Scoring with the Wrong Twin (WAGS)

by Naima Simone

  “Shalene?” Zephirin repeated, reeling from his grandmother’s confession. He hadn’t known she’d worried about him. And he definitely hadn’t known she’d been aware of why he’d broken up with his ex. Of course she knew about the baby, but he’d purposefully kept her in the dark about the rest of it, not wanting to sully her image of the nice girl from down the street. “How did you…?”

  She sniffed. “You can’t keep anything from me. And besides, that Ronin is like water in a brown paper bag. Can’t hold a thing.”

  Ronin. Zephirin shook his head. Of course. The man had grown up with four sisters and a single mother, and had no defenses when it came to women. All his grandmother probably had to say to his friend was “hi,” and the man would’ve folded like a cheap suit.

  “Now don’t get mad at him,” she chided, as if able to read his mind. Hell, considering the number of times she used to catch him misbehaving as a child, he sometimes believed she had that talent. “You should’ve been the one to tell me.”

  “I know how much you love Shalene…”

  “And?” she interrupted with a scoff. “Loving someone doesn’t mean being blind to their faults. And that child had faults. But you were so intent on saving her, on making up for what had been taken away from her, that you didn’t see until it was too late.” Her voice softened, and he closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose harder. “You can’t be someone’s happiness, baby. And the harder you try, the more that person will come to hate you in the end for failing. That doesn’t make Shalene a bad person; it just makes her an unhappy one. And unhappy people can lash out, hurt the ones they love most. But that doesn’t sound like your Sophia.”

  Your Sophia. That resonated in his heart, his soul. A part of him wanted to shut the reaction down, a self-defensive move to protect himself. But the other part—the part that was tired of fighting the denial and hurt, of building walls, of being alone—reached for those words. Grabbed them like leaping for the ball in a game winning touchdown in the end zone. Clutching them to his chest as tight.

  “Why do you say that?” he pressed. “She lied to me from day one. How could I trust her?”

  “I understand why honesty is so important to you. But Shalene lied to you for personal gain; she stole from you for the same reason. If what you told me is correct, Sophia did all of this for her sister, not herself. And she didn’t take from you, she gave. That idea for the app with the camp seemed like a gift to you.”

  It had been. A precious gift. Not just because it’d been a brilliant idea, but because Sophia had conceived it for him. For him. Where Shalene had always asked or demanded what he could do for her, Sophia had freely given without expecting anything in return. Had he become used to someone taking from him that he’d turned jaded, hardened…suspicious?

  If you’re honest, you would admit you’ve been waiting for me to fail, to prove you right so you could walk away without any risk, any sacrifice.

  Sophia’s accusation punched him in the chest, pile-driving the air from his lungs.

  She was right. Even as he’d proposed a renegotiation of their terms…even when he couldn’t stay away from her…even when he’d shared the most painful time of his life with her…even during those intimate occasions, hadn’t there been a small, dark voice that had whispered, it’s only a matter of time? And when the shit hit the fan, hadn’t there been the smallest amount of relief, along with the anger and disillusionment, after the torturous waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop was over?

  This cynicism, bitterness, and sense of betrayal he knew, was familiar with. And it seemed they’d become his crutches, his shields to justify not risking being hurt again.

  Not loving again.

  Stepping back, he could see why she’d kept the truth from him. She’d been helping her sister and hadn’t planned on their photo shoot meeting evolving into something more. He hadn’t either. No, she hadn’t known him, hadn’t understood that he wouldn’t have narc’d her out to Sports Unlimited. Their relationship had progressed hot and fast. How could he blame her for not trusting him when he had done the same?

  Here I am, Zephirin. Imperfect… Willing to lay myself out there, be naked with you. Tell you I love you.

  They’d only known each other for a handful of weeks. If Ronin or Dom had come to him, stating they’d fallen for a woman after such a short amount of time, he would’ve accused them of having shit for brains before getting them good and drunk.

