SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  Even if I don’t want to talk.

  What’s the point? I’m not going to just magically feel okay about things, and I don’t want to. I deserve time to get myself together about this situation, and I resent the fact that people are coming in here, forcing me to move on.

  “Your sex freaks can wait, Alex. I won’t. Now, I know that we’re still floating down ‘de Nile’ at the moment, and if that’s what you need to do, then I am so there with you, but have you considered that things are moving really fast? Before you know it, you’ll need a nursery, a crib, and other stuff like that. You need to make plans, Alex, and that means that the hovel you’re living in just won’t do. I agree with Zeus about you moving back into your old place—which he bought, by the way,” she points out, reminding me that I got a message from my realtor that needed checking on two days ago.

  “He did?”

  “Of course he did! He said that he wasn’t going to just let your place go, since you would eventually need to come back, and he was right. It’s his building, so he cut through the red tape and just swept it up. Now you won’t have to touch that trust fund of yours, you miser. My dad is still shitting bricks about that, you know. He wanted you to use the money, Alex, not put it into some interest-accruing fund while you scrape together money to live on,” Rose huffs.

  “I used some of it to buy my apartment,” I point out, getting a pfft for my efforts.

  “Big fucking deal. Where’s the Lambo, the designer gear, and all the other nice stuff? Just look at you, Alex. You buy clothes from freaking Target, and while I have no beef with the suppliers of affordable clothing, and no beef with the masses who wear them, you are rich. You can wear nicer clothes—or, at least, buy bigger clothes,” she tells me, looking pointedly at the way that my skirt dips where I have it unfastened.

  My shirt is also very tight, a situation that’s made me realize that my boobs may be growing. Fast. That must be why my bra keeps digging into my side boob. I hate side boob. Well, not that I’m actually showing off any of my side boob. But I don’t want it. Dammit, I think, I’ll have to get new bras. Bummer.

  Okay. So I am a liiittle bit on the cheap side, but come on. While I was in college, I used to work at the shelter—volunteer, really—and I got to see why money isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s not to be squandered—

  “Shut up about that. We’re talking about real life here.”

  “Poor people are real life.”

  “But not a part of yours, Alex. You have an apartment waiting for you, things to buy, and plans to make, and while we won’t force you to just jump in while you’re feeling fragile, we do expect some kind of movement. You’re going to move into the building again, you’re going to talk to someone, and you’re going to go to regular doctor’s visits. Understood?” Rose tells me, the last word an order that makes answering a moot point.

  Admittedly, she is our intrepid leader, but only because she made us draw straws, and then snuck into my bedroom and cut bangs into my hair when I won. So as to avoid being bald by the next day, I conceded and gave up leadership. Though I could have been a great and powerful leader, I think wistfully, my lips twitching when Rose narrows her eyes and shakes her head. As if she knows what I’m thinking.

  “Rose. Give me a week, okay? I just need—”

  “Sorry! The movers are already unpacking your stuff as we speak. I made a copy of your key yesterday while you were puking, and Zeus arranged the rest. It’s done. Settled. Now, do you want to tell us just why you’re cold-warring with Chilli?” she asks knowingly, her eyes flashing so hard that I almost feel sorry for him.

  For all intents and purposes, Rosetta is a dictatorial and power-hungry leader, but she is also…fair-ish. By which I mean that she takes the lives of her subjects very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that she stole my key, packed up all of my things, and made her husband move it all to a place where she can watch me like a hawk.

  If I was even a little peeved, I’d slap her. As it is, though, I just feel relief. Now I don’t have to work up to yet another thing that’s looming over me. I don’t have to think about…the flu. I don’t have to make the right choices and consider it all, at least not yet. Which works out just fine for my fight-or-flight response, because without the stress and thinking part of everything, I feel just fine. Not a hint of anxiety in sight.

  “You realize that this is an utter and illegal violation of my rights, right?” I ask, just for clarification purposes.

