by Kali Brixton
Her curves were caressed by the silken fabric of her dress, hugging her in all the right places. She’s always been self-conscious about her fuller figure, but those curves have been the star of every fantasy formed in my tainted mind. The emerald green of that body-worshipping dress complemented the fairness of her complexion, making her look like a Greek goddess. I’m pretty sure they wrote odes and sonnets about women like her. The need to take her somewhere and fuck her senseless was only slightly outweighed by the desire to worship her body in slow, calculated movements, leaving her breathless and wanting more. It’s settled—I’m gonna lose my damn mind before this night is over.
The only thing ruining this picture was King Douchebag, who was looking like the cat who got the cream, parading her around like a Stepford wife. I knew why she was here with him, but it didn’t hurt any less. I shouldn’t have let Mason throw me off my game. I was too busy trying to avoid him that I let that dickface Caz swoop in and make his move.
“Deac, you may want to go grab a mop.” Grey’s voice pulled me from my one-sided staring contest.
“What the hell do I need a mop for?” I grimaced, not taking my eyes off the way Charlotte had to keep putting Caz’s hand higher on her back to keep him from touching her ass.
“To wipe up all that drool.”
This was going to be a long night. “Fuck off, Grey.” A drink. I need a real drink—now.
The bartender took my request for a whiskey and Coke. I hoped the fizzy, caramel liquid would dilute the alcohol, and I wouldn’t go completely off the wagon.
“Think that’s the best idea?”
I took a slow sip, the alcohol burning that familiar burn, and the wince greeting it like an old friend. I should not be doing this. “Like the idea you had asking Charlotte to be Caz’s date?”
“Okay. That was a definite fuck up.”
“You think?” I swirled the ice in the glass. “I don’t like him.”
“Of course, you don’t.”
“Grey, I’m serious. There’s just something about him—like that predatory stare he gives her.”
“Like the one you give? The one you make when another man comes around her?”
“Go to Hell.” I nursed my drink, trying to look aloof, but dammit all if I didn’t have a bad case of tunnel vision. Not a single woman in this place could even hold a candle to her. “I thought you were on my team?”
“I’m still Team Cheacon…” I gave him the side-eye at his ridiculous couple name. He just shrugged and said, “What? Elsie agreed—it’s the best choice.”
“Anything goes wrong with this…”—I pointed to them as they made their way to the dance floor and began to sway to the music—"You know it’s on you, right?”
“I take full responsibility.”
“We’ll see.” I stood there and watched as the bastard earned oohs and ahhs from the crowd, an effortless task for the slick bastard who obviously traveled in the upper echelon circles of society. I had switched to straight whiskey, knowing it was the wrong choice, my temper not giving a damn. The live band began to play a waltz, a dance style that Charlotte loved. I watched as she took his hand, so dainty and regal. I looked at the bastard’s face and imagined punching it beyond recognition. A knowing smirk told me he not only had caught me staring but wanted to make damn sure I kept my eyes on them. Douchebag wants to play? Well, game on, motherfucker.
“May I?”
I could tell by his clenched jaw he didn’t have any plans on letting her go, but appearances were everything to assholes like him. I noticed the tight clenching of his hand on Charlotte’s arm—just for a moment, but it was there. “Of course. Charlotte, I will fetch us a couple of drinks. See you soon.” A quick bow and a kiss to her hand were enough to make me want to punch this pretentious asshole in his perfectly-squared jawline.
I relished in getting to hold her close, something I had been waiting to do all evening. “Enjoying yourself?”
“It’s a lovely event. How about you?”
“I was worried I’d be bored to death, but I think things are looking up now.”
She smiled brightly. “You look very handsome, Deacon. You clean up nicely.”
“Not at all like you, though.”
“Thanks. I was a little unsure about the dress, but the color is so pretty, I just couldn’t resist.”
“Color’s nice and all, but you look like a million bucks, kiddo. It looks like it was made just for your body.”
“Kiddo? Must you always see me as a child?” she teased half-heartedly.
I lowered my lips to her ear, knowing I was playing with fire, but who really gives a fuck? “On the contrary, beautiful… The things I’d like to do to you right now aren’t for the young or faint of heart.”
Her face took on a slight red tinge as she looked around to see if anyone heard. Satisfied with the answer, she quipped back in a small voice, innocence, and lust intermingling. “What kinds of things?”
I bent down to whisper, “Things that would make you and me both blush—or even more in your case.” I grazed my teeth on her delicate earlobe and felt a shiver run through her. “You are so incredibly beautiful, Charlotte.”
I felt her thumb brush across my hand she held. “Thank you.”
“If I were a lesser man, I’d take you over my shoulder, carry you out of here, and find the nearest surface to have my way with you.”
The crimson on her lips spread to take residence in the rest of her face. “Deacon!”
“What can I say? That dress and those lips are sending me over the edge. You’re the prettiest belle of the ball, babe.” I closed some of the distance between us, taking in her sweet perfume.
Her smile faded as she leaned forward and took a whiff of my breath. Disapproval settled in, and she didn’t let it go unnoticed. “Are you drunk?”
