by C. M. Owens
“Then let’s go.”
Chapter 11
KODE
Godforsaken hangovers. Hate them. And I hate me. Christ, my head is killing me. I hate my head.
A loud screaming song roars to life, reminding me what woke me up to begin with. That’s the third time I’ve heard that obnoxious motherfucker this morning. Tria groans while trying to untangle herself from me and answer it. Apparently someone really wants to talk to her.
I hate Tria’s phone.
Her bare body is next to mine, the sheet barely covering her as she swats blindly for the phone, not opening her eyes. It’s too early for phone calls. Shit, it’s seven in the morning, and we didn’t even get in until after three.
As Tria answers—her hello mumbled—I grin and slide in behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing the back of her neck. Her dark hair is all draped to one side, giving me an angle on every side of her neck except for the side facing the bed.
“Oh. Hey, Rain,” Tria says slowly, warning me to keep quiet, her voice suddenly very alert.
I keep kissing her, but I also keep my mouth shut. I’ve reached the point where I don’t care if they know. But I know Tria is like everyone else—unsure if I’m really over Rain.
I honestly think I got over Rain the minute I saw Tria in a completely different light.
“I’m at… Brin’s house. Why are you at my house?” she asks, and my phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand, forcing me to let her go and grab it.
I walk out of the room to answer so that Rain doesn’t overhear my voice. Dane is calling? Both of them calling this early? Is it possible that Corbin ratted me out?
“Why the hell are you calling me so early?” I ask, clearing my throat from the early morning rasp.
“Sorry. But it’s sort of important. Raya called Rain this morning to find out if Tria stayed with us. Apparently that douche you fucked up a few months ago showed up over at her house last night.”
My entire body goes stiff, and my jaw grinds. I’ll fucking kill him—after I throttle Tria for not telling me. That’s why she acted so upset last night, and she didn’t bother including me. The only thing keeping me from storming in there right now is the fact that she stayed with me. She came to me.
“I had no idea,” I say in a deceptively calm tone, my eyes moving toward the bedroom door that I shut on my way out.
As I move out to the deck that overlooks the ocean, Dane continues. “Yeah. Raya had a Taser gun, and Brin—Tria’s friend—snapped a picture. They’re at the police station now because they were worried Tria wouldn’t act soon enough. But they need Tria down there now.”
“Because it doesn’t matter where I’m really at.” Tria’s voice carries through the open sliding-glass door when she emerges in an angry storm from the bedroom.
I shut it quickly, blocking Dane from hearing her, and shake my head. Apparently Rain called her out on the lie about being at Brin’s house, since Brin is at the police station.
“I’ll take care of Pete Mercer again. Maybe the message will stick this time.” His name tastes like acid on my tongue. I hate that son of a bitch more than anyone right now.
“Don’t. Rain is worried Pete wants that. She thinks he’s working an angle this time, and I think she’s right. Why else would he emerge so soon after the last beating? We don’t need to play into his hand.”
I run a frustrated hand through my hair, and ignore the neighbors who are staring at me for wearing nothing but my boxer-briefs.
“Then what do we do?” I ask, trying not to lose my cool right now.
“We take care of her. She’s going to stay here. Rain is trying to convince her to stay right now, but she’s arguing with her about it. We don’t want her staying with one of the other girls unless it’s Ash. Brin lives with a girl roommate. Pete would consider that a fun challenge—the sick fuck. And Raya already has her hands full with Kade.”
“I’ve got several houses. Tria doesn’t seem like the type to want to live with someone, so I doubt you’ll convince her. It’s probably why she hasn’t already told Rain yes. She can stay in one of my condos. He’d never look for her there. He’d be searching all your properties for her, though.”
I wait patiently for him to take the bait.
“You wouldn’t mind doing that?”
I lean back against the railing as Tria paces through the living room, my shirt covering her up.
“I don’t mind at all. In fact, mention it to her right now.”
I hear Dane talking to an exasperated Rain, and I listen as the message is relayed. Tria looks through the glass at me, her eyes wide.
That’s right, baby. I know everything.
Her lips tighten before her shoulders slump in defeat. Her lips move, most likely giving in, since she knows she’s not going to get to argue with me.
“Thanks,” Dane says in a slow breath. “You’re right. He’d never think to look for her in one of your places, since the two of you hate each other.”
I smirk, carrying the secretive gaze that reflects back at me from against the pane of glass.
“Sure. No problem. I’ll get it set up.”
I hang up at the same time Tria does, and I head back inside to go to war.
“So you didn’t think to mention that a psychopath showed up at your house last night?” I ask, doing all I can to mask my anger.
***
TRIA
Ah, hell.
I hate it when he’s pissed, and though his face is not exactly contorted in anger, I can feel the fury rolling off him in waves.
“Sorry. But it was Maverick’s night, and everyone was in such a good mood… I just didn’t want to be the one to ruin it.”
He just watches me. Silence envelops the room, making it awkward and uncomfortable. I haven’t cried. I don’t want to cry. Pete Mercer scares the ever living hell out of me, but I refuse to shed another tear because of his psychotic vendetta against me.
