by Megyn Ward
Probably because I’m suddenly imagining her in nothing but diamonds. Fucking her hard and rough from behind. My scarred, callused hands fisted in her soft, shiny hair. Pulling back on it to expose the long, elegant line of her throat so I can watch her face while her wet, swollen pussy splits wide around the thick, blunt head of my cock.
Say my name.
Hand still extended, she tilts her head. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. What I’m remembering—who actually has the power here. I know she does because she smiles at me and that smile says everything. It says she has me wrapped around her little finger and she knows it, even if I don’t. “I’m Delilah.”
SEVEN
Delilah
I’M DELILAH.
I’m Delilah?
Seriously, how stupid can I possibly get?
Apparently very stupid because not only do I say it, but I also stick my arm out between us for a handshake like I’m interviewing him for a job.
Jesus, I hate myself.
And really? Does he have to look so damn good? With the exception of my brother, my life if filled with pretty men. Slick and polished. Men who get their haircut like clockwork and have their eyebrows waxed. Men who get pedicures and have clean shaven faces. Wear designer labels and would never eat from a food truck. Soft and pretty—like Nik and Jordy.
Gray isn’t pretty.
He’s hot and there’s nothing slick or polished about him. His thick, dark hair is long enough to curl against the collar of his T-shirt and he obviously hasn’t shaved in years. His hands are huge—their palms wide and callused. One of his pinkies is shorter than the other, the end of it smooth and white like it was amputated at the knuckle a long time ago. He has other scars too. One sliced diagonally through a straight, dark brow. Another that looks like a fat, pink slug slapped against the side of neck. I’m sure there’s more I can’t see.
I never noticed them before. Not even the night he took his shirt off and gave it to me at the club. I have noticed the tattoo though. Seen it more than once in the flashing club lights. An old English crown stretched across the inside of his forearm in thick, black ink.
Every time I look at it, I wonder why he got it.
What it means, but I never ask.
The man won’t even tell me his last name—there’s no way he’s going share the deep meaning and symbolism of his tattoos with me.
When I introduce myself, Gray doesn’t even look at me. He looks at the hand I have hanging between us like it actually might grow teeth and bite him.
Instead of answering me or even acknowledging my existence, he looks at Jase, lips peel back from his teeth in an ugly snarl. “No.” Gray shakes his head at the man still sitting on his ass behind me. “This isn’t happening,” he says like he’s the one in charge. He finally looks at me, his dark brown eyes pinning themselves to mine so fast I get that loopy carousel feeling in the pit of my stomach, the stab of them so hard I have to lock the hinge on my knees to keep myself from running away. “No fucking way is this going to happen.”
Cheeks stinging red like he slapped me, I drop my hand and take a step back, mouth yanked open because I’m going to say something. Something shitty or something stupid—quite possibly both because I am me after all but before I can go full spoiled brat, Jase speaks up.
“Sorry, Gray.” Jase puts a little extra emphasis on his name and the push of it tightens Gray’s jaw. “But it is happening—tonight,” he says like he can read Gray’s mind. Knows he’s going to suggest we postpone the event until he can figure out a way to shut it down altogether.
“It’s too short a notice. I haven’t been given time to adjust security measures,” Gray counters, shoulders almost as stiff as his jaw, jerking his gaze away from mine like he can’t stand the sight of me. “I’m down a bartender because I had to fire one this morning for dealing—” For some reason he levels a pointed look at me when he says it. “And I haven’t even seen the goddamned guestlist to know if I need to—”
“Regardless of the short notice, I have full faith in your ability to keep Delilah and her guests safe,” Jase says in that same dismissive tone he used on his receptionist.
“Fine.” Gray’s jaw visibly relaxes and his chest and shoulders loosen even though it obviously takes some effort. “We’ll move it to one of the smaller clubs. Maybe Lotus or—”
“Lotus?” It comes out before I can stop it and sounds way snottier than I intend it to. “No one even goes to Lotus—how can you expect me to host an event there?”
“Well…” Gray looks at me again, this glare as hot and angry as the first. “The Bright Group owns nearly a dozen night clubs in the city, Ms. Fiorella,” he says smoothly, his rough tone slicked over with a thin veneer of professional polish. “If Lotus isn’t good enough for you, Countess, I’m sure we can find another venue that fits your requirements.”
He calls me Countess because of Nik. Because he’s a Count and there have been rumors swirling around for months about the two of us getting married, despite the fact of our very public break-up.
“I don’t want another venue.” His implication is clear—any venue except his venue. Cocking my hip, I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head at him. “I want Level.”
“Yeah?” He gives me a look I recognize. It’s the same look he gave me that night—chin lowered, gaze aimed at me through his lashes. The corner of his mouth tipped up just enough to let me know he finds my demanding behavior amusing. “What’s it like to want something you’re not gonna get?”
I don’t know why but the way he says want makes my knees shake. Sends a flood of heat rushing down my spine. Sets off a pulsing ache in the center of me. Reminds me what the callused brush of his fingertips against it felt like.
