Don't Fall For Me : An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Hate to Love Book 1)

by Gigi Black

  “You all right, Mr. McCutcheon?”

  “Fine, fine,” he waved, swallowing heavily. “Just a little nauseated.”

  “Dad, I can call Nurse Jackie right now.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just feel like watching some TV and relaxing.”

  Piddles the cat meowed into the kitchen and leaped onto the island. He purred and rubbed against Mr. McCutcheon’s arm, bumping and purring. Hazel’s father placed his hand on the cat’s back. “There’s my boy,” he mumbled.

  “Piddly, not on the counter,” Hazel said.

  “It’s OK.” I winked at her.

  She shot me a glare for daring to show the merest hint of affection, and it only made me want her more. Especially since she didn’t have the engagement ring on her finger. I’d tried convincing her to wear it at home, maybe because it turned me on a little, but she’d refused.

  I fixed Hazel a cup of coffee, got her dad a glass of water, and placed them out on the counter. We sipped our drinks in silence, Hazel and I occasionally glancing at each other. Each time, her cheeks grew pinker, and my desire for her heightened.

  “You want to go to the living room, Dad?” Hazel set down her coffee and helped her father out of the chair.

  They shuffled out of the kitchen, followed by the cat, leaving me alone with my espresso machine. I hit the button to summon another shot.

  The burble of coffee filled the sudden quiet.

  The lack.

  This was what it’d always been like, though. Me living alone, no pets, no family, no friends, no women. Just me in my silent apartment or hotel room or home, depending on where I’d decided to stay for the night.

  Now, the quiet was foreign.

  Over the past week, the sounds of activity, whether it was a TV on, or Hazel singing in the kitchen, or Kara stomping around doing fuck knew what, had become the norm. My chest constricted—a band of iron cutting off airflow.

  I’d realized the danger of having her here long ago, but it had reached a new level now. It was time I told Hazel that her house was safe again. Time they all got out before I wound up… fuck, it was unthinkable.

  I took the espresso cup from under the spout and sipped it, the buzz kicking through nearly instantly.

  I’d tell her after the meeting with Mortimer today. Find out what my father wanted, then tell her how much time there was left in our contract. The distance would be good for us. It would stop me from fucking her day and night, making things worse. If she hadn’t developed feelings for me by now, it’d be a miracle.

  Most women fell within the first couple days. It was cocky, but it was true, and I was tired of breaking hearts. Doing that to Hazel for a second time hadn’t been part of the plan.

  I downed the last of the espresso, gritted my teeth at the bitterness, then headed out, leaving Hazel to deal with her father. And me to deal with mine.

  30

  Hazel

  The gentle click of the front door shutting was a relief.

  Damien was gone. I could stop wanting him for a second and concentrate on what was important.

  “Comfortable?” I asked, plumping Dad’s pillow. I’d already switched on the TV, and a documentary played in the background. Piddlywump had curled up in Dad’s lap, purring and kneading the blanket I’d wrapped around my father. “Dad?”

  “Fine,” he croaked. But he wasn’t fine. He was paler than usual and trembling.

  “Dad. Nurse Jackie will be here soon, but… are you sure? I can take you to the hospital.”

  “Don’t have an appointment till next week.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I’m fine, Nut. Go on and get some breakfast. Stop worrying about me,” my dad said, quietly.

  I lingered, concern overriding everything else. “Dad.”

  “Go on, now. Get.”

  I kissed him on the forehead then took a breath and walked for the door, the weight of his illness on my mind. If only I could take it from him. Make him feel better. Guilt channeled through me—while he was ill and suffering, I was having the time of my life with Damien every night.

  A rattling noise, followed by Piddlywump’s startled yowl, came from my father’s chair.

  I spun around in time to watch him fall forward, pale and gasping. He tipped out of his chair, and I ran for him, caught him before he collapsed onto the glass coffee table.

