Dirty Deal

by Crystal Kaswell

  "Are you hungry?"

  "Starving." I finish my water and pour another glass.

  Blake fixes a plate of fruit, cheese, and chocolate. My breath hitches as he slides a square between his lips.

  I just had him.

  How can I want him more?

  I grab a piece of cheese and plop it in my mouth. It's good. Rich. Creamy.

  My gaze shifts to the windows. Moonlight falls over the part. Meryl was right. We don't have any stars here. For the first time in forever, I miss their twinkle.

  It's sad. This apartment is gorgeous, but Blake doesn't appreciate it. I don't appreciate it. The space is a curse. It gives him more room to lock me out.

  "Are you here a lot?" I ask.

  "No."

  "You're at work?"

  "Mostly."

  "How many hours a week do you work?" I ask.

  "A lot." His voice shifts to something contemplative.

  "If you had to guess."

  "Eighty. A hundred maybe."

  Damn. That doesn't seem possible. I've worked hard the last three years, but nowhere near a hundred hours a week. That wouldn't leave a moment to spend with my sister.

  "Why make all this money if you've got no time to enjoy it?"

  "I enjoy work," he says.

  "Are you sure? Maybe you're afraid of being away from work." I turn back to Blake and make eye contact. His stare is intense, but I manage to hold strong. "You're always in control."

  "And it gets you off."

  "Yeah." I swallow hard. "But it must get exhausting." I move towards him. Take a strawberry from his plate. "Don't you want to let go sometimes?"

  He shakes his head.

  "You need it, don't you?"

  "Spare me the pop psychology."

  "Is that why you're doing all this for your mom? Can't control that she's dying but at least you can control what she thinks of you?"

  His expression hardens. "You don't know what you're talking about." But it's in his eyes. That's exactly what he's doing.

  "I don't mean that you don't care. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love."

  "This is what I want. That's what you need to know. You shouldn't waste your time looking for my motivation."

  "What if it interests me?"

  "Does it?"

  "Yeah." I move closer. "You interest me."

  "You're concerning me, Kat. You have doubts. I understand doubts, but I can't tolerate you backing out of this."

  "What will you do?"

  "I don't know. Not yet." His eyes narrow. But something bad. Something awful.

  "What if your mom would rather have the truth?"

  "She wouldn't."

  "How do you know?"

  "You've known her a few hours." He raises his voice. "I've known her my entire life."

  "I'm not a child. Don't scold me."

  His brow furrows. He digs his fingers into the marble. "Fine. You're an adult. You agreed to this. That's the end of the conversation."

  "Blake… I…" Fuck. This is going all wrong. I'm not trying to question him. Not exactly. "I want to talk to you. Or at least… You can talk to me. It must be hard, your mom dying. I'm sure you have a lot to say. Well, a lot for you."

  "No." He turns, crossing his arms over his chest, closing me out.

  There's hurt behind his eyes.

  His mother is dying. His sister is a mess. His father was horrible.

  And he's shouldering all of that alone.

  I want to help.

  I want to take some of his burden.

  My stomach flip-flops. Blake is a difficult boss. That's it. I can't start wanting in his head and his heart.

  But it's too late.

  I do.

  I want to hold him all night.

  I want to whisper words of comfort in his ears.

  I want everything with him.

  Not just sex. Not just pretending.

  Everything.

  I need to pull back. I need to protect my heart. I need to lock him out.

  But I don't.

  I move closer. "Your father. You said he hit you."

  His voice gets harder. "I'm not discussing that."

  "Okay."

  "There's a lot to do for the wedding. I'll take care of it. All you need to do is show up."

  I take a few steps towards him. "It's my wedding too. I want a say."

  I place my hand on his back.

  He shudders. His shoulders soften.

  But he keeps his body away from mine.

  His voice steadies. "What specifically?"

  "I want to do it at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens."

  "I'll make it happen."

  "What if it's booked?"

  He shrugs, pushing me away. "I'll pull some strings." He turns and his eyes find mine. "Anything else?"

  "I'll think about it."

  He nods to the plate. "Eat something."

  "Later."

  Blake steps aside. "It's late."

  "I want to sleep over." I bite my tongue. This is not locking him out. This is inviting him in. Demanding more.

  I need to make a choice here.

  I need to let myself fall in love with him.

  Or I need to close him out.

  The middle ground is going to kill me.

  Blake stays turned away from me, but his voice softens. "Your clothes are in your room." He points to the room where we had sex.

  "The sex room?"

  "Yes. I have to get back to work."

  "It's late."

  "Even so." He moves towards the back of the apartment. His bedroom. "Help yourself to anything." He opens his office door.

  "Blake?"

  He turns back to me. His eyes meet mine. It's a quick moment, but I can feel everything in those baby blues.

  The hurt of his past.

  The fear of leaving his mom.

  And something else. Something I can't explain.

  Something I desperately need to understand. "Are we going on a honeymoon after the wedding?"

  "Of course."

  "Where?"

  "It doesn't matter. We'll be spending it in the hotel." He opens his office door. "But you're welcome to pick."

  "Oh."

