Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  Damian is my father, whether I like it or not, and he did leave my mother when she became ill, for lack of a better word. And when he was informed of my hospitalization and surgery, he didn’t care enough to come see me. He didn’t care enough about anyone but himself.

  When I get out of the shower, I discover two texts on my phone.

  “You’re shittin’ me,” I say to the phone, uttering the only appropriate Aleska phrase that comes to mind.

  The first text is from Adam Knight.

  The second text is from Peyton MacKenzie.

  Talia

  AT SWILL, THE PARKING lot is packed, with cars overflowing into the grassy field beyond the graveled lot. Aleska and I hop out of our ugly, clunky van.

  It’s times like these I wish we had my mother’s old Camry, but we had to sell it, along with the piano and other personal items that could fetch a good price for a family like ours that was descending into divorce and poverty.

  I glance down at my phone and read the two texts that make my heart race a little too fast for my liking.

  Adam: Hope to see you tonight at Swill.

  Peyton: See you tonight.

  One is hoping, and one seems sure. The sure one is hardly the epitome of a settle-down kind of guy.

  “Wow, this is the place to be.” Aleska strides toward the restaurant, swinging her hips, knowing she looks beautiful tonight.

  I admire that about my sister—her ability to love herself. Earlier today, she had grabbed the extra flesh around her waist and said, “I’m still hot, even if I have some new waffle and bagel fat.”

  It’s true, she is very pretty, and wearing a dingy bandana around her head while she scrubs a client’s toilet until it shines doesn’t diminish her sparkling beauty. It’s partly her pretty face, but it’s also her self-assured smile. She knows who she is and knows her self-worth. She’s doing so much better than her big sister.

  The restaurant is so crowded no one could possibly notice my entrance. I was shamelessly hoping to see Adam Knight when I walked inside and get a reaction to all the effort that I put into curling my hair and walking in heels, which I haven’t done in a long time.

  The hostess is seating people in front of us, so Aleska and I start wandering around the tables full of boisterous people. I recognize a lot of Hera residents and plenty of the part-timers—the city couples and families. I’m pleased to see Peyton has the staff all dressed in identical black oxfords and black jeans. Thank God there are no tight tops with cleavage shots for the women. I have to give Peyton credit for that. He also has female staff over the age of fifty, a rarity in newer restaurants.

  “It smells good,” Aleska says, swiveling her head around, looking for eligible men no doubt.

  “Hey, you two lovelies!” Eleanor shouts from a nearby table. She stands and waves to get our attention. “Don’t you want to sit at the fabulous table with the fabulous people?”

  Eleanor is sitting with every Hera person I know who’s over the age of sixty. Archie; his wife, Emily; dear, raunchy Lois; and a few other seniors. Behind them are Jess and Carson and our usual gang. They’ve all managed to squeeze into two large, picnic-style tables. But, if I sit with them, there’s little chance I’ll find Adam or any other single man.

  Aleska sighs. “We’ll have to do a few walk-arounds to check out the men.”

  “This isn’t a nightclub. We’ll look stupid roaming around the tables while everyone’s eating.”

  “No, we’ll look like we’re very popular women, and we’re visiting people so they can bask in our popularity,” she says.

  As we walk over to our friends’ table, I take one last look around for Adam in the huge, German beer hall before I squeeze myself between Jess and Imogene.

  “Where’s Scotty?” I ask Jess, who looks extremely rested and happy.

  “My parents showed up after you left. They’re spending the night and watching Scotty.”

  “You must be pleased about that.”

  “I am, and I told them what you and Peyton did last night. I don’t want them to try to replicate your magic, but they are going to try to help with the sleep situation in the house. I figure four adult brains should be able to master one baby. We’ll see. Oh, and your knight is over there.” Jess smiles and points to a table of men closest to the open, wood-burning ovens.

  My gaze lands on Adam’s profile. He’s lifting a pilsner glass to his lips but then pauses and laughs. He must have invited friends from the city. It registers with me—all men, no women. Thank you.

