This time, the flimsy door shook with each loud bang.
“Lily, I know you’re in there! Open the goddamn door before I break it down!”
I swallowed heavily. I knew him. He would do it. I chucked the pillow onto the bed, crossed the room, and flung the door open.
Will stood in the rain, palms braced heavily on either side of the doorframe while water streamed down his face in twisting torrents. He still wore the same set of running clothes from before. Shorts, t-shirt, sneakers, plus a baseball cap over the mass of blond knotted at the base of his neck. All of it soaked through. Yet another clap of thunder sounded, and behind him, lightning flashed through the sky, but he didn’t move, didn’t even blink through the merciless pellets of rain. His green eyes drilled into me while he gasped through the water.
“Did you know?” he shouted through the storm, his voice hoarse, yet still demanding. He sounded like he’d run a marathon himself.
“What?” I shouted back. “Did I know what?”
“Did. You. Know?!” he cried out. “Who I was! Tell me, Maggie, I have a right to know. I have a right to know if the one person in this fucked-up, piece-of-shit, godforsaken world I finally learned to trust again sold me out to those vultures! Was it you who told them where I was? Who I was?”
He was practically shrieking at this point, his face reddened and eyes bulging. He looked like a man straddling the line of sanity, like with one small push, he might topple to the other side, and there was no telling what he might do then.
But I couldn’t focus on that. All I could feel was the pain punching holes through my poor, cut-up heart. The revelations of the morning had shoved the knife in deep, so deep I couldn’t breathe. But this new accusation twisted it further. And oh, but I hated him for it.
“No!” I finally replied, having to shout myself to be heard over the rattle of raindrops pelting the roof. Another clap of thunder sounded, and the sky flashed white before turning a deep, nasty gray. “No, I didn’t know!”
He relaxed, but only slightly. The hands on the doorframe still gripped it so tightly his knuckles were white.
“But, Will?” I pulled his attention back to me.
Like we were in the middle of one of the cheesy movies he must have starred in at some point in his stupid career, the thunder quieted, and the rain lightened a bit. Not completely, but just enough for Will to raise his head, his green eyes searching. Enough where we could speak without shouting.
Suddenly even the lowest whisper seemed like it might be too loud. I felt like one word from him could knock me over.
How could one person feel so many warring things at once? I wanted to pull him to me, assure myself he was real. I wanted to shove him away and slap him across the face. I wanted to know the last four weeks weren’t a dream. I wanted to know that he wasn’t a dream a dream.
“What?” Will asked, his broken voice cutting through my confusion. He sounded wary. Unsure.
Well. At least we still had that in common.
“I didn’t know,” I repeated, keeping my warbling voice louder than necessary, surer than I felt. “But you did—Will. You did. And you never said a goddamn thing.”
And then, before he could answer, I slammed the door shut on Will Baker. Because, in all truth, that man never existed.
All that was left was some stranger named Fitz, and I didn’t want to know him at all.
* * *
To Be Continued…in Indiscreet.
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Also by Nicole French
The Spitfire Series
I had a plan.
Finish law school. Start a job. Stay away from men like Brandon Sterling. Cocky, overbearing, and richer than the earth, he thinks the world belongs to him, and that includes me.
Yeah, no. Think again.
It doesn’t matter that his blue eyes look straight into my soul, or that his touch melts my icy reserve. It doesn’t even matter that past all that swagger, there’s a beautiful, damaged man who has so much to offer beyond private planes and jewelry boxes.
But I had a plan: no falling in love.
I just have to convince myself.
Book I is available FREE: bit.ly/LYwide
The Bad Idea series
Repeat after me: stay away from the hot girl. The beautiful girl. The f**king ray of sunshine in the middle of your delivery route.
Layla Barros is everything I never knew I wanted. Everything I'll never have.
She's an innocent young student.
I'm a convicted felon.
She's rich girl from a nice family.
I've got nothing but a broken home.
But if I'm an addict, she's my drug. I can't stay away, even though I know I'll ruin her in the end.
She might be the girl of my dreams, but I was always a bad idea.
Book I is available FREE: bit.ly/BadIdeaWide
Keep reading for a taste of Legally Yours, the FREE first book of the Spitfire series.
From Legally Yours
An Excerpt
It wasn’t until I was about halfway through the park that I heard a voice echoing behind me.
“Wait! Miss! Fuck, I don’t know your name, but will you just stop!”
I turned around to find Sterling bounding doggedly through the snow. He stumbled, nearly fell on a crack in the sidewalk, but rebounded with the reflexes of a trained athlete and caught up with me in a few more steps. A few more errant locks fell across his forehead, and I was faced with a smile that made my legs feel as if they were immersed in a hot tub, not the frigid New England air blowing up my skirt.
“Do you always go wandering through the Commons after midnight?” he asked as he regained his breath. “It’s not exactly safe. Especially for someone like you.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, considering my size and gender. Instead, I flushed, suddenly embarrassed by my idiocy. I wasn’t some hayseed from the hills. In my desperation to escape that house and the very disturbing effect that, well, this man seemed to have on me, I had done what every city dweller knows not to do: wander a public park at night.
