by H. M. Ward
Ignoring the knock, I step toward her and whisper, "Are you okay?" I watch her closely, seeing the rapid pace of her breathing as her breasts swell over and over again as she gasps for air. She nods and seems lost for a moment. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but there's a knock at the door again, louder this time.
"Come on, Jonny. Open the door." Peter's voice comes through the thin wood, and I know he's leaning against the frame. If Sean showed up with him, they would have walked in on us. Unlike Sean, Peter has some manners. "I need to talk to you."
I grab my jacket from the back of the door and slip it over her shoulders. Cassie takes it, holding it in front of her, just under her chin. When I open the door, Peter is standing there with Bryan.
Bryan grins at me, like he knows what we were up to. Peter is too polite to comment. They walk inside and Cassie starts to leave. I reach for her, afraid that she'll go and I'll never see her again. "Stay."
"Are you sure?"
I nod and look at the guys. "Yeah, please, sit." Cassie glances at Peter, uncertain, and then makes her way to a seat. I toss her a blanket and she wraps it over her shoulders, but it doesn't cover all of her. Bryan's eyes scan her legs so I smack him in the head. "Stop looking."
Bryan's face turns red and he looks the other way. "I wasn't."
Peter cuts us off. "So, you bought a strip club and risked your inheritance."
Bryan snorts, "Risked? Peter, call it what it is. He's fucked. As soon as his mother finds out, he's toast." He leans back in his chair with a smile on his face, threading his fingers behind his head. "I've always wanted to be the heir. Thanks, cousin."
Peter slaps Bryan in the back of the head, which makes him drop the smug look and sit upright. "You won't be the heir because you knew about it. Mom will castrate you, too."
Bryan smiles like money doesn't matter, like nothing matters except sunlight, fresh air, and fun. "Yeah, probably."
Peter rolls his eyes and his tension becomes more visible. He slaps down a yellow envelope on the desk and presses a finger to it. While looking at me, he explains, "Sean—no matter how obnoxious and condescending he is—was watching your back. Mom's been tied up in meetings all week and doesn't know, yet. And, what Sean arranged makes this whole thing go away. There are papers in here that will expunge the previous transaction. All you have to do is sign them."
Bryan looks between us as Peter speaks. My arms fold over my chest, but I'm not sure why I don't like this. Maybe it's pride, but I don't think so. So I don't sign. Instead, I'm silent and glaring.
Bryan finally says something. "You should sign that, Jonny. And then kiss Sean's ass."
Ignoring him, I ask Peter, "Why do you think I bought this place?" Thrusting out my hand, I gesture for the papers and Peter hands them to me. I glance at them, while he speaks. The thing is, I know what he thinks. I know what they all think.
Peter sighs and tucks his hands into the crooks of his arms as he folds them across his chest. "Does it matter? This is so over the top, even for you, that you had to know what Mom would do to you when you bought the place."
The porcelain skin on Cassie's face wrinkles and she leans forward in her chair. "You were serious? Buying this place will get him disowned?"
Peter nods slowly, his eyes burning a hole into my head, demanding an answer that I won't give. "Yes. He's been on thin ice for a while, and finally was given an ultimatum that if he did one more thing to sully the Ferro name, he was done. He'll be stripped of his birthright and tossed out on his ass."
Why'd he have to tell her that? I laugh and toss the papers back at him. Peter catches them and looks shocked. "No. I'm not signing these. Tell Sean, thanks, but no thanks."
"You realize that you can't win, right?" Bryan is on his feet, his serious expression making him look years older. "You bought this place with Ferro money. They'll keep it when they toss you, Jon. If you sign the papers, you lose the building but keep your fortune."
"It's not about the building or the fortune." I say, and turn away from them. Their eyes are on my back, I feel them judging me even though they have no idea what compels me to do anything.
"Then what's it about?" Peter asks, stepping toward me. "Talk to me, Jon." I don't mean to, but my gaze flicks to Cassie as I glance up at Peter. He turns and looks at her, his expression softer than most. "Who are you?"
"Cassie Hale."
Peter blinks like the name means something, and it should. Cassie Hale was the woman who nailed me into my self-made coffin three years ago. The press slaughtered me and threw me inside. The repercussions still send tremors through the family even now—the things that were printed about my mother were enough to rip apart other families.
