Mr. Sugar: A disturbing psychological thriller with a twist of dark romance

by L. D. Fox

  “You have soda?”

  Claire gave Angel a brief frown and then nodded. “Sure. Let me—” she gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll go round those up. Make yourselves at home.”

  Angel gave him a quick glance from under her lashes — one she probably didn’t think he would have seen — before walking further into the living area. It held a low, broad coffee table and three plush sofas. In an adjacent room — what might have been the bedroom — crouched a gleaming oak desk and the usual office furniture and electronics — a printer, a computer, a filing cabinet.

  A few ferns dotted the spaces where the light fell through the venetian blinds, and he could smell flowers somewhere, but hidden.

  Angel sank into one of the sofas, crossing her legs and laying her hand on the seat. Watching him as he came closer. Moving her hand away when he came to take a seat beside her. She’d been playing her part perfectly the whole day — he gave her a low, wide smile and squeezed her thigh. Although what she was wearing wasn’t quite as slutty as he’d liked, she’d done a remarkable job nonetheless.

  He leaned closer to her, putting his mouth to her ear. “I need you to put your hand on my thigh in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hmm.” He slid his fingers under the hem of her yellow sundress and tugging at the soft fabric. “Weren’t you wearing this when I fucked you in my kitchen?”

  Angel shifted and tugged both sides of her dress down with her hands. “I washed it,” she said, giving him another of those wary, sidelong glances.

  He sat back, letting his hand slide from her thigh. “How many clothes do you have?”

  She looked away, staring toward where Claire had disappeared to. “Penny said I should pack light.”

  At the mention of his daughter’s name, Drew put his hands in his lap and squeezed them tight together. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Penny last night. He’d lain awake, listening to the soft sound of Angel breathing beside him, as he’d tried to figure out what he was going to do with his daughter.

  “Hope you don’t mind, but it’s been awhile since breakfast,” Claire announced as she strode into the room holding a tray. “Please you join me, else I’ll feel like a little pig.”

  Drew stood, taking the tray from her as she came up to the sofa.

  “Oh.” She released the tray, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and dropped to the single sofa chair across from theirs. “Thank you, Drew.”

  “My pleasure.” He handed a beading glass of soda to Angel, who sat forward to take it, and then perched on the edge of the sofa without touching his glass of water.

  Claire poured herself coffee, added milk and two sugars, and then hesitated before adding a third. “So, what brings you out of hiding, Drew?”

  The real-estate agent’s brief smile was genuine enough, but she cast a quick, furtive glance in Angel’s direction before sitting back on her seat.

  Drew meshed his fingers together, letting them dangle between his spread knees. “I’ve decided not to sell the lakehouse.” He sighed and rubbed both hands down his legs, drying them. “I’m adding it to my trust.”

  “You’re sure?” Claire asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Those were some impressive offers I sent through—”

  At that choice point in the conversation, Angel slid a hand over his thigh.

  Claire cut off, her eyes flashing to that hand, to Angel’s face, across to Drew.

  “We’re sure,” Drew said.

  “We…” Claire repeated quietly. Then she cleared her throat. “I’ll take it off the market today.”

  “Could you get the documents together for me to sign? How long does it take?”

  “Not long.” Claire reached for her cup of coffee. “You’re just one quit claim away.” Then, absently, grabbed one of the cookies from an overflowing plate she’d brought out of the kitchen with her. “When do you need it done by?”

  Drew took another breath, swallowed half the glass of water, and stared at the floor between his feet. “Today, still. Is that possible?”

  Claire gave a single slow nod. “I can notarize for you, that’ll save some time. But it has to be filed at the records office, and that could take all day if—”

  “I’m full up with appointments the rest of the day. Could you attend to that for me?”

  “Let me just check my schedule…”

  “Please, Claire. I’d really appreciate it.” Drew shrugged his shoulders. “After Juliet died—”

  “Oh, dear Lord.” It was obvious from Claire’s expression that she’d forgotten about Juliet’s death.

