She’s a curious little kitten and I don’t need to be answering any more of her hundred and one questions tonight.
I hear the noise in the gambling room before we walk into it. The conversation, the chips clinking together, the music.
Right before we enter, Sayer squeezes my hand.
I look down at her.
She’s nibbling on her bottom lip, worry in her eyes.
“What?” I snap. More irritated with myself than her. She shouldn’t look as tempting as she does while worrying at her lip.
Fuck.
So innocent. So perfect.
I have this need to tarnish her shine.
“What?” I repeat.
Sayer doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at me.
I don’t have time for this.
After I drop Sayer off, I have to go down to Kelly’s, a bar on the opposite end of the city, to talk to a certain Irishman on an arrangement he hasn’t made good on.
I’m not a patient man.
I turn away when she tugs back on my hand still in hers.
“You have three seconds to start talking, Sayer.” I whirl around to face her.
“I don’t think I should go in there.”
A displeased sound rumbles in my throat. “And why’s that?”
“It’s—” she breaks off, wringing her hands. Nervous. She’s nervous.
She’s scared to go in there. I see the worry lining her deep gray eyes. Maybe there’s a fourth thing that hasn’t changed about Sayer Brooks. She doesn’t want to be the center of attention.
Closing the space between us, I tilt her chin up to face me. My thumb traces her bottom lip. Those gray eyes fluttering as she parts them. For me.
This is what I mean. She’d let me take from her before she even realizes what’s happening. I could easily replace my thumb with my lips and she’d lean into that just like she’s leaning into me now.
My free hand fists at my side. “It’s a little too late for that, Sayer.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I just thought I’d be honest.”
Because that’s what she wants between us.
Honesty.
No bullshit.
So different from her sister, who didn’t care if I lied or cheated or took from her as long as she was with me in the end.
The Brooks sisters have always been opposites, even in their outward appearances. It’s always fascinated me. Sayer’s the blond to Harlow’s brunette, the gray eyes to other’s blue.
Back when I was a teenager I often questioned if my family was still alive, would I have been like Harlow? The outcast? Or would I be as groomed as Sayer? Back when I was desperate to know where the fuck I belonged.
Now, I don’t really give a shit. They’re gone and I’m still here.
Callous, but true when I’ve been around longer than I had them.
Mourning people I don’t remember doesn’t seem like a viable use of my time.
Pushing my dead family to the wayside, I focus on Sayer.
On how different from her sister she is.
Differences I want to discover.
If Sayer’s a curious kitten, I’m a lion on the prowl—stalking their prey.
“Let’s go.” I pull her in step with me as we walk into the gambling hall, not giving her a choice in the matter.
Once people see us tonight it’ll spread like brushfire, one I fully intend to stroke.
I spy Reeve with two of our bouncers sitting in a booth on the opposite end of the room. I make a beeline for them, ignoring the whispers that follow me as I do.
At this point, the whispers are nothing but static noise.
Glancing to my side, Sayer walks with her chin pointed down and her blonde hair fanning across her face. She’s trying to hide.
My teeth grind and I’m not entirely sure why. All I know is that I don’t like her acting like this. Like she’s meant to be invisible.
I let go of her hand when we make it to the table. Reeve gives me a look as I guide Sayer into the booth, my hand on the small of her back. I slide in after her.
Our patron sits directly in front of me, Dr. Rochester, plastic surgeon to the socialites. I don’t focus on him. Not yet. Instead my attention is on my friend.
“You lose your shirt?” I stare at Reeve who’s wearing nothing but a pinstriped blazer and a few corded necklaces over his bare chest, which is covered in splatters of paint and—I squint to double check, and yep—bite marks.
“Ruined, actually.” He sighs, adjusting the top hat on his head. “Such a shame really. One of my favorite shirts destroyed over a lackluster fucking.”
Mr. Rochester shifts in his seat while Sayer coughs beside me.
I grin.
Reeve winks, running his hand down his chest. “See anything you like?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Reeve. After all this time, here and now, is when I am finally succumbing to my desire for you.” My voice in monotone.
He chuckles, turning to Sayer. “What about you, Baby Brooks?”
Sayer doesn’t say anything as she stares, wide eyes and blushing cheeks.
“Enough,” I growl.
Reeve stares at me for a beat too long before nodding.
Sayer scoots closer to me so her thigh is pressed against mine.
I focus on Dr. Rochester. “So. Charlie. I hear there’s a problem with you not paying what you owe.”
The man in question shakes his head before I’m even finished. “I don’t owe anything. As I was telling your friend—”
Reeve coughs. “Business partner.”
Dr. Rochester cuts Reeve a dry look. “Business partner,” he amends, “that I don’t owe—”
“Charlie.” My elbows press into the table. “Do you take me for an idiot?”
His eyes widen. “What? Of course not—”
“Of course you don’t.” I nod, leaning forward. “So why are you trying to play me the fool?”
“I’m not.” If possible his eyes go wider.
