Found (Not Quite a Billionaire Book 3) (22 page)

“Please,” she said, “sit down. I used to love you looming over me, but you’re scaring me now.”

“Good.” I made no move to sit. She thought she could invite me to be at home in my own home? But then, Anika had never been short of confidence. “I’m still waiting. How?”

She sighed, her hands twisting together a bit more. “I had a mate call the front desk and be you. They don’t know one Maori voice from another. And I was desperate.”

I was going to have to set up a code word, I thought grimly. This had never occurred to me. Bloody stupid, especially with Hope and Karen living here, easy targets. I’d take care of that the minute I got Anika out of here. “They let you in because you were my . . .”

“Sister. I used my old passport with your name. I’m sorry, Hemi. I truly am. But I had to do it, don’t you see? How else was I going to tell you what you’ve . . .” Her beautiful throat worked hard as she swallowed, and her mouth quivered. Even as I watched, a tear escaped one lustrous eye and traced a shining path over a sculpted cheekbone. “What you’ve done to me,” she whispered. “How much it . . . hurts.”

I shouldn’t answer that. I did anyway. “You enjoy being hurt. You always have.”

“Not like this. Never like this. You know the difference. You of all people. You always checked in. You always made sure I was all right. This time, you hit me so hard, and then you kept hitting. My job . . . my mum. My grandparents. My Koro . . . he cried, Hemi. He’s
eighty.
He cried. He has to go to church tomorrow. He’ll hold his head up, but he’ll be dying inside knowing everybody’s heard that, that they’re talking about him, wondering what’s wrong with our whanau that I turned out this way. And it hurts me to hurt him. It hurts like no whipping you ever gave me.”

I told myself not to wince, and I even managed it. “I never did anything you didn’t want.”

“Except this. I didn’t want this. You were
kind.
You were a gentleman, deep down, and I knew it. You made me feel safe. I used to laugh at you for it, I know, but underneath—I loved it. How could you have changed this much? How could you have turned into this man?”

“I warned you. Reckon you’ve found out why you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I can’t help who I am. I can’t help my tastes and my desires, just like you can’t help yours. Do you have to punish me for them, too? Haven’t you punished me enough?”

Breathe in. Breathe out.
When I was sure I could do it calmly, I said, “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. Do you think I’d ever have talked about what you enjoyed, what we did together, what you did afterwards? Never. Especially not about the way you cheated. I could barely even tell Hope. If anyone else knew, it was because of what
you
said. You didn’t care who knew. You didn’t mind taunting that neighbor of yours, or telling Vi, knowing she’d tell me. That’s why you told her, I’d bet, so she
would
tell me, to punish me for going to New York. You didn’t mind sleeping with my bloody
roommate.
You say you hurt? How d’you think it felt to know all that? That you didn’t love me enough to stay with me, and you were laughing behind your back at me with my mates?
Shagging
my mates? How many of them? How d’you imagine that felt? My
wife.”

I wasn’t making such a good fist of “cool” and “calm” anymore. I forced the dark rage down and said more quietly, “I didn’t talk about you. I didn’t do it this time, either. All I did was arrange a platform for all the people
you
talked to, all the people you shocked and hurt. I gave them a voice. The things you’ve done have come home to roost. I told you they would. I told you not to push me. You didn’t believe me. More fool you.”

“You’re right. I’ve been such a fool. I’ve been so wrong.” More tears were flowing now. Unlike Hope’s, though, Anika’s face didn’t become blotchy when she cried. Her shoulders didn’t heave, and her body didn’t shake. She didn’t lose it entirely when, with all her courage, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, couldn’t keep me from seeing her pain. No, Anika was a different animal entirely. A few silver streaks down her perfect skin, a quiver of her gorgeous mouth, and that was all.

She went on, a hitch in her voice. “All I’ve wanted was what was rightfully mine. Three years together means I get half. It’s fair. It’s the law. All I asked for was what was mine.”

“No.” I let the word hang there, flat and hard. “It wasn’t three years, and you know it. You don’t deserve a thing, and your tears won’t work on me. Get out of my house.”

“Hemi . . . please.” She’d slipped off the couch, but she wasn’t doing what I’d have expected. She wasn’t coming to me and wrapping her arms around me, drawing me into the dark seduction that was her lush body, her twisted mind, her rich voice begging me, “Do it again, Hemi. Harder.” Instead, to my horror, she was sinking to her knees.

“I’ll do anything,” she said. “Anything you say. I’ll beg. I’m begging now. Please stop. Let’s settle. I’m in so much trouble. On the townhouse, the job, everything. I didn’t want to tell you, because I know how you can’t stand weakness. But I’m going to lose my house, and if you go on like this, I’m going to lose everything. My job. My whanau’s good opinion. Everything. Please, Hemi. Give me something, and I’ll leave you alone. Help me.”

“No.”

“Please. I’m begging you.”

“I noticed. But you don’t seem to realize the most important thing.”

“What’s that? Tell me, and I’ll do it. Please.”

