by Nia Arthurs
“Troy…” Venus’s voice is soft. A corner of her lips hitches up. “You know why I’m not scared?”
I look at her.
In the dimness of the car, her eyes shine with an emotion I can’t understand.
“Because,” she sucks in a breath, “because I have you.”
My heart thuds.
For a moment, all the air is sucked out of the car.
All I can see is Venus’s shining eyes—dark and compelling.
Her plump lips.
Damn. Those lips.
I want her.
I need her.
More than I need to breathe.
More than I need to paint.
But it’s not worth risking our friendship. Or my friendship with Evan. My place in the Miller family. Her job at Make It Marriage.
It’s better to protect her. Like her from a distance, even if she’ll never be mine.
She’s so important to me.
We’re friends.
I can’t mess that up.
So I turn away from her.
Start the car.
Drive.
Without saying a word.
Sixteen
Troy
“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” Corrine extends her hand. It’s pale and slim. Dotted with freckles. Just like her cheeks and forehead.
“No, the pleasure’s mine.” I squeeze her hand affectionately. “Evan called me every day to get advice before your first date. He was that eager to impress you.”
“Hey, hey. Don’t be dropping my secrets.” Evan strolls into the living room and shoots me a cool it look. “She fell for my manliness and swag. Can’t have you bursting the bubble.”
“Swag? Where?” Venus presses a hand to her forehead as if she’s searching for something in the distance.
I smirk.
Inside, I worry.
She’s still acting like nothing happened.
Like the threat looming over her head is not a big deal.
I’m forcing myself to respect her and follow her lead. As she so eloquently points out, it’s not my life. If this is how she wants to cope, I’ll work with it.
“I didn’t know about that.” Corrine laughs. Her red mouth matches the vibrant color of her hair. Green eyes sparkle. She wraps a slim arm around Evan’s neck. “Why were you nervous, babe?”
“You were out of my league,” Evan mumbles. “How could I not be nervous?”
“Aw!”
Venus nods. “At least he knows.”
“Either way, you look good together,” I say. And I mean it. Evan’s turned into a complete sap who wears his heart on his sleeve.
It’s nice.
Being in love is nice.
It’s what comes after that’s a pain in the butt.
“It sounds cheesy, but I don’t remember life before this woman.” Evan gives Corrine major heart eyes.
I chuckle.
“And who set them up?” Venus tosses her curls over her shoulder as she points to her face. “Who? Who?”
Evan smirks. “Is there an owl in here?”
Corrine giggles.
Venus scowls. “No, just an idiot.”
“At least I’m not ugly.”
“Your mama.”
Evan slants her a bored look. “We both have the same mother.”
Corrine stares between Venus and Evan with a slightly pained smile on her face. It’s that am I supposed to laugh or referee look.
I catch her eye and shrug. It is what it is.
Evan and Venus fight like cats and dogs, but it’s born of playful affection.
Venus adores her brother.
Evan would crack skulls for his sister. A few guys from Venus’s graduating class carry scars as evidence.
Nobody messes with Venus and gets away with it.
Not on Evan’s watch.
That’s why telling my best friend about Venus’s current dilemma is such a good idea.
And why letting him in on my feelings for his sister is not.
The door thuds.
Venus whirls around. “Corri, you expecting someone else?”
“I invited Kayla and Brendon,” she explains, yanking the door and admitting two more people.
I recognize Kayla immediately. She’s all over Venus’s social media. Has been for the past four years.
I mentally run through the captions that strike a chord in my memory.
Dancing with my best friend—that one under a picture of Venus in a risqué outfit, arm slung around a grimacing Kayla who’s holding tightly to an empty shot glass.
Teaching her the basics—next to an image of Kayla watching the film, Othello.
My work wife—in all caps under a snap of Kayla and Venus in an office at Make It Marriage.
Yeah, it’s safe to say I’m familiar with Kayla.
At least the Social Media Kayla.
The guy at her side is a total mystery. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with silver eyes and square-framed glasses.
“Brendon.” He shakes my hand.
“Troy.” I nod.
As the ladies break off and start chatting excitedly to one another, we talk about the weather and fantasy football.
His vibe is down to earth and casual, so I’m surprised when Venus tugs me away a few seconds later and whispers that Kayla’s boyfriend is a billionaire.
Brendon overhears us and groans. “Really, Venus. You had to tell him?”
“Come on. How many people can say they’re friends with someone in the Forbes 400? I’m an attention seeker, Mr. Humes. Have some mercy.”
My eyebrows pull together. “Wait. Humes. You’re Brendon Humes?”
“That’s me.” Brendon smirks. “And you’re Troy Maddox.”
“You know me?”
“Yeah.”
“Should have said something.”
“I assumed that you didn’t want to be fawned over.” He arches both eyebrows at Venus.
She tilts her head and flips him off.
I smirk.
