by JB Heller
Then my cell alert goes off, and I pull it from my pocket to see I have a new e-mail from none other than Sadie-not-Sadie.
It takes everything I have to wait until I get home to open the new message, and I’m glad I did, because I was not expecting this …
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Still not convinced
Mr. Blaine,
I’m afraid, despite your argument that you know very little about me for a stalker, I’m still not entirely convinced. I propose an exchange of information where you will go first, of course. Because, despite your limited knowledge about me, it’s still more than I know about you.
What I know: your name is Atticus Blaine, and you have a son.
What you know about me: my biggest secret in the world, and the floor I live on.
In my opinion, the two things you have on me are much more damning. Therefore, to put us on equal footing, I want to know what your biggest secret is and the floor you reside on. In return, I will tell you my name and my offspring status.
Do we have a deal?
Sadie
She wants an exchange of information? That’s not an altogether bad idea. But my biggest secret? I don’t know that I even have one. I’m an open book.
I mull over what I could possibly give her to make her feel more at ease. Then it hits me, and I work on my response.
I half-expected Atticus to reply immediately after I hit send. But he didn’t. He’s left me to stew over all the things I could have, or should have, said.
Second-guessing myself is not new for me, but this is next level. I can’t focus on anything else, and it’s driving me insane.
“Maybe I should hav—”
Lennon slaps a hand over my mouth. “Stop already. You did good; we discussed this. Now stop dwelling on it. He’ll reply when he replies,” she says then shoves a glass of wine in my hand. “Now drink this.”
I shake my head. “I don’t see how wine is going to fix this,” I grumble then take a sip. Mmm, fruity.
“Nothing needs to be fixed,” Emory says, bumping her shoulder with mine. “We’ve already established he’s way into you. This was the right move. Now, we wait.”
“I hate waiting,” I mutter then sip my wine again.
A full hour and two bottles of wine later, his reply comes through.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Deal
Sadie-not-Sadie,
I was more than a little surprised by your proposal, albeit pleasantly.
In fact, I like this idea so much that, as a show of good faith, I’ll give you more than you asked for.
Firstly, I live in apartment A on the tenth floor with my son, Arlo. I’m a single father—have been since the day my son was born. There’s no sob story there—not really. She was a terrible person who assumed I would bankroll an extravagant lifestyle for her if she got pregnant. My offer of marriage and a non-superficial life didn’t appeal to her.
I wanted to provide for her and the baby on my own and not rely on the fortune of my family. But she wasn’t interested in me without the money, apparently. So, she took off, gave birth without telling me, and abandoned my baby boy at the hospital. When I finally tracked her down, I served her with the appropriate papers to release her of parental rights and responsibilities, which she was more than happy to sign.
Okay, so I guess that is a bit of a sob story. But it turned out for the best.
As for secrets, I don’t really have any. Except for this—and if it ever comes to light, I will deny it until my dying breath. I truly loved my son’s mother. With everything I had. I would have eventually given her the world, but she didn’t want to wait for me to be able to provide it for her on my own terms. She didn’t just break my heart, she obliterated it.
And it has taken me sixteen years to look at a woman the way I often find myself looking at you.
Please, call me Atticus.
Sincerely,
Atticus
Oh my God.
My jaw hangs as I absorb his words. I blink then go back to the start and read it all over again.
“Well?” Lennon snaps impatiently.
I can’t even begin to find the words to express what’s going on inside my chest right now. My heart expands with compassion for what he’s been through, and my stomach fills with a million butterflies. Tears prick my eyes, and I can’t quite believe he’s told me all of that.
And for some unknown reason, I know it’s all true. Every single word of it. I feel it in my gut, in my bones. He just gave me his absolute truth.
Handing my cell to Lennon, I get up, walk to the kitchen, and grab another bottle of wine.
“Holy shit, Kins,” Lennon breathes. “I knew he was into you, but damn, girl. I think into you is an understatement.”
“Why? What’d he say?” Em asks. When Len hands her my cell, her eyes scan the screen as she speed-reads, then she places a hand over her heart and sighs. “Whoa, that is so intense. No wonder he looks broody.”
All I do is nod in agreement as I refill our wine glasses then slump down on the couch. Swallowing hard, I turn to face my girls. “I guess I have to pay up on my end now, huh?”
“Ah, ya,” Lennon says. “Girl, I would have already jumped his bones. I think the least he deserves after all that”—she points to my cell, now sitting untouched on the coffee table—“is your name.”
She’s right. “I honestly didn’t expect him to tell me a secret. I thought, for sure, it would be the thing to get him to drop all this.”
