CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JAMIE
INSTEAD OF CONFRONTING AIDEN, I fuck him in his hotel room. On top, I ride him like a bull. When he gets close to coming without me, I leave his dick and rub my pussy all over his face. I cum hard, get back on his cock, and let him follow.
I claw his sculpted chest. When he sits up, I wrap my arms around his torso as I ride him, raking long red lines across his back.
When it’s over, we lay on the comforter, both of us panting. This time, at least, I used him.
“So what’s the angle?” I say.
Aiden rolls his head toward me. “What?”
“You’re using me. That’s why we’re here. That’s what all of this is about.”
Aiden seems shocked, but that’s my intention. I’ve been mulling what I know for hours, and spent the entire drive from Del Mar to San Diego — plus a 45-minute detour to stretch my time — trying to decide how to handle this.
I believe that Aiden is up to something, but there’s more to his intentions than manipulating me. I don’t trust — or even like — him all that much, but I get the feeling there’s more between us than deception.
Maybe he’s using me and I’m using him, but that might be fine. I love his body and how he makes me feel. I’m sure he’d say the same of me. Maybe it doesn’t matter. We both know there are secrets here, and ultimately our best path to clarity involves dropping the mutual bullshit and seeing where the chips fall.
He’s staring at me, as if deciding how to process my statement. “Yes,” he finally says.
“You want me to endorse you. To tell Anthony he should work with Forage.”
Another pause. Then, again: “Yes.”
“What about Eros? What about Parker Barnes?”
Now he looks positively punched. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m smarter than you think.”
Aiden comes up on one elbow. I’m half under the comforter, exposed from the waist up, nipples firm in the cool room air. My eyes roll up at him as he peers down at me in assessment — and what might be pleasant surprise.
“I know you are. It’s why I like you.”
“You like fucking me. And that’s okay, because I like fucking you.”
“It’s why I like you,” he repeats. Then he watches my eyes in silence.
He sits up the rest of the way, pulling the blankets closer to pool around his waist. He leans against the headboard and touches my arm. The brush of skin on skin is nothing, and everything. Electric, and saying more than a thousand words.
“What else do you know?” he asks.
I consider holding back, but don’t. This is good between us right now, but it won’t matter even if I’m wrong to trust him. If he wants to end this, he will. My knowledge changes nothing.
I tell him everything — what I know, and what I suspect. I tell him all of Caitlin’s ridiculous conspiracy theories, only hiding their source. Let Aiden think I figured it all out on my own. If he likes me because I’m smart, this will raise my esteem and preserve my aura of mystery.
“So is it all bullshit? Or is it true?”
“It’s all true. Every bit. So true, really, that I’m suspicious. Did Anthony tell you any of this?”
I shake my head. “I figured the first rule of your Boys’ Club is the you don’t talk about your Boys’ Club.”
Aiden rolls his eyes. “I hate that name. I prefer to think in terms of The Syndicate.”
“So you do call it The Syndicate, too.”
“They’re a little different. The Syndicate is the larger group, but so many of the members are old, crotchety men — not the kind of PR-friendly folks who make the group compelling to new members. The Trillionaire Boys’ Club is its nucleus.”
“You’re the young, hot, sexy guys who have enough fame to attract other billionaires into the Syndicate.”
He chuckles. “I guess you could say that.”
“So you’re like the Syndicate’s board?”
“It’s nothing official. But unofficially, yes, we hold most of the power because we’re the first, and because the public has a way of going along with what we say. Some day, the Syndicate will control the world. But we control the Syndicate.”
I look at Aiden, trying to sense sarcasm. There’s clearly some, but not a lot. Not enough bullshit in with the truth to make this “revelation” something he probably shouldn’t be telling me.
“Do you really want to know what I wanted from you, Jamie?”
I’m not sure I do, but I nod anyway.
He tells me. For long minutes I lose track of the many loops, alliances, feuds, and loose ends. I hear about Eros and Microdyne and a dozen other businesses. I hear about Parker Barnes, an algorithm, a secret experiment, a play for artificial intelligence.
But most of all I hear about “The Plan.” I can tell it’s loose, but also that the wheels are already turning. And most of all, I can tell that it’s Anthony’s. He needs support and money to make it happen, but he’s the mastermind behind all of whatever this is.
And that, right there, is why Aiden wants in. Through me.
“What’s the plan’s purpose?”
Without missing a beat, Aiden says, “To change the world.”
“What about Alexa Mathis?”
“What about her? She’s a writer, and we need fodder. It’s part of the plan I don’t really know or care to know.”
“But I mean … who is she?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met her. It’s not really relevant from where I’m standing.”
I look out the window. The view of downtown San Diego and the bay is spectacular. “You’re a bastard. You know that?”
Aiden nods. “I’m well aware.” His finger traces a long line up my side. “But you seem to know, it too, and yet you’re still here.”
“There’s something wrong with me. I’m starting to accept that. But it won’t last, Aiden. I’ve enjoyed this, but it isn’t forever. I can’t keep being with someone I don’t trust. I like the way I feel when I’m with you, but I don’t like myself for it. You’re a drug, and my heart is the disease.”