  “Dad! Dad, what is it? What’s wrong? Dad?”

  He didn’t respond. His eyelashes fluttered closed then opened, his gaze unfocused, scanning the room for nothing.

  Adrenaline streaked through me. “Kara!” I yelled, choking on her name. “Kara!”

  What was wrong? This couldn’t be a side-effect of the chemo. He needed help. Hospital. The disconnected thoughts scurried around my head.

  “Kara!” I wailed.

  “What?” My sister shouted back. “I’m kind of busy here.”

  “Call 911. Dad… Just call 911!”

  I paced outside my father’s hospital room, peering inside every other minute, my phone pressed to my ear and my heart racing. He was settled in the bed, his eyes closed, and his hands on top of the neatly tucked sheets. My sister sat in the chair next to his bed, idly paging through a magazine.

  I couldn’t understand how she was so calm with our father lying there, pale and tiny and half the man he used to be. Because the disease had taken his vitality from him.

  The phone rang, but Damien didn’t answer, and pressure ached behind my eyes.

  I need your help. Just be here for me.

  But he wasn’t mine. He wasn’t supposed to be here for me. He was in a meeting. And what was I calling to say anyway? Damien couldn’t wave his money wand and make my father well again.

  “Where is that damn doctor.” I stabbed the button to hang up then instantly dialed Damien again.

  The nurse had said the doctor would be in to see us shortly—he’d already examined my father and would have some insight into what was going on here. My wildest hope was that the collapse was just another chemo side-effect and that it was nothing serious. Well nothing more serious than he was already going through.

  I couldn’t take losing him. Not after we’d lost mom in a similar way.

  The phone went to voicemail, and this time I listened to Damien’s message rather than hanging up.

  “This is Damien Woods. Leave a message.”

  That was all. No, “I’ll get back to you.” Typical Damien. I hung up again then entered Dad’s private room. The only reason we’d gotten him in here was because there wasn’t space anywhere else. It would cost an arm and a leg, and I was already having palpitations about it.

  Kara licked her thumb and turned the page of her magazine, idly.

  “How are you so calm?” I asked, biting the words out. “Do you not see what’s happening right now?”

  “Yeah, Johnny and Amber are in court.” Kara turned the magazine around and flashed me a picture and a scandalous heading. “Can you believe it?” My twin sister was so far from me it hurt. She wore a glitter spandex dress, her makeup was smudged, and she smelled of a night of heavy partying.

  She’d always been the wild child, but this wasn’t her, was it? Or had I just been delusional or too busy to see it?

  “Kara,” I said, trying to remain calm. “Dad is sick.”

  “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

  “So, say something. Do something. Be upset. Be anything but… this… this weird, drunk, half-naked—just be upset!”

  “I am upset,” Kara replied and flipped another page. “Just because I’m not whining about it doesn’t mean I’m not upset. People handle grief in different ways.”

  “And your way is, what, binge drinking and doing porn?”

  “Shut up!” She slapped the magazine closed and glanced over at Dad. “I don’t want him to know that.”

  “Why not, Ka? I thought it was totally chilled.” I pulled a face and waggled my arms in a “so chill, dude” imitation. “I mean, it’s your body and your life. Y
our prerogative. Why don’t you tell him when he wakes up?”

  “You know why,” Kara replied. “He wouldn’t get it. Just like you don’t get it. You’re one of those people.”

  “Which people?”

  “Self-righteous, judgey people. The type who shame fat women online.”

  I blinked. “What? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m not shaming you or judging you for it. I just… don’t think it’s healthy for you.”

  “What, being fat?”

  “No. God. The other stuff. The porn.” I couldn’t believe I even had to say it. “The drinking. Everything. A couple weeks ago you were madly in love with your boyfriend. What happened?”

