“Convince her. I don’t want to need a passport to see my grandchild,” she said. “I don’t know how many I can look forward to having.” That comment was aimed at me. I sipped my wine innocently while both women looked at me accusatorily. “Or do I already have some you haven’t told me about?”
“Nope. You’ll have to have enough for both of us, sis. Wait, you and Kat are both women, why don’t you just tag team it? If you get pregnant as soon as the first one’s born and then she goes again after you, you’ll have three kids in like half the time it would take a straight couple.” Sissy hit me in the arm. I laughed.
“I miss Katherine, Celeste. You have to have the baby here,” said Mom.
“We might. There was actually something else I wanted to tell you guys,” Sissy said. “I was going to tell you guys separately, but since Mom is leaving, I might as well say it. Katherine and I are getting married.” Mom smiled and hugged her. I got up and did the same. I was happy for her. I wouldn’t care about skipping out on work and flying across an ocean if it was for her wedding.
“Finally. I was wondering when she’d pop the question,” Mom said grinning.
“What? You knew?” Sissy asked Mom.
“She called me. She wanted to know what kind of ring to get you. She made a great choice,” Mom said, pointing at the ring Sissy was wearing on her left ring finger. I had noticed it too, but I hadn’t thought it was an engagement ring. I didn’t know dykes did the whole engagement ring thing. But then again—why not? They were both girls. Double the women was just double the diamonds.
“She proposed?” I asked.
“Yes, but she has one too. We both did. I would have called, but Dad died just in time for me to be able to tell you in person.”
Dad. He would have been furious. He would have refused to walk her down the aisle, but then again, he likely wouldn’t have been invited. He wouldn’t have wanted to be part of her and Kat’s child’s life, but he wouldn’t have been welcome to be. It wouldn’t have been enough that she was happy and marrying the person she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. It would have been immoral and unnatural.
Like that asshole had any right to point the finger. Of all the shit you could possibly hate someone for, he chose that? It was just lazy in my opinion. You literally had one job as a parent; to love your kid unconditionally, and he hadn’t. It was the worst with Sissy, but he had had two other children to do right by and hadn’t either time.
I waited… nope, still wasn’t sad that he was gone.
“When’s the wedding?” I asked.
“We were going to start planning it when I went back.”
“Do you know where you want it?”
“Somewhere warm. Beach. Before the baby comes. She hasn’t begun showing yet. She said she wants to be as skinny as she can be for the wedding. It doesn’t have to be big. I just want you guys there, anyway.”
What did you get two dykes as a wedding gift? She and Mom were talking about where they would have the ceremony. Someone would have to pay for that. Maybe I would. Or maybe a house in LA so Kat could stop making excuses and just move already. Having it at the Marin house would make Dad twist in his grave, but the house was ugly as sin. She wanted to get married on a beach? Which one?
“Oh, Lee, I was wondering, what is going to happen with the money from the auction?” Sissy asked.
“I don’t know. I get it? Do you want it?”
“Your father’s will didn’t say anything beyond his desire to have everything auctioned off,” Mom supplied.
“Do you think the foundation could have it? For grants and the existing charities?”
Sissy was the smart one. Max could probably use it, but Max wasn’t here to make a case for his need of it over Sissy. Her job, her real job back in London, was social work. We, however, called her regularly back here to work with the Strickland Foundation doing events, fundraising and community outreach. It was extremely well funded, and that meant money could go where it was needed, which was the only reason she supported it.
The foundation had fully funded two shelters in her name—well, her old name, Celeste Strickland. She had gone by Celeste Guzman since Dad had cut her off. One was in LA, and one was in San Francisco. Technically, two were in LA. One had been opened independently of the Foundation; I had opened it. It was when Sissy was still in college, and I had graduated. I used some of the money from my trust to establish it. It was a shelter for at-risk youth. When Dad had blown up at Sissy after finding her with Heather… a lot of kids ended up homeless because they happened to be like her and happened to have parents like Dad.
He was alone when he died. None of his children were with him when he passed. None of his children were with him when he lived, not even when we were all under the same roof. I told Sissy the money was theirs to do with as they pleased. Dad had established libraries, laboratories, housing wings, all sorts of things he could put his name on through the foundation. Sissy didn’t get her empathy from him; she had it in spite of him.
At the funeral, I stood between my mother and sister watching Jackson Strickland’s casket being lowered into the ground. If I didn’t feel it now, I wasn’t going to.
I didn’t.
9
Audra
The showings and catalogs of the Strickland collection were basically going to be rush jobs. I’d been at the office more than I’d been at home, appraising and overseeing cataloging. We had an auction date, which meant we had a deadline. Technically, that wasn’t even the deadline; the date of the first showing was the deadline, and we had that too. This would be one of those lots that we would be working on until the last minute before it went to auction. There was already a lot of buzz around it; people signing up to bid, proxy bidders, institutions looking for private sales.
The younger Strickland son was the easiest consignor I’d ever dealt with. A lot of people selling were still sort of attached to their stuff and were touchy about the valuation of different pieces and what their reserves were. Levi straight up didn’t care. He just wanted it sold.
