No More Masquerade

by Angel Payne

  I barely held back a tight growl. Make that a hard roar. “You’re exaggerating. He has a degree from MIT too. He’s not a complete idiot.” Though if I’d banked a dollar for every time I called him one there’d be ten grand more in my account. “And before he fell back off the wagon, he had his nose to the grindstone at the office. Some of it must’ve sunk in. It really can’t be all that—”

  “Killian.” She shifted her weight—actually shifted it this time—before tapping an impatient rhythm with her toe. “He let Sunbreak go.”

  Shock crushed my lungs like a pair of aluminum cans. “What?” It was a lame rasp and I didn’t care. “How? We were ready to sign. There was an addendum on the contract but I looked at every fucking letter of it myself. I sent it over on the morning of Father’s funeral—”

  “And Trey took it back the day he started. Then changed it.”

  “Why?”

  “Said he felt the marketing burden was shouldered too much by SGC. He also deleted the product training portion.”

  “But they’re all about training! Half the board knows that, too. Did any of them step in to reach out and try to save the deal?” I clamped my teeth so hard, a few crickets fell silent from the whomp. “Christ. Maybe somebody better change that Stone on his office door to Moron.” I brandished a glare when Margaux answered that with a distinct giggle. “What?”

  “And you think nobody will welcome you back just because the name on your door says Klarke?”

  A soft snarl escaped me. “My situation is different and you know it.”

  “Oh?” The smirk clung to one side of her mouth. “So enlighten the blonde here. Different how?”

  I squared my stance. “I lied about being a Stone.”

  “And Trey lied about having a brain.”

  I saw the validity of her point more clearly by the minute. And didn’t like where it took my mind—or my blood pressure. I grew itchy. Restless. I’d nurtured SGC into a magnificent giant of commerce with my sweat and blood—often literally. Now Trey was throwing shackles around the beast and leading it to slaughter.

  I had to do something.

  I couldn’t do a fucking thing.

  Frustration rumbled up my chest. “My hands are still tied, dammit. I’m nothing but the kitchen boy now. I’m not ‘one of them’ anymore.”

  “And they don’t care anymore.” The wind caught Margaux’s hair as she stomped toward me. Or maybe that was the force of her sudden wrath. “I swear to God, I’m going to add your name to the moron list next.”

  Two seconds after her hand swiped the side of my head, I recovered enough to retaliate. “Hey!”

  “Shut up. With any luck, I knocked something important back into place.” Her hands jammed to her hips. “You sure there’s not a drop of Stone blood in those stubborn-as-shit veins of yours?”

  “Margaux. Dammit.”

  “No. Uh-uh. I’m not done yet. I haven’t gotten to the good part, where I get to say that I expected better than this from you, Killian. Yes, you. Killian. Not the ‘kitchen boy’ or the ‘pretender’ or whatever the hell you think you are, based on standards of a world that existed nearly thirty years ago. Standards that have changed, in case you haven’t noticed.” She dropped her head to one side, hitting me with her worst evil eye. “I wasn’t just being cute, Killian. You are a maverick. That means busting barriers, even when they’re hard. Nobody gives a shit what the name on your door says.” She paused as if debating her next words before stating, “They simply don’t care—and neither does the woman who just sobbed a river in my arms, either.”

  Here it was. The real shoe she’d been waiting to drop. Past narrowed eyes, I growled, “She’s clinging to a man who doesn’t exist anymore. Don’t you get that?”

  Margaux barely flinched besides a prissy huff. “Not one damn bit, dude.”

  I shook my head again. “She fell in love with a mask, Margaux. With Killian Stone. A dream that doesn’t exist anym—ow!”

  The cuff she gave the side of my head was twice as hard as the first.

  “She fell in love with a man,” she snarled, “not a name. When the hell are you going to crack open that boulder you call a brain and accept that?” Just as fast as her blow came a whole new look across her face. If I didn’t know any better—and maybe I didn’t—I could have sworn she was getting a little mushy, especially when she placed her hand on the center of my chest. “Killian…she fell in love with this good man.”

