by Harloe Rae
“You’d be so rich, none of that emotional bullshit would matter anymore.” I’ve been immune my entire existence until she came along.
“It’s always about money, huh? How shallow. No amount is worth selling my happiness.”
“We’d only be married on paper.” But the thought of her fucking other men makes my vision go dark. One problem at a time. “Our union wouldn’t be anything more than a title.”
“It means something to me, asshole. I want to find love. Settling for less is cheap. I’d rather be single than shackle myself to a scam.”
“It wouldn’t be a total farce.” I would grow to care about her. Parts of me already do.
“No? You’d love me? Be faithful? Take me on a damn boat cruise if I ask?”
“You’re overreacting,” I deadpan.
Vannah buries her face behind a palm and muffles a scream. “Me? You just proposed a fake marriage while your cock was still inside me.”
“You don’t need to keep repeating that.”
“I think I do. You’re not understanding how fucked-up this is.”
“It’s a better solution than the alternative.”
“Oh, this should be a treat.” She rolls her neck, pinning me with another glare. “What might that entail? Perhaps I’ll find it more practical.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Spit it out.” She spins her wrist.
If I were the retreating type, now would be the moment for a white flag. I prefer charging into conflict with my sword drawn regardless of the odds. Surrendering more dignity to her isn’t an option. If she won’t accept my proposal, pushing her away is the next best thing. Breaking her spirit was always top priority. “I wanted to sleep with you, then break our contracts.”
She’s too quiet, her posture too rigid. This woman lives for bickering with me. “Do you realize how horrible that sounds? You’re not a monster. Tell me you’re kidding.”
Regret sinks its piercing teeth into my flesh, warning me to quit, but the damage is done. “I would if this were a laughing matter.”
A shimmer passes through her gaze, but it’s gone too fast. “This was all a ploy?”
The hurt in her voice stabs me in the chest with a rusty blade. I look down to hide a wince. “You’re smart enough to answer that yourself. Although, to be honest, I’m not sure I could’ve gone through with it.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
I shrug. “Probably not.”
Her eyes narrow to feral slits. “I want to hear you admit it.”
A drumming stampede pounds into my ears. It’s just sex. There’s no rule stating I have to be kind afterward. People are manipulated to do far worse than share their bodies. The excuse does little to ease my conscience. Why do I care? Guilt slithers in, but I don’t grovel.
My gaze is unwavering as I deliver the blow she demands. “Yes, sugar. I played nice so you’d let me fuck you. If it’s any consolation, you’re a damn good lay. The first woman I’ve slept with more than once.”
“You disgust me.” Her blistering tone further punctuates the clear message.
I don’t blame her. Hearing the words aloud fills me with loathing, pulling me under until I’m gagging. My agenda now seems disturbing. A vision of my father comes to mind. He’s towering over an unsuspecting woman, spatting lewd comments and propositions. Is that who I’m becoming? The similarities have acidic bile churning in my gut.
I might be conniving, but this is too far. Remorse doesn’t trickle in on a slow drip. No, that inky sensation floods into my system with enough weight to make me stagger.
What was I thinking?
Making her hate me after she willingly let her guard down was the entire idea. That is, until I asked her to take a permanent place beside me and she rejected my proposal. I steel my reckless resolve, pushing forward through the nausea. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been plotting against me.”
“I won’t.” She admits that far easier than I had predicted. “Did I want to teach you a lesson? Yes. Was part of that getting you to fall in love with me? Sure. Would I have broken your heart and walked away? Highly doubtful, because I’ve caught a feeling or two for you. Nothing I planned involved fucking you, only to shame you for it in the end. That’s diabolical.”
Icy tendrils weave around my black heart. “You wanted this just as much as me.”
“Are you trying to convince yourself? Or maybe absolve your guilt?”
Well, this isn’t going according to plan. Not at all. “I didn’t take advantage of you.”
