Enemies With Benefits: Loveless Brothers, Book 1

by Noir, Roxie

  “Right,” the guard agrees. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Smells great,” one of the cops says.

  They turn and leave. Grady looks over at me. I touch my pocket where the thumb drives are, just making sure for the thirtieth time that I’ve still got them.

  “Have you ever seen an onion before?” I ask.

  * * *

  Silas is sitting in my Bronco. I don’t bother asking how he got in, because it can’t possibly be that hard to break into a twenty-year-old piece of junk.

  He grins when he sees us, looking for all the world like a kid who’s just been on a roller coaster for the first time. I touch the thumb drives in my pocket yet again, reassuring myself.

  “Told you they’d come in handy,” he says, holding up the goggles.

  “Thanks,” I say. “You all right?”

  “That was the most fun I’ve had in months,” he says. “Eli, anytime you need me to come do a covert op at your workplace—"

  “I’m hoping that never happens, actually,” I say.

  “—just let me know because I am all in,” he says. “You get what you need?”

  “Yup,” says Grady, and hands him a thumb drive. “Keep that just in case.”

  Silas just nods and puts it in a pocket. Grady and I shake hands.

  Silas pulls me in for a hard, solid hug.

  “Good luck, kid,” he says. “Now go get her back.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Violet

  I rub my eyes, stretching my arms over my head, seated in my office chair. For at least the tenth time that morning, I dig my right hand into the left side of my neck, trying to work out the kink that’s in there.

  For at least the tenth time, it doesn’t work.

  I should probably stop sleeping on Adeline’s couch, but I hate being in my trailer. I threw away his toothbrush and washed my sheets, but everything still reminds me of Eli and how unimportant I was in the end.

  It reminds me that I liked him. I really, really did. I told him I liked him. I opened myself to him — of all people, him — in ways that I never have with anyone else. I trusted him.

  And he used it against me. For twenty thousand dollars.

  I can’t look Montgomery in the eye. I’ve been skipping meetings, making excuses, because I can’t look anyone in the eye.

  I feel naked. I feel like everyone’s seen me topless and drunk in the wedding barn, and it’s an awful, crawling feeling like I’m trapped in a swamp and can’t get out. Obviously, I’ve already started looking for a new job but Sprucevale is small and there aren’t a ton of opportunities.

  Just as I turn back to my computer, figuring that I should probably concentrate on something productive, Lydia runs in to my office.

  She’s out of breath. Half a second later, Kevin nearly collides with her back.

  “What happ—”

  “Martin’s getting fired,” she says.

  I shoot out of my chair.

  “For the turtles?” I say.

  They come in and close the door.

  “We don’t know,” Kevin says. “But Montgomery called him in this morning and when Martin left his office he was super pissed and then he went to his own office and started putting stuff in a box and there was a security guard by the door.”

  I start smiling, maybe for the first time in days. I cover my mouth with my fist, because I still have enough decency to feel slightly bad that I’m delighted at someone’s misfortune.

  Only slightly bad, though.

  “Brandon tried asking what happened but he wouldn’t say anything,” Kevin says, walking through my office to join Lydia, who’s already posted by my window, looking out at the parking lot.

  “Of course he didn’t say anything,” Lydia says. “He’s a slimy scumbag who got what he deserved.”

  I join them, arms crossed, waiting for Martin’s walk of shame to his car. If he looks over here he’ll see us watching, but I couldn’t care less.

  The cranes. The oysters. The bull in the pool. The thousand other shitty things he’s done, making things go missing, fucking with orders.

  “There he is,” Lydia hisses, and the three of us crowd closer around the window.

  It’s classic. He’s walking out with a single file box. There’s a lamp sticking out of it. He’s being followed by a security guard, all the way to his car.

  None of us say anything. He opens the trunk and puts the box in. The guard watches. Martin opens the car door, and then, as he gets in, he looks straight at us.

  He looks straight at me.

  I flip him off. It feels great.

  Then he gets in his car, closes his door, and the security guard watches him drive away.

  “Good riddance,” Lydia mutters.

  “I hated him,” Kevin admits.

  “I hope he has to work a road crew now,” I add.

  “Ooh, in the summer,” Lydia says.

  “Pouring asphalt,” says Kevin.

  There’s a knock on my door, and the three of us jump, like we’re doing something we shouldn’t be.

  “Come in,” I call.

  Eli steps in. My heart slams against my ribcage, then falls through the floor. Lydia and Kevin are suddenly stock-still, rigid, like they’re afraid to breathe.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asks, his voice polite, quiet.

  Part of me wants to say no and never talk to him again. Part of me wants to be angry forever and hurt forever and nurse my wound until I’m a crazy old woman living in a cave on a mountain, incessantly telling the birds about the man who broke my heart one time.

  But I’ve been at Adeline’s for three nights, and in between telling me all the places that we could hide a body — and I appreciate the support, I really do — she’s also made the case that having a reasonable conversation one last time with Eli might not kill me.