“That I don’t care.”

Hope

We developed a pattern, Hemi and I, after that first adventurous evening. During one call, we talked. Practicing our communication, and he was even willing to do it.

During the next call, we . . . went deeper. Call it “dinner” and “dessert.” On the dessert nights, the date nights, we took turns sharing our fantasies, and I found myself saying things to him that I could never have imagined saying to a living soul. And let’s just say he said more. He saw my bid and raised it, every single time.

I was a dirty girl, you bet I was, but Hemi put me to shame—in all sorts of ways. And whether I was talking or he was, I somehow always ended up performing for him. The combination worked like crazy, too. Well, for me, anyway.

Which was why, after our third date night, I spoke up. “I never get to watch you, though. When is it your turn?”

I got his real-deal smile for that. “Baby, it’s always my turn. There’s no way in the world that you could enjoy watching me as much as I love watching you.”

“You may not know me as well as you think you do.” I went for severe. Not easy when you’re sprawled naked on your back across rumpled sheets, your body spelling out, “This woman has had several major orgasms!” on every inch of flushed skin. I did my best anyway, though. “When you’re out here, I get a turn. That’s a dealbreaker.”

“It’s a big ask,” he said with a sigh, “but I may be willing.”

I was smiling when I hung up. Hemi Te Mana, giving up control. How about that?

Saturday.
Only four days to go, and then he was coming back after nearly four weeks apart. Back to pick up Karen, and back to see Koro.

And me, of course. And me.

Our communication was improving every day.

On Friday morning, I woke up and reached a hand out for my chips, trying not to move so much as my head.

I was taking my first tentative nibble of ridged potato chip—yes, it’s weird, but the salt helped the nausea—when it hit me.

Hey.
I was barely sick. The nausea had been slowly improving over the past couple weeks, and this morning, instead of practically holding my breath while I sipped water and established my credentials for the World Championships of Slow Chip Consumption, I was inhaling my measly four chips and digestive biscuit and looking for more.

I wasn’t sick, but I was
starving.
I’d lost six pounds in the past thirteen weeks, and I wanted those pounds
back.

Fried chicken. That was what I wanted. Right the hell now.

No butler magically appeared to bring it to me, so I got out of bed, pulled on my robe, and went out to the kitchen. Eggs would do. Eggs and . . . spinach. And mushrooms. And
cheese.
Honey, this baby was going to be doing some growing, and so was I. When I’d taken my belly pictures this last week, I’d been able to inventory my entire rib cage, but that was about to change.

I was cooking a huge panful of eggs and vegetables, nibbling on a piece of cheese to tide me over for the next three minutes, when Karen showed up in the doorway.

“Hey,” she said, blinking at me. “What is this? Dawn of the Walking Dead? You’re dealing with food smells now? Pod person much?”

“We do it because we can. Suddenly.” I tipped my eggs out onto a plate and added two pieces of toast that I buttered extravagantly. “Oh, sorry,” I realized. “Want some?”

“Yeah,” she said, and I suppressed a pang and divided my bounty onto two plates. Probably pushing my luck anyway, eating all that. The food had to stay down to do me any good.

“So how did it go last night?” I asked. “Have fun?” She’d gone to the movies in Tauranga with Tane’s son Nikau, her sort-of-almost cousin, and some of his friends.

“Pretty good, but I still can’t wait to go home.” She focused on her eggs, and so did I. “This has been all right. I mean, Koro’s great and all, but I miss my friends back home. Plus my laser surgery. Me with no glasses. Me
hot
. Imagine the intriguing possibilities.”

I looked up from my own laser focus—on my plate—and studied her. She was chewing toast with honey with what I could swear was an innocent expression.

“Are you mad at me for not coming home for your surgery?” I asked, sticking one cautious toe into the water. Maybe, with all my self-improvement efforts and the endlessly distracting business of being pregnant, not to mention the looming figure of Hemi behind it all, I hadn’t focused enough on her.

It had been such a relief to have all this extended family around. I hadn’t realized the weight I’d carried until some of it had been lifted. All this past month, I’d had Koro here being her grandfather and Tane and June welcoming her into the fold as if she—we—really
were
their family. Not to have to be both mother and father to her, not to have to solo-parent a teenager when I’d barely stopped being one myself—it was different, and it was pretty great.

She waved her toast around as she chewed, which could have meant anything. “Nah,” she finally said. “The recovery time for LASIK is a
day.
And, what? Your eyes sting? Compared to a brain tumor? Not even close. What was that thing you said? I’m either going to die, or it’s an inconvenience. This is a
minor
inconvenience. This is a mosquito bite, and then I have perfect vision and no glasses. Yay.”

“You remember that? What I said?” I didn’t feel like quite such a bad parent-surrogate, suddenly.

“Sure I remember. You’ve always been there for me. I
get
that, Hope. You don’t have to be there anymore. I’m sixteen. Plus, I’ll be with Hemi, the world’s most authoritative man. Born to boss. I don’t need both of you doing it. Talk about overkill.”