#1 Rival

by Gephart, T

  In fact, there hadn’t been any inappropriate touching at all.

  Neither of us had been miraculously cured either. I watched as he raked his hand through his hair in frustration when I bent in front of him, the undone button of my shirt showing just enough cleavage.

  And I battled the distraction whenever he’d reach across the table, his big, strong body, a finger touch just out of reach.

  Neither one of us caved.

  It was like the ultimate game of sexual chicken, just waiting to see which one of us was the first to flinch.

  But it wasn’t just my inability to resist him that I had to deal with. No, I had a more important issue to resolve. Information, namely who he was, and what he was involved with.

  And I had still yet to find out who the woman was that he apparently “cared about.”

  I’d been up all night, tossing and turning, building my version of the truth. And my constructed reality wasn’t pretty.

  Eric, the older brother, was some kind of underworld drug lord.

  I’d come to the hypothesis after an extensive online search. There were no investment bankers, property developers or any other kind of businessmen named Eric Pierce that I could find.

  It would also explain the whole Heart and Vine connection too. It would make sense that someone with ties to illegal activity would need some legitimate businesses to launder their money. And obviously Roman was the middleman who made that all happen.

  Having a lawyer as part of the syndicate made perfect sense, and one that was related to you by blood was even better.

  The other brothers were probably involved too, their roles in the intricate crime web not yet ascertained.

  And the woman?

  She was Roman’s secret wife.

  Probably of South American origin with unmatched beauty, she had been married off young when her father hadn’t been able to pay a debt. She despised him—didn’t we all?—spending her days locked in a villa where she daydreamed about his murder. And while he hadn’t wanted any part of the sham marriage—I assumed since he seemed to be such a commitment-phobe—he was honor-bound to do his part for his family.

  He felt sorry for her, knowing that she was trapped in an impossible situation, and over time had learned to “care for her”—that was where that part came in.

  And to cope with a loveless marriage to a woman who systematically plotted his death—I could probably help her with that—he whored himself around, using sex as a panacea.

  Shit, or maybe I needed to take some freaking Ambien or something. Surely it was the lack of sleep making me sound like a crazy person. That, or it could be that a drug lord and his secret South American wife had recently been prosecuted. One of my friends was an assistant to the DA and had mentioned it over drinks. She made shitty money, but her stories were always great. Criminals were all the same, and why should Roman’s family be any different.

  “Harper?”

  My head snapped to attention as the sexy whore bastard said my name.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I tried to smile sweetly, remembering to stick with the plan.

  Do not call any attention to yourself.

  He watched me as he spoke. “I said, can you email me the deposition from Tuesday?”

  “Sure thing.” My lips thinned into a tight smile. “I’ll do it right now.”

  I hated that I still found him attractive.

  That even though I knew—okay, assumed—he was involved in bad shit, his face and his body did things to mine that I did not understand.

  I was a terrible person.

  But there was a silver lining.

  If I could somehow find a way to get justice for those—me included—that he and his brothers had wronged, then surely it would be worth it. I just needed more information. And in order to do that I needed him to trust me and believe it was business as usual.

  Which is why I was still flirting with him.

  It killed me—fine, it wasn’t completely terrible, shelve your judgment—to pretend, but I did it. And I would continue to do it until I knew everything.

  Hell, I could be the key to a major crime investigation; I almost had no choice in seeing this all the way through.

  My fingers tapped on my laptop, the sentence having been written three times and still didn’t make sense before I stopped typing. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Not this.” He didn’t lift his head continuing with his own document hell. “I swear they should hand out a prenup with the diamond ring. Why anyone would get married is a mystery, but getting hitched without the paperwork is just plain stupid.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes, lacking complete surprise at his romantic deficiency. He’d probably been soured by his own experience.

  “I’m almost positive that most people don’t get married believing they are going to get divorced.”

  Unless you were Roman Pierce. And then he probably made you so crazy that divorce was all you thought about. Divorce or death, it was a fifty-fifty split.

  “Yeah, well most people are idiots,” he deadpanned, blowing out a frustrated breath.

  “Speaking of idiots.” I couldn’t help myself, smiling sweetly as I pushed my laptop to the side. “What are your plans tonight?”

  His fingers paused midstroke, looking at me with suspicion. “Why?”

  Shit, I had been too eager. I should have insulted him more.

  “I need to buy you dinner,” I said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You know, to pay you back for buying mine. So if you don’t have plans, we’ll do that.”

  As far as lame excuses, it was the lamest. So ridiculously stupid it was almost an insult to my intelligence. But, I needed a reason to get him alone to talk and as far as workable ones, it would do.

  Twice he’d paid for my dinner, and it was common knowledge I didn’t like being indebted to people. Even more so when it was him. So, in fitting with my personality, it would make sense I would want to even the score.

  He looked amused, ignoring his computer entirely as he turned to face me. “I’m sorry, did I miss a question somewhere?”

  “I asked you what your plans are, that was the question.” I rolled my eyes, wondering why he had to make everything so difficult. “So, are you free or not?”