“Drugs cure diseases.”
I look down. “They can magnify them, too.”
“So … what? Is this it? Are we over now that the truth is out?”
“I can’t be a pawn, and I’m not for sale.”
“You don’t have to be a pawn.”
“I am if I tell Anthony to listen. But if I tell him to dismiss you, then I’m the wrench in your gears. The one who ruins it all. Everything you’ve planned.”
“Maybe that’s okay with you. Maybe our plan is evil. How can you know?”
“I don’t. Is it? Is it a bad thing, Aiden?”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
Finally he says, “It could go either way. The difference-maker on that front, I’d bet, is Anthony Ross and his moral compass.”
That, I trust.
With Anthony at the helm, this Syndicate might do amazing things. Without him? Hard to say.
“So what do you think? Are we finished? Is this it for you and me?”
I look across Aiden’s naked torso. His cut six-pack. His firm, sculpted muscles.
I reach under the blankets and take his cock in my hand. It’s rock hard, ready for me.
“We’ll decide later,” I say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AIDEN
“END IT,” BARNES SAYS.
I look at the phone as if it’s done something to offend me. These are the first words he’s spoken. Neither of us has even said hello.
“Excuse me?”
“I said to end it. With Jamie Kyle.”
“Last I heard, this was exactly what you wanted. You told me to get into her pants, then into her head, use that leverage, and get Forage in front of Anthony Ross.”
Barnes makes an arrogant noise, as if he’s a billion times smarter than me and resents my trying to get one over on him. “
That was before she knew what she knows.”
I look at the phone again. I’m suddenly sure it’s tapped, or otherwise bugged. And why not? The entire tech industry, it seems, is part of this duplicitous Syndicate that Onyx and I joined at Turner’s request. Are we really pooling our money with people who have the ability to hack every device in the world?
I know the answer. Any sane person does. It’s better to be with those who can do hideous things than against them.
“Don’t act so surprised,” Barnes says. “Your own API shows a spike in searches for certain sensitive terms, and that’s without the individualized data we all have — not just from the Forage engine, but from places like LiveLyfe. It’s plain as day that someone’s been snooping. Searching for connections that aren’t supposed to be publicly known.”
So it’s not my phone that’s bugged, though it could be. I want to slap myself in the forehead, then drive to Anthony’s mansion and slap Jamie in hers. You can’t just search the ’net in anonymity anymore. Everyone knows what’s being looked for. Search for how to make a bomb and earn yourself a spot on the FBI’s watchlist. Search for the best places to buy hummus and earn yourself a slot on the CIA’s.
Of course Jamie nosing around in Syndicate business didn’t go unnoticed. The things she figured out, Barnes and the others now know she knows.
“And Ross seems strange, like he knows something, too. She told you, didn’t she? The girl knows exactly what you’re up to.”
I consider lying, but what good would it do? “She knows.”
“She’s compromised. So are you.”
“Why would I be compromised?”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. What’s happening, Aiden? Are you writing some sort of modern day love story with this girl?”
“She can still get me in with Ross. Her recommendation could still make the difference for Forage.” Then, because I’m getting a feel for how Barnes is, I add, “And for you.”
“Not if her allegiance is divided.”
“Divided how?”
“Oh, come on, Aiden. You’re a known cocksman, but there’s a difference between fucking a girl into a needed favor and trying to build … something more. I assumed you’d stick it to her, get what we need, then move on to your next piece of ass. I didn’t think you’d be sharing secrets like lovers in the dark.”
“It’s not like that.”
“You’re …” He’s careful when he resumes, as if unsure how to handle such repellant words: “… falling for her, aren’t you?”
I try to laugh, but it’s a shitty little chortle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Break it off,” Barnes repeats. “If you want to be part of this, then end it with Kyle. People are already wondering who’s side you’re on.”
“I thought we were all on the same side?”
“Don’t be naive.”
“What if I can convince her to do what we wanted? I can make this work. Don’t cut me off at the knees.”
“Break it off or we do this without you.”
And the line goes dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JAMIE
TWO DAYS LATER, WITH THE end of my time at Anthony’s mansion nearing, I realize that whatever’s happening here will have to end. Communication with Aiden is spotty, and I haven’t even heard from him other than texts. I don’t know how I feel about the guy, but how can this thing between us possibly last? I live in the Falls and he lives in Seattle. Neither of us live in San Diego. We’re brokering this … whatever it is between us like negotiating a home purchase. No matter how it shakes out, what kind of a foundation is that?
And why am I using the word “relationship,” even in the privacy of my mind, in relation to him?
I don’t love the guy.
But I think about him a lot. I find myself considering his softer moments, like that first unexpected kiss, or our time in the hotel sharing secrets.
And when I think about leaving him, it’s like a monster is squeezing my chest.
I’m browsing in an upscale furniture store named nouveau house (not capitalized for extra pretentiousness) when something shoves me sidelong into a storeroom as upscale as the store itself, filled with assembled furniture and finely upholstered couches that must cost more than ten grand apiece.
