by B. B. Miller
I slid the stool behind my kit back with my foot. “I’m not even sure myself. There’s this woman.”
“Ah.”
“Exactly. Ah.”
“She do a number on you?”
“Not the way you probably think.” I swiveled a bit on the stool. “I don’t want to lose her.” Saying those words sparked something in me: a determination and fire. “I gave both her and me space tonight, not wanting to escalate an already tense and emotionally charged situation. The proverbial ball was now firmly in her court, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Why not?”
I gave him the truth because I could. Because I needed to. “I like who I am with her.”
“And who is that?”
“Not a selfish bastard. I want to make her happy. It’s all I want.”
“And that scares you?”
“It terrifies me.”
“Why?” Damn, Russell was good at that, at pulling the truth out of me.
“Because it means I care about her.”
“Are you afraid she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“No, mate, I’m afraid she does. But it’s all new, you know? The way I feel about her is different and that’s terrifying. It’s all consuming, and I’m afraid it’s slipping away from me at the same time. I don’t want to lose her.”
Russell was quiet for a minute, his voice full of that determination I’m used to hearing from him when he spoke again. “Just remember to keep a balance, Sean. One day at a time. Don’t forget that.”
“Why do you think I’m calling you?”
“You just missed the sound of my voice.” I let out a half laugh.
“You see right through me, Russell.”
“Isn’t that why you keep calling me?”
“I’m going to let you go now.” Which was our code for, “I’m okay and I’m not going to do anything stupid, thanks to you.”
“Any time you need me…”
“I know. Thank you, man.”
“No need to thank me.” And then he was gone, and it was just me, my studio, and a whole lot of excess energy that needed to be set free.
As Cassidy speaks the words “I want you,” I almost think I must be dreaming, still caught in that perfect place when I’m playing, and time and space and the chaos in my head ceases to exist.
I lean forward, my lips pressed to the sweet curve of her neck. Her skin is so soft and perfect it makes restraint nearly impossible. I grip the doorjamb harder, leaning back to catch her gaze in the soft light. “Does that mean no Jack? I don’t want to share you, Fly-girl, even if it is a sham relationship you’ve got going with him.”
Her hand gently trails up my arm, her fingers pressing against my bicep before she rests her palm on my neck. “No Jack,” she whispers.
“How are your parents going to deal with that?”
She shakes her head, and moves her fingers across the back of my neck as I dip my head and brush my nose against her warm skin. “I don’t know.” She’s a little breathless. I like that I can do that to her.
“There’ll be pictures of us at your place out there soon enough. Mystery man who was obviously not Jack at your doorstep late at night? Screams of a scandal to me.”
Her fingers press against my lips, and I can’t resist taking a nip of them. “No more talk of Jack or my parents. Right now, I want you. Only you. We can do that, right? Forget the world for a while?” There’s an undertone of vulnerability in her words.
“The world will still be here in the morning, Fly-girl, won’t it? And we’re going to have to deal with it at some point.”
“We will,” she whispers against my neck. “Now, touch me. You haven’t touched me yet.”
“Well, that’s a damn crime, isn’t it?” I murmur and my hands abandon the wall for much better places.
“More tea?” Sydney glances at Cassidy across the breakfast bar, trying to be all nonchalant and casual. As if a woman staying the night at my place is normal.
“You’re a star, Syd.” I push my cup across the marble countertop. “Fill me up.”
Syd bites back a laugh and ignores me. “You can get your own tea.”
Cassidy gives me a lazy smile, pulling her silky strands of hair into one of those messy bun things with a hair tie. “I’m okay, Sydney. Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious.”
Cassidy’s dressed in her clothes from last night, even though I tried to convince her wearing mine would be a much better idea. Actually, wearing none would be stellar, but the presence of my damn twin nixed that idea before it even had time to take wing. As much as I love my sister and the short amount of time we get to spend together, she’s put a damper on morning sex in the kitchen.
Last night was intense. A frenzied, wild fucking in the studio giving way to slow and easy once we made our way to my bedroom. If we slept a total of two hours, I’d be surprised. Waking up to Cassidy’s perfect lips wrapped around my cock also needs to happen more often. Christ, the woman is insatiable, and I’m more than happy to indulge her.
“I need to get going.” Cassidy pushes off the stool.
“You should stay.” I stand with her and brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch.
“I can’t. I have three clients today, and I have to work on Sydney’s dress.”
I scoff. “Her dress can wait. You can postpone the wedding, right, Syd?”
Syd glares at me over her teacup. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, and that it’s lack of sleep talking, what with all the racket I heard last night coming from your bedroom.”
“Oh, there was lots of coming in the bedroom.” Cassidy’s cheeks flush pink even as she gives my chest a swat. “What? You’re not exactly quiet.” I cover her hand with mine and turn it over to kiss the palm.
“Neither are you,” Syd fires at me.
“I’m so sorry,” Cassidy mumbles under her breath as I press her against my side.
“It’s fine.” Syd waves us off, glancing at my phone when it buzzes on the counter. “You should probably get that. It’s been going off for a while now.” She nods to my phone, and Cassidy slips out from under my arm.