Emory hums. “I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t think he’d say all that baby momma stuff, but I knew he’d bring something to the table.”
“If it were me, I’d give him my name and some sweet, sweet lovin’. But since that’s not your style, how about you just start with your name?” Lennon asks, smirking.
Picking up my cell, I take a deep breath and write him back.
It only takes half an hour for her response to come through this time. Anticipation floods my system as I slide my thumb over the screen and click onto the new e-mail.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Well shitballs …
Okay Atticus,
I really wasn’t expecting all that. In fact, I thought you’d just drop it and be done with me after my last e-mail.
But seeing as you were so incredibly and unexpectedly honest, I have no other choice but to be the same.
My name is Kinsley Fiora.
The name Fiora may sound a little familiar; that’s because it is one of the biggest fashion houses in the country. So, you see, even if I were after your son—which I most assuredly am NOT—it most certainly wouldn’t have been for money.
I’m an heiress. I have no need of a teenage boy toy. Frankly, the whole idea just seems like a whole lot of hard work.
Oh, and I don’t have any children.
Kinsley-not-Sadie
Kinsley. I really fucking like that name. It fits her—unique and beautiful.
I love the way she signed off this e-mail, too. It’s cute as fuck. Licking my lips, I let the fact that she comes from money settle in.
So, why does she do the Sadie thing if she’s an heiress? It makes no sense. She clearly isn’t hurting for cash, and it doesn’t fit with what I know of her personality.
What the hell. We’ve come this far. I may as well just ask her.
Tapping on the reply icon, I do just that.
I’ve just crawled between the sheets when I decide to check if Atticus has replied. Sure enough, there’s a little bubble over my e-mail app, indicating a new message.
Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I tap into it.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Thank you
Ki
nsley,
Wow, I’ve never had to work so hard to learn a woman’s name before. But it was worth the wait. Kinsley is a beautiful name—so much better than Sadie. Thank you for finally sharing it with me.
You’re on the right train of thought when it comes to teenage boys being a lot of hard work. Although, I got pretty lucky in that department. Arlo is a good kid.
I have to admit, knowing who you are and that you come from money, I’m struggling to figure out why you do the Miss Sadie gig. I had assumed you did it for the cash; my assistant, Tyson, tells me it’s quite profitable. But that’s clearly not the case. So, why?
Curiously,
Atticus
He wants to know why? Jesus, it took this long for me to comfortably tell him my name. He can’t seriously think I’ll just spill my guts about my deepest, darkest secret?
Without thinking on it too much, I punch out a rapid reply, hit send, then go about setting up the sleep timer on my audiobook and drop my cell on my bedside table.
I’m surprised by the notification sounding with Kinsley’s rapid response. It’s the fastest she’s ever replied, and I’m dying to know what she has to say.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: How about none of your business…
Atticus,
Just because I gave you my name doesn’t mean I’m about to unload my life story just like that.
Earlier, you wrote you found it difficult to see me and Miss Sadie as the same person. Well, that’s because she isn’t really me. She’s who I sometimes wish I had the confidence to be. The reasons behind why I do what I do are none of your business.
Considering you just acknowledged how hard it was to get my name, I thought you would have known that this is way too personal of a question for you to be asking.
Slightly pissed off,
Kinsley
I expected to wake up to a response from Atticus, but I got nothing.
Was I too bitchy in my response?
He was asking a harmless enough question, and maybe if my reason for doing Sadie was as simple as, ‘It’s fun and all the cleaning soothes my OCD,’ then answering him wouldn’t have been such a big deal. But it’s not.
Right now, I like that he thinks I’m beautiful, that he’s attracted to me, and that he wants to get to know me. I don’t want to ruin that by telling him all about my problems.
I’m grateful today is Sunday. I need a lazy day with my girls, and I need a distraction, stat.
Shuffling to the kitchen, I’m pleased to see Lennon already has the coffee brewing and some bagels under the grill.
“Ugh, I love you,” I tell her as I fix myself a caffeine hit.
She arches a brow. “You bet your fine ass you love me. But I thought it was for my flawless dance moves and witty banter.”
I chuckle before inhaling the roasted hazelnut blend from the coffee and moan. So good.
“Uh, did you just climax from sniffing coffee?” Len laughs.
“No,” I mumble. “It just smells so good. It makes me happy,” I say then take a sip.
“When I sigh like that, it’s not coffee that made me happy, if you know what I’m sayin’.” She winks, and I spray said coffee out through my nose.
Once again, I had a crappy night’s sleep, so I’m up before the sun. I get ready to head into the office to give my mind something other than Atticus’s continued silence to focus on.
