I’m not sure how much time passes as I listen to the moans and groans of the other prisoners. My stomach is in knots and my mind reels. What the hell? How can this be happening? Even worse, as the minutes tick by, my sense of anger and injustice only grows stronger.
This is all Patrick’s fault, I rage, my face twisting in scorn. The bastard actually had me thrown in jail, after everything we’ve been through. Unbelievable. This is so unfair, and for what? For hitting send? What’s the big deal? How could any other girl look me in the eye and tell me she wouldn’t have done the same thing?
I slowly start to relax, but the scowl on my face remains. Patrick is so immature. How did I not see it before? More importantly, what the hell did I see in him in the first place? Any guy who would have his own girlfriend arrested deserves whatever’s coming to him.
Now, leaking his pictures seems mild by comparison. I shouldn’t have stopped with the Bible study group. I should have posted them all over the internet, so the while world can see what kind of a sicko he is. He’s getting off easy, and meanwhile, I’m rotting in a jail cell.
I close my eyes, but remain wide awake because I’m too agitated to sleep.
An indeterminate amount of time later, there’s a rough nudge against my thighs. For a moment I don’t know where I am, but then it all comes flooding back to me. My eyes flutter open, and the sunlight coming through the tiny window tells me I must have been here all night.
The foot nudges my ribs roughly again. Craning my neck, I look up to see one of the other women glaring down at me. “They’re here for you, princess,” she spits.
I struggle to my feet, my muscles aching from the concrete floor, and turn to see one of the other prison guards staring at me by the cell door. “Libby Rain,” she says in a monotone. “Come on. You’re out of here.”
For a minute I’m sure I’m hallucinating, but I shuffle over to where she’s holding the door open. “What’s going on?” I ask, still a little disoriented.
“You’re being released,” the guard grunts.
“Why?”
She rolls her eyes. “Your boyfriend’s decided not to press charges.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I snap.
“Whatever,” the guard says, grabbing me by the elbow and shoving me roughly in the direction of the front room. “You got off lucky.”
I turn to her to give a sassy retort, but then think better of it. Instead, I hold my head high as I stalk back to the processing area, still seething harder than I’ve ever seethed before.
You got off lucky. Right.
Patrick Arrington hasn’t seen anything yet.
The police don’t even give me a ride back to my place, and I’m stuck waiting for one of the cross-town buses for what feels like ages. Portland is cold and humid this time of year, and I didn’t exactly have time to dress for the weather before I was dragged off to the precinct. I stand at the bus stop shivering, utterly miserable in the misty morning, but my rage is enough to warm me up until I get on the bus. Once aboard, I rest my head against the window, all kinds of horrible fantasies running through my mind. Maybe Patrick will get struck by lightning on the way to his sex club. Or maybe Raina’s cunt will grow teeth, and they’ll bite off his dick altogether. You never know.
The thought makes me smirk all the way home. Part of me hopes that Patrick will be waiting on my front doorstep, ready to beg for forgiveness and tell me what a mistake he’s made. He didn’t press charges, after all, so that has to count for something. But he’s nowhere to be seen, and when I let myself in, my apartment is completely empty and still. The groceries he picked up are still sitting where he left them - he didn’t even bother to put them away - and by now, most of them have spoiled. Great. Another waste, just like our relationship.
Patrick doesn’t deserve to get away with this. He can’t just break up with me, have me arrested, and then expect me to let it go. I know that forgiveness is what the Bible preaches, but I don’t care. Who knows? He’s probably off with Raina right now, doing god knows what.
Calm down, a voice in my head speaks. You’re spiraling, Libby. Just take a deep breath.
But I shove the voice away. No, I think as I sit down at my kitchen table. I’m not going to walk away from this. Patrick Arrington is going to pay for what he did to me. The only question is how?