  “He’s the man you’re looking for, right?” Jess asks.

  “Whom are we speaking about in secret?” Imogene nudges her head into our huddle.

  “Adam Knight.” Jess tilts her head in his direction, and Imogene looks him over.

  “Right. The handsome, rich, hedge fund guy. Are you really interested in him, or are you bored?”

  “What?” I glare at Imogene.

  “Imogene, really uncalled for,” Jess hisses.

  “I don’t mean to be rude. Really. Last night, I was excited to hear what you had to say about him, but I’ve been thinking about this. I think you should be cautious with him. He’s a powerful guy, and—”

  “And what? I’m a lowly serf?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. You know what I mean. It’s often not simple when there’s an economic imbalance.”

  “Because he’s rich, and I’m not?”

  “Yes. You’ve only met him once. Texts and emails don’t count. I would hate for you to get hurt by him. Trust me; there are a lot of men who would love to have you serve them dinner, they own their own houses and businesses, and they aren’t boyfriend material and definitely not marriage material. So I want to know if this is just a physical thing because you want to get your rusty parts back in action.”

  “Thanks, that wasn’t rude at all,” I say.

  Cooper and Carson are moving steins and pilsner glasses around the long tables so everyone has a fresh beer. I take a sip of the amber liquid in front of me and consider what Imogene said.

  “Who says she’s rusty?” Jess asks, starting an unflattering topic I’d rather not hear.

  “She broke up with Marko months ago, and then she was vacationing in a retirement community with her father in Florida for two months. Unless she’s a gold digger looking for a future husband with a short expiration date, she hasn’t met anyone.” Imogene guzzles half her beer then slams her stein down with a soft belch. “Whoops.”

  “My father is forty-nine. He doesn’t live in a retirement home. Since Marko and I broke up, I’ve been too busy with work to think about dating.”

  “You weren’t working in Florida. What the hell did you do there for two months? You didn’t meet one single guy on the beach or at a club or go on a date?” Imogene pushes.

  “Nope. Not one.”

  “But after three weeks back in Hera, you latch on to the idea of this one guy you’ve met once. You need sex, that’s what I think.”

  “Imogene,” Jess says sharply. “Who made you the dating police?”

  “We don’t know Adam. I’m sure he’s a terrific client, but you’re entering dangerous territory. Do you really want to have a hookup with him? Won’t that make things weird?”

  “I don’t want a hookup with him. I actually think Adam is nice, and maybe this could have potential without the weird stuff. He texted me a while ago, saying he’d like to see me here, so I thought it sounded promising.”

  “He did?” Jess lights up.

  “I could be wrong. Maybe he doesn’t look at me other than in a neighborly kind of way.”

  “Yeah, no. He’s not being neighborly, unless neighbors stare at you like they want to lick you. Hundred-year-old Norma is a sweet neighbor. This guy is sex and money.” Imogene nods with her chin, and Jess and I turn our heads to look at Adam’s table. He’s smiling at me and raises his beer in acknowledgement. Then he extricates himself from his table of rowdy friends.

  “Yay! He’s
coming over here,” Jess whispers loudly.

  “I can see that,” I counter with relative calmness. I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be.

  “Nice build, nice face,” Imogene assesses a little too loudly, but the rest of our table is completely involved in their own conversations. “Nice package.”

  “Imogene,” I snap.

  “Oh, look, he’s going to be proper and say hello to everyone at the table before he calls on his purdy lady.”

  “Knock it off.” I elbow Imogene in the ribs, but she just laughs.

  “He does have a nice ass,” she adds, and of course Jess and I check out his backside as he turns to talk to Carson and Dylan. “Man, he fills out those jeans perfectly. And he’s the only guy in Hera who doesn’t have sawdust or drywall caked on his legs. Those must be the three hundred dollar kind of jeans that repel dirt.”

  Imogene is right. Adam fills out his jeans well. I check him out as I pretend to scan the restaurant and bar for people I know. He’s wearing a fitted, gray shirt that gives a hint of a body that probably spends a lot of time at the gym, and those jeans—well, designer or not, they wrap around his muscled thighs perfectly.