  She gave me one more press, as if wishing the words straight into my heart, before flashing one more soft smile then turning to retrieve her phone from her car. She didn’t look back during her walk back into Claire’s house, and I was glad for that. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to see the scowl forcing its way across my face—or the insane rush of thoughts behind it.

  Forcing his way into SGC hadn’t magically made Trey a great leader. Nor had being booted from the building changed the depth of how I cared for every single person in the place. It hadn’t brought either of my fathers back from the grave, or provided the biological “heir” to the kingdom as had been the plan all along. In the end, all we had were a bunch of meaningless labels on a lot of miserable people.

  Had Claire seen that truth all along? As dazzling as all my labels were as Killian Stone, had she simply not cared about any of them from the very beginning? Had she truly, simply, just fallen in love with the person I was, and not the flash of my masquerade?

  I stumbled back, dizzy from the impact of it. Awash in the joy of it. But still unable to receive the enormity of it. This was likely an elephant I’d have to eat in tinier bites.

  But as I walked back to my truck, I made a promise to myself.

  I’d start eating fast.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Claire

  Michael owed me big time. Margaux too, for that matter. Not that they noticed, past the lingering stares they kept throwing at each other.

  It wasn’t that the guy—shit, what was his name?—Jonathan; yes that was it—wasn’t attractive, sweet, and energetic. He was trying. Hard. But my heart was so obviously not into this double date, even a whole month after the shit had gone down on Kil’s boat, that it was torture for both of us.

  Okay, it was torture for me.

  Jonathan? I wasn’t exactly sure. The poor guy scrambled so valiantly for his “A” material, it blocked him from seeing that I couldn’t focus on anything longer than a hamster on crack. Even at dinner, when Margaux attempted to trip him up by changing the topic to the most uncomfortable of all, feminine discomfort at that time of the month, he was ready with some home remedies his mother and sister swore by. I would’ve smacked my head on the table if I didn’t risk spilling a full glass of a great Andrew Murray Syrah all over the place.

  When we got to the theater we all got a break from his nonstop stories. By that time, I was convinced the guy had an anecdote for every occasion. It was ladies’ choice on the movie, thank God, and we shamelessly went for the most popular chick flick on the marquee. At least two Saturday Night Live vets were in it, along with the newest hunk out of Hollywood with the ability to roll his eyes with the best of them. Though the movie was sticky, sweet, and predictable, at least Jonathan’s tales were silenced for two hours.

  We wound the evening up back at my place. Exhaustion dragged at me, as it often did these days, so I didn’t invite anyone in. That seemed to be fine by Margaux and Michael, who left as they’d arrived—in Michael’s car. The observation didn’t surprise me as much as I thought it would but I made a definite mental note to explore the situation with Michael the next time we chatted.

  For the time being, I had a bigger challenge on hand. The man on my front porch, staring at me with such earnestness that I wondered if he’d forgotten how to blink. I winced at the ground, thinking I’d never bitch about my waxing appointments as uncomfortable again. Jonathan didn’t get the hint. He stepped closer. I moved away. The night was really chilly and I couldn’t wait to get back inside. Alone.
/>
  “Well, I had a nice time. Thank you for everything.”

  He pressed close again. Anxiety rose in my throat. And incredulity. Could he really not have picked up on the signals I’d sent all night long?

  “I had a really nice time too, Claire. You’re a lovely woman, you know.”

  He reached to brush at my hair. I ducked away. “Listen…Jonathan…I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea tonight.”

  “It’s okay. I know you just got out of something.” He waved the same hand out, an attempt at casual that came across more as epilepsy. It made me squirm again. The thing he dismissed as “something” had been my everything.

  “I’m just not looking for anything right now,” I stated through tight lips. “At all.”

  “I understand. Maybe we can just be friends. See where that goes.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to go anywhere. With anyone. Ever again.”