  “Sure,” I finally say, feeling like all the blood has drained from my body.

  “I’ve gotta go take care of that thing,” Lydia says. “I’ll be — you know, if you need me —”

  “Same. Got a thing,” Kevin agrees.

  They practically trip over each other to get out of my office. Eli closes the door behind them.

  I lean against my desk, arms folded in front of me like that’ll deflect whatever’s about to happen.

  “You heard Martin got fired,” he says.

  “We just watched him leave,” I say.

  I pause. Eli watches me, rubbing his hands together in front of himself, like he’s not sure what to say.

  It’s unlike him. Eli always has something to say.

  “Do you know what happened?” I ask. I keep my voice low, for fear that if I don’t, I’ll start shouting.

  “Apparently someone found security footage of him unlocking the pool and putting the mechanical bull in it,” he says.

  I hear what he’s saying, loud and clear.

  “So you did something else sneaky and underhanded?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  His jaw flexes. I close my eyes, bite my lip.

  “He did this,” Eli says, this voice low, controlled. “Someone else just found the evidence.”

  “And did someone else make sure that this evidence came to Montgomery’s attention anonymously?” I say.

  “Yes,” he says simply. “I wanted his head on a platter for sending that picture, and I got it.”

  My head snaps up, and I look at him.

  He looks shitty. There are hollows under his eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. His hair’s messier than usual, but he’s looking at me with the same intensity as usual.

  Not that I look great. I’ve been crying and sleeping on a couch. I’ve been holding onto anger like it’s my last remaining possession.

  Eli rubs his hands together. He takes a deep breath. He looks to one side, like he’s trying to formulate what he’s about to say.

  “I couldn’t prove he sent the picture,” he says at last, his voice soft, constrained,
like he’s fighting something. “I couldn’t prove it to Montgomery and I can’t prove it to you, but I could get his ass fired anyway, so I did.”

  I want to stay angry. I want to stay hurt, because somehow that feels easier than believing him and being sorry.

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thumb drive, hands it to me. His fingertips barely brush my palm, but that whisper touch sends a bolt of longing through me anyway.

  “There’s a rumor that Kevin’s mom is suing Bramblebush over his injury,” Eli says. “I bet she’d be interested in seeing this.”

  I close my hand around it.

  “You know this is proof that you’re a devious, ruthless asshole sometimes, right?” I ask.

  “Only for the right reasons,” he says. “I’d go to the ends of the earth to be a devious, ruthless asshole to anyone who hurt you. Even if you won’t believe me.”

  I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I was right when I thought the worst of him. I’m afraid that it would be stupid of me to believe him. I’m afraid that the thumb drive in my hand is just proof that he’s capable of doing what I thought he did.

  I take a deep breath, and it shudders on the way out as I fight tears.

  “Jesus, don’t cry, you’re at work,” he murmurs. For the first time in days there’s that familiar teasing note in his voice.

  “Then don’t make me cry at work,” I whisper.

  Eli steps closer. A tear slides down one cheek and before I can do anything about it, he brushes it away with his thumb.

  “Don’t,” I say, but there’s no fire behind it.

  “Get dinner with me tonight,” he says. “After work.”

  I clench the thumb drive in my hand, trying to compose myself.

  “Please?” Eli asks.

  I just nod.

  “Seven. I’ll pick you up,” he says.

  I take a deep breath. I reassert some control over myself. I walk around my desk and sit down again, the thumb drive in my hand.

  “Seven,” I confirm.

  The ghost of a smile passes over his face.

  “See you then,” he says, and leaves me alone in my office.

  I look down at my desk. I feel like a maelstrom. I feel like an asshole. I feel like a gullible idiot. I feel like the past few days have dragged me through the desert.

  And I feel like I might not deserve gifts like this.

  Eli’s head pops back around the corner.

  “Don’t watch that here,” he says, keeping his voice low. “You’d be amazed at how bad security is at this place.”

  Then he’s gone again.

  I put the thumb drive into my pocket.

  * * *

  He brought flowers. Nice ones. Bright pink peonies and pale pink ranunculus, interspersed with small white roses, eucalyptus stems scattered throughout.

  It’s gorgeous, classy, and I did not think that Eli knew what a ranunculus was.

  He holds it out. I take it.

  “I can’t take much credit for that,” he admits. “I just went to Blooms in the Vale and told Kate to make something you’d like, since I figured she’d know better than me.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “She got it right.”

  “Good,” he says, and I finally look up at him.

  He still looks rough, but he’s shaved since this afternoon. His hair looks better. I think he’s showered.

  I did. I showered and shaved my legs and scrubbed myself clean. I blew my hair dry and put on the nice underwear and a cute dress.

  I called Adeline and told her everything. I talked her ear off, going around and around in circles like I do, until she finally cut me off on the third or fourth iteration and just said Violet, it’s okay to feel however you feel. Everyone’s wrong sometimes. It’s not that bad.

  I’m still nervous, though. I take a deep breath.

  “Can I come in?” he asks, that hint of a smile in his voice.

