Making Moves

EMERALD

Devon was keeping a very healthy distance between us. And the couch. And the kitchen island. Okay, he was keeping half the penthouse between us because I bunny-backhanded him right across the cheek.

Tate was sipping coffee and reading messages and emails on his phone, completely unconcerned that I was murdering his younger brother with my eyes right now.

“Help. Me,” Devon squeaked out.

“Nope,” Tate said as I slapped my slipper onto the stool next to me. “You could use a lesson or two in etiquette, Dev. At your age, harsher punishment for being a—”

“Disgusting pig,” I supplied.

“—will stick a lot better than a stern talking to,” he finished and took another sip of his coffee.

“Besides, lurking about outside of bedrooms is a nasty habit, little brother. Just be glad Emerald is the one hitting you because I’d do a lot more than leave a slipper tread print on your face.”

“Duly noted,” he mumbled. “And I’m not that old, asshole.”

“You’re twenty-one. Too old to be sent to the corner for a time out, so…” I waved my slipper around. “I throw them with deadly accuracy, too. Watch it.”

“Scary.” He stepped behind a corner.

“Then leave,” Tate suggested, like he was talking about going on a picnic. “Dad’s throwing a fit. Mom’s not too thrilled either.”

“Did you think they’d just go ‘Oh. Accusation of coerced abortion. No biggie’?” Devon poked his head out. “Just wait until Gran hears about it.”

“I’m not foolish enough to think she doesn’t already know,” Tate replied, scrolling through his phone still. “There are a lot of messages about you, Emerald.”

“Messages? Not emails?” Devon gasped. “Personal messages?”

“Mostly from Mom.” Tate shrugged, and Devon shuddered.

“I am ~not~ here.” He pointed at us both. “That woman is ~evil incarnate~.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Tate agreed.

“And I’m supposed to be meeting these people?” I looked at him.

“Bring your slipper and Dad will likely piss himself.” Tate chuckled and sat his phone down, grabbing my hips and pulling me off my stool and onto his lap.

“That’s not funny, Tate.” Devon pouted.

“It kind of is, actually.” He smiled at his brother. “It’s like watching Nigel run from Bruno.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Nigel is our cousin on our mother’s side. Likes to look big and strong like a post-bodybuilding Arnold, but before he got old and saggy,” Devon supplied, venturing closer so he could get some coffee.

“And Bruno was a teacup Yorkie that literally weighed three pounds soaking wet.” Tate snorted. “Nigel was terrified of him.”

“I’m not that little.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s okay, Teacup. I’m not nearly as ’roided out as Nigel, so it’s all about the nostalgia.”

Devon grinned at me, then ducked as a slipper sailed through the air and still hit him in the forehead. “Seriously? Tate, help me out here.”

“Hell no. This is far too entertaining.” Tate laughed and kissed my cheek.

“Glad my misery could be of use,” Devon muttered as the elevator chimed and Vince came in, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You look like shit,” Devon said.

“Did you even go to sleep last night?” I asked him.

The red, irritated eyes were all the answer I was going to get as he sat heavily on a stool and stole Devon’s coffee, drinking a large amount in one go, despite it being very hot.

“Sure, sure. Help yourself.” Devon huffed and started making another cup.

“We have shaky grounds for a defamation suit; however, it’s unlikely to ever see a second in court because it’s all based on your word or hers,” Vince said.

“The most we could have done before this morning would have been issuing a cease and desist, but that went to hell when medical records were released, proving her story.”

“Faked records. There are a dozen people in this city alone who could fake a medical history for a few bills. Fake IDs, medical records, you name it, there’s a guy for it.”

“Can you find out which one Miss Prissy Pants used?” I asked him.

“Depends. My face hurts pretty bad. I think my eye might be swelling, even.” He shrugged.

“It will be doing more than just swelling if you don’t answer the fucking question, Devon,” I gritted.

“Her brother is a Marine. I would answer the question and stop being a smart ass, Dev.” Vince rubbed his hand over his face. “There’s no telling what he’s taught her.”

“Fine. I might be able to find out which one did the records, but it’s going to take some time.” Devon huffed. “These people don’t like to talk about their clients, but some of them will. For the right price.”

“Bill me.” Tate rolled his eyes.

“There’s more,” Vince said.

“What now?” Tate groaned.

“It’s good, so unclench.” Vince yawned. “It’s about you and Emma.”

“We expected that after last night.” Tate nodded.

“No, it’s gotten out that she used to be your assistant, and the media started up this trash campaign.” Vince pulled out his phone and unlocked it, handing it to Tate.

“How is that good?” Tate fumed as he scanned the article. What I was reading was horrible.