  He emitted a soft pssshh. “It’s just the breakup talking.” He reached for my hand, ignoring my flinch. “I know it’s too soon.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” I battled for the diplomacy. He was a friend of Michael’s from the gym, and I knew they’d see each other again soon. Forcing Michael into the role of buddy therapist, especially when a power workout was at stake, wasn’t my goal or intention. “Perhaps you’d better go now. Good night.”

  The clueless ass didn’t move. “Maybe we could just try a little see-you-soon kiss.”

  I let him talk to my hand. “Not going to happen.”

  “Claire—”

  “Good night.”

  I stabbed my key into the lock and entered the house as quickly as possible. After closing the door, I turned and peeked out the front window. Jonathan had started down the front steps toward his car. I exhaled in relief. I almost wondered if turning the garden hose on him would’ve been my next move.

  I was watching him drive off, just to be sure he really left—when I noticed an unfamiliar vehicle across the street. An old white pickup truck was parked in the darkest area of my block, just beyond the glow of the street lamp. It was more than a little strange. I’d lived here since Andrea hired me, at least a few years now. Everybody looked out for everyone else in the neighborhood, including the working knowledge we had of each other’s cars. That truck definitely didn’t belong here.

  I kicked off my heels, pushed into my flats then grabbed my hoodie off the chair by the front door. After stashing my pepper spray into one of the pockets, I slipped out my back door in order to stick near the bushes before heading across the street to investigate. If some creepy jackass was camping out on our street, I was ready for him.

  On cautious, quiet steps, I approached the truck from behind. I wrapped tight fingers around my spray can when observing “he” really was a “he,” and he sat nearly motionless in the driver’s seat. He was hunched down, sort of like a cop on stakeout, though nothing about the sight of him said “cop” to me. Nope, he simply looked like a pervy ass munch, trying and failing to be inconspicuous.

  But then I realized who he was.

  “Dammit,” I whispered.

  My comprehension was even more disturbing than Jonathan’s working knowledge of douching products. My body’s Benedict Arnold worsened the ordeal. The hair on my arms stood on end. My heart trampled my ribs on its ten-second trip from normal to hyper-cardiac. I welcomed all of it with the same bitterness I threw at the bastard in the truck, banging then gesturing at him to roll down the window on his piece of shit—if the hand cranks still worked.

  His gentle, sexy-as-hell smile—the same one I’d been battling to forget all damn night—didn’t make this one inch easier. “Well…hi.”

  “Hi?”

  “Errrr…hello?”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Killian?”

  “Zip up your jacket. It’s really chilly tonight, fairy.”

  “It’s almost August. And you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, remember? And do not ever call me that again. Ever.”

  A breeze kicked up the street. Crickets began their night songs. An awful silence stretched between us, a wordless throw-down on who’d be the next to say something.

  I hated myself for being the first to crack. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  I leaned an elbow on the side of the truck in order to brace my shaking head and borrow one of Dad’s favorite Irish oaths. “You know, I’m gettin’ feckin’ sick on this pish.” When Kil opened the door and swung out his legs—clad tonight in jeans that fitted the long inches of them to perfection—I swung up a hand. “No. Stop. You don’t get to come any closer, either. You do have to tell me what you’re doing here.”

  The corners of his dark eyes tightened. Then the creases aside his mouth, too. Though his confusion seemed real, I couldn’t help but feel manipulated. He was unsheathing every little mannerism that dampened me the most for him.

  “I’ve been concerned about you.”

  My spurt of laughter was braided with my rage. “Oh hell, that’s rich. ‘Concerned’. Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  His tender tone flipped my heart over. But before it finished the first rotation, it was frozen in place—by fear. Letting myself feel anything from his words, his gaze, his presence…it gave me that awful, peeled-grape sensation I’d had when we first fell in love. And now that I knew how well all that had turned out…

  “Well, cut it the hell out,” I snapped.