He’s already beaten the hell out of me once—though that’s not a fact I’ve shared with anyone. It’s embarrassing enough to know I dated the lunatic. They don’t need to know I stuck it out until he finally struck me. I’d rather he never got close enough to do it again. But I refuse to give him the power right now by crying about it.
“You’re staying with me,” is Kode’s response after an eternity of silence.
“You mean one of your empty homes,” I correct, following him as he moves through the massive house to the kitchen.
“No. I mean you’re staying with me. Wherever I go, you go. Speaking of which, I’m going to New York next weekend. So think about what you want to pack.”
I stumble over my own feet, trying to slowly sort out what he just said.
“Kode, I can’t start living with you. Whatever is going on between us… It’s way too soon for me to just move in. And I can’t go to New York with you. You’ve got work to do, and I’ll be in the way.”
He doesn’t respond for a few minutes as he grabs orange juice from the fridge—his favorite thing to drink in the mornings, I’ve noticed. After he pours a glass, he looks up at me.
“Tria, even if I have to chain you to my side, you’ll stay with me. That’s not negotiable. I’m not stupid enough to think this isn’t way too soon for us to start having that sort of intimacy as far as living arrangements, but I’ll be damned if I leave you out there for him to torment without any line of defense. So, get used to it. You’re moving in.”
Groaning, I lean over the chair, propping my elbows on the top while staring at him. He’s really beautiful when he’s protective. I didn’t know he had it in him.
“Kode, as much as I appreciate your concern—and I do appreciate it—I can’t stay. Not live with you. I happen to like this thing we’ve got going on, and I don’t want Pete Mercer to screw it up. He’s messed up enough things in my life.”
I never thought I’d see the day when Kode Sterling’s eyes softened to be so compassionate, but right now, he look
s like all he wants to do is save me. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that. Ever.
“Tria, you’re staying here. It’s not going to mess anything up.”
He moves around the side of the bar, and without any warning, his lips press gently against mine as he pulls me close to him. His hand grabs a fistful of the shirt I’m wearing, gathering it at the back as I move to my tiptoes to deepen the kiss.
He pulls back, nuzzling his nose against mine. “Right now, you need to get dressed. You have to go deliver a statement to the police station.”
I groan again while leaning against him, and he holds me to him. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve spent all these years judging him wrong, or if he’s changing toward me.
“My car is at my house,” I remind him. “I took a cab to the club last night so that I could drive your car here.”
“Your car will have to stay at whatever condo I tell Rain and Dane I’m putting you in. We’ll take one of my cars to the police station.”
“You can’t come in,” I say through a sigh.
“Fine. I’ll wait in the car and do some business via phone while you go press charges.”
This isn’t how I pictured this morning going.
Chapter 12
TRIA
“Tell me we’re on the road to success,” Leo, my business partner—the brain behind the formula of Beauty Graffiti—says over the phone.
I feel like a constant failure. His part is done, but I keep falling short on my end.
“Another no. Sorry, Leo. Regret taking this leap with me yet?”
He sighs over the phone, but he doesn’t say anything negative. Never does. “It takes time, Tria. We’re new and trying to compete with brands that have been out there for forever. You fronted all the cash, so that means you’re taking the majority of the risk. You gave me a chance to do this when no one else would even review my proposal, so no. I sure as hell don’t regret going into business with you. I have faith you’ll get it out there. Internet sales are doing decent for a new launch at least.”
Only because Ash knows all the tricks to get our line to show up in search engines. But the sales aren’t enough to keep the business afloat. Very few people internet shop for new makeup. Leo just assumes those numbers are big, when in reality, they’re actually very small.
“I’ve got more lined up. I’ll drive them all crazy before I give up,” I assure him.
He laughs before saying, “I’m sure you will. Hey, is something up? Darla said she was forwarding all your mail to another address when I asked her to send you some fresh samples.”
Damn. One more person who has to know. “I’ll be fine. Just staying with a friend until some drama gets sorted out.”
“Guy or girl?” he asks, prying. I can almost hear his smile.
“Guy, and no, it’s not anyone you know.”
He snickers before speaking again. “Fine. Fine. Well, let me know if you need anything else for the meetings.”
“Thanks, Leo. I swear I’ll eventually get us a break.”
“I know you will. And let me know if you ever need a place to stay. Jake wouldn’t mind you staying with us.”
“Thanks, Leo.”
Hanging up, I continue going over my short notes from the meeting. I barely got to tell her my opening line before she started taking calls and ignoring me. How do I keep someone’s attention?
It’s hard to focus on work when your personal life is all twisted up.
I hate drama. I really do. There should be a screening process and background check done on men before they’re allowed to date someone. All that information should go to the woman considering a relationship. That would be a great way to avoid lunatics like Pete.
“How’d your meeting go?” Kode asks as he walks in, loosening his tie while dropping off his briefcase by the bedroom door.
He apparently has to work late some nights.