“Had to have a little liquid courage.”
That answer did not please her. “Why would you jeopardize your sobriety like this?”
I held her close, feeling the cold distance growing between us now. “I just needed something to take off the edge.”
“That’s not the way to go about it.” She became stiff in my arms. “You left for us so long to get clean, and you’re throwing it all away. For what?”
“Because I can’t stand the thought of you being her with another man. Because I can’t stand this back and forth when what we have—what we’ve always had is so much deeper.”
Vulnerability shone in her eyes, “What do we have?”
Everything and not enough. The alcohol swirled around my brain and kept me from forming the response I wanted to say. ”I think—I think I love you.”
She stared at me, her face crestfallen. “Think? You think you love me?”
“What?”
She scoffed and shook her head, tears brimming. “You love me, or you don’t. There is no think—not with us.”
I stood there trying to figure out exactly where I went wrong so I could turn it all around and fix it. Taking my silence for hesitance and dropped her hands to my arms, she gave me a slight push back as the song ended.
“Thank you for the dance, Deacon. Have a good evening.” The sway of her hips led her away from me and straight back to the smirking asshole standing at the side, waiting for her. I couldn’t understand what had happened. The first time I actually admitted my feelings to her, and it ended with her angry and walking away. Where did I go wrong?
I stormed off the dance floor, catching a satisfied grin on Grey’s smug mug. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“How’d it go, Romeo?”
“Not in the mood to talk.” I waved at the bartender and motioned for another shot. Yeah, he was going to have to keep those coming tonight.
“That bad?”
“Don’t start, Grey.”
“Okay, okay.” He held his arms up in mock surrender, but I could tell he was far from done. “Just out of curiosity, what did you say to fumble that? I know for a fac
t that you owning up to how you feel should have earned you at least a kiss—or a vow of undying devotion.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Just humor me here for a second: where did it go off the rails?”
A sigh of resignation left my lips and I stared at the amber liquid rolling around in my glass. “I told her how gorgeous she was. God, look at her. She’s perfect in that dress.”
“Dude! Still, my sister.”
“Right. Anyway, everything was fine until she smelled the alcohol on my breath, and I told her I think I love her.”
“You think you love her?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Grey shook his head, causing some of those loose blonde waves to free themselves of whatever mess he had put in his hair. “D, I can’t blame her for getting pissed.”
“What do you mean?”
“First of all, that’s a lie.”
I never looked up at him, but the Vee furrowed in my brow deepened. “What’s a lie?”
“That you think you love her.”
“I do love her.”
“Yeah. I think it’s obvious to everyone except you and her, dumbass. So, why didn’t you say that?”
“I did.”
“Deacon, Deacon, Deacon… So much left to teach you about women.” If I wasn’t so intrigued at his answer, I’d channel my inner teenage girl and roll my eyes. “When you tell a woman how you feel about her, you don’t insult her by saying, ‘I think I love you.’ You look her square in the eyes, and you tell her, ‘I love you.’ Period.”
“What the fuck does it matter?”
“Think about it: I want a Ferrari. I know it, I own it. There’s no doubt I want that Ferrari.” The clown had enough nerve to make a vroom-vroom because…well…he was just Grey. “Now, I think I want a Ferrari. See? There’s no conviction. I could get a Ferrari, but a Miata would be fine, too.”
“What the hell do a Ferrari and a Miata have to do with anything?”
He stared at me like the answer was obvious. It wasn’t. He sighed, leaning his arms on the bar top. “It’s all about semantics, my friend. It’s not just what you say, but how you say it. Women are big on that stuff. Plus…” He took a swig of his tumbler and looked into the glass. “As long as she’s been waiting to hear those words, she deserved a better answer than that. Don’t you think?”
Realization dawned on me. “So, what you’re saying is: if I had just said, ‘I love you’ instead of ‘I think I love you,’ I would be talking to her instead of your ugly mug?”
“Yelp. Except, you know, I’m pretty.” He motioned to his boyish face, the face that made lots of women fawn, all except for the only one he fawned over. A slap landed on my back. “Welcome to the world of women, bro.”
I rolled my eyes. “When did you become an expert on women?”
“Ever watched a romantic movie in your life? Ghost? The Princess Bride?”
I shook my head, not even recognizing the movies he was talking about, earning me a laugh. “You’ve got some homework to do, man.”
“Well, fuck.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlotte
I left the ball with Caz, texting Grey on the way, making him promise to take Deacon’s keys and drive him home. I was livid at him, but I didn’t want his death on my conscience—something like that would be a horrible thing to live with for the rest of your life. Caz had let me get in the car while he answered a phone call, the phrases The plan has changed, I won’t make that mistake again, and You’ll still get what you want floating through the moonroof. He acted as though everything was okay when he got in, and I was too consumed with my own inner turmoil to care. We rode along in companionable silence most of the way, more comfortable than the silence when he first came to pick me up.
“Everything okay?” Caz’s smooth voice broke me out of my silence, the humming of the loud sports engine filling some of the space.
