” Griffen rocked back in his chair, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Looking a little glum, my friend. Anything to do with the rumors I've been hearing around town?”

Chance looked up sharply. Griffen was particularly jovial tonight, oddly so. “What rumors are those, Grif?”

“Rumors that you fucked up, actually. Rumors that your clients are bailing at the speed of light.”

Chance stared at the other man, stunned by his cavalier tone, thinking about what Skye had said that day after they'd made love. That Griffen thought Chance was jealous of him. That Griffen thought Chance wanted to be him.

Griffen chuckled. “The industry's just buzzing with how the newly mighty has fallen. Man-of-the-hour to loser-of-the-year in a matter of weeks. You've given the mill plenty of grist, buddy-boy. Congratulations.”

“Fuck you,” Chance said tightly.

“Lighten up. Jesus, Chance. It's only business.”

“Easy to say when your business has been given to you.”

Griffen's eyebrows shot up. “You got a problem with that, buddy?”

“I have a problem with your attitude.”

“Considering that from what I hear, I'm one of few clients you have left, I'd suggest you cool it. Seems to me, I'm not the man to pick a fight with.”

Chance sucked in a deep breath, realizing that Griffen was right: he was picking a fight. He wanted to get in the middle of a knock-down, drag-out, black-eyed, bloody-nosed fight. And he wanted to get into it with Griffen.

Griffen was also right about the stupidity of picking one of his last clients as the one to go to war with.

Chance smiled stiffly, though he couldn't bring himself to apologize. “Bad call, man. It's been a hell of a couple of weeks.”

“Cool.” Griffen smiled. “I suppose Skye told you our news.”

Chance met the other man's eyes and played dumb. “I haven't talked to Skye in a while.”

“The news that I popped the question. Skye and I are getting hitched.”

“No shit?” Chance brought his beer to his mouth. “If you're getting hitched, she must have accepted.”

The muscles in Griffen's face stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Chance to know that she had not. Not yet, anyway.

“Of course she did.”

“Congratulations.” Chance lifted his beer in a salute, the thought of Skye marrying Griffen repugnant. “You'll make a handsome couple.”

“We already do.” He grinned. “But you don't sound so happy, buddy.”

“Don't I?” Chance downed his beer, wishing he had cause to. “I'm thrilled. Truly.”

“Funny,” Griffen murmured, bringing his beer to his lips, “for a while there, I was thinking you wanted Skye for yourself.”

Chance's blood ran cold. “And what would have made you think that.”

“Things.” Griffen lifted a shoulder. “But then I said to myself, why would Chance compete when he knew he couldn't win? Why would he do that when he knew how angry it would make me?”

Chance narrowed his eyes, not liking the threat implied in Griffen's words. “Are you starting something with me, Grif?”

“You tell me. Am I?”

“I'm not competing with you for Skye, if that's what you're asking.” Chance pushed away from the table. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in the mood for bullshitting tonight. Did you want to talk about anything in particular?”

“Nope. I haven't seen my buddy much lately, and I thought we'd have a drink. For old-time's sake.”

Chance thought about begging off, about claiming work or an early day tomorrow, instead he let Griffen order him another beer. They talked and swapped stories, the atmosphere strained between them. Chance pretended not to notice, pretended to be amused by things Griffen said, pretended that he didn't feel Skye between them, as surely as if she had been sitting in the middle of the table.

Finally, Chance had had enough. “Look, Grif, I'm beat. I'm going to call it a night.” He stood, dropped a few bills on the table and took his coat from the back of the chair.

“I'll walk you out.”

Within moments, they were on the street. The night was clear but cold, the sky starless.

“Where are you parked?” Griffen asked, stopping beside his Porsche.

“Just up the block.”

“See you around the store.”

Chance nodded, hunched deeper into his coat and crossed the nearly deserted street. His car, he saw when he reached it, was just as he had left it. With one exception. All four tires had been slashed.

Chance swore and dragged a hand through his hair. And in the middle of nowhere, too. What next?

Griffen pulled up beside him, window lowered. “Problem, buddy?”

Chance met Griffen's eyes, narrowing his own in suspicion. His friend looked tickled pink. “Somebody did a number on my tires.”

“Bummer.” Griffen smiled. “Hop in. I'll give you a ride.”

After making sure his car was locked, Chance went around to the passenger side and climbed in.

They rode in silence. Griffen handled the little car expertly, cutting down side streets, heading away from the city's heart rather than toward it. While he drove, he smiled to himself, every so often flexing his fingers on the steering wheel and making a sound of amusement.

“What's the deal?” Chance jerked his thumb in the opposite direction. “The Loop's that way.”