I purse my lips as I think it over. There are plenty of ways to get revenge, that’s for sure. He has a good, well-paying job, and that’s something I could work with. Briefly, I consider forwarding the pictures to his boss, but then decide against it. The guard was right: I was lucky that my ex didn’t press charges, and if I try it again, he might change his mind. I suppose I could always try to sabotage his career in some other way, but even that sounds too risky now that I’ve seen the inside of a jail cell.
Besides, I need to do something to make Patrick feel the same pain I felt when I saw those pictures. Something legal that will break his heart, stomp on it, and crush him into a million pieces. Something that will make him regret ever lying to me.
I unlock my phone and begin to scroll through the pictures I have of us together, searching for inspiration. The snaps now make me feel disgusted because I was so trusting and innocent, with a sunny smile and my hair blowing in the breeze. But they’re a window into his personal life. There has to be something I can do that will emotionally destroy him.
Then, as I thumb through my gallery, mind racing, I freeze. Staring back at me is another picture of Patrick, except this time it’s at a business conference I attended with him back in August. He’s shaking hands with someone, but I’m not interested in Patrick. I’m interested in the tall, dark, and handsome man standing off to the side. A man who might hold the key to my revenge.
Frisco Arrington. Patrick’s older brother.
It’s so simple that it’s almost poetic. How did I not think of this before? Frisco: the dominating, hot-blooded, wealthy, gorgeous businessman whom Patrick wishes he was. In his thirties, built like a god, and, as far as I know, single. Even better? He’s Patrick’s older brother.
Bingo. Is this unethical? Yes, but that’s the best part. I’m already imagining the look on Patrick’s face when he finds out that I slept with his older, hotter, to-die-for brother. It’s true, I don’t know Frisco well because we’ve never really talked, but that doesn’t matter. I’m Libby Rain, and when I want something, I get it.
The only question is how? Frisco and I are barely even acquaintances, so I can’t just contact him out of the blue.
That’s an easy one, a voice in my mind whispers. Think about what he does for a living.
I straighten with a smile on my face. It’s perfect. Frisco is the founder and CEO of Third Rail Coffee, a chain of coffee shops that has absolutely blown up over the past few years. There are already franchises all over the West Coast, and it sounds like they’re cropping up in New York City now, too. Sure, he isn’t a barista like me, but there’s enough of a connection to explain myself. Hell, it makes sense - all I have to do is tell him I’m looking for business advice. That’s my way in. I just need to make sure I don’t screw up, but that won’t be a problem. My rage will guide me.
For the first time since last night, I break into a smile. I’m going to do it. I’m going to sleep with my boyfriend’s brother and relish every second of it.
4
Frisco
* * *
I don’t suffer fools easily. The trajectory my career has taken is proof enough of that. You don’t get to where I am in life by letting people walk all over you because the world of business is a jungle. It’s eat or be eaten, and if you want to get to the top, you can’t be afraid to hurt people’s feelings. It’s true that I’ve only been in business about ten years, but I’ve learned how to assert my dominance when necessary. That’s how I managed to climb the ladder, starting from nothing, to own one of the most successful coffee chains in the country. You either grow a backbone, or you get lost in the shuffle.
That’s
also why, when my doorbell rings at 9:30 p.m., I almost don’t answer it. I’ve had a hell of a week, and I was looking forward to enjoying a glass of bourbon alone in my penthouse apartment. It’s a Friday night, after all, and even CEOs have to wind down somehow or risk burning out.
I look around leisurely. Everything in my apartment is top of the line, from the minimalist lamps to the plush carpets. It comes with the territory, and understated elegance has always been my style. I haven’t even had a chance to change out of my work shirt and trousers, I’ve been so busy answering emails ever since stepping in the door.
What the hell does this unexpected visitor want? I scowl. This is my only chance to get some alone time, and the last thing I want to do is deal with some other crisis on a Friday night.
The doorbell rings again insistently. Well, whoever it is, they’re persistent. Damn it, I think, striding coolly across the apartment to answer it. It’s probably just a nosy neighbor, and I’m preparing a short but polite dismissal, my eyes hooded and my shoulders tense. Angrily, I yank the heavy slab open, but the harsh words in my throat die a quick death when I see who it is.
