by Malcom, Anne
He said all of this while walking to the elevator. Since he had my suitcase, I had no choice but to follow him.
“Plus, I’ve always wondered what Turkey’s like this time of year.”
I was going to kill Wyatt.
* * *
“This isn’t the right way to the terminal,” I said to Duke, the first words I’d said since I’d gotten in the car.
The silent treatment was petty, childish and directed at the wrong person but I was pissed.
“Ah, you’re speaking and not just stringing curse words together. An improvement,” he said.
I flipped him the bird.
“This is gonna be fun.” He grinned.
“This isn’t gonna be anything if we miss my flight,” I said, looking to where we had passed the departures lane.
“Well, you are gonna miss your flight. But we’re getting you on another one.”
I watched to where we were going.
I had a bad feeling about this.
My bad feeling only intensified when we joined a line of expensive vehicles with tinted windows going into the area of the airport where the rich and famous avoided paparazzi and TSA.
“No fucking way,” I hissed.
“You expect anything less?” Duke asked with a grin.
No, I expected more. That was the fucking problem.
* * *
“A fucking private jet, Wyatt? Are you kidding?”
“Hello to you too. I honestly expected your tone to be less murderous. Flying commercial is such a drag.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, you’re such a douchebag.”
“But I’m a douchebag who got you onto an awesome private jet for your trip,” he countered.
“I didn’t ask for a private jet, Wyatt,” I snapped. “I can’t fucking believe that sentence just came out of my mouth. Your money can buy you all the jets you want, but it can’t buy you the right to just yank all of my decisions out of my control. You can’t buy my life, Wyatt, no matter whose baby this is inside me. You can’t buy the baby either. So if you keep throwing money and bodyguards at me, the only thing that’ll come of it is you never hearing from me again.”
A heavy pause fell on the other side of the phone, palpable even inside the roomy jet I’d settled in moments ago.
“Don’t you threaten me with that, Emma,” he said, all teasing gone from his voice.I didn’t blanche at his tone. “Well don’t try and control my life just because you’re under the mistaken impression that because you strum a guitar for a living means you have the right to do so.” I took a breath. “And the fact you even think it’s appropriate to hire Duke is off the fucking reservation.” I eyed the man in question, not even pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping. He seemed to find my fury entertaining.
I’d give him, and Wyatt, something to smile about.
Fucking males.
“It’s lucky that I enjoy Duke’s company and that I have the biblical memory of how he likes to show a girl a good time that I’m letting him come,” I purred.
“And who knows, with all the privacy on this private jet you organized, maybe he’ll let me come too.”
I hung up.
Duke groaned, no longer grinning.
“Emma, two fucking years you’ve managed to keep silent on the one night we fucked, and you choose now to tell Wyatt?” he whined. “Now you’re carryin’ his baby? You know he’s gonna try and kill me, right?”
I nodded, smiling, taking the orange juice from the flight attendant. “Yeah, and I also know you’re trained in various ways of killing humans, so you’ll defend yourself.” I shrugged. “Maybe take care of my problem for me.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. I like you, babe. But not enough to kill one of my close friends, best paying clients, and one of the most famous men in the world.”
Duke and I had slept together once. When I moved into my new apartment in L.A. after the band had gotten big. He’d been hired as their security and he was hot, and I was single and horny.
I didn’t even really remember how we’d ended up at his apartment without anyone in the band knowing we’d left together. But we did.
The sex had been great, because Duke was hot and knew how to please a woman. And because I was hot and knew how to please a man. He was also very on board with the way I treated sex. He didn’t try to cuddle me after, didn’t make it into something it wasn’t. Likely because he was fucked up in his own special way.
We had decided not to do it again since we both had the same scorched earth policy. We managed to remain friends afterward because we weren’t attached to each other or stupid illusions about one night of meaningless sex.
If only I could’ve done the same with Wyatt.
But with him, nothing was meaningless.
* * *
“Look, I’m not a cop,” I said to the man in front of me. My patience was wearing thin, I was covered neck to ankle, and it was hotter than Satan’s armpit in this compound outside of Ankara. I had known it would’ve taken some doing to get myself here, the Russian billionaire I was trying to buy a rare Jackson Pollock off was notoriously private and impossible to get a meeting with. He also hoarded some of the most precious art in the world. Curators had been trying to get meetings with him for years.
No one had gotten one.
Except me.
Which was why I was one of the most sought after in the biz.
But even with me, it had taken two days of negotiations, of utilizing every one of my contacts and trying not to kill Duke as he hovered around me like a fucking shadow.
I didn’t know how Lexie did it, have someone following her around all the time. Then again, her security guard was also her husband who was hot as shit.
Duke was hot as shit, no doubt about that, but he was annoying as hell too. He had not been happy about the little trip into the middle of nowhere in Turkey and I had to kindly—with liberal use of the word ‘fuck’—inform him that he was not the boss of me. And he’d muttered about me being the death of him but then hadn’t tried to do anything stupid like stop me. He’d driven the obnoxious SUV we’d rented upon arriving outside the city, following the directions I’d gotten from a friend.
