Sugarbaby

by Crystal Green

  I was already on the new search, and the screen blipped with links. I pressed the top one as Carley leaned in so she could see, too.

  Diana continued. “Diamont supposedly returned to Nathaniel Reeves about ten years ago when the company he was working for went belly-up, after they ignored all the advice he was giving them. He bought a lot of stocks in The Reeves Group, and Nathaniel welcomed his business acumen with open arms. It sounds like Diamont spent years proving his new faithfulness to his friend, but I’m betting he was only planting the seeds of this big plan he obviously had. Have you gotten to any of that in those articles yet?”

  “Not yet.” I was stuck on a page with photos of Noah’s brothers and uncles. Noah was even in some of them, but although the men were all blond, tall, and gorgeous, my billionaire stood out. And it wasn’t because of his masculine beauty and arrogant, poised stance in his fine business suit.

  I saw the same anger that I’d noticed before, but it was intensified: There was a darkness in him while he faced the camera, as if there was a fatalistic edge to the way he was staring down the lens.

  I’d met this Noah, even though I’d seen him less and less recently.

  I pulled my focus away from the tablet and met Diana’s gaze. “I think you’re missing your calling. You should be the next Veronica Mars. What else did you find out?”

  Even though she liked the Veronica Mars comment, her enthusiasm faded. In fact, it was as if she was reluctant to tell me what came next, even if I could find out with a swipe of my fingers.

  “You called Diamont a worm,” she said, “but I’d say he’s more like a snake.”

  I put down the iPad. “Are you talking about how he betrayed Noah’s dad . . . and Noah?”

  “Before he did even that, he was somehow able to go behind everyone’s backs and persuade Noah’s younger brothers, his two uncles, and the majority of the board that Nathaniel Reeves wasn’t fit to run the company and his ideas were outdated. When Noah was the only Reeves family member to stand up to him, Diamont turned on him also.”

  I’d known that Noah’s dad had been drinking too much, and obviously Diamont had used that against the man. But there was a certain detail that stuck in my mind—his dad had fallen down the stairs. Had he been drunk because of Harry Diamont’s antics?

  Carley had taken the iPad from me. “Diana, how many articles did you read?”

  “As many as there were. What can I say? It was a ho-hum night.” She inspected her manicured nails. “I should add that the best information came from New York gossip sites. They’re vicious yet very informative.”

  “But I wonder how accurate,” I said.

  Diana stopped with her nails. “You should text Noah and ask, go straight to the source.”

  I shifted. “He’s out of sight, out of mind.”

  “Then why’re you so interested in all this?” Diana asked.

  Carley seemed to be wondering, too, so I dodged, laughing. “Sure, maybe I should ask him. I’ll send him a text now, busting into his personal life like I have some right to.”

  Just like he’d busted into mine?

  Diana dropped the topic, even though she kept watching me from under her heavily mascaraed lashes as Carley read to us from other articles.

  Lord, if any of this were true, then I’d been right about picturing Noah as a prodigal son who was dying to go back to his city and retake it. And I was right about him lying low until it was the perfect time to go back.

  What else was I about to discover about him? Whatever it was, I couldn’t restrain myself from searching.

  We were so lost in our intel hunt, actually not finding out much more than what Diana had told us, that when someone rang my doorbell, we all jumped in our chairs.

  Dang it, I thought, rising to my feet, no more scary movies for you.

  I half expected to see Simmons or Noah at the peephole—wouldn’t that have been fun to explain to the girls?—but it wasn’t either of them. A cosmo woman dressed in a red suit with upswept brunette hair and smooth dark brown skin waited with a wheeled suitcase behind her.

  Did Avon ladies still exist? Uncle Joseph used to joke about inviting them in for dinner if one should ever show up at the door. Bachelors do everything they can to meet the ladies, he used to say.

  But when this lady held up a card that said, “Jadyn” on it, another theory quickly took its place. This had to be one of Noah’s surprises.

  I glanced behind me to find Carley and Diana still at work on the iPad, and I opened the door, stepping outside so they wouldn’t hear whatever business this was.

  “Special delivery,” she said with a pearly smile.

  She handed me the card, and while I opened it, she unzipped the top of the case.

  You told me you’ve got company this morning, so I’ve kept this very, very secret.

  —Noah

  Was he just enjoying all this sneaking around, or was this one of his impulsive moves?

  The woman was holding a flat black velvet jewelry case in her hands, and she nodded at it.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Open it.”

  Jewelry. Tell me he didn’t.

  But he had. And it was a necklace. No, not a necklace—the necklace. A circlet of diamonds interspersed with jade droplets fit for a princess.

  My breath shook as I exhaled, afraid to touch it.

  The woman giggled, obviously loving her job. “Mr. Reeves said these would complement your eyes as well as your name. You’ve got the most beautiful shade of hazel eyes, just as he said you would. Would you like to try it on?”

  I remembered my friends in the house—the ones who hadn’t signed non-disclosure agreements. But if Noah was doing foolhardy things like sending me jewelry with them around, did he care if they knew?

  Pushing away the temptation, I told myself I was outside, in front of God and country. If anything, I needed to be discreet.

