Chapter 5: JADE - A Very Good Bad Idea

Our chauffeured Escalade comes to a stop in the empty lot beside Clara’s house, fifteen minutes before sunset. The sky is a dome of gray with a purple-hued front hovering out over the ocean. My father, brothers, Piper, and I walk up the boardwalk ramp over the dunes, while the driver follows with my bags. The breeze off the water is misty, making my clothes feel damp, and strands of my hair cling and twine their way around my neck as we walk down the plywood path that’s been laid over the sand.

Stymie and a younger associate—I think it’s his nephew—stand at the gated entrance to the property as we approach. I’ve been here close to a hundred times, but knowing that I’ll be living here—stuck here—I see it with new eyes.

A four-foot stone-and-seashell wall borders the property line, encasing the expansive lawn that’s gone brown and brittle, with scattered blotches of overgrown seagrass that resemble furry green monsters waiting to reach out and grab you. The exterior is faded cedar shake, with fractured trim that used to be white and immense floor-to-ceiling windows with an iron grid inlay. Two massive columns support the ocean-facing extended-covered entrance, with a custom-designed, barrel-arched ceiling. The porch is a pebble-gray aggregate slab that’s cracked now—the same as the steps that lead up to the double walnut doors with a faded brass knocker.

Two wings bracket the central structure, each dotted with boarded-up windows and distressed upper-floor balconies that have seen better days. The roof has spots of missing shingles, and it curves and dips in places in a way it definitely isn’t supposed to. Weeds, brush, and shrubbery that’s been allowed to grow wild frame the foundation, with the rear façade almost entirely enveloped by vines, moss, and probably mold.

It’s a once-beautiful, massive home, but it looks even more imposing by the barren, dystopian landscape surrounding it. It was part of the isolation campaign to get Clara to sell—razing all the houses around her that were already bought out—giving the impression of a house that’s the lone survivor of a nuclear blast. The only house around for miles. Maybe the only one left in the world.

And I’m going to be trapped in it with Damon Burke for the next four months.

I’ve thought three words more often in the last twenty-four hours than I have in my whole life—but once more for those in the back won’t hurt. Fuck. My. Life.

After quick greetings are exchanged, Stymie’s associate crouches down and attaches the ankle monitor to my leg. It closes with a distinct click, like the lock of a prison cell door. I take a few practice steps, because it feels strange and weighted on my ankle—a potent reminder that this is happening.

Piper stands a few steps away, giving us space. The three members of my family and I stand together—awkwardly. Because our conversations are painfully limited outside of the office. Expressive farewells have never been a Buchanan tradition, but a third of a year is a long time. Anything could happen. So I give it a whirl.

“Remember, I won’t be totally out of reach,” I tell Beckett. “If you need my input on something, get it to Piper and she can bring it to me every two weeks.” The corners of my mouth inch up into a small smile. “Hold down the fort while I’m away.”

He narrows his eyes, shaking his head, his tense hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I can’t believe the biggest deal in the history of the company is resting on your shoulders. Don’t fuck it up.”

Anytime an olive branch is extended Beckett’s way, he has never failed to bend it back and smack you in the face with it. But I let his disdain pass through me, and my tone goes cold.

“I won’t.”

Bailey stares up at the mansion for several moments, then he turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not going to get sentimental or anything—you know that gives me the ick.”

I glance down at my sandals, nodding. “Yes, fully aware.”

“So I’m just gonna say . . . better you than me. Or any of us. Because you’ve got this, Jade.”

My eyes dart up to his—surprised by the sincerity I find there.

“For real. You’ve got this in the bag.”

And that tiny crumb of support fills me like a full meal.

Because I do frigging have this. I’m going to squeeze Burke right the hell out, not just for myself or to please my father—but for Clara too. Because that’s what she would’ve wanted me to do.

“In all my years, one thing that has not changed in this world is the shame women are made to feel for daring to fight for what they want. My Harvey was a rare man, but I believe there are still some like him—bold men who will admire your fierceness and your fire. But even if there aren’t, you don’t settle. Fight for your happiness, Jade, and by hook or by crook, you’ll get it.”

“Thanks, Bailey.”

My father checks his watch with annoyance, glancing up and down the beach. He detests waiting; he takes it as a personal insult, the offense of wasting his time. But as we tick down to sunset, I wonder if he’s starting to think the same thing I am.

Maybe Burke’s not going to show? Maybe he chickened out or got distracted—or is knocked out in a coma in a hospital somewhere.

One can hope.

