“Ivy, you did nothing wrong.”
Tingles spread down my spine. “What’s his game, anyway? Why bring it up?”
It’s a ridiculous question. I know it before I’ve asked. Lincoln said it at the masquerade— the only reason Kyle does anything is because he wants something.
Lincoln drags a hand through his hair, but it’s already a lost cause, spilling out of place. “My sodding turd of a cousin wants me to convince Reed to hire him.”
“As what? The village idiot?”
Finally, a laugh breaks free, the first sign of the sun under his stormy expression. “Quite. No, he wants a title role or he’ll send the audio to my brother. Not that it’ll get him what he wants. Reed would rather lick the seat of a toilet than hire him. Or me.”
Fuck Kyle. It’s Lincoln’s business to tell his family about his life in his own way, on his terms. I won’t let that asshat ruin it for him.
“So there’s no stopping him?” I refuse to believe that, but if it is true, then… “Okay, worst-case scenario, he shows Reed. What does it even matter if you record erotica anyway?”
I’m not naive, but this is his family we’re talking about. Love is more important than some outdated— and, frankly, misguided— perception of sex work.
It hurts to see how resigned he is to accepting their judgment. It’s so far from the charismatic, confident man he is. “Even if he doesn’t, and it’s a very distant if, I’m imagining the highly cautious businesses my brother’s company relies on will care a great deal.”
Fuck. He’s right. “We have to get ahead of it. Then he won’t have any leverage. Just tell Reed what’s going on, and we can?—”
“No,” he says, and the word drops between us like a stone. “My brother has made it perfectly clear he isn’t interested in what I have to say, especially where Kyle is concerned. Even if he did listen long enough for me to tell him about the blackmail, I’m not interested in the sermon he’ll deliver once he discovers I fake orgasms for a living.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s never spoken about his work this way before. It’s as if his mouth is moving, but someone else’s words are coming out. “Don’t say it like that. It’s more than that, and you know it.”
“Reed won’t see it that way.”
Defeat doesn’t suit him. I’m used to all the easy charm of a man who has never worried about money in his life, stitched and woven around an iron-clad determination, and a body that will finish the job if his words aren’t enough.
Not this.
“Who cares? You’re just going to roll over and play dead instead of being an adult and facing this? What about Darcy?”
He shakes his head, dashing my hopes. His hands have stopped moving now, every part of him tenses under me. “I adore my sister, but she’s the worst liar on the planet. If we tell her, I’ll barely have the sentence out before the whole family knows.”
It’s hard to leave his lap, but I need to think. Slowly, I push away from him, and the fact that Lincoln doesn’t even try to stop me makes everything worse.
My painting is still hanging on the wall behind him. I stare at those little paint dots and pray for inspiration. “Okay, then. We handle it ourselves. This has got to have something to do with how weird Kyle’s been, right? All the sucking up?”
He nods, smoothing his hands down his jeans, shoulders slumped. “I had the same thought.”
I gasp. “Oh my god,” I say, grabbing Lincoln’s bicep. “Oh my god.” Of course. Why the hell didn’t I put this together before? “The day we flew out to the factory. Reed was all tense and broody and dragged you back for a family meeting.”
“I remember.”
“You said it was a security thing, right?”
He hums in agreement.
Come on, he’s a smart guy. Why isn’t he getting this yet? “Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” I ask, and I see the penny drop.
A smile finally cuts through his broody fog. “You think Kyle— a man who probably pays someone to wipe his own arse for him— tried to hack into the trust?”
“Wait, hack?” He’s right. Kyle’s password is probably something like 69God. He couldn’t hack into a pencil case.
“The accounts are protected, thankfully. But Reed was alerted when someone attempted to access them, and when that didn’t work, tried to brute-force their way into it.”
Jesus, it sounds like something out of a bad movie. “Can’t they tell who it was?”
