Page 69 of The Client
There’s a throbbing at my temples. This fucker’s got me and he knows it. I’m not innocent in all of this. I did purchase six months of Izabela’s life. But if I’d known that she was forced or coerced, I would have never. I had no idea that Zoric had forced her into service. Why didn’t Izabela ever say anything to me?
Then again, why would she? She probably thought that I knew. I can’t imagine what Izabela must think of me deep down inside. She probably hates me, and she’d have every reason to.
Dammit, what the hell have I gotten myself into?
“This is going to cost you your job,” he gloats. “Unless you walk away first.”
I look up, staring daggers at my father. He’s right. Fuck.
And that’s not even the worst part of this entire situation. No, the worst part is that I’ve played a role in Izabela’s trafficking. I had a hand in ruining her life. Everything she’s done for me, all of her kindness, and all of the understanding she’s extended to me, and I’m sure all of it was done out of fear.
I’m no better than my father.
Fuck, I’m no better than Konstantin Zoric.
“No need to drag it out, son. These are your options,” Dad says. “You can either resign, and I’ll keep all of this under wraps…at least, until you give me a reason to use it against you. Or you can refuse to step aside, in which case I’ll blow the lid off this thing so fast it’ll make your goddamn head spin. Choice is yours. I’ll give you a few days to think it over.”
He looks at his watch, pulls the USB drive out of his laptop, and shoves it back into the leather portfolio, which he puts back in its drawer before locking it. Then he stands.
“I’m late for a meeting, so I’ve got to go. Oh, and I’d start polishing up the old resume if I were you. See if you can put that business degree to use elsewhere.”
With a self-satisfied grin, he slaps me on the shoulder and walks out.
My rational brain begins to creep in. Maybe there’s a way to fix this. Not just for me, but for Izabela, too. Hell, I’ll call Konstantin Zoric directly if I have to. Work out some kind of deal.
As for my grandfather…I guess I’ll just have to let my dad go ahead and reveal how I met Izabela. Conveniently leaving out the part he played, of course. I won’t try to lie to Grandpa about paying for her, but maybe I can convince him to see this as more of a mail-order bride type of situation, minus the wedding. Or really expensive dating.
Yes, I could always ask Izabela to explain that my dad was the original buyer, that I paid for six months with her to keep her away from him, but I don’t want to retraumatize her like that. Besides, my dad will just insist that she’s lying about his role in the whole thing. And I doubt my grandfather will care how I came to buy Izabela, just that I did.
There’s no way out of this: my father will stop at nothing to destroy my reputation. But I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. And you know what I say? Screw PR, screw the tabloids, screw public opinion. The most important thing is making this right for Izabela.
If I get fired from McConnell Enterprises in the process, then so be it.
I am going to burn Konstantin Zoric to the ground right along with me.
26
IZABELA
When I hearRhys yell my name from downstairs, I panic. It’s midafternoon, way too early for him to be home from work. Unless something bad happened. Or unless…am I in trouble?
Heart pounding, I pause the yoga video I’ve been doing on YouTube and dab the sweat at my temples with the back of my hand. I was not prepared to see Rhys for hours, so I’m barely presentable in my workout pants and a cropped tank top, but—
“Izabela!”
His fist hammers at my door, and I cross the room and open it, breathing hard from a combination of physical exertion and panic.
“What is it? What’s going on?” I blurt.
Did he find out that I snooped around in his office and found Celine’s engagement ring? It’s the only thing I can think of.
He holds my gaze, working his jaw, and finally says, “There’s something urgent we need to discuss. Are you comfortable speaking in here, or is my office better?”
My adrenaline is through the roof. And yet…he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he looks apologetic. But also stressed out. Maybe he’s breaking off our arrangement early. Please, no. Let it be anything but that, even if he is upset with me.
“This is fine,” I say, glancing around the room. It’s huge, but there’s not really anywhere for us to sit and talk together. The floor, maybe.
But Rhys gestures for me to take a seat on the bed, then pulls over the chair from the vanity for himself. He rubs his temples for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts.