“You left without saying goodbye,” Sterling said with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Or what you were doing in my house.”
“God,” I said, finally finding my voice, but able to look everywhere but directly at him. Like the sun, he exuded energy so bright I couldn’t see clearly. So instead, I rambled.
“I’m so sorry about that. I’m a friend of Ana’s, your housekeeper. She just let me in for a minute but had to go, uh, deal with something in her room. I didn’t have any cell reception down there, so I came upstairs to find a signal. She had no idea, really, so please don’t blame her. I didn’t mean to intrude in your, space, truly, and, um...”
I didn’t stop babbling until Sterling placed his hands on my shoulders and bent down so his chiseled features were level with mine.
“It’s okay,” he said slowly, and I found myself rolling my eyes at his playful tone before I could stop myself.
“Sorry,” I repeated, but the babbling stage was over.
“Your name?” he prompted again, releasing my shoulders and standing back up straight.
It was then I realized again just how very tall he was. A frame that must have been close to six-four filled out a charcoal-gray suit in a way that made me wonder just how much time he spent wearing a suit and how much time he spent at the gym.
“Yum,” I whispered before I could stop to think.
“Your name is Yum?”
“Oh, no,” I said, flushing an even deeper red. “Christ. Sorry. It’s Skylar.”
“Skylar Crosby?” he asked quickly.
I frowned at him. I wasn’t cold like Bostonians, but as a New Yorker, I had a deep suspicious streak. A stranger knowing my name definitely qualified as suspect.
“Yes…�
� I said, taking a few steps backward. “How did you know that?”
“I make it a point to know all of my employees’ names,” Sterling said with a brief, white smile. “Even the interns. Skylar’s a memorable one.”
Even though it was snowing outside, that was when I truly froze. The dots connected, and I suddenly realized who this was: Brandon Sterling, the elusive name partner at the firm he also founded. He was a legend in the office, but hadn’t been seen once by any interns. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual—we were disposable labor, so most of the partners were unlikely to take much interest. But even most of the junior associates who oversaw our work had never met him personally. He was a phantom.
“Oh, Jesus,” I breathed. “Jesus Christ.”
“No, just me, I’m afraid,” Sterling replied with another bright smile. “Although it’s a nice comparison.”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I spluttered. “Oh my God, oh God, I was intruding on your home, and I really shouldn’t have. A friend of a friend invited me to wait for a car inside because of the weather, but it was completely inappropriate. I only went upstairs to find cell reception, I swear, and then you walked in…”
Shut up, shut up, he already knows this, shut up! My inner dialogue went crazy trying to censor the blather again pouring out of my mouth. When I looked back at Sterling, I was mortified to see him trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Ms. Crosby,” he interrupted gently with yet another knee-weakening smile. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m just…very sorry for intruding,” I said lamely. “And for babbling. It’s something I do when I’m…”
“When you’re what?”
“Um, nervous,” I admitted.
“You’ll have to fix that if you want to be a litigator,” he joked, causing me to turn bright red all over again. Fuck, could things get any worse? Although I wasn’t sure I wanted the job at Sterling Grove, it would have given me a springboard to any other I wanted. I could kiss that opportunity goodbye.
“It’s all right,” Sterling said yet again, patting me gently on the arm.
In the cold, his touch seared through the heavy wool of my jacket. He shivered, and for the first time, I realized he had chased me into the snow in just his suit and very expensive-looking leather shoes, which were already getting watermarks from the snow around the tips. I looked down at my feet. My Manolos were also as good as ruined.
“I’m going to head back inside,” he said, tossing back toward his house. “Care to join me?”
“Oh no, sir, I’m really fine,” I said. “The T is just down this path, and it goes right back to Cambridge.”
Sterling glanced at his watch, which also looked very shiny and very expensive, but not flashy like that fool’s from the bar. Subtle. Tasteful.
“It’s almost one,” he said. “You probably already missed the last train, if you don’t get robbed in the park on your way there. Come on. My driver’s out of town, but I can call you a car while you wait.” When I hesitated, he reached out and squeezed my hand before letting it go, an intimate gesture that seemed to surprise him a bit too. “What kind of boss would I be if I made my interns stay until after midnight and didn’t give them a ride home?”
“Um…” For some reason, I couldn’t quite tell him that his office wasn’t the reason I was out so late.
“Let’s go,” he said again in a tone that brooked no argument and started to make his way back through the snow.
* * *
Someone (most likely Ana) had wised up to Sterling’s arrival. A large fire was alive in the fireplace when we reentered the house through the double-door entrance. There was no sign of his three companions. The house appeared to be empty but for him and me.
Sterling slipped off his shoes and carried them over to the fireplace. He set them down on the hearth while I loitered awkwardly in the foyer.