  “He’s handsome,” Jess confirms.

  “Yes, he is, and he’s nice,” I remind Imogene.

  “You’ll find out if he’s nice in bed very soon, methinks.” Imogene snorts. “He’s coming your way.”

  Adam works his way down the crowded aisle between other tables to reach my end of the table. I would be more comfortable if I wasn’t sitting with my nosy friends. He flashes a beautiful smile of perfect teeth, and his hair is ruffled perfectly as though he’s been staged, primped, and groomed for a modeling session to look like he’s the average, everyday man.

  “Talia.” His smile is for me, and my heart accelerates, but I’m not overwhelmed. Deep down, I must think he talks to everyone this way and knows how to make a person feel special. This is partly what makes him successful. He’s perfect on paper and in person, but my heart isn’t soaring the way it should be if I were a normal woman. Any other woman would throw herself at this man, so either I’m scared to get back in the game, or I’m defective.

  “Hello, Adam. This is my friend Jess, Carson’s wife. And this loudmouth on my left is Imogene, one of the town gossips. Don’t cross her or you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of creative storytelling.”

  Imogene smiles and shakes Adam’s hand. “It was only one guy, and he deserved it.”

  “She spread the rumor that he left his wife to live with a goat,” Jess says softly, and I cringe. This is not how I want Hera to be presented to this man.

  Adam grins. “Will you come join my table for a bit?” he asks me. “I’d like to introduce you to my friends. They came in from the city.”

  “Yes, I’d like to meet your friends … and talk to you,” I stumble.

  “How about now?” He takes my hand and steps back so I’ll follow him.

  “Sure.” I stand up, wobbling a bit on my heels. Jess and Imogene slide to the side as much as possible so I can climb up off the bench in an ungraceful manner. Adam quickly puts a hand on my lower back to steady me and holds his other hand out to lead me.

  “Have fun!” Imogene waves as we walk away.

  I quickly look down to make sure my blouse is buttoned up to my collarbone, then touch the top button. It’s becoming a habit.

  “You look great,” Adam says, pulling me against his side as we walk the narrow path toward his table.

  The restaurant is loud, bustling with servers carrying beer steins and trays of food, and customers moving between tables as though it’s one big, community party. No one notices me with Adam, other than Jess and Imogene. I prefer it that way.

  I haven’t thought this completely through. Imogene is right. Am I really trying to pursue a relationship with a guy I just met because he seems like someone good for the long-term, or am I looking for an affair, someone to get me back into the swing of things?

  I’ve never slept around. I’ve always had long-term boyfriends. But after the last few months, my confidence has been at an all-time low, and some people swear by the emotional benefits of hot, sweaty sex. Who am I to question science?

  Adam introduces me to the men at his table—all who are in their thirties like him, quite a bit older than me. Some are wearing wedding bands and have graying temples, but they are all fit like Adam and exude confidence and wealth—the hallmarks of hedge fund managers, I suppose.

  We don’t sit down and join his friends. Instead, Adam pulls my hand and whispers in my ear, “Let’s head over that way for some privacy.” He nods toward the hallway that leads to the back offices.

  “Uh-huh,” I respond as his smooth-shaven cheek brushes mine and I inhale the exotic scent coming from his soap or shaving balm. He smells good, he feels good next to me, and he looks beyond good. Jump for joy, Talia!

  I don’t jump. In fact, I feel a little strange.

  As we walk past the rustic ovens, I see Bash manning the rotisserie with his team. He sees me and waves. Then he does a double-take, checking out Adam. Bash doesn’t meet my eyes again, but I see something uneasy in his expression. This certainly is not helping my confidence. First, Imogene thinks Adam couldn’t possibly be interested in me other than for sex, and now Bash, too?

  Adam leads me into an alcove off the hallway. It was part of the original building, and the brick walls and carved, wooden beams above us make it feel rather medieval. Everything about Adam fills the alcove, but in a good way, as if I’m safer.

