Eleusis (Stacked Deck Book 9)

by Emilia Finn

  I smile and move past him to open the door. “This is what I got. I’m actually pretty impressed with myself. It’s super comfortable, and I got the spacing between beams right the first time.” I force a soft laugh and keep my eyes trained on the hammock. “I totally thought I’d have to adjust a couple times. The ropes are secure, and the knots didn’t slide undone like I worried they might.”

  Like Will insisted they would.

  “And the white chair?” He steps up beside me at the door, and rests an arm over my shoulders.

  It shouldn’t feel wrong, but it does. It shouldn’t feel weird, but I can’t help the way my heart skips when he touches me.

  “I ordered that online too,” I croak out and try to cover the hitch in my voice. “It came around lunchtime, so I used leftover rope from the hammock, and hung it.” Then I scrunch my nose and turn away. “That one spins if your feet aren’t on the ground.”

  “Not ideal.”

  I laugh – at least it’s real this time – and head back toward the kitchen. “Not ideal. The hammock is much better, and it’s wide enough for two people.”

  I don’t know why I told him that, why I brought it up at all – except, perhaps, because I want to test him. So when he makes an “eh” in the back of his throat, I stop at the kitchen counter and close my eyes in an effort to rid my brain of the thought of me and a man lying in the fabric.

  The problem is, Brenten isn’t that man, and I damn well knew it before I even brought it up.

  “Are you hungry yet?” I change the subject. “Because dinner is ready.”

  “Sure.” Brenten follows me back to the kitchen and helps himself to the cupboard where I keep wine glasses. Taking two down, he fills them almost to the brim with deep red liquid, and sets the bottle down when he’s done. “Meet you at the table?”

  “Sure.” I fake a smile, and don a pair of mitts so I can remove the hot dish from the oven.

  I made a beef… thing. Potatoes, slow-cooked cubes of steak, garlic, vegetables, a little pasta. Mix it all together, and it’s not really a dish suitable for the warmer months, but it’s foolproof, and tastes pretty delicious after an emotionally draining day…

  I guess this dish is more for me than it is for Brenten.

  Taking out two plates, I serve our dinner up and clean off any splashed drops – presentation is key… apparently – then leaving that for a second to cool, I go to the fresh loaf of bread and begin cutting off thick slices.

  My phone buzzes on the counter to my left, an incessant buzzing that refuses to abate, so while I’m cutting bread, I lean over and read my screen.

  Unknown number: Hey, Snow. Whatcha doin?

  My heart flips, and for a single stroke of my knife, my hand slips. Then I scowl for William Quinn, wipe my hands on a towel to rid them of flour and crumbs, and casting a glance to the living room, which also passes as the dining room, I pick up my phone and reply: The answer is no. Go away.

  I guess he was waiting for me, his phone unlocked and poised, because the bubbles that indicate he’s typing pop up instantly.

  I leave my phone for a moment, go to the fridge, and take out the butter, but by the time I come back, a new reply sits waiting for me.

  I’m sorry I was mean to you today. You know how I feel about you, Olivia. So your dismissals bother me.

  The worst part of all this is, my dismissals hurt me, too. Because I don’t want to send him away. I have never once wanted to send him way.

  Why do you call me Olivia? I ask, then clarify, rather than Livi, like everyone else. And since we’re going, why do you use William, and not the name you were born with?

  The bubbles begin firing off instantly, so I leave my phone and go back to the bread.

  I call you Olivia because that’s your name. If you want me to call you Livi, I guess I could adapt. But I feel like maybe you prefer Olivia. It’s sexy. Why do you call me William? Most folks call me Will. And I use Will because I’ve had that name so long, it stuck. So why tf not?

  Why the fuck not indeed.

  Picking up my phone and leaning my hip against the counter, I begin typing back: I like when you call me Olivia. No one else does, except when I’m in trouble. Livi is a cute name, I don’t hate it. But I guess I want to feel grown and sexy when with a man. Not like a child. That’s where it gets weird. Why didn’t you go back to the name you were born with? Which is what, by the way? You never told me.