Brendon returns his attention to me. “I’m a big fan of your work, man. I almost drained the family fortune trying to win your latest piece at the La Fountina charity auction.”
My cheeks warm.
I’ve been painting for a long time, but the fact that people still find value in my work… it amazes me.
There’s a part of me that feels I don’t deserve it.
I’m just a kid from the trailer park.
Son of an addict and her pimp.
Junior varsity basketball player that got kicked off the team after the coach found him with drugs in his duffel bag. Drugs that he’d confiscated from his mother that very morning.
People like Brendon Humes, who were groomed in the lap of luxury spend thousands on my work.
It’s crazy.
It’s…
I don’t know. Unnerving.
And it shouldn’t be.
It should have sunk in by now. I’m older. More settled in who I am and what the world has to offer.
But it hasn’t gotten easier.
Every art exhibit, I’m a nervous wreck. Wondering if that day is the day I’ll be exposed as a fraud and everyone who purchased my work will want their money back.
Venus hooks her fingers around my elbow.
The gentle touch stirs me back to life.
Her eyes meet mine. “He is talented, isn’t he?”
“Oh yeah.” Brendon bobs his head. “Insanely.”
“Don’t compliment him, Brendon.” Evan snorts. “Or we’ll have to break the door to fit his head through it when he goes home tonight.”
Corrine sends him the evil eye. “Stop insulting our guests, Ev.” Turning to us, she points to the table with a flourish. “Food’s ready. Let’s eat.”
We gather around the table.
But we don’t eat.
We feast.
I fork pasta into my mouth, one side of my brain pushing to absorb all the pleasure sensors my to
ngue is sending out and the other following the robust conversation around the table.
It’s clear this group has dined together before, and although I’m new to the party, it doesn’t feel like I’ve missed a day.
I almost forget the threat breathing down Venus’s neck.
Until Kayla checks her phone and drops her fork.
It clinks against the side of her plate.
Grabs all our attentions.
Lifting both hands, she frowns. “Uh-oh.”
Corrine shushes Evan.
The table slowly falls silent.
Brendon leans forward, one arm hovering over the back of Kayla’s chair. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“I just got a text from Eva.” Brown eyes shoot up as she explains, “That’s one of my clients.”
Venus takes a sip of her wine. “The one with the chronic shyness?”
“Yeah, she’s only met her boyfriend in person once.”
Evan’s nose scrunches. “Sounds complicated.”
“It works for them.” Kayla lifts her phone. “She sent me this.”
“What am I looking at?” Evan muses.
“It’s a screenshot of a review on TheOne.com.” Kayla pulls her hand back and swipes. “Someone went on a one-star rampage targeting Make It Marriage.”
Venus shrugs. “Not the first time.”
“It’s not?” Corrine blinks.
“No. Finding a match can take time. Some people expect their Prince Charming by midnight and walk away when their carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”
Evan snorts. “That would make you the fairy god-mother? Those poor Cinderellas.”
“Shut up, Evander.”
I smirk.
“Rita Meeks. Meeks.” Kayla taps her chin. “Who’s that? I don’t think it was a client…”
Venus rubs her temple and looks at the ceiling in thought.
“What did they say in the review?” Brendon takes the phone from Kayla and reads. “Oh. ‘You are a liar.’ ‘You’re as good as dead.’ How creative.” He shakes the device high. “Doesn’t this count as verbal assault?”
I stiffen.
Those messages…
They’re similar to the texts she received earlier.
My eyes shift to Venus.
There’s a smile on her face, but it’s cracking.
It wouldn’t seem suspicious to anyone else. But I haven’t taken my eyes off her all evening.
Kayla laughs and grabs her phone back. “We get these like once a month. They never mean anything. We’ll just report them to the site. If we’re lucky, they get taken down.”
I hear Kayla talking as if she’s far away.
All I can see is Venus.
Her brown fingers curling into the table.
Her nostrils flaring.
Her chest rising and falling dramatically.
That message isn’t something to be brushed off.
And that name means something.
Who the hell is Rita Meeks?
Seventeen
Venus
After dinner, I head to the bathroom and wash my hands.
The moment the door closes behind me, I let my smile go flat.
I grip the edge of the sink.
Dig my fingernails into the porcelain.
Suck in a deep breath.
Rita Meeks? Why is that name so familiar?
My hands are shaking.
I press firmer into the sink.
I thought I could handle this.
I thought I could pretend that I’m fine.
But I’m not.
I’m terrified.
Keeping it together during dinner took more from me than I was willing to give.
Somehow, I played my part. Made a few jokes. Laughed when I was supposed to. But I couldn’t quiet that niggling fear in the back of my head.
Someone wants you dead.
Corrine’s dinner was bomb, but I didn’t taste any of it.
I run my fingers beneath the pipe. Let the cool water brush against my skin. Turn off the spout. Grabbing the tube of lipstick from my purse, I touch up my make up.
