by S. M. West
“They insinuated I’d done something inappropriate, and unless you’re spreading lies about me, it has to be Whitney. She also paid me a visit and threatened me. Told me to stay away from you.”
“Fuck, Pru.” He rakes a hand through his hair.
My hands rest on my waist, and I cock a hip. “Start talking.”
19
Eli
Seeking solace with me
“I fucked things up between us, and I want to make things right.” He isn’t groveling when he should be.
Ross Carmichael is a pussy—and that isn’t even the right word. Women are strong, and using the word suggests otherwise. Nah, he’s a spineless bastard.
“Yeah, you did screw up and made a mess of things. But I don’t want to hear your worthless apologies when I don’t have the full story.” Pru’s tone and body language are cold, and they have to be.
This has to hurt. This guy was not just her business partner. He was also a friend, someone she trusted. I’d guess it would be like Gray or Jared doing something like this to me. I’d be gutted and beyond angry.
“I’m not looking for absolution. But let me explain. It might help.”
It isn’t clear what kind of help he means, and as much as I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt, I’m not giving him an inch.
To make sure he’s feeling the squeeze, I step closer, close enough for him to feel my breath at his back. “Stop stalling and talk.”
He screws up his face and gnashes his teeth. “Who the hell is this guy?” His dismissive tone rubs me the wrong way, and I glare, baring my teeth in a not so friendly way.
“You look familiar.” He’s cocky and trying hard not to show me he’s sweating, but it’s there in the twitch of his eye and the way his hands shake at his sides.
“None of your business.” Pru’s facial features sour, and I try not to take her quick shutdown of the topic—me—as a hit.
Why won’t she tell Ross who I am? Is that because I’m not important? Or too important to share with this man?
“Bryce, the selfish prick, can’t stop raving about you.” Like I thought, her cryptic, non-answer makes him think he can ignore me as the arrogant prick turns his back.
I want to show him otherwise but know better. I’m here to support Pru, not act like a jealous boyfriend. “As he should. Bryce is pleased with Pru’s work.”
Both stare at me. Ross’s interest is written all over his face. He wants to know who I am and how I know his brother. Pru wants me to stay out of this, her commanding eyes boring into me.
“He wants you to work on another film.” Ross puffs out his chest as if to say he has a better offer.
“Yes, you mentioned that in one of your messages.” Pru’s disinterested tone is echoed in her blank expression.
“So you have listened to them?”
“Ross.” She grits her teeth, and I close the gap between Ross and me.
“Are you happy working with Bryce?” He peers nervously at me over his shoulder. “Will you work with him again?” His effort to hide the green-eyed monster lurking in his gaze is pathetic.
At least I think it’s jealousy or something similar, but it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his brother, Pru, or both.
“Enough of this.” My hand clamps his shoulder, and he flinches, glaring back at me, but he’s smart enough to get to the point.
“Whitney thought I was having an affair with you. That’s why she demanded I fire you or else she’d leave me or make it so the board approved my dismissal.”
“What?” She barks out a laugh of incredulity. “That’s insane.” Pru paces a small patch of the marbled floor as her fingers thread through her hair. “Didn’t you try to make her see how crazy that was? That it wasn’t true? Besides the board would never have…”
She stops her back and forth, staring off into her penthouse as if only now realizing something. “Shit, of course. She got to the board—or more like her father did. The same way they voted to fire me. Is that why? He strong-armed them.” Her gaze swings to Ross. “And why keep you on as CEO if they believed we were sleeping together? We’d both have grounds for dismissal.”
“Think of the hit to the company reputation if both the CEO and COO are fired.” His flat, unfeeling response makes me want to punch him all over again. “And yeah. Whit’s father has a lot of sway with the board.”
It’s another example of gender inequality in the workplace. Get rid of the woman but not the man for the same alleged misconduct. Bullshit.
“Ross, why did Whitney think something was going on between us?” Pru’s tone is eerily calm, and if I had to guess, she already knows why. I’ve got a hunch too, and I’m new to this scene.
But even at that, there’s a blaze to her stare that I’ve never seen before. And it isn’t the sexy kind, although seeing her this fired up is a turn-on. No, it’s more like she’s ready to do some damage—like knee Ross in the balls.
“You and I worked late hours. I was always canceling things or going in to the office on the weekends.” His demeanor reeks of avoidance or hesitation. “And more times than not, I’d tell her I was working with you or meeting you there.”
“We were running a company. We weren’t alone, and it wasn’t only the two of us.” Irritated, she raises her hands and glowers. “How would she jump to that conclusion? Whitney knows me. I’d never—”
Ross cuts her off. “She isn’t wrong.”
He edges closer and his gaze darkens, and for a fleeting moment, all my muscles lock up. Did Pru and Ross have history? More than just a friendship and business?
My gaze snaps to Pru and she’s tense, puzzled even. Nah, I believe her. Ross is nothing but history. No longer her friend or business partner. There’s nothing more here.
“What are you talking about?” She narrows her gaze.