I fill my to-go mug to the brim with steaming-hot coffee then slip my feet into a pair of black high-top Converse and head out the door.
Stopping in front of the elevator, I decide it’s too early for Atticus to be up and about. It’s too early for anyone, really; it’s not even six yet. So, I tap the down button and try to sip my coffee, but it’s still scalding.
Three seconds later, the door slides open, revealing a mouthwateringly sexy Atticus in a pair of running shorts, his arms crossed over his bare, sculpted chest, head dipped down, and one foot propped against the wall behind him.
Lord have mercy on my soul ... the man is so disgustingly gorgeous it makes me want to do very bad things to him. If I had the confidence Sadie does, I’d walk right in there and lay one on him.
I sigh then realize what I’ve done, and my grip on my coffee falters. I gasp as hot liquid seeps through my cream-colored sweater dress, scorching my skin beneath. I grab the fabric, yanking it away from my body, and stare at the fresh stain in horror.
This dress is one of my nicer items of clothing, and now it’s ruined, while my skin feels like it’s on fire.
Holy shit! It hurts so bad.
I don’t pay much attention as the lift door slides open to allow another passenger into the cart until a feminine sigh fills my ears. My head jerks up in time to see Kinsley tugging her dress away from her gorgeous body.
The doors begin to close before she enters, and I throw my hand out to block it. This is my chance. As unprepared as I am, I’m not going to let it slip by me.
“Are you all right?” I ask, eliminating the distance between us, coming to stand in the hall with her as the elevator closes behind me. She’s holding an empty travel mug in one hand as she tugs the stained fabric of her dress away from herself with the other.
She blinks her big green eyes at me several times before a small pained whimper escapes her.
“Shit,” I mutter, stepping nearer to her. “Let me help you. Which one is your apartment? You need to get this dress off and get under a cool shower.”
Kinsley doesn’t say anything—nor does she move. She just stares at me. Is she in shock?
Carefully placing my hand on her hips, I crouch a little to bring my eyes level with hers. “Which one is your apartment?” I ask again.
She swallows hard. “B,” she grits out from between clenched teeth.
“Okay, let’s go,” I instruct as I take the empty travel mug from her and lace my fingers with hers then tug her down the hall. “Keys,” I ask when we stop in front of her door, and her hand flexes in mine.
Her eyes dart down, and I follow their trajectory. “Pocket,” she murmurs as a tear rolls down her cheek.
Snug black pants are under her dress, so I reach out and slide my palm over one hip, then the other, until I feel the lump belonging to the keys. Dipping two fingers into the tight pocket, I retrieve them then quickly open the door.
As soon as we’re inside, I take hold of the hem of her dress. “We need to take this off,” I say, and I tug it over her head and toss it on the floor. The sight of her in a fine lace bra is something I will never forget. Before I get carried away, my gaze goes to the bright-red splotches covering her chest and stomach.
Fuck, it looks bad.
“Where’s your bathroom? I need to get you in a cool shower right now,” I tell her. “Lead the way. I’ll do the rest.”
Nodding, she starts for a short hallway to the left. I follow close behind, my eyes straying to her ass as she walks. Focus, you horny bastard! I chide myself. She’s hurt. She needs me to help her, not crack a boner.
She opens a door and steps inside. A quick glance around tells me we’re in her bedroom with an attached bathroom.
Taking her hand in mine again, I lead her into the small en suite then turn the faucet for the cold water. As soon as I turn back to her, her face is contorted in pain, and I grimace. “It’ll feel better soon,” I promise.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, which guts me. There is no worse feeling than seeing someone in pain and not being able to take it away from them.
I step as close as I can to her without touching the tender burns, then I cup her cheeks. “I’m going to have to take off your pants. I’ll leave your panties on, but we’re going to have to get rid of the bra too. I won’t look,” I say then adjust my statement. “Okay, I’ll try not to look. You’re very beautiful, and I’m a man who appreciates beautiful things. But I’ll behave, I swear.”
She swallows hard, like she did in
the hallway, then nods once.
I get to work removing her clothes, focusing on my task and not the phenomenal body being revealed to me one delicious piece at a time.
As soon as she’s down to nothing but her panties, which incidentally match the bra I removed, I reach a hand into the shower again, checking the temperature, then turn back to face her. “In you get,” I instruct with a jut of my chin toward the cubicle.
She blinks at me a few times, shakes her head, then does as I said, stepping in under the spray. She flinches at first contact with the water and tries to step away from it.
I don’t even think. I just move until I’m pressed against her back, keeping her under the running water. “You need to stay in here for at least ten minutes, then we’ll reassess,” I say into her wet hair.