Page 48 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
Achilles appears uninfluenced by my anger. “I said once that I’ll kiss my little brother on the forehead as long as you remain my little brother. I was wrong. You’re a man, Herc. Today, at the old man’s tomb, is your rite of passage. I’m not going to fixyourissue withourbrother. You handle your problem, and do it like a man and not like a kid.”
I’m rendered speechless and immobile. I can’t even say that I thought we weren’t supposed to cuss in Gramps’s tomb. Achilles checks his watch.
“George, the groundskeeper, is going to lock up as soon I drive off. Unless you want to spend the night with the ghost of Thomas, you should get back to the office and start fixing what’s broken between you and Orion.”
He squeezes my shoulder on his way out. I welcome the solitude once I’m alone. I still don’t know what the hell just happened, but I’m less angry at Orion, so Achilles’s talk must have had the desired effect.
On the rideback to VTI, I’m still processing my conversation with Achilles.How am I supposed to make peace with a man who’s hell-bent on destroying our company?Or maybe I've been reading his motivations all wrong. Maybe Orion is doing what he thinks is right.
Still confused, I pinch the bridge of my nose.I’m thinking…
My cellphone rings, and I gladly answer it. I need to put my mind on something else. “Yeah?” I say without seeing who it is.
“Boss?”
“Mason?”
“Are you on your way back to the office?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to go somewhere else. I have to show you something.”
I hear traffic in his background, and he’s breathing heavily. “Are you walking?”
“Yeah, I am. We can’t talk about this at the office. I found out who’s been screwing with your calendar. But you can’t see how they’ve hacked us at the building. You have to come here.”
It’s quieter where he is. “Where are you?”
He pauses. “James has his personal phone, doesn’t he?”
When my frown intensifies, my head throbs harder. “Yeah.”
“I have his number. I’ll send him the address. I don’t want to take any chances.”
Chapter Twenty
Day One
Paisley Grove
Standing in front of the glass of Lark Davenport’s two-bedroom, one-bathroom overpriced shoebox-sized apartment, I observe the activity across the High Line. The morning’s rush-hour foot traffic reminds of me of ants pushing through the grains in a colony.
I bite down on my back teeth to keep them from clattering.
Inhale slowly through my nose.
Hold.
Forceful release.
I repeat the breathing exercise again and again, hoping at some point, I’ll forget how terrified I am. What I'm intending to do could go so very wrong. But I can ease the tension with the thought that if all goes as planned, I won’t live in this place for long. In less than a week, Lark Davenport willpoof, vanish into thin air.
It’s eight thirty in the morning. I’m supposed to report to Valentine Communications at nine. Soon, I’ll have to join the pedestrians on the ground and take a short walk to Eleventh Avenue. I have a little less than a half an hour to change my mind.
A dull ache seizes my stomach. I don’t want to do this. I have a bad feeling this whole scheme is going to blow up in my face. At the start of taking another deep, centering breath, my personal cellphone rings, and I jump.
I look at my device sitting on the coffee table. My brother’s name is on the screen. I understand the purpose of his call. He’s managing me, making sure I go through with the plan. Even though I don't want to talk to him this morning, I rush over to answer his call.
