Chapter 408
“It’s aggressive,” Simmons said. “She’s using your own reputation against you. If she succeeds, she could devalue our collateral enough to force a renegotiation of the debt.”
Dallas smiled — a weak, proud smile. “She figured it out. She found the weak spot.”
“Should we crush it?” Simmons asked. “A counter-statement from our legal team? We can bury her in non-disclosure agreements.”
“No,” Dallas whispered. He coughed, his hand going to his chest. “Let her run. Let her feel the win. Let the stock drop another five percent.”
“Sir, that will cost us millions,” Simmons warned.
“It gives her hope,” Dallas said. “It gives her a reason to wake up tomorrow and fight me instead of marrying Julian or crying over Damon. Hate is a powerful fuel, Simmons. It keeps you alive.”
His phone buzzed on the side table. Vinnie Sharpe.
Dallas stared at the name. He didn’t want to answer. He wanted to sleep — to close his eyes and never wake up. But if he disappeared, she would suspect.
He picked up the phone. “What?”
“Yo, D-man!” Vinnie’s voice was loud, boisterous. “Where are you? We’re at The Lounge — Serena, Vance, everyone. We’re celebrating my engagement.”
“I’m busy,” Dallas said.
“Busy being a hermit?” Vinnie laughed. “Come on. One drink. Vance says you’ve been dodging his calls. He’s worried.”
Dallas looked at the IV drip. Vance. His doctor. If Vance started asking questions, the secret would be out.
“I’m not dodging,” Dallas lied.
“Then prove it. Be here in an hour — or we’re coming to the estate to drag your ass out.”
Dallas hung up. He looked at Simmons.
“Unhook me,” Dallas said.
“Sir, the treatment isn’t finished,” Simmons protested. “Your potassium levels—”
“Unhook me,” Dallas ordered, his voice hard. “I have to go make an appearance. I have to be the arrogant, untouchable asshole one more time.”
Simmons hesitated, then nodded. He removed the IV. Dallas winced as the needle slid out and pressed a cotton ball to the puncture wound.
“Get the car,” Dallas said, rising to his feet. The room spun, but he locked his knees. “And bring the makeup. I look like a ghost.”
Eliza sat across from Julian Harper at Le Bernardin, picking at a plate of raw tuna she couldn’t afford.
“So,” Julian said, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “Let me get this straight. Your boyfriend ripped up my check — a noble, if stupid, gesture. And now you’re going to war with your husband.”
“I’m creating leverage,” Eliza said. “If I can force Dallas to the negotiating table, I won’t need your two hundred million.”
“Then why are we here?” Julian asked, amused.
“Because I need a safety net,” Eliza admitted. “If this fails — if Dallas counters — I need to know the offer is still on the table.”
“You want me as a backup plan,” Julian said. “I’m hurt.”
“You want the trust fund,” Eliza reminded him. “It’s a business transaction.”
.
.
.