  "You don't want to spend a week coming?"

  "No, I just. Forget it. I'm tired." I pull the robe tighter.

  "Goodnight." He steps into his office. The lock clicks behind him.

  I raid the fridge. The snack plate is no good. The smell of chocolate is mixing me up.

  He doesn't even care about our honeymoon.

  He's never going to love me.

  I need to pull back.

  But I'm not sure if I can.

  I'm not sure if I can do anything to stop myself from falling in love with him.

  The office stays quiet.

  I stay restless.

  I flip around the TV, unable to concentrate on reruns.

  I stare at my sketchbook, unable to form a single line.

  This is the perfect time to draw something. My junior year art teacher always told us to pour our emotions onto paper, but I don't know where to start.

  Blake is intoxicating. He's fascinating. He's aloof, distant, and moody.

  He doesn't believe in love.

  A rerun changes to an infomercial. I go to the cable guide.

  It's past midnight. I'd better call Lizzy and tell her I'm spending the night.

  My bag is sitting on the kitchen table. I fish my phone out of it. There's a new text message.

  From Fiona. Her number is programmed right into my phone. What the hell?

  Fiona: I didn't mean to intrude, but this is the only way. I need to speak to you about your relationship with Blake. Immediately.

  She sent it a few hours ago. I reply.

  Kat: There's nothing to discuss.

  Fiona: Yes, there is. Are you at his place?

  Kat: I am.

  Fiona: There's a coffee shop three blocks north. Meet me there tomorrow morning a
t nine A.M. Don't worry about what to tell Blake. He'll be at work by eight.

  Kat: It's Sunday tomorrow.

  Fiona: Exactly. He always works Sundays. You should know that. If you've really been together for months.

  Kat: I'm busy.

  Fiona: It will only take a few minutes. I promise.

  I drop the phone. This is weird. There's no way Fiona could know about our arrangement.

  Blake is discreet.

  And she's caught up in her own problems.

  But maybe I'm not that good at pretending.

  Maybe she's great at snooping.

  I need to hear her out.

  Suddenly, I'm not hungry or tired.

  I'm awake.

  I'm restless.

  I doodle in my sketchpad. Manic, angry, terrified lines. The TV murmurs in the background. It casts a soft glow over my paper.

  It's a blur of sounds and light.

  Sometime after two A.M., I resolve to sleep. But not in the spare room. Not in the sex room. Even if it's going to be mine.

  I go to Blake's room. I heard him leave his office to go to his bedroom. I didn't look, but I heard the doors opening.

  I knock softly. No sounds. I open the door and step inside. It's an ordinary room. A bed, a dresser, a laptop charging on the floor. He works in here, too. He's addicted.

  Blake is sleeping in the middle of the bed, stretched out wide. He takes up most of the space. I climb in next to him and wrap his arm around my waist.

  He stirs. "Kat. You shouldn't be here."

  "I don't care." I nestle into him. "I want to be here."

  He murmurs something I can't make out. He pulls me closer. His breath slows like he's drifting back to sleep.

  It happens quickly.

  I fall asleep in his arms.

  Chapter 20

  Eight A.M. comes too soon. The bed is cold.

  Fiona was right. Blake's been gone for a while.

  I dress, brush my teeth, fix my hair and makeup. There's coffee in the machine.

  I take a few sips and discard it. I can't stomach anything today. I'm way too nervous.

  My thoughts rush together. Somehow, I manage to wait until eight forty-five.

  I practically run out of the apartment.

  I take the elevator to the lobby and walk the three blocks to the cafe.

  Fiona is sitting at a small table. She's picture perfect in her tailored shift dress. She has that trademark Sterling stone expression. What the hell happened to this family to make them all so good at hiding their emotions?

  Her nostrils flare as she spots me.

  She doesn't like me. I know that much.

  But I need to know why.

  "Grab a drink if you'd like, but I'd rather keep this quick." Fiona takes a long sip of her coffee.

  "No, that's okay." I take my seat. I'm not in the mood for coffee. I'm already wide awake.

  "I don't want you to think of this as an accusation." She purses her lips. "I'm sure you have a very good reason for what you're doing. Maybe you don't even realize you're doing it."

  Her expression is strong, but her hands are shaking.

  She pulls them back and folds them in her lap.

  I pull my coat tighter. It's cold in here.

  "I was like you when I met Trey. I was desperate to get out of my life any way I could. He was handsome and rich. He had a great apartment. He made me feel safe, but, deep down, I knew he'd never love me." She swallows hard. "I let myself believe I was in love, but I wasn't. I was in love with the idea of escaping. I was in love with the idea of someone taking care of me."

  Deep breath. I need to sell this. "It's not like that. I love Blake."

  "Maybe you do. Or maybe you just believe it. It doesn't matter. It won't last. The Sterlings are cursed. We can't love anyone."

  "No." I swallow hard. That can't be true.

  "I did the same thing you're doing. I ignored the signs. But Trey was never going to love me. He was never going to make room for me in his life." Her eyes get serious. "I didn't have options. Maybe if I had them, I would have done something else."

  I press my palms into my thighs. Her expression is strong. Sure. She believes every word.