“I’m not sure, Gray—” I bite back, leaning into him just a bit, eyes narrowed down to slits. “When it finally happens, I’ll let you know.”
He laughs, the sound of low and pitted like his mouth is full of hot gravel. “Listen up, Countess. You might be able to throw your rich girl tantrums and—”
“The event is happening,” Jase cuts him off. He’s closer. Moved from the chair behind me to stand directly to my left, in the space between us like he’s waiting to have to pull us apart. “It’s happening tonight and it’s happening at Level.” His tone is clear—I’m in charge and my decision in final.
I should feel smug. Vindicated. I won. Got what I wanted and under normal circumstances, I would. I’d probably even rub his nose in it but the expression on Gray’s face when he looks at me makes enjoying my victory impossible.
Because he looks at me like he hates me.
Gray glowers at me for a second before turning his caustic glare on his boss. “Then I’m taking the night off,” he informs the man standing next me. “You’ve been having Angel handle this shitshow behind my back from jump street. He can just keep—”
“No.” I nearly shout it, so loud both men stop and look at me, mouth slightly agape because I didn’t shout it in my usual snotty, spoiled tone. I sound panicked. Scared. So panicked and scared even I can hear it. “No.” I say it again, tightening the lock my arms have around my chest while pushing as much spoiled indignation into my tone as I can find. “You can’t take the night off. I want you there.”
Gray’s jaw shifts when I demand it like the hinge of it is rusty. Before he can work his mouth open, probably to tell me to go fuck myself, Jase speaks up again.
“You heard the lady,” he says in that final answer tone. “Tonight. Level—and you’re going to be there to oversee the event. Are we clear?”
“No, Not clear.” Gray barely gets the words past the clench of his jaw. “You know what?” He shakes his head and laughs like this whole situation it just too stupid to believe. “I don’t even know why I bother talking to you. I’ll call Tob and explain the situation. He'll—”
“My brother is unavailable,” Jase informs him, dismissing his threat with a short bark of laughter. “He’s in Boston gettin
g ready to have a baby and you’re just an employee, remember?” He flashes his hands like a Vegas blackjack dealer, “Unless of course you want me to—”
“I got it.” Gray’s gaze narrows slightly and he swallows hard against what was probably going to be a threat to fire him for his insubordination. “Level. Tonight. Ms. Fiorella and a thousand of her closest friends.” He makes the word friends sound like assholes. “I’ll be there, Mr. Bright—don’t you worry.”
He makes Mr. Bright sound like asshole too.
“Mr. Bright.” Jase gives him a shit-eating grin despite the obvious lack of respect that delivered the moniker. “I like the sound of that—I’d like that to be my permanent address from now on.”
“Fuck off,” Gray growls at him. Instead of firing him on the spot, Jase just laughs while Gray cuts me a hard, nasty glare. “You and your friends better bring your halos tonight because if I catch drugs in my club, I’m going to stop being nice and I’m gonna start being me—got it?”
Drugs?
I’m no angel. I’ve done my fair share of partying that has led to some pretty stupid decisions but bringing drugs into his club isn’t one of them. Instead of reassuring him that I’ll behave myself, I do what I do best which is make shit worse.
“Nice?” I scoff the word, dropping my arms. “When have you ever been nice to me?”
“I can think of a few times…” He gives me that look. The look that makes me feel hot and achy. Breathless and a little desperate. “See you tonight, Ms. Fiorella.”
With that, Gray flips Jase the bird, the obscene gesture setting off a fresh round of laughter, before he turns away from me and leaves.
EIGHT
Grayson
WELL, SHIT JUST WENT FROM BAD TO WORSE AND I don’t have anyone to blame but myself because if I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve just let it ride.
Jase handed Angel the reins—I should’ve just let him keep them. Kept my mouth shut and steered clear of the VIP. Let Delilah host her ridiculous event and stay the hell out of it and the hell away from her.
And now because I couldn’t do any of those things, I’ve been conscripted into service.
Her service.
Fuck me.
Ignoring the glare Build-a-Blonde is shooting me from the safety and protection of her desk, I stab my thumb against the panel, calling up the elevator that will get me the fuck out of this place. I’ve already decided that I’m going home. Taking the night off because, for all his strut and bluster, Jase can’t make me do shit and we both know it. He was just being a dick. Flashing his ass. He’s my brother, not my—
My phone buzzes in my pocket and despite the fact that I know who it is, I reach for it. Swiping my thumb against the screen, I call up the waiting text.
Jase: WTF was that about?
Which part? The part where I stopped him from telling Delilah that I’m not just an employee—that I’m actually a Bright, same as him—or the part where I threw a fucking tantrum because I don’t want to spend the night babysitting Countess Fiorella and her entourage?
The elevator lets out a soft ding and the doors slide open in front of me. Still glaring at my phone screen, trying to come up with a response that doesn’t include the words fuck and off, I step into the car and punch the button to close the doors. Right before they meet in the middle a hand appears between them, stopping them from closing completely.
Annoyed, I flick a quick look at it and feel my stomach drop when I catch the wink of the canary-yellow diamond on its finger before the doors rebound and bounce back open.
And there she is again.