Vannah’s stance sags, as if the energy is leeching from her system. “No, you’re right. I spread my legs willingly. If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t be standing here. You made me believe you were decent, that my initial judgment was rash. The joke is on me. I’ll own that. You have to live with being deceitful. Enjoy that weight on your shoulders.”
Self-preservation kicks in. Years of conditioning swarm me with a rabid snarl. “You’re out of line.”
“And you’re blinded by this sadistic scheme to trap me.”
“You’re a hypocrite.” The familiarity in our bickering releases a clamp from my windpipe.
“We’re not falling into old habits.” Her laugh is bitter, stinging my tongue with a foul taste. “What you did is worse. I never acted on my spite for you other than a few harmless pranks.”
I should be relieved to finally wipe my hands clean of this infernal pest. All that fills me is sticky sludge. “Okay, let’s calm down. We’re both at fault—”
Vannah throws up her hands. “No, don’t even go there. I’m leaving.”
Her interruption snaps a string that had been keeping me tethered. If I had something to throw, it would be shattered against the door. A parting blow will have to do. “I was beginning to wonder when your pride would show up.”
“Wow.” She rests a palm on her forehead. “You almost had me fooled, Lannie. I can’t believe I almost trusted that this was becoming genuine. Congratulations, Mr. Winters. You win. I want no part of your twisted game. We’re done here.”
Letting her walk out the door might be my greatest mistake. That doesn’t mean I stop her, though.
For once, I allow someone else to have the final word without complaint. Vannah deserves it.
I heft the drool monster higher in my arms and blow him a raspberry. Archer slobbers on me while spitting bubbles, earning his nickname. “You’re so pudgy and round,” I coo.
“And look at these thunder thighs,” Clea adds while tickling his rolls.
“His weight has almost tripled. He eats very well.” Presley gestures to her chest.
“I don’t blame him. You’ve got a nice set of knockers.” I wink at her.
“If only they garnered that reaction from the opposite sex,” she mutters.
My gaze bounces between Presley and her son. “Wait, are you already back on the prowl?”
“Well, no.” She huffs, scattering the black hair sticking to her forehead. “It’s just nice to be noticed.”
“Sure freaking would be,” Clea harps beside me.
“I take it there haven’t been any major improvements with—”
She cuts me off with a glare. “No.”
Presley sips at her lemonade. “His loss.”
The four of us are camped out in her backyard, enjoying the delicious heat from mid-July. Our feet are soaking in a frigid kiddie pool to chase the sweat away. This is exactly what I needed after being stuck at the office while the sunshine taunted me. My job doesn’t have quite the same sparkle after being hosed by a certain client who shall remain nameless. I clench my jaw at the invasive memory. That’s a topic I’m supposed to be ignoring.
“Men are stupid,” I grumble. “Except this sweet little angel. You’re perfect.”
Archer babbles a string of nonsense jargon at me. His adoring audience—me included—cheer him on. He’s all the entertainment I need.
Presley boops his nose. “He’s
really such a good baby. I’m spoiled. When I tell other new moms how much he sleeps, they give me a death glare.”
I smile at him when he reaches for my hair. “How old is little Archie now?”
“Four and a half months.” Presley recites that with a robotic undertone. It’s probably an annoying question she has to answer on the regular.
Gooey fingers yank at my tresses and I wince. With delicate precision, I pry his grip off me. I hold out his teether and he reaches for it with zombie arms. “I need to visit more. This cutie pie is a more effective mood booster than a champagne bubble bath.”
My friends share a glance. Presley cringes at being selected as the designated speaker. “Are you doing okay, Van?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” My chipper tone isn’t meant to fool anyone. I’m just forcing reality to butt out.
“Do we really need to say it?” Clea twists her lips.
“I’m fine, really. This isn’t a big deal at all. I’m a boomerang with a quick rebound. It’s my motto. Brush off, strut away, and be peachy.” Another wary look gets exchanged between them and I scoff. “Honestly.”