As soon as I finish the thought, the sound of engines rumble in the air and a handful of Ubers pull in behind our limo. The doors open and a dozen people come spilling out, moving together in our direction, with Burke’s unmistakable tall, dark form leading the pack.

What’s that Dante quote about abandoning all hope?

* * *

DAMON

I enjoy a good time as much as the next guy, but I’m not real big on drinking to the point of oblivion. It leaves you exposed, vulnerable. I like maintaining control—even when I’m letting loose.

But . . . last night was an exception.

So when I walk my way up to Clara’s gate with the entourage in tow, I’m still pretty fuzzy around the edges—and still wearing last night’s clothes.

Jade, her brothers, and old man Buchanan are already here—glowering like a gaggle of Gotham City villains.

On the ground next to Jade are what I assume are her supplies, in a pristine three-piece set of Louis Vuitton luggage and a large matching trunk. The guys and I drop my gear—in two industrial-sized black garbage bags—beside the gate.

Trying to be inconspicuous, Ian shuffles nearer to enemy lines, toward Jade’s assistant, who’s standing a few feet away from the rest of the Buchanans.

“Hi, Piper.”

The eagerness in Ian’s voice hurts my ears.

He’s been carrying a torch for Piper Mulligan since we were fourteen years old. I’m pretty sure she’s clueless about it. Piper is clueless about a lot of things. I never got her and Jade’s dynamic duo, even back in high school. Jade’s definitely mean-girl material, but Piper doesn’t seem like the toady type.

“Hi, Ian,” she chirps.

Then she appears to remember herself.

“I mean”—she scrunches up her face into a menacing pucker and growls in a Batman-like voice—“hi, Ian. Because you’re my nemesis now.”

He nods dejectedly. “Right. Sure. Totally get it.”

And the unrequited eternal flame burns on.

With the waves crashing behind us and a cool mist heavy in the air, Stymie motions for me and Jade to come forward. We stand facing each other like two heavyweight boxers before the starting bell.

Her bright green eyes stare up into mine, her shoulders back and chin raised in a haughty challenge. One delicate brow lifts and her pretty lips cinch into a condescending bow.

“Hung over?”

“Still drunk,” I reply, unashamed. “The boys gave me a going-away party.”

Jade glances around me, scanning the hot, scantily dressed female acquaintances we picked up somewhere along the way.

“With prostitutes? How predictable.”

I lean in closer, the scent of warm cinnamon teasing my nose. “They prefer to be called sex workers. Independent contractors. Have some respect.”

Stymie’s associate smacks the monitor around my ankle with a loud snap. Then the aged lawyer recites the rules of the contest, repeating the terms of the will—in case we forgot.

“No communication devices of any kind are permitted past this point. If one of you crosses the property line, even for a moment, I’ll be notified and you will be automatically disinherited. If both of you remain for the full four-month time frame—”

And so on, and so on.

When he finishes, a curtain of somber quiet falls down around us. I turn to face the group who came out to see me off. Among them is my family—my closest friends, Brother Mateo who’s bleary-eyed but still standing, and everyone from the office. They’re all pulling for me, counting on me.

They watch me silently, waiting for my parting words.

I lift my arms like the second coming of Eva Perón, and give them the only word that matters.

“Victory!”

They cheer back. Punching the air and sounding like a horde of Vikings before a raid.

Then their cheers morph into an awesomely obnoxious chant.

“Burke, Burke, Burke, Burke, Burke . . .!”

I smirk over at Jade, but her back is turned as she speaks to Buchanan. He adjusts her collar, and though I can’t make out his voice over the roar of the crowd, I can read his lips.

“Do not let me down.”

Seriously?

That’s his final fatherly pep talk before sending his only daughter into the lion’s den?

What a supreme asshole.

“Burke, Burke, Burke, Burke, Burke . . .!”

Brother Mateo makes the sign of the cross—sending a blessing my way.

And Ian takes another shot at talking to Piper. “It’s just like Thunderdome, isn’t it? Two men enter, one man leaves.”

“I love the Hungry Games!” Piper replies excitedly. “Jennifer Garner is like my spirit animal.”

Ian’s brow crinkles with confusion, but Piper doesn’t catch it.

She’s too busy yelling with guttural encouragement. “Kick his ass, Jade! Kick it right out of the house! You can do it! Wooooo!”

“Burke, Burke, Burke, Burke . . .!”

Because we can’t come back out again, we lift our baggage over the wall onto the property. Then Stymie opens the gate wide, and together, Jade and I step over the threshold.

And the game begins.