Page 106 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Arden, come on. Of course I had to get it unlocked. How else was I supposed to get it back to you? I couldn’t ring you because I had your phone and I didn’t know how else to get in touch.”

“What, you couldn’t post it to the work address you already knew on account of having randomly turned up at it in order to see me?”

“I should have thought of that, shouldn’t I?” His hand went to his hair, fluffing it up even further. “Look, I can see you’re upset because I left without telling you, and I’m sorry I took your phone by mistake, but I was going to contact you as soon I could. Although I’m not sure why any of this makes it okay for you to, well, I suppose I might saystalkme across the country and break into my hotel room.”

My mouth dropped open. I was about to protest that I hadn’t stalked him, just come to get my phone back, when Finesilver cut smoothly over me. “Mr. Jackson, before we go further, I would advise you against mischaracterizing the circumstances of this conversation. My associate and I are here with the full knowledge and permission of the management, and should you be so foolish as to claim otherwise in a public setting, you would be opening yourself to a suit for slander.”

“Slander? I don’t understand. Who are you?” Jonas’s eyes darted to Finesilver and then back to me. “Arden, what’s this about?”

“You will address me,” returned Finesilver, his tone as sheer and blank as glass, “not my associate. As for who I am, I represent a wealthy and influential client who wishes to ensure that your future behaviour remains within certain parameters.”

Jonas sat shakily on the edge of the bed. “My…my behaviour? I’m just a salesman. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Oh my God. He was so completely full of lies. It made me furious. With a side salad of even more furious because, based on actions alone, it was hard to tell the difference between someone completely full of lies and someone terribly upset because you’d got your billionaire ex-boyfriend to send his scariest lawyer after them. And I hated that there was even a lemon rind of a question in my mind.

“What you have done or not done is not my concern.” Finesilver remained standing, though his slightness meant it didn’t come across as a power move, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m here to execute my client’s wishes, and my client wishes the following: that you sign these divorce papers immediately and that you undertake to have no further contact of any kind with Mr. Arden St. Ives, Ms. Iris Jackson née St. Ives, or any persons associated with either of them, signing these additional documents to that effect.”

“I’m still not quite sure what’s happening but”—and here Jonas’s voice steadied, as though he was drawing courage from confusion—“but I do know I have rights. You can’t come in here and threaten me.”

“I have made no threats, Mr. Jackson. I am simply telling you what my client requires.”

“Your client? You mean Caspian Hart.” Jonas’s gaze settled on me again and there was something…I don’t know…unsettling in his eyes, a kind of slick gleam like oil on water. “I thought you broke up with him.”

“I remind you,” murmured Finesilver, “to address me, not my associate.”

“I find it sort of funny”—one of Jonas’s fingers stroked idly at the edge of his jaw—“that Caspian Hart is so interested in me all of a sudden. Because I actually know quite a lot about him, isn’t that right, Arden?”

I basically exploded. “You fucking…fucking…I can’t believe I trusted—”

Finesilver’s fingers closed tightly around my elbow. “Once again, address me, not my associate. Whatever you think you know, I highly recommend against saying anything you will regret later.”

“I’m not sure,” said Jonas with the monkish mildness that made me want to punch him in the face forever, “it’s my regrets we have to worry about here.”

Okay, this was bad. And it was my fault it was bad. I’d spilled my guts to Jonas over my breakup with Caspian, except I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d told him. I hadn’t mentioned Caspian by name, I knew that—though it was scant fucking comfort when the fact we’d been a thing was all over the Internet. With photos. And I definitely hadn’t gone into details, at least not about anything that wasn’t my own stupid feelings, but Jonas could probably have joined the dots. He was way too good at that—especially if the dots were vulnerabilities and he got to join them with a knife.

Oh fuck. If Caspian’s past got out…I had no idea what that might mean. He’d hate it, obviously. But how much would it damage him? He’d barely come to terms with it for himself. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than seeing it splashed across the papers. Thrown about on social media like the latest fucking meme. Was this the deal, then? No matter what, someone I loved got hurt? All because I’d been weak and stupid enough to let Jonas Jackson stick his dirty fingers in my life.

I glanced at Finesilver. Maybe he didn’t know what Jonas was hinting at or maybe he did and had balls of whatever Wolverine’s claws are made of, but either way his poise hadn’t faltered. For all his self-effacing mannerisms, there was something in the way he held himself that reminded me of an untipped fencing foil.

“If you sincerely believe,” Finesilver said, “that you have correctly identified my client, who, I should stress, I am not at liberty to name, and should you further truly believe that you are more capable of harming their interests than they are of harming yours, then we have little more to discuss. I cannot, after all, legally prevent you from telling whatever it is you think you know to whoever it is you think will listen.”

Jonas put his palms on the bed behind him and leaned back, almost insolently. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

“On that matter, certainly. Now, as to the papers—”

“I’m not signing any papers. And Caspian Hart can’t make me.”

“For the record, I will remind you that I have never stated that I work for Caspian Hart. But”—Finesilver inclined his head, very slightly—“you are correct, my client has no power to dictate your actions. Just as you have no power to, for example, dictate whether my client purchases a controlling share in your employer. Which, I am at liberty to inform you, they have, in fact, done.”

A brief but scratchy pause. Nails on a blackboard inside a silence. “I thought you weren’t making any threats.”

“I’m not. I’m simply outlining the choices that certain parties are free to make. You are free to go about your business as you always have and my client is free to purchase the freeholds of certain buildings in Carlisle, acquire certain portfolios of debts from certain creditors, and do with those commodities as he or she sees fit. Which, again, my client has already done. Meaning he or she is also free to call in those debts and evict any persons living in houses on that freehold should he or she wish.”

“So you’re saying…” Jonas was speaking very slowly, the words heavy in his mouth somehow. “Unless I do what you want, I’m going to lose my job, my home, and my savings.”

Finesilver’s eyes widened fractionally with the faintest hint of indignation. “I’m suggesting no such thing. We’re just making conversation while you decide how you wish to proceed in this matter.”

Another of those nasty silences. And then Jonas started to cry, the tears rolling under the frames of his glasses in this procession of orderly woe. It was hard to watch because it was always hard to watch someone in distress, and a guilty feeling squirmed wormishly inside me. But I also couldn’t help noticing the way he did nothing to hide his face or wipe his eyes—as if the moisture falling from them in fat, round droplets didn’t quite belong to him.

---