It’s not a total lie. I’ve only been home for twenty-three hours and forty-six minutes. Not that I’m keeping track. After being involved in what can only be described as a shit storm, I hightailed it out of Chicago on the first departure. The Windy City chewed me up and spit me out, but I mostly blame the billionaire extraordinaire for that. Fucking prick, that one. I hope karma nails his ass to something gross, like a public bus seat. That has to be close to his version of hell.
I landed in Minneapolis in time to catch happy hour. That didn’t seem like a wise decision, though. Mixing booze with frazzled nerves is a disaster waiting to strike. I took the rest of the day to lick my wounds in private.
Clea nudges my shoulder. “You’re not invincible, and no one expects you to be. It’s okay to admit you need a hug, Van.”
My nose stings and I sniff. “I’d never say no to that.”
They take turns wrapping their arms around me—while shuffling a wiggly Archer between us—until I’m wrung out of fresh air and gasping for breath. Just to prove a point, or for good measure, Presley and Clea give me another squeeze. We break apart and resume our relaxation stations. My exhale is a tad lighter after that.
Presley’s eyes twinkle in the shade. “Better?”
I nod, trying to stop my grin from wobbling. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’m drunk on denial punch right now. My ego is bruised, but I’ll get over it. I can’t win them all.”
Clea gives me a slow once-over. “That sounds extremely optimistic. What happened to my jaded friend?”
“Maybe this experience taught me a valuable lesson. It can always get worse, so look on the bright side until that’s no longer an option.” This is what I tell myself as the pressure on my chest bears down. That cramp is still manageable. I’ll have to process these events and emotions eventually, but that’s the purpose of tomorrow.
“Well, damn. You might replace Presley in the shitting rainbows department.”
Presley groans while covering her face. “Please don’t talk about poop.”
“And why might that be, Archie? Do you make a mess in your diaper?” Going goo-goo takes the edge off. Archer gives me a gummy smile and my heart melts. He’s such a charmer. I pop my lips at the adorable boy and he giggles. “You’re so handsome. Yes, you are.”
“He’s too young for you,” Clea laughs.
“Hardy-har. You’re hilarious.”
“Someone has to be around here.” She pokes me in the arm.
I roll my eyes. “For your information, I’m taking myself off the market for the time being. The male population—present party excluded—is dead to me. I’m well aware that only a few have done me dirty, but those bad eggs ruined me for the entire lot.”
Presley gasps. “What about finding your soul mate?”
I’m beginning to realize how ridiculous that belief is. “If this mystery man exists, he’ll come to me. I’m done searching.”
“Girl power,” Clea chants.
“I’ll drink to that.” Presley lifts her lemonade.
I tap her plastic cup with mine. “To resurrecting the boss bitch face.”
Clea’s jaw drops. “You took it off?”
“Just for a few hours. He tried to Pretty Woman me,” I confess. They haven’t been properly debriefed on my short trip. “The guy is well versed in the art of wooing. He has the means to spoil a girl rotten, but it’s all a strategy. I got caught in a fairytale moment. He bested me by playing really filthy. At least I didn’t fall for him.”
Clea snorts. “Yeah, right.”
“Okay, maybe one tiny feeling,” I relent. Even fessing up to that causes a deep sting.
Presley bites her lower lip. “Has he called?”
I tip my head back with a humorless laugh, shaking Archer on my lap. “That bastard is too arrogant. He’ll never grovel or apologize.”
She squints at me. “Do you want him to?”
“For my dignity? Yes. But it doesn’t really matter. We’re over and done.” I cut across my throat to validate the meaning. Landon Winters can choke on his regret for tossing me away.
“What about your contracts?” Clea refills our drinks from the sweaty pitcher.
“I guess we’ll wait and see. There hasn’t been word from him according to Vince.” I hold up my crossed fingers.
“Too bad he turned out to be such a dick,” she murmurs.
“It’s really a bummer because he has such a nice one.” A sigh has me sagging deeper into my chair. “I should’ve listened to you.”