“Have a seat,” he said, nodding at one of the overstuffed couches I had been eyeing earlier. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He disappeared upstairs while I sat down. When he returned, he carried a newspaper and a small box covered in scratches and paint splotches. He had removed his jacket, vest, and tie, and was decidedly more informal, with his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat and rolled up to his elbows. Though it was practically identical to the outfits of just about every other man I’d seen that night, there was something about the way the tendons in his forearms tested the limits of his rolled-up sleeves that made my mouth water, as if his casual regalia were trying to tame an animalism that was literally splitting seams to escape. Padding silently across the thick carpet, he reminded me of a lion tracking its prey.
“May I?” he asked, kneeling in front of me and taking the heel of my shoe in his hand.
Wordlessly, I watched as he slid my pumps off each foot, then carefully set my stockinged feet back onto the sheepskin. When he looked up, our eyes caught as they had when I had first seen him. The moment quickly passed. He cleared his throat and stood up.
“Manolos,” he said, holding up one of my prized pumps. “The lady has expensive taste.”
“The lady has only one pair,” I responded sadly. “So I hope you’re not going to throw them in the fire.”
“Hardly,” he said, the “r” of the word flattening with a surprisingly thick Boston accent. He set both pairs of our shoes down on the hearth and proceeded to stuff them with crumpled newspaper.
“They’re not too wet,” he said. “I don’t think the fire will damage them at all, just help them dry. I’ll put some oil on them, though, if you’re all right with that.”
He opened up the box, which contained a rudimentary shoe shining kit.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. “It looks like an antique.”
“It was my father’s,” Sterling replied absently as he rummaged around and finally located a container of clear balm. He proceeded to dip a stained brush into the jar and rub it onto his shoes, one at a time.
“Oh, are you close?”
The question came out before I could help it. Sterling glanced up sharply for a half second before returning to his work, now brushing the polish into my shoes with vigor.
“He’s not around anymore,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I shouldn’t intrude. Again.”
He looked up again, this time kindly.
“Skylar,” he said, and it was then I realized how much more I liked hearing my given name roll off his tongue. Much like before, the ‘r’ at the end wasn’t fully pronounced, rolling open with a subtle New England cadence that betrayed a working-class background he hadn’t quite erased.
“Yes?”
“You apologize too much.”
“I’m so—” I started before catching myself. Sterling gave me a cheeky half smile, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “Right,” I amended. “Okay.”
“Exactly,” he said with a wink before turning back to our shoes.
Ana entered the room with a tray bearing a teapot and a cup. When she noticed my presence on the couch, her expression briefly morphed into surprise before sliding back into easy affability.
“I believe you know Ms. Crosby, Ana,” Sterling said from his seat by the fire.
“Ah, yes, sir, a bit. I, um…”
“It’s all right, Ana,” Sterling said, echoing his words from before. I wondered if he tired of constantly having to reassure all the women he met. Clearly, he was disruptive to many of us. “You’re done for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” Ana said before leaving. “Good night.” With a quick, unreadable glance at me, she was gone, no doubt to gossip with Eric, if he was even still here, about what I was doing upstairs.
“Please,” Sterling said, indicating the tea. “You look frozen, so help yourself. I’ll call for a car and get another cup.”
He lifted himself easily from the hearth, and I couldn’t help but watch his finely shaped form as he strode out of the room. No wond
er he kept himself such a secret at the office. With an ass like that, he’d have associates camped outside his door.
He returned shortly with his cell phone held to his ear and another teacup, which he set down on the tray. A woman’s voice said clearly that she would call him back shortly about the car.
“Cab companies call you back now?” I asked after he hung up.
“No, but personal assistants do,” he said with another impish half smile. My gut clenched. “How’s the tea?”
I took a sip. It was delicious, a sweet jasmine that I’d never had before. “Wonderful.”
He nodded. “It’s a blend I picked up the last time I was in Beijing. I’m no aficionado, thought it was pretty good.” His phone buzzed in his hand. “Sterling.”
The woman’s voice was more muffled this time, so I couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Really?” Sterling asked at one point. “All right. No, no, that’s fine, Margie, I’ll take care of it. You have a good night.”
He ended the call and slid back down to his seat on the hearth, elbows perched easily across his knees.
“Well, here’s the deal, Ms. Crosby,” he said.
“Skylar,” I corrected him. I didn’t want him to stop saying it now that he’d started.
Sterling rewarded me with another slow, soft smile that made my stomach flip. “Skylar. Well. It’s past one. The subways and buses are most likely done. Margie tells me she called four different car companies, but it appears that everyone in Boston is trying to get someone to drive them home in this weather. I’d drive you myself, but my car is being detailed. So, you’ve got a choice. You can wait here until about four a.m. for the next available car, which will make me grumpy since I’ll have to stay up with you, and I’m dog-tired. You can take your chance with the T, in which case I’ll walk you to the station. Through a blizzard, by the way. But I doubt you’ll do anything but spend the night there. Or you can take advantage of my hospitality and stay the night in one of my guest rooms.”
Discreet: The Discreet Duet: Book I Page 31