Dirty Disaster (Low Down & Dirty Book 2)

by Addison Moore

  Bryson continues, “I was thinking we should send out teams to speak with department heads of the corporations we’re hoping to pull in. Instead of cold calling, we’ll be cold contacting—in person. It’s not a fun job, but it could be since we’ve decided to throw in a thousand dollar bonus for each company we sign a contract with.”

  The room lights up with a warm round of gratitude.

  A thousand dollars. I swallow hard. I can use a thousand dollars. Hell, I can use many thousands of dollars. I didn’t score any big scholarships, and I’m hoofing most of my student loans myself. A part of my father’s don’t-be-a-murdering-fuck-up-like-your-sister campaign involved cutting me off financially and booting me out of the house once I turned eighteen. Another reason I’m keeping a watchful eye on Ava. She’s just nine months away from that legal extradition. I don’t know what the hell my parents are thinking. I’m barely able to make it on my own, and if they knew what lengths I was going through to keep my lights on, they might have second thoughts over their campaign to let life teach me a lesson or two the hard way. Not that I want a handout, but a little mercy would be nice. I’ll be the first to admit I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, a never-ending supply of cash and credit cards lining my wallet. There was a brand new sports car to drive the second I turned sixteen, which was repossessed by my parents the day I moved out, and instead, I rode my trusty Schwinn to the nearest youth hostel. Life is a bitch, but I wasn’t as angry at the universe as I was with my parents. They figured they screwed up with Aubree and didn’t want to chance any more litigation in their future. But it’s water under the bridge. I hustled, got work where I could, and ended up with an apartment, an old beat-up pickup, and even managed to get two years of community college under my belt. Now I’m at Briggs, with just two years left until I get the golden ticket.

  The meeting comes to an end, and I’m slow to collect my notes, my laptop still staring blankly at me.

  “Piper!” Wyatt stands, and I swivel my head to the door. “You’re late.”

  “Better late than ever!” she chimes, and my heart decides to quit on me.

  “Better never late.” He pulls her into an embrace, and a dark curtain of hair falls over his shoulder.

  Shit.

  Here she is. The raven-haired goddess that cursed and vexed me long into my wet dreams stands less than six feet away. She jumps back with her thigh-high boots, her long blanket-like jacket, and glossy straight hair. She’s beautiful. She’s spoiled. I can tell. Entitled, too. You don’t get an attitude like that without a little help from your trust fund. On second thought, maybe my parents are onto something with this tough love bullshit.

  She shakes Bryson and Ryder’s hands as Wyatt does the introductions. Her eyes pan over the otherwise empty boardroom, and I slip down in my seat a notch.

  The smile glides right off her face at the sight of me. “What’s he doing here?” She bites the air with her words.

  “Whoa.” Wyatt inches back. “Remove the fangs. He’s an intern like you. This is Owen. He’s harmless, I promise. Owen, this is my sister, Piper, from Manhattan. She’s an entering freshman. Maybe you can show her around campus?”

  “No thanks.” Piper holds up a hand like she might be sick. Obviously, the fangs stay. “I’m pretty keyed-in right now.”

  A dry laugh pumps through my chest. I saw exactly who was trying to insert his key into her hole the other night. Winston Stanford. A quick background check yielded nothing in particular. He’s just your standard finance jockey following in daddy’s footsteps. As far as my sources can tell, he’s not a womanizer. Still don’t like him. Not that I like her either. She’s a piece of work I want nothing to do with—all bark and fang-worthy bite. Hell on heels if I’ve ever seen it. No thank you. Not for me.

  Her mouth twists up as if she were about to spit out a lemon as her eyes, those piercing blue high beams of hers, knife me with hatred.

  Ryder collects his printed materials from the table. “Since you’re the only two interns at the moment, I’d appreciate it if you can team up. I have a list of potential corporations you can talk to, and, if you manage to land us any of the accounts, the bonus is yours to keep. Normally, it’s not something we’d extend to the interns, but we’re more than happy to put the dollar signs out there for you to chase. Let’s make some money.” He tweaks his brows as he heads for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Bryson checks his phone. “I’d better get going. I have a meeting across town, and then I have to deal with an army of plumbers at the Ice Bar.”

