Page 98 of Takeover

Several men and two women walk into the house pushing trollies filled with flowers. Hydrangeas and lilies. The same combination of flowers he gave me that first night we spent together. He has them delivered daily to the penthouse, too. One morning when I asked him about it, all he said was, “You think I’m not going to commemorate one of the most important nights of my life?”

Now my parents’ house is filled with them. Knowing I have a short window before he shows up, I take the stairs two at a time and randomly throw a few things in an overnight bag. By the time I get downstairs, my siblings are ready to go, just like I knew they would be.

I give Vick the name of the hotel, and she pulls up the Uber app. About half an hour later, we’re given a suite at a nearby Marriot.

54

“Jesus, boss, you smell. And I’m not going to remind you that you gave me today off, but here I am because you manage to turn your life to shit the minute I’m not around,” Hunter says, but I ignore him and call Tara’s phone again. “Do I need to move in here with you?”

“As if my life isn’t hell enough,” I say to Hunter. Tara’s voicemail picks up and I say, “Tara, baby, we need to talk, but we can’t do that if you don’t pick up your damn phone. Let’s. Fix. This.” I hang up and send her another text, but I know just like the others, she won’t respond.

“You really need to work on your apology skills, boss,” Hunter says.

I run a hand through my hair, and Hunter looks at me, disgusted. I don’t even care. Things have been a complete clusterfuck since she walked out. My sister thinks I’m an idiot. My assistant is treating me as if he’s the boss, and my son won’t look at me.

“He won’t eat,” Elizabeth says, poking her head in my office. “Hey, Hunter,” she flirts.

“Still gay,” Hunter says. Elizabeth bats her eyelashes and sighs.

“You can’t say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it,” she cajoles.

“Elizabeth, enough,” I warn her.

“Vincent won’t eat, Ethan, and I can’t seem to convince him. I even promised him a chocolate doughnut, and he still shook his head.”

I sigh and leave the office. He’s sitting on the stool in the kitchen, an untouched plate of mac and cheese in front of him.

“Hey, buddy. Aunt Liz says you refuse to eat.” I take the seat next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He roughly shrugs his body away from me, and I drop my hand, feeling the stinging rebuke of my son’s rejection. Ever since he insisted Liz bring him home, he’s been upset with me. I believe he thinks whatever happened with me and Tara is my fault, and he’s right. “We can get you something else if you want.” I’d normally never do that but having my son mad at me is new territory, and I don’t like it.

“We were supposed to make pizza at the house in Montauk because there’s a pizza oven there.” The first words he’s said to me all day. It’s like he came home just to shun me.

“Honey, we can make pizza right here,” Elizabeth says. She runs a hand through Vincent’s hair. “Whatever kind you want.”

“I’m never eating pizza again!” He surprises me by yelling before he jumps off his stool and runs out of the kitchen. Elizabeth looks at me, stunned.

“You need to go grovel. Like right now. Seriously, you were an asshole. Do you know how hard it is to find a partner who genuinely loves your kid? It’s damn near impossible, so go fix this, you idiot.”

“Thanks for that, Lizzie. When did you come to that conclusion? Before or after you suggested I get back with Lindsay?” I hiss at my sister, eager to take my frustration out on someone.

“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for this. And how the hell was I supposed to know that Lindsay has turned completely batshit fucking crazy?” Elizabeth yells back at me.

“Well, you made it a lot easier for Tara to leave given what she overheard from you on your first day back,” I yell.

“Oh, will you two stop?” Hunter says, breaking the tension in the room. “This is not dysfunction junction the billionaire edition.”

“And look at you,” Elizabeth says, ignoring Hunter. “It’s midday and you smell like a distillery. When in the history of the world has getting drunk ever fixed anything?” She leaves me standing alone in the kitchen, wondering how the hell the last twenty or so hours have gotten away from me. We were supposed to be in Montauk by now, touring the damn island before going to a romantic dinner. I was going to mention getting married again, this time against the backdrop of a romantic setting and not a random morning in a bathroom. But what do I have instead? A woman who’s walked out on me because I said the worst possible thing. A son who refuses to look at me, and a sister who is as disgusted with me as I am with myself.

I grab the phone and call Tara again. Just like every other time, it goes directly to voicemail. “Tara, pick up the fucking phone.” I hiss the words before hanging up.

I haven’t been able to track her location since I woke up this morning. My head was pounding, and my mouth tasted like something had died in it. As soon as I opened my eyes, all my bad decisions came back to the surface. It was only an hour later that Vincent returned, and I ordered Hunter to the penthouse.

“Boss, have you checked Twitter?” Hunter ass while he walks back into the kitchen. I pull my phone out of my pocket. For the first time since things went to hell yesterday, I have a ray of hope.

“Is she trolling me?” I ask, excited to see what she’s written. I had Hunter tweet several times since he got here as a way to lure her out of hiding.

“Not at all. Sir, it’s Mrs. Bradford,” Hunter lowers his voice when he mentions Lindsay. I’m on alert when he hands me the phone. He takes a few steps away from me, almost as if he’s afraid of how I’m going to react.

“I’m going to sue her ass for my last name back. She’s no longer Mrs. Bradford, but whatever the fuck she did, I don’t have time for it today. She’s the fucking reason I’m in this predicament.” I can only say that to Hunter. I know this is my fault, but it feels good to blame Lindsay.

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