  “Claire—”

  “No!” Hell. I should have checked my horoscope before leaving the house tonight. If I’d known beating back the assholes was part of my cosmic duty for the evening I would’ve stayed home with popcorn and a good J.R. Ward novel. “You don’t get to be “concerned” anymore, Killian. I don’t need you to watch over me, either. Don’t do this again. I’ll call the police next time.”

  He respected my request. He kept his ass parked firmly sideways on the driver’s seat—though as he hitched up one knee then rested one of his elbows on it, I couldn’t help turning into a puddle. I hated myself for it, but right there, in his grungy truck, faded T-shirt, scruffy hair and beard, he was as breathtaking as the day I’d first met him in the conference room at Stone Global’s headquarters in his tailored suit and impeccable hair.

  Run.

  My mind—and my heart—decreed it like an inner loudspeaker in a stadium constructed of dread.

  Run away, Claire. Now. Turn from the bastard, run away as fast as you can, and let him return to the night he belongs to now.

  But I stood there, mute and furious, letting him launch back in. “Okay. I’ll just get to my point.”

  “You don’t get to have a point, either.”

  He hoisted the other knee like I hadn’t spoken. Leaned his corresponding elbow on it. Great. Now he looked breathtaking and commanding. I fought back the urge to wring his gorgeous neck.

  “Things…the other night, on the boat…got strange.”

  I bit out a laugh. “Outstanding observation, buddy. Did you come all this way to share that tidbit with me?”

  “Maybe we should have…talked.”

  “Well, that’s not happening now.” Yeah, I really should have hooked up with the horoscope. Jonathan had wanted a kiss. Now Killian wanted to “talk.” And all I wanted was for every creature with a Y chromosome to leave me the hell alone. “Just get out of here, okay? Go back to your reclusive hideaway, wherever the hell that is now, and stop spying on me.”

  “Wait a second. That’s not what—”

  “I. Don’t. Care!” My shout caused Mrs. Binkley’s three beagles to start barking. I threw up my hands and brought them back down to my thighs with cracking smacks. “Don’t you get it, Killian? This “talk” isn’t happening. You don’t get to roll out of bed on me, then dismiss me from your realm like some call girl, then come back lurking in the shadows at my house like you’re my damn dark knight. You know what? I get it now. I believe it now. You don’t want to be Pr
ince Charming. You don’t want to be anyone or anything. So I’m cutting the tethers. You’re free. I won’t bother you anymore as long as you don’t bother me. Just get out of here.”

  I flung a hand out. To my horror, he smirked—smirked!—while rising out of the truck and catching me by the wrist. “Fuck, you’re cute when you’re pissed.”

  “You think I’m ‘pissed?’ I’m not pissed, Killian. I’m enraged.”

  “Hey. Hey. Easy, baby. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  “If you think slapping you is something I’d regret, you truly have gone insane, Mr. Stone.” I wrenched back from him, not holding back on the violence in my jerk. “Oh, wait. It’s Mr. Klarke now. How on fucking earth could I have forgotten?”

  His answering silence was palpable. He didn’t move from where he stood. He didn’t break our eye contact, either. And God help me, I didn’t want him to. We were still connected, yet so torn apart. It was all right. It was all wrong.

  “Don’t come back here. Please.” My throat constricted, almost strangling on the words. “I can’t take it again. I just…can’t.”

  I managed to spit out the rest without sobbing. Barely. As the tears tore up from my gut, I spun from him and sprinted toward my front door. The distance seemed to have doubled. Maybe that had something to do with the lead bars taking the place of my legs.

  I slammed the door and rammed the dead bolt in before turning and sliding along the wood, landing in a pitiful heap. Feeling the pieces of myself, of my life, crumbling around me again.

  “He wanted to talk,” I rasped through my tears. “He wanted…to talk.”

  The very thing you demanded on the yacht.

  No. It was too late. Too damn late.

  Don’t fall farther down the rabbit hole, Alice. In the end, the Cheshire Cat disappears—and all the cards tumble down before they try to kill you.