“I’ll get going and you guys can get on with your day.” Cass moves to the door.
“Hang on.” Picking up my phone, I frown at the myriad messages from Nicole, our PR manager. Maybe there’s something happening with the academy schedule.
I scroll through the texts while I walk to the door with Cassidy. Nic is in full panic mode, ranting at me in all caps with escalating degrees of annoyance. Her last text contains a picture from some tabloid site I know is from last night. The photo is dark and blurry, taken outside Cassidy’s shop with a clickbait headline, “Engaged Senator’s Daughter Already Cheating.” I grimace at the photo of us glaring at each other as the rain pours down. I knew this would happen, but could we not have at least twenty-four hours of peace before the sharks start circling? “Bloody hell.”
“Everything okay?” Cassidy glances up at me.
“Afraid not, darling.” I pass the phone to her, watching her eyes widen.
“Already?” she squeaks out.
“Welcome to the shitshow.”
Cassidy
“Sweet crispy Christ.”
As the Uber heads down the street, I can see a few photographers camped out by the bagel shop across from my studio. Ah, crap; there’s a local news van, too. I guess I should’ve taken Sean up on his offer of a bodyguard. Judging by my phone that’s currently blowing up with messages from my mother and Kevin, Sean’s right. This is a shitshow.
I jump out of the car and hurry to my door, but a fresh-faced reporter and cameraman pop out of the van and intercept me. “Ms. Skinner! Congratulations on your engagement! Could we have a few words?” He jabs a microphone in my face, smiling like a shark. I get my key in the lock just in time.
“Sorry, no time now. Please call my father’s office and make an appointment.” I enter and slam the door i
n his face, leaning against it. Well, this day just got more interesting.
“Cassidy!” Riya comes around the desk, her eyes wide. “Are you all right? What the hell happened last night? Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married to that Jack?”
With a groan, I push off the door. “I’m not marrying Jack.” I run upstairs to change, Riya hot on my heels.
“Are you marrying the crazy one, then?” She’s breathless and holds her ample sides at the top of the stairs while I rush to my closet.
I strip off my clothes and slip on fresh undergarments. With a shiver, I inhale the spicy smell of Sean’s bodywash he anointed me with this morning in his ginormous shower. That man will be the death of me, I swear. Shaking my head to dispel thoughts of Sean’s magical cock, I suck in a deep breath. “No, not him, either.” At least not yet. Rolling my eyes at myself, I pull on a pair of black slacks and grab a burgundy silk shirt.
“Well, then why did I see an engagement headline with your picture in the Times this morning?” she calls, lowering her voice when I emerge from the closet, pulling on my shirt.
I quickly update her while brushing the tangles out of my hair. Slipping my feet in black heels, I face her, ready for the day. I’m not ready for her angry expression. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?” She throws her hands in the air. “How could your parents do that? They can’t tell you who to marry—this isn’t one of those stupid reality shows. What are you going to do about it?”
“I told Mom they needed to issue a retraction, or I would.” I shoo her toward the stairs. “Come on. We have to get ready for our first appointment this morning.”
“I’ve already prepared the salon,” she replies, but she descends the stairs anyway with me following. “Did you give her a deadline? You know your mother, Cass.”
She’s right. Mom will try to pretend she thought I wasn’t serious or, if I was, that I could be talked out of it. And, I need to deal with the texts from her and my brother. “Could you get the tea ready? I need to call my mother.”
“You’re welcome, Cynthia. Mrs. Evans,” I say with a bright smile as I show our last appointment and her mother to the door. “Your special day will be glorious. I’ll have the gowns messengered over tomorrow, if that’s agreeable.”
“Perfect, Cassidy.” The banker’s wife follows her daughter. “And congratulations again on your own engagement. I saw the blurb on Page Six.”
My smile becomes brittle. “An unfortunate misprint, Mrs. Evans. I’m not engaged to anyone. Have a lovely day,” I say, giving them a friendly wave that I don’t feel as they bustle out the door. I close it firmly behind them. The photographers seem to have left, thank God. After sending me a barrage of texts this morning demanding to know who that ‘weird-looking’ man was in the pictures and why I was embarrassing them after they’d ‘helped me out’ with Jack—because, of course, it’s only about how it makes them feel—my mother hasn’t answered her phone all day. I was able to catch Kevin between meetings to reassure him everything was fine, and learn that he’d been trying to reach our parents too, to no avail. They’re dodging both of us, apparently. Time to step it up.
I grab my phone.
“Cassidy! How nice to hear from you. Congratulations on your engagement!”
“There is no engagement, Sylvia,” I say, barely keeping myself from snapping at my father’s office admin. “Can I please speak to my father?”
“He just left for a floor vote. That new prescription drug bill?” she says, as if I should know all about it. “He won’t be back for an hour, at least. What did you mean about your engagement? Your father was all smiles about it this morning.”
“I’m sure he was, but I’m not engaged.” I look out the window and my heart sinks when I spot the photographer lurking across the street by the bagel shop. How long has he been there? I hope he hasn’t bothered any of my clients. “When he returns, Sylvia, please tell him that if he doesn’t issue a retraction before six tonight, so it can get on the evening news, I’ll do it myself.”