  Setting the phone down when the bubbles begin moving, I go to the fridge in search of the butter, only to turn again with a huff when I remember that I already sat it on the counter. Smacking a hand to my forehead, I shake my head and go back to the bread and the chopping board.

  Hence, William’s reply waits for me, the reason I call you Olivia. I want a woman, not a child, which means I want to say a woman’s name, not a cutesy nickname. But like I said, if you’d prefer I call you Liv, I could probably make it sound hot after a bit.

  “Livi?”

  Brenten’s voice startles me so my phone goes flying, and my heart painfully skips a beat.

  “Shit!” I screech, then “agh!” when my phone hits the floor with a crash, and a broken screen teases the back of my brain.

  “Dammit,” I hiss and run toward my phone. I press one hand to my racing heart, and use the other to reach out, and picking up the device, I chant in my head, don’t be broken, don’t be broken, don’t be broken.

  Brenten stops in the doorway with a scowl and asks, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m finishing in here, and the, uh…” I point to the fridge, like that can somehow save me. “I think I saw a mouse.”

  “Oh?” His top lip curls back with a sneer. “Vermin. Disgusting.”

  “Oh… well…” I swallow my relief when I turn my phone over and discover the screen is fine. Even better, there are no texts waiting for me. “This building is old,” I continue my lies. “Sometimes, mice get in. It’s not a huge deal.”

  “If it wasn’t a huge deal, then why’d you scream?”

  “Uh…” I slide my phone into my pocket – bless all dresses that come with pockets – and make my way back to the cutting board. “It caught me by surprise. You called out at the same time, and I was just… well, I jumped.”

  I pick up the board and present it with a smile. “Dinner?”

  My phone vibrates against my thigh. Over, and over, and over again until I’m certain I might go insane.

  “And work?” I ask Brenten as he finishes off the plate of beef stuff. The butter has been spread, the bread eaten, and the wine consumed. Now, I simply sit back in my chair and slide the tip of my finger around the rim of my wine glass. “Busy?”

  “Always busy.” He uses the crust of his bread to mop up the last of his dinner. “That guy that likes you? Quinn?”

  My heart stops for just one beat while my brain scrambles. “Huh?”

  “William Quinn,” he repeats. “I think he’s not who he says he is.”

  “Um…” I pick up my wine and sip. I can’t help the reflex any more than I can help the way my heart races. “Well… no. He was born with a different name. That’s fairly common knowledge around here.”

  “No,” he waves me off. “I know. He was born Emmett Wilson.”

  Emmett, I think to myself. He doesn’t look like an Emmett.

  “The name doesn’t quite fit, does it?” Brenten shrugs it off. “But what I meant was, I don’t think he’s in town for good, Liv. I think he’s the key to breaking open this Ripley file I have on my desk, and it annoys me that he thinks he can look at you.”

  “He’s just—” My phone vibrates again. “Um…”

  “He was at the club when we were,” he continues without a single clue that my phone taunts me. “I was given a tip that something would be going down, and lo and behold, there he is, breaking the law and smiling about it.”

  “Well…” I clear my throat. “Sitting at the bar isn’t breaking the law.”

  “Sitting? He was standing o
n the dancefloor with my girlfriend, for starters.”

  “Oh, well, yeah. But still.”

  “What do you know about his job?”

  “Whose job?”

  “William Quinn’s. Who’s paying his rent these days?”

  I narrow my eyes and glare. “You are not seriously trying to question me on this guy.”

  “He’s your family friend, no?” Brenten picks up his wine and sits back. “Family barbecues, lake days, dinner. I heard he got into an argument at the gym, which means he’s always there too.”

  “So what?”

  “He needs to make money somehow, Liv. The guy has some kind of income, but there’s not a lot I can do about—”

  “I’m not gonna ask around for information for you, Brenten.” Standing, I toss my napkin down – yes, I got out the fancy napkins! – and collect our plates. “You’re insane if you think this is appropriate.”

