by Shayla Black
Thankfully, most of the rest of the day was far less dramatic. After the press camped outside, clients came and went, most offering her a smile, a sympathetic ear, or an encouraging pep talk. They expressed excitement that she and Cutter were finally getting married and having a baby. Some even asked if they could help.
Today had proven folks in Sunset had bigger hearts than she’d thought, and she felt almost sheepish that she’d imagined differently.
At least until five o’clock. Then Theresa Wood arrived, all scrutinizing green eyes and gray roots concealed by an updo that showed off her faux platinum ends. Brea sighed. She’d always suspected the woman didn’t like her. Why the divorcée continued to make appointments with her, given their mutually unspoken enmity, was anyone’s guess.
“How are you today, Mrs. Wood?”
The fiftyish woman leaned around the partition to stare out the plate-glass windows at the reporters clogging the sidewalk, then turned back to her with a judgmental smirk. “A damn sight better than you, I’d say.”
Brea pasted on a smile like she didn’t have a care in the world as she dismantled the woman’s updo. No way would she let Mrs. Wood dig those artificial claws into her hide. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Your roots definitely need attention. Let’s head on over to the shampoo bowl. I think you need a good clarifying shampoo before we get started.”
The older woman made her way to an empty chair and plopped down. “How are you coping with this mess, girl? I know you’re not used to being quite so…popular. And now to hear that your man has been cheating? You poor thing.”
Maybe Mrs. Wood was being genuine…but her tone didn’t sound that way.
Brea tried not to grit her teeth as she wet the woman’s wiry hair and lathered it up. “Not at all. Cutter and I are closer than ever. Wedding plans are chugging along. I’ll be having this baby next year. Life couldn’t be grander.”
“I told those silly reporters as much when they accosted me outside of Jasmine’s after my grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon, asking a million questions about y’all.”
“Oh?” Brea rinsed the suds from the woman’s hair and tried not to lose her cool.
“Yeah, they seemed all kinds of interested in how happy you were, how close you were. I was surprised they didn’t ask me a thing about the baby.” She raised a platinum brow, her smile just shy of superior. “So I made sure they knew about it.”
This old viper had speculated to the press about her pregnancy? Blabbed it without any proof, then preached it like gospel?
Rayleigh whirled around from her nearby station and pinned the older woman with a glare. “Why would you have done that, Theresa? You didn’t know for certain Brea was pregnant.”
The woman scoffed. “Of course I did. When I was in here six weeks ago for my last touch-up, the poor girl looked positively green. She all but ran to the bathroom. I had to use the facilities after her, and given the stench it seemed fairly obvious she’d been vomiting. I just put two and two together.”
“She might have been sick, too. You didn’t know,” Rayleigh fumed. “And yet you spread rumors to internet gossip rags?”
Mrs. Wood shrugged a bony shoulder. “I was right, so I don’t know why you’re all bent out of shape. Far as I can tell, she’s still Sunset’s sweetheart and no worse for the wear.”
Brea shut off the water and wrapped a towel around the woman’s head so tightly Mrs. Wood winced. “My private life is being bandied about by all of Hollywood and half the country. I’m on internet gossip sites and trashy tabloid TV. They’ve made me into an object of pity and ridicule. My name and my child will forever be attached to a scandal I had nothing to do with. And you have the right to say I’m no worse for the wear?”
“Goodness, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Mrs. Wood bristled.
“Let’s not pretend you thought of me at all,” Brea blurted, then realized Pierce was rubbing off on her.
Saying what was on her mind really was ridiculously freeing.
The older woman sat up in the chair, gaping. “That’s not true, honey. I just—”
“I’m not your honey and I don’t like liars.” She skimmed a glance over the clock on the wall. “You know, it seems I don’t have time to do your hair after all. So sorry. Maybe someone else in the salon would like to finish Mrs. Wood?”
None of the other five stylists said a single word.
“Or not.” Brea flashed a saccharine smile at the older woman. “Sorry.”