“Oh, but you are.” My voice drops. “You owe us a quarter of a million dollars, Charlie. And that’s not including the late fees.”
Reeve leans in, mock whispering, “You don’t want to see what we do to people who don’t pay their late fees.”
Rochester blanches as Reeve sits back, chuckling.
“Tell you what, Charlie,” I draw the good doc’s attention back to me. “You pay us in full tonight, and we won’t add the late charges. But if you don’t.” I pull out my phone, scrolling through my camera roll. “Remember that video of your daughter you don’t want getting out?” The one we purposely help hide for him when he found what his daughter did in Cabo during her spring break.
I find what I’m looking for and flip my phone around for him to see just as the sound kicks on to noises no father wants to hear from his daughter.
If possible, his pale skin goes even paler as a man’s voice orders, “Suck it harder, baby” on the video.
“For every day you don’t pay us, I’ll email it to a few reporters I know around the city.” I turn the video off.
Sayer’s already tense body stiffens further and I can feel her horrified gaze on me. I’m not doing anything she already doesn’t know.
I’m a cruel bastard.
I see the doc’s throat constrict as he swallows. Leaning back in the booth, I know I’ve made my point abundantly clear.
“I’ll pay tonight,” he rasps.
I nod, knuckles knocking on the table as I get out of the booth. “Knew you’d see reason, Charlie.”
I extend my hand to Sayer, who doesn’t take it. She angles her body away from me as she marches in the direction of the exit.
Reeve nods, silently telling me he can handle the rest.
“Gentlemen.” I dip my chin toward the table before setting off after Sayer.
It takes me less than three strides to catch up. My hand is reaching for her elbow when she whirls around. “Don’t touch me.”
Her
voice is loud enough to earn a few looks from a few curious patrons. Ignoring her request, my fingers curl around her elbow and I pull her out of the room.
Wisely, she doesn’t fight me.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I growl when we’re alone.
She yanks her elbow out of my grip, fire in her features. “I’ll do whatever I like, Noah.”
The way she says my name, always with a little frustration behind it, makes my dick twitch. So does her defiant tendency.
More and more I’m liking the new Sayer Brooks.
She can push back all she wants, I’ll still be on top in the end.
“Not out there you don’t.” My tone is harsher than I intend. I don’t change it. “Hate me in private, Sayer, but when we’re out there, you better act like you’re head over fucking heels for me.”
Her lips flatten.
“You agreed to this,” I remind her. “You signed that contract.”
She glares at the reminder.
“Let’s go.” I turn her in the direction of the exit.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home. You’re done for the night.”
She sags in relief.
My driver Jenkins is waiting for us outside The Underground and as we’re approaching the vehicle, he gets out. I shake his hand before getting in the driver seat and he walks around to open the door for Sayer.
Once she’s inside and the door is closed, I pull away from the curb.
“What about him?” Sayer looks out the window.
“He was just dropping off the car. He’ll be fine.”
Jenkins is the driver I never use. My friends do, just not me.
I turn up the radio to cut out any conversation on the ride to Sayer’s.
Not that it’s needed, she’s too busy nibbling on her fingernail while looking out the window, lost in thought.
We pull up outside Sayer’s building and before the car is even in park, she’s out the door.
“Fucking hell.” Parking, I open my own door and start after her.
“Sayer,” I say as she reaches the stairs to her building.
She stops and slowly turns around. “What?”
Closing the distance, I invade her personal space. “I’m picking you up tomorrow night at nine-thirty.” Eyeing her outfit, I add, “So dress nice.”
Her glare would make a lesser man bend.
I simply smirk as I walk away.
This is going to be fun.
I’m putting in an earring when a demanding knock beats against my front door. My phone confirms the time.
Nine-thirty exactly.
Noah Kincaid is nothing if not punctual.
Too bad for him, I don’t move from where I’m standing in my small foyer, staring at myself in the mirror. I need a minute to collect my thoughts.
It won’t kill him to wait until 9:31. In fact, it’ll be good for him. Patience is a virtue he never bothered to learn. Let this serve as a reminder that I’m not a little toy to push around.
I look ready. Makeup, done. Hair, done. Outfit, done. I look the part, I’m just not sure I can act it. My face thankfully doesn’t portray the tangled mess I feel on the inside.
It’s not butterflies, they’re too delicate for this. Warring in my stomach are Atlas moths who are battling for dominance, stirring up waves of anxious energy.
It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date—which this isn’t—that I feel like my young teenage self about to go out with her crush for the first time. Not that I have a crush on Noah.
I don’t.
Not anymore.
Not now.
I just have a healthy appreciation for the male form. His male form, especially.
The nerves mostly stem from the unknown. I don’t know what to expect and I loathe not knowing. I like to have an idea on what I’m walking into but with Noah…he constantly keeps me on my toes. Tonight is as murky as the sky on a cloudy night.
The knock comes again, more impatient.
Still, I don’t move. Let him stew out there.
My mind is too busy swimming with questions.
What’s going to happen tonight?
How do I act?
Will he hold my hand?
