by Meghan March
I had to force myself to release her. She stepped back, looking a little unsteady on her heels. Good. I wanted her as affected as I was.
“I’ll let you know—about tomorrow night. But then, we need to set some ground rules for…whatever this is.” She gestured between us.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“I don’t like rules.”
“Too bad. I do.”
“Clear your schedule for tomorrow night, and maybe we’ll discuss your rules.”
“Like I said, I’ll let you know.”
“Fine.”
She turned away, and a thought occurred to me. I wrapped my hand around her elbow.
“If you’re blowing me off tomorrow night, it better not be for Lucas Titan.”
Her head jerked up. “Why would you say that?”
My eyes narrowed on her. “You got something going with him, too? He’d be right up your alley after Duchesne.”
She tugged her arm out of my grip and dug into her purse. Keys in hand, she looked back up at me. “That part of my life is none of your business.”
I closed the space between us, pinning her against the Mercedes before she could yank the door open.
“If you’re planning on fucking him, then I consider it my business.”
Her gasp was pure outrage, but I didn’t care. She needed to understand something about me. My voice was low and harsh when I said, “I don’t share. You better know that up front. You fuck Titan, and our deal is off.”
She didn’t turn, and she didn’t reply.
“Look at me, Vanessa. Know that I’m goddamn serious right now. Don’t you let him fucking touch you.”
She spun, and her blue eyes could have frozen the Mississippi.
“I’m looking at you, Con, but you better hear me. I might have agreed to give you a shot, but I didn’t agree to anything more. And if you ever speak to me like that again, you can live the rest of your life with the torture of not knowing, because you won’t be touching me again.”
“Then you’ll be kissing your deed goodbye.”
“If the only other option is sacrificing my self-respect, then so be it.”
“Your self-respect isn’t going to get your precious foundation’s building built.”
Her knee shot up and caught me unaware. I stumbled back a step, grunting, and bent over as the sick feeling in my gut twisted. “Fuck, woman. Did you have to crush my balls?”
She must have lowered her head because I could feel her breath on my ear when she spoke. “One, don’t ever talk to me like that again. I’m a fucking lady. And two, don’t make fun of my precious foundation. Oh, and three, I don’t have any intention of fucking Lucas Titan, or you, for that matter.”
I straightened halfway, in time to see her climb into the Mercedes.
If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I might have smiled.
She’s a fucking lady.
I might have gotten more than I’d bargained for with this deal.
My sweaty hands clutched the wheel as I drove back to the office. I had no idea where that woman came from. You know, the one who kneed Con in the balls and then drove away while he was bent over and gasping.
Holy hell.
He was already rubbing off on me.
I lifted a hand to my mouth and smothered my laugh.
Had I really said, “I’m a fucking lady?”
Oh. My. God.
There was something seriously wrong with me. Because that… whatever that had been… was more excitement than I’d had in a long, long time. Yes. There was something seriously wrong with me.
When my heart finally calmed down, I thought about what had set off the whole reaction. Lucas Titan. Con was already wondering what the hell was going on, and there was nothing I could tell him that would make him back off. Elle’s answer to lie wasn’t sitting well with me. So I’d try Plan B: I’d evade.
Yeah. Like that will work for long.
I had a feeling Con was like a damn bloodhound.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down. Lucas. Shit.
I picked up on my hands-free system.
“This is Vanessa.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Frost.”
“Mr. Titan. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling to inquire whether you’ve been able to secure the invitations I emailed you about.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Excellent. In the meantime, I wanted to make sure you didn’t run into any trouble with Mr. Leahy concerning our arrangement.”
My blood froze, and for a split second, I wondered if Lucas Titan was having me followed because his question was eerie as hell.
“No. No trouble. And please don’t concern yourself with my life¸ Mr. Titan. It’s really not relevant to you or the… favor… you’ve asked of me.”
“I’ll concern myself with whatever I please, Vanessa. I wouldn’t have gotten this far in life if I let people dictate to me.”
Arrogant son of a bitch.
“Is there another point you’d like to make, Mr. Titan? Because I’m about to hang up.”
“I do wish we had clicked on a more basic level. You and I could’ve had a hell of a lot more fun finding better uses for that sharp tongue of yours.”
More like he’d find out how good I am with my knee. Like Con had.
“Hanging up now.”
“Wait—” he started. But I didn’t. I’d had enough of men telling me what to do today and attempting to meddle in business that wasn’t their concern. Screw them all.
A horn blared and dragged my attention back to where it needed to be: the road. A man in a white delivery van cut off the car in front of me, and I slammed on the brakes.
Men. Assholes. Every last one of them.
Elle had left a folder on my desk with confirmations for Lucas Titan’s selected events.
She was a miracle worker.
I pulled up my calendar and saw it had been updated as well. My eyes immediately went to tomorrow night. It was empty.
