Ruined: An Ethan Frost Novel; A Loveswept New Adult Romance (12 page)

I’m having a great time—the best time I’ve had in I can’t say how long—and I know at least part of that is because Ethan’s here with me. Which should be a huge warning sign, but somehow isn’t. Not when he smiles at me with such obvious delight. And not when he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer.

Again, that’s not something I’d normally ever allow. But this is Ethan and I decide to go with it. In the back of my head, a lone warning bell is going off, telling me that I’m getting much too comfortable with this guy, but I ignore it. Tori’s here. She’s got my back and I know she’ll make sure nothing happens to me. She might be half infatuated with Ethan herself, but I know she’d never let anyone hurt me. Just like I’d never let any guy hurt her.

The band plays a whole concert instead of just a few songs, but I’m still sad when they wrap up. I’m not ready for the night to end, not ready to say good-bye to the sweet, jean-clad version of Ethan who is sitting next to me. Oh, I know I’ll see him at work tomorrow, but once I hit the office, tonight’s glow will be long gone. And if it isn’t, I’ll banish it myself, because there’s no way I want to give Rick anything else to hold against me.

As people all around us start to leave, I push myself reluctantly from my chair. Tori and Ethan do the same.

“It was nice to meet you,” my roommate says, hand extended to Ethan.

He takes it—too much of a gentleman to leave her hanging—but says, “I was hoping you ladies would let me walk you home.”

He phrases it like we’d be doing him a favor, but I know it’s really the other way around. Yes, we live in one of the best areas of San Diego, but the beach attracts all kinds of people, including the criminal element looking for an easy score. Add to that all the college kids looking for drugs and sometimes things get a little dicey. Not that Tori or I have ever had a problem, but it’s nice that Ethan wants to make sure.

“We’re okay,” I tell him. “You probably have stuff to do here—”

“I already did all the stuff, the sum total of which was to give a five-minute speech at the very beginning of the night. The foundation staff is in charge of everything else.” He holds a hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s get out of their way so they can get started on the cleanup.”

Again, his tone sounds perfectly innocuous, but there’s a layer of unbending steel beneath it. The message is clear: We might be grown women, but there’s no way Ethan is going to let us walk home alone.

I start to push back—I don’t like being told what to do, by anyone—but he’s got that look in his eye again. The same look he wore in the cafeteria when he wanted me to try the smoothie. The same look he had when he insisted that I ice my hip. And just like in those situations, I find myself caving in to him, though I’m unsure why.

I take his hand, knowing the whole time that Tori is watching us with wide eyes. We’ve been friends long enough that she’s seen me shut down more than one guy for trying what Ethan just did. I know I owe her an explanation—one she’ll demand as soon as the apartment door closes behind us—and I don’t have a clue what I’ll say. Except that with Ethan, everything feels different.

As we make our way off the beach, we pass a row of multimillion-dollar mansions whose backyards belly right up to a cliff that overlooks the Pacific. Their front yards are just as magnificent, and though they all have iron gates and fences, they’re close enough to the curb that you can see most of the structures.

Tori points at one that’s all glass and chrome and sharp edges. “That one’s my favorite.” It’s a little thing she and I do when we pass a row of really amazing houses—pick out the one we’d live in if we ever had the money. Tori’s closer to it than I am—she’s got a couple million dollars in her trust fund—but these houses cost ten, fifteen, even twenty million dollars. That’s out of even her price range. As for mine…well, at the moment, a studio apartment is pretty much more than I can afford.

“I like that one,” I say, pointing to a white Mediterranean-looking villa with a slate-blue tile roof. It’s gorgeous, a total showplace that somehow manages to be inviting as well as awe-inspiring. Unlike Tori’s pick, which is beautiful but way too cold-looking for me.

“How about you?” Tori asks Ethan. “Which one is your favorite?”

“I’ll have to go with Chloe’s pick,” he says with a grin. “Although I hear the guy who lives there is unnaturally attached to his blender.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, I whip my head around to look at him. “That’s your house?”

“It is.”

I wait for him to say something else. To brag about it or offer us a tour. He does neither. He just keeps walking, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. It’s not what I expect, but then, when you’re as rich as Ethan Frost, I guess you don’t have to brag. You just accept what you have as your due.