Delilah, giving me a suspicious, narrow-eyed glare like maybe she’s having second thoughts about getting into this elevator with me.
“It’s a fifty-story building, Countess and we’re at the top—I’m not taking the stairs,” I inform her without looking up from my phone while I tap out a response to my asshole little brother. “So it’s either lower yourself to share an elevator with a peasant or get your cardio for the day.”
Me: Go fuck yourself.
Me: Twice.
I hit send the final time and look up just in time to watch Delilah make up her mind and step on to the elevator, her chin tipped up just enough to give me the impression that despite the fact that she’s a solid six-inches shorter than me, she’s looking down at me.
A plague.
This woman is a goddamned plague.
“I already got my cardio today,” she tells me, reaching out to press the express button for the ground floor with one of her perfectly manicured nails. The doors slide closed almost instantly and seconds later the car begins its decent. “That was a stupid thing to do, by the way.”
The phone in my hand vibrates, signaling a reply from Jase.
Jase: Sounds fun but
not really an answer
to my question. Why
are we not telling
Delilah Fiorella that
we’re brothers?
I don’t know.
I don’t know why I don’t want her to know. It’s not like it’s some big secret—not really. I mean, I don’t go around flashing my credentials but the fact that we’re brothers isn’t locked in a secret vault somewhere. Anyone who looked at my driver’s license or even cared to do a half-assed Google search on me would figure it out but…
Me: Because it’s none
of her fucking business,
that’s why.
Jase: Have you been
fucking her?
Am I fucking Delilah Fiorella?
Only in my wildest, fucked-up imagination.
Me: Nope
Jase: Are you sure?
because you’re acting
like you’ve been
fucking her.
Me: I’m sure. Fucking
anything with two legs
is your department.
Not mine.
“Are you listening to me?”
I am.
I hear everything she says.
Remember it.
Whether I want to or not.
Say my name, Gray…
“Nope.”
Jase: Fair enough. But
before you decide to
just go home and ignore
your job duties, let me
remind you that she’s
Silver’s little sister and
Silver is very pregnant.
The last thing she or Tob
needs is to deal with bullshit
right now so why don’t you
try playing nice for once?
Instead of answering Jase, I give up and shove my phone back into my pocket. Looking up I find her standing less than a foot away, watching me with an expression that makes me feel like an asshole. “Jas—Mr. Bright won’t fire me,” I tell her, treading closer to the truth than I intended. “He can’t—he’s not my boss. His brother is.”
“Tobias is my brother-in-law… sort of.” She frowns at me. “That’s the only reason his brother agreed to let me host an event on such short notice.”
“And I’m sure the fact that you’re the club queen of Manhattan and people follow you around like lemmings has nothing to do with it, right?” It’s true. A few well-placed tweets. A couple of Snaps of her outside the club and we’ll have a line of people wrapped around the building, just waiting for a chance to get in. It won’t matter that even if they do manage to get past the velvet ropes, they’ll probably never even see her. Just being able to say that they were in Level at the same time as Delilah Fiorella is enough for them.
“You shouldn’t antagonize people,” she says before turning away from me to face the elevator doors. “It’s rude.”
“Says the queen of antagonistic behavior,” I point out, reminding her of all the times she’s pushed my buttons for nothing but sport.
A flush rushes across her chest and up her neck. “That’s different,” she tells me while digging through her giant handbag so she can avoid looki
ng at me when she says it.
“Why?” I stoop my shoulders a little and tilt my head in an effort to catch her line of sight. “Because I’m the help and that means I don’t count?”
Finding what she’s looking for, she pulls out a pair of over-sized sunglasses and slides them on to her face. “Something like that.” She gives me a small smile just as the elevator hits bottom and signals its arrival with another one of its soft dings. “I’ll be arriving at the club around ten so if you could make sure the champagne is chilled and—”
“Where have you been?”
I don’t know why I ask. Why I suddenly give a shit but I do. I suddenly care very much.
“Excuse me?”
In front of us, the elevator doors slide open and we suddenly have an audience—about a dozen suits looking to board the elevator we’re supposed to be vacating.
“Fuck off,” I grumble in their general direction, throwing up an arm to press the button to close the doors. Holding it, I turn to look at her. “I said where have you been?” When all she does is stare at me from behind her huge designer shades, I elaborate. “You haven’t been in the club for over a month now—I’ve had to deal with your shit, almost every night since I started working there and then all of a sudden you vanished into thin air. Why?”
She gives me that small, tight smile again. “What’s the matter Gray, did you miss me?”
“Yeah.” I give her a smirk of my own. “Like a rash.”
Her mouth twitches. “Paris.” When it’s my turn to stare at her in confused silence, she laughs. “I was in Paris—for Fashion Week.”
She’s lying.
I don’t know where she’s been but it sure as hell wasn’t Paris.
“Why is it so important to you that I’m the one who provides security for your party?”
“Because I like you.” She gives me one of her insolent shrugs. “Everyone else who works there is boring.”
Another lie.
She doesn’t like me.
She barely even recognizes me as a human being.
I’m her favorite chew toy.