  Yet. He couldn’t deny how she twisted him up inside. How—fuck it—happy he’d been with her in his life. How much more content. No. At peace. She made him want. Feel.

  Hope.

  When it came down to it, was he willing to do the same? To lay himself open, to dive headfirst into that beyond, unsure if he’d have a safety net? Uncertain if he wouldn’t break on the rocks?

  Was he willing to be as brave?

  For Sophia?

  Yeah.

  But after his angry, bitter tirade a week ago, would she?

  “I messed up,” he said more to himself than to his grandmother.

  “No, baby,” she corrected, voice soft. “You fucked up. But I didn’t raise no quitter. And if you love her, don’t waste any more time than you already have. Go after her.”

  He’d already decided to, but hearing the hard, don’t-take-no-shit note in his grandmother’s voice that’d made him hop-to many times in his childhood, he smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You bring her home to meet me as soon as possible so I can get a look at her for myself,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he repeated.

  “And for the love of God, baby, don’t be a knucklehead again, okay? I didn’t raise no knuckleheads either.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After several more instructions, Zephirin ended the call, his grin slowly fading. Worry crawled inside him, taking up root. The very real possibility that he’d hurt Sophia so deeply she wouldn’t be able to hear him, forgive him, struck a twisting fear inside him. In all the years he’d run on that football field, facing down giants who wanted nothing more than to lay him flat on his back, he hadn’t experienced fear.

  But in all these years, he’d never risked losing something more than a trophy and claim of world champions.

  Now, he faced losing the heart of a woman he couldn’t imagine enduring another moment without.

  He couldn’t afford to lose.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Good God, she was nervous.

  Sophia paused in the hallway of the Bellevue three-story building, inches from the frosted glass double doors of Jacobs & Associates Law Offices. She pressed a palm to her belly, inhaling a deep, shuddering breath in the hopes of calming the trample of nerves turning her stomach into their personal stomping ground.

  You can do this. You will do this.

  She’d received a call from the firm two days earlier, requesting a meeting on Saturday morning regarding a project. Stunned didn’t accurately capture the shock that had momentarily frozen her, left her speechless on the phone. After all, it’d only been Monday that she’d decided to leave her job with FamFit and venture off on her own. Getting spectacularly dumped by the man one loved did wonders for boosting courage. What could scare her more than confessing her love to a man, and hurt worse than having him reject it and her?

  Definitely not walking away from a job that had made her increasingly more disillusioned and suffocated to pursue a dream she’d harbored for years. Yes, she could fail, but at least she would’ve tried. At least she would be happy and fulfilled with her career.

  Okay…happy might be pushing it, but one day. One day, when the memories of Zephirin Black started to fade, she would be. One day, the empty chasm that yawned wide in her chest like a black hole would shrink, and eventually disappear.

  In the meantime, she had a plan—contact former clients and let them know she now worked as a freelance app developer, budget the savings she would live on in the foreseeable future, and pray
. Hard. And if she had to apply for and accept a job with another company while building her own? Well, she’d do what she had to do. But the next time wouldn’t be with management who resented her for her tits and brain.

  This meeting was a godsend. Sophia had questioned Giovanna regarding whether or not it was her doing, but her twin had denied it. So, the feelers she’d sent out must’ve produced results. She’d hoped it would happen, just hadn’t expected a response so soon.

  “Loitering outside the office isn’t going to win points,” she grumbled to herself, forcing her trembling legs forward. “Neither is talking to yourself.” Marching to the door, she grasped the handle, tugged it open, and entered the elegant lobby before she could chicken out.

  She was met with the kind of silence that seemed to encapsulate museums, lecture halls, and IRS offices. Moneyed, reverent, and intimidating. The expensive, wheat-colored carpet smothered any sound of her stiletto heels clicking against the floor as she approached the receptionist’s desk. Gold lettering declaring the firm’s name curved around the circular, gleaming desk. The slender, perfectly groomed brunette behind the large piece of furniture smiled politely at Sophia.