  Servers are rushing past with heavy trays through the swinging kitchen doors. I remember Peyton discussing the alcove with the staff and telling them to direct customers to the small, isolated place if they’re having loud, cell phone conversations.

  “Finally. Our paths didn’t cross for two weeks. I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight. I’ve been thinking about us,” he says.

  “Us? There’s an us?” I laugh a little, and he chuckles.

  “The whole thing about you not dating clients. I get it. Excellent policy, by the way. But a funny thing happened. After I had your great meal and we talked for a bit … after you left, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I drove back to the city and put in two, sixteen-hour days, and I was still thinking about you. Why do you think that is?”

  “Because you’re trying to figure out how I put all that magic into my cooking?”

  “Right, it’s sorcery.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I know this is a little short notice, but I wanted to ask if you’re available next Saturday.”

  This is it. He’s going to ask me out. A little rush of pleasure boosts my ego.

  “I have some friends coming to stay with me next Saturday, and I would like to hire you to cater the dinner. A dinner party, actually. About fifteen or more people. I would get the exact head count to you as soon as possible.”

  Idiota! Idiota! I am an idiot. He doesn’t want to go out with me; he wants to hire me to cater his party. I suppose I should be grateful for the business.

  “Yes. I can do it. One dozen or two dozen, it’s no problem. I do dinner parties all the time.” I try to sound professional and not at all bothered by the fact I thought this man was planning on asking me out. Aleska and Imogene will get a really good laugh out of this.

  “Thank you.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, making the situation more awkward for me. Does he touch everyone like this? He certainly has a talent for seducing his audience with the way he uses his body to give you his full attention. Hands, elbows, shoulders. I keep thinking he’s going to kiss me.

  “You’re very welcome,” I reply.

  Just then, the kitchen door swings open, and Peyton strides out, looking very much like he owns the place. Adam’s back is to Peyton, so he doesn’t notice, but my eyes lock on to Peyton instantly.

  He cut his hair! All that long, dark, sexy, gorgeous hair is gone. There’s less than two inches left, brushed off his face in short w
aves, making his features more prominent. On top of that, he’s dressed like a man with power. He looks like money. Expensive, black dress pants, polished black leather shoes, and a fitted cashmere sweater that flatters his athletic build. But it’s that damn hair. I can’t look away. I loved his long hair. I fantasized about running my fingers through that hair. I fantasized about what that hair would look like if Peyton was naked … on a bed … with me.

  And now I love Peyton’s short hair.

  I’m practically holding hands with Adam, hoping he’ll ask me on a date, while staring at Peyton.

  That’s when Peyton looks up from his phone and notices Adam and me huddled privately in the dimly lit alcove. In that split-second, Peyton frowns with disappointment that surpasses Bash’s reaction.

  I’m too startled to say hello, and soon he’s lost somewhere in the crowd.

  Hopefully, I was only ignoring Adam for a few seconds and not minutes as it felt like in real time. I turn my attention back to him, and he lets go of my hand and shoulder.

  “I’m not planning a wild party, just close friends who are curious about my new house and my new favorite chef.”

  “Me?”

  “I told them Hera is unique and so are you.”

  I’m totally confused by this man and his flattery. Either I’m an employee he’s winning over with praise, or he’s building up slowly to something else. Maybe I should remind him that English isn’t my first language and telling me that I’m his favorite chef and that I am unique is like sending me a giant bouquet of red roses on Valentine’s Day.

  “Don’t worry about a thing. I love cooking for dinner parties. I’ll be there with horns on,” I say with a smile.

  Adam laughs. “You mean bells on. You’re cute.”

  Puppies are cute. When a man tells me I’m cute, it usually means they see me in a way I dislike.

  “Yes, bells, not horns. That doesn’t present a pretty picture, does it? Some of these things I’ll never get right.”

  He smiles and touches my arm, leaving his hand there. Again with the touching and holding. Someone should tell him that he shouldn’t touch a woman this way unless he intends to kiss her, because there’s only so much ambiguity a woman can take.