59. Emily

59

EMILY

FIVE YEARS LATER

T he truth was I never wanted to be rich. Money gave you a false sense of security. Weakened your survival instincts and softened you against a world that had no problem eating you alive.

So, no, I couldn't say being rich was my end goal. Being able to afford my next meal certainly was. But I also had to admit that being rich-adjacent sure was nice. Seeing it all from the outside—just close enough to not have to look in—was a comfortable way to live without ever getting too comfortable. Because I was well aware it all could be yanked away from me again without a moment's notice.

That's what the last five years had been like while traveling with Marisela. Late nights, lots of champagne, more money than I'd ever seen in my life. Her sights set on extending the company's global influence while she dipped her sharp talons into every eligible tailored pocket within arm's reach.

She may have been a widow, according to the courts that had recently deemed Tate Prescott legally dead, but that didn't mean Marisela was in mourning.

Me, on the other hand? I'd given up on dating altogether. Not that there hadn't been offers. Plenty of men were ready to jump into bed with me just to get close to my boss. But I'd learned my lesson the hard way. I couldn't trust my judgement—just one reason of many I was in a dedicated relationship with my brand-new vibrator and a Kindle full of smut.

Book boyfriends did it better anyway. Speaking of…

I tugged my e-reader from the adapter still plugged into the outlet. Wrapped the cord into a small bundle and tucked it all into my backpack.

The usual click-clack of Marisela's heels echoed off the terracotta flooring in the little Spanish villa as she made her way down the hall towards my bedroom. I didn't bother looking up as I packed the last of my belongings in my carry-on suitcase while she glared at me from where she was perched against the doorjamb.

"Ready, nena ?" she hummed in that too-sweet voice she used whenever being sweet was the last thing she wanted to do.

I nodded once before dropping my suitcase onto the floor, popping the handle and swinging my backpack over one shoulder.

We were catching a red-eye to the States in a couple of hours, something Marisela seemed to decide we were doing on a whim. Then again, this woman never really did anything on a whim. She just didn't always let on to what she had planned.

Good on her, I guess. You were better off when the only one you trusted was yourself.

A few minutes later, we were navigating the circle driveway, the colorful gardens bouncing by us on the dirt road. I never did bother to learn the names but the bell-shaped ones were always my favorite. There was something about those little orange flowers that was hauntingly beautiful. The way they seemed to hang their petals rather than flaunt them.

It was like they knew showing off just meant you were more likely to get plucked.

I'd barely recovered from the ten-hour flight, and I was already standing inside Marisela's office at Cruz R&D. The cityscape lit up by the bright sunlight that was streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her.

I glanced around the room, taking in the fresh paint and additional gold frames. Staff had come and gone but other than a few modest updates, not much had changed.

Marisela took two steps forward, closing the distance as she reached out a hand and snatched a small brown box with thin white ribbon from the top of her desk. She glanced at it for a moment, then peered back up at me. The top of her head illuminated like a halo while shadows darkened her newly sun-kissed features.

"I've dropped you a pin with the address." She dipped her chin towards the phone clutched in my palm before tossing the box in my direction. Far more confident than I was that I'd actually catch it.

I could hear something bouncing around the sides as the package settled against my palms, before I tucked it into my bag and hiked the strap higher on my shoulder. I didn't have enough caffeine in my system yet, which meant dumb questions that deserved dumber answers came tumbling out of my mouth with little to no warning. Questions like…

"What's in it?"

Marisela grinned, her version of a grin—if I were being honest it was more like a strained grimace—and waved a dismissive hand. "Open it and find out."

I shook my head before she'd barely finished speaking. "I'd rather not."

Curiosity killed the cat after all, and I only had so many lives left before I was tail up beside Mr. Whiskers.

"That's your choice, nena . But once that box leaves this office, it is not to be tampered with. Straight to the drop-off location. Understand?"

I dipped my head into a curt nod, and Marisela clicked her tongue.

"Words, Emily. The entire future of my company hinges on that box making it to its intended recipient."

"Then why don't you take it there yourself?" I was already reaching a hand inside my bag when something had me pausing to look up at her again.

Marisela arched a challenging brow, and my arm pulled back and snapped down to my side.

"What I meant was… are you sure you don't want to ask someone else? Since so much is at stake." I could feel the heat creeping up my neck as I quickly added, "I'm not sure I'm the one who should be doing this…"

She watched my face for a moment, almost as though she were considering my offer, before landing me with a glare that replaced the heat with a fresh chill. A coldness that seeped into my bones. "That's where you're wrong, Emily. You are the only one who can do this."