It had been a long time since I had someone who cared what happened to me on a personal level, and the last time that had happened, the attention certainly hadn’t come from a man I was sleeping with. I glanced toward the bedroom door and sighed. Vane had always asked how I was doing. He wasn’t a bad guy, or at least I didn’t think so, but I’d always gotten the feeling his interest in me was more to gauge what he needed to be doing at work, rather than because he actually gave a shit. The light tones of Stormy singing a Prince song drifted out of the bathroom, and while I wanted to go in and ask if I could shower with him, I’d stalled as long as I could. With apprehension twisting my stomach, I went back out into the living room.
Vane projected the aura of the perfect politician as he turned away from the bookshelf he’d been perusing: clean-cut, bright-eyed, smile at the ready. His expensive black suit, Italian if I had to guess, made him look like a million bucks. I stared too long without anything to say popping into my head, and he cast me a knowing smirk. I fought to hold onto the good feelings I’d had in the bedroom. I wasn’t sure why, but I liked everything Stormy and I were doing right now, and I didn’t like that Vane’s smile spread wider the longer he watched me. He dipped his gaze down my body in a once-over.
“Wardrobe change? What a disappointment.”
“Fuck you.”
He snorted. “So.”
“So.”
Vane easily strolled across the room until we stood close enough he could knock his fist lightly against the side of my shoulder. He flashed his patented killer smile, and I glanced down at the shiny stone floor and wiggled my bare toes. My naked feet looked oddly vulnerable next to his black leather shoes.
“Prison, huh?”
I shot a glance back to his face, and the amusement in his eyes had me sighing. “Go ahead. Get it out of the way.”
He bit his lip, and his eyes went squinty with the laugh he was doing a poor job of holding back. “Did you drop the soap in there?”
“Ha-fucking-ha.”
He ran a hand down his tie and his face flushed red, starting at his neck and spreading to his cheeks. “No, really. Was it a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week skin party?” He waggled his eyebrows. “You and the burly guard? Oh, or you and the muscle-head bunkmate? Or both? Tell me there was a spit-roast situation.” He gripped my shoulders and leaned forward until his forehead bonked against mine, and I wanted to punch him in the jaw; I refrained.
“Sadly, prison was not a kinky porno.” I rolled my eyes, and he snickered.
I punched him on the arm—hard.
“Ouch,” he whined pitifully—I had zero sympathy—and held the spot I’d whacked, finally backing off. “You know I had to ask. How many people do I know who’ve been to prison?”
“Fucker. Why didn’t you keep me in the loop while I was in?”
He shrugged and cleared his throat. “Well. You know…. I—”
“Fuck you.” Scratching my fingernails over my scalp, I held my head and tried not to go over to hit him again. “Don’t hurt yourself. I know why you had to steer clear. You could have fucking taken five minutes to call before now, though. Stormy’s pissed, but he doesn’t really get it. I do.” The hurt ping-ponging around in my chest was real, even if I understood how important it was for him to maintain his image.
With a glance back at the bookshelf, he picked up one of Stormy’s knickknacks and danced the small wooden knight that might have belonged to a chess set once across the shelf and then dropped him on his face. “Your office is nicer than mine.”
“It’s notmyoffice anymore.”
He ducked his head and his jaw ticked.
I fought off some fucking emotion that made me want to apologize and tear up and be a snotty useless mess—well, more useless, if that was possible. “The mayor is most important. He should have better furniture. More space. I’m glad you’re in there.”
Vane grabbed my elbow, not hard enough to hurt, but I definitely wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without a fight. He dragged me closer until I almost smacked against his chest, and I went. I could smell cinnamon on his breath as he studied my eyes like he might be able to read my mind if he did it long enough. “Can you tell me what happened?” He continued to search my face with the desperation of someone who cared, and I both wanted to laugh and hit him again, and… that other, third, more humiliating option I refused to participate in.
“Come sit down,” I said thickly and tugged out of his grasp. He let go and followed me to the couch. I waved at him to have a seat, and he dropped onto the cushions in the middle, spreading out to take up space while I continued across the room to the small wet bar Stormy kept in the corner but rarely used himself. I picked up a crystal tumbler from a short line of them on a pearly white tray and sloshed in a healthy amount of Whistlepig whiskey. I grinned as I carried Vane the tumbler because the name Whistlepig always cracked me up, no matter what else was going on. I could be at a funeral and I’d still be laughing over something stupid like groundhog whiskey. People never understood me.
Vane flicked his gaze down my body and then settled his attention back on my face as he took the drink. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” he said and tipped his head at me in thanks.
“Is your nonquestion of thethere but for the grace of God go Ivariety? I think the fact that you stopped fucking hookers and settled down with Jaxson gives you a leg up from wherever the hell I am in life.” I flopped down onto the couch beside Vane, jammed between him and the arm, again feeling strange as the jeans dragged against my skin and the shirt shifted on my body. How had I gotten used to wearing around nothing but the apron in such a short time? I tugged at the collar of my shirt and vaguely wished Stormy was out here, though whether it was simply because I liked to be around him and he’d been gone all day, or because deep down I was scared to be alone with Vane after the stupid shit I’d done, I couldn’t say.
“Looks like you sure haven’t stopped anything. I would’ve thought jail woulda knocked some sense into you.” Vane sipped his whiskey, made a happy humming sound, and gave me the hairy eyeball. “How the fuck are you affording full-time access to that boy’s ass? I know for a fact he’s from the Courtesan. And I don’t even want to know what kind of games you’re into.” The shit-eating grin he wore told the lie of his words. He was dying to ask, but it was none of his business.
I rubbed my thumb across my jean-covered knee. The urge to bullshit gathered in me, let him think I was somehow in charge here, that I’d pulled a Keyser Söze and orchestrated a grand scheme to get one over on everyone and come out of my terrible situation in a good position. I glanced at him and his eyebrows hiked. I knew Vane, too, and he’d believe anything I told him because we were friends. I should have gone to him before everything exploded in my face at city hall.
But what the fuck should I tell Vane? I’d spent most of the day struggling to do the few easy-peasy things Stormy had asked of me, and I’d enjoyed the straightforward work—and I very much wasn’t in charge here.
Confusion had me cupping my hands over my face. I breathed hot air against my palms for a second, and then said, “I’m not paying. Stormy…. Lane’s taking care of me. My dad’s in the same position as you. I fucked up bad and he can’t have me around his company right now. It won’t look good, and I’ll lose him business, if I haven’t already.” My hands weighed a ton as they fell into my lap.