  Bryson and his siblings own a few bars that they bought out from their father—the most popular being the Black Bear, which is just a stone’s throw from Briggs.

  “Hey.” I jump up and meet him partway to the exit. “I wanted to thank you again for letting me do this.” I search his face for a hint of hatred, a touch of displeasure with my presence, but there isn’t any. “It means everything. I need all the experience I can get. This might be the edge that gets me where I need to be post-graduation, so I’m really thankful for that.”

  “Not a problem.” He taps my arm with his fist. “Hey, I’m not holding anything against you. In fact, swing by the Black Bear if you get a chance. I want you to meet Baya. She’s more than okay with you working here. She wants to reassure you herself; she made it a point to tell me so.”

  “I’d like that.” A swell of relief pushes through me. “I’m still”—I pause from the impromptu confession working its way up my throat—“I’m still in touch with my sister.”

  “You do whatever you need to do. If it were my sister, I’d still be in touch with her, too. Look, I know that Aubree is sick, and I hope she’s getting the help she needs. I’m not making excuses for her, but I’m not wishing anything bad upon her either.” His phone buzzes, and he winces as if he needs to take it.

  “I’ll catch you later. Thanks again.” I turn to scoop up my things and note Wyatt isn’t in the room. It’s just the partying princess and me.

  “You can’t deny you’re stalking me now.” Her lips invert at the tips, and it’s a cute look on her.

  She’s pouty, irate, wanting to claw my eyes out, and that’s what’s getting my dick’s attention? Maybe I should get my head checked out as well. Clearly, insanity runs in my family. My eyes glide down her body. It’s the first time she’s not gesticulating while wearing my favorite iced drink or glaring at me in a dimly lit room. Piper is beautiful, with a body that has the power to reduce the male population to marshmallows. She’s what most of the boys I work for would beg me to land in their beds. Of course, for someone like her, the fee would be exorbitant. The hotter they are, the harder they fall onto the mattress of my manipulation. But one look at her at that rally, that desperate look in her eyes to get the girls from Alpha Chi to like her, and I saw my own sister. Both of them, actually. Aubree when she first landed at Briggs. She did any and everything to get into that twisted organization, and eventually it was her downfall. And I saw Ava in them, too, with her burgeoning beauty and outward need for the world to like her, her hunger and thirst to be accepted.

  “You caught me. I’m a stalker.” I hold up my hands as if surrendering to this bizarre fantasy of hers. “And now I’ve got you right where I want you, working alongside me for the next two years.”

  She gives a cute as hell smirk. “Sounds like a prison sentence.”

  Aubree swims through my mind, but I let her swim right back out. I don’t want Piper to become some transference issue I might be having with my ex-con of a sibling.

  “It won’t be. I’m not here to watch your every move or make you fall in love with me. I’m here to glean what I can so that when I’m thrown out into the real business world, I stick the landing. I’m knee-deep in a shithole. I need this internship. I’m not here to ruin your good time. Try not to ruin mine.”

  A moment of silence clots up the air.

  “Wow.” Her eyes widen as she blinks back her disdain for me.

 
; I can’t remember the last time I spoke to a girl that way, and a seam of remorse rips through me. I’m not sure why, but something about her brings out the worst in me. I don’t like that either. On second thought, this just might pan out to be a prison sentence.

  She scoffs. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I’m learning from the master.” I harden my gaze into hers, and a dull ache churns in my balls. Down, boy, this isn’t the girl that’s going to alleviate any pressure you might build up, so don’t even go there.

  “So, what’s the deal?” She folds her arms over her ample chest and shudders. My eyes demand to dip to her bust line. She’s curvy. I’m guessing a full C-cup. I can’t help but admire it a moment. I’m a hopeless pervert at heart, and I happen to be a tit man. Nothing wrong with that, except, of course, when you’re standing in a boardroom decrying the fact you need to maintain professionalism to save your neck upon graduation.

  I clear my throat, returning my gaze to its proper upright position. “The deal is, we need to hustle this start-up to anyone who will listen. For every company we bring them, we get a bonus of a thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand dollars?” Her forehead wrinkles as if questioning the paltry sum.