  “I can probably clear my evening for you, Harper.” His eyes caught mine. “If you say, please.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, Roman.” I was already regretting my decision, wondering if I wasn’t getting in over my head. “This is a yes or no proposition and the offer has an expiration time as well.”

  “Yes, Harper. We’ll have dinner.” He waved his hand, decreeing it so as he gave me a smirk. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  Whoa, what just happened?

  How did we get from me extending an invitation to him controlling the tone? And picking me up at eight? That wasn’t happening.

  “I have a car and can drive myself. We can meet there,” I was quick to add, knowing that being alone with him was dangerous.

  It’s when I made stupid decisions, like allowing him to kiss me.

  And other things.

  I couldn’t trust myself, and I especially couldn’t trust him.

  “Or I can pick you up at eight, like I just said I was going to.” He eyed me hard, leaving no room for debate. “You can pick where we go. That’s my final offer.”

  It never ceased to amaze me how much he could twist things around to suit himself. That was why I needed to keep my wits around him. “You know bullying people isn’t a compromise.”

  “I’m not bullying you. You want to go to dinner. I want to drive,” he reasoned, making it seem like I was the one being irrational. “No one is forcing you to do anything.”

  I wasn’t even going to try to argue with his jaded logic, the thought process making my head hurt.

  Just agree to whatever, have dinner, find out information, and seek vengeance.

  “Fine, whatever. Eig
ht,” I conceded, shaking my head.

  He was barely able to contain his grin. “Wear something sexy.”

  His secret wife wasn’t going to have to worry about killing him; I was going to do that for her.

  I narrowed my eyes as I clenched my teeth. “This is not a date, Roman.”

  “Who said it was?” His brow scrunched in confusion. “I just think if you’re going to be shoving your tits in my face all night, I might as well get a better look. That is what you’ve been doing.” He pointed to my chest, his lips twitching into a smile. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Maybe this is a bad idea after all.”

  It wasn’t just a bad idea, it was dangerous.

  I had no idea what I was getting into and I’d made extremely poor choices when it came to him.

  I had kissed him three times, the last time going a lot further than just kissing.

  What’s more, I liked it. I wanted to regret it and yet, there was something in me that held onto the memory like it had been a good thing. The recall heated my body quicker than any man should and I wasn’t sure if presented the opportunity another time that I wouldn’t do it again.

  Even now, knowing he was probably married and was involved in an evil crime racket. I was on the fast track to being one of those women who wrote love letters to prisoners and dreamed of the day they’d finally make parole.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  My eyes snapped to his, his pupils expanding as he bit on his lower lip. “It’s too late to change your mind. Now email me those depositions, the sooner we get out of here the better.”

  Shit.

  The potential for this to end badly was huge.

  “So, you’re dating him?” Morgan had been switched to night shift and was just about to leave when I got home. She stood at the door with a dinner-filled Tupperware container in her hand, her brow furrowing in concern.

  “It’s not a date,” I assured her, dumping my handbag on the kitchen table. “I told you, we’re just going to talk.”

  My theory on Roman and his family hadn’t been shared yet. Firstly, because I knew Morgan would worry, and she had enough on her plate saving people on a daily basis in the ER. And secondly, because all I had right now was suspicion. I needed solid evidence, and the less people who knew, the better.

  “This has trouble all over it, but I guess I should be grateful you are willing to do something other than work. Baby steps. We may even get you into the regular habit of having fun.” She looked at her watch, grabbing her keys and her phone. “I need to go or I’m going to be late. Just remember to be careful, and if you sleep with him use protection. I stuffed condoms in your top drawer last week.”

  “I don’t need help with fun. I have a lot of fun.” I screwed up my face in horror. I did, didn’t I?

  Sure, I worked hard, but so did she, and I could definitely relax when needed. Her eagerness for me to “date” someone who I’d been vocally averse to was probably a hint it had been a while. Maybe she was right, and I was a little uptight? Ugh, too much to process right now, especially when I had no idea where the night was going to lead and whether or not any fun would be had.

  “And I’m not going to sleep with him,” I scoffed, hoping the rest of me was as certain as my mouth was. “I told you, dinner and talking, that is all.”

  “Whatever you say, Lo.” Morgan waved goodbye, looking unconvinced. “I’ve got to run but know it’s okay to let your hair down a little. Given half a chance, I might attempt it myself.”

  As the door slammed shut, the clock started to tick, and I was both nervous and excited for what the night would bring.

  One way or another I wanted some answers, and I’d probably have better luck with that if I eased off the bitch and added a little more charm. It worked for him, didn’t it?

  So, giving myself a mental pep talk, I quickly stripped down, showered and redressed in “something sexy.” Not because he’d told me to or because it was a date. But because dressing that way made me feel more confident, and I figured I had a better chance at learning the truth if he was distracted by my boobs. Yes, I was going to use a little cleavage as well as my brain, there were just some problems that needed the whole toolbox.

