If Farrow moaned the word porn one more time, I’d fuck her on this jet and create our own, audience be damned.
“Hold up.” Her tongue poked out of her mouth as she struggled to angle the camera at her chilaquiles without them resembling baby food. “Dallas and Ari want food porn pics.”
I relaxed against the leather, annoyed by the constant distractions. Octi’s friends from Korea had decided today would be the perfect day to hit her up and tell her to stay strong through the media bloodbath.
She’d finally hopped off a call, only for Dallas to hound her about the in-flight snacks in their group chat.
“Mr. Sun?” From the couch, Natalie raised her phone. “Your lawyers are on the line.”
She’d crashed in Manhattan over the weekend to check on my properties there, hitching a ride back to Maryland with us.
Eileen, however, stayed in the city. I couldn’t wait to tell Mom I took a stab at my engagement and accidentally killed all chances of it ever forming a relationship.
There was nothing wrong with Eileen.
In fact, she only had one shortcoming—she wasn’t Farrow.
But that was enough to kill the deal.
“Lawyers?” My brows knitted together. “Plural?”
Normally, they called me one at a time.
“Yes, sir. All three.” Natalie unplastered herself from her seat, patting off cracker crumbs from her suit as she handed me her phone. “Tom is on the call, too. I think it might be important.”
“Do you now, Einstein? I wonder what gave it away.”
Farrow’s head flew up from her phone. She shot me a worried look.
I inwardly cursed, abhorred by the unwelcome diversion.
For starters, I’d planned to use the plane ride to talk to Octi about us. More specifically, if ‘us’ could ever exist beyond the scope of tearing each other’s clothes off and engaging in endless verbal foreplay.
And secondly, on the car ride here, Fae had mentioned she had something to tell me about Eileen.
Farrow twisted her golden hair into a high bun, untucking her legs from under her ass. “What are they saying?”
I took the phone from my assistant, who continued to hover. She bounced from heel to heel, just staring at me.
“Natalie?”
“Yes, Mr. Sun?”
“Kindly fuck off.”
She nodded, albeit with visible displeasure, stuffing her laptop under her armpit and moving to the cockpit. Farrow clutched my sleeve.
I interlaced our fingers, squeezing. “Everything will be fine.”
Her eyes clung to mine. “How do you know?”
“Because…” I traced the beauty mark beneath her eye with my free hand. “If you lose this case, what I have in store for Vera will be infinitely worse than whatever punishment the law can deliver.”
“It’s a marvel you haven’t ended up in jail.”
“Only to those naïve enough to believe in the legal system.” I leaned Natalie’s phone against the snack box, switching it to video conference. “Talk to us.”
Deanne’s face popped up first. “Miss Ballantine?”
“Yes.” Fae raised her hand like we were in preschool. “I’m here.”
“Do you consent to Mr. Sun hearing this conversation? It contains some sensitive information.”
“Yes.” Farrow nodded. “Go ahead.”
A lick of pride prodded me, confirming what I already knew.
I was Fucked with a capital F.
“We might be better off having this conversation in person.” Tom pulled out a notepad. “A lot of delicate evidence to go over.”
“I literally don’t have the self-control to turn down dairy-free dessert.” Fae scooted halfway into my seat to get a better angle. “What makes you think I can wait the entire plane ride to hear your news?”
Our elbows brushed, and that alone ignited something possessively depraved inside me.
Tom brought a pencil to his lips. “Hmm…”
“You heard her.” I rubbed circles on her thigh with my thumb, relaxing against the backrest. “Spill the beans before I spill out your guts.”
“I’m just trying to make sure nobody falls apart here.”
“I’m already in pieces.” Farrow waved. “Please, just continue.”
“We found out something alarming.” Tom paused. “As in, criminally disturbing.”
Farrow licked her lips. “Has Vera committed a crime?”
“It appears so. An egregious one at that.” He hesitated. “Miss Ballantine…”
“Yes?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“No.” Fae bared her teeth, eliciting a grin from me. “I’m up on both feet, dancing the Copacabana.” She jerked her thumb to the leather upholstery behind us. “What do you think?”
Guess she hadn’t forgiven him for blowing her cover and triggering the media storm.
Tom shrugged, going for the kill. “Vera hired someone to kill your father.”
Silence.
Utter silence.
The kind that penetrated through eardrums.
“I’m sorry,” Tom added, as an afterthought.
The words floated in the air, choking us like nerve gas. I searched Fae for signs of pain, recognition, agony.
All I could find was bitterness.
Tom scratched his temple. “Are we good to continue?”
Deanne stopped typing. “Let’s give her a minute.”
But Fae didn’t need a minute.
She shot up, pacing. “That’s impossible. Dad died in an accident. The valet—”
“Knew exactly what he was doing.” Tom reached for a folder, flipping it open. “A man by the name of Eugene Thomas. He was the valet involved in the alleged accident, as I’m sure you know.”
“Alleged?” Fae closed her eyes. “He didn’t even know Dad or Vera. His foot got stuck on the accelerator.”
Tom flipped through pages, yanking out a sheet.
“I found a burner phone Vera purchased two months prior to the incident.” He held up the paper as if we could make out the tiny print. “These are records I pulled from it.”
