“Really?” His brow quirks. “About?”
“You being in bed with the Cantanellis.”
He scoffs. “Please.”
“You were close with Nessa, so consider this a favor… a visit to remind you where you came from.” I pat my palms on the lapels of his suit. “I’d hate for someone as important as you to get caught up in nasty rumors.”
His body tenses. “Are you threatening a public official, Miss Westerly?”
“Just a chat with an old friend.” I shrug.
“Well, as fun as this chat is,” he drawls. “It isn’t a good time. I have a city council meeting in thirty minutes.”
“Of course, I’ll let you get to it.” I step around him to walk toward the door, my heels clicking on the wood floor and echoing off the plain beige walls. My fingers wrap around the metal knob and I twist, but before I leave completely, I pause, turning back to face him.
He’s watching me with his hands in his pockets and a look of consternation on his face.
“You know… it is a shame we don’t have time to test out that desk.” I sigh. “I guess I’ll just ask Commissioner Boq how it holds up.”
I wink and his nostrils flare. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
Laughing, I spin back around and leave, the rush of threatening someone flooding through my veins like a drug.
Three hours later and I’m back with my poppies, breathing in the earthy scents while I write. Scratch that, while I attempt to write. I’ve been blocked for six days, ever since I let Brayden whisper poetry into my skin while I came around his tongue.
Words are your safe space.
I flick the pen back and forth again and again, the end tapping the edges of my knuckles and then the page, creating an agitated rhythm.
Does he whisper poetry to Dorothy too?
My insides sour at the thought and I groan, slamming my notebook on the ground at my side. Closing my eyes, I count backward, focusing on my breathing and trying to find my center. But flashes of Brayden and Dorothy filter through my brain. Are they having fun together in Chicago?
I feel… used. Pathetic. Weak. I should have known better than to give in. And it’s not only that, I continually give in, over and over, reveling in the way he makes my body sing. I should have listened to my inner voice when it waved its giant red flag like a warning sign from day one, screaming in my psyche.
But for the first time since Nessa, someone else’s voice snuck into the cracks, and I started listening to him instead of myself. Like Pavlov’s dog, he trained me effortlessly to accept the bare minimum. To crave the back and forth, the animosity morphing into excitement whenever he was near simply because he paid me some attention.
And whether it was negative or positive, at least he was seeing me.
Plus, I can grudgingly admit he’s the best fuck I’ve ever had.
Let me be your calm in the chaos.
Bullshit.
Sighing, I run my fingers through my knotted hair, pulling at the roots until the sting clears my thoughts. It doesn’t work, in fact, the longer I sit in the silence, the more I replay every single encounter Brayden and I have ever had, searching for some reason beyond the physical that explains the pull I feel.
And when I get to the other night, when he was telling me about his mom, an epiphany goes off like a light bulb exploding in my brain.
Scrambling from my place on the floor, I practically sprint over to my phone, picking it up and speed-dialing Cody. He answers on the third ring.
“Not a good time, babe.”
“How did Brayden’s mom die?” I rush out.
“I… who?”
“The guy I had you look into. Didn’t you say his mom died?”
“Uhh… yeah. Cancer. When he was eighteen. Listen, can I call you back?”
I drop the phone, a pounding ache spreading through my head and through every limb of my body, followed closely by anger.
Pure, unadulterated rage.
That motherfucker lied to me. Again.
24
NICHOLAS
I assumed “watch out for my daughter” meant keeping an eye on her during the event, but clearly that isn’t the case. I’ve been put on babysitting duty, wining and dining Dorothy while the other guys could be getting up to anything. It puts me on edge, makes me wonder why I’m not with them.
Dorothy, on the other hand, doesn’t seem upset that she isn’t being included, which isn’t wholly surprising because she doesn’t fit the mold for this life. It’s as if she wants to be part of the business but doesn’t truly understand what that business entails.
Besides, Farrell is far too protective to allow her to truly hold any power. Showing your enemies—even the ones you’re doing deals with—who’s important to you is a surefire way to give them ammunition against you later.
Relationships are a weakness and when you play dangerous games, you have to be a fortress of strength.
So here I am with Dorothy, eating bruschetta wrapped appetizers and drinking wine in the hotel restaurant. It’s a swanky place, and while I know I should be focused on gaining her trust so she’s easier to flip, I can’t keep from wishing it wasn’t her across the table.
Her hair is silky and smooth, a beautiful brown any man would kill to sink their fingers into.
But I’d rather see it tangled and black.
Her eyes are soft and open, serene, like dipping in calm water on a sunny day.
But I ache to feel them raging like a storm.
And when she throws back her head and laughs, my mind wonders what it would sound like coming from someone else’s pouty lips.
“Is that your natural hair color?” I ask, trying like hell to take my mind off things that don’t matter.
Dorothy grins and runs a hand over the strands. “Yeah, why?”
I shrug. “Just wondering. Your sister dyes it. I was curious if you did the same.”
Her eyes drop the smallest bit but her smile widens. “Eveline started messing with her appearance the second our sister died. Lord knows why… maybe so her looks would match her black soul.”
She giggles like what she said is funny, but it isn’t. In fact, it makes me a little sad. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
Her lips purse and she reaches out, grabbing a piece of bruschetta-wrapped bacon from the center plate and popping it in her mouth. She chews, then takes a sip of wine before she speaks. “We weren’t close.”
“But she and Eveline were?”
I wasn’t planning on asking so many questions, but once again Eveline takes over every thought and her name continues to fall from my lips without me being able to help it. Besides, Dorothy seems a little drunk, and it would be stupid of me to miss an opportunity.
She takes another sip of Cabernet, the toe of her bright-red shoe tapping against the leg of the table. “Boating accident.”
“A crash?”
I already know of course, but the way Dorothy is fidgeting, her entire demeanor having changed from the carefree girl she was moments before, has curiosity bubbling at my edges.
She dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin before placing it back in her lap. “Just an unfortunate accident. I was there, you know? Nessa never really paid me any mind, not compared to Evie, but whenever she’d go on the water with Mayor Norman… she’d take me.”