Again my brain shifts to Brandon, and again I try to put him out of my head. I can’t help it, though. I know Ethan is nothing like Brandon, that he’s worked for everything he has instead of having it handed to him on a silver platter. But still, in my head, the money is an issue. Or, more specifically, the sense of entitlement that comes with money is an issue. The rich just don’t think the same way.

It’s one more reason I should keep my distance from Ethan. One more reason I should have said no to that date tomorrow night.

But then I think of that green ribbon, the exact shade of my eyes. I think of that gorgeous, perfect seashell. And know that, money or not, Ethan is nothing like my ex-boyfriend. Chad would never have sent me anything so simple—or so beautiful. He would have sent some expensive piece of jewelry, and expected something for it. Then gotten angry when I didn’t want to play along.

Though I was young, only fifteen, I’ve never felt more like a whore in my life than when I was dating that bastard—and in the months after we were through, when Brandon…I cut the thought off again. It took me forever to get over everything that happened, to get past it all and I never, ever want to feel that way again.

Ethan doesn’t say anything else on our walk home, and neither do I. Tori tries to keep the conversation going for a while, but I guess she eventually gets tired of talking to herself because she turns quiet, too. Which just gives me more time to think, to wonder and worry about what’s going to happen when we get to our apartment.

Should I invite Ethan in? Do I even want to invite him in? I’m tired and I’d really like to go to bed, but maybe he expects it. We
are
supposed to be going out tomorrow night. And he did spend a portion of yesterday evening giving me my first orgasm with another human being. That should count for something. A cup of coffee, maybe. Or some strawberry tea.

It probably even counts for a kiss. Which is fine with me. Really. I liked kissing him in his office. More than liked it, if I’m being honest. It’s just the expectation I don’t like. Again, that sense of bartering. Of having to do something for him because he’s done something for me. And if that’s the case, I’d at least like a vote in what happens. In what I’m expected to do. Chad never gave me that voice. Will Ethan? Already he’s talked me into doing things I don’t want to—simply because he asked me to. The smoothie. The ice. The walk home. It’s nothing like what Chad demanded of me, but could it be? If I let it?

By the time we walk into our apartment complex, I’m a nervous wreck. All mixed up and freaked out and unsure of what to say or how to say it. And when we get to our apartment and Tori disappears through the door with a thank-you and a wave, my confusion gets even worse. I’m left staring at Ethan with no idea of what I’m supposed to do. Damn it. Maybe I
should
have dated more these last couple of years. Then at least I wouldn’t feel so out of my depth.

“Do you—” My voice breaks, so I start again. “Do you want to come in?”

He leans a shoulder against the wall and just studies me for a moment, those crazy eyes of his the same shade as the sky outside as he tries to figure me out. Knowing what he’s doing only freaks me out more, makes me more wary and confused and defensive.

Eventually Ethan shakes his head, and I feel an overwhelming sense of relief mixed with a just as overwhelming sense of disappointment. Which makes no sense but is true nonetheless.

“Oh, um, okay. Then I guess—”

I break off as he rests a light hand on my shoulder. His fingers are warm and firm, but gentle, too. Tentative. Not nervous, like I am, but worried. Like he’s afraid that one wrong move will spook me. Guess I’m more transparent than I thought.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just stands there, watching me, for several long, tense seconds. I think he’s waiting for something, but I don’t have a clue what it is. If I did, I’d give it to him and damn the consequences.

I wait him out as long as I can, but eventually the silence gets to be too much for me and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Thanks for building my sand castle for me.” I sound awkward, and a little breathless from where my voice catches in my throat, but at least there’s something out there. Something between us besides tension so thick I could scoop it onto an ice- cream cone.

“Thanks for having dinner with me,” he answers.

“I should be thanking you. You bought most of it.”

“It’s not about the money, Chloe.”

Spoken like someone who has always had money. Or at least someone who’s had it so long that he doesn’t remember what it is not to have it. Because when you don’t have much more than a couple of nickels to rub together, it’s
always
about the money. My father taught me that a long time ago.

I don’t say that, though. Instead I ask, “What’s it about, then?” because I really want to know. I’m determined to find out the rules of this game we’re playing. Once I know them, everything will make sense again. And I’ll have more than a one-in-a-billion shot of actually winning.

