by Devon Hart
Mallory knows how to slather on the bullshit. “Aren’t you getting married soon?”
Thomas coughs. “How did you know?”
“Word travels fast,” I say.
“Little cunt won’t seal the deal.”
Rage consumes me and I fist my hands under the table, ready to rip his head off. “Erin Covington is a lady.”
His forehead crinkles. “If you prefer a prudish A-type personality.” His insult lingers in the air like smoke. “She doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
Kevin glances at me. “Perhaps you’d prefer membership in a different club? Lazarus has strict protocol dealing with our female members. We don’t tolerate abuse of any kind.”
“Abuse?” Thomas’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’d never tell Erin how I feel.”
My spine stiffens. “Why get married?”
He shifts in his chair again, his glare tells me I’m already getting under his skin.
“Not sure I’m comfortable with this line of questioning, Foster.”
Kevin chuckles and places another file on the table. “No reason to hide anything, Thomas, we’ve completed an extensive background check. Had some problems in Costa Rica last year?”
He turns red. “That record is sealed.”
“Apparently not.” I relax, enjoying the shock on his face. Fucking idiot. Hired a fifteen-year-old prostitute and was charged with sexual assault. “Good thing your father knows people.”
“No one can find out about this.”
I raise my hands. “No problem here. Just know if you’re going to join Lazarus, you can’t afford to make the same mistake again.”
Not that I’d let him touch any of our members, the piece of shit.
A server enters the room. “Good evening, Mr. Wagner and Dr. Mallory. Ready to order?”
“What’s special tonight?” I query.
She smiles. “Cajun blackened steak with sugar snap peas and roasted potatoes.”
“Sounds perfect.” Kevin rubs his hands together.
“We’ll take three plates,” I say.
“Wait.” Thomas gazes at the waitress. “None for me. I’ll have the chicken sandwich and spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette.”
Salad over steak? Goddamn vegan. “On a diet?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t eat red meat.”
Makes me want to choke him, but I remember Erin’s choice for lunch tomorrow, a greasy hamburger, and it makes me smile. Based on that fact alone, he doesn’t deserve her.
“Guess we’ll be seeing each other Sunday night at the Covington’s.”
“Meredith invited you?”
“No. Erin did.”
“You’re in contact with my fiancé?”
“Practically every day.” I rub it in, testing his limits. “We’re meeting for lunch tomorrow.” If the pencil neck knew I was licking her pussy last night on the beach he’d probably run home and cry on his mommy’s shoulder.
He doesn’t respond, only glances at the file and invitation.
“About the membership . . .” Kevin breaks the silence.
“I need a couple days to consider it.”
“Take all the time you want,” I say.
A few minutes later, our food arrives.
“I’d like a to-go box,” Thomas tells the server.
She nods and leaves the room.
“Not hungry?” I ask.
“Lost my appetite.”
Erin
It’s book club night at the store. Mary and Katie are busy brewing tea in the break room while I man the front door, welcoming our members. The title up for discussion is Pride and Prejudice in honor of classics month. Eight women are seated around the tables, comparing the Bingley-Darcy relationship with the Jane-Elizabeth relationship.
The door opens, and I glance over my shoulder, surprised to see four newcomers, all polished and perfect in their designer suits and expensive jewelry.
“Welcome to Shakespeare’s Quill,” I greet. “Can I help you ladies find something?”
“Is this the book club?” one asks.
“Yes.” But I’m fairly certain she won’t like it. Our members are middle-aged housewives with kids. “How did you find us?”
“Your website events calendar.”
“I’m the owner, Erin Covington, and the club president is Janie Baxley.”
Janie smiles. “Fresh blood,” she says enthusiastically. “Come sit next to me.” She pats the empty chair.
“I’m Denise Jones, and this is Karla, Vanessa, and Margaret. Do you mind if we browse the shelves a bit before we sit down?”
“Please.” I watch as they disappear down Aisle Two, headed for the romance section.
“Wow,” Janie giggles. “Did you see the redhead? I’m pretty sure God didn’t give her that hair color.”
“Shhh.” I motion for her to quiet down. “We shouldn’t gossip, it’s impolite.”
“Breast implants?”
“Janie.”
“Well, fake body parts or not, they’re beautiful.”
“Yes.” On that point I totally agree. And so out of place I’m growing more suspicious by the second.
A few minutes later, all four strut toward the register with armfuls of paperbacks. “We’re ready,” Denise says.
By the time I finish ringing them up, the total is three hundred dollars. They pay with a credit card and leave. I turn off the neon OPEN sign and lock the door. Katie and Mary arrive with trays of tea and scones. I sit on the sofa, sipping on my Earl Grey, still puzzling over the women.
I’m not catty, I just know what sort of people frequent my store. I have a large children and young adult collection, a fantastic history section, and lots of romance. We’re a neighborhood place, where people stop in to share homemade cookies and say hello. Students buy discounted textbooks and often study here. I shrug it off. There’s more important issues, like three men to deal with. From zero to trinity in a matter of days. It blows my mind.