Peter's eyes go wide with recognition. He looks at me and blinks like he took a fist to the face. Pointing at her, he says, "Are you serious? You're slaughtering yourself for her?"
I'm not mad at him, because he doesn't understand. He saw how much pain she caused me back then, but he doesn't know what he's talking about. I open the door, a cue for him to leave, "Thanks Pete, but tell Sean that I can handle myself."
Peter nods. He won't start a fight, he's not like that. Instead he walks to the door and stops in front of me. "I'll help you, Jonny. Anything you need, I'm there. But you have to realize the shit storm that's going to fall on your shoulders. Everything will come out, and I mean everything." His gaze holds mine and I know what he means—the mistresses. Fuck, does everyone know about that?
"Thanks, Pete." I place my hand on his shoulder and go to say more, but lose my train of thought when I look through the door. I do a double take, because what I'm seeing can't possibly be real. Two brunettes are on stage, wearing really short daisy dukes. They have on men's dress shirts that are tied right under their breasts, with only one button closed so you can see the top of their bras, and quite a bit of cleavage. One has long pin-straight hair, while the other is curly and all over the place as she whips it around.
The club is closed for the night. Bruce sent the staff home, and most of the lights have been shut off, except for the main stage where Peter's fiancée is dancing with another woman. They're both laughing and swishing those long locks in circles. Sidney giggles and nearly falls off the stage, but the other woman steadies her and they both laugh so hard that they don't notice us gaping at them.
Bryan grins when he sees the display in the front of the stage. Trystan is leaning back in a chair, like he's hoping a portal will open up and suck him into the afterlife, while a girl with caramel skin squeezes his cheeks and hysterically paws at him, repeating the same phrase over and over again, "Holy shit! It's Trystan Scott!"
The dancer that I don't recognize says over her shoulder, "Yeah Mel, you said that already."
I stare, and finally find my voice, "Is that Sidney?"
A slow smile stretches across Peter's face and he laughs. "Yeah, and the one standing next to her is Avery Stanz, the woman that has your brother totally whipped."
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THE ARRANGEMENT
CHAPTER 1
The night air is frigid. It doesn't help that I'm stuck wearing this little black dress in my crap car. I shiver as I try to keep the engine running at a red light. My little battered car is from two decades ago and stalls if I don't rev the engine while I have my foot on the brake. I'm driving with two feet in a car that's supposed to be an automatic. The heater doesn't work. If I try to turn it on, I'll get my face blasted with white smoke. It's awesome, in an utterly humbling kind of way. At least the car is mine. It gets me where I need to go, most of the time.
The light flips to green and I botch it. I don't gas the car enough, and it shudders and stalls. I grumble and grab for the can of ether. The cars behind me blare their horns
.
I ignore them. They can go around me. I grab the can on the seat next to me, kick open my door, and walk around to the hood. I shake the can and spray it into the engine intake. The car will start up as soon as I turn the key now, and I can drive away in shame.
The night air is crisp and filled with exhaust. This road is always busy. It doesn't matter what time of day it is. Angry drivers move around me. Everyone is always in a hurry. It's part of the New York frame of mind. I'm treated to a catcall as a car full of guys blows past me. I flip them the bird and hear their laughter echo as they fade from sight.
Tonight couldn't possibly get any worse. I put the cap on the can of ether. Then it happens. My night takes a one-eighty straight into suckage.
As I drop the hood, it slams shut, and I look through the windshield. "Seriously?" I say at the guy who jumps in my seat. He's wearing a once-blue fluffy coat and hasn't shaved for weeks. He turns the key and my crappy car roars to life. He gasses it and takes off, swerving around me. I stand in the lane staring after him. What a moron. Who'd steal that piece of trash?
Still, it's my car and I need it. After the night I had, I don't want to run after him, but I have to. I need that car. I take off at a full run. My lungs start to burn as I suck in frozen air and exhaust. I run down the shoulder, avoiding trash that's lying in the gutter. My attention is singularly focused on my car. I push my body harder and feel my muscles protest, but I don't hold back. He's getting away.
I manage to run a block when a guy on a motorcycle slows next to me. "That guy stole your car." He sounds shocked.
I can't see his face through the black helmet. It has a tinted visor that covers his face. "No shit, Sherlock," I huff and keep running. My purse is in the car, my only pair of work-acceptable heels, my books—aw, fuck, my books. I paid over a grand for those. They're worth more than the car. I run faster. My dress flares around my thighs as my Chucks help me sprint forward. My body doesn't want to do it. The stitch in my side feels like it's going to bust open.