His fingers are still stroking my neck, tender, feathery motions that somehow manage to turn me on and relax me all at the same time.

“You. It’s all about you.”

He leans down toward me, and I brace myself for one of his mind-numbing, breath-stealing, resolve-shattering kisses. But it never comes. Instead, he cups my face between his palms and skims his lips across my forehead. Soft, sweet, and oh-so-seductive in its own way.

Then he’s pulling back, smiling at me. Tucking one of my crazy curls behind my ear. “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

He turns to walk away, and though he didn’t actually kiss me, it still takes me a few seconds to gather my wits enough to call after him. “Wait! What should I wear?”

He turns back around, spreads his arms wide. And with a grin that somehow manages to be both warm and wicked, he answers, “Whatever feels good.”

And then he’s gone and I’m left staring after him, wondering what the hell I’ve managed to get myself into.

A
fter a night of tossing and turning, I get to work to find out that I’ve been called into a meeting about the Trifecta merger. It’s me, two interns from legal, and a bunch of lawyers, all of whom are hyped up on coffee and the thrill of blood in the water.

I’m confused at first, but it doesn’t take long for me to figure it out. This merger isn’t really a merger. It’s a hostile takeover, one Trifecta is fighting with everything they’ve got. But the lawyers have found the final nail for the coffin, the one that will allow Frost Industries to absorb their current work on an invention whose purpose I don’t even understand.

I guess the takeover’s been in the works for quite a while and that Ethan has moved more slowly on it than the lawyers would have liked. That extra time allowed Trifecta to mess with their patents, to have the invention—whatever it is—patented under the names of the individual scientists instead of the company. Which their legal department seems to believe means we don’t have access to it.

But I found a case earlier this week that proves this assumption false—though at the time I didn’t know how Frost Industries would be using it, or the death blow it would deal Trifecta. If I had known, I’m not sure I would have turned the case over to the supervising attorneys.

I know that sounds bad. I am, after all, an employee of Frost Industries. It’s my job to do work that benefits them. But does that really include yanking the rug out from underneath a smaller company like Trifecta? Taking away people’s only means to keep not just their jobs but their life’s work? I want to be an intellectual property attorney to help the little guys, not harm them. I want to see them hold on to their inventions, not watch them be gobbled up by giant corporations with no souls or understanding of what went into the creation of said intellectual property.

My stomach is churning before we’re halfway through the meeting, and every time one of the lawyers congratulates me on my good work, it’s like a knife driven straight through me. Partly because I’m the one responsible for finding the work and partly because I thought Frost Industries was better than this. I thought Ethan was better than this.

Oh, maybe I was living in a dream world, but all the research I did, every article I read, talked about the ethical Ethan Frost. The son of a war hero, soon-to-be-billionaire who managed to build an empire that actually makes the world a better place. To find out that under the surface he’s just like everyone else—taking what he wants and to hell with the consequences—blindsides me in a way I am completely unprepared for.

Our meeting finally breaks up around ten-thirty, but that’s only because the lawyers have been called in to a bigger meeting. One that involves the head of R&D, the CTO, and, of course, Ethan Frost himself. It also involves the same people from Trifecta. Sick to my stomach and my soul, I gather up my things and prepare to head back to my desk. I’m lost in my own little world, thinking about my future career and how walking away from this internship will affect my chances of getting into a good law school, when one of the lawyers calls my name.

Dazed, I turn to Carlos, wondering what other morally corrupt task he’s going to assign me. But he just smiles and says, “Where are you going? You’re coming to the meeting with us.”

“I am?” I sound as shocked as I feel. Admittedly, I’m not up on how big corporations handle these things, but I’m pretty sure little interns like myself aren’t invited to the big shows.

“Absolutely,” Marni chimes in. She’s one of the other lawyers, and the woman I’ve been reporting to since I was assigned to the merger. “We’re big believers in rewarding good work around here, and yours has been stellar this week. Now you’ll get a chance to see how all your research will help close the deal.”

They’re both watching me like they expect me to start screaming in excitement at any moment, but all I can think is that what they’re offering is absolutely the last thing I want to be a part of. Bad enough to know I’ve contributed to the death knell of a family business, but to see it all happen in person…I’m not sure my stomach, or the rest of me, is strong enough for that.