  For an instant — just a brief, flare of a moment — rage lashed through him. This woman had shmoozed Juliet into setting her heart on the house on Elm Street — now she didn’t even remember attending her funeral? Had she forgotten the tremulous handshake she’d given him when the guests had all filed past with their condolences? He’d been hungover, still drunk with despair, weak from not having eaten for three days, and he could still fucking remember.

  “After she died,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “I thought selling would help with… with the pain. The memories, you know?”

  “Of course, Drew. Of course.”

  “But now…” Drew squeezed Angel’s thigh as he glanced at her. “Let’s just say, I’ve found someone who made it all go away.”

  “Oh. I… That’s wonderful, Drew. Uh… Let me—” Claire rose, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “Let me get that deed form printed out. I’ll clear my schedule this afternoon, get it recorded for you.” She grabbed another cookie from the tray. “Please, help yourselves. I won’t be a minute.”

  Claire was several minutes, in fact, but Drew occupied himself with Angel while the woman was gone.

  “Can I have one?” Angel said, squirming into the couch and widening her blue eyes at him.

  “I’m not sure you should.” Drew leaned closer, tracing his fingertips over her stomach. “I don’t want you spoiling your appetite.”

  “But I’m starving.” Her voice was close to a whine. “Just one.” She sat forward, putting her lips to his ear. “I promise I’ll eat anything you want, Sir.”

  Drew’s skin broke out in goosebumps. He closed his eyes, inhaling Angel’s scent as he willed himself not to get hard at the thought of what he’d be feeding her.

  He grabbed a cookie and brought it to her mouth. “Just a little.”

  Angel took a small, cautious bite from the chocolate-chip cookie. She chewed, staring at him, and then swallowed. “Gah.” Angel stuck out her tongue and made a gagging sound. “Shit, that’s horrible.”

  Drew laughed and used his thumb to brush a crumb from her lip. “That bad?”

  “You try it.” She pulled a face and pushed away his hand. “I think she used salt instead of sugar.”

  Instead, he leaned in and kissed her. He’d wanted to the whole morning, but every time he’d looked at her, he’d thought of Bryce. Now, all he could see was Angel.

  She responded instantly, sitting up and leaning into him, kissing him back as hard as he was kissing her. He slid a hand between her thighs, squeezing her muscles. She twisted her face away, exhaling a ragged breath.

  “Please,” she murmured. “I’m beyond trigger happy.”

  He grinned, squeezed her leg again.

  Drew gripped the side of her face and brushed his thumb over her mouth. When he heard footsteps on the hardwood floor, he leaned forward and gave her another small kiss on the side of her neck. He straightened in time to see Claire’s eyes flash guiltily away from them.

  The real-estate agent cleared her throat and handed him a file. “So that’s done.”

  But, before he could take it from her, she lifted it from his reach.

  “Drew… are you sure about this? I mean, those offers… And you’ve been itching to sell that place since—” she glanced at Angel “—for a while now.”

  He exhaled, trying to stamp down his irritation. “We’ve
given it a lot of thought, Claire.” Sliding an arm around Angel’s shoulders, he drew the girl close.

  Claire’s eyes widened slightly, and the arm holding the file dropped to her side.

  “We’re popping in there this weekend. Just to take a look around. If Angel doesn’t like it, then we’ll sell.” He shrugged. “But I have a feeling she’ll be begging to stay there.”

  Claire let out a short, harsh breath. “Okay.” She tipped her head to the side. “Let me know Monday, then.” Handing the file to him, she added, “I’ve marked where you have to sign.”

  He took out a single document, lifted the pen from its holder on the coffee table and held it poised above the page. His signature came out as a long, florid scrawl. He lifted the page and turned it over. “Just the one?”

  “That’s it.” Claire nodded, giving Angel another circumspect glance. “Just have to stamp it.” She pointed toward her office “I’ll be right back.”

