Dirty Deal

by Crystal Kaswell

  "I'm entertaining a friend."

  Since when does Blake have friends? I bite my lip. No backing down now. "Bring him."

  "I'll make reservations for four. Eight o'clock. I'll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty."

  "Good." I'm not sure which of us won that argument. Or if it was an argument. "I'll see you then."

  "You too." The phone clicks.

  I'm getting what I want, but, somehow, I don't feel victorious.

  Lizzy is not impressed by the car service. She sits with her arms folded over her chest, her eyes on the window. "Is all this fuss necessary?"

  "It's faster than the subway."

  "The subway is better." She stares out the tinted window, her lips curled into a frown. She's upset, yes, but I don't think it's about Blake.

  It's something else.

  "You okay?" I ask.

  "You know I don't like being in a car."

  "We can take the subway."

  "No. I'll be fine." She squeezes her purse so hard her knuckles turn white.

  Lizzy is strong, but she's like me in her inability to admit she needs help. She used to love being in a car. It was a rare treat. But since the accident, she gets quiet and skittish in autos.

  I don't blame her—she almost died in the backseat of a car.

  But I have no idea if it's a slight annoyance or a crippling fear.

  She's silent for the rest of the ride. As soon as she steps onto the concrete, the tension falls from her shoulders. She sighs with relief.

  "It looks like a nice place." She nods to the restaurant. "You think the food's good?"

  "Probably."

  "You think they'll card Mr. Blake Sterling's guests?"

  Oh, hell no. I shoot her a death glare. "Not funny."

  She laughs. "It's actually really funny. You look like a cartoon character. Like your head is a balloon that's going to pop."

  I'm too overprotective. I know that. But she's all I've got. "Don't talk about alcohol at dinner, okay?"

  "Why?"

  "It's a sore subject. Trust me."

  "Okay."

  I follow her inside. The restaurant is dark in a romantic way.

  I nod hello to the hostess. "Kat Wilder. I'm meeting—"

  "Of course, Ms. Wilder. Your party is in a private room." She grabs two menus and leads us upstairs.

  The room is impressive—a table big enough for eight people and tall windows that let in the intoxicating mix of sky and steel.

  Blake is sitting opposite Declan, the guy I met at the company party. He must be the friend. I guess he's visiting.

  Blake stands. "We're fine. Thank you." He takes the menus from the hostess.

  She nods and disappears back down the stairs.

  Blake offers Lizzy his hand. "Blake Sterling. You must be Lizzy."

  "Yeah." She shakes his hand. "It's nice to meet you. About time, really, with you engaged to my sister."

  "You can't blame me for wanting to keep her to myself," Blake says.

  She shoots me a nice line look. "You can't blame me for objecting."

  "No. Anyone would want Kat around." Blake motions to his friend. "Declan Jones. Too much of an ass to introduce himself, apparently."

  Declan makes his way to Lizzy. They shake. "Nice to meet you." He turns to me. "And nice to see you again, Kat. I thought Blake was fucking with me when he suggested we invite two more people to our dinner."

  Lizzy laughs. "Kat doesn't ever go out with me either."

  They share a knowing look at our expense.

  Blake pulls out my chair. His fingertips skim my neck as I take a seat. It makes me warm and hot at once. It's sweet and possessive. Affectionate and sexual. But which part is real and which part is fake?

  I turn to Declan. "Have you ever met one of Blake's girlfriends?"

  "A girlfriend? Blake? No. He's never had one." Declan shoots Blake a wink. "Maybe not even a girl-space-friend. You should have seen him in college. Girls went crazy for him. He was a legend—the kid with the company, the one who ignored female attention. There was a bet in our class. A bunch of women thought they'd be the first to seduce Blake. They'd come up to him with gaga eyes and offer to blow him right in the computer lab."

  Blake's cheeks flush red. "It wasn't that explicit."

  "It was worse. It got to be a thing—who was hot enough to tempt him away from his work? But no one ever did," Declan says.