I hadn’t told Duke that we hadn’t been invited until two G Wagons turned up at the ornate gates, two men getting out of each one and demanding to know who I was and what I was doing there.
Luckily, I’d jumped out of the car before all of this had happened and Duke couldn’t lock me inside or drive off. None of them had visible weapons and all my research on the man—of which I’d done a lot—told me that he hadn’t been violent toward his business partners. I deduced the meeting to be low risk, and normally I would’ve done it no matter the risk, it was only because of that low risk that I was here. My child was not worth the commission or the bragging rights this sale would get me, and I would’ve swallowed my pride and gotten right back on the plane if I’d heard any murmurings that this would be dangerous.
Still, the stony-faced men weren’t exactly laying out the welcome mat. In fact, they’d taken one look at me, and more specifically a hard-jawed Duke and told me to leave. In Russian. Which was good because then Duke didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat that came with that request.
“Like I said, we’re not FBI,” I told them. “I don’t care about how you get enough money to make it look like the Gucci store straight up threw up on you,” I said to the one standing in front of the rest, who I guessed was the leader of the entourage or security team or whoever these douchebags were.
It was kind of a lie. I did care about how they got all this wealth, because it wasn’t amassed without victimizing vulnerable people. Whether it was drugs, weapons or something worse. But then again, all great wealth was amassed by victimizing someone, it was the way of the world. I couldn’t change it.
“I’m here for your boss’s Pollock, my buyer is willing to pay a more than fair amount. All cash.” I let that sink in, cash always had a way of easing the tensio
n. “Enough for you to buy the fucking Gucci store if you wish.” I paused again, long enough to be uncomfortable, to make them sweat a little and to show them I wasn’t afraid of them. “Are you gonna do business with me or am I gonna take my client’s money elsewhere—and I’m gonna be honest with you, it’d be a relief to do so, the gaudiness of your diamonds are giving me a headache.”
The air was tense as the man digested my words. His comrades were wearing different expressions. Some were sneering at the “crass, American slut.” I knew that’s what they were sneering about because they were muttering it in Russian under their breath. I spoke three languages other than English and considering the amount of business I did here, it came in handy.
A couple of the men had cheeky grins at my words, but still called me “the idiot American.”
I felt Duke move closer to my back as he sensed the tension I’d created with men who didn’t exactly value human life. And definitely not the life of a crass American slut.
I didn’t blink. I’d been in countless situations like this before. It was a pissing contest. Men didn’t like a woman entering it, let alone winning one. But men—humans in general—liked money and there was always a price for someone’s pride. In my years at my job, I’d become excellent at gauging how much someone was willing to sell their priceless art for, the best in the business in fact. But I was damn near faultless and putting a dollar amount on the number of a man’s pride. I found it easier to do business insulting people who were used to their wealth buying them respect. The fact I didn’t work that well usually got me my own, for free.
Or for a few million of my client’s money.
Of course there were a handful of times things didn’t go my way and shit got sketchy. But those times I’d walked out without a scratch—and with my painting. And I never had a bodyguard.
The silence rolled on until he lifted his Rolex clad wrist to an earpiece at his ear. I knew it was there, and my speech wasn’t for his benefit. Men like the art collector I was stalking were not ones to be ignorant about who rolled up to their gates. I’d known he was listening.
I’d been counting on it.
The man in front of me cleared his hostile expression, but his eyes were filled with hate. I wouldn’t be getting a Christmas card from this guy.
“You are welcome,” he said, stepping aside, his voice communicating he considered me everything other than “welcome.”
I grinned.
* * *
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Duke said, the first words he’d spoken since we’d gotten back into the city. Me with the piece I’d come for. Roman Ivanov had been exactly like the men he employed. Covered with all the trappings of wealth and none of the class. He had been courteous, obviously impressed with the demeanor I’d offended the rest of his men with.
He’d even asked me to dine with him, and the glint in his eyes showed me the invitation was for more than just food. I’d politely declined, not just because he was old enough to be my father, had no taste, and I was pregnant with another man’s child—thankfully not visible due to some creative outfits and a liberal use of black.
Well yes, it was all because those things.
His art collection had tempted me, though. He had some pieces that I’d been sure had been lost to the world. I’d been sure to part on as good of terms as I could, knowing that a connection with this guy was priceless.
Duke was driving violently—it was the only way to get around in Ankara, and so it happened, in life too.
“I know, I’m awesome,” I said, tapping at my phone to inform my client I’d gotten him the piece for a million less than he’d been expecting to pay. People who wore their wealth with Rolex’s and Gucci belts rarely knew the worth of anything important.
“Are you serious, Emma?” Duke demanded, glancing at me. No, glaring at me. He’d pretty much been doing that since we entered the gates to Ivanov’s compound and for the hour it took me to get back into the city.
“In life? Rarely ever. About my awesomeness? Always.”
“You’re four months pregnant and you just insulted a Russian criminal in front of his crew,” he clipped. “I did that, I’d be shootin’ my way outta there. And the fact that you did that, and you’re a woman...fuck you don’t know how that could’ve gone.”