  “Pfft. Like I care! You deserve to get your ass kicked for what you put us all through, so I say screw your rights. By the way, Nate’s going to be staying with you for a bit.”

  I cringe a little because I don’t want to think about Mindy being around. I may have made some kind of peace with her, despite her annoyingness, but it’s not as if I want her constantly hanging around. She reminds me of an overeager puppy and even creeps me out a little. Who buys the same dress as you and then wears it? And then says, “Twins!” and tries to give you a high five?

  “Dammit. Is that really necessary?” I huff.

  “Completely. Zeus says that Nate is having a hard time adjusting to the leg injury he got when Hilan shot him,” Rosetta says, guilt flashing into her eyes. “He needs a friend—someone who isn’t Mindy—to talk to. Since he’s not talking to Z or the others, I thought that maybe you could try. He’s always liked you.”

  I snort, trying not to freak out because it isn’t going to be easy being around Nate all the time. When Hilan shot him and the other security guys during his attempt to get at Rosetta and kill her, the man was wounded badly. His knee and part of his lower leg were damaged beyond repair, and, as a result, he had to have the bottom half of his left leg amputated. The injury has healed up well, and with all of Nate’s effort and determination, he’s already up on a prosthetic, learning to walk and get his life back, but…

  “And I like him, Rosetta, but I am not the right person for this. What Nate’s going through isn’t something that you just get over. He lost his leg.”

  “I know that! Dammit. I freaking know that,” she hisses, scrubbing at her forehead. “But he’s not doing great, sitting alone in his apartment all the time, and I can’t keep popping by ‘just because.’ He gets annoyed and grouchy and basically falls just short of telling me to fuck off. I need someone like you—someone he won’t want to be rude to, someone he trusts. Talk to him, please, Alex. Make him feel better. Anything. Just do something, because right now, I can hardly stand to be in my own skin thanks to the guilt,” she tells me, her eyes sparkling with tears before she sniffs and pulls herself together.

  That’s what I love most about Rosetta. She’s got what we all call nerves of steel. I don’t think that I have seen Rosetta cry in years, if ever, and I don’t think that it’ll happen anytime soon, either. She’s just not built that way.

  “What can I do for the man? Look at me, Rosetta. I’m telling everyone I meet that I have the flu, and possibly some incurable disease,” I grumble, feeling a sense of guilt eating away at me because that’s not the right way to start off this…condition. “I’m a freaking wreck myself. What can I possibly do?”

  “Just be there, Alex. Just sit around and talk to him. Who knows? Maybe the two of you can somehow help each other. I don’t care. Just do it!”

  “Fine! But you—you’re going to stop harassing me! You think I don’t notice those cops following me?” I ask, sighing when she mumbles a curse.

  “I told you—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Hilan wasn’t the stalker, and with Brent still in a coma, and no answers to be found, you’re just making sure that we’re all okay,” I cut in, looking at Sin and Tee, who remain silent. “But I don’t know if I believe that. Look at the facts. It’s been—what, two months now, and there’ve been absolutely no new stalker issues. I’d say they died with Hilan.”

  “And you’d be wrong, but I won’t argue about that now. Just remember—we don’t talk about this outside of the family. Okay, so
now that we’ve got that all squared away, let’s talk Chilli. Stop! Don’t go all wonky on me, Alexandria. This conversation is inevitable. I’m going to assume that you ‘caught the flu’ from him?” she asks, and Tee and Sin both grunt when I scowl at her and curse silently.

  “Don’t be so damn stubborn, Alex. We’re all thinking it. Hell, even Uncle Jack is thinking it. And Honey’s already choosing wedding colors while your mom looks at venues,” Sin mutters.

  “I do not want to talk about this,” I hiss, letting the words flow through my gritted teeth.

  My brow is sweating now, causing the makeup that I hardly ever wear to start running around my temples. I do not—absolutely do not—want to speak about this. I have thirteen texts from Chilli, from this morning alone, demanding that I sit down and talk to him, or at least call him so that we can make peace. In one of the texts, he even told me that he’s sorry, again, and that he misses me. He ruined it, though, when he referred to our postdate analysis talks, which involved me insulting the bimbo he was with, while he regaled me with graphic details of their sexual encounters.