  There was the muffled bang of a stamp, then a photocopier spitting out a few pages. When Claire came back, she handed him one of the copies.

  “You know the drill, right?”

  He nodded. “Well, Harry sure does. He only needs this copy?”

  “That’s it. I’ll fax proof that it’s been added to the public records tomorrow. You can just fax that over to your man.”

  He sat back, slapped the file against his knee, and gave Claire a not-too-wide smile. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

  “It’s—” the woman’s voice faded, and she held up a finger as she took a big swallow of coffee. “It’s no problem.”

  Drew stood, extending a hand.

  Claire took it, shook it, but Drew held on. “Thanks for this, Claire.

  He led the way, arm still around Angel. When he held open the door for her, he had a chance to glance back at Claire. She was still standing facing the sofa, looking frozen in place.

  “It’s been a pleasure.” He dipped his head and left.

  26

  All the King's Horses

  “You own a fucking lakehouse?” Angel belted out as soon as they were in the car.

  “You sound surprised,” Mr. Sugar said.

  She shrugged a little and then turned her attention out the car’s window. “Penny’s never mentioned it.”

  “Penny’s only been once. It’s so far out, it never seemed worth the effort just to spend a few days there.”

  “Fucking rich people,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Sorry?” But there was laughter in his voice, so he’d obviously heard her.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Can we get food or something?”

  “If you ask nicely.”

  “Please, Sir?”

  “That’s better.” Drew tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “There’s a diner just up the road here.”

  “I’d eat out a trash can right now.”

  “Diner it is. Can’t be too long; our next appointment’s in less than an hour.”

  He turned into the parking lot of an overly-cheery looking diner with checkered curtains and white Formica booths. Inside, they had their pick of seats; only two of the tables were in use. Mr. Sugar took them to the furthest window seat.

  There were already menus on the table, but he didn’t look at them. Instead, he laced his fingers together in front of him and watched her reading the menu.

  “So what’s good here?”

  If he seemed surprised at the question, he didn’t show it. “Everything except the livers. Then again, I don’t eat livers, so maybe they’re good too.”

  She nodded, glanced up as the waitress walked up to them. “Their coffee?”

  He shrugged. “It has caffeine in it.”

  “Something to drink?” The waitress — a woman in her fifties with a hairstyle from the same era — gave them a quick scan before concentrating on her order pad again.

  “Two coffees.”

  “Ready to order?”

  “Sure.” Drew sat forward in his seat. “Cherry pie, cream.” He turned his eyes to Angel. “And she’ll have the pancakes. Bacon and syrup.”

  She would have grimaced if he hadn’t been staring at her so hard.

  “Coming right up.” The waitress gave them a vague smile before disappearing down the aisle with their order.

  “I don’t eat that.”

  “Pancakes?”

  “Bacon.”

  “You had it for breakfast the other morning.”

  “You had it for breakfast.” She shifted in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I had everything but.”

  “What’s wrong with bacon?”

  “It comes from pigs.”

  “And?”

  She shifted on her seat with a downturned mouth. “And I had a pig called Dumpty. He used to sleep in my bed.”

  Drew’s eyebrows lifted in surrender, and he gave her a bemused smile.

  “You were really going to sell that lakehouse because of Juliet?”

  His smile flickered away. “It was more hers than mine.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I went there once, after the funeral. It reeked of her, like she’d permeated herself right into those goddamn pine walls.”

  “I thought you hardly ever went there.”

  “I didn’t.” Drew shrugged, reached across the table, and tucked a section of hair behind her ear, making her shiver. “But Juliet would go at least once a month. Sometimes two.”

  “By herself?” She ran her gaze over his face, watching as it hardened. As a shadow darkened his eyes. As his mouth tightened into a thin line.

  Not by herself, then.

  Then, as abruptly as that change came, it disappeared again.

  “So. Are you looking forward to this weekend?”

