Chapter 26
Wesley
The private lounge at The Apex Club felt like a velvet tomb.
Dim amber lighting. Cigar smoke curling toward the coffered ceiling. The kind of place where Manhattan's elite came to do things they couldn't do in boardrooms—or wouldn't admit to in divorce proceedings.
I slumped deeper into the leather sofa, rotating my wrist. The joint still ached where Vincent had grabbed me this moring. That bastard's grip had felt like a steel trap closing, precise and unforgiving, just like everything else in Lance's perfectly controlled universe.
"Let me get this straight."
Vanessa's voice cut through my alcohol-induced haze. She sat beside me, spine rigid, one leg crossed over the other in that way she had—elegant and predatory all at once.
The emerald cocktail dress she wore caught the low light, making her look like something poisonous and beautiful.
"Your punching bag of an ex-girlfriend," she continued, each word dripping venom, "humiliated you at the office today. Your uncle publicly defended her. And then—" Her manicured fingers tightened around her martini glass. "—he gave her the Grey Estate acquisition. The project I've been positioning myself for since fucking March."
I didn't meet her eyes. Couldn't.
"Babe, I'm sorry. I tried to—"
"Fuck trying." She set the glass down hard enough that the stem should have snapped. "Do you have any idea what that collection represents? The Grey family's jewelry alone—Cartier pieces from the 1920s, Art Deco diamonds, rare Burmese rubies—it's a goddamn treasure trove. My family has been waiting for those pieces to hit the market for decades."
I knew. Of course I knew. She'd talked about nothing else for weeks after the Grey patriarch died.
"If I had access to that database," Vanessa pressed on, her voice dropping to something dangerous, "if I could get first-hand documentation before the estate goes to auction, do you understand how that would position me? With my father? With the board?" She leaned closer, and I caught the scent of her perfume—something dark and expensive. "This was supposed to be my entry into the business side. Proof I'm more than just a pretty face at charity galas."
"I know—"
"She doesn't even want it." Vanessa's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "That little mouse probably doesn't know a Fabergé egg from a fucking paperweight. Why does she get what's mine?"
The possessive edge in her tone sent a familiar thrill through me. This was what I loved about Vanessa—what had drawn me to her in the first place, three years ago when Serena had been too good, too perfect, too suffocatingly understanding.
Vanessa didn't understand. She demanded. Schemed. Burned.
"Don't worry about it," I said, forcing confidence into my voice that I didn't quite feel. "She'll fuck it up. She always does. Lance will realize his mistake, fire her, and then—"
"And then what?" Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "You'll magically convince him to give me the project instead? Because that worked so well today."
My jaw clenched. The reminder stung worse than my bruised wrist.
"I'll talk to my great-grandfather," I said. "Arthur's eightieth birthday is coming up. Big family gathering. I'll corner him then, make my case. He's always had a soft spot for me—"
"Because you're the only great-grandchild who still kisses his ring." But Vanessa's expression softened fractionally. "Fine. Use whatever leverage you have. But Wesley—" She placed her hand on my thigh, nails pressing just hard enough to make a point. "This isn't just about me. You understand that, right?"
I did. God, I did.
"My family doesn't choose partners based on love," she continued, her voice taking on that clinical edge she got when discussing business. "They choose based on capability. Strategic value. If you want a future with me—if you want to be more than just the trust fund boy everyone thinks you are—you need to prove you can deliver."
The words hit like a slap.
"I'm not—"
"You are." Her smile was cruel and honest all at once. "Right now, you're exactly that. A twenty-four-year-old playing at being a man, living off money your dead parents left you, waiting for your uncle to decide when you're 'mature enough' to access your own inheritance." She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "Prove me wrong. Show me you have teeth."
My hands curled into fists. She was right. About all of it.
Lance had been controlling my life since I was fourteen years old. Deciding what schools I attended. Which internships were "appropriate." How much money I could spend and on what. All under the guise of being my "guardian," my "mentor," the responsible adult cleaning up after my irresponsible parents who'd gotten themselves killed on a fucking ski slope.
"I'll handle it," I said quietly. "I'll prove myself. And I'll make Lance give me what's mine."
"That's my man." Vanessa's approval washed over me like expensive whiskey—warm and dangerous. "But first, we need to deal with your little Serena problem."
I grimaced. "Lance gave me explicit orders. If I touch her again, he'll fire me."
"He what?" Vanessa pulled back, genuine shock crossing her features. "Your uncle is threatening to fire you over that nobody?"
"Apparently she's not a nobody anymore." The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. "He's protecting her. I don't know why. Maybe she's actually competent at something besides being a doormat."
"Or maybe," Vanessa said slowly, a calculating gleam entering her eyes, "she fucked him."