I scowled at him. “I know how it could’ve gone because I’ve been doing this for years and I’m actually really fucking good at my job. Not once have I ever shot my way out of anywhere. You always think you need to enter a violent situation with obvious violence.” I rolled my eyes. “Men.”
“Violence works best,” he said, gripping the steering wheel. “No wonder Wyatt didn’t want you comin’ here. Pregnant or not. You’re lucky he wasn’t here to see that shit.”
“You gonna tattle on me to my rock star baby daddy?” I asked sweetly.
He gritted his teeth. “No, because Wyatt’s not seeing sense when it comes to this shit right now, and I don’t like to think what he’ll do if I tell him.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Fuck, you men are so dramatic.”
There was a long silence and I waited for more misogynistic bullshit. “That was fucking awesome, I’ll give you that,” Duke relented.
I grinned.
“But you know you can’t keep this shit up,” he continued.
I scowled. “Did Wyatt put you up to this amongst all the yelling about not fucking me?”
“No, well, he did yell about chopping my balls off if I put a hand on you.” He grinned. “But this is comin’ from me. I know you can take care of yourself, know the world has kicked your ass, and you got strong enough to strike back. Know you get off on this shit, ‘cause I do too. The risk is worth the payoff. But you’ve gotta know now that the risk isn’t worth it...” He trailed off, looking pointedly at my stomach. It was a good thing we were leaving today since my bump had pretty much popped overnight.
I sighed. “I know that, I’m also not stupid.” The men I dealt with saw my gender as a weakness without the pregnancy. I did great at proving them wrong on that count but even as awesome as I was, it wouldn’t work as well when I was showing an obvious weakness. An obvious vulnerability.
It scared me, how vulnerable I was now. Because anything happening to the child I hadn’t even met yet would destroy me. It’d ruin me. So no way would I give anyone the chance to hurt my baby. Not for the sake of art. Duke was right, there was a point when nothing was worth that risk.
“Didn’t say you were stupid,” Duke replied. “Just care about you, and the baby that you and Wyatt are going to fuck up in so many new and interesting ways.”
“So glad to hear you have faith in me being a good mother,” I muttered.
He reached across the car to squeeze my hand, as if he could hear the unease in my own voice. “Just ‘cause I said you’re gonna fuck the kid up doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re gonna be a good mom,” he said. “Know you’re gonna be a good mom ‘cause you’re a good person, a great friend and willing to curse out Russian criminals without blinking.”
I grinned at the compliment coming from Duke.
He was lying, but it was still nice to hear.
Chapter Nine
Wyatt had been texting me and calling me non-stop since I hung up on him right after I insinuated I was going to join the mile-high club with one of his bodyguards/close friends.
I had, of course, ignored all of these texts.
He knew I was okay, because he was paying for Duke’s presence and Duke, therefore, had to answer his calls and let him know that I was still alive. When Duke could speak, amidst all the swearing I’d heard yelled through the phone.
“You just fucking had to hit him with the knowledge of us fucking. Once,” he moaned after hanging up the phone as we got situated in the jet. It seemed that Wyatt still hadn’t recovered or stopped yelling at Duke, even though it had been a week since I told him.
A week since I told him one of his friends and I had had sex,
the friend he’d hired as my bodyguard, and then I’d informed him I was going to fuck that friend while pregnant with his child and on the way to Turkey.
I guessed it wasn’t exactly something someone like Wyatt got over in a week.
“I’m pregnant, hormones,” I argued. “I was mad.” I paused. “And I’m also kind of an asshole sometimes.”
“No kidding?” Duke remarked dryly.
We were departing a day earlier than we were meant to. I’d planned on needing to stay longer to facilitate the deal and perhaps source some other art for clients. But I was too tired. Which was almost unheard of for me. I wasn’t a person who got tired. No matter how little sleep I got, I never dragged my ass around, never took naps. I struggled to get to sleep at night on my best days. I was determined to utilize every waking moment to working to make my life kickass and running farther away from my past.
But pregnancy was apparently exhausting.
I was looking forward to sleeping in the luxurious jet I’d thrown such a fit over—Wyatt was right, I’d never be able to be pleased with flying commercial after this. The asshole.
He’d ruined me for all other men, his baby was likely going to ruin my vagina and my tits, and now he was ruining air travel for me.
If only I’d known all of this when I’d first met him.
My hand settled on my stomach.
If I’d known all of this before, all the pain, all the fucking agony and uncertainty I’d have to go through, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because of the fact that I already was willing to go through all the pain in the world for the being growing inside me.
And because of the fact that I’d rather have pain with Wyatt than empty pleasure with anyone else.
* * *
The slam of my front door echoed so loudly my skull rattled. My heels sounded on my hardwood as I walked farther in, letting the quiet of my home settle onto my skin. It didn’t sink in with a peacefulness that I’d designed my apartment to be. It was all white, all different textures, from the sofa, to the fluffy throw, to the multiple cushions, to the shaggy rug, marble countertops. Art was sparingly placed around the walls. Only because it was that precious to me. I wouldn’t clutter my space with meaningless pieces. Everything that existed in here had a purpose. And the art that did hang on my walls was the reason my apartment wasn’t completely paid off, even though my commission should’ve made it so a year ago.