There. I look put-together and aloof. No one will be able to tell how shaken I am inside. Not unless they dive a little deeper.
And I won’t let anyone get that close.
Not even Troy.
After I dry my hands, I open the door and move outside.
Someone’s blocking the hallway.
Brown hair. Brown eyes. Broken bad boy. Heartthrob.
Troy.
He’s so big and broad-shouldered I can’t even wiggle my way past.
Dark brown eyes burrow into me.
Uh-oh.
I hold up a hand and hiss, “Don’t you dare ask me if I’m okay.”
“I won’t.” He takes my hand. Slender, pale fingers curve around my wrist. With a tug that warns he’s capable of full on dragging me if he had the mind to, Troy pulls me back into the bathroom. Slams the door. Whirls around.
Levels a glare so fierce the air is sucked out of the room.
My stomach tightens.
He’s so damn handsome.
And so damn close.
This space is way too small for the both of us.
My chest brushes his.
My thigh is a whisper away from his legs.
I ease back.
My back hits the sink. The porcelain juts into the base of my spine.
Troy leans forward. Almost hovering over me.
My body tingles with awareness.
And then it starts to throb.
Ideas flash in my head.
Me, naked.
Troy, naked.
I could reach for his belt.
It would be so easy to unbuckle. Loosen it. Unbutton it.
Shed a layer.
Get one step closer to feeling his skin, all of him, against me.
I need it.
If only to take my mind off the craziness.
But I push my fingers into my palm.
Press so hard my nails pierce skin.
I force myself to hold still.
To watch him, to burn for him and do nothing.
This is not the time to be affected by Troy.
That wrinkle at the bridge of his nose. The slanted eyebrows. The worried frown.
Even if I threw myself at him, he wouldn’t be moved.
He’s here on business.
He’s seen through my façade.
Maybe I haven’t been as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.
Throwing out a short laugh, I try to shrug off the tension in the air. “Did you want to use the bathroom?”
“You know why I’m here.”
I toss my hair breezily. “Sorry, I don’t.”
“That message.”
I press a hand to my chest. “You heard Kayla. We get messages like that all the time.”
“It’s too similar.”
“So?”
“Meeks…”
I cringe. Again, I’m hit with the feeling that the name sounds familiar.
“See?”
“What?”
He moves closer.
I step backward, but there’s nowhere to go. Not unless I climb on top of the sink.
I shift from one foot to the next.
Tap my fingers against my thighs.
Listen to the rustle of fabric as it hits my skin.
Troy’s hand brushes my hip.
My heart beats double time.
My thighs clench together.
I want him touching me. I’ve been thinking about it way too much.
He presses his palm into the counter, right next to my waist. “That name means something to you, doesn’t it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what’s with the deer-in-headlights expression?”
I shoot him my best ‘dazed’ look. “You mean like this?”
He doesn’t even smile. “Who is it?”
“I-I don’t know.”
; He arches an eyebrow really?
“I’m telling the truth.”
He shifts his weight. The movement presses his thigh into mine, pinning me in place. “Well, it’s got to be a client. They targeted the matchmaking agency after coming at you.”
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse.
It’s hard to speak.
To think.
Coherence is not an option.
If I could just have him...
I wouldn’t ask for anything else.
I grit my teeth.
Force my mind to focus on the name.
Rita Meeks.
“I know I’ve heard that Meeks title somewhere before but…” Lightning bolt. I gasp. “Victor Connors.”
Troy stares down at me. “Who?”
“He was one of my clients.” Excitement grows inside me like a ball swelling up in water. “Uh, he was divorced. Nice guy. A little clueless, but a couple coaching sessions ironed out the kinks.”
“And?”
“I matched him of course. He just needed pointers on how to interpret the language of women. Guys don’t get that what a woman says from her mouth is just the surface level. They need to dig deeper to find out what she’s saying from her heart and—”
“Venus.”
I startle.
Troy’s lips are quirking a little. “The point?”
“Oh.” I drag my gaze away before I give in to the urge to kiss him. “His ex-wife was a Meeks. Rita Meeks. He warned us that the divorce hadn’t been amicable and that she’d dragged out the proceedings despite the fact that they’d been separated for two years.”
“You think she’s upset that you matched him?”
“It could explain why she wants me to die.”
“Have you met her?”
“No. I only know what Victor revealed during our sessions. He said she liked partying and came home drunk every night. There was an incident with a male stripper, which was one of the reasons he filed for divorce.”
Troy grimaces.
He must know how that feels.
Being cheated on.
I should have been more sensitive.
Quickly, I add, “But I matched him a few weeks ago.” I rub my chin. “Why is she just striking now?”
“Maybe she just found out.” Troy narrows his eyes. “Maybe he told her that you were the one who set up his new relationship. And now she’s stalking you.”
Relief coils in my chest.
We got you now, you bastard.