“I was having an affair. Whit’s no fool. She knows me, and while the affair wasn’t with you, I lied and told her I was working all those times…with you. She made the leap.”
“What?” Pru staggers backward as if to get away from him and clutches at her stomach. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think it possible, but this makes things worse. Not only did you cave to your wife’s extortion and let me go, but you used me as an alibi for your affair. And when caught red-handed, you let me go down for the crime.”
Pru rushes at him, fists in the air, eyes dark and mouth set in a hard line. Ross looks like he is in shock, body tense and unmoving. I lunge forward and get between them before she can deliver more than the first blow to his chest.
He lets out an oof and the contact pulls him from his daze. “Pru, I’m so sorry. I was stupid to give in to her demands. I’m a coward and chose my future over you. I’m an idiot. You’re my family.”
My back is to him but his voice is broken, and maybe, just maybe, his apology and plea are genuine.
“Shut up!” She isn’t having any of it, wrestling to break free of my hold.
“Hey.” My voice is low, soothing, and at first, useless.
Pru glares at him. “You aren’t my family. Never. I can’t believe…” The words die on her tongue as her face crumples. She struggles to hold back her tears and glances up at me.
And that’s when I’m most grateful I’m here. She clings to my side and focuses on my face as she forces her heartbeat to slow, even out, and her breathing to steady.
“You okay?” I whisper, and she nods.
The idiot begs, “Let me make this right. Come back to CE.”
And that’s when I snap and whirl on him, being sure to keep Pru at my side but at a distance from the jerk.
“Get the hell out of here. You’ve done enough damage.”
“Pru—” He ignores me, grabbing for her hand, but I’m faster and shift my body, widening the distance between them.
“You want to help? Get your rabid wife to back off and leave Pru alone. Find your balls and man up to what you did and set your wife straight. Now.”
; Pru steps forward, staying close to me. “And lose my number.”
His jaw clenches, and his hands ball into fists, but he doesn’t argue. Nodding, he opens the door and leaves.
“Are you okay?” I turn to her, taking her face in my hands.
“Yes. Thank you for being here. I should have seen this coming given Whitney’s behavior. But I just…” She steps from my hold and walks into her living room.
“Will he tell Whitney everything? And if he does, will she stop?” I take the seat next to her on the sofa and hold her hand, rubbing slow, small circles on her palm with my thumb.
“I don’t know. Before all this, I would have never believed he’d let her think such a thing. That he’d lie, but I’m only now realizing I didn’t know him.”
“Hey, I can only imagine how hard this must be for you. For what it’s worth, and it might be too soon for you to hear this, but you’re better off without him. He isn’t a friend.”
She nods, swallowing hard. “Yes, I know that now.” She curls into my side, and I relish the move, that she’s seeking solace with me. “Whitney’s father is the chairman of Carmichael-Edwards’s board. I was against it for this very reason. It’s like having my mother on the board. Ross pushed for it, wore me down, and I let him have his way. What a fool I am. I made it possible for them to get rid of me.”
“Come on. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re not to blame for this. At all.”
“I suppose, but I feel like a sucker. He was my family, or so I wanted to believe. The brother I so desperately wanted and because of that weakness, he’s used it time and time again to get his way.”
The word weakness is a slice to the heart. She has a different view of what family is, and she fears it.
“No. Family doesn’t do that. Family should make you stronger, not tear you down.”
20
Eli
Keeping your options open
“Do you always come to the door like that?” My gaze lazily explores her body from head to toe in her short shorts and another tank top. This time plain, blue, and no band.
“Like what?” She leans into the door, smiling coyly as if to say she knows exactly what I mean.
“In shorts that barely cover your gorgeous ass.” I grab for her, wrapping my arms around her slender waist and dropping a hand to squeeze said ass cheek.
She giggles and kisses the underside of my jaw. “Only when I know a hot guy may show up.”
“But you didn’t know I’d be here.” I walk us backward into her place.
After Ross left, I sat with her for a bit, wanting to spend the day together, but she had things to do. I sensed she needed time to digest the conversation with Ross and what it all meant. We made plans for dinner.
“No, I didn’t. I thought we’d agreed on dinner at your place?” Her hands roam my back, and I want to stay just like this—Pru in my arms.
“I couldn’t wait any longer, and now”—my gaze dips to her—“I’m glad I came here and got to see you in this.”
“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about my clothes?” Even as she asks, her tone suggests she knows exactly what her clothes or lack thereof do to me. “I’m wearing no less than a bikini.”
An agonizing groan bubbles up my throat. “You in a bikini. Woman, you’re making me really hard.” I grind my hips into her, and she gasps at my growing erection. “Now all I can think about is you in a bikini.”
“I’d say you’re thinking about me not in a bikini.”
I unwillingly pry myself away from her on a chuckle. Crystal is waiting on us for dinner. I can’t get carried away, no matter how much I want to strip her bare and have my way with her.
“Hey, you okay?” I tilt her chin up until I see her eyes.
“Yes. I’m good.”