  Thank God she’d raided Giovanna’s closet for the tailored black pencil skirt and matching jacket. Note to self: the graphic tees and jeans she’d worn at FamFit wouldn’t fly if she intended to compete in the corporate arena.

  “Good morning,” she greeted the woman whose desk plate identified her as Priscilla. “My name is Sophia Cruz. I have an appointment with Anthony Jacobs.”

  “Of course, Ms. Cruz.” She stood and rounded the desk. “He’s expecting you. If you’ll follow me.” She turned on a sky-high heel and headed down a corridor, leaving Sophia to trail after her.

  She could practically smell the wealth in the air, taste it. From the gleaming wood panels and gold molding along the ceilings and floorboards to the shiny brass handles on the thick-looking cherry wood doors, this office boasted clients with deep pockets. Which, she mused as Priscilla paused in front of one of those heavy doors, begged the question of what she was doing there. She didn’t doubt her ability to perform whatever job they had, but they didn’t know that. How could they? A twenty-four-year-old, freshly unemployed app developer didn’t appear to be the kind of resume they would hunt up, discover, and exclaim, “Yes, her!” over.

  But she stood here now. And she would make damn sure they—whoever “they” were—didn’t walk away disappointed.

  The receptionist knocked once then opened the door. Murmuring her thanks, Sophia passed by her and entered a large conference room. A long, glass table bisected the area, and black, leather chairs surrounded it. Three men occupied the far side, and she automatically smiled, her arm rising—

  Oh my God.

  She couldn’t move her suddenly numb legs. Couldn’t lower her arm. Couldn’t push air through her apparently atrophied lungs. No. The word whispered through her mind, gathering volume and speed with each ricochet against her skull until a dull roar filled her ears.

  Zephirin.

  Her paralyzed body didn’t prevent her from drinking him in like a dry riverbed after a sweltering summer drought. She’d seen him clothed in just a pair of football pants, T-shirt, jeans, and just the skin God blessed him with. And while nothing could compare to Zephirin Black naked, the three-piece, charcoal gray suit came damn close. The expensive material embraced his body like a shameless lover, emphasizing the width of his shoulders and chest, the strength of his arms, and the muscular grace of his hips and legs. The stylish vest drew attention to his flat abs, and all she could picture was the taut, tattooed skin underneath. Trailing her lips over that flesh. Loving it and him.

  It’d been a week since she’d last seen him. A week…an eternity. The impact of seeing him was the same as if it’d been eons. Devastating.

  Shock melted and dissolved under the red, pulsing lashes of pain lacerating her heart. Just the sight of him tore off the flimsy scab that helped her cope during her waking hours. His scornful words, fury, and hard expression bombarded her, and she forcefully stiffened her knees, refusing to crumble before him. She’d offered him her heart, her love, and he’d knocked them out of her hands, trampled on them on his way to the door; she refused to hand over her pride, too.

  “What are you doing here?” Manners gave way to the hurt and burgeoning anger. Was this some kind of joke? A more horrible, ironic thought slipped through her mind. “Wait. Are you slapping me with some kind of gag order?” She barely suppressed a snort. As if she would give the greedy public and tabloids front row center seats to her humiliation.

  A flash of emotion flickered across his otherwise impassive face. Regret? Pain? Hell no. There she went, trying to convince herself she spied something there that he obviously didn’t feel. Not for her.

  Firming her resolve and delivering her heart a short but harsh Get With the Program lecture, she shifted her attention to the other two men in the room. Older, they both wore fixed, poker faces. As if they witnessed unpleasant outbursts from potential employees or contractors in their office all the time.

  Embarrassment heated her face, and she crossed the space between her and the table, extending her hand toward them. These two might be on his side, but her mother would rail at her if Sophia didn’t exhibit the manners she’d been raised with.

