Chapter 4: JADE - A Very Good Bad Idea

“Well, this is an unexpected and unwelcome development.”

Failure. Disappointment.

My father doesn’t have to say the words. The sentiments ooze out of him and are absorbed by every pore in my body like toxic goo.

“Not so tight as a drum after all, huh Jade?” Bailey asks cheerfully, like the trying-to-score-points-with-daddy shit-weasel he is. “Turned out to be kinda leaky.”

Immediately following the disaster of a will reading, I sent out an all-points bulletin text, calling for an emergency meeting at the nearest suitable location: our suite at the country club. To begrudgingly inform them about the latest turn of events, and also to strategize—to come up with the most odious, repellently effective plan of attack imaginable.

They’re really good at those.

“It’s a deviation from the original plan, yes,” I shoot back. “A minor hurdle.”

“Minor?” Beckett mocks, fixing himself a martini from the stocked sidebar. “It’s four fucking months.”

He doesn’t need to remind me. My limbs are still partially numb from the shock. Four months. I can’t fathom what Clara was thinking. She was a tough woman, but not mean-spirited or cruel. I know she must’ve thought she was doing a good thing—the fair thing—when she wrote those terms into her will. So I don’t blame her.

“I’ll take care of it,” I tell Beckett through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you will,” my father declares, the statement coming out more like a threat than a vote of confidence.

No, there’s only one person I hold responsible for this imminent shit-show of a debacle.

Damon Burke. Six-foot-three inches of asshole.

Somehow, he manipulated Clara, played on her sympathies. Burke is devastatingly handsome—as long as you can ignore his personality. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, strong athletic build, and a pair of baby-blue eyes most women find irresistible. He charmed Clara, influenced her, wormed his greedy way into her affections and her will.

Bastard.

“I just have to get Burke to leave the house. One small step over the property line and we’re back on track.”

Uncle Elmer chomps on his cigar, puffing out a ring of stinky smoke. It’s banned on club grounds, but rules are for regular members—not Buchanans. “And how do you intend to accomplish that, Jade? At this point, I’m not sure we can trust your judgment or your ability to handle this on your own.”

“Got it!” Bailey exclaims, tapping at his laptop. “I’m downloading the blueprints for the Spicket house from the code inspector’s files.”

“How do you have access to those files?” I ask.

“Unlike yourself and happy child over there, I have friends.” He shrugs. “Friends who take bribes. These specs will map out the access points for electric, gas, water, and sewer lines throughout the house. You’ll be able to screw with the power, organize a little gas leak, or flood out whole rooms—making it unlivable for Burke.” My brother thinks for a moment, then adds, “It probably won’t be so livable for you either . . . but them’s the breaks, I guess.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Beckett argues as he walks over and sits down next to Bailey. “The quickest route to victory is almost always the simplest. If anyone knows how to drive a man batshit crazy, it’s a woman. Tap into your base female tendencies, and don’t hold back. Whine, complain, nag, cry for no reason. Just do what comes natural.”

I look him in the eyes and flip him off.

“Beckett makes a valid point,” my father says.

“Thanks, Dad,” I tell him.

“Dad knows the deal.” Beckett grins. “Bitches be crazy.”

My father rolls his eyes. “Not that. Burke is a scrapper, yes? A Saint Andrew’s boy?”

I nod.

“Then he grew up wanting. I doubt physical discomfort is going to do the trick. But you being a woman does give you an advantage over a man like that.”

“How so?” I ask

My father smiles. “You can give him something he’s never had, make him something he’s never been.”

“Which is . . .?”

“A hero. Your hero.”

I try to follow, to think how he’s thinking and see what he sees. But I shake my head. “You lost me.”

“It will be almost impossible to drive him out with force. It takes one hell of a stubborn streak to become a self-made man. But if he thinks it’s his idea, that he’s sacrificing himself for something or someone who means more to him than himself . . . he’ll go eagerly. Like a soldier throwing himself on a grenade to save his platoon.”

“But Burke is selfish and cocky and pathologically ambitious. And I don’t mean anything to him.”

“Well, that’s where you have your work cut out for you. You’ve got four months to make him care about you. To make him believe you need him. That your life will be utterly destroyed if you don’t come out on top. Make him understand that I will cut you off, disinherit you, fire you, and make sure you never work in this field again. If he cares about you, he’ll be hard pressed to sit back and let that happen.”

My breath sticks in my throat like a thorn. Because as I look at my father—I have no idea if he means it or not. It definitely sounds like something he’d do. Or maybe he’s just talking about ruining my life . . . as a hypothetical.