“Read the comments.” Vince waved his hand dismissively.

My eyes watered as I read some of the things being said. Some of them were of the same caliber of garbage as the article, but most of them were ~defending~ me. Adamantly, I might add.

“Hey, I recognize that name,” I said, stopping Tate from scrolling. “That’s Henry Logan’s assistant.”

“Most of those names you’ll find familiar, Emma. They’re the assistants and secretaries, even wives of some of the businessmen Tate has dealt with since you started working for him.”

Vince nodded, drinking the last of the coffee in his cup. “A few of them are the men themselves, actually.”

“I don’t understand,” I shook my head.

“People like you, Emma,” Devon said. “It’s hard not to, honestly. Except when you have a slipper in your hand.”

“Not only do they like you enough to defend you; they also are defending your judgment, which gives you a fuck ton of power in this little Nicole nonsense,” Vince nodded in agreement.

“It would seem that your likability has made you a key element in redeeming Tate’s image to the public.”

“I’m not using her like that,” Tate put the phone on the counter and held on to me. “I won’t. I didn’t even want her near this in the first place.”

“I don’t think you had any choice,” Devon pointed out. “You sure as shit don’t have one now.”

“Fine. Emerald, if this was anyone else’s life, what would you tell them next?” Vince asked.

“Make a statement,” I answered with no hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be a speech, but a message needs to be sent out that says ‘I’m above this insanity.’

“The sooner the better. It will slow and, hopefully, stall the progression of the rumors so we can get what we need to prove she’s a lying sack of shit before it’s too late.”

“I was unaware there was a time limit on this.” Devon looked at me, then understanding dawned. “Oh. Ooh. Oh, shit.”

“There is a crucial timeframe in which this needs to be sorted out and fixed before the damage becomes too great to recover from fully,” I explained to Vince and Tate.

“Right now, we’re a trending topic. If we don’t fix this before the next big scandal hits, the recovery is going to be marginal at best.

“Your public image will be flawed, meaning you’ll no longer be eligible to inherit the business.”

Tate stiffened, and Vince sucked in a breath as Devon got busy on his phone.

“I’m going to get on those records and find the guy that did them,” he said. “You might not see me for a few days.”

“Please call so we know you’re okay, yeah?” I looked at him, and he looked shocked before he grinned at me.

“Got it, sis. I’ll try to be quick.” He winked and went to the elevator.

“Would filing the defamation suit be public record?” I asked Vince, and he nodded.

“If we allowed it, yes,” he said.

“Do it,” Tate said. “It’ll help, right?”

“I’m not sure how much, but we need all the help we can get to buy us as much time as we can so Devon can find the guy who faked the medical records.

“News happens every second of every day, and this city is rife with material for a scandal. Now that she’s moved from her word or Tate’s and put forward ‘evidence’ to back up her story, it’s our move,” I said.

“We’re going to use a pawn to distract the enemy while the knight captures the bishop and the rooks back up the pawn.”

“The suit is the pawn.” Vince smiled and tapped on the counter thoughtfully. “Devon is the knight, jumping about into places you didn’t think he’d go. Who are the rooks?”

“For now, that’s you and your firm,” I said. “Fight that suit like it’s at the Supreme Court and keep the enemy queen from making a move for Tate.”

“What about the enemy king?” Tate asked.

“Don’t worry. I have my eye out for him.” I nodded. “A king can’t capture another king without putting himself in danger. Leo won’t come for you. He’ll come for me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The king rules the board, but the queen is the one with the power. The goal is to protect the king, but once the queen is out of the game, it gets far more difficult to win.

“Without the queen beside him, the king is vulnerable,” I said. “Leo will try to get me out of the picture by whatever means necessary because I’m Tate’s queen. I’d bet the trash campaign was his idea.”

“It backfired.” Tate chuckled. “If that’s the best he can do, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“He’s not going to underestimate us for long.” I shook my head at the enthusiasm. “He made a play and lost; now he’s regrouping and waiting for us to move. File the suit. Play the pawn and hide the knight.

“If he sees we’re getting close to taking out his queen, he’ll bolster defenses like a doomsday prepper. He can’t know until that bitch is clawing the dirt as she’s dragged to the boneyard.”

Vince and Tate both looked at me as I finished Tate’s coffee. The silence dragged on for several seconds before Vince shuddered and looked at Tate with wide eyes.

“Your woman is fucking terrifying. You know that, right?”

“Only when provoked.” I shrugged and hopped off Tate’s lap. I gave his cheek a kiss and smiled at him. “I’m going to take a shower. Would you like me to make breakfast after?”

“I’ll just order us something,” Tate said, his smile growing on his face.