  “I’ll see how this looks on me in a mirror,” I said. “But thank you so much for bringing it over.”

  “Oh, honey, I have more than just one treat.” She swept a red-nailed hand to the suitcase. “I’m the stylist, and I apologize for the delay in getting you some accessories for the clothing Mr. Reeves sent over. I was waiting on a few pieces.”

  There was more than just this necklace?

  I shook my head in utter disbelief. Why? I couldn’t even begin to guess, because this was Noah. I should’ve been getting used to it.

  “He so enjoys his gifts,” the woman said.

  I was pretty certain she’d signed a non-disclosure agreement, too, but I asked, “Does Mr. Reeves do this often? Buy things for women, I mean.”

  The stylist got that look Simmons sometimes got—as if they weren’t about to divulge anything.

  Knowing that I couldn’t send her back with these gifts, I accepted the handle of the suitcase from her, as well as the jewelry box. She reached out to close the lid and then walked down my stairs, her heels clipping over the concrete.

  “Thank you,” I said lamely, even if everything in me was swirling around, a thousand flavors of excitement mixing together.

  “You’re very welcome. Have the time of your life, you lucky girl.”

  She walked to a black SUV just like the one Simmons had and . . . Well, no wonder. I saw him sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for her, checking his phone.

  I waved good-bye to her before I looked at the necklace case then the suitcase. As they drove away, I unzipped the bigger parcel, easing the smaller piece inside, already coming up with a gentle lie for Carley and Diana when I walked in and they saw this special delivery.

  “Just a neighbor,” I said to them as I quickly snuck the suitcase to my room, along with all the secrets that went with it.

  ***

  Jadyn:

  You shouldn’t have, but you did . . . *ag
ain.* You’re spoiling me.

  555-8465:

  I like to spoil you.

  Jadyn:

  You gave me more than I know what to do with. Three necklaces, three matching bracelets and earrings. Wow.

  555-8465:

  Yet, alas, no rings. Hope you don’t feel shortchanged.

  Jadyn:

  Much too early for rings, even if you are a Romeo. I guess it’s time for more brownies?

  555-8465:

  Wait. Need to take a call. Talk later?

  Jadyn

  Sure. And maybe this time I’ll even surprise *you.*

  ***

  I didn’t want to just give Noah the same old brownies, so after Carley and Diana left, I ran to the grocery store, bought ingredients for the best cupcakes ever, and whipped those up.

  Since I had another dinner shift at the Angel’s Seat tonight, I timed my drop-off around three-ish so I would have enough time to thank Noah properly—and not in that way, either—and then be on time for work.

  So I drove over to The Hill, dressed in my work T and a jean skirt with boots, hoping I didn’t look too downhome. When I arrived at his closed gates, I texted that he had a guest and could he please open up.

  My engine puttered as I waited for a response. When none came, I tried again.

  Jadyn:

  Are you home?

  Nothing happened, and my inner neurotic beast went wild. What if this rich guy who could have anything in the world had left Aidan Falls as quickly as he’d come into it, making me eat his dust? Maybe the jewelry had been one last thank-you and he was off to get revenge on Diamont or to entertain himself with another pervy chickie who’d sexted him.

  Just as my fears were piling on, the gates opened.

  This drive up the hill was slower than the last one because I felt . . . Heck, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Actually, that wasn’t true. It was caution, come back to visit me.

  I parked in front of the fountain, which wasn’t running today, the lack of sound leaving an emptiness in the air that was taken up by the clomping of my boots as I climbed the stairs to the wide porch. I faced the iron lion’s head knocker on the door.

  Ready for the disappointment? asked a side of me that I’d come to despise.

  I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder as Simmons opened the door. It was the most casual I’d seen him: untucked white button-down, jeans, leather shoes. His hair was as jolly as ever, though.

  When he looked at me, I thought I saw something sorry in his eyes. Why?

  “Come in, Jadyn,” he said.

  A delicate lemon scent wafted on the air as I walked onto the marble floor, a chandelier hanging over the foyer, a grand double staircase greeting me. Flourishing plants and rich wooded furniture were placed ever so carefully, and I wondered if Noah had bought everything in the house from the Walters family, paying them a hefty sum for the convenience. The oil nightscape paintings and seemingly vintage console table looked antique, though, so they probably cost a pretty penny.

  Simmons noticed the clear-wrapped plate of cupcakes but didn’t remark on them.

  I held it toward him. “Chocolate. You want?”

  He smiled wistfully, and it seemed out of character. “Save them for Noah.”

  And . . . he still stood there.

  “Um, where is he?” I asked.

  Resting his hands on his hips, he hunched slightly, jerking his chin toward the back of the mansion. But he still didn’t move. He almost seemed hesitant and defensive about something.

  I decided I should take the initiative and start walking, but his voice halted me.

  “Maybe I should take those to him, after all.”

  He was acting very odd. “Don’t tell me he’s grounded.”

  “He’s . . .” Simmons actually looked flummoxed. Then something seemed to click in his gaze, and he sighed. “Let me show you where he is.”

  I tried to figure him out while he led me past the staircase then down a dim hallway that seemed to stretch forever. I could’ve fit seven of my cars into its length.