“You can’t leave me like this. I can’t walk out of this salon with wet hair. Everyone will see me.”
“You’re not worried about ‘everyone.’ You just wanted to be pretty before you drove on out to the Rodeway on the north side of Lafayette to shag Pam Goodwin’s husband,” Rayleigh spouted.
Brea gaped. Had Mrs. Goodwin been right about her husband’s affair after all? Never mind why the man would pick someone ten years older. Brea knew well the heart couldn’t help who it wanted. But she couldn’t fathom why the elementary school principal would choose someone so vile when his wife was such a doll.
“That is not true.” Mrs. Wood stamped her foot. “You take that back right now.”
“I will not.” Rayleigh crossed her arms over her chest. “I know full well you’ve been sinning with that man for the past two years. I saw you two coming out of that motel myself.”
Holy cow. Since she was single, Mrs. Wood might be entitled to have sex with whomever she wanted, but that didn’t make it okay for her to help a married man commit adultery. Brea wouldn’t tell Mrs. Wood how to live; Lord knew she had sins of her own. But that didn’t mean she had to continue dealing with the woman.
“Liar!”
Rayleigh was a lot of things, including a gossip. One thing she’d never been? A liar.
Brea calmly dried her hands on a nearby towel. “I’m afraid I’ll no longer be fixing your hair. I suggest you find another stylist.”
“In fact, why don’t you find another salon? You’re no longer welcome here, Theresa,” Rayleigh said. “Buh-bye.”
The rest of the salon erupted in applause. Not surprising, Brea supposed. No one liked the woman anyway, but when Mrs. Wood huffed her way outside, Brea was astonished that the small crowd remaining—hairdressers and clients alike—rushed over to her with hugs and smiles, all congratulating her for standing up to that horrible woman. She blinked at Rayleigh in confusion.
Her boss laughed. “You’ve been too nice to her for too long. We all have for your sake, but now that you’ve grown a spine and cut her loose…”
Was that how they’d all seen her? Spineless?
Brea winced. She supposed it might appear as if she had been. She’d meant to be polite, give others the benefit of the doubt, turn the other cheek as a good Christian should. But some people simply stopped deserving chances. Telling them so felt wonderfully liberating.
Yet another way Pierce had rubbed off on her. And honestly, that made her happy.
“Thanks, y’all. I’ll try not to take on any more disagreeable clients.”
“We’d appreciate that,” said Li Na, a gorgeous Chinese stylist with purple streaks and swagger, as she winked.
Impulsively, Brea hugged her. “My pleasure.”
When she turned, Rayleigh waited, arms outstretched.
Brea embraced her boss. “I’m sorry about my attitude earlier.”
“For suspecting me of telling the world your secret? It’s all right. In your shoes, I probably would have suspected me, too. But I’m on your side.”
“I appreciate that more than you know.”
As the others returned to their clients and blow dryers started whining again, Rayleigh pulled her aside. “You looked so sad when you came in. I didn’t have Joy schedule you a six o’clock. I had her call Cutter. I thought you could use a friend.”
Thank goodness he was back in town, though she hadn’t seen him. “I really could. Thank you.”
“It’s all right. Let me know if you need a
nything else.” Then she dropped her voice. “But I still think that hot mysterious man will come back for you.”
If he can, he will. But Brea just smiled. “I owe you.”
The woman waved her away. “You don’t owe me anything. Just know I’m here for you.”
Brea disappeared into the back room with her phone for a bit to call Daddy and check on him. Thankfully, the church had been mostly quiet today. As she hung up and muted her phone again, the door opened.
“Bre-bee.”
She shoved her phone on the nearby table and leapt to her feet to run to her best friend, who looked tired and sad as heck. “Cutter.”
He scooped her up on his arms and held her close. “You okay?”
“I’m all right. How are you?”
“I’m sorry about everything.” He pulled free to study her with solemn eyes. “I never imagined my choices would impact your life so horribly. One minute I was guarding Shealyn’s body, and the next the feelings neither of us expected were front-page news. I knew she was a public figure…but I didn’t think anyone would care about me, much less the people in my life.”