Try to kiss me?
Will I have to be by his side the entire night?
The banging on the door happens again. Faster. Louder. Angrier.
Stealing a breath, I stare at my reflection. “Showtime,” I whisper, moving toward the door. To Noah.
When I get there, I can feel the waves of anger rolling off him even with it still shut. It makes me happier than it probably should.
Not used to waiting, Mr. Kincaid?
With a smile, I open the door and lean against the frame. “You knocked?”
“I told you to be ready at nine-thirty.”
“And I was.” I swish my hips, making the skirt of my dress move between us.
He doesn’t bother to glance at it. “It’s nine thirty-three.”
My smile grows. “I know.”
Noah’s glare can only be described as chilling, far from amused by my antics.
“Let’s go,” he growls, reaching for me.
“Wait!” I jump out of his reach, watching his eyes narrow as I do.
“Why?”
“I need to grab my purse.”
Noah stares at me like I’m beyond dense. With a heavy sigh, he snaps, “Then go get it. Quickly.”
Touchy, touchy. Whatever he has planned tonight cannot be that time sensitive.
I resist the urge to flip him off before I disappear from the doorway and into my bedroom. His nasty attitude should be a warning to not poke him. Should being the keyword.
I don’t know why Noah makes me want to be bolder, to get under his skin like he does mine. The more he orders me around, the more I want to rebel.
Which is why after the clutch is in my hands, I stay in my room for a little longer than necessary.
Pan’s asleep on my bed and his engine-like purr sparks to light as I lean down to scratch his chin. My sweet child. His purring gets louder when he opens his green eyes. At first, I think it’s because he’s looking into the love of his life’s face—aka me—but then a throat clears behind me
“Oh my God!” I jump in the air, arms wild as I spin around to find Noah glaring in my doorway.
“This is what was so important? You wanted to pet your damn cat?”
The look I give him is nowhere close to the level of animosity he’s capable of, but I stare him down anyway. “He needs love.”
Pan nudges my hand and I take that as his agreement. I look to Noah like, see!
“He’s a cat,” he states as if I didn’t already know my pet’s species. “They love themselves enough. They don’t need your reassurance.”
Pan meows and uncurls. He’s still purring as he jumps off the bed.
“Clearly, someone has never had a pet before.”
I watch as Pan saunters over to Noah, who eyes him with distaste.
“I hate animals,” he states plainly.
My mouth drops with his admission. “That explains so much…”
He smirks, but it immediately gets wiped away as Pan rubs against his legs. If possible his engine-sounding purr gets louder as he leaves white fur against Noah’s black slacks.
I swear my cat is smirking as he does it.
“Do something,” he snaps.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“Get him away from me.”
“You’re a man. Pick him up yourself.” I cross my arms. “I didn’t take you for someone who was afraid of a little pussy.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, but before he can make a grab for my cat, I walk over and scoop Pan up. I would never subject my cat to Noah’s wrath.
Only someone as cold and callous as Noah could hate animals. He’s allergic to joy. And pets bring endless amounts of that. His poor black heart.
“Don’t pity me now, Baby Brooks.”
“You’re confused.” I drop Pan on the bed, and thankfully he stays there, curling back into a ball. “This face isn’t one of pity. It’s of disdain. I disdain you.”
The smirk only grows. “You sure you’re a grad student? That’s not good English.”
Gah!
This man. So infuriating.
“If you’re done insulting me.” I walk closer to him, hoping he’ll move to let me pass.
He doesn’t, standing at full height and blocking my doorway. “I’m not.”
“Excuse me?” I raise a brow, my clutch heavy in hand. I wonder how well it would go over if I smacked him in the chest for the level of douchery he’s brought into my bedroom.
“I’m not done evaluating you.”
“This isn’t a doctor’s office, Noah—”
He cuts me off, head tilted to the side in mock-surprise. “Really, I had no idea.”
“I don’t have to go with you, you know.”
“Actually, you do.” His hands slide into his pant pockets. “We have a contract, remember?”
“A contract that won’t stand in court.” I wrote it in pink ink, for goodness sake!
“Until Harlow’s back, you’re in this with me, Brooks. You need to get used to it.”
“I think I asked to be treated like an equal.”
“And I am. Treating you equally to how I treat everyone else.” Before I can bite a hole in my tongue or try to choke him with his tie—I swear I’m not usually a violent person, Noah Kincaid just seems to bring it out in me—he adds, “Now let’s take a look at what you’re wearing.”
“I’m not changing.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling his appraisal.
“You are if I don’t like your outfit.”
“Hi, this is 2019, welcome to the twenty-first century. I’m not changing my outfit if you don’t like it.”
For the third time tonight he smirks, but this one is different than the others. Darker, the beast coming out to play. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sayer. You’re here to help me get your sister to come back. And how we’re going to do that is appeal to her jealousy. Which is going to be obtained by us. What we do. How we act with each other. What we wear.” His eyes scan my body for the second time. My skin feels warm as his eyes drink me in.
Under the Lies Page 7