And now I’ll be forced to choose. Financial security appeals to me, but I’m fortunate enough to be able to support myself. I don’t want Foster’s money and I don’t need Thomas to survive. My parents shouldn’t play the stick and carrot game with me. With Katie and Foster at my side on Sunday, I might tell my parents how I feel.
As for Jeffrey, he’s the safest bet. No strings, just pleasure. I’m starting to appreciate the Lazarus philosophy.
Katie plops down on the sofa. “What’s up?”
I’m silent for a moment, wondering what my best friend thinks of my situation. “Chaos.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I’m trying to remember the last time we had a serious conversation, Katie.”
She tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “Welcome to a world where you’re in the middle of something you don’t know anything about.”
“What kind of advice is that?”
“The best kind. Sometimes you have to let fate win. You’re so focused on maintaining control, you forget how fun it is to let go.”
“Lazarus kind of disproves that theory.”
“Not really.” She shakes her head. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re attempting to micromanage that, too.”
Maybe.
“The point of accepting that invitation was to get laid. The only thing getting fucked around here is your head.”
“Katie!”
“Don’t Katie me. I love you, but the truth hurts sometimes.”
“I’m afraid.”
“That’s a start,” she says. “Know that real estate show we watch all the time?”
Why is she referencing TV when my personal life is falling apart? “House Hunters?”
>
“Yup. At the end of each episode, the couple is forced to choose one of three properties. What’s the first step?”
“Eliminating one.”
Our eyes meet. “Two. Now that’s a workable number.”
Chapter 16
Erin
With a little begging, Foster convinced me to let him drive me to my parents’ house for dinner. He’ll be here soon. Katie is meeting us there. I stare in the mirror, then run a comb through my hair, determined to look my best. It’s not every day I send Thomas packing and reclaim my life.
After lunch with Foster again and another long talk with my best friend, I know what I have to do. Mom and Dad will ask lots of questions, and they’ll get angry at my answers. Come Monday, my father will consult with his team of high-powered attorneys and have me removed as his legal heir. Mom will obediently agree with whatever financial decisions he makes. With one stroke of a pen, I’ll be reduced to an indistinguishable member of the Covington clan, like a distant cousin.
No inheritance doesn’t mean they don’t love me. Right? Maybe if I have children, they’ll designate my eldest as the heir apparent.
My cell vibrates and I grab it off the vanity. I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway. “Hello?”
“Erin?”
That gravelly voice is unforgettable. “Jeffrey?”
“I’m delighted you remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
He chuckles. “Are you free for drinks tonight?”
Is he asking me on a date? “No, I have plans.”
“Cancel.”
“I can’t, family commitment.”
“Ah, the drudgery of familial get-togethers. Call me after you get home, I’m usually up late.”
“I will.” I disconnect and let out a frustrated laugh.
I didn’t know socializing outside club events was encouraged. I did read the handbook, but don’t recall anything regarding the subject. Drinks are innocent enough, and seeing him in the real world might help move things forward. Does he act and dress the same way in public? Smell the same? Kiss the same?
“Easy.” My hormones are on high alert. Whenever I think about sex now, it has two similar faces—Foster and Jeffrey.
I walk to my bedroom, eyeing the cherry wood poster bed, wishing I could crawl underneath the thick comforter and hide from the world. But that’s not how things work. Own this. I rifle through my closet and choose a burgundy, silk jersey wrap dress and black heels. I slip them on and return to the bathroom and admire myself in the mirror. I’m blessed with long legs, and this outfit will get Foster’s attention.
What started as friendship has taken on a rhythm of its own, a cat and mouse game. The roles switch depending on my mood. Tonight I’m the prowling feline, and Foster better watch out.
At quarter–to-six my doorbell rings and I answer. Foster is wearing a green pullover and slacks, holding a bouquet of red roses.
“Erin.” He opens the screen door and steps inside. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” Tension racks my body whenever he stares at me like I’m the only woman on the planet. But my smile is genuine. He makes me happy. “Taking the fresh flowers every day a little too seriously?”
“Should I give them to someone else?” He hides them behind his back.
“No!” I attempt to snatch them, but he spins around, blocking me.
“Wrestling match?”
“Dressed like this?” I thrust my hand on my hip. “You’d have me at a serious disadvantage.”
“I like that idea.” He grins and offers the flowers again. “Replay?”
“Thank you, Foster. They’re lovely, let me get a vase.”
“Much better.” He follows me into the kitchen. “What smells so good?” He sniffs the air, exploring my countertops.
“Banana nut bread.”
“Homemade?”
“Yes. Do you want some?”
He pats his stomach. “Can’t resist fresh-baked goods.”