  “He likes you, Liv. It would be easy for you to smile and ask him about his job search. And he would tell you, because men are stupid for women like you.”

  “Yes,” I growl. “Men are stupid. End of discussion.”

  I walk away from the table, and take the dishes to the kitchen. “I’m not a tool for you to use, Brenten. And I’m not the type of woman who is going to bat her lashes at a guy to get answers.”

  Well… mostly.

  “You wouldn’t bat your lashes just once?” he presses.

  I turn to find him standing at the doorway with his wine.

  “Seriously, Liv? Not even if it could help tremendously?”

  “You would have your girlfriend flirt with another man just to further your career?” I shoot back. “Seriously?’

  “It’s smiling,” he huffs. “It’s fluttering your lashes. I’m not asking you to lift your skirt.”

  I toss the dishes into the sink with a loud crash, then turn to this douchebag and glare.

  “You’re a prude,” he exclaims and turns away. “Jesus, forget I said a thing.”

  “I will forget it!” I shout at his back. “I’m not your rent-a-whore, Brenten. I’m not your fucking tool for work.”

  “You’re being hysterical. And he’s a criminal, Liv. He’s the difference between where I stand today, and the promotion Martin owes me once this Ripley stuff makes it through the judicial system.”

  “Where you stand today,” I move back to the living room, “is your girlfriend’s home. After a dinner she cooked. On a date she organized. Are you working right now, or dating?”

  “Can’t I be doing both? Dammit, Liv. Some of us have bigger plans for our lives. I want to do something great with my career, and just because you…”

  He stops when I ball my fists.

  “I just meant—”

  “Finish that sentence, Brenten Pierce.”

  “No, I…” He coughs and clears his throat. “Um…”

  “Finish it!”

  “I was just saying that I want my promotion. I want my corner office, and a plaque on the door, and—”

  “Finish the bit about me,” I demand. “For right now, we’re talking about me.”

  “Ugh! Fine,” he huffs. “Just because you’re happy to work in a gym doesn’t mean we all want something so dreary and boring.”

  When I lift my brow, he throws a hand up. “You made me say it!”

  “I made you speak your thoughts,” I whip back. “You think my life isn’t good enough because I only work in a gym? You think you’re better because you’ve got a fancy law degree?”

  My phone continues to buzz against my thigh, the silent ticking bomb, the proverbial clock on this fight.

  “This discussion doesn’t have to be about you,” Brenten snaps, completely unaware of the guy figuratively tapping my shoulder. “I was talking about my work.”

  “You made this about me when you asked your girlfriend to flirt with a man you think is a criminal.”

  He scoffs and completely blows over my point. “There’s no think, Olivia. Everyone knows he’s a criminal. At this point, we just need specifics.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not gonna get them from me.” I make my way to the messy table and start collecting the leftover dirty dishes. “I think this concludes our evening, so if you want to live, you should probably let yourself out.”

  “Liv.” He changes his tone instantly, from douchebag straight to regret. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I have a lot on my plate right now, which means I’m always thinking about it. If I want to crack this stuff open, I have to remain sharp. I can’t afford to switch it off right now.”

  “You offended me,” I confirm and punctuate it with a sharp crack of one plate hitting another. “You asked me to flirt with another man to further your career. Then to add insult to injury, you told me my career is a load of shit.”

  He rolls his eyes and turns away. “You’re exaggerating for the sake of drama. I merely said that your job is comfortable. And that’s fine, but some of us are aiming higher.”

  I set the dishes back on the table with a crash and meet his gaze with a glare. “You’re not done being rude yet? Okay. Keep going.”

  When he says nothing, I lift a brow… and my chin, in case he wants to take a swing.

  “Let’s go, Brenten. I’m all ears.”

  “I’m not doing this with you right now.” He moves past me and into the kitchen, so I pick up my dishes and follow. “I didn’t come here tonight for more stress.” He grabs the butter and tosses it into the fridge. “I wanted an easy night with my girlfriend.”

  “No, you wanted a free meal and a way to ask me to be your girl-for-hire. Do you want me to sleep with him too?”