But invitations like this one don’t grow on trees, and refusing it would be an extremely stupid thing to do. Part of me doesn’t care, but the other part—the one that cares too much about getting into law school—won’t let me do anything but nod and say, “Thank you.”

Trifecta is a San Diego company, only about a half hour’s drive away from the Frost Industries headquarters. I ride over with Carlos, Marni, and Jace, one of the other interns who is also being rewarded for his “stellar” work. We arrive before Ethan and the other bigwigs so we hang in the lobby waiting for them.

Though I’m facing away from the door, talking to Jace, I know the second Ethan walks into the lobby. The oxygen seems to be sucked out of the room even as an electric charge fills the air. One laced with excitement and determination and an underlying rage that seems completely out of place.

But when I turn to look at Ethan, I see all those emotions—and more—in his eyes. At least until he banishes them behind a poker face that would do Lady Gaga or a Vegas cardsharp proud. He scans the assembled crowd of lawyers, interns, and R&D people without expression. At least until he comes to me. Then his eyes widen slightly and he nods in acknowledgment, though he doesn’t address me directly.

Something I’m grateful for, considering the mixed-up state of my emotions. A confusion that only gets worse when Ethan quietly tells the lawyers, “Make no mistakes. We’re not leaving here without an iron-clad agreement. This is it.”

They nod accordingly, and any hope I had that this was a bad dream or a misunderstanding, something—anything—to prove this isn’t as awful as I think it is, vanishes. With it goes any interest I have in seeing Ethan for our date tonight, or ever. He may make me feel things no other man has, but my body isn’t in control. I don’t date men who care more about their power and their bank accounts than they do the people whose lives they ruin.

This meeting goes pretty much as expected—which is to say that it goes terribly. Jace and I are relegated to a corner of the table where we don’t talk, don’t move, barely breathe. All we do is listen and watch as the pincers of Frost Industries close slowly, relentlessly, around Trifecta.

“We’re giving you everything else,” the CEO says in a last burst of desperation. “And at a very fair price. It’s absurd that you’re holding out for these last three patents. They have nothing to do with your current agenda or products. I just don’t understand.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, I know they’re a mistake. I can see it in Ethan’s eyes, in the set of his shoulders and his mouth. The man has just pushed him over an edge that none of us had any idea he was close to. Even before he starts to talk, I know that the fallout isn’t going to be good.

Calmly—too calmly, in my opinion—Ethan leans forward. He looks the man directly in the eyes and in a voice so low it shouldn’t carry but somehow does, he says, “You don’t need to understand. All you need to know is that I own fifty-eight percent of this company, and hold nearly two-thirds of the voting shares. Trifecta, in its entirety, will be absorbed by Frost Industries and it will be absorbed now. Not in six months, not in a year.

“I have been patient while the lawyers on both sides worked up an agreement that is more than equitable for you. I’m done being patient. Either you and your board of directors sign the agreement—as is—or the next one you get will be a lot less beneficial to any of you. And you will sign that one.

“Either way, I’m done arguing about it. This merger will happen. I will get the patents that your family holds. And you will be out. The only thing left to decide is if you walk away with enough money to make you, your children, and your grandchildren comfortable for the rest of your lives or if you walk away with nothing. The choice is yours.”

Ethan stands up then, his words still ringing in the shocked and silent room. Then he walks out, his CTO and the other executives right behind him. Which means the only people left in the room from Frost Industries are the lawyers—all of whom suddenly look extremely formidable.

After a moment, Carlos clears his throat. He looks their head counsel in the eyes and says, “You heard the man. It’s time to make this happen.”

The next ninety minutes are some of the most uncomfortable of my life. Blood is in the water, and everyone knows it. Any objections by Trifecta’s team are dealt with quickly and ruthlessly, and in the end we walk away with a preliminary agreement in place. One that gives the Trifecta group quite a bit of money but which in return takes every single thing they have. Exactly as Ethan said it would.

My blood is boiling when I climb into the backseat of Marni’s car. The two lawyers and Jace are ebullient, nearly high with the thrill of their victory. All I can see, however, are the faces of the Trifecta CEO and his son, both of whom have spent their whole lives working to make the company what it is today, only to have it snatched away from them right before they took it to the next level.