I pulled out my phone before I lost my nerve or rediscovered my sanity and good sense. I had to retype the message three times before I got it right.
V: I’ll see you tomorrow night. Name the time and place.
For any thirty-year-old woman, living with your father would likely be a less than ideal situation. But when your father was Royce Frost, it made things even more difficult. I didn’t want to live at home. I’d planned to move in with friends after I’d finished grad school, which I could have mostly afforded on my meager salary, but my father had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. His oncologist had been the one to tell me that his living alone wasn’t the best idea. My father had flatly refused a live-in nurse, and I’d caved under the guilt. So it’d been over five years, two scares of recurrence with the cancer, and I was still living at home, worried that if I moved out, he’d quit taking care of himself, and I’d lose the only parent I had left. He could be an asshole, to be sure, but having one parent was better than having none. At least in my opinion.
Royce Frost was a third generation steel baron, born into money and power. After my mother had passed, his entire focus had narrowed to increasing that money and power. Even derailed momentarily by cancer, it hadn’t wavered.
I was just leaving the house to meet Con when my father was coming home from whatever event he’d attended that evening. As the CEO of one of the country’s largest steel manufacturers, his social calendar was more complicated than mine.
“You better be headed out to meet up with Simon Duchesne at this hour of the night. Preferably to spend the night in his bed.”
Oh, and did I mention that although he was part of the upper circles of society, he could be just as crude as the men who worked in the mill? And he also had to know by now that Simon and I weren’t happening. But I guess if holding on to that hope kept him from finding a new man to foist off on me, then I’d let him keep hoping.
“Please tell me you did not just say that.
My father eyed my summer dress and cardigan.
“Where are you headed?”
I didn’t answer. There was one rule I insisted on since the day I’d moved home: I didn’t have to justify my comings and goings to him. We were both adults, and while he might be my father, he didn’t get to meddle in my life. He might ignore the rule frequently, but I followed it religiously.
He shook his head. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He pointed at me accusingly. “But no decent man is ever going to want to marry you if you’re flouncing around town all hours of the night like some kind of tramp.”
Still, I said nothing. He turned away and crossed to the center staircase. Pausing on the bottom step, he looked back at me.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful. You’re still my little girl.” My heart panged in my chest. When he said things like that he sounded like an honest-to-God doting father. And what’s more, I still felt the ridiculous need for his approval on some level.
“I promise.”
I punched the address Con had given me into my GPS. Less than five miles away, but I didn’t recognize it.
I followed the directions until I pulled up outside yet another warehouse type building. This one was rehabbed, and the lights and people all around made it feel safe—trendy, even.
I parked in the lot across the street in between a black Range Rover and a shiny red Corvette. It was certainly a higher-class place than I would have expected. What if I saw someone I knew while I was with Con?
What was he thinking?
He’d agreed this all had to be under the radar, so what was I doing here?
I crossed the street and followed a crowd up the stairs to the main entrance. Once inside the giant foyer, I was sucked into the crush of people. I pushed my way to the corner and pulled out my cell.
Another text from Con had appeared.
C: Take the elevator to the 7th floor.
Going on a date with Con was like going on a scavenger hunt. He doled out the clues one at a time, leaving me to guess at what the heck was going to happen next. For a woman with a carefully ordered, routine life, this was strangely… appealing.
I navigated the crowd to reach the elevator and took it up to the seventh floor. I exited into a lobby, and I could feel the music thumping from the club through the frosted glass doors to my right. My phone buzzed again.
C: Take the door to the roof.
Say what now?
I looked up and glanced around. Sure enough, there was a door marked ‘Roof Access—No Admittance’ in the left hand corner of the lobby.
I stood, unmoving for a moment, weighing my options. I jumped when my phone vibrated in my hand.
C: Trust me.
And I did.
I sucked in a deep breath as I pushed open the door of no return and saw a flight of stairs ahead of me. I climbed them and pushed through the next door with the same ‘No Admittance’ sign as the one below. I stepped out onto the roof and could see the lights of the city twinkling in every direction as I turned, surveying the view. The music from the club below pulsed all around me, as though someone had left the windows open.
“You came.”
I spun, spying Con sitting on a ledge that surrounded the rooftop.
“I said I would.”
“Thought you’d changed your mind when I told you to come up to the roof.”
“I considered it.”
“But you decided to go ahead and break the rules anyway?”
“Something like that.”
Con pushed off the ledge and came toward me. The music from the club shifted into a slower, lazier beat, and I wondered what Con’s plan was for tonight.
“So now that I’m here?” I twisted and looked out at the view. “What next?”
When I turned back toward Con, he was standing less than a foot away from me.
“What do you want next?”
That’s a loaded question. My good manners dictated that I tackle the elephant in the room—or on the roof—first.
“I apologize for yesterday. I shouldn’t have—”
Con held up a hand. “Don’t. I deserved it.”
“But—”
“It’s water under the bridge.”