  “Right,” I say, and step back. “And I should put these in water —”

  “Wait,” he says, catching my wrist. His hand is warm. The pads are rough, but he’s soft underneath. He slides his hand into mine and it feels like getting into bed at the end of a long day.

  He takes a deep breath.

  “Violet—”

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I should have believed you. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt for one second and…”

  I trail off, a giant lump in my throat. Eli squeezes my hand.

  “Dammit, I rehearsed this,” I say.

  I look away. I take a deep breath.

  “I should have trusted you,” I say, willing my voice not to shake. “That’s all. You earned it. I should have believed you and I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

  “I get it,” he says, simply.

  I watch him, waiting. Despite everything I’m still nervous, the butterflies in my stomach pitching and rolling.

  “We’ve always been… us,” he says. “You’ve been at my throat since we were kids and vice versa, and it’s hard to change that. It’s hard to change, period, and it’s even harder to believe that other people have changed.”

  He exhales, hard, squeezes my hand.

  “But I want to be someone you can always trust. I want to always have your back. I want to always be there, behind you, and I want to be so constant you never have to think about whether I’m yours or not. I just am. I’m there. I’m there and I always am and you never have to wonder whether I’d hurt you, and can you believe I rehearsed this?” he asks.

  I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

  “Maybe you should have rehearsed more?” I whisper.

  “See, I’m not sure you have changed,” he says, teasing.

  “Of course I have,” I say, even though I don’t trust my voice. “I’m totally and completely different than I used to be.”

  “You were never boring,” he says. “Never for a second have I found your company lacking. Not then and not now.”

  “Yours either,” I admit. “I’d rather argue with you than do almost anything else.”

  “Are you done interrupting my speech?” he asks.

  “You interrupted yourself to claim you rehearsed,” I protest.

  “I did rehearse,” he says, and looks down at me.

  We lock eyes, and there’s that feeling again: that I’m not standing on the floor, that I’m somewhere above it. That I’m floating, drowning.

  “I’ve been to a lot of places and there’s no one else like you,” he says, his voice suddenly low, serious. “You’re it, Violet. You’re all there is for me. It’s you or a life of austere hermitude. Let me be yours.”

  I’m still looking into his eyes. I’m crying again, tears of relief and penance and sorrow. Tears of gratitude.

  I try to say yes, but I can’t get my voice out, I can only make my lips form the words.

  In the end, I nod. Eli crushes me against him and I bury my head in his chest, my whole body shuddering as I hold him close.

  It feels good. It feels right. It feels like I’ve just healed something that was much, much older than this fight, like a splinter I didn’t realize I had until it was gone.

  “I do have one question,” I finally say.

  I pull back. I look up at him. He brushes a tear from my cheek.

  “Kiss me first,” Eli says, and I do.

  It’s sweet, gentle. An I missed you kiss. An I’m sorry kiss. A let’s never do that again kiss.

  An I’m yours kiss.

  It ends. He brushes his lips across my forehead.

  “Okay, shoot,” he says.

  “Did you really get Martin fired?”

  He looks down at me. A smile spreads across his face until he’s grinning. I raise both my eyebrows, not entirely sure what to make of it.

  “Hell yes I did,” he says. He takes my hand, links our fingers, kisses my knuckles. “And it’s a great story that I’ll tell you over dinner. You like sushi?”

/>   Chapter Forty-Five

  Eli

  I take Violet on our first date.

  We’ve had sex in pretty much every position on pretty much every piece of furniture in her house, but this is the first we’ve gone on an honest-to-God date. We hold hands. We drink sake. She eats too much wasabi and turns bright pink.

  I tell her about getting back the deleted security footage, and about Silas’s golf cart chase. She has a lot of questions about the night-vision goggles, and sadly, I can answer very few of them.

  After dinner, we get ice cream and walk around downtown Sprucevale, holding hands. We sit on a bench overlooking the river and debate whether sprinkles are good or not; Violet is wrong, and they’re not.

  Halfway through the argument, she kisses me and it tastes a little like chocolate.

  We go back to her place without even discussing it. She apologizes for throwing away my toothbrush and gives me a new one.

  That night, I just hold her. It feels important, somehow, just being there. Just being with her.

  Just being hers.

  * * *

  When I wake up the next morning, Violet’s already gone and the shower is running. I roll over and look at the bedside clock.

  It’s 10:30. Good Lord. I slept like the dead.

  I roll back over and stay in bed, waiting for Violet to come back. Why get up when I’m fairly certain I’ll just be back in five minutes?

  I’m just being energy-efficient.

  Five minutes pass. She’s still showering. Then ten.

  I should probably go make sure she hasn’t been sucked down the drain or something.

  I knock on the door before I go in, then crack the door.

  “You still alive in here?” I ask, the steam hitting me in the face.

  “Eli?” she asks.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “No one, I hope,” she answers.

  I step inside and close the door, watching her shadow behind the shower curtain. It’s a small shower in a small bathroom, not big enough for a tub, but it’s not tiny.