I look back and see Aiden beside me, his hands on my waist.
I’m shocked. I’m way the hell up the coast in a town called Cielo del Mar, nowhere near the Del Mar Anthony calls home. I wanted to take a little road trip on my own before flying home, and I’ve been hearing about this plaza — the Palms Couture — from Anthony’s hoity-toity neighbors. I needed time to clear my head after all that’s happened, so I’ve been alone in Jamie-land for hours. Running into Aiden — ahem: being dragged into a storage room by Aiden — was the last thing I was expecting.
“Why are you here?”
“To find you.”
“Find me in Del Mar!” I probably sound mad; I’m not. Everything is coming out with an exclamation point because I’m still trying to gather my bearings.
“To tell the truth, I’m feeling a little paranoid. San Diego got to feeling a little incestuous. Too many people who know me. It’s like everyone’s watching.”
I’m not sure what that means. He’s talking like he’s been spied on. Who knows; maybe he has.
“So you followed me here?”
“You weren’t answering your cell. I called Anthony and he told me where you were.”
“But are you … how …?” I can’t finish a sentence.
“I flew up. I hired a helicopter. I’ve been wanting to see the Palms anyway.”
“But …”
“Have you had dinner?”
“It’s only four.”
“So you haven’t.”
“Aiden …”
“I know a place. Will you have dinner with me?”
I meet Aiden’s eyes. He seems odd here, out of our usual (or unusual) environment. I’m used to Aiden in his element — on Forage business, at charity events, wearing his suit and acting large and in charge. I’m sure the shirt he’s wearing now is absurdly expensive, but it’s untucked, slim on his broad frame, and almost casual. He also has a jacket in hand, and a tie to match his bright blue eyes.
I don’t know what to make of this man who has so suddenly surprised me. Is he formal or casual? Surprising or expected? Manic and paranoid, or calm and collected? He shoved me in here, but now that he’s awaiting my response he seems cool — maybe adorably befuddled. A cornucopia of whatever. At least I can never say that the man isn’t spontaneous.
“O … okay,” I stammer.
“It’s formal.” He shakes the jacket and tie. It’s like he’s planned this all without my knowledge. Assumed he’d find me, accost me, and take me on a date.
A date.
“All I have is this.” I gesture down my body: capris, beaded sandals, and a light linen shirt.
“We’ll go shopping. This plaza is full of expensive boutiques.”
“I can’t afford that.”
He waves his free arm as if shooing a bug. “It’s on me.”
“I can’t let you—”
“It’s on me,” he repeats.
“I’m windblown.”
“You look beautiful.”
I shake my head, watching this puzzling man. “What’s with you, today?”
“I’ve decided.”
“Decided what?”
“I don’t like being told what to do. I’ve never been good at following instructions. I don’t want to break anything off. So say it again, Jamie. Say it so I can be sure you’re really saying it. Tell me you’ll go to dinner with me. That you’ll let me buy you a dress. And that you’ll fly back to San Diego with me tonight.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll send someone for it. Now answer me. Tell me we’re on.”
“We’re on,” I say, mystified. Then, looking around the storeroom and watching
Aiden’s curious manner, I say, “So should we go?”
“Not yet.”
“All right.” I smile, then move to pass him. “Let’s at least get out of here, okay?” But when I’m nearly past Aiden, he puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back into the storeroom. My legs bump the base of a couch and I fall onto it.
“Why not?”
He leans over me, hooks both hands under the waistband of my capris, and pulls them and my panties off in a single fluid motion. I’m so surprised I can’t react. I move to cover myself, but Aiden’s hands are already under his untucked shirt, unbuckling his belt.
“Because I need to fuck you first,” he says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AIDEN
I’M NOT SURE WHAT IT says about me, that my reaction to Barnes’s high-goddamn-handed insistence that I break things off with Jamie is to grab a flight and fuck her.
It might mean I’m stubborn.
It might mean that I don’t play well with others, or that I suck at following instructions.
It might mean that circuits in my head are backward and turning irritation to lust.
But I don’t like having my decisions made for me. I want Jamie more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I look down at her bare pussy, wanting to spread it open, lick it, and make her come. I want to put my cock in her, and fuck her until we’re both spent.
I don’t know that any of this is healthy — if it’s good for her, the way it is to me. But it’s a step in the right direction. I came into this for Anthony Ross, but now he’s peripheral.
I only want Jamie.
“Take off your shirt. Take off your bra. I want to see all of you.”
“Here?”
“What matters more is now.”
“Someone could see.”
“Then they’ll see.”
“Aiden …”
“I don’t have time to explain. I’ll lose my mind if I’m not inside you.”
She’s wary, but the spark is climbing into her eyes. Her pussy is wet. She blushes a little below, her slit opening obediently to invite me in. I can practically feel her pussy’s grip from where I’m standing, as I take out my cock. I grip it, pumping slowly.
The Philanthropist (Trillionaire Boys' Club Book 5) Page 11