I was fucked, and I knew it.
But I’d never been good about letting things go when I should, and I clung to my innocence like he was clinging to his I’m-going-to-kill-you stance. “That’s an awfully big assumption. Narcissist much? Not everything is about you.”
“What else were you using the information for?”
“Maybe I was researching for a friend. Or writing a dark romance book.”
“I’m sure that’s what it was.” His mouth twitched as though he were trying not to smile. “You weren’t at all hoping to get me to, let’s see, what exactly did your digital notebook say? ‘Wives assaulted through non-consensual sexual practices have a strong case for nullifying prenuptial agreements.’”
Yep. Totally fucked.
My cheeks heated. I took another swallow of my drink, hoping the burn could wash down some of the humiliation of defeat.
“I’m intrigued about just what it is you imagine that I do in the bedroom, Celia. And offended that you think I don’t require consent in my relationships.”
“Yeah, well.” I’d never presumed anything about consent. The truth wasn’t what mattered in my games. “Your word against mine.”
“Ah. So that's how you intended to play it. I was right on that then.”
I mentally kicked myself. I was giving more than I was getting, and that needed to change.
In an attempt to reassert myself, I turned the conversation back to the information I really wanted. “If it wasn’t Blanche who got you to my laptop, then who?”
He shook his head. “It’s my turn to hear from you.”
Cue eye roll. “You already seem to know everything about me. What do you need me for?”
“Which was what started this conversation in the first place, wasn’t it?”
A chill ran down my spine. I intend to kill you. His words echoed in my brain. He sure knew how to retaliate against a bratty statement. I had to give him that.
And, as ridiculous as it was, his tactic was working. I was afraid of him. More afraid than made me comfortable.
Why was that also a turn-on?
And how the fuck did he get to me?
“Renee.” The answer hit me like a ton of bricks, spilling out of my mouth on impact. “Oh my God. You got to Renee.”
“You make it sound like I took a hit out on her. It wasn’t like that at all.” The squint of his eye said he was pleased—either with himself or that I’d guessed right, I wasn’t sure.
Whichever it was, it encouraged me to follow down the rabbit hole. “Somehow you got her to upload something on my computer for you.”
“No. She simply gave me access to it. I did what I needed to from there.”
Dammit. Really? Renee? She’d worked for me for years. We’d never been close, but I’d thought we had a decent boss/employee relationship. “She just handed it over to you? Without any questions? Did she know what you did to it?”
I wasn’t so naive as to be surprised by betrayal, but still. This discovery came as a shock.
Edward waved a hand in the air, dismissing my questions. “It’s not important.”
“Not to you, maybe, but to me, you better believe it is.” When he shrugged, I pressed on. “Did you pay her off? Is that why she quit?”
He studied me again as he considered his answer, or whether he would answer at all. “Nothing so nefarious,” he said finally. “I offered her a better opportunity, and she took it.”
“Did you sleep with her?” It was another thought that left my mouth as soon as it entered my head, and I was surprised by the gnawing in my chest that accompanied it.
He leaned forward abruptly. “Do you care?”
I asked, so of course I cared, and no matter what I tried to say, he knew it. It was a victory for him, but it felt like an even bigger loss for me.
Especially because I still didn’t have the answer, and not knowing bothered me. Almost as much as the idea of Edward sharing his hands, his mouth, his cock with Renee.
I pushed down the sudden urge to cry. I wasn’t used to losing, and I was pretty sure I had. I didn’t even know how to lose. How to act, what to say.
And I didn’t want to lose.
I turned my head toward the windows where the storm pressed on with torrents of rain. “What was even the point of all of it? Why did you want to see what was on my computer? Why did you care? To convince me to accept your proposal?”
I switched my attention back to him for his answer.
“Whatever it took to nudge you in that direction, yes.” His eyes hooded. “You should know I’d been prepared to do a lot more.”
My breath tripped in my chest. He hadn’t meant it to be seductive, he couldn’t possibly. And yet I felt the sharp pang of desire low in my belly.
My reaction said more about me than his statement said about him. Said things I didn’t want to know.
I forced myself to focus. “All to get to Werner Media? You have your own company. Why does my father’s matter so much to you?”
“It just does.”
It was my turn to study him. His blue eyes were as set as his jaw. He gave nothing away but determination, no matter how I searched for more.
No matter how I wished he’d give more.
It was beyond stupid that I cared. Stupid and downright irritating.
I crossed one leg over the other and lifted my chin in defiance of him and my feelings. “Well, it was all for nothing because you’re crazy if you think I’m suggesting my father let you helm his company now.”
“As if you’d ever planned to do that in the first place.”
No matter what I had to say, he had to one-up me. No matter what my hand, his was better.
And, frankly, none of his motivations made any sense. “If you didn’t think that I would ever convince my father to select you—the whole point of our marriage, according to your proposal—then why did you put so much effort into getting me to marry you?”
“I believe I’ve already given you that answer.” He sat back in his chair again, cool and smooth.
I considered the answer, his threat. I was sure he wasn’t serious, because, mainly, who did that? Who schemed to marry a prominent woman and then killed her?
But if he really never believed I could further his chances with my father, and yet he’d gone to all those lengths to make sure I did indeed marry him, then what had he hoped to gain? What had been his plan?
There was only one answer that made logical sense, as impossible as it was to believe.
“You can’t kill me,” I said, my voice more steady than I felt. “People would notice.”
“I expect people to notice.” Edward picked up a fountain pen off his desk and twirled it absentmindedly. “I have a first-rate funeral planned. I expect many will attend, even though it will be held in London. I don’t have time right now to go to the U.S., which I’m sure your parents would prefer, but that isn’t theirs to decide. It will be a nice event, I assure you. I’ve even saved you the coveted spot in the family plot next to my parents.”
No. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean any of it.
But my stomach twisted all the same, and bile rose to the back of my throat, because even if he didn’t mean it, it was an awfully deranged scenario he’d painted.