  “Yes, a thousand dollars. I get it. That’s one lousy pair of shoes for you, but for me that’s rent, dinner, and a movie—maybe a new lube job.”

  “Lube job?” Her gaze dips to my crotch, and a laugh struggles to break free, but I won’t let it.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not giving you one.”

  Her mouth falls open.

  “So, did you get in?” I pull a seat out for her, and she reluctantly takes it.

  “No. Rush hasn’t even started yet. It starts Friday. But I’m a shoo-in.” She hitches her hair behind her ear with a smug grin.

  “What makes you think so?”

  “The girls in charge think they’re the world’s greatest matchmakers, and as long as I appear interested in their hand-selected side of beef, that should stroke their ego into gifting me a bed.”

  “What?” I squint into her, trying to figure out if this is simply a devious side of her or if she truly does belong with the mindfucks that run that twisted organization.

  She bites hard over her bottom lip, letting it out slow as January. I watch as the white imprint of her teeth ripens a cherry red, and my dick ticks at the sight.

  “I saw you with that girl.” Her head twitches to the side. “She took off, and then you left. You had quite the estrogen-based beehive surrounding you all night. Looks like you chose a lemon.” A smug look of satisfaction crests over her, and I’d like nothing better than to wipe it off by crushing my lips to hers.

  What the hell am I thinking? She’s young. Too young in fact. And she’s essentially my boss’s little sister. This girl is an illegal catch, and I’m staying the hell away from her, at least in that capacity. My dick twitches again in protest.

  “She wasn’t a lemon.” I close my laptop and scoot into her, our eyes locking with heat. “Anja never is. She’s a Russian beauty.” My lids hood over as she lets out a breath. “She’s sweet.” I lean in. “Tastes like sugar.”

  “Gross.” Piper sticks her finger down her throat. “I don’t need a road map to figure out you’re the king of spilling your questionable and possibly STD-riddled bodily fluids all over campus. I’m just counting my lucky stars all I was met with was your Starbucks discards and a cheap beer.” She leans in with a mixture of disdain and disgust brewing on her face. “God forbid you should come at me with something sinister squirting from your body.” She lowers her gaze to my crotch before riding back up.

  “You’re the one who’s gross.” Now it’s my turn to give a smug smile, but that only has her snarling. “All right, truce.” I hold up my hands.

  “No truce. I’m never letting down my defenses with you. I know your type.” She takes out her laptop and pulls up the Capwell, Edwards, and James Media Services website.

  “What type is that?” I pull up the same website on my own laptop and wonder how in the hell we’re ever going to work together.

  Piper glances over. Her dark hair catches the light and shines like a mirror. There’s pain in her eyes, something hidden underneath that I’d like to think is the reason she’s holding up this hardened front. Something or someone has hurt this little girl, and now she’s contorted herself into a ball of piss and vinegar just to make it through the livelong day. God knows I understand that feeling. Sometimes putting up a front is the only way to survive.

  She nails me with those day-glow eyes. Her hatred for me ramps up to unnatural levels, and I brace myself for the onslaught.

  “You’re nothing but a heartless player who makes a game of landing girls in your bed, only to laugh at them later at their expense.” Her expression dims as if she’s checking out and heading to some faraway place. “And then you tell your buddies about it, and before you know it, the entire school pegs her as a cock-tease.”

  “Is that what happened?” I’m no mathematical genius, but I sure as hell know one plus one equals the cock-tease in question.

  Her lashes flutter in a series of rapid-fire blinks as she slams her laptop shut. “You know what? I completely forgot I have an appointment.” She swallows hard, stuffing her laptop back into her pricey leather bag, the color of butter. “If Wyatt asks, just tell him to call me.” She zips out the door as quick as she came. The scent of wildflowers straggles behind in her wake.

  I was right. Something or someone smashed her heart to pieces, and now Piper is a spitfire ready to set the world in flames over one crooked look. And as much as it breaks my heart, she’s not my problem.

  That dull ache in my gut says maybe she is.

  Maybe I want her to be.

  Piper doesn’t show up for the next three days, and since it’s just a four-day a week internship, she’s free to float through with an Owen-free weekend.