The guy on the bike is annoying. He rolls next to me and flips up his face shield. I glance at him, wondering what he's doing. Biker guy looks at me like I'm crazy. "Are you trying to catch him?"
"Yes." Pointing ahead, huffing. There are three lights on this stretch of road before the ramp to get on the parkway. If he hits a red light, the car will stall and I'll get it back. My lungs are burning, and it's not like I have time to explain this. My car has already passed the first light. "If he stops, the car will stall."
"You want me to help?" He glances at the car and then back at me.
I stop and nearly double over. Holy hell, I'm out of shape. I nod and throw my leg over the back of his bike, flashing the cars driving past us. I so don't care. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I hold on tight and say, "Go."
"I was going to call the cops, but this works, too." He sounds amused. I hold onto his trim waist and plaster myself against his back. He's wearing a leather jacket, and I can feel his toned body through the supple material. He pulls into traffic and zips through the lanes. The wind blasts my hair and plasters my eyelashes wide open. We bob and weave, getting closer and closer to my car. My heart is racing so fast that it's going to explode.
I see my car. It's passing the second light. Motorcycle man punches it, and the bike flies under the second intersection just as the light changes. I manage not to shriek. My skirt flies up to my hips, but I don't let go of the biker's waist to push the fabric back down.
We're nearly there when the thief catches the third light. The car in front of him stops, forcing the carjacker to stop as well. As soon as he takes his foot off the gas, my car convulses and white smoke shoots out the tailpipe. The engine ceases. The driver's side door is kicked open and the guy runs.
Motorcycle man pulls up next to my car. I slip off the back of the bike, my heart beating a mile a minute. I can't afford to lose this stuff. I'm barely making it as it is. I look at my car. Everything is still there. I turn back to the guy on the bike as I smooth my skirt back into place.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I say, "Thanks." I must seem insane.
He flips his face shield up and says, "No problem. Does your car always do that?" A pair of blue eyes meets mine, and the floor of my stomach gives way. Damn, he's cute. No, not cute—he's hot.
"Get jacked? No, not always."
He smiles. There's a dusting of stubble on his cheeks. I can barely see it because of the helmet. He raises an eyebrow at me and asks, "This has happened before, hasn't it?"
More times than you'd think. Criminals are really stupid. "Let's just say this isn't the first time I had to chase after the car. So far no one's made it to the parkway. That damn light takes forever and I keep stalling out in the same spot. You'd think I'd figure it out by now, but…" But I'm mentally challenged and prefer to chase after car thieves. I stop talking and press my lips together. His eyes run over my dress and pause on my sneakers, before returning to my face. Great, he thinks I'm mental.
Turning to the car, I grab another can of ether from the backseat and walk around to the front. I dropped the last can somewhere behind me. I pop the hood and spray. I'm so cold that I've gone numb. As I walk back to my door, I shake my head, saying, "Who steals a car that barely runs?"
"Do you need any help?" The guy holds my gaze for a moment, and my stomach twists. He seems sincere, which kills me. A strange compulsion to spill my guts tries to overtake me, but I bash it back down.
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head and swallow the lump in my throat. Today sucked. I'm totally alone. No one helps me, and yet this guy did. "No, I'm okay," I lie as I slip into my car and yank the door shut. "Thanks for the ride." I turn the engine over and smile at him. The window is down. It doesn't go up.
"Anytime." He nods at me, like he wants to say something else. All I can see of his face is his crystal blue eyes and a beautiful mouth. He's sitting on a bike that cost more than my tuition. He's loaded, and I've got nothing. A pang of remorse shoots through me, but I need to go. The haves and the have-nots weren't made to mingle. I already learned that lesson once. I don't need to learn it again.
"Thanks," I say before he can ask my name. "I'll see you around." I smile at him and drive away, holding back tears that are building behind my eyes.
It's weird. There are so many shitty people in the world, and on the worst day of my life, I finally find a nice one and I'm driving away from him.
THE ARRANGEMENT 1
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MORE BOOKS BY
H.M. WARD
THE ARRANGEMENT: THE FERRO FAMILY
DAMAGED 2: THE FERRO FAMILY
STRIPPED: THE FERRO FAMILY
SCANDALOUS
SECRETS
THE SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT
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