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DYLAN
“Ihave a request for you,” I tell the middle-aged blonde woman sitting across from me. We’re not at Lionfish. We’re at one of the numerous coffee bars and shops that fill the Upper East Side, a virtual world away from the Financial District. That’s on purpose, and my guest knows it.
Vanna Nicholson has been both the bane and the toast of the town for nearly thirty-five years. Originally one of the ‘society girls’, she was the previous generation’s little hellraiser. Starting when she was only a teenager, she ran wild. Parties, scandals, and more were everyday life for Vanna Nicholson, all fueled by her family’s billions.
She was the spoiled rich bitch plastered on every magazine two decades ago.
Guess that’s what happens when you’re the only daughter, your parents are divorced, and your older brothers have clearly whipped out their dicks to mark the family business as theirterritory. A lesson to her parents—maybe a quarter-million dollars a month is a bit much for an allowance.
All of that came crashing down after nearly a decade. Her family’s downfall dominated the pages for nearly a year, and afterward, Vanna found herself in a position she’d never dreamed. She needed a job. Thankfully, she had a gift for gab and lots of connections. She knew where the bodies were buried and which closets held which skeletons.
Hell, she’d helped put them there for so many influential men and women in this city. While her dirt may be scattered for all to see, she has the sordid details on everyone who is anyone in this city.
It’s turned her into an institution in town, and for a quarter-century, she’s been the society pages reporter, dishing out innuendo, scandal, and sometimes flat-out muck like it’s candy from her pocket. And of course, dear readers have been eating it up, both in print and online, the entire time because the only thing people love more than money is gossip. Especially given money is of no concern for Vanna’s targets.
“A request?” she lifts a perfectly plucked brow. “And what would that request be?” Vanna asks, stirring her skinny latte. Years of being a culture vulture have been oddly preserving on her. Her hair’s still the same shade of blonde it was thirty years ago, her face shows almost no wrinkles, and her outfits have only gone from over labeled to quiet luxury.
It’s only when you get to her eyes, her cold, icy, almost dead eyes, that you realize she’s seen and heard about things that nobody should. She may fuel party rumors and spread gossip, but there’s a darkness that’s kept quiet. And some secrets are too dark even for the most endured.
“Evan Faulkner,” I tell her. “I want him exposed and taken down. Permanently.” My words are clearly spoken, although my voice is hushed and my tone far more casual than it should be.I clear my throat and roll up my sleeves while I hold her questioning gaze.
I’ve thought and strategized, turning over options and alternatives in my mind for days. Evan is likely doing the same, well aware that his attempt at coming between Raven and me has failed. If he’d let it go, it would be different. He doesn’t know how to simply take the loss. There is something in the core of who he is who will keep at it until he’s hurt Raven. I know he will. He knows her and knows how to get under her skin and into her head. I can’t blame her for wanting answers from me. But I can put an end to the piece of shit whispering lies about me to her and about her to anyone in this city who will listen.
He’ll readily see me coming, and I’ve had to come up with more diabolical, unpredictable methods to exact the revenge I need and Raven gave me permission to proceed with, like reaching out to Vanna. I could’ve done this long ago. She’s been an option all along, but it’s not until now, with Raven involved, that I’m willing to go to this drastic, and potentially public, length.
Vanna’s fingers tighten on the ceramic handle of her latte, and she leans forward, setting the cup down before it can spill. “The Faulkners? Oh, is that all?” She laughs lightly as though I’m joking, but when I don’t join in, she sobers. “You’re asking me to walk through a minefield, Dylan. Why now? That girl Olivia was years ago. I would think someone of your status would have let it go.”
She knows all about Olivia and Evan… and me. She wrote the articles at the time, teasing that perhaps there was something even more unexpected between the three of us than the usual betrayal and cheating. It was scandalous, and fucking embarrassing, and added salt to the wound. Evan and I were such good friends, after all, and friends do share. She was shut down pretty quickly on that implication, and I suspect I have Evan, or his father, to thank for that because I certainly wasn’t in the position to do anything about it at the time.
“As you know from personal experience, some wounds don’t heal,” I reply pointedly, and Vanna’s mouth pinches. Her family was one of those families that had billions… until Jerome Faulkner decided that his ivory tower needed just a few more floors. He crushed the Nicholsons, using his own media connections to tear down the family name and devastate their business holdings until, in the ultimate display of humiliation, he bought out Vanna’s father.
I’m hoping she has some grudges of her own to grind. I sold it to myself as ‘the enemy of my enemy’ when I started this thing with Raven, but perhaps it’s morphing into ‘victims of my victimizer’, because Raven, I, and Vanna all share experience dealing with the pain of the Faulkners, ways and would love an opportunity to rise up against them.
“You have a point,” Vanna concedes. “But if you know that much, then you also know why I’m cautious with the Faulkners.”
“You have dirt on Evan and the rest of them, I’m sure,” I say, leaning back in my seat and taking a glance around the bustling cafe. I don’t recognize anyone, and no one seems to notice our conversation. “Their lawyers can only come after you for libel and defamation if what you print isn’t true. And you and I both know that you can print all sorts of things about the Faulkners that are plenty true, and even more so destructive.”
“You havedirtas well, certain information that would suit your cause,” Vanna points out. “You could destroy him legally. You’ve had the means to do so for years but have held back.” I start to say something, and she holds up her hand, quieting me. “I don’t need to hear your excuses and reasons. I trust you’ve held your information for the right time, much the same way I do. But why should I put my head on the chopping block for something you’re not willing to do yourself? At a time that serves you, not me?”
“Because the things I could prove would hurt others, people I do like and have some allegiance to.” I adjust mycollar as the back of my neck heats. She’s correct in her assessment, but I don’t want to burn the financial district to the ground, just one prick who deserves it more than others.
“Like your friends Ollie and Austin?” she guesses, poking around and hoping to strike informational pay dirt. “I hear you have a new fifth at your little poker games too. A newcomer, Noah? He’s making quite the splash, buying up real estate to create an insta-empire.” Her red lips curl with amusement before she takes a sip of her drink.
I can’t fault her. It’s what she does, and she’s damn good at it. But I’m not selling out people I care about. Those I don’t? Maybe.
I nod, giving her a calculating look. “I have met Noah,” I say, not confirming where or when. “I wish him the best with his… what did you call it? Insta-empire.” I also don’t use my own language to describe Noah’s business buying strategy, but rather echo hers, not agreeing or disagreeing with her.
It’s a careful game we both play.
Vanna smiles serenely, as if something in my words answered a question for her, though I’m not sure how it could. She picks up her latte again after tapping her nails that match her lips perfectly on the cup, taking a polite sip as she looks over the rim of the cup at me. “How hospitable of you,” Vanna says. I give her a dark look, ready to deal with the issue at hand. “I also hear you’ve taken a very personal interest in ‘mentoring’ one of your new, and rather beautiful, junior associates.”
“That would be singular, perhaps.” No doubt, she’s aware, so I don’t deny it. Certainly not now that we’re public. But still, my throat is tight knowing all too well how reality can be twisted and so many don’t bother with the truth.
“Perhaps there’s been gossip that would bode well in thepapers,” she starts.
I growl and lean forward so she hears this loud and clear. “Tread carefully, Vanna. Very carefully.”
Rather than falling, her smile grows into something akin to eagerness and her eyes flare. She has no less than five follow-up questions she wants to ask, but my reaction is enough of an answer… for now. So she sets her latte down and gives a queenly nod. “I understand what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.”