  “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Cruz.” The taller of the two shook her hand first. Dressed in an impeccable black suit and bearing a slight resemblance to Harrison Ford, he gestured to the man next to him. “I’m Anthony Jacobs, and this is my brother and partner, Grant Jacobs.” Grant, shorter and a little thicker in frame, nodded. “And I believe you already know Mr. Black.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, not confirming or denying the obvious. Just keep your eyes on them, she instructed herself. Act like he isn’t even here. She could do it; she could pretend she didn’t feel his gaze on her. Pretend his presence didn’t shrink the size of the room to that of a shoe box.

  “Please, have a seat,” Grant Jacobs offered, waiting until she lowered into one of the unsurprisingly luxurious leather seats before reclaiming his own. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we asked you to come to our office.”

  Understatement of the year, but she’d go with it. “Yes, I have to admit I am curious.” And her voice didn’t quiver once, nor did she peek at the silent Goliath to the attorneys’ left. Go her.

  “Well, we won’t keep you in suspense.” An almost pleasant smile warmed Anthony’s face as he slid one of two slim stacks of paper across the table toward her. “This is a standard independent contractor agreement. You will want your attorney to read it over with you, but it details the agreement between you and the Jaybird Foundation for the Warrior Nation app—”

  “I’m sorry,” she interrupted, leaning forward. “The what?” Contract? Her attorney? What were they talking about?

  “I took the liberty of naming your app,” Zephirin said. Her regard jerked to him, but one meeting with those eagle eyes had her returning her attention to the two lawyers.

  “The contract covers a one-time fee for developing the project as well as twenty percent of the income generated from the app, among other points. Also”—he pushed the second sheath forward—“you’ll want to have your attorney review this with you as well. This is an investor’s agreement for an as-of-now unnamed entity for a future business owned by Sophia Cruz. It’s a pretty straightforward venture-capital agreement that outlines protection of the newly formed entity as well as the amount of shares, schedule for distribution of dividends, protection of interests…”

  Had she tumbled into an alternate universe? A wormhole? She thrust up a hand, palm out, halting his description of the contract. “An investor’s agreement? Venture capital? I don’t have investors. I don’t even have a venture.” She loosed a low chuckle, rife with the disbelief and shock rolling through her. “I mean, I do, but I just decided on it four days ago. Nothing’s incorporated yet…” Jesus, she was ra
mbling. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little confused about what’s going on.”

  “Anthony, Grant, if you would give us the room for a moment?” Zephirin said, and as the other two men rose and left the room, part of her wanted to walk out right after them. Or at least beg them not to leave her alone with Zephirin. She wasn’t logical when it came to him, and she feared betraying herself.

  He dropkicked your heart. Have some damn pride.

  The mental reprimand kept her in her chair, forced her to meet his stare.

  “What is all this supposed to prove?” she demanded. He’d shoved her away, out of his life, and now he’d set up this meeting with attorneys and contracts and purchase agreements. As a man whose career was playing games, had she become another one for him?

  Pain and fury mated into a throbbing heartbeat, and she curled her fingers around the edge of the chair. If he expected her to offer up another pound of flesh, he would be sorely disappointed.

  “I spoke with Giovanna a couple of days ago, and she told me about how you were passed over for a position you earned. That would’ve been the day you showed up late at the high school, wouldn’t it?” He didn’t wait for her to confirm his assumption. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you that I, the supposed model, had been shafted by her supervisor at the technology company that my supposed sister, the app developer—which was really me—worked for?” She snorted. “I don’t know why in the world I didn’t share that with you.”

  “I would’ve been there for you,” he said, voice low. “I would’ve wanted to be.”

  You were. The assertion leaped into her head before she could stifle it. But it was true. He might not have realized it, but by offering to slay her dragons when he didn’t even know what they were, he’d gifted her with that comfort. And then he’d granted her the haven of his bed, of pleasure…of the quiet moments afterward where he just held her.

  She shook her head, physically trying to dislodge the memories.