by Kira Graham
WICKED DARE
A Romantic Comedy
KIRA GRAHAM
Copyright © 2021
All Rights Reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to events, businesses, companies, institutions, and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Also by Kira Graham
Chapter 1
Cameron
I’m sitting in my office and staring out at the lightening sky, my eyes traveling down to the sidewalk as I ignore the people around me and try to rewind after an all-nighter hammering out a deal that should have taken weeks but instead has taken months to secure. I haven’t slept in nearly two days, my eyes are gritty and burning, and my body is coiled from fatigue.
“This should do it,” my brother Connor says tiredly, ending his call and handing me the signed contracts, a satisfied smile on his face even as he looks out at the dawn and yawns. “Damn, Bro, that was brutal.”
I snort. Of course it was. I just had to negotiate my way into rebuying a company that was mine to begin with before my cousin Keenan stole it right out from under me. But it’s done now—my dad can get off my back and hopefully Mom will finally get her head out of her ass and talk to me again.
“It was what it was, Con,” I grunt, standing to stretch and walk to the window, my back aching from hours spent in that chair, hunching over paperwork and a phone that didn’t leave my ear for hours. “Let’s move on from it.”
“Move on? Hell freaking no! We’re getting him back,” Connor grunts, grinning when I snort and smirk at him, my blood already firing up because this is what we do.
You can’t blame us, though. My ancestors were all richer than hell, we’re all rich—and we’ll continue to be rich because what the Dare family has always been is a smart bunch. My great, great, great… a couple more greats… granddaddy saw an opportunity with silver and gold that he capitalized on when he came over here on a boat from Scotland and decided he’d make it big come hell or high water. He made it big all right. Big enough to buy out a whole bunch of mines early on and then mine the shit out of them with just him, his older brother Mick, and his sister Cathy. His kids all had the entrepreneur bug too, and they went into shipping, something that was a gamble as much as it was a blessing.
That made it big for them too and tripled an already obscene fortune. After that it’s been one thing after the other, most of the O’Dares finding a business opportunity of some form or another until finally my brother and I inherited the family company when dad retired, declaring that he was all Dared out.
You see, in my family there’s this thing we’ve been doing for a few generations now, something we took up when making money became boring but we still had to keep at it, seeing as it’s a family tradition and all. We call it The Dare. A generations-old practice of screwing with each other and finding ways to screw right back, just for the hell of it.
That’s what I was doing last night and for two months preceding it. Finding a way to get back my company after my cousin Keenan won it in a bet that I lost. I’m still not sure how that happened, and to be honest if I didn’t have this much pride I’d have accused Keen of cheating. Hell, it’s nearly guaranteed the shit did cheat. But that’s what makes it the most fun. We’re constantly screwing with each other and finding ways to get one over, to win, to declare victory and put one more point on the leader board.
Which Connor and I did by getting our company back. I negotiated the hell out of the deal too. I just thank God Sonny agreed and ceded victory to me, which isn’t easy to obtain when you have an eight-year-old deciding your destiny for you.
“That girl is brutal,” Connor laughs, shaking his head when I groan and think of our eight-year-old sister and her mercenary ways.
“At least it wasn’t Lily this time,” I snort, chuckling when Connor grins because our sixteen-year-old cousin Lily is the worst arbiter of the games.
It’s why Dad sent her off on a shopping spree the day we commenced the next round of Dare. I needed anyone but Keenan’s favorite little sister refereeing this thing—and besides, Sonny was dying to join in now that she’s old enough to understand the cutthroat business at hand.
“Damn. That’s true,” Connor winces, his eyes twinkling because the last time Lily was in charge we ended up with a cruise ship we seriously didn’t need.
Hey, at least she enjoyed it at the beginning—and who wouldn’t? The kid was fourteen and she got to take her entire school on a ship she owns. I still shudder at the prospect of ever again having to oversee a teen party on a ship while my mother yelled at me about it.
“You sell that ship yet?” I ask, laughing when he snorts and gives me a look.
“And how would you suggest I do that when the cruise industry’s in decline?”
“Oh, I dunno. That’s why we played poker for that ship. It’s not my fault you lost and got the ship,” I laugh, watching him scowl and grind his teeth.
“You cheated.”
“Says the loser and owner of a useless ship. Lily still hates it?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘That is so last season, Connor,’ ” he grumbles, though he does it with a smile because Lily is the worst.
She only made us buy the thing so she could annoy us, and then she still screwed us over because Keenan, the fuck, got her a puppy as a bribe. A fucking puppy. I bought a ship and he wins with a little furball! The worst part of that? She only made him buy a shitty old car for resale, while Connor and I got saddled with an ancient cruise ship. How the hell were we ever going to get that thing sold to win that round?
“Well, at least she’s honest.”
“About cheating,” Connor grumbles. “She knew I would never get that thing sold. Dammit—if I could have blown it up to win, I would have.”