I rinse my hands, grab a knife from the cutlery drawer, then slice him a generous piece off the loaf cooling near the window. “You’re lucky. This was destined for the freezer.”
He takes a bite and closes his eyes. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?”
“Tastes like shit.” He shoots me a mischievous grin. “But I’ll brave another piece, with butter this time.”
“Oh really?” I’m still holding the knife. “After you insulted me?”
He edges closer, plucking the knife out of my hand. “Not sure I should trust you with sharp implements when you’re feisty.”
God he has a way of distracting me too easily. That beautiful face, his enviable body, his overwhelming presence.
“Erin? Mind wandering again?”
I break out of my trance, clearly unable to concentrate. Halloween can’t get here soon enough. “Ready to go?” Maybe if we get in the car and drive, I’ll stay focused.
“Not yet,” he whispers in my ear. “Let me taste you.”
Resistance is impossible as he hugs me close, my cheek resting on his chest. I breathe him in, and his spicy cologne goes straight to my head like too much champagne. Then he raises my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“This isn’t easy.”
“W-What?”
“Keeping my hands off you.” He brings his lips to my neck, nibbling and kissing until I sigh. “Let’s skip dinner.”
“Rules,” I remind him.
He exhales, obviously frustrated. “Maybe you need to rethink everything. Are these rules for me or you?”
I don’t know what to think or how to feel.
He back steps, holding my hands. “What are you thinking about?”
Should I risk telling him the truth? Will he misinterpret my insecurities as weakness? “I don’t want to end up like the girls I’ve seen you with in the papers.”
He blinks rapidly, then shakes his head. “You’ve followed me in the papers?”
“Yes.”
“If you were curious, why didn’t you pick up a phone or connect with me on LinkedIn or Facebook?” He sounds so disappointed. “Ignore half the bullshit you read or hear.”
“What about the other half? Is that true?”
“You want full disclosure?”
I nod. My interaction with men is so limited, but I need to know.
“Up until a few months ago, I played the field, baby. I won’t lie. I like to fuck.”
I gasp and laugh at the same time. Did he just say what I think I heard? “How romantic.”
“I didn’t mention relationships, Erin, I meant sex.”
Frowning, I glance away. “I know.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Am I judging the boy I used to know?” Our eyes meet.
“Is that fair?”
“From what I see, not much has changed.” Except that I’m drooling, and totally miffed that he freely admits to sleeping around.
“Maybe I deserved that one. But my feelings are real, Erin, I don’t waste time.” One side of his lips tip up as he checks his watch. “If we don’t leave, we’ll be late.”
I don’t say anything, but cover the banana bread with a towel, then turn off the lights. I follow him out the front door. He opens the passenger door for me and I slide inside his car. The leather seat hugs my body like a glove. The differences between my little red Audi and his big black Jaguar remind me of the vast dissimilarities between us. I’m cute and inexperienced, the ex-girlfriend he thinks he’s still crazy about. Then there’s the shark. I watch him climb into the driver’s seat, confidence bleeding out every pore.
“Ready?” he asks.
Am I? “Wait!”
> “What is it, baby?”
I lean across the console, offering my mouth. “Kiss me, Foster.”
I don’t need to ask twice. He cups my face between his hands and slants his hot mouth over mine. God he tastes good. I touch his chest, and those wicked sensations he conjures ripping through me again. It’s a slow, delicious kiss at first. His tongue drifts lazily over mine. My fingers glide up his front, stopping on his shoulders. I love his sculpted arms. I love his mouth. After his tongue moves more forcibly against mine, I moan, completely lost.
He leans back. “More?”
Speechless, I settle in the seat again and pull the visor down in search of a lighted mirror. My lip color is gone. I check his face. There’s a streak of purple on his cheek. Should have worn my all-day lipstick. “Wipe your face.”
He stares in the rearview and grins. “Let’s give Thomas something to think about.”
Although I like the idea, a dinner party isn’t the appropriate place to torture my make-believe fiancé. I open my purse and fish out a tissue and my lipstick. I fuss in the mirror for a few seconds. “Good as new.”
“You’re fucking perfect.” The tone of his voice makes me uneasy.
My eyes automatically shoot to his face, then his crotch. His slacks can’t hide his excitement. I can’t think straight if I know he has an erection.
“Blow off dinner.” He rests his hand on my lap. “Fuck, Erin.” He squeezes his eyes shut.
I reach over him and turn the ignition key. The car purrs to life. “Not this time.” It’s a weak no that suggests more.
“When?”
Maybe never. And surely not after Halloween, which narrows our window of opportunity down to practically nothing. If I didn’t have a history with Foster, he’d be the one. But something inside me can’t let go of the past. It’s not just fear. It’s something deeper, something far more dark and unexplored. Maybe I don’t want him to know what kind of woman I truly am. I hardly tolerate my own truth well. I want to be tied up and fucked. I want to be spanked. How’s that for honesty, Foster?