  And that is something that I don’t want or need right now. It’s crude, and my mom would scrub my mouth out if she heard me say this, but after having that dick, I don’t need to hear about his shoving it into another woman.

  “Boo-hoo! Talk. Why did you split, knowing that it’s his…flu? Jesus, it doesn’t feel right to refer to it this way,” Rosetta growls, just as her phone starts ringing.

  I shrug, thanking God for the distraction, and listen as she answers what is most likely a call from Zeus.

  “Of course, sweet dick. No. Thank you, I really appreciate it. I’ll reward you tonight. Sorry, honey. No, no—I didn’t mean to, but the opportunity was just there. Yeah. I know, Z. I just thought it’d be funny. Fine! I said I was sorry. No, I don’t regret it. How…well, I can be sorry in principle, Zeus, knowing that it wasn’t right, yet still enjoy it because it was as funny as hell. I am not apologizing to him!” she hisses, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I know that he saved my life, you fool, but that doesn’t mean that he’s off the hook for this. Fine! Dammit. I love you, too,” she screams into her phone before ending the call with a curse.

  We just stare at her, waiting for her to explode, because if there’s one thing that Rosetta doesn’t do, it’s apologize. For anything. In that, she and Sin are exactly alike, though for Sin, it literally takes actual violence to make her say the word “sorry.” For Rosetta, it merely entails a lot of yelling and recriminations. Which I see that Zeus is adept at.

  “Don’t ask,” she sighs, getting nods from us all, and then hissing, “He thinks it’s wrong that I unscrewed all the bolts from Chilli’s desk chair! There, I said it. But it was funny. And no, I didn’t think that he’d fall through the glass shelf behind his desk, so that part wasn’t my fault. Or the stitches, either!”

  Now really, how am I supposed to argue with that?

  Chapter Six

  Achilles

  My head is pounding where the stitches are pulling at my scalp, and the feel of the bald spot that they shaved into the crown of my head annoys me even more. I have a shiner where my eye slammed into the corner of my desk, and my ass is bruised from when I hit the floor, trying to save myself from more injury.

  I’d have laughed my ass off at Rosetta’s prank—if not for the fact that I was sitting in a meeting with the city inspectors, nearly having reached the point where I thought that they were going to start cooperating with me. Now, I have to schedule another meeting to somehow convince them to sign off on my house, which I need to get going on. Now.

  I don’t know why this urgency is gripping me, but the more I think about time, the less I feel that I have.

  “You look like shit,” Paris barks as soon as I walk into his office, his usually smiling face now somber and presenting a sight that pisses me off.

  Ever since Sin gave him that verbal smack-down a while back, Paris has been different. Gone are the easy smiles, the quick jokes, and his lust for life, and in their place is a bunch of nothingness from a man who hardly laughs, works all day, and then spends his nights partying. And while the partying part was also the case before, he used to do it with a joy that I know is missing now. He looks tired, haggard, and angry, and nothing that anyone says makes a difference to him. To Paris, life is different, and I think I finally understand why. He lost something that meant something to him, and he doesn’t know how to get back to it—or how to get over the loss.

  I can relate, because I feel the same way about Alex. I miss the hell out of her, and I find myself wishing that I could call her about Paris and get some good advice. She’d tell me what to do and what to say, and then she’d come over to make sure that I did it right. But now, without her, all I have are awkward words—or worse, no words at all.

  “Thanks. You’re looking great yourself. Are those bags going to the airport, or are you just keeping them around for shits and giggles?” I ask, referring to the dark circles under his eyes.

  Paris snorts, the sound filled with disgust, and gives me a hard stare before looking back down at the work in front of him.

  “The spa in Utah is behind schedule. It’s costing us money,” he says, his eyes flinty as they meet mine. “Wanna tell me why you’re holding off on the ground level foundation of the extension, and keeping the crews twiddling their fingers?”