“Got a shortcut.” Griffen's lips curved into a smirk. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Chance sat back, but he didn't enjoy. He didn't want to take his eyes off Griffen; something was seriously out of whack with the guy. Chance drew his eyebrows together. Weird, Chance thought. Griffen was acting weirder by the moment. It was as if the other man was charged with a strange sort of energy, as if a switch of some sort had gone haywire inside him.

Griffen took a curve too fast, and Chance fastened his safety belt. “Want to slow it down a bit, Grif?”

Griffen laughed. “Something wrong? Am I making you nervous?”

“If it's all the same to you, I don't particularly want to die tonight.”

Griffen laughed, though the sound was almost childish, like a giggle. “Considering the state of your business, that's saying something.”

“What's with the attitude tonight? You're being an asshole, even for you.”

He laughed again. “I'm glad we have this chance to talk. There are some things I've been wanting to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Chance muttered, deciding he didn't like Griffen Monarch, and that he wished he was anywhere but inside this car with him, even standing beside his own car in the cold.

“Yeah.” Griffen giggled again. “It was so easy, really. A few calls, a few complaints. The suggestion of fiscal impropriety, of dissatisfaction, of inappropriate behavior.”

Chance looked at Griffen, his heart beginning to thud. “What are you talking about?”

Griffen looked him dead in the eye. “Why, your business, of course.” He smiled. “Or current lack thereof.”

Chance stared at Griffen, his words, their meaning, sinking in. “You called my clients?”

“Surprise, Chance.”

Chance felt sick. He had known something weird was going on, something that didn't make sense. He had suspected that someone was sabotaging him. And doing a damn good job of it. He had figured it might be someone from Adams and Sloane. Or even Price, Stevenson and Price.

But Griffen? His friend?

“You son of a bitch.” Chance fisted his fingers. “I ought to kill you, now.”

Griffen laughed again, unfazed, obviously relishing his story. “Some were more difficult to convince than others. Of course, that only made it more fun. Martha put up the biggest fight.” Griffen made a sound of disgust. “Loyal little bitch. She was so impressed with you, with what you had done for her, she told me she didn't care how you had allegedly performed for your other accounts, your performance with her had been spectacular. Damn nonprofits, they're such idealistic assholes.

“I finally had to explain the facts of life to her. She either got rid of McCord Public Relations and Special Events, or she lost Monarch's sizable support. And, of course, anyone I could bring with me. Money talks, buddy-boy. Bullshit walks.”

“You son of a bitch,” Chance said again, flexing his fingers. “Stop the car now. I swear to God, I'm going to kill you.”

“Yeah, right.” He lowered his voice to a thready, sarcastic whisper. “You're too nice to kill me, Chance. Too much a by-the-rules kind of guy.”

Griffen laughed, the sound high and thin. And crazy. Chance looked at the other man in dawning horror—it wasn't just the liquor talking, it wasn't just your run-of-the-mill nastiness. Griffen was unbalanced.

“I have to say, you've been a hell of a date, Chance.” Griffen roared around a slower vehicle, jerking the wheel so sharply the Porsche fishtailed. “I don't know when I've had more fun. Watching you, little by little puffing up with your imagined success, thinking that you were some sort of Mr. Big. Knowing all along that I could take it all away.” He snapped his fingers. “Anytime. Anytime at all.”

“Why?” Chance managed to say, gripping the strap of his safety belt, the blood rushing in his ears, so furious he could hardly speak, too furious to be frightened.

“You even have to ask?” Griffen cut him a glance from the corners of his eyes, his mouth tightening into a grim line. “Skye, of course.” He shook his head. “What did you think you were doing, messing with my woman? Did you think I was blind? Huh, you little prick?” His voice rose. “Did you really think she would ever want
you,
when I wanted her? Me, Griffen Monarch. Please, it's pathetic.”

“Then why are you so worried?” Chance shouted to be heard above the roar of the engine. “Why all this?”

“Why all this? I'll show you why!” Griffen hit the accelerator again, and Chance watched as the speedometer inched from eighty to eighty-five, eighty-five to ninety.

“You're losin' it, man!” Chance shouted, gaze fixed on the speedometer. “Slow the fuck down! You're going to kill us both!”

“I can give her everything. Money. Power. Success. I can give her Monarch's! Do you have any idea what that means? You're nothing! By the time I'm finished with you, you'll have nothing left. Not even a pot to piss in. Just like when I found you, a pathetic nothing.”

“You crazy son of a bitch! She doesn't love you! She never will!”

Griffen tilted his head back and howled, the sound wild, primal. Out of control. “She's mine! My possession, my prize. Don't you get it? She always has been. I own her.”

“You're out of your mind. She'll never love you.”

“No?” Griffen turned to him, completely calm suddenly. Eerily calm. A chill raced up Chance's spine, and he stared at the other man, fear penetrating his fury.

He might not live through this. Griffen might kill them both.

“If I can't have her, nobody will. Remember that, Chance. You heard it here first.”