After all, standing in my doorway is none other than Libby Rain. It’s been a while since I last saw my kid brother’s girlfriend, but once the shock of seeing her on my doorstep wears off, I’m able to get a better look at her. And I’m definitely looking.
The curvy girl is dressed in a mini skirt so short that it verges on indecent, but it hugs her voluptuous thighs and wide hips perfectly. Above it is a tight tank top with a low neckline that provides a tantalizing view of her cleavage, complete with a sexy shadow between those pillowy mounds. The outfit is enough to induce a faint ache in my groin, and that’s after about three seconds.
Libby Rain is a beautiful girl. No, not beautiful. Stunning. I’ve known that since the first time I saw her, back at a Christmas dinner with my brother Patrick and our folks. That’s one of the reasons I’ve kept my distance. She’s my brother’s girlfriend, and in spite of the urges that I feel every time I see her - writhing, hot, filthy urges - I know not to rock that boat.
Still, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s standing before me now, looking even more gorgeous than I remember. Her perfect brown curls cascade around her shoulders, framing her face like a halo that matches her deep, chocolate brown eyes.
Her eyes. In spite of her form-fitting outfit, those doe-like eyes stare up at me from under thick eyelashes with a naive innocence that sets a fire blazing in the pit of my stomach. It’s amazing how quickly I forget about my other plans for the evening. My whole world has condensed to the woman standing in front of me, everything else dropping away. I catch myself wondering what it would be like to run my hands down those luscious curves, to caress her perfect breasts and drag her against my body. It’s not the first time I’ve had these urges, but it’s certainly the most intense.
Gritting my teeth, I manage to speak. “Libby,” I say stiffly. “How are you?”
“Hi, Frisco.” She sounds tentative. “Um, I’m good.”
Silence for a moment.
“So, what are you doing here? Is there something I can help you with? Where’s Patrick?” I ask, peering behind her.
But Libby’s alone and she bites her lip, her eyes darting away from me as she rubs her arm. “Patrick’s at home, but he knows I’m here,” she rushes. “I’m sorry it’s so late,” she adds apologetically. “I hope I’m not intruding. Your brother gave me your address, but I was also here for Christmas dinner last year.”
“I remember.” I remember the glances I stole at her from across the table when she wasn’t looking, damning my brother for having claimed her before I got the chance. I remember the thoughts that ran through my mind as I lay awake in bed that night. “You’re not intruding,” I say, still a bit tense.
“I’m glad,” she replies, breaking out into a smile that lights up her whole face. “I know it’s a bit out of the blue, but I…” She pauses, swallows, and continues. “To be honest I’m having a bit of a career crisis, and I don’t know who else to talk to. I don’t know anything about business, and you know I’m a barista at the Blue Bean, right? I just thought since you run your own coffee chain, maybe I could get your advice?”
“Ah,” I say, still stiff as I stare at her. Did I really think she came here for me? The thought sends a fresh wave of sexual frustration through my body, but I manage a brisk nod. “Sure, I have a few minutes.” Of course, it’s a complete lie, but it doesn’t matter. “I would be happy to answer any questions you have, even on a Friday night.”
“Really?” She bats those long eyelashes. “That would be fantastic. Seriously. I can’t thank you enough, Frisco.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” I growl, holding the door open for her. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”
Libby does so, following me as I turn and head back into my living room. “Oh wow. I forgot how big your place is.”
“You know Portland. It’s hard to find anything that’s not a broom closet,” I joke, making her giggle. The sound is breathy and innocent, and I catch myself, not for the first time, wondering what other kinds of sounds I could coax out of her. “Can I get you some water? Or soda?”
“That’s all right,” Libby replies, taking a seat on my sofa. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Sure, no problem,” I tell her, the corner of my mouth quirking up as I sit down next to her. “Besides, maybe you know more about the business than you think. Maybe you can teach me, and not the other way around.”