  Her eyes fixed on his, and she tightened her arms around her chest. “You were serious?”

  “As cancer.” He shrugged and sat back in his seat, leaving his laced fingers resting on the edge.

  “Why don’t you live there? I would.”

  Drew’s eyebrows twitched. “At the lakehouse? No internet. Not much of anything, really.”

  “That stock broker of yours said you’re getting paid out like a bazillion dollars tomorrow. I’m sure you could… hire a satellite or something.”

  “Is bazillion more or less than a gazillion?” He pursed his lips for a second, but the light dancing in his eyes was anything but serious. God, but she wished she could see his cogwheels turning.

  The waitress arrived with their coffee “Food’ll be ready in a few minutes.” She gave them a warm, slightly flaky smile, and left with another look between them.

  Drew was pouring cream into his coffee, not looking at her. His foot knocked into hers as he stretched his legs out under the table. “Sit next to me.”

  She wanted to argue; here she only had to look out the window or at the wall of faded black and white photographs. If she sat next to him, she had a whole diner of people to contend with. But she recognized the look in his eyes; he was hungry for more than just cherry pie.

  Sliding her cup across the table as she stood, she moved around the booth until her hip bumped into Drew’s. He gave her a smile and laid his arm over her shoulder, drawing her close.

  “You know we can’t eat like this.”

  “Have you tried?”

  She pressed her lips into a line and took a sip of her coffee; he was right — all that could be said for it was that it had caffeine in it. She tipped in some cream and tried it again.

  “Would you stay there?” he asked, putting his mouth by her ear, so his breath stirred the fine hairs there.

  She barely suppressed a shiver. Shrugged. Took another sip of coffee. “Maybe. But I’ve got school.”

  “You were planning on going back?”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Now you sound surprised.”

  He slid his hand from her shoulder, pressing his elbows on the table to shift a few inches away from her. “When�
��s your break ending?”

  “You don’t know?” She snorted and took a big swallow of coffee. “Penny’s right; you really don’t pay attention to her. I was there when she told you.”

  Drew lifted his coffee cup to his lips, but he didn’t drink. “Don’t ever say my daughter’s name again.”

  Cold shock closed over her at the tone in his voice.

  “You didn’t answer my question. When’s your break ending?” Drew took a sip of coffee. His one hand disappeared under the table and glided over her thigh.

  “In a week and a bit.”

  Mr. Sugar laughed then. It was a quiet, rueful chuckle that he cut short just after it began. “You were that confident?”

  She crossed her legs, trapping Mr. Sugar’s fingers between her thighs. “Yes.”

  “Two weeks to seduce me and get your hands on my money,” he mused quietly. “Did you have a plan, other than to walk around half-naked in my house until I caved in?”

  His voice was low, dangerous. She looked up, her stomach growing tight when she saw the far-off expression in his eyes.

  She squirmed in her seat. “Not really.”

  “How’d you know it would work?” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “How’d you know I’d even let you into my house?”

  She shrugged. Their waitress approached with two plates. The woman looked up at their table and gave a small frown when she saw that Angel had moved.

  Angel put her hand on Drew’s leg. Squeezed. “Call it women’s intuition.”

  Drew snorted softly. “More like a girl’s half-assed attempt at being clever.”

  She slid her hand up, resting it on his dick. Squeezed again.

  Mr. Sugar shifted in his seat.

  “Why do we need to call it anything, Mr. Sugar? It is what it is.”

  The waitress was obviously in earshot; she paused, glanced behind her as if looking for backup, and then hastily slid their plates onto the table.

  “Cherry pie with cream and bacon pancakes. Your drinks still fine?” It came out fast, in one breath.

  Angel raked her nails over Mr. Sugar’s hardening dick. “What shakes do you have?”

  Drew shifted under her hand, but he didn’t move away. Instead, his hand wormed its way higher up her leg. So high, that it was her turn to shift in her seat.