“That.” My father points at me. “That expression is what I mean. Beautiful vulnerability. You do it so well. Let him think you’re helpless, Jade. Let him save you. Be soft, be alluring. Seductive.”

“Wow,” Bailey groans softly. “Just when you think you’ve reached the bottom floor of dysfunction junction . . . and then you realize there’s a basement.”

“Yeah.” I straighten in my chair, lifting my chin. “Are we in the pimping business now? That’s what you’re saying, right? Is that what you expect of me?”

“I don’t expect anything of you that I wouldn’t expect of your brothers. That’s what equality is. And sometimes in real life, it isn’t pretty.”

My father stands, slipping one hand into his pocket. “Let me put it another way. Extracting Burke from that house will be like pulling a weed out of a garden.” He gestures to me and my brothers. “None of you ever pulled weeds. I did it before you were born so you wouldn’t have to. If you yank the plant too hard and fast, the head comes off but the roots remain underground, and eventually they’ll strangle your crop.” He counts off his words on his fingers. “Patience, a tight hold, and steady pressure are what you need to get the weed out—roots and all. Putting your feminine wiles to good use doesn’t have to be your first strategy, but it will be a tool in your toolbox, Jade. Because sharing the Shore Haven deal is a nonstarter. It will elevate Burke Developers and diminish Buchanan Industries. It will damage this company and what damages this company, damages me . . . and every one of you. That’s what’s riding on this, my darling daughter. Don’t ever lose sight of that.”

Right. Got it. No pressure at all.

* * *

DAMON

“Motherfucker.” Gage sits back in his chair, looking as dazed as I feel. “Talk about a curve ball.”

“Yeah,” Ian agrees. “Never would’ve pegged little Mrs. Spicket to go full Michael Corleone. One minute you’re rolling along, thinking everything is cool—and then, bam, it’s the kiss of death and a piano wire around your neck.”

The four of us are at a high table in the bar area of the Shore Haven Country Club. Despite the town’s downturn, the wealthy and affluent still flock through the mahogany clubhouse doors to enjoy the impeccable grounds, get their asses kissed by eager, tip-dependent servants, and rub dignified elbows with their equals. It’s a stately, dark-wood accented, lemony-scented kind of place that would typically look down on pedigree-lacking mutts like ourselves.

But money—even new money—always talks. The privileged are nothing if not predictable. The fact that I heard through the grapevine that Buchanan wasn’t happy about our membership made it even sweeter. I get off on rubbing my success in his face.

We all have our vices.

“I blame myself,” I tell them, spinning the empty shot glass on the table in front of me in quarter turns. “I should’ve seen something like this coming. Clara was crafty, and she didn’t believe in things being too easy for anyone.”

“Hardship builds resilience, Damon. My rosebushes are beautiful, but they’re fragile—a strong breeze or too much rain, and they’re done for. But a dandelion that grows through a crack in the pavement? That’s a flower to be reckoned with. Unstoppable. Determined. Whatever life throws its way . . . it will bloom.”

A young server stops at the table, picking up our empty glasses and replacing them with a fresh round of tequila and a plate of sliced limes.

“Who are you gonna pick to be your lifeline?” Riley asks.

I down my shot and answer without question. “Ian.”

Ian flashes a toothy grin around the table.

Gage puts his hand on his chest. “I’m hurt, Burke.”

“Screw off—no, you’re not. Ian’s the only one who’ll actually remember to bring me food every two weeks. You two chuckleheads will end up hooking up with some chick for the weekend, forget about me, and I’ll fucking starve to death.”

Gage contemplates his shot glass, then shrugs. “Valid.”

I rub my hands together, regrouping. “All right boys, good or bad, this is where we are. So . . . Jade Buchanan—what do we think? What do we know?”

Riley dives in first. “Jade is their closer. Highly effective. She’s their you, but with tits. She should be old man Buchanan’s right-hand man, but for reasons known only to him, he’s kept her on par with Dumb and Dumber.”

I nod. “What else? What are her fears, phobias? What does she love, what does she hate? What makes her tick?”

“The mom died when she was a kid,” Gage offers. “But it was kept real hush-hush—no details. With an old man like hers, I’m thinking there’s a high likelihood of daddy issues.”

“She was popular in high school, remember?” Ian says.

Like all the wards at Saint Andrew’s, we went to school on campus until eighth grade, then attended the public high school in town.

“Class president, homecoming queen, but she was kind of an ice princess. Standoffish. The only one she was tight with was Piper Mulligan, and Piper might be slightly hollow between the ears, but she’s not a gossip.”

“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “The main question: How do I get her to fold? What are our ideas?”