It was hard to stop myself thinking about Levi since he had become the first association that came to me when I said or thought about the place I worked. The Strickland I thought about whenever it crossed my mind was him. I had to think of him professionally because we were dealing with his dad’s estate. I just wish he had made it easier for me to have to think about him so much.
I didn’t know who those lines had worked on in the past, but they were working on me now. I wanted him. I would jump at the sight of every guy with an appearance similar to his because he had basically promised that he would fuck me the next time he saw me, in as many words.
Work helped—if I concentrated on trying not to get fired. I couldn’t spend all my time ruminating about Levi Strickland making good on his threat, how much I wanted it and all the ways I had imagined it happening. Late nights became routine, clicking through online databases and reference documents trying to verify production dates and authenticate origins, so my estimates weren’t off.
I liked my work. It felt like work but in the way that was rewarding, not punishing. The long hours were part of the deal. So were the occasional weekends. I was camped out at my desk one night. I didn’t hear him coming but saw the shadow his body cast over my work and felt his presence after. I held my breath before I realized it wasn’t the heavy, domineering presence I had come to associate with the person I was anxious I would see if I looked up.
I did and saw Max Strickland smiling down at me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi, Mr. Strickland, how are you?” I said, wondering whether I should have stood up.
“Call me Max, please. Are you always in the office this late?” he asked.
“Your father’s collection is probably the biggest we’ve ever tackled,” I admitted to him.
“Can you take a break?”
“Is there something that needs to be done?” I asked. He raised a brow
n paper bag.
“I was getting dinner. You could stop to eat, couldn’t you?” he asked. He was getting dinner and somehow brought himself here instead of his home?
“How did you know I’d be working late?”
“Okay, you got me. I asked. I wanted to see you. Will you eat with me?” he asked.
“Depends on what’s in that bag,” I said smiling. I was hungry; I could eat.
“You like Italian food?” he asked. I did. He sat across from me, sliding over a takeout box full of gnocchi covered with a pesto sauce. I half expected him to pull wine out because I knew when I was being wooed.
Max Strickland, huh? If it was a competition between the two men, brother against brother, I wanted to say there was a clear winner, but the parameters on which I was judging had to be clearer.
Max was really nice. He had been nothing but since I had met him. He hadn’t propositioned me to come to bed with him and another woman. He hadn’t felt me up and kissed me. He hadn’t come to my house unannounced and nearly started a fight with my ex. He hadn’t done… anything, really.
Levi was forward and a little outrageous, but he’d made an impression. Was it a good one? It wasn’t a bad one. He stated very clearly what he wanted from me, even more clearly he stated his intention to collect the next time we saw each other.
Part of me hoped he would forget what he’d said and I don’t know, work things out with Debbie or whatever, but another part, the part that was probably going to get me into trouble, sort of wished the younger Strickland son was across the table from me right then over Max. This wasn’t a case of the nice guy finishing last. It was a case of there not really being a race at all.
Max, again, so nice. He asked about the auction house, about art. It was obviously not his area of interest, but he humored me. He talked about what he did, basically, the stuff that happened in those tall, glassy skyscrapers in the Financial District. I humored him. I learned that his father, despite his love of art didn’t really plan on making the auction house part of his larger Strickland art world takeover.
That was fine. Strickland’s wasn’t a small auction house. We got along just fine. His lot was deeply coveted. The publicity we had done for the upcoming auction had earned interest from organizations, museums and prominent private collectors. I had a feeling we wouldn’t end up with too many burned lots. I hoped so with all the work I’d had to put in.
He didn’t talk about his siblings at all as we talked. I had seen the way he was with his brother, so I wasn’t going to push for details of things that were not any of my business. He asked me for my phone number before he left and not having any reason to deny him; I let him have it.
Maybe he’d use it and announce himself before showing up. Maybe I should have given it to Levi, so he’d do the same. The Strickland men had a habit of popping up on me unexpected. Celeste, the single daughter, had a little more decorum; she called first.
I’d been expecting it. She had asked me to save a number of titles for her, and they were sitting in a box under my desk. She wanted classics, first editions and printings from the usual suspects; Plath, Woolf and company. Collected letters and journals too.
It was the day after Max’s nighttime visit. She’d said that she had a meeting with Clapsaddle and would see me after that. It was about four in the afternoon; people would start leaving soon. That didn’t matter; I was probably going to have another late night as it was. Strickland’s taxidermy had taken over the warehouse and guess who was the lucky girl who got to estimate the price tags?
I spotted Celeste walking up to me. I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. Long-sighted. I only needed them while reading. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want her to stand next to me because then it would be obvious which one of us had been leaving the office around ten every night. She was so gorgeous. She was dressed semi-casual, in a loose-fitting blouse and skirt. I stood to shake her hand, but she came around my desk to hug me again instead.
“I’m so glad I caught you before you left,” she said.
“I wasn’t in a hurry,” I said. “Would you like to see them?”