Clea doesn’t bother masking her smug expression. “I’m well aware.”
“Now is the time when you let me cry on your shoulder.” My support system has selective hearing.
She lifts a brow. “When was the last time you actually shed a tear?”
I squint toward the sky while contemplating. “Valid point, as always.”
And he’s definitely not wrenching one from me. That smarmy jerk only deserves my venom. With a long inhale, I attempt to muster my initial motivation to strike him down. All I find is a hollow ache. I had a revenge plan, dammit. Now that seems trivial, and extremely weak against his cruel defenses. Pretending he never existed might be my best course of action.
Presley studies me with eerie scrutiny. She almost gives me a chill. “So, what’s your plan?”
I motion along my reclining form. Archer blabs from where he’s perching on my legs. “You’re looking at it.”
“I’ll need my baby back eventually.” She makes kissy noises at the goobering distraction I’m relying heavily on.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “He loves his auntie right now. If you keep wiggling your cans, I’ll be reduced to chopped liver.”
Presley squeaks and pats my head in what’s meant to be comforting. “There, there. No need to get upset. I’ll let you two be. Absorb the good vibes, Van.”
It’s only then that I realize my bottom lip is quivering. There’s a noticeable warmth attacking my eyeballs too. I fan my face, chasing away the hot spikes piercing me. “Good grief, I’m a mess. What has this man done to me?”
Clea is cringing when I glance at her. “I don’t think your story with him is over quite yet.”
I sniff Archer’s head, needing all the warm fuzzies that sweet smell brings. “Please don’t put another curse on me. I can’t handle it.”
“You’ll come out on top, Van. Just roll with the punches.”
“That sounds painful,” I mutter.
She shrugs. “Not if you’re expecting the blow.”
I frown. “That’s part of the problem. He tends to appear when I least anticipate it.”
“This is unacceptable!” I crash a fist against the table and coffee splashes from my mug.
Four blanching expressions meet my outrage from their huddled corner in the conference room. The budget analysts scramble with their tablets, scrolling through
the report electronically while comparing the numbers from the packet we’ve just reviewed. Maybe they’re hoping that a screen will allow them to uncover the gaps I’m ranting about. They weed through the data with trembling fingers as I seethe across from them. I can practically taste their fear.
“Well?” I provide the prompt after the team remains silent for over a minute.
A guy with glasses clears his throat. “I haven’t found an error, sir.”
Another bobs his head in agreement. “Where exactly did you see the issue?”
I rub my throbbing temples. Repeating myself gets more taxing with each second that ticks by. “Our profit share margins are stagnant.”
A unified gasp comes from the quad. With bent heads, they pore over the figures again. I tap my thumb for thirty seconds. Their quiet contemplation might as well be a marching band in my ears. The brunette has a furrow between her brow, which I latch onto.
With my cool mask fastened in place, I sit forward and focus solely on her. “Did you find the issue?”
She swallows hard enough that her gulp is audible. “No, Mr. Winters. I’ll keep looking, though. There has to be an explanation.”
“Yes, there certainly does.” My reply is met with trembling pursuit to discover the flaw.
I resume my thumping while waiting for one of them to call me out on the bogus findings. Their entire purpose at my company is to manage the quarterly income statistics. They should have these charts memorized. Any problem should’ve been reported weeks ago. These accusations are faker than the one dude’s tan. The accounts they’re currently combing through only show significant gains. There’s not a loss or plateau to be found. Yet this batch has nothing to defend their work.
The empty pit in my gut yawns wider at their continued tolerance. All I want is someone to correct me. I’m being unreasonable on purpose, but that point is being missed based on the perspiration damping their brows. Standing up against me shouldn’t cause a panic attack. If anything, I should be complaining louder about their incompetence. This bunch is too terrified to use their sorry excuses for backbones. I had similar reactions from the marketing and finance departments yesterday. It’s as if everyone is afraid to speak their fucking minds. Everyone except her, of course. But she’s long gone. I made sure of that.