  “Z called a halt—said that the tribal leader he’s liaising with wants a week of no work while he surveys the site,” I shrug, not understanding but bowing to what Adonis and Z want.

  If it were up to me, I’d just keep going, and screw the chief. I’ve planned, worked on, and nearly birthed this spa in an effort to help Adonis and Z do something that they’ve been wanting to do ever since they stole this land deal right out from under an oil company. The spa is something that they want to build in order to provide employment for the reservation nearby, and, while I get that aspect, I don’t understand why they’d lose millions to wait on some guy who has no say.

  “Well, I think it’s bullshit. We lost over three hundred grand today alone, and the crew is getting testy about it. If they walk off, we’ll have to start from scratch,” Paris tells me, making me frown and tilt my head in consideration.

  While I don’t disagree, I don’t like the way that he’s looking at me, or at this. Hart isn’t just Adonis’s company; it’s ours. We all play a role, we all have our niche, and we all care about the life of the company. And while I would be more critical about the way that Z and Adonis are approaching this, I also have a great deal of respect for them. They’re trying to change the way that the tribe sees the emergence of business, and they’re attempting to establish us there fairly and in good faith. Good relations are something that we strive for—and always have—but to hear Paris right now, that means nothing compared to the money. Which is frustrating, because I know that he isn’t like this. He just isn’t. So, having him bark at me and say things that I know he doesn’t mean…

  “Look, I know that you’re still getting over that shit with Sin—”

  “Nothing to get over. She was right. We aren’t a good match. I’ve moved on. This isn’t about feelings; it’s about money. Now, I think—”

  “Exactly, Paris. This isn’t about feelings. It’s about right and wrong. Oh, and by the way, since when do you see things and consider only the money? You were right there with Z when he spoke to the chief and some of the residents of that reservation. You agreed that their beliefs and wishes count. You even argued with me when I wanted to ignore the land boundaries they shortened,” I point out, frowning when he shrugs.

  “I was wrong. Pushing the gardens out towards the limits shows an environmental advantage that shouldn’t be overlooked just because they want to observe a sacred boundary that separates the lands,” he says, shrugging again. “Now, about those crews—”

  “Those are my crews. I handle the construction, and I make the changes when it comes to permit procedures. Thus far,
the permits are there, but like I said, we’re waiting three more days to finish off the allotted week. If you don’t like it, then talk to Z.”

  “And get his fist in my mouth?” Paris snorts, shaking his head with disgust. “Look, all I’m saying is that I want to get started on the PR and advertising, and the longer this thing takes, the more I have to stall. The word doesn’t just get out there on its own, man, and without a timeline—”

  “That’s what this is about,” I breathe, shaking my head in both disgust and sympathy. “You’re running out of projects to throw in Adonis’s way when it comes to Helos. He told you to manage it, and you’ve been keeping away with the excuse that you’re snowed under. Now that things are evening out, you’re panicking,” I muse, feeling a small sense of pity growing for the guy.

  Paris is one of the babies of the family—at least to me, being the second son—and so I always see him as needing me, no matter how grown we all become. Hearing him practically beg, demand, and push for more, just so that he can avoid Sin, makes me ask myself: just how over this girl is he? My guess, from the tortured light I see in his eyes before he shakes his head, is not at all. He isn’t over her rejection, and he’s panicking at the thought of going anywhere near her. Hell, I can’t blame him.

  I’m desperate to talk to Alex alone, but also so scared that I drove to her apartment last night, got all the way to her door, and then chickened out. Of course, I was pissed with myself when I got home, because the place where she lived didn’t look safe. However, knowing that I would feel that way about any place other than my own or Zeus’s building, I try to tell myself that I’m just being paranoid.

  “I am not panicking. I’m just very aware that I told you all that I will not run that restaurant.”

  “Paris, you bought it!” I tell him, scoffing when he grunts and rolls his head on his shoulders to remove a crick in his neck.