But, really, it’s not their faces I see. It’s my brother’s. My brilliant, trusting brother, whose mind has conceived of some of the greatest breakthroughs in communications technology in decades. My brother, who has had two of his ideas stolen right out from under him by corporations just like Frost Industries. Whose subsequent ideas have all gone to my father and the company he opened with the blood money he received from Brandon’s family in exchange for selling me down the river.

My brother doesn’t understand my outrage. To him, it’s all about the glory of the idea. Seeing what he invented out in the world, doing what it was invented for. As long as he makes enough money to live comfortably and still fund his research, he’s happy. And if everyone but him gets rich off what he invents, it doesn’t bother him. Hell, he doesn’t even seem to notice. My dad tells him the money is all in the family, that there’s enough for everybody, but I know the truth. The second Miles stops conceiving of new and exciting things, the second he stops inventing things that will move my family’s bright and shiny new company forward, he’ll be out. Just like me. My father might draw the line at eating his own young, but he has absolutely no problem with sacrificing us.

The rage is building inside me, making it hard to breathe, to think, to function. So I slam a door closed on my emotions, stop thinking about my family and Frost Industries and what just happened in that conference room. Instead, I pull out my phone. Open up my email. And send a short, not-so-sweet message to Ethan’s work account.

I can’t make it tonight. Please don’t call me again.

We get back to work around one-fifteen. Since we worked through lunch, Marni suggests we all head down to the cafeteria, but I beg off, saying I’ve got a lot of work to do. Which is the truth. Though the preliminary agreement is in place, there are still a lot of questions in my files that I need to answer, a lot of case law that I need to weed through. And since the last thing I want to do is spend another hour listening to them congratulate themselves for pulling the rug out from under the Trifecta CEO, I might as well get started.

Back at my desk, I open up my email, nearly afraid of what I’m going to find. Sure enough, there’s a reply from Ethan, one that came only a few minutes after I sent the original email.

My hand is shaking when I open it, but I force myself to do it. I’ve made the right decision, for both of us, and I need to see it through. We’re too different to ever have made a go of it.

Ethan’s email is as terse as mine was. Just two sentences:

You owe me an explanation. I will collect.

Fueled by anger, I type my own response.

You may try
.

I hit send before I think better of it. I don’t owe him anything, and the sooner he understands that the better. A couple of margaritas and some trinkets don’t mean anything, and he’d do well to remember that.

As would I.

I settle down to work, choosing a particularly complicated court case to focus on. Usually I can lose myself in the twists and turns of testimony and judicial decisions, but today all I can think about is Trifecta and Ethan and that stupid email I sent. The more I go over it in my head, the more it sounds like a challenge. Exactly what I didn’t want it to be.

Every few minutes I click back over to my email account to see if Ethan has answered me. He hasn’t. Which is good. Better than good. It means he’s as finished with this thing between us as I am. But no matter how much I tell myself that all I’m feeling is relief, there’s something else there. A disappointment I refuse to acknowledge and a trepidation that I’m afraid not to. Because much as I’d like to believe I’ve dodged a bullet, that Ethan has written me off as surely as I’ve done him, I don’t believe it. A man doesn’t get to where he is in life by just giving up. By letting challenges go unanswered. The fact that I didn’t intend to challenge him doesn’t mean anything.

Forty-five minutes after I sent the email, I can’t take the waiting any longer. I’m jumping out of my skin, waiting for the other shoe to fall. Grabbing my purse, I tell Angela that I’m taking my afternoon break, then head for the cafeteria.

It’s no wonder I’m shaky and out of sorts—I haven’t eaten anything besides a banana all day. I’ll feel much better once I get a sandwich or something. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

When I get to the cafeteria, I spot Zayn right away. He’s at the coffee bar, chatting up the new barista as she makes him some kind of iced drink. I catch his eye and wave, then move on to the pizza station. Forget a sandwich. Today calls for something ooey, gooey, and calorie-laden.

I’ve barely slid into a small corner booth on the patio when Zayn joins me. He puts a second iced coffee in front of me and says, “I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with an iced mocha. I figure most girls like chocolate.”

“Good choice. Thanks.”

“No problem. You look like you could use a little pick-me-up. Bad day?”