“Yep.”
“We haven’t had that in forever.”
“I know. I figured it was time we fixed that.”
He finished filling the second glass and then brought one over to me. He seemed different tonight from the last few times we’d had a simple conversation. I was starting to think I was worried over nothing.
“Here,” he said, handing me a glass. He was so close, closer than we had been in months, and the heat from his body relaxed me. “Cheers,” he toasted when I took my glass from his hand.
We touched them together softly and then took a drink. His eyes never leaving mine as our lips touched the glass. Even though the evening was off to a great start, something still felt off to me. While I felt like we were both trying on the outside, whatever was missing wasn’t there on the inside.
“So how was your day?” Mitchell asked, interrupting my thoughts and leading me over to the couch.
“It was good.” I smiled, thinking of the littles I’d gotten to hang out with today. “The board was able to use some extra funds toward a new play space for the older children. It was a productive day. Then I hung out with the kids. I love when I have time to volunteer in the afternoon. I think you’d like the kids there.”
The smile he’d been holding since I entered the room was still in place. He didn’t respond to my comments, and I knew he was waiting for me to switch the subject, just like we always did when he was uncomfortable talking about the kids I worked with at the hospital. This time, I held my ground and continued despite his lack of interest.
“You know, I have the perfect idea. On your next day off, you should come to the hospital with me. Meet the kids. They’ll definitely make you see everyday life differently.”
He took a long drink, but I still didn’t switch the subject as I stared at him. Finally, he dropped the glass away and made an effort to respond.
“That sounds nice.” He nodded, and then he did it. The slight jerk of his head to the left. He only did it when he lied. It was annoying, but I wasn’t about to tell him about it. “We’ll definitely plan something the next chance I get.”
Another jerk.
I could hear it in his voice, see it on his face ... he would find ways to get out of it until I finally let it go.
My smile grew. “Perfect. When is your next day off?”
His smile slipped, and I knew he wasn’t expecting that. “My next day off?”
“Yeah, so we can make plans.”
His brows pulled, and his face pinched. “I’m not sure. I’ll have Debra check my schedule.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow. I know you’re really busy, and I don’t want you to forget.” I placed my glass next to his and switched the subject before he could make an excuse about why I didn’t need to call Debra. “How was your day? You’ve been working so hard since my father gave you that promotion. I feel like we’ve hardly gotten to see each other.”
“It was good. Busy, but good,” he said, running his hand down his worn-out face. Our brief, one-sided conversation about the hospital seemed to have aged him in the short five minutes.
“We should go on a vacation.”
He smiled, but it was tight. I hated it. “We are. It’s called a honeymoon.”
“That’s not what I mean. Just for the weekend.”
“I can’t, Gwyn. I have to work.”
“But maybe I can talk to my father and—”
“No!” He shot up, cursing silently when the wine spilled over the rim of the glass. He moved to the kitchen to wipe off his hands, and all I could do was sit there. “Listen, I’m sorry I snapped, but you can’t run to your father demanding special privileges for me.”
I should have been proud that Mitchell took his position in my father’s company so seriously and never expected a handout because he was dating the CEO’s daughter. I should have.
“I’m sorry,” I said barely above a whisper. I brought the wine glass to my lips and finished off the rest.
“Look, things will lighten up at work, and then we can plan something, okay?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice not to break the minute I put it to use. “Mmmhmm.”
He sighed, and whether it was in frustration over my hurt feelings or annoyance for them, I didn’t know.
“I’m going to go take a shower before the food gets here, and then we should probably go over the details of the engagement party. My mom’s called me every day this week about it.”
“Okay,” I said, thankful there was no break in my voice.
When he was gone, I filled my glass with more wine, almost overflowing it. So far, the night wasn’t going as I had hoped, and we’d only been together for ten minutes.
I felt like crying, but not because Mitchell had snapped at me or even because so far, this evening looked like it would be a complete disaster. I felt like crying because it terrified me that this could be the next fifty years of my life with Mitchell, and that thought had me staring at the front door like my life depended on it.
When Mitchell returned, we co-existed through the rest of the night on eggshells. Neither one of us wanting to say something to set the other off. We stuck to safe topics such as the wedding and our upcoming engagement party, and I promised to call his mom tomorrow and answer all her questions.
So far, Mitchell had left most of the wedding planning up to me. I guess most brides would be fine with that, but I found myself not really interested in the whole process. It wasn’t exactly how I had hoped to feel planning the event that would set my life up with the person I was meant to be with.
Mitchell had asked for a short engagement, which meant planning had started right away. I expected him to be excited about the wedding and go with me for the shopping and help with the planning, but that wasn’t the case.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked before taking a bite of his Kung Pao chicken. He wasn’t looking at me as he waited for my reply, almost as if he was too nervous to. He was chewing unusually fast.
“Are you okay?” I questioned. He looked up, and his jaