Stepbrother: No Boundaries (7 page)

Chapter 15

Miranda

I don’t know these people but I don’t like them so far. They’re just like Scott but worse – I don’t mean that in a bad way towards Scott, I love him… But… They’re just two suits sitting there laughing about business deals and speaking in business terms I can’t comprehend.

And the fiancé –
ugh
, where did Walter find her? Some high fashion model catwalk? She’s rail thin and hasn’t taken a bite of her food, literally. It’s sitting there getting cold in front of her and is big enough to feed three people. She stirs her fork around it casually and smirks every once in a while, even laughs occasionally at Walter like she somehow knows what he’s talking about. He ignores her playfulness and doesn’t even seem to realize she’s there, but Scott is doing the same to me.

I’ve probably said four words since sitting down at the table – “Nice to meet you.” I’d say they said one or two – “Yeah, hi.” Brats, especially the girl. She just keeps sitting there ignoring me, even looking in my direction but just staring zombie like past me as if I’m not even there. Bitch…

“So,” She says suddenly, “What do you do?” She’s staring at me with icy blue model eyes and smirking as if she already knows the answer.

“Nothing, just live off his billions.” I say bluntly, and then burst into laughter.

Scott hears this reply and laughs as well before wrapping his arm around me. The bitch directly across the table from me opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t say anything, and then twists her face into an awkward looking smile. She wasn’t expecting that brutal honesty. I decide to fire back at her. I’ve already had a few glasses of wine and I’m feeling particularly confident – I don’t care about hurting any feelings tonight, at least not when it comes to this nasty couple who don’t even acknowledge me.

“What about you?” I ask, “Oh wait. Aspiring fashion model?”

Her eyes narrow, “Aspiring? I’ve been on a cover.”

“Of what? Starving artists? You look like you need to eat. Trust me, I’d love to lose about twenty pounds myself but you’re on a whole nother level. You look like the wind will blow you away once we step outside tonight!
Please,
dear, have a bite!”

Her face turns white and Walter’s loud yapping voice stops speaking to Scott about whatever the hell it was speaking to him about. He stares at me uncomfortably and fidgets with his fork, but he’s already cleaned his plate by shoveling the food into his fat well fed mouth and he doesn’t know how to play off his uncomfortable feeling.

“I’m fine, I’m not hungry.” The girl says.

“Probably not,” My voice shakes, “Your stomach’s probably so used to not eating. Did you used to be fat, like me?” I ask.

“Miranda.” Scott whispers and then rams his fist against my thigh, “Enough.”

“It’s okay. She’s unconfident with herself,” The girl smiles, “I would be too if I was as overweight as her.”

I stand up and grip the underside of the table. I flip it over towards the other couple with a surprising amount of ease, but that was most likely thanks to my rage strength at that very moment. As soon as the plates filled with foods and the bottle of opened wine along with the four glasses spill onto their designer clothes I feel my face turn ghostly white.

What the fuck kind of temper tantrum did I just throw
?

I turn to run and hear Scott’s deep scream echo through my ears along with tears coming from the model. I don’t hear Walter say anything and I assume he’s probably just sitting there in shock covered in food and spilled red wine. I feel like a fool, and like a horrible person. The cold night greets my cheeks as I scurry out the door and prepare myself for the worst.

I don’t know where I’m going because my only home is Scott’s at this point and I realize that it certainly has to be over. He won’t be with me after that outburst and I don’t blame him. I’m running down the sidewalk trying to hail a fucking cab but they all whiz past me because of course they’re taken when I need one so desperately. I glance back in a panic as I feel one of my heels falling off my foot and I kick the other one off and begin to run barefoot on the freezing cement.

It’s over.

It’s fucking
done
.

Tears are streaming down my cheek and quickly turning to icicles and I’m running up Broadway as people stare casually at me like I’m just some insane New Yorker on drugs. But I’m not, I swear. I’m a billionaire’s woman.

Was. Was
a billionaire’s woman
. Now I’m nothing.

****

I’ve been walking in the cold for two hours and I know I must be getting pneumonia. The tears have stopped and my makeup’s ruined and plastered on my face; frozen there from my dried tears. I glance at my reflection in my phone’s camera and cringe when I see the mascara running down my cheeks, and I walk to a water fountain in a small park by the Hudson River and splash my face repeatedly despite the frigid temperature of the water.

What the fuck have I done? It’s over, I caused the biggest outburst of all time and it’s over. I’m such a horrible, wretched woman
.

I look at my missed calls and see that Scott has called me six times. If he cared he’d probably call me more than that, but he hasn’t. Either that or he’s acting like he doesn’t care. By now I’m certain he’s home and he’s thrown my bags and clothes to the curb, or ordered his butler to do so. He wouldn’t get his hands dirty with the trash that belonged to a bitch like me.

But I’m not a bitch, it was just an accident. I’m a lightweight as far as alcohol goes and I… I… I just lost my temper, Scott
.

He wouldn’t hurt me – he’d never do that. Under his bad boy tough guy alpha façade he’s a softie and he knows it – and fucking hates it. He’d just look at me and not say a word, just point to the door. Yeah, that’s what would happen if I showed up there right now, which is why I didn’t bother trying to hail a cab anymore after twenty minutes of failing at getting one. There’d be no point because he’d have already beaten me home.

My frantic plan was to rush there in a cab and beat him there, grab my belongings quickly and go to my friends – or hell, a hotel if I had to. I just knew it was over and never wanted to see him again because I made such a fool of myself. I just want to forget about the last week and…

But I love him so much – I’d never be able to forget him.

Well get used to trying, sweetie – because he’s done with you, I guarantee that much
.

I decide to try and get a cab again. I’ve been out in the cold for two hours too long and I’m only wearing a dress. I’m seriously going to get sick if I stay out here anymore. I can’t stand this, I can’t stand myself, I can’t stand anything. The bitch said I was fat –
cunt
.

I walk across the West Side Highway and head towards Chambers street. I hail the first yellow cab I see and it stops. I crawl in the back seat and tell him to take me to a hotel on Eighty Fifth Street and Columbus – there’s a cheap old hotel there and I know it’ll be my best bet. I forget about my belongings at Scott and then I remember that I’m spending his money at that very moment.

He could freeze my card and I wouldn’t have anything to do. I would be done. And I’d also probably deserve it
, I tell myself.

But Scott wouldn’t do that, I know he wouldn’t. He’s a dick, but he’s not a dick in that way. And four hundred thousand dollars isn’t much to him at all – he’d probably let me keep it, but I won’t. I’ll use it to get on my feet, but that’ll only take a few thousand. I’ll find any job I can, and get back onto my own feet. I’ll have to be alone again, alone and struggling in a big city.

I did it once, I can do it again.
Right, right?

Chapter 16

Scott

Where the fuck is she?

I’ve been driving myself for the first time in a while in New York. I pulled my old Lamborghini out of the garage because I didn’t want my driver to have to scurry back and forth the city and all its side streets when I could do it myself, and do it better. It’d be too much of a headache directing him in and out of traffic and telling him to take every random turn that came to my mind at the last minute.

I’ll find her, I have to. She’s out in the cold and she’s scared and alone.

I went home promptly after her outburst after covering the entire bill. They weren’t that upset – just shocked, really. And so was I. The cunt model of a fiancé that Walter has got a good stare down from me and I know she’ll never cross my path again. I felt like giving her a piece of my mind but I didn’t. I was too worried about Miranda after she ran out of the restaurant. I tried to follow her but by the time I’d gotten out of the front doors she had disappeared into the busy crowd.

How the fucking hell am I supposed to find her?

I try calling her cell phone six times and she doesn’t pick up.
Goddamnit, Miranda
. Pick up the fucking phone, I’m trying to help.
I’m not mad, I promise. I’m just worried
. She won’t pick up and I know it’s going to be like this all night. At least until she gets too cold or afraid. She’s got nowhere to go but home, and home is my penthouse on the Upper West Side.

Maybe I should try going back there but it’s the first place I went and she wasn’t there. But maybe she’s there now. It’s been two hours and she’s been out in the cold as far as I know and surely she’s gone back.

I’m down around Canal Street and I twist the car around and head back uptown. I fucking hate the traffic and the noisy car horns and the people screaming loudly on the sidewalk when they catch sight of my car. Chinatown stinks like fish and sewage along with the trash bags thrown out on the sidewalks. It’s repulsive and I feel like gagging, but I don’t. I just try to get home and focus on Miranda.

If she’s not there then where the fuck would she have gone to? I don’t even know any of her friends and now I regret that. I never tried to get into her personal life because I just didn’t care. But now I do. Now I wish I’d been everything she wanted. Now I don’t even care about my damn hard ass ego and I wish I’d softened for her the way she wanted me to.

No I don’t. I’m not going to change  for her. I can’t bring myself to. But I am going to find her, and I’m going to find her tonight
.

Finally I pull up to my building and swerve down into the garage. My heart is beating faster than it has in years and I hurry towards my parking spot and then jump out and sprint towards the elevator. It seems to be just my luck that we stop on the first floor – at this hour everyone’s typically home already.

Residents take their time stepping in and I’m tapping the heel of my foot against the ground and biting my lip. I just need to get to the top floor as fast as fucking possible, is that too much to ask?

The doors finally open and we’re heading up. One slow stop on the third floor, another slow stop on the eleventh floor, another stop on the fifteenth floor, and by the time we get to the fifteenth floor I just want to fucking scream, but I know that will freak out the man who’s standing there. He gets off and I quickly press the close button and then I’m alone again heading up towards the penthouse.

As I run off the elevator I scramble to find my keys.

Fuck’s sake
.

They’re in the pocket of my trench coat and I fish them out and burrow them into the lock and then twist it to the left to open. I swing the door forward and step inside and call Miranda’s name, and get no response. She’s not here, and it feels dead. I walk to each and every room and then sit down on the couch and cup my face in my hands. I hate the fucking way I feel, and normally I’d be laughing about a situation like this. I’d have already forgotten about the bitch who did this if she didn’t mean so much to me.

How is she doing this to me? How?

The door swings open and I fling my head up and feel my eyes bulge out. I’m expecting to see Miranda there but it’s not her. In fact, it’s the last person I expect to be standing in my doorway. Alexis is there. She’s wearing a rain coat and she’s grimacing at me. Her eyes look panicked and bloodshot, and I don’t think she’s calmed down one bit since I fired her considering she’s holding a gun in her hand.

“Alexis…” I say softly, expecting her to raise the gun at any second.

She looks at me with crazy eyes and murmurs, “You fired me. You were supposed to
want
me.”

I wish desperately that I’d purchased one of those security alarm buttons from an old business partner of mine when he’d offered one at a discounted price six months back. They go underneath the table or practically anywhere you want them. I’d considered it and even made up my mind to put it under the table by the couch because I figured I’d be sitting there if someone broke in. I’d silently and slowly move my hand down towards the table and they wouldn’t notice a thing since it sits a mere six inches from the couch. It would look like I was just fidgeting nervously. They’d never expect a panic alarm to be under there. I’d press the button and the cops would be on their way and get here rather quickly since the department is only a few blocks away on Broadway.

But in this case it wouldn’t matter, because if Alexis is going to kill me she’s going to do it quick. The gun is trembling in her hand and she raises it casually and waves it around. I don’t know what to do because I’ve never been in this situation before, and I feel like I’ve suddenly woken up in another dimension where I’m the husband being stalked by a wild woman, like some kind of thriller movie.

I don’t know what to do, so I simply sit there for a moment before instinctively jumping off the couch and hurling myself over the kitchen bar and landing loudly on the hardwood floor. My wrist smacks against the tile and sprains and then my knees smash into it as I hear a gunshot go off and blast through the living room’s window into the dark winter air.