Poor Sylvia is clearly confused. “A retraction? About what?”
“He knows. Thanks, Sylvia. Have a nice evening.”
With a dry smile of satisfaction, I slip the phone into my pocket. That should light a fire under someone. If not, I guess I can always step outside and let Mr. Industrious Photographer have a scoop. I huff in grim amusement. The parents would love that.
Barely thirty minutes pass before my phone rings. Wow, that was faster than I expected, actually. Frowning at the display, it’s not who I expected. But maybe I should have.
“Dale? What’s up?”
Riya cranes her head to peer at me around the rack of gowns we were arranging; I give her a reassuring smile and walk into the kitchenette for some privacy.
“Hello, Cassidy.” His smooth voice does nothing to ease my apprehension—it’s the voice I’ve heard him use a millions times before when he’s handling a difficult lobbyist or reporter. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
“How can I help you, Dale?” As much as I owe my father, I also owe thanks to this man. I’ll never forget the look on Dale’s face when he and Kevin showed up on my doorstep in California. It had shocked me, even through my haze of terror and panic. I had only seen him as my father’s affable and effective right hand. That day, he looked like an avenging angel, wearing a face of cold resolve that still chills me when I think about it. As much as I’m thankful for what he did, all I want to do now is cut to the chase.
“I heard you called. Your father is on the senate floor. Can I help you?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I sink down into a chair. “But thanks for asking.”
He hums softly. “Sylvia said something about a retraction? Concerning what?”
“The engagement announcement.” I take a deep breath. “My parents were mistaken last night; I’m not marrying Jack Coleman. He needs to issue a retraction. Today, before this gets any messier.”
“I see.”
There’s a silence, and this awkward conversation feels even more awkward. I clear my throat, tapping my fingers on the table in front of me. “Um, yes, so if you’ll let my father know—”
“Are you sure you want to do that? Jack Coleman is a great guy.”
My fingers still. What the hell? “Yes, he is, but I’m sure,” I state, barely managing to keep my sudden irritation out of my voice.
“Are you? Your union with Jack is one of the best things that could happen for the campaign—for your father. And you want to help your father, don’t you?”
“I think I’ve helped him plenty.” I sit up straight and frown down at the table. “Look, Dale, this is bigger than a campaign. This is my life—”
“Did you get the text I sent you a few weeks ago?” His voice is quiet but firm, and the blood freezes in my veins. “I was just about to send you another one. We intercepted two images this morning. I suppose your recent notoriety has sparked new interest.”
I try to swallow down the sudden lump in my throat, but my throat is dry. “Two?” I choke out finally.
He hums. “I’ll let my team know to be extra vigilant in the coming weeks. It would be a shame if any images slipped out. The last two were particularly…unfortunate.” I hear a chair squeaking in the background, and I imagine him leaning back. “Your mother would be devastated,” he murmurs, a note of sympathy in his tone. “There was…a birthmark.”
I gasp and instinctively squeeze my thighs together where my birthmark colors my skin. The thought Dale has seen it—that he’s been seeing any of the photos they find—curdles my stomach. “What, what are you saying?” I whisper, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“Besides the embarrassment to your family, can you imagine what would happen if your clients saw those photos? You’d be ruined. It’s a tricky business, you know, cybersecurity. It’s so easy to let things slip through, no matter how thorough you are. There have been so many over the years. I mean, what if
someone were keeping a file of all of them? You know, for a rainy day.” A strangled squeak escapes me, and I clap a hand over my mouth. When he speaks again, he’s all business, any trace of sympathy gone. Closing the deal. “I think it might be wiser to let the engagement stand for a while. Perhaps indefinitely. The wedding can wait. For now.” He pauses, and when I don’t respond, he prompts, “Don’t you agree, Cassidy?”
The thought of that night and what those photos could contain being plastered all over the news and gossip sites is terrifying. I swallow thickly, the words sticking in my throat. “Yes.”
“Excellent. I’ll let your parents know it was just a misunderstanding. On your part.” His smooth voice makes me want to vomit. “Have a good evening.”
When the call ends I stare in disbelief at the phone, my gorge rising. I don’t want to believe it, but his meaning is clear. This is more than playing on my guilt. This is sinister.
I make it to the sink just in time.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re still a bit pale.” Riya tenderly brushes my hair out of my face, her brow furrowed with concern. After she found me doubled over, it took me fifteen minutes to convince her it was just a touch of food poisoning. Then she watched over me like a mother hen for the next two hours while we prepared the Evans’ gowns to be messengered tomorrow.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I give her a soft smile, full of affection for this woman who has always treated me like one of her own children. “I promise, Riya. I’ll just take it easy tonight.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, not convinced. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” When she squishes up her face in disbelief, I laugh. “Honest! Go home to your husband. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” she says finally. She slips her laptop in the desk to do the accounts tomorrow and gathers up her tote bag. “Why won’t you tell me who was on the phone? It was your mother, wasn’t it? Is she the one who upset you?”