  “A part of me wants to tell her brother, hell, tell Ryder or Bryson,” I say over a beer at the Black Bear Saloon. We’re seated far enough away from the bar for me to feel free to have this conversation with Jet and Rex. Jet’s a brilliant tattoo artist. He’s been tatting me up for the last few years. As soon as I hit a few extra dollars in my pocket, I made a beeline to his shop downtown. I didn’t do it for me. I did it for the women in my life, particularly the ones that pay to see me. Rex, I met through him. They grew up together, which strikes me as odd since Jet comes from the dicey side of the tracks and Rex has led as pampered a life as I had once. Rex is the quarterback on the football team here at Briggs. He’s the golden boy, and a part of me envies how easily it all seems to come for him.

  “Dude,”—Rex pinches at his eyes—“it’s probably not you she’s running from. Look, you need that internship. Don’t rock the boat. If she doesn’t come back, that’s on her. You haven’t done a thing wrong.”

  “You saved her ass.” Jet tips his beer to make the point. “She was ungrateful.”

  “True.” Rex nods with a bounce. “Don’t think about her. She’s too much to deal with right now. You’ve got upper division classes coming up and, believe me, they are geared to kick your ass in the right way. This isn’t going to be easy. This is hardcore shit. You going to be okay working late nights?”

  “I can swing it. Community college wasn’t a walk in the park either, but I somehow managed both.” Only Jet and Rex know what I truly do. The rest of the population knows me as a myriad of things related to my side business as the wingman of love, the matchmaker, the hook-up artist, and the breakupanator. I happen to take a likening to that last moniker since breakups are my specialty. If a guy approaches me with a couple hundred green dollars, I can make just about anything happen for him, with the exception of closing the deal. That’s up to him and his dick. I can lead a beautiful filly to water, but I can’t make her drink. I’ve done it all—landed the school nerd on a date with a cheerleader, wrote a hundred breakup texts, emails, scripts. You name t
he media, I’ve used its powers to stage a heart-wrenching goodbye, leaving the other party wishing she could keep her man for just another day. I specialize in letting them down easy, thus avoiding the usual catastrophe that follows. And most of those who utilize my services become repeat customers.

  “Take a look around, boys. Point and click. I’ll make sure the choicest queen is yours for the night. Don’t worry about showing me the money. This one is on the house.” I lean back and soak in the estrogen-based scene as the tiny bar floods with beautiful women. One thing that has Hollow Brook Community College pegged to the wall is WB’s plethora of the hottest girls on the planet.

  Jet and Rex are right. I need to reset my focus. Let Piper worry about Piper. My stomach churns as the thought bounces through my mind.

  “Dude,”—Jet gives a light sock to my arm—“I’m not desperate to get laid. I’ve got girls lining up outside my shop paying to lie on my bed.”

  “That’s because they’re getting tattoos,” I’m quick to point out.

  “That might be, but that’s not the bed I’m talking about.”

  “All right.” I click my bottle to the one Rex is holding. “How about you?”

  “I’ve got a dozen cheerleaders from both our team and next week’s opponent sending me their seductive selfies.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls through an amusing amount of provocative pictures.

  “I didn’t know WB sold school-licensed lingerie.” I nod approvingly. “Very educational.”

  A large group of people file in, mostly girls, and the three of us look up like hungry dogs.

  Almost every single one of them, scratch that, every single one of them has their hair up in a ponytail, bright red lipstick smeared over their mouths, and a string of signature pearls that can only mean one thing—Aubree’s girls. That’s what they’ll always be to me. She lived and breathed that sorority—still does, even though they’ve clearly turned their back on her. Not one person has ever called or visited her, but then, I can’t say I blame them. Aubree used to be their queen, with hundreds of girls bowing down to kiss her proverbial shoes, and now she’s a pariah, more alone than she could have ever imagined. My heart breaks for her, and yet it sickens me that she took someone’s life. Her name was Stephanie Jones. She was Bryson’s best friend. I shake my head because it was Bryson’s now-wife that Aubree targeted last. She had a sick obsession with the guy. But he wasn’t interested, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.