She laughs again, and the tinkling sound works its way through my body, straight down to my cock. “Hmm, which business school class is that, again? Where the barista teaches the CEO?” she teases.
That actually prompts a laugh from me, and I can see her relax a little, leaning back onto the sofa. The hem of her mini skirt rides up ever so slightly, revealing more of Libby’s pale thigh. I’ve never been alone with this woman before, and the experience is electric. In the past, Patrick was always present, or our parents, and that helped my restraint somewhat. Now, though, with no one to watch us, it takes everything I have not to move closer, to put my hand on that smooth skin and pull her body into mine. Does she have any idea what seeing her like this is doing to me? Could my younger brother ever give her what I want to give her right now?
I shake the thought away and clear my throat. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“Yeah, it has,” Libby admits, glancing shyly away. “It’s a little weird to be here without Patrick. I feel like those are they only times we’ve been in each other’s company.”
“That’s understandable,” I reply. “We’ve basically only met during the holidays before, so it makes sense. Plus, you must have a lot going on.”
Libby raises her eyebrows incredulously. “I should be saying that to you. You’re a billionaire CEO. I’m just the help.”
“You’re not just anything,” I correct her in a mild tone. “Everyone starts somewhere. I started out working in the service industry, same as you. And I can guarantee you’re doing a better job there than I ever did.” My smile grows a bit more.
“That’s kind of you,” Libby murmurs, and I see the faintest blush creep into her cheeks.
I clench my jaw hard enough that I can hear it creak. It’s taking all my self-control not to push her onto the couch and take her, so I force myself to address the matter at hand. “So what’s going on? What kind of career crisis are we talking about here?”
Libby takes a breath. “Well, like I mentioned, I’ve been working at the Blue Bean, and Dakota Straithmore, the girl who owns it, is my best friend. She has been since we were in high school. I was there when she first opened the place, and now I’m working for her. I mean, I appreciate Dakota giving me a job, but it’s like she’s suddenly both my best friend and my boss. You know?”
“Yup,” I nod. “You don’t know how to handle the situation, right?”
“Right,” she says. “It’s comp
licated.”
I steeple my hands, my business instincts taking over. Better those than my carnal ones at least. “Well,” I ask, raising my eyebrows, “how has it been going so far? You’ve been there for a while now, right? What’s the dynamic like?”
“I mean…” Libby fidgets. “I guess it hasn’t been going badly. It’s gone pretty well, actually, now that I think about it.” She stumbles over her words as she continues. “Dakota treats me nice, actually. Although…” She bites her lip in a way that lights a fresh fire inside me, and it’s clear that she’s searching for an explanation. “I guess she does ask me to clean the bathrooms more than the other baristas.”
Her fumbling response prompts a burst of laughter that rumbles deep in my chest. “That’s not a problem,” I point out. “That takes, what? All of two minutes?”
Libby’s pink cheeks go a shade of bright red and she breaks eye contact, mumbling, “It takes five minutes every hour.”
Smiling, I shake my head slowly. It’s clear there’s something else on her mind, and my curiosity is only growing stronger with each passing second. “Libby,” I say, still gazing down at her, “come on. We’re both adults here, and we both know this bathroom-cleaning thing isn’t a big deal. Why are you really at my apartment?”
Libby glances up at me, and then quickly away, and I can see her willpower breaking. The playfulness in her expression vanishes, only to be replaced by a look of sadness and confusion. “You’re right,” she murmurs, still not meeting my eyes. “Well, I guess it’s that your brother had me thrown in jail. I just got out this morning,” she confesses in a rush.
My brow furrows. “He what?”
“It’s a long story,” Libby replies before finally looking at me again. “Frisco,” she asks hesitantly, “did you know your younger brother goes to sex clubs with goth girls?”
My Boyfriend's Brother Page 3