Fae stopped pacing. “What do they say?”
“Vera withdrew 200k from a secret savings account. She also shared multiple brief conversations with a number that tracked back to Thomas’ wife.”
Farrow squeezed the bridge of her nose. “What does his wife have to do with this?”
“Nothing. She had stage 4 cancer. Needed a pricey experimental drug.” He set the paper down. “Gene did it for the fast cash.”
“He was counting on being charged with involuntary manslaughter.” Farrow planted her fists on the table, piecing the rest together. “He knew they’d give him a light sentence in minimum security. Why wouldn’t they? He has a baby and a wife with cancer. It was an ‘accident.’”
“Precisely.” Dan’s face popped up. “Records show Mrs. Thomas made a full recovery after the treatment. While her husband is locked up, various charities help her with bills, groceries, and childcare. She even has a new house.”
Tom whistled. “Five years is a small price to pay for all that.”
Bryan adjusted his camera, finally giving us his face. “We have all the evidence. The receipts. The written communication. Vera thought using a burner phone and VPN would cover her tracks. Turns out, she still missed a few steps.”
The six of us simmered on the info.
Fae broke the silence with a whisper. “But… why?”
“Insurance money.” Tom waved his folder. “I looked through Vera’s joint tax returns with your dad, along with their financial statements. They spent more than they made.” He paused. “Vera liked to buy pretty things.”
Farrow plopped onto the seat opposite me, staring at the ceiling without really looking. “She still does.”
“That may be true, but right now she can only afford them at Walmart.” Deanne produced another document. “Vera spent the insurance money as soon as it hit her bank account.”
“Eugene Thomas.” Farrow rubbed her forehead. “Can you tell me a bit about his background? His family?”
Tom flipped through pages. “Sure.”
As we waited for him to find whatever he was searching for, the plane began its descent.
A flurry of texts dropped from the top of Natalie’s screen in quick succession.
Jilly Bean:
Is your boss still playing hard to get?
Jilly Bean:
Or is he getting too hard…
[Smirking Emoji]
Jilly Bean:
You have to figure out what the housekeeper did to make him screw her.
Jilly Bean:
This is your way in.
Jilly Bean:
Get knocked up, and we’re gold.
We can finally open the company.
I made a mental note to fire Natalie—and not drink anything she handed me—while Tom answered Octi.
“Eugene Thomas. Twenty-Eight. Parents never married. His mom registered him under her last name. He grew up without a dad, since he traveled around the world for work. They reconnected during his court case. Both his parents visit him once a week in prison.”
She edged forward, hungry for more. “What are their names?”
She had an angle.
Farrow always had an angle.
I enjoyed this side of her most. It reminded me of our first official encounter.
Her—hot as hell in lingerie, setting down Go pieces like a savant.
And me—soaking up the view as her tongue swiped across her lips.
Any other time, and I’d be rock hard.
“Mom is Paula Thomas. Dad is… wait, let me find it.” Tom clucked his tongue. “Ah, there it is. Dad’s name is Andras Horvath.”
Farrow closed her eyes.
And all I saw was red.
Andras.
Everything clicked into place.
My temperature hiked up to a level more suitable for an oven. Farrow’s nostrils flared. I suspected the same thought ran through both our minds.
How we’d deliver punishment to Andras and Vera.
Another thing I enjoyed about Farrow—we shared the same thirst for vengeance.
“I know this is a lot to take in.” Deanne collected her phone, holding it to her face. “But there is a silver lining to all of this.”
Fae plopped against the backrest. “Must’ve missed it.”
“Justice, Miss Ballantine. Forget about the lawsuit. Our next step is to bring this to the authorities—”
Farrow waved her off. “Do whatever you need, but I’m confronting Vera as soon as we land.”
“Miss Ballantine.” Bryan shot forward. “That is highly unadvisable. Anything you do or say may hinder our—”
“Cope,” Fae interjected, and I could’ve kissed her then. Beneath the eye. On her beauty mark. I’d wanted to kiss there for a while now. “I’m going to hunt Vera down.”
“The best revenge is justice.” Deanne raised both hands, like she was corralling a wild animal. “Trust me.”
“You’re a lawyer. I would never trust you.”
This time, I did kiss Farrow—on her beauty mark, then down her jaw.
“But—”
“She made up her mind.” I finally intervened, over this. “Any mess this creates is yours to clean.”
Dan collapsed against his seat. “I’m not Superman.”
“For the money I pay you, you fucking should be.”
Deanne sighed. “I liked you better when you weren’t wrapped around a woman’s finger.”
Yes, but I liked myself less.
“See how you like unemployment if you continue to overstep.”
She grinned. “It’s called retirement—”
I hung up and tossed the phone on the couch, tucking my chin on Farrow’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” She leaned her head back, resting it on my neck. “I think.”
The amount of strength this woman had in her fingernail alone could detonate a nuclear bomb.
“Of course, you will. You’re the strongest person I know.”
“And I intend to deliver the cruelest blow.” Her gaze caught mine. “But first, I need to break.”
“Break?”
“You know—fall apart. Cry like a baby. Let myself break for all the times I refused to.”
“Break.” I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, cheek, temple. “I’ll put all the pieces back together.”
Even if it’s the last thing I do.