Gage leans forward and lowers his voice. “It’s an old house. Loose plaster, uneven floorboards. Maybe she has an accident . . . like a chandelier falls on her head or she takes an unfortunate spill down the stairs.”

Gage got left at Saint Andrew’s when he was three years old. When his mom decided to start a new life, minus her kid, after his father—who had been a hit man for the New York mob—got himself extremely whacked.

He’s like a brother to me, but sometimes I wonder if that apple fell a little too close to the tree.

“I want to get her to abandon ship, Gage, not catch a murder charge.”

“You could smoke her out with stink bombs,” Ian suggests. “Constantly leave the seat up—women hate that. Or not flush at all. Burp, fart in her presence, don’t shower—become a foul, revolting version of yourself.”

Once upon a time, Ian was the youngest, the baby, the only boy with three older sisters who doted on him. He was seven when a car accident took them and his parents away.

“And bugs!” he continues. “You could dump a couple jars of spiders in her clothes. Or even better—roaches. A high-end girl like Jade sees those long, buggy antennas winking at her, I bet she’ll head screaming for the hills.”

I nod thoughtfully. Not bad.

Riley’s gaze is aimed at the bar—specifically at Mrs. Othonos, the tanned, tennis-playing, beach-yoga-doing wife of Mr. Othonos—a shipping magnate who neglects her.

Riley gives her a wink and she immediately flashes a flirty smile back. He prefers older women—wealthy, attractive, married older women—because, according to him, they’re less complicated.

He downs his shot and turns his attention back to us. “You’re overlooking the most obvious strategy.” He meets my eyes. “You need to bang her brains out.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I ask. “It’d be like screwing a praying mantis or a barracuda. I like all my body parts where they are—I don’t want them ripped off or eaten.”

“Come on, Burke. I know you know what she looks like. Putting aside the whole spawn-of-Satan issue—it’s not like it’d be a hardship.”

“And how does my nailing Jade Buchanan get her out of Clara’s house?”

“Because you’re not just going to nail her. You’re gonna break her heart.” Riley gestures to Ian. “Exhibit A—sophomore year of college, Ian thought he was in love with Krissy Kringle from calculus class. And when she dumped him for that douchey philosophy TA, he never went back to class. He couldn’t stomach seeing her again.”

“Dude,” Ian whispers. “We said we’d never speak of it. You’re speaking of it.”

Riley lifts his palms in remorse. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just saying, the only reason you didn’t flunk out was because we got you wasted every night and Burke took your calculus final for you.” Riley looks back at me. “Because heartbreak is nature’s repellant. I mean, sure, Jade’s a total girl boss, but for all we know, she’s also a princess in a tower, wishing on a star every night that a big cock on a white horse comes along to carry her away to happily-ever-after land. All you have to do is make her believe that big cock is you.”

“Okay, sure,” I counter. “Assuming the core idea is valid, you’re forgetting the minor hurdle of Jade hating my guts. She loathes me, can’t stand me—and the feeling is entirely mutual.”

“Well, you’ve got four months to change that. It’s gonna be like prison . . . nothing but time.”

Gage jumps on board with Riley’s master plan. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. The way to a woman’s heart is multiple orgasms.”

“Bingo,” Riley agrees. “You play nice, get her to open up, get her to trust you, rely on you. Give her the best sex of her existence, and make her think it’s the real deal. Then . . . you crush her. Tell her it was a lie, a game, all fake. Tell her it meant nothing and she means less than nothing. The humiliation will be unreal. She won’t be able to look at you, let alone stay in the same house as you.”

Riley was a safe-haven baby—a newborn bundle left at the firehouse. He bounced around a few foster homes that ended up not being a good fit for one reason or another, before eventually landing at Saint Andrew’s. He’ll never know who his parents are—he could pass them on the street, talk to them at the coffee shop, and he’d never know.

In some ways, deep down, I think Riley’s the most screwed up out of all of us.

“That’s harsh, man,” Ian says.

“It is,” Riley agrees softly.

And the three of them look to me.

“But all bets are off now,” I say, because it’s the truth.

And I’m not above playing dirty—filthy, even—not for this. “Sleeping with the enemy is not my favorite idea, but it’s not a terrible one either. At this point, it’s winner take all . . . by any means necessary.”

They nod and Ian downs his shot, exhaling hard. “We still have tomorrow to get Burke’s supplies packed. So I say we take this to a real bar.” He glances around the room. “This place reminds me of a mausoleum for people who are still alive.”

“I second that,” Gage agrees and we all stand and head out.

To enjoy my last night of freedom.