“I would have assumed the same thing. Don’t worry about me. It really is all right.”
“How did your father take the news?”
“About the baby? Better than expected. It was good to finally be honest with him, and I realize I should have found the courage to do it a long time ago.” She sent him a little smile. “You told me once that I had a habit of burying my head in the sand. I didn’t like hearing it, but you were telling me the truth. I was afraid to pull my head out, but I finally did.”
“And he didn’t disown you, did he?”
Brea shook her head. “No, that was my irrational fear about disappointing him talking. He knows the baby isn’t yours.”
“I figured. He’s always suspected our relationship isn’t like that.” Cutter pulled at his neck. “Walker picked me up at the airport yesterday afternoon so we could talk.”
Her breath caught. She hoped like heck they hadn’t come to blows. “About what?”
“Me watching over you. For all his faults, he truly does care about you. He wants us to continue with our engagement as if we’re going to marry.”
“Are you all right with that?”
Cutter shrugged. “It doesn’t make me any difference.”
He tried to hide his feelings, but Brea knew him too well for that. “She broke your heart, didn’t she?”
After a long pause, he finally cracked. “Yeah.”
Brea gathered him into her arms. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know anyone more deserving of love and happiness. She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”
“She never will, and I’m at least half to blame.” He sighed. “Let’s talk about something else. Has it been too crazy—”
“No. I won’t let you bury your head—or in this case, your heart—in the sand. I’d like to march outside and tell all those reporters we were never really engaged, and this isn’t your baby.”
“You can’t,” he growled out.
“I know. And I feel horrible that I’m placing my welfare above your happiness.”
“If you didn’t, I’d be angry as hell.”
“If I weren’t pregnant, I wouldn’t care. I’d use those reporters to speak directly to Shealyn West.”
“It wouldn’t matter. She’s past listening.” He frowned down at her. “But who is this defiant, opinionated little thing I’m talking to now?”
That made her laugh. “You can thank Pierce.”
Cutter scoffed. “If you’re getting mouthy, I don’t know if it’s thanking him I’ll be doing.”
She took his teasing in stride. “Well, too bad. This is me now. You’re going to have to deal with it.”
“You know I’m happy to, Bre-bee.”
“You want to talk about her?”
“No. Forty-eight hours ago, we were trying to figure out how to defy odds and make it work. Now…it’s done because I screwed up.” He sighed. “It was probably just a stupid-ass fantasy anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” Brea gnawed at her lip. “I hate to ask, but… I don’t suppose you’d be willing to find Pierce in Mexico and help him.”
“I already offered. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want anyone.” Cutter shrugged. “And I respect him for not wanting to take others down with him.”
Everything inside her froze, then started to ache. “Do you think he’ll make it out of this alive? Is there any chance?”
Cutter hesitated, then shook his head. “You’re a woman now, and I won’t candy-coat it for you. No. He’s probably not coming back. I think we press on with our January wedding. If he somehow beats the odds and proves me wrong, I’ll step aside and let him take my place as your husband. Otherwise…I think you and I better figure out how to spend our futures together, without the people we love.”
Chapter Eight
Saturday, December 13
One month later
* * *
A month—fucking gone. And One-Mile had stepped onto US soil at DFW Airport less than two hours ago with one top-of-mind focus: seeing Brea ASAP.
Since he was in desperate times, that called for desperate measures. After yesterday’s shit show, his situation had leapfrogged over merely wretched and landed squarely in last-gasp, holy-fuck land. He needed to regroup—fast. But he’d never imagined he’d be doing it in this swanky suburban mansion.
When he’d exited the plane, the invite to this shindig, along with Cutter’s RSVP plus one, had been sitting in his inbox. That had made his decision for him. Normally, he hated gatherings like this, but if Brea was here, a mere forty-five minutes away, instead of in Louisiana, a distant six hours east, he’d attend the fucking party with bells on.