  Blake is actually blushing. It's amazing. I want to capture his expression forever. I want to draw it in a million panels and a billion portraits.

  "I wasn't exactly a monk," Blake says.

  Declan laughs. "He can't have you thinking he didn't get laid."

  Blake motions to me and clears his throat. "I'm trying to convince her I'm a gentleman."

  Lizzy laughs. "Kat is the same with guys. She always thinks they're friendly. There's this waiter who's always flirting with her, but she insists it's just professional courtesy."

  "Is that so?" Blake shoots me a knowing look.

  "He's just being nice," I say.

  "He invites you to meet him after his shift all the time. And he gives you free drinks," Lizzy says. "He's cute too. You should have taken him up on it when you had the chance." She smiles at Blake. "Well, maybe not as cute as your fiancé."

  She and Declan share another knowing look.

  This is flirting.

  I swallow hard.

  No way in hell is my sister hanging out with an entitled player.

  There's a knock on the door. A waiter steps inside and takes our drink orders. Lizzy sticks with her usual Diet Coke.

  I relax into my seat.

  This almost feels like a normal dinner.

  Blake turns his attention to Lizzy. "Kat tells me you're a programmer."

  "Nothing of your caliber, but yes," she says.

  "What languages?" Blake asks.

  "Work at dinner?" Declan asks. "You have more game than that, Sterling."

  "It's fine." This is one time I'm happy to suffer boredom. I want Lizzy and Blake connecting. I want her on board with this plan instead of tolerating it.

  "I mostly do Java and Python," Lizzy says. "But I'm learning C++."

  Blake leans over, unzips a bag, pulls out a laptop, and sets it on the table. "You want to see any of the Sterling Tech code?"

  Her eyes go wide. "Uh, yeah. If you're sure that's okay."

  "We'll call it a family secret," he says.

  She nearly jumps out of her chair and kneels next to the laptop. "The chat bot has always been my favorite thing."

  "Kat told me you're interested in A.I."

  "That's like saying a fish is interested in swimming."

  Blake smiles.

  I melt.

  Programming talk slows to a minimum. Blake offers Lizzy an internship for next summer. Declan matches the offer. It takes everything I have not to throw my drink on the floor and scream no way in hell is my sister working with a flirting player, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. The guy is nice. Flirting isn't a crime.

  It's a nice dinner. Blake and Lizzy actually seem friendly. And the way he kisses me goodnight… I can feel the affection in it. Some of it is real. He does care about me.

  Lizzy waits until we're seated on the subway to talk. She shifts in her seat, still bouncing from her caffeine high.

  "I can see why you like him." She takes a slow breath. "But you have to be careful. He'll rip your heart out like it's nothing."

  Chapter 14

  After another long day I struggle to fill, I take the subway to Blake's building. There's a key waiting for me with the doorman. Apparently, my fiancé is still at work.

  I settle into the big, empty room.

  The sun is sinking into the sky, casting soft orange light over the den. It doesn't suit the space. The light is warm, inviting, alive. This apartment is sterile. Lifeless. Dull.

  It's a beautiful room, but it looks more like a model house than a home. There isn't a single crumb out of place. Th
e tile is shiny, the appliances are sparkling, the floor is spotless.

  I settle onto the plush leather couch and fish my new sketchbook from my purse. It's pocket-sized. Well, purse-sized. Perfect for capturing what's in my head. I'm not sure what I'm doing with my life now that I'm not getting by twenty-four seven. This will help me figure out what's in my head. What I want.

  The park really is beautiful in the sunset. I sketch the view. The buildings across the park start as rectangles. I add detail—the shadows, the windows, the satellite dishes on the roofs—until they take on life.

  It's not a technically great drawing, but it's a start.

  The door opens and Blake steps inside. My attention goes straight to him.

  He's in his suit, all tall and stoic and handsome.

  Those blue eyes of his make my heartbeat pick up.

  "You're early," he says.

  I nod. "I felt like being here."