  The red dress I picked plunged dangerously low in the front. I’d only worn it one other time on a date and that night ended with a drunken homeless person tossing garbage at me and calling me a whore. I was hoping that this time around I’d get a better outcome.

  My less than average breast size meant I didn’t need a bra, with the rest of the dress molding to my skin all the way to just below mid thigh. It didn’t leave a lot to the imagination, and unlike the night where I’d been accosted by the homeless person, this time around it had been intentional.

  In an effort to tame my long heavy brown hair, I blew it out, with my tresses eventually submitted into large, loose curls. I was just putting on the finishing touches of my makeup when I heard the buzzer at my door.

  It was only seven thirty; he was early.

  “Hey.” I opened the door, still missing my shoes and the matching handbag. “Come in, I’m almost done.”

  His eyes flared as they rolled down my body, his lips thinning into a tight line. “Have you decided where we’re going?”

  “Um yeah, Niko’s.” I nodded for him to follow me into the living room before slipping into my shoes. “It’s this cute little place off Hollywood.” My back was turned to him as I adjusted in my heels and continued talking. “Their menu is a fusion of sort of everything but apparently it works. And I heard the food is—” The breath eased of my lungs as I turned back to face him finding him closer than I anticipated. I slammed into his chest, his body unyielding.

  He smelled amazing, the fresh manly scent of his cologne wafting up my nose as my face hovered inches from his chest. He wasn’t wearing his usual suit either, dressing down in a pair of charcoal tailored pants and a black button down shirt. No tie. No jacket. And no idea how to convince myself that I didn’t want to maul him within an inch of his life even though he was probably a married, dirty lawyer with a family in organized crime.

  “Where’s your sister?” He didn’t move, his firm body flush against mine.

  “Working.” I took a step back, giving us some distance, deliberately not giving him any more information than I already had.

  It was one thing to be alone with him in my apartment just before we left for dinner, it was another for him to know that no one would be home when we got back either.

  I had meant what I said when I told Morgan I wasn’t going to sleep with him. But I wasn’t about to give a diabetic person a piece of cake and see what would happen either. And as far as irresponsibility went, me being alone with Roman, and giving the diabetic the cake were one and the same.

  “We should probably go, traffic.” I grabbed my handbag, the international female sign for let’s get out of here, and walked back over to the front door.

  He waited a minute, being creepy a little longer as he stared before he decided he was going to join me. The sooner we got out of there, the better.

  “My car is parked out front.” He opened the door, moving to the side to give me room to step outside and lock up behind us.

  I felt his eyes on me the entire time, the icy blue weight of his stare dissecting every single one of my movements as he followed me down the hall.

  Never had I been so glad we only lived on the second floor. It was easier to walk down a couple flight of stairs than step into the confined space of an elevator. I needed to remember that at the end of the night and say goodbye to him in the car.

  “So . . .” I attempted breaking the awkward silence as I opened the external security door and stepped out. “I’m meeting with Chase Anderson next week.” It wasn’t great conversation but it would have to do. At least I didn’t sound moronic or flick my hair. And I hadn’t fallen face first into his lap either so it was winning all around.

  “Why?
” His response was clipped, sounding annoyed as he joined me on the sidewalk.

  “Because I’ve narrowed down a few options for the acquisition.” I assumed a meeting with the CEO of ITP would be self-explanatory, especially since losing the stupid bet against him had been responsible. “When we spoke yesterday, he made it clear that he wanted to deal with me directly.”

  “I’d heard rumors he was very hands on.” His eyes dipped down to my breasts, only this time, he wasn’t smiling. “I should probably go with you.”

  “Thanks, but I think I can handle it by myself.” And I didn’t need his help with something I could have handled as a first year associate.

  He eyed me cautiously, his smile yet to return. “I didn’t say you couldn’t handle it, I said I should go.”

  “Then let me rephrase it.” I stopped, nailing him with a look guaranteed to shut down the conversation. “I am going by myself.”

  “Suit yourself.” He wisely didn’t continue to argue as he waited for me to continue walking. “Let’s go.”

  It was a perfect spring night outside. Warm enough that I didn’t need a jacket, with a slight breeze cooling the air before it hit skin. It seemed that even the weather was conspiring against me, the mood feeling a lot more date-like than I would have liked as we walked to the curb where he was parked.

  I had never seen Roman’s car. Trivial information about stuff like that had previously been decided to be a waste of my time. Who cared? Besides, it was probably something black and sleek that complimented his preference for dark suits. A sedan, possibly with a personalized number plate, because that wasn’t douchey at all. Eye roll.

  So, unless we were planning on stealing a car before we headed out to dinner, I was confused when we stopped beside an older model cherry red convertible.

  “You drive a 1980’s Porsche?” My eyes bulged. The rounded curves looked like they had just been polished to shiny perfection.

  Tonight was just full of surprises, the car, the first no doubt of many.

  He laughed, amused by my reaction as he pulled the keys out of his pocket. “Nice try, but it’s a ’72 Ferrari.”