  As we walked, I heard a thudding noise, as if someone was punching a bag. And when we arrived at a door that Simmons slowly opened, I saw the reason for the sound.

  I sucked in a strained breath, my heart hammering.

  Noah was shirtless, dressed in black sweatpants, a slant of daylight coming through a high window in the huge, sweat-laced room to shine on him and make his skin gleam. His wrapped fists flashed as he threw punches at a long bag hanging from the ceiling by a chain. He was surrounded by equipment: two steel poles with escalating hooks and a slimmer, horizontal pole that fit into the lowest rung; a treadmill for jogging; dumbbells and weight machines that resembled medieval torture devices. But I wasn’t concentrating on those.

  Ripped, I thought as I watched Noah, my desires pooling to a sharp point in the center of me. I pulsed for him in my most sensitive place and, right now, it wasn’t my heart.

  It was as if he sensed a disturbance in the room, and he lowered his fists, the bag still swinging. He faced us, the cut notches of his abs, the definition in his arms, and the glistening sheen of his skin tormenting me even more. He had that V look to his body that made a primitive tune scream through me.

  I couldn’t think. I hoped I wasn’t drooling. Sure, I’d seen him shirtless before, but, my gosh.

  When I got a hold of myself, I offered the plate. “Surprise?”

  Simmons hadn’t gone anywhere, and Noah glared at him. That’s right—glared.

  “What’s she doing in here?” he asked.

  Stunned, I lowered the plate, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Had something happened to Noah since I’d texted with him earlier?

  I remembered how he’d had to take a phone call during our texting, and I started doing the math. Who had screwed up his day?

  Simmons’s voice was level. “She came to visit you.”

  Hello? I was right here?

  When Noah looked at me, he balled up his hands at his sides and stared at the ground, his chest heaving, his breath coming hard.

  Simmons glanced at me, then back at Noah, who gave him a lowered look in return, and it still wasn’t friendly.

  Time for me to say something. “I was just stopping by, but it’s clear you’re not in the mood for company.”

  “Company is the best thing for him,” Simmons said.

  What were these guys up to?

  My neurotic instincts told me to get out, so I found a good place to set the cupcakes—the floor—and began to leave.

  “Jadyn,” Noah said, and his tone was dark. As dark as what I’d seen on his face in that picture from one of the articles I’d read about Harry Diamont.

  Simmons gave me one last perusal, and I could’ve sworn I saw hope in his gaze.

  I didn’t have the chance to wonder because he left us alone.

  Noah kept breathing on his side of the room. I was breathing on my side, too, erratically but functionally. What was new?

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your workout,” I said, thinking that might’ve been the reason he was bothered. But the Noah I’d met before was confident, and I couldn’t imagine that he’d be ashamed of a little sweat.

  “Workout,” he repeated in a monotone. “It isn’t so much that as a desperate attempt to hoard all the endorphins I can get.”

  Some people called endorphins nature’s way of relieving pain, and I could feel that in him right now. “Does this have something to do with the phone call you took earlier, when we were texting?”

  For the first time, he sent me a look that completely shut me out, a guarded angle to his lips, a hooded gaze. But then he caught himself, the muscles in his arms bunching as he fisted his hands again.

  As if he wanted to ignore me, he went toward the two poles with the hooks on
them. I remembered what this was now—a salmon ladder. Uncle Joseph used to watch programs where ninja guys trained on them for competitions.

  Noah jumped to the pole on the first rung, swinging, then using his momentum to heave it up with his body and hook it into the second notch. His torso flexed with those muscles. “The call isn’t important.”

  So he wanted to treat me like I was something inconsequential who didn’t deserve explanations? My mouth ran away from me.

  “Remember how I signed that NDA? It means I won’t be blabbing all over the place about whatever you deign to share with me. Besides, you wanted me to open up to you. How about returning the favor sometime?”

  He gathered strength, then arced the pole from the second rung and whipped it up to the next, his body still swinging. My Lord, those muscles, clenching. The sight was so raw that I nearly toppled over. But, dammit, this was serious. Was he trying to keep me off-balance by showing me his physical prowess?

  Was that what he’d been doing with climbing the tree at the lake, too?

  He swung himself up to the next rung, ignoring me.

  I didn’t give up. “Was this call from the same person who contacted you the other night, when I brought over the brownies?”

  Swinging up again, he didn’t say anything, probably still thinking that all those bunched abs would distract me enough to shut me up.

  Let’s see about that. “I read about Harry Diamont.”

  Noah dropped down to the ground, every inch of him constricting with obvious anger, sweat making him slick as he took in long breaths between words.

  “Why did you have to do that, Jadyn? Dammit . . . the last thing I need is for you to get too curious and—”

  “Spoil your Roman holiday?”

  He cursed raggedly—boy, was he in a mood—and he paced to the other side of the room with his hands on his hips. Such a stranger to me right now. Where had the Great Gatsby gone?

  “Did Diamont work you over as much as the Internet says?” I asked. “No use pretending I don’t have the ability to look things up, Noah. I just didn’t get around to the nitty-gritty until now.”