  Blake moves closer. He sits next to me, examining my sketch over his shoulder.

  This isn't good work. It's not worth showing off.

  I flip my sketchbook closed and slide it into my purse.

  "You can draw. I don't mind." He brushes a stray hair behind my ear. "We don't need to leave for a while."

  "Okay."

  "Have you taken a look at your room?"

  "My room?"

  He motions to the sex room.

  "It's mine?"

  "We're engaged."

  "Don't engaged couples share a bed?"

  "Call it your office. You'll need space for your art. For school. For whatever you'd like to do."

  "What if I'd like to shop and get manicures?"

  "You wouldn't."

  "But what if I would?"

  He stares at me, picking me apart. "Then you'll need space for your wardrobe."

  "Are you teasing me?"

  He shrugs maybe.

  He is teasing me. And it makes me warm. But then it also makes me want him more. Want this more. His affection is real. A part of him cares about me. And that's confusing.

  We're getting divorced in six months.

  I can't fall in love with Blake.

  I can't get confused.

  "Are you telling me I should change?" I ask.

  "Were you planning on wearing that?"

  I'm in jeans and a sweater. Not exactly a nice outfit, but the kind of thing people wear to dinner at a parent's house. "Why? Does your mother have a problem with women who shop at H&M?"

  "No. But Fiona will have a comment."

  "I'll put on one of my dresses."

  "It's up to you."

  "Is it? You seem insistent."

  "No." His fingers skim my leg. "I want to protect you from my sister, but I'm not sure it's possible."

  "She hates me already?"

  "She doesn't think you have good intentions."

  "She's right."

  "No. Your intentions are good. They just aren't love."

  I guess that's true. "Maybe… well, I don't know anything about you. Not really." I move off the couch. There aren't many places to go in this enormous apartment, at least not in the way of furniture. I take a seat on a stool in the kitchen. "This would work better if we really did love each other. As friends." More than that is out of the question. And contemplating the possibility of it is confusing.

  "What would you like to know?"

  "Something important," I say. "Something your fiancée would know."

  "You know everything important. The documents I sent over with Jordan—"

  "That's all stuff anyone could find online. What about the Blake behind the suit and the steel expression?"

  The steel expression softens. He slips out of his suit jacket, undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, and pulls it open. He points to a thin scar running across his chest. It's light. Faint. "See this?"

  I nod.

  "I tell people I fell out of a tree. You'll see at my mother's house. None of the trees are sturdy enough to climb."

  "What happened?" I ask.

  "My parents were fighting. I stepped in. My father hit me instead."

  My stomach flip-flops. That's something a lot of people wouldn't know.

  It's awful, but Blake's expression is still stone.

  It's matter of fact.

  How can he be so calm about his dad hitting him?

  I force myself to hold his gaze. "How old were you?"

  "Twelve."

  All the breath leaves my body at once. Twelve? That's nothing. A child.

  He moves towards me. "It was a long time ago. It doesn't hurt me anymore."

  "Yeah, of course." I force a smile. "Thanks for telling me. I hope you're not... Well, if you want to talk, we could talk." I try to decipher the look on his face but it does me no good. "I know that talking isn't really our thing. Or your thing. You're very quiet and all. But, yeah, um... I could listen if you ever wanted to talk. And I could talk, too." My cheeks flush. "If you want."

  "I appreciate that."

  "Thank you for telling me. Really. You can tell me things like that, but I meant more like… a hobby or your favorite book. Something like that."

  "1984."

  "Really?"

  He nods. "Funny, I know. My company is basically Big Brother."

  "You don't have personal access to that, do you?" My cheeks flare. "You couldn't see my search histories or emails. Could you? You could, couldn't you?"

  He nods. "I haven't. I won't. If I ever want to know something about you, I'll ask."

  I study his expression. Inscrutable as usual. He's probably telling the truth. I don't think he lies to me.

  "And you?" he asks.

  "What about me?"

  "What's your favorite book?"