So he ambled into Callie Mackenzie’s massive kitchen, decked out with festive holiday decorations, feeling severely out of place. As he scoured the room for Brea, cheerful party conversations fell to whispers, then died to a hush. Everyone glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the unrest, including Cutter Bryant, who stood alone.
One-Mile wasn’t shocked when all eyes fell on him.
Surprise!
He knew a lot of the people at this upscale Christmas party. Half were EM Security employees and their dates, as well as the operatives and significant others from their sister firm, Oracle. Clearly, no one had expected him to show.
Jack Cole, Deke Trenton, and the Oracle gang knew of him. Likely they’d heard he was a lowlife, a rapist, a horrible human being, and all that jazz. He really didn’t give two shits. Since the EM guys all thought he was in Mexico, they looked at him as if they’d seen a ghost. And in some ways, One-Mile felt as if he’d been dead since he’d left a month ago. But that wasn’t important. Right now, he needed to have a few critical conversations. And lay eyes on Brea.
Where the hell was she?
When he gave the room another visual sweep, he still didn’t see her. She should be here as Cutter’s date, but the Boy Scout looked stag. What the hell? Hadn’t she come? Was something wrong?
His agitation—and his blood pressure—ratcheted up.
Cutter met his probing stare. One-Mile glared, trying not to resent the guy…but failed. It wasn’t Bryant’s fault that he was free to spend most of his time with Brea while One-Mile had to hide in the hole he’d dug for himself that was looking more and more like a grave.
Bryant’s contempt flared back at him from across the room as if he’d sent it via flamethrower. So much for their truce. Sure, they’d come to an understanding last month that Brea and her safety mattered above all else…but that didn’t mean they would ever be pals.
The one thing that saved One-Mile’s sanity? Cutter didn’t appear worried, look guilty, or seem as if he was in mourning. Hopefully that meant Brea was all right, simply absent for some benign reason. But he intended to find out pronto.
Before he could cross the room to interrogate the SOB, Logan’s wife, Tara, and Cal
lie Mackenzie appeared in front of him with cautious smiles, as if they worried he might bare his teeth and attack.
“Welcome, Mr. Walker.” The brunette flashed him her hostess smile, blue eyes bright with welcome.
He didn’t really believe it, but he gave her points for trying. “Thank you, Mrs. Mackenzie.” He glanced at Logan’s pretty redheaded wife. “Mrs. Edgington.”
“Glad you could make it,” Tara said.
Despite that whopping lie and what he suspected was their disquiet at being so near him, Callie threaded her arm through his. Instantly, he felt daggers in his back, and they weren’t Cutter’s. A glance over his shoulder proved both her husband, former FBI agent Sean Mackenzie, and her Dominant lover, Mitchell Thorpe, scrutinized his every move.
“Don’t pay attention to them,” Callie encouraged as she guided him to a bursting table. “They’re always overprotective. Most everyone has already eaten, but the buffet is still out, so please make yourself a plate. Let me know if you need anything else.”
What he needed was Brea, but Callie and Tara weren’t who he needed to ask. Still, he tried not to look like an absolute bastard.
Tara handed him a napkin and some plastic utensils. “Would you like a beer?”
He’d love one, but he had to maintain a clear head tonight. “Just water, if you don’t mind.”
“Coming right up.” The redhead shimmied her way toward the refrigerator.
One-Mile put a few things on his plate so he didn’t look as if he had zero interest in this party. But the warm, catered chow beat the hell out of everything he’d hunted and scrounged in Mexico. His stomach rumbled. So he dug in.
As he shoveled dinner into his mouth, One-Mile took in the rest of the scene. In one corner, Trees stood alone, staring at Zy, who leaned over Tessa with a smile that broadcast the fact he’d love to eat her whole. The pretty blonde receptionist stared back at him like a sugar addict gazing longingly at a lush cake with a dollop of pure-orgasm frosting. If they weren’t fucking yet…it was only a matter of time. Josiah crowded next to Stone and some of the Oracle guys, engaged in an animated conversation.