I reached under my desk and hauled the box up. It landed with a thud. She pulled it open and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. She pulled out a book and ran her hands over it reverently. I thought she’d crack it open and smell the pages—the natural next step.
“He had a couple of copies of Tender is the Night, so I gave you the signed first printing,” I said.
“Thank you so much,” she said gratefully. “I feel like I need to put these under glass when I get home. How could I ever repay you? Can I buy you a drink or something? Are you heading out soon?”
“It’s my job. Just take them home and don’t dog-ear the pages,” I said.
“I’d still like to say thank you somehow,” she said. “I don’t have to fly back home for a while. At least let me buy you lunch or something,” she said.
“You know where to find me,” I said smiling. She thanked me some more before she left with the box. Hadn’t all the Strickland kids been raised in the same household? How’d they end up so different? I turned my attention back to my desk. Back to the trenches. Could I count on Max coincidentally coming by the office with takeout again? I probably had pizza pockets in the freezer. I got lost in my work; when my eyes stopped being able to read it would be time to leave.
I don’t know how much time passed before I felt it. I knew it wasn’t Max that time. The air around me seemed to warm slightly. I felt like when I looked up; I would find someone staring at me. I didn’t know the name of the cologne he wore, nor did I hear him walking up to my desk. When I looked up, he was looking down at me. How long had he been there? I pulled my glasses off so I could see him in focus.
Just a shirt and slacks. He shouldn’t have looked so sexy in the outfit every other man in the office probably had on. I didn’t want to say anything to him, but even if I did, what would it have been? The last words he said to me when we were together came back to me, loud like he was repeating them now.
Was he here to collect? I had thought about it, the thoughts coming unbidden when I was at work, at home, when I was trying not to think about them. The possible reality of it coming to fruition was suddenly scary. He wasn’t saying anything. His presence was loud, but he was silent. I tried to break the tension.
“I just saw your sister,” I said uselessly.
“We came together,” he said.
“She left earlier.”
“I didn’t come here to ask if you’d seen her,” he said. “Stand up.”
“What?”
“We’re leaving. What did I say the last time we saw each other?”
I remembered what he had said. He did too apparently. I swallowed and looked up at him.
“I can’t leave, I’m working.”
“We don’t have to go anywhere. I’m not picky.” He leaned forward, resting his palms on my desk. “It’s six o’clock, nearly nobody else is around.”
“There are security cameras everywhere.”
“You live ten minutes away. It’s here, or it’s your house,” he growled.
“Levi… Mr. Strickland, I can’t.” Even I didn’t believe myself when I said it. I was just embarrassed. I could leave. Most people had.
“You can. You want to. Choose. I don’t care about the cameras.”
I cared. I didn’t have to tell him my address because he already knew it. He had a car. He drove behind me. I mechanically walked up to my apartment when we got to my building. Was that how it was going to be? Mechanical and cold? Silent and transactional? Again, he didn’t say anything, meaning I didn’t either. I had no idea what to fill the silence with.
He walked into my house, and I paused at the door to lock it.
“Turn around,” he said. I turned from the door to face him. He was about five paces away. He closed them, walking up to me. His hand brushed over my cheek and cupped my face so I would look up at him. I zeroed in on his lips.
I wanted to kiss him again. His kiss had nearly taken me out. I wanted to feel him like that again, raw and open.
He suddenly turned my body, so I was facing the door and pushed me into it. He pulled my skirt up around my hips and smacked my ass, making me gasp. He did it again, and again, four times. I braced myself for another blow but instead felt his hand roughly move my panties out of the way before the thick tip of his cock pressed against my lips.
“You’re so wet,” he growled. I was. I could feel my moisture flowing over my lips now that my panties weren’t there to stop it. His cock disappeared, and I heard the obvious sound of a foil packet being ripped open before I felt it again. “Hands on the door,” he instructed. “Don’t fucking move them, understand?”
“Yes,” I said breathily. His hand ran gently over my sore ass cheek.
“Yes, what?” he growled.
“Yes, sir.”
His cock pushed into me fast and smooth. He held my hips so my ass stuck out and my back arched so he could fuck me. He went hard and fast, stretching against my walls so tight it was nearly painful. Any bigger and it would be. My face was against the door. I shut my eyes feeling him deep.
My abdomen felt tight. I fought to keep my hands where he’d instructed me to. I wanted to see his face, be able to touch him. One arm was bracing his weight against the door. I wanted to touch his hand, see if he would link his fingers through mine if I did. It was torturous having him this close and not being able to feel him under my fingers.
He slowed down, and I felt his breath on my neck. Fuck it. I reached for the hand he had on my hip and covered it with mine. He stopped thrusting and pulled out of me suddenly, spinning me around.
His eyes blazed with anger.
“Where did I fucking tell you to keep your hands?” he demanded. I swallowed. I didn’t know whether he wanted an answer or whether it was rhetorical. He stripped the condom off his dick, dropping it on the floor.
Levi (Heartbreakers & Troublemakers Book 4) Page 7