  My cheeks flush. "You'll laugh."

  "Have you ever seen me laugh?"

  Now, I'm the one laughing. "Come to think of it, no. Not a full-on belly laugh. I'm going to have to make more stupid jokes. Do something to get an expression on your face."

  He is unblinking, as usual. This time, I'm pretty sure he's trying to mess with me.

  "It's Botox, isn't it?" I ask. "The secret to your youth and your lack of expression. I bet it's Botox."

  That elicits a smile. He really does have a beautiful smile. It lights up the room.

  "It's a graphic novel," I say. "Ghost World. It's about these teenage girls who live in a small town. There are all these little vignettes of their lives as they start to grow up and realize their ideas about the world are wrong."

  A smile. It's a full-fledged smile. It's all the way to his cheeks.

  "It sounds perfect for you."

  "It is. And you, um, do you like graphic novels? Or comic books? I know you're a programmer, but you've never actually mentioned anything geeky. Not even something that's really mainstream like The Avengers or Star Wars or something."

  He stares back, unblinking.

  "You don't even… Well, I guess, except for 1984, I don't know much about what you like or do. Except work. And chess. You work and you play chess and you read 1984." A comic book version of Blake filters through my brain. He's as built as any superhero, but his superpower is work. Every page, he's at a computer, in a business meeting, or playing chess in a new, fantastical location.

  "Kat."

  I'm back to attention. "Yeah?"

  "What's your favorite book that isn't a graphic novel?"

  "You mean a book where all the pages are words?" I ask.

  He nods.

  "Brave New World." I wink.

  He holds my gaze. "Are you mocking me, Miss Wilder?"

  "Definitely. I mean, obviously, if I was going to go dystopia, I'd go with The Hunger Games." I rack my brain for a book I really love, one that will make me sound mildly sophisticated. Nothing comes. "Ghost World is my final answer."

  He opens the fridge, pulls out a bowl of fruit salad and two forks, and makes a motion that can only mean eat. "You're sticking to your guns. I admire that."

  "Thanks.
" I pick up a fork and stab a berry. The fruit salad is all berries. Blake has been paying attention. "I was writing a graphic novel back in high school. I might finally have time to work on it now."

  He moves closer. Three inches away. One hand slides around my waist, pulling up the fabric of my sweater. The other traces the outline of my lips. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. He leans closer. Closer. My eyelids press together.

  His lips make contact. It's not like any of our other kisses. It's not some big thing for show. It's not a smoldering kiss designed to make my panties wet. It's sweet. Caring even.

  That's a lie.

  But I'm starting to believe it.

  After an hour of conversation, we dress in separate rooms and take the elevator to the parking garage.

  Pretty, made-up Kat stares back at me through the mirrored walls. I'm still not expert with makeup, but I look pretty good. And my dress is beautiful. Elegant. Way too much for a family dinner, really.

  I make my way into the limo with careful steps. Blake follows.

  The door shuts behind us, locking us into our own little world.

  He nods to a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket. "The same one you liked at the party."

  "The party where we had our joyful engagement?"

  "Don't say things like that."

  "Why? We're alone. This is the part that's real. That's what you told me."

  He stares at me. "Fine. Get it out of your system now."

  If I didn't know better, I'd swear I'd hurt his feelings. "That's okay."

  The car starts and pulls out of the parking garage. Once we're on the street, its movements become one comfortable blur. No wonder rich people take these things everywhere. You really do forget you're in transit.

  He shifts. We're on different bench seats. They're perpendicular. I have to turn if I really want a good look at Blake.

  There's so much to his face. The strong jaw, the sharp line of his nose, the gorgeous blue eyes.

  That bit about eyes being the windows to the soul—total bullshit. They're not the windows to Blake's soul. I stare into those eyes and come up with nothing. I don't have a clue what he's thinking or feeling.

  If only I could crack that gorgeous head open and pry into his brain. It shouldn't interest me this much. He's closer to a boss than to a boyfriend.