The glass shatters and is spiraling downwards and I hope that no one’s walking on the sidewalk below it. Then I hear footsteps coming loudly in my direction and I squirm out of my position and crawl frantically towards the hallway. As I make it to the hallway I jump up to my feet and all out sprint towards my bedroom. As the sound of the gun going off blasts into my ears I literally feel the bullet whiz past my cheek and pierce my bedroom door. I swerve into the bathroom and slam the door shut then lock it.

There’s a fire escape out the window. I can make it if she doesn’t shoot through the door and kill me in two seconds.

I don’t even bother unlocking the window and sliding it open. I don’t have time for that shit. Instead I slam my fist through the glass and feel the blood pouring out of my arm as I bash the remaining shards of glass out the window onto the rusty fire escape. I crawl through the window and feel the glass digging into my palms as I clench my teeth together and let out a savage groan.

The leather soles of my feet smack against the fire escape and I begin to crawl up to the roof because it’s closer to the ground. I could climb all the way down if I wanted to, but she’d see me once she looked out the window. And then she’d aim the gun and shoot me. The roof is my best bet.

I hear another loud gunshot go off and then I scurry up the steps and feel dizzy at the lights of the city practically blind me from below. I jump off the fire escape and roll onto the roof with a thud and then hurry towards the door on the roof that leads to the staircase. I don’t bother to wonder whether or not she’ll possibly be waiting for me at the steps, but I don’t care. I don’t have any other choice.

The door’s fucking locked. I’m as good as dead
.

Then I hear her high heels crash against the roof and she’s standing there aiming the gun at me as I jerk my head back and stare at her. We both stay there frozen for a moment until I suddenly run towards the opposite side of the roof and within a second I’m jumping off of it. From an onlooker it would appear that I’m committing suicide, but I’m not. Although if I don’t hit the fire escape on this side of the roof then I’ll be as good as dead – but I crash onto it with a bang and start rolling down the steps.

I crash against the railing after rolling down the first set of steps and shake my head quickly, feeling like I’ve got a concussion. Then I stand up and begin jumping down the stair cases like an acrobat; each time coming close to the edge and almost dying – but it’ll be a better death than being killed by the psychotic Alexis. As I scurry down the steps, practically sliding down the rusty railing which burns my palms, I can hear Alexis’s high heels scampering from above.

I look up and see that she’s three or four stories above me and she’s coming fast. Unlike myself, she’s not injured, and she’s moving quickly.

Run, damn you
, I tell myself,
fucking run
.

I jump the entire set of steps onto the fifteenth floor landing of the fire escape and see that lights are turning on in the condos. People can hear the commotion and I hope that someone’s called the police by now. As I reach the twelfth floor I see a man staring at me with a look of terror on his face out the window, and I crash into the glass and land on my side before picking myself up and running through his apartment towards the front door.

“
She’s got a gun,”
I turn back and scream, “Get out of your apartment, she’s coming down the fire escape.”

His face twists into a mortified expression and he follows me quickly as I open the door and run down the hallway of the twelfth floor to the elevator. I don’t feel bad for shattering his window and he doesn’t seem to mind – he just wants to survive with me. I slam my fist against the button but the elevator takes its time coming, and then I realize it’s a horrible idea to take it anyway.
What if she meets me on a floor below and blows my brains out when the doors open
?

All the while as this occurs the only thing driving me to survive is Miranda. I have to see her again. I have to apologize. I have to be the man she wants me to be.

The doors open and I say fuck it and change my mind and then scurry towards the emergency staircase which no one takes unless there’s a fire. I swing the doors open and hop down the steps until I’m on the first floor and absolutely out of breath. The doorman’s on the phone and his eyes widen as he catches sight of me but he doesn’t get to see me for very long.

I’m out the front door and onto the sidewalk in a matter of three seconds and running blindly, wildly, having no idea where I’m going. Once I run three blocks and feel like I’m safe in the crowd, I sit down on a bench and pull out my cell phone to call the police. I tell them what happened and they tell me they’ll be there in a moment and are of course also sending squad cars to my building. I hang up and lean my head back and take panicked breaths as I wonder where Miranda is, and I thank Christ that she wasn’t at the apartment with me when that happened.