“Yeah, just tired, I think.” It was the truth. I was tired... Tired feeling like Deacon was self-sabotaging himself because he didn’t want this as much as I did. Tired of knowing my love for him was, in many ways, one-sided. Tired of playing games.
“Charlotte, you’re not a convincing liar.” So I’ve been told. “Does it have something to do with that guy you were dancing with tonight.”
I waved it off, not wanting to have this conversation with Caz.
“You know,” he slid his hand over my thigh and started rubbing it, up and down. “I could treat you like a princess.”
I laid my hand on his to stop his movements. “Caz, I think we need to talk.”
He continued, not missing a beat, “I would give you everything your heart desires. Anything you asked would be yours—within reason, of course.”
He pulled in the driveway and let the car idle. I wanted to jump out of the car, but the financial tethers to him kept my nerve steady. “Caz, I appreciate your offer, but…”
“Oh, you’ve not heard my offer yet, sweet Charlotte.” He reached into the glove box and pulled out a long brown envelope. “Here is my offer.”
Confused, I opened it up, only to find the contract Grey had signed, now notarized. “This is the contract Grey signed.”
“Read it again,” Ominous words raising my hackles.
I skimmed through the papers, noticing the terms of the agreement had changed, and not to our favor. “This is not the agreement we signed.”
“But, it is your brother’s signature, correct?”
He held the papers up, Grey’s signature and the investment group name reflecting in the mirror. I looked closely, letters rearranging in my mind, and gasped, seeing what I should have seen when the papers were in front of me. Snos D’Nadrol, my foot. I snatched them back. “You’re with Lord and Sons?”
“I am a Lord. Arlington is my mother’s name.” I squinted at him, but he waved it off, adding, “A bastard child, but a child of Ferris Lord, nonetheless.”
“This will not stand up in court.”
“And you all have the money to fight it? What with Charles’s medical bills and Lynn taking off from work?” He smirked, “Why I’d think the strain alone would put poor Charles in the grave and Lynn in dire straits.”
“Why would you do something like this? To people you don’t even know?”
“Because my father has been waiting years to put the Kasen feather in his cap, and now he can—eventually.”
Anger flared hot. “He can’t have my family’s company.”
“Oh, but he can—and he will if the terms are not met. It gives the group the right to absorb any and all entities owned by Kasen Construction if the investment is not fully paid in 180 days.”
“No one would believe that someone would sign a ridiculous agreement like this.”
“But, sweetheart—your brother’s name is on there, and it is notarized and on file. Poor judgment does not a court case make.”
If this went through, it would cause widespread devastation. “If you all take this to court, it’ll ruin more than just my family’s lives.”
“I don’t want to ruin your life, beautiful.” He tucked a wisp of my hair behind my ear. I swatted him away, but his crushing grasp found mine. “After all, who do you think is going to make sure the balance is paid in full at the end?”
“What’s the catch?” I tentatively asked, not wanting to hear the answer for fear of what it entailed.
“I will pay my father off and keep the company going—if you’ll be mine.”
“That’s absurd. Why would you even want someone who despises you?”
“You’ll learn to like me over time. You’ll fulfill your role as my fiancée and, eventually, my wife.” The thought of him wanting to touch me in any way made me want to vomit. “In exchange, I’ll keep my father at bay, and everyone will keep their jobs. I am a fair person, after all.”
“Then, I ask that you reconsider my part.”
“No.”
“You said I could—"
>
“I said within reason, didn’t I?” How I wished I could turn back the clock and go back to a few weeks ago to slap Grey for even suggesting that deal with the devil. “Take a week to think about it.”
“A week? To decide whether to sell myself or not because you’re a selfish, crooked asshole?” The curse slipped out naturally, but I was seething. I exited the car, papers clutched in my hand, and the world falling to pieces around me.
“One week to find the generosity in this offer. And, Charlotte?” He tilted his head as I bore my hatred down on him. “Don’t keep me waiting. Patience was never my strong suit.”
The drive to Elsie’s the next morning seemed to take forever. I couldn’t talk to Mom and Dad about this yet, and Grey would blame himself. I needed a neutral party, someone who could help guide me to the right solutions. Elsie had lawyers she dealt with because of her ownership of multiple businesses in town, and she’d want them to look this over this piece of garbage fake contract with a fine-toothed comb. Everything will be fine, Charlotte. She’ll know what to do.
I pulled up to the house and raced up the steps, my breath erratic. The key slid the lock open, and I walked in, called her name. “Elsie?”
I looked to the right, but she wasn’t at the dining room table having breakfast like normal for this time. I looked to the left and saw her sitting there in her rocker, her face towards the bay window, the picture of calm and serenity. Her hands were neatly folded over one another, her knitting basket ready for the day’s projects if her arthritis permitted.
“Elsie, I’ve gotta talk—” I stilled in my movements, noticing the stillness of hers. I knelt before her and took in the peaceful expression which danced across her face, her eyes were closed serenely as if enjoying a pleasant dream.
“Elsie?” I gently tried to wake her. Nothing. I tried to shake her arms more forcefully. Still nothing. God, please don’t do this. “Elsie?” I slid my index and middle finger to her neck to check for a pulse. No life force racing through her veins.