“You know the rules. You sell the impossible to win, and if you can’t, you lose,” I tell him, still laughing when he curses and shakes his head, following me out of the office when I grab my coat.
I need breakfast, coffee, and a change of clothes before I can even think of working a full day without sleep—and I know just where to get it.
“It wasn’t fair to begin with. How does buying the DeLorean qualify as the impossible?”
“It wasn’t the real one,” I point out. “We know this because it was bright pink,” I snort, outright laughing when he grumbles.
“Yeah, well, it was still easier than the ship. No one wants a cruise ship, Cameron. No one!” he huffs, cursing when I grin and hit the elevator button for the ground floor, my stomach growling.
“That’s not my problem. You promised me you wouldn’t whine about this.”
“I just paid a hundred and thirty grand for docking, motherfucker!” he huffs, his lips twitching because I roll my e
yes.
“Oh, poor you. It must be so terrible to give out a few pennies here and there, you tightfisted schmuck. Get over it and stop being a baby. I told you; just turn it into a hotel.”
“No. I hate that shit. People always want to get on the bandwagon, and I’ll be forced to hire Lei to decorate it. I’d rather scrub my balls with a cactus,” my brother grumbles, making me laugh even more because the way he talks about his ex-wife is hilarious.
Hilarious and messed-up because they’re still best friends. The best of friends despite—or maybe because of—the fact that when they got divorced it wasn’t about Connor; it was about Lei, who finally confessed to him that she was gay and in love with someone else. It’s hard to get mad at someone like Lei, one of the kindest, nicest people I think I’ve ever met. Harder still to be pissed when she tells a man that she really does love him. Just not his dick.
“Why now?” I sigh, exiting the elevator when it dings and opens on the ground floor.
“She’s dating some artist from the Bronx, and she’s in that new-love stage,” he groans, making me grin and shake my head because Connor is so freaking soft.
The guy would have to be considering they share a daughter, the best thing to ever happen to them.
“How’s Ginny feel about that?” I ask, striding across the marble floors of the O’Dare building, my eyes on my phone screen because Mom’s already texting me and it isn’t even seven yet.
Hell, it’s five to six in the morning.
“You know Gin. She’s cool with anything as long as she gets to be with Mom and Pop the nights Lei is on a date. Which I’m grateful for since I live there too,” he grins, his eyes sparkling when I grunt because that’s so whack. The man is thirty-two.
“God, I’m so tired,” I mutter, my eyes still on the screen and blurring over Mom’s vitriol of a text, demanding to know if we won or not since she has money on us.
Buncha sharks.
It’s as I’m looking up to take a break from the words that I hear a high-pitched scream, a curse, and then a round of laughter, followed by one of the most… unhinged sights I have ever seen. Two women, wrestling over…
“Is that a kitten?” I hear Connor ask, the awe in his voice followed by a grunt as we move closer.
“I said freaking stop, Lulu!” the blonde on the left screams, her eyeballs wide with warning while the little auburn-haired bombshell that I’m now noticing hisses and bares pearly white teeth.
“Not on your life, you pox-riddled slattern! I got this one fair and square, Gia. Fair and square!” she yells, muttering and crooning to the kitten who’s just sitting there with a bored expression and the cutest little lip purse I think I’ve ever seen.
“Not fair and square. I got it first—and so it’s mine. Come on! You already have one.”
“So? This one is cuter. You can have Luke.”
“I don’t want Luke; he has gas. The deal was, I get the next one.”
“But I like this one!” the woman who is apparently Lulu yells, her blue eyes sparkling so fiercely I nearly chortle because she’s five foot… three, maybe, and she’s tiny.
Way too small to be a threat to anyone, especially the nearly six foot blonde who’s in heels, looks deranged and sounds like she’s ready to commit violence. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, what the kitten has to do with it, and how they’re in my building fighting over the kitten. What I do know, once my eyes land on Lulu’s ass, cut up to her tits, and then take in the curl to her lips, is that I’m grinning over my shoulder-shaking laughter. The first laugh I’ve truly felt in so long, it feels like a light has come on in me again.
“I don’t care. I like it too, and Dad said only one!” the blonde screeches, the grip she has on the cat not strong enough for her to get it since Lulu is clinging.
“Screw that. Dad’s not the boss.”
“He is.”
“He isn’t. And Mama said we could ask the cat!” Lulu screams, to which I chortle, share an amused look with Connor, and then stand back to watch what happens next.
“They always choose you, you ugly whore. It’s that harlot hair. They like it! I call no-sies on the choose.”
“You can’t call no-sies. You always call it, and you’ve used your last one already. Remember Funky Town?” Lulu taunts, getting a snarl and a groan from the other woman before she curses.
“Fine! Then I just take the cat,” the blonde says, smiling brightly until Lulu shakes her head.
“Mom said we couldn’t just take things. It’s wrong. Remember? We’ll fight. That’s the only fair way to do this, and you know it. And then Mama can’t chew our asses. She didn’t overrule a battle.”