  She's saying the same thing Blake does.

  He's never going to love me.

  He's never going to want more than sex.

  He's never going to make room for me.

  Fiona clears her throat. "I had you investigated. I'm sure it was hard—that accident with your parents, taking care of your sister. I can see why you'd latch on to Blake."

  I take a breath, willing an I love him to escape my lips. But I can't make the words happen.

  They don't feel like a lie anymore.

  Fiona unzips her purse. "I would have done the same thing. I did do the same thing and I had it much easier."

  "I should go."

  "This is no questions asked." She pulls something out of her purse. A check. She unfolds it and sets it on the table. "If you need money, here it is. It's more than enough to get you on track."

  She pushes the check towards me.

  It's for a hundred thousand dollars.

  Holy shit.

  "Take the money. Or don't. It's your choice." She stares into my eyes. "I know what you must think of me. I'm a bitch. I'm okay with that. But Blake has spent his entire life protecting me. This time, I'm going to protect him."

  I push the check back. "I don't want your money."

  "Then tear this in half right now."

  I can't. My fingers won't move.

  She's right.

  I need options.

  This is an option.

  One that might spare me from a lot of heartache.

  I'm already falling in love with Blake.

  Can I really survive living with him?

  Marrying him?

  Proclaiming to the entire world that he'll be mine forever?

  "Maybe you really do love him, Kat, but he's never going to love you. He's married to his job. That will never change." She stands. Her eyes get apologetic. "If you really do love him, if you can handle coming second every night, then tear that check up. Marry him. Get rich and bored waiting by the door every night."

  I swallow hard.

  She's telling the truth. Her truth at least.

  I believe she's doing this for Blake.

  Hell, I believe she's doing this for me.

  I slide the check into my pocket.

  Blake is never going to love me.

  But I might be able to walk away before I'm in too deep.

  I might be able to wipe away all this deception.

  I might be able to survive this one.

  I've made too many decisions on my own. I've done too much under pressure.

  For once, I'm asking for help.

  For once, I'm considering my options.

  Chapter 21

  The kitchen smells like coffee. It's warm, rich, nutty.

  This place is warm. Cozy. Homey.

  I wouldn't trade it for a dozen penthouse apartments.

  I wouldn't trade it for anything.

  "Earth to Kat?" Lizzy laughs. "You've been a space case lately."

  "Sorry." I've spent the last few days drifting off. Drawing. Staring at the check. Asking myself if I can stomach taking Fiona's money. If I can survive not taking it.

  I thought it would be hard avoiding Blake, but it's been easy. He's working. He's only texted to say goodnight. It's kind of sweet, the way he wants to be the last thought in my head.

  But that gets me all mixed up.

  It sends my thoughts racing in every direction.

  Running, drawing, staring at the ceiling, walking around the city—they're all equally ineffective at bringing clarity.

  I guess it's time to admit I need help.

  "It's fine." She stirs sugar into her coffee and tests the flavor. "You used to be like that all the time. Before the accident."

  "That was so long ago."

  "Yeah. It
feels like it was another lifetime." She takes a long sip and sighs with pleasure. "Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah." More or less. "It's a school day."

  "It's early." She motions to the clock on the wall. "Besides, you need me more than I need school."

  "Do I?"

  She nods. "Something is up. You keep taking walks by the water. You only do that when you're worried about something."

  "Do I?"

  "Yeah. You do it every month before the mortgage is due." She presses her lips together. "We didn't get a bill."

  "Blake…"

  "Oh." Her eyes fix on mine. She's thinking something about me, but I'm not sure what it is.

  "I know you don't like him."

  "I don't like how he makes you feel." She traces the outline of her mug. "You've been in a funk since you got back from his place."

  Accurate. "I'm thinking."

  "About?"

  "You should go to school. We can talk tonight."

  "We can talk now."

  My instincts demand I lie to her. Tell her everything is fine. It's just family drama. It's just stress about the wedding. But I can't do that. I need to bring her into this decision. "Okay."

  She smiles. "Good. Let's go out. Get brunch. My treat."

  "You don't want me using Blake's credit card?"

  "Can't I treat without an ulterior motive?"

  "I don't know. Can you?" I study her expression. She looks normal. Concerned.

  "Well, since I'm treating, it's my pick. We can go to the place around the corner. The one that doesn't card."

  "No way in hell."

  She laughs. "Have I ever ordered a drink with a fake ID?"

  "In front of me, no? But a grand says you've done it."

  "Okay. Fair. But you know I'm messing with you, right?"

  I know. But— "I'm your older sister. It's my duty to ruin your good time."

  "You don't. You're a good time, Kat. Even when you're moping."

  "I'm not moping."

  "Uh-huh."

  "I'm contemplating."

  "Around the house, in your pajamas, all day."

  "I need comfortable clothes to really consider things."

  She laughs. "Whatever you want to tell yourself." She takes another sip of coffee then rises to her feet. "But put on clothes for this. Ones that aren't made of flannel."

  "You know, I hear people in Portland wear flannel all winter."

  "Are you in Portland?"

  "Is Brooklyn that different?"