  Stop it, stop it, stop it!

  “Well, you won’t sleep with me!” he explodes, tossing our truth out there for anyone to hear. “You want to go slow, so I go slow. You want a genuine connection, so I come to these dinners, and the family circus craziness, I tolerate your brother and his meathead bullshit, and I tolerate his wife too, even though somehow, the smaller, prettier of the two is the bigger pain in my ass. I have to deal with your stepdaddy at work even though I think he’s incompetent and stupid, and your mother looks at me like I’m that mouse under your fridge. I’ve given you everything you want, Livi. And the one time I ask something in return, you call victim and make out that I’m some kind of monster.”

  “You just called my father stupid,” I take a slow step forward. “And incompetent.”

  “He is! He’s bad at his job, he’s lazy, and he can’t write a report to save his life. He’s lucky he even has a job at this point. And don’t get me started on the way he protects Elizabeth Griffin.”

  “Libby?” I take another step forward. “Daddy’s coworker? What the hell did she ever do to you?”

  “She’s dirty,” he snarls, “and we all know it.”

  “Are you crazy? Libby’s a sweetheart, you jerk! You can’t toss those accusations out there unless you have proof. You should know that! You’re the one with a law degree.”

  “She’s dirty, and so is the rest of the administration at that police station. You think I don’t see the chief fraternizing with the thugs from Checkmate at the lake? They’re publicly hanging out together!”

  “You have a problem with Checkmate now too? They’re family. Of course the chief talks to them; Kane married Alex’s sister!”

  “She’s not his sister,” Brenten snarls. “She’s his friend’s sister, and another connection to the shady underworld in this town.”

  “So, what? You’re taking it upon yourself to expose all of these criminals? You think because Jess married the thug, and Alex calls Jess his sister, even though friend is a more apt term, and because the chief employs Libby, and is best friends with my stepfather… do you think everyone is gonna burn because you’re mad that folks don’t like you at family brunch?”

  “They don’t like me because they know I’m gonna bury them!”

  “You are talking about my family!” I shout. “My. Family. And how
the hell did we get here, when five minutes ago, you were asking me about William Quinn?”

  “Funny. William Quinn is another on my long list of criminals who needs to burn. And somehow, he’s invited to family get-togethers. You have a way of attracting the worst, Livi. And it truly blows my mind, because I know you’re better than all this. You’re a good person, you’re smart and kind, and you don’t do any of that crap.”

  “Any of that crap, being…?”

  “Break the law, for starters! You’re not like them. You were made for more.”

  “I might be the worst of them all,” I declare on a threatening murmur. “Maybe I’m the one who’ll blow it all up. And here you are in the lion’s den, poking the bear.”

  He rolls his eyes and shows what he truly thinks of me. “Yeah, but are you a lion, or a bear?” He takes a few steps forward until our toes touch and his warm breath rolls over my bottom lip. “You’re better than all this, Liv. And when I prove Quinn’s connection to Ripley, I’ll be moving up.” He folds his neck a little and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “When I go, I’d like to bring you with me.”

  I pinch my brows together and study his eyes. “When you say you’re going, you mean, like… metaphorically?”

  “I mean, I’m in this podunk town only as long as I have to be. It smells here, Liv. People are weird, and nothing is open after eleven. I’m here because this is where my boss put me, but when I escape, I’m not coming back.” He cups my jaw, and tips my face up. “You could come with me and have a better life.”

  I swallow and accept the way my heart races with adrenaline. “And if I asked you to stay here instead? To stay here with me?”

  He studies my eyes for a long minute, only to end it with a slow shake of his head. “It’s all gonna blow, babe. You won’t want to be here when it does.”

  William

  Rush and Fall

  “Focus, Quinn. We’re here to work, not to jack-off.”

  I glance up from my phone, from the dozen or so calls Olivia has ignored, to the dozen more texts. She was there, she was talking to me, but now she’s gone, and my ass is stuck in the back of a piece of shit SUV while we wait for a guy to come meet us out here.