“No biting, then.”
“I don’t bite!”
“You always bite, Lu. That’s why Chief calls you Gnasher!”
“It happened one time!”
“You sank your teeth into Simon’s crotch.”
“Because he had me pinned and I’m claustrophobius,” Lulu screams, stamping one pink-high-heel-shod foot on the floor and wobbling a little before she regains her balance. “Besides, you were helping him and that isn’t fair. You guys are bigger. You’re a freaking sasquatch, Gia.”
“Am not!” the blonde screams, her face turning an unhealthy shade of purple.
“Are too.”
“You…”
“What? Cat got your tongue, Sasquatch? Oh! Sorry, you don’t have a cat,” Lulu sneers, laughing hysterically.
“This cat is mine.”
“Nopah!”
“Is too.”
“Isn’t.”
“I caught him. Mr. Grumbles is mine.”
“That would be Jaja to you,” Lulu laughs, her eyes going wide with mock sympathy when the blonde scowls.
“Dammit! Fine. We fight. You better hope you’ve brought your A game, bish, cause I’m not losing this time. And stop naming the cats after Star Wars characters.”
“Better than Mr. Grumbles, loser,” Lulu huffs, her jaw tightening as she eyes Blondie up.
“I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Oooooh, I’m shaking, Sassy,” Lulu breathes, grinning when her sister—I think because they both have the same shade of aquamarine eyes—snarls and narrows her eyes.
“You should be. Okay. This is how it’s gonna go then, tiny. We’re gonna lower Mr. Grumbles down, slowly, and step away—and then I’m kicking your ass.”
“Bring it,” Lulu snarls, smiling so savagely I tilt my head before Connor nudges me.
“You wanna bet on this?” he asks, his smile radiant while mine is… awed.
Of course I’m betting on this. I have no idea what’s happening, why this is happening, or what is going to happen, but I know a few things. One, the redhead is hot as hell, she’s dressed in… I think that’s a wedding dress, but I can’t be sure because the skirt has obviously been cut to mid-thigh. Whatever. I’ll find out why she’s dressed this way later. Two, I like her. She’s hot and scrappy, and something about her is so adorable I can’t help but be amazed by how much I like her. Three, Connor likes the blonde, from the way he’s looking at her ass, and there is no way she’s winning this one. Because Lu is right—she is tall, at least taller than Lu, and there is nothing I love more than an underdog. And winning. I’m definitely winning if she’s a biter.
“Am I breathing? Two grand on the redhead,” I say, shaking on it while he grins and then going back to see what happens next.
That doesn’t take long, and I’m shuddering with laughter when the blonde glares, then snarls and then they both lower the kitten to the ground slowly, eyeing one another as they sidestep the still-bored-looking little gray ball and square off. I’m expecting a fight—hell, I’d love to see what the little redhead is capable of if she’s bitten a man’s nuts already. I bet she’s a scrapper, I think, my grin growing even as I cover my own nuts. I’m gonna have to make a “no biting” rule.
But that’s okay. I can deal. Fight first, though. Definitely want to s
ee her kick the blonde’s ass. Definitely.
What happens instead is the blonde reaches into her own—why the fuck are they wearing wedding dresses? Whatever. She reaches into her dress’s cleavage and pulls out a phone, still watching Lulu suspiciously as she scrolls through something on the screen. I am not expecting Taylor Swift to start playing, not even a little, and I’m still gaping as I watch them crack their necks as if they’re about to get nasty when I hear a soft meow and look down to see the kitten on my shoe, his bright-blue eyes staring up at me in supplication.
I pick it up. Come on, who wouldn’t? The little guy is cute. Besides, possession is nine tenths of the law, as the saying goes, and since he’s mine now…
I grin, my blood firing as I wait for the women to get to it.
To start brawling outright as they circle one another, sizing the other one up.
And then…
I think I nearly piss myself laughing because this is not what I was expecting.
Chapter 2
Louisiana
I’m so ready to win this thing and claim my little kitten, the thought of Georgia winning this thing so abhorrent to me that I start to sweat a little and wonder if I can do this. It’s true that I’m short and a little rounder in the curve, as Dad always says, but that hasn’t ever stopped me—and, besides, I can do anything if Taylor’s singing. She’s like my reason for living when times get tough.
“Okay, let’s see what you got!” Gia huffs, her look mean as a rattlesnake now because I’m so ready to do this.
Okay, Lu. Just don’t give up. You got this. You got this, girl.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I start to move, letting my body sway to the beat, beat, beat and then flowing freely. It’s been said that I’m a great dancer, and when you come from a family where fighting is illegal, literally—no, I mean it; we have laws that Mama wrote down and everything—you learn to fight the only way you can. It’s called dancing for those of you out there who don’t know the sport, and in my family it’s a serious thing. We literally live to dance, and I’ve even taken lessons in the stuff, so I never lose.