“Okay.” I smile, relieved to see no signs of worry or pain in her gorgeous face. “Go get changed. Dinner’s ready, and we need to run to the store and pick up some popcorn for the movie.”
“Okay.” She pads barefooted toward the staircase. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be quick.”
While she’s gone, I sit in the living room, and on the table next to me is an open booklet. At first glance, it reads like a report, and I scan its contents. About a page and a half in, I stop myself, looking away.
This is none of my business. I didn’t intentionally open the report and start reading—it was just out in the open—but it isn’t right.
Although, from the little I read, my curiosity is piqued. The report suggests it has something to do with her father. It’s background or a biography on someone, a man, but I’d have to read on to be sure.
Pru enters the room, now in a summer floral dress, and she grins at me. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” I glance back at the report, and she follows my gaze, wariness swimming in her eyes.
“Did you read it?” Her tone is flat and expression now unreadable.
“Ah, sorry, yeah. But only a few paragraphs and then I stopped. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s fine.” Contrary to her words, her voice is clipped. “I’ve hired a firm to find my father.”
She leads the way to the door, clearly ready to leave. I quicken my pace to keep up. Pru’s told me a little about her mother, but no mention of her father.
“Oh. You don’t know your father?”
“No. That’s why I’ve hired someone.”
“And have they found him?” Each question I ask feels like I’m pushing my luck.
“Not yet.” She pushes the button for the ground floor. “But they’ve narrowed it down.”
“That’s good.”
“I hope so.” She slides a hand into the crook of my arm and smiles. “So what kind of popcorn are we picking up?”
I drop the subject of her father, for now, hoping she’ll share more later. Ross, her mother, and now her father—all of this explains the words she chooses as well as her concerns around relationships and family.
We scoot down the street a few blocks to the bodega, and in addition to the popcorn, we pick up chocolate and some kind of chewy candy Pru just had to get.
All told we’re gone fifteen minutes and deep in conversation when we walk through the front doors of the El Dorado.
“Eli.” The well-dressed woman at the front desk talking to Ernie, the doorman, stares at me, and my gut seizes.
Ambushed in the lobby again. But this time, it’s my problem not Pru’s. I look at the familiar face and search for words. She reminds me of a younger Julianne Moore.
Her long red hair is back in a tight, sleek ponytail, and her crisp linen pants are near blinding with how white they are. Her pink blouse is all ruffles, and her smile is prim and proper.
“Felicity.” Her name skates over my now dry lips, and my mind whirs with so many questions.
“Look at this. Fate at work.” Her smile widens, and she turns to Ernie. “Thank you so much.”
Straightening her purse strap, she sashays toward us, and that’s when she notices Pru. Abruptly, she stops, almost teetering on her toes as her gaze tracks from where we touch—my arm is around Pru’s waist and she’s leaning into me—up to my face.
“What are you doing here?” I finally find my brain and get to the point.
Felicity shouldn’t know where I live, and we haven’t seen or spoken to each other in weeks. Maybe this is coincidence, but judging by her first look at me, I can’t shake the feeling I’m the reason she’s here.
And our date—one date—weeks ago. Wait, I quickly do the math, we last saw each other a little over a month ago. I wasn’t a complete dick and ghosted her, but I gave her a weak excuse for why a second date wasn’t in the cards right now.
Okay, it was more like a brush-off, telling her life had gotten busy and that I’d be in touch. Fuck.
I’m not sure if she’s tried to contact me through the dating app. We didn’t exchange numbers—deliberate on my part—and I haven’t even opened the app in weeks.
I
should have been more forthcoming, but I didn’t want to be rude. Pru’s gaze bores into my profile. I don’t have to look at her to feel the questions rolling off her.
“I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. I brought dinner.” She points at the takeout bag resting on the counter by Ernie.
This is bold and brash of her. And how the hell did she figure out where I lived?
“But how’d you know where to find me?”
“Oh, Guy told me.” Her tone is breezy like it’s the most natural thing in the world to ask the app developer and creator for my address.
And what’s even worse is Guy Von Albers, the bastard, violated my privacy by giving her my address. She likely embellished our relationship, knowing Guy is a whore for the wealthy and famous.
That’s why he created the app in the first place, to make a name for himself and to have a legitimate excuse to rub elbows with prominent public figures.
Pru pulls from my hold and tells me in a low voice, “You two should talk. I’m going to go.”
Go? Does she mean to her place or mine? To ensure no confusion, I’m quick to hand her the bag of goodies from the bodega.
“I’ll meet you up there. Can you please take this with you?”
With a curt nod, she hesitates, glancing from Felicity to me, and it’s as if she doesn’t really want to leave, curious as to what Felicity and I might have to talk about. This is déjà vu from this morning. Only this time, I’m the one staying and she leaves, going to the elevator.
“Felicity, I’m not okay with you showing up like this.” I lower my voice and come closer to her. “I told you I’d call you.”
“I know, but I was worried about you when weeks went by without hearing from you. I sent you several PMs.” Now she sounds wounded, and to emphasize the point or make sure I get it, she twists her face like she’s in pain. “You could have responded to let me know you were still alive.”