Page 66 of Guilty as Sin

I take my new knife to the devastating red dress he tricked me into wearing. I cut off the long skirt so it ends mid-thigh, pleased with how sharp the switchblade is. When I pair the shortened halter dress with my tallest heels, I look quite fuckable. Brady knows the weakness that is my desires, but I know some of his too.

My stilettos click across the marble floor as I make my way to the kitchen. Even though I’ve announced my approach, Brady doesn’t turn around from the dishwasher.

My eyes go wide at the sight. Not only is he wearing solely black sweatpants that sit low on his hips, he’s emptying the dishwasher. My billionaire husband with an army of housekeepers is unloading the dishwasher.

“Don’t you have people for that?” I ask. He turns around and gives my altered dress a once-over, frowning slightly.

“I did once,” he says, returning to his task. “A cleaning lady a couple years back.”

“Not up to your standards?”

“Given that my standards involve not selling my life’s details to my enemies, yes. You could say that.”

“And you’ve never trusted another cleaning lady again?” I ask, and he looks over his shoulder at me.

“I’ve never trusted anyone again.”

“Sounds lonely.” I should know.

“It’s part of the life.” Brady puts away the final mug and closes the dishwasher. “Besides, I have my family. They’re all the company I need, and I trust them completely.” He turns to fully face me, and my unasked question hangs in the sleek kitchen between us.

Will I ever count as your family?

I know I shouldn’t care. I don’t want to care. But as of that night in the pub’s back room, I’ve proven to both of us that I do. It’s only for the power, I remind myself. That’s all that concerns me about wanting to be his partner.

“Going somewhere?” He gives my outfit a slower look up and down this time.

“No,” I say, blasé. “This is my new nightgown.”

“And the shoes?”

“The floor’s cold.” I add a shrug, but the balls of my feet are already hurting.

“It’s Carrara,” he says. “It’s supposed to be cold.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” I cross my arms, pushing up my breasts.

Brady purses his lips as he tries to think of a retort. He’s saved by a faint ping from his watch, and after a few taps, he raises it to his mouth.

“Send him up,” he says, then ends the call. To me, he adds, “You stay here.”

He wants me out of sight of the elevator. I haven’t had my coffee yet, so I’m not as fast as I should be to conceal my emotions. Brady’s excluding me, and I don’t like it. I’ve given him space the past couple days to consider the idea I planted. Obviously, it hasn’t sprouted yet. My indignation must show, because he strides across the kitchen to grip me lightly by the throat.

“Stay. Here.” He gives my neck a cautioning squeeze, then disappears around the corner.

Rather than follow him, I slip out of my heels to pad silently across the kitchen floor. As the elevator dings, I grab a chef’s knife from its magnetic strip, then return to the edge of the wall. Using the wide blade as a mirror, I watch Brady approach the elevator. The doors slide open, but Brady’s shirtless back is so broad that I can’t see the person inside. Brady thanks whoever it is, then the doors close, and Brady turns around with something large and black in his hands. I whip the knife out of sight, but too late.

“I saw that,” he calls, a reprimand in his tone.

I curse under my breath as he approaches the kitchen. Stepping back into my shoes, I decide to keep the knife in my hand, and I toy with it as if I just like playing with knives. In a way, I do.

He sets the black tote bag on the counter. It has a shiny black decal of one of his restaurants’ logo, and the subtlety and darkness of the black-on-black is very Brady. I twirl the hilt of the large knife between my fingers as I watch him unload takeout containers.

“Go sit at the table,” he tells me.

The man loves ordering me around. But I take no issue with this particular command, and so I make my way to the breakfast table, tossing the knife in the air as I go. Teaching myself how to flair bartend by flipping bottles and spinning knives was worth it for the extra tips.

Now it’s worth it just to show off in front of Brady.