I dropped my eyes to the tarred surface beneath my feet. “I can’t believe I did that. I’ve never…” I let my words trail off because I wasn’t sure what exactly I’d planned to say.
“Forget about it.”
I looked up at Con, and the easy sincerity in his expression was diametrically opposed to the anger and frustration that I’d seen there yesterday. I couldn’t help but tease him a little.
“I hope I didn’t do any permanent damage. When I… ummm… crushed them.”
His even, white teeth flashed with his smile. “You can say ‘balls,’ Van. It’s not going to kill you.”
I straightened. “Fine, how are your balls, Con?”
His grin widened. “How about you check for yourself?”
The laugh that escaped from my throat seemed to surprise us both. “I walked right into that one.”
“Sure did, sweetheart.” He shifted and thankfully dropped the subject. “Want a drink?”
“Wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
The giant neon sign perched on the edge of the roof glowed just brightly enough to illuminate the rooftop. “Beer okay? Or you need some Dom?”
I frowned. Every time, it was like one step forward, two steps back. “Are you ever going to lose that chip you’re carrying around? It must be getting heavy after all of these years.”
Con’s grin faded, and I mentally kicked myself for being the cause.
Instead of getting pissed, he just asked me, “You ever not going to be a rich girl, Vanessa?”
It was an odd question. “I suppose it’s possible that I could lose everything. But the likelihood of that is probably not very high.”
“And am I ever going to be anyone but the foster kid Joy and Andre Leahy adopted?”
“I don’t follow.”
“We can’t change who we’ve been and how it impacted who we became. So the short answer: that chip on my shoulder is probably there to stay, princess.”
“So you’re saying because I grew up rich and you didn’t, at least initially, you’re always going to resent that part of my life and the person I became because of it?”
He shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”
“It’d be kind of disappointing if you did.”
“That’s life.”
“On that note, I think I’ll take that drink now.”
Con laughed, and we both relaxed again. He crossed back to where he’d been sitting when I’d first come up and produced two bottles of Abita from a bucket of ice. He popped off the tops and offered me one.
I grabbed it and lifted it in his direction. “Cheers.”
“Likewise.”
I took a sip and absorbed the cool, malty flavor before breaking the silence that had settled.
“I know we said we were moving on, but I’m still shocked you wanted to see me again after yesterday,” I said.
“Not as surprised as I was when you texted me.”
I covered my face with my hand, peeking out between my spread fingers. “I’m clearly insane.”
“Insane enough to agree to a favor?”
Dropping my hand, I raised an eyebrow. This should be good.
“I need you to go shopping with me.”
I almost choked on my beer. “Shopping? With you?”
My belly flipped at his crooked grin. “Trust me, it’s not something I want to do alone. I have four boys competing in a big boxing tournament in a couple weeks, and in order to make them feel professional, and to take this all more seriously, I want them dressed up on the way to the tourney. Like the pro athletes do. Wearing a suit on game day. You know what I mean?”
I pictured the boy from the dinner and the others I’d seen training in the gym. These kids were important to him. Now it was my heart that fluttered. He might have more baggage than a cargo hold, and that chip on his shoulder might never go away, but Con Leahy was a good man, with a good heart. “I think it’s a great idea.” I stared up at him. “I’d be happy to help.”
“Cool. I’ll let you know when and where,” he said, taking a swig from his beer.
“Is that all? Because this seems pretty elaborate just to ask me a favor.”
Con laughed and scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. “Figured it was a place you’d probably never been before.”
“You’d be right about that.”
I lifted my beer for another drink, but Con plucked it from my hand. “Wait.”
My empty hand hung in mid-air. “Uh. What?”
Con set both of our bottles down, and asked, “Do you trust me?”
I thought about our last encounter. “Should I?”
“Probably not.”
He reached out, brushing my hair over my shoulder.
“What are you—?”
“I want to kiss you while we’re both sober.”
My mouth dropped open, and Con wasted no time lowering his head and capturing my lips.
His lips were firm but smooth, and they worked over my own, daring me to open to him. His tongue teased, and I couldn’t help but let him inside. He tasted of the same beer I’d been drinking, but when mixed with Con, it took on a completely new kaleidoscope of flavors. I never really thought I’d have another chance to feel his mouth on me, and now that I did, I knew it was the worst idea I’d ever had.
I pulled back, stepping away from him. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I turned and headed for the door. I reached it, my shaky hands tugging at the handle. It didn’t budge. Dammit. Locked.
From a few feet away, Con asked, “You want to know if I’m always going to be carrying that goddamn chip on my shoulder? Doesn’t help that you’re always running away from me like you can’t believe you got caught with your pants down with the lawn boy.”
“It’s not you—”
“You’ve said that. It’s not me. Well, I’m the only other person up here, so if it’s not me, then who the hell is it you’re running from?”
“Me! Don’t you get it? It’s not always about you! This is all too much.”
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