“It… went.” That’s all I can stomach divulging. It’s hard to distribute a line of cosmetics when no one will even look over your proposal. Five minutes into the meeting, the woman was standing, making up a lame excuse as to why she was cutting our visit short. Then I was shown out of the office by a very smug secretary who seemed to revel in my misery.
He comes to drop beside me on the bed, and I snuggle over to him. It has been three days since Pete Mercer showed up and rocked my world, but Kode has been amazing. It’d be really easy to get used to seeing him like this.
As his arms slide around me, he tugs me to him. “You want to show me your proposal? I can look it over and see if I can point out anything you might need to adjust for maximum potential.”
It’s like he actually cares, which is making me grin like a fool. “No. I need you to tell me how to keep people interested long enough to make it to the proposal portion of the meeting.”
He frowns as he looks down at me.
“I can do that, Tria. Whenever you want.”
Wearing only one of his T-shirts and my panties, I roll over to straddle his waist, staring down at him as I prepare to recite my presentation. “Beauty Graffiti has been developed by some of the—”
“I’ll buy in,” he says, grinning down at the lacy red panties his fingers are strumming over.
Rolling my eyes, I continue, “Has been developed by one of the industries newest and brightest minds. It’s a mineral compound that guarantees anything from light acne coverage to fine line coverage that is only found in products that cost twice as much to manufacture—”
“You need to move that to the front of your entry,” he says more seriously, running his hands up and down my legs. “If they know they have a good product for half the price, they’re immediately intrigued. Lead with that, and have valid proof ready to show them. Maybe a binder with that as the first, non-introductory page. That’s what would sell me. Don’t mention the one who manufactured it unless you have a name worth dropping. That’s essentially saying you have someone no one has heard of yet.”
That’s actually helpful, and I lean over to grab my phone and make a note of it. He grins up at me as I finish typing it into my notepad app, and then I put my phone back down.
“Keep going,” he says.
His fingers start tracing lines on my legs as I continue, trying to remember the rest of my key points.
“The urban style packaging will appeal to anyone from ages thirteen to forty—”
“Age gap is too much. Slim it down, since it sounds unrealistic. Even if you have studies to prove it, it still seems too farfetched, and it will make them apprehensive about trusting any of your other information.”
Again I make a note, because that makes perfect sense. “Thirteen to thirty?” I ask.
“Better. You can always add styles to represent other ages, then add that to your explanation as to why the age gap is so vast.”
I grin down at him and brush my lips over his in a silent show of appreciation.
“Keep going,” he prompts, and I do. I finish the entire speech, only pausing for him to insert his notes. It’s amazing how much better my opening sounds by the time he has it tweaked. What I wouldn’t do to constantly have him around to bounce ideas off of.
He has built numerous businesses, so I trust he knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s explanatory, giving details as to why certain things should be omitted or should be expanded upon. He shifts the order of some things around, and by the time we’re finished, it’s a masterfully prepared presentation.
What I thought was going to be a playful bed conversation, turns into a two hour event, and I’m excited instead of nervous about my business for once. We’ve broken out a bottle of wine, spread out a makeshift workspace on the bedroom floor, and turned this into a fun tweaking session.
He helps me rearrange my binders, sitting with me and talking about the graffiti styled casing, brushes, and bags that go with it. He’s actually wowed with the visual appeal, because he believes it’s definitely going to catch eyes.
Graffiti is safe, because it’s something that has always been cool in a bad sort of way. It’s also classy when used right, and I rode the thin line of hip and refined.
“This is really impressive,” he says, grinning over at me as we finish the last of the binders. “I see this taking off for you, as long as you find the right people to present it to.”
For the first time since I started this line, I feel completely and totally vindicated. The sting of all those rejections slowly fades away, because Kode Sterling doesn’t bullshit to spare your feelings. When he says it’s good, then it’s good.
“That’s what I’m working on,” I say with a sigh.
“You’re aiming mostly at smaller department store chains, right?” he asks, taking a sip of his wine as he leans back.
“Yeah. They’re the only ones willing to even pretend to take meetings with me.”
Great. I sound like I’m pouting.
He studies me for a moment, looking intense. “Can I suggest changing your strategy?”
I shrug, willing to take any guidance he has.
“Department stores expect merchandise at their demand, so that’s the main reason they’re dismissing you. You won’t be able to outsource the manufacturing if this takes off. It’s fine to outsource for samples and such, but it’s not a long term plan.”
That’s something I’ve already figured out. “I know, but it’s not like I can set up my own manufacturing company right now. I’m a Noles, but not even I have that sort of cash to toss out for workers, buildings, equipment—”
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” he interrupts, smiling over at me. “I was suggesting taking a meeting with some of the big, already established cosmetic lines. It’s the best way to get your foot in the door. Get yourself an umbrella company spot that allows you to use their resources and contacts. You’d still be in charge and doing most of the work as far as getting your line in stores, but you’d have their support and access to their facilities. You’d of course have to share a chunk of the profits, but eventually your name and line would be big enough to branch out and form your own independent company.”
