It’s probably for the best, considering I’d fuck anything she offered at this point—her, her hand, her attitude, even the barrel of a shotgun if she shoved it against my cock and promised to pull the trigger. At least then I’d come with her name in my mouth and blood in my lungs—evidence I was hers in the most final way possible.
Pretty romantic, right?
But it’s fine.
Baby steps.
She’s not ready for what this is, and that’s okay. But when she finally lets herself fall, I’ll be there to catch her.
Leaving her tonight felt all kinds of wrong.
I should’ve stayed over. It would’ve been our first sleepover, and honestly, about ten years too late, given how long we’ve known each other. Next time, I’m staying. No argument.
I watch her on my phone for a while, the camera angle perfect from where I mounted it on her bedroom ceiling. She doesn’t settle easily, tossing and turning like her brain won’t shut off, one arm flung across the bed as if she’s reaching for someone.
Good. She’s thinking about me.
One day, I’ll be in that bed with her—holding her, loving her, protecting her. Being everything she pretends she doesn’t want. She might not need me, but need and want are different beasts, and eventually that want will win.
Just as I’m halfway into my fantasy of the future, where her hair’s spread across my chest and my name’s caught in her throat, I’m dragged back to reality by the buzzing of my phone.
Lucien Rivers.
The guy who taught me everything I know. Not my blood, but he’s more of a brother than anyone I share my shitty DNA with. I’d trust him and Cain—his actual brother and a certified sociopath—with my life.
I answer the phone, but he’s already talking before I can say a word.
“You popped your cherry yet, lover boy?”
“Lucien… I swear to god, I will pull your spine out through your dickhole.”
“Save me the foreplay and count yourself lucky that Cain’s playing poker with some hedge-fund asshole and didn’t call you. You know he’d be all up in your ass about this.”
“Just tell me what flagged, asshat.”
“She’s got a business meeting coming up with James Lawson.”
That name means nothing to me beyond headlines and hotel signs—just some smug-looking dickhead, shaking hands with another smug dickhead in a slightly more expensive suit.
“Lawson Hotels?” I ask.
“Yeah, you’re going to want to tighten the perimeter on this one. Trust me.”
“Why?”
“Clean public image, dirty-as-fuck private footprint.”
Always filth behind money… Always.
I don’t give a single fuck how many people are kissing his ring. He won’t be laying a finger on her.
“Is she safe?”
“As long as she doesn’t get in too deep with him, she’s fine. He’s all NDAs and hush money, and there’s always a pattern of women who are too smart for him who always wind up shutting up, one way or another.” I can feel my hands tighten around the phone. “Your girl pitched something, and his team ate it up. Bet it only took a single photo of her before Lawson decided he had to see her for himself.”
That’s because she’s a fucking masterpiece in a world full of liars and parasites.
“We’ve already got a running bet on how long it’ll take you to do something catastrophically stupid over her. I’ve got a week. Cain says three days. So if you’re gonna tank this with Lawson, let me know now, and I’ll call it in.”