  “Whatever. I don’t have to answer your bullshit questions,” Kara said, waving away the questions. “Listen, why don’t you spend some time focusing on your high school crush and how he’s going to shatter your heart into pieces instead of picking on me?”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “Yeah, don’t think I haven’t heard you two going at it like rabbits. Moaning and shrieking. The guy must have a golden member,” she said, wriggling her index finger. “And you’ve got shit for brains if you think he’s not going to drop you just like he did in high school.”

  “You don’t understand anything.”

  “Yeah, well, you can say what you want about me, sis, you can say I’m heartless and I don’t care and I’m selfish, and even that I’m a slut. But at least I’m not the dumbass who fucks the guy who took their virginity and broke their heart.”

  “How did you—?” I’d never told her about what had happened between Damien and me, physically. Only that I’d liked him and that he’d hurt me.

  “Oh, come on. Everyone in White-Tail High knew about it. Nobody spends that much time with Damien Woods without getting fucked,” she said. “Literally and figuratively. And now, you’re doing it again. You can judge me all you want, think I’m a slut for having consensual sex for money, but you’re just as bad as—”

  The door opened, and my father’s doctor entered, wearing his coat and a set of glasses. He was middle-aged, with dark hair and kind eyes, but his presence wasn’t comforting.

  “Miss McCutcheon and Miss McCutcheon,” the doctor said, smiling first at me and then at my sister. He shut the private room’s door and folded his arms. “My name is Doctor Washington.”

  “Hazel,” I said. “And this is Kara.”

  My sister deigned to remain present rather than returning to her magazine. Her scathing words still rang in my ears. I was self-righteous, just as bad, mean, a fat-shamer, and worse… being duped by the same guy twice.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is he going to be OK?”

  “Would you like to sit down, Miss McCutcheon?” Doctor Washington asked.

  “No, I’m fine standing. Just tell us what’s going on.”

  The doctor studied first me and then my sister. “I’m afraid it’s not good news. Your father’s cancer has spread to his liver, and the prognosis is—”

  “Prognosis? Stop with the science talk.” Kara interrupted, sitting forward, her fingers biting into the arms of the chair. “Just give it to us straight. When we can take him home?”

  “I’m afraid he can’t go home. He has Stage 5 cancer. I’m so sorry,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “He’ll need to stay here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kara said. “What… what does that mean?”

  I cleared my throat, but the lump wouldn’t budge. “How long?” I asked. “Until… how long?” Tears stung my eyes.

  “A few weeks, maybe a month,” Doctor Washington said, those kind eyes boring into me. “I’m sorry, Miss McCutcheon.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do? Anything?”

  “We can make him comfortable,” the doctor said.

  My world collapsed inward. I stumbled and sat down, heavily, barely making it into a chair. Kara’s sobbing buzzed like white noise in the background. My hands came up and covered my eyes, blotting out the ugliness of the room. But not the reality of what this meant.

  I’d failed him.

  31

  Damien

  My asshole of a father had made me wait thirty minutes before he’d “come out of his meeting” to talk to me. Given, he’d actually had a meeting this time with a pit bull of a man, who gave me the stink eye on his way to the elevator. He looked like a two-bit mafioso, but I didn’t give a fuck what that was about today.

  Inside Mortimer’s office with the door shut, the euphemistic massive table with my father seated behind it—well, that was my version of fresh hell.

  I stood behind the “visitor’s chair,” otherwise known as the prime spot for inquisition, my hands resting on the worn leather. “You summoned, crypt lord?”

  My father smiled.

  Alarm bells went off in my mind. Mortimer never had time for my shitty jokes. He was rarely happy about anything, unless it was a power move in business or another successful humiliation of one of his enemies.

  “You,” Mortimer said, pointing a finger at me. “I knew you would let me down.”

  “Huh?”

  “I wanted to believe that you’d step up to the plate and do what a grateful son would do, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Mortimer’s smirk grew broader.

  “Did you take a holiday to the Swiss Alps, tumble off a cliff and hit your head?”

  “I know everything.”

  I leaned my forearms on the back of the chair. “Good for you. I assume you’re working on an environmentally-friendly source of renewable energy, then?”

  Mortimer didn’t rise to the joke. He opened one of the drawers in his forever-desk and extracted a phone. He tapped on the screen, still grinning like he’d just won a vacation to a porn star retreat, then sat back.

  “—not calling the deal off.” My voice from the phone’s speaker. “You need the money.”

  “Aren’t you such a sweetheart?” And that was Hazel speaking.

  “You need me. You need the money. So, don’t fake that you’re going to do anything other than—”

  “Don’t fake?” A pause. “That’s just the thing. I’m tired of being fake.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I need to get my father out of your house.”

  “Hazel. No.”

  “Don’t tell me no. It’s my choice where my father goes and what I do. It’s not up to you.”

  “You signed a contract.”

  My father hit the screen to pause the recording, and if I’d thought he’d been happy before, he was a pig in shit now. “Oh, Damien,” he sighed. “Did you really think you could fool me? Everyone has a price. You do, your mother did, your brothers do, and Hazel… oh, her price was higher than most, but she gave me what I wanted eventually.”

  Not Hazel. She wouldn’t…

  But it explained so much. Why she had removed the engagement ring, why we’d had the conversation that night, why she’d caved again and stuck around. All part of my father’s sick little game to catch me out.

  “You see, I mean it when I say that I really did want you to be the next CEO of Woods Enterprises. I wanted to believe that you and this McCutcheon girl were the real deal, but… I can’t trust you. I had to check for myself.”

  “How?” It squeezed between my teeth.

  “Simple. I saw an opportunity and took advantage of it. Hazel seemed unhappy with you on the night of the event, so I drew her to the side and presented her with an option. She could tell me the truth about what was going on between you two, and I’d pay for her father’s hospital bills,” Mortimer said, easily. “And she graciously accepted. Of course, she continued playing the fiancée with you, likely hoping she could make a quick buck. Is it true you fixed up her father’s house after the fire that took place there?”

  I kept my mouth shut.

  Anger pulsed through me.

  She wouldn’t do that.

  “Hazel was more than happy to oblige. After all, she’s still f
urious at you for what transpired years ago,” Mortimer laughed. “And she needs the money for her budding career in pornography.”

  I stiffened. “What the fuck are you—?”

  Mortimer removed a folder from another drawer. He threw a picture across the table. It skidded toward me, and I picked it up. A still frame of Hazel in the middle of a salacious act with another man. The timestamp was dated to a couple weeks ago.

  My stomach turned. It took all my willpower not to tear up the picture.

  “You didn’t really think she was genuinely interested in you, did you?” Mortimer asked, sick joy twisting his features. “If only she had been, then we wouldn’t be having this discussion. But no, it was all a lie. And now, you’re going to get the fuck out of my building. Because this is over, Damien. You are no longer my son. You are no longer part of my will. And if you try to create anything of your own, anything with my name on it, I will destroy you and everything you care about.”

  None of my father’s threats hit home.

  My gaze was stuck on the image of Hazel. Hazel with another man. Hazel who had been lying to me all along.

  Rage trembled through me, and I turned and walked from Mortimer’s office, hardly seeing anything on my way down to the lobby. Speaking to no one. Hearing nothing.

  I was home some time later, I didn’t know when, and the picture was still in my hand. I stared at it, standing in the entry hall, the house quiet around me. My pulse raced.

  The front door opened.

  “Damien.” Hazel’s honeyed voice, lies on lies, reached me. “I tried to call you. My dad—”

  “Was it worth it?” I asked, turning to face her, sick to the stomach.

  “What? Damien… you’re pale.” And so was she. Pale with puffy, red eyes. Had my father called her and told her the jig was up?

  “I know.”

  “What are you—?”

  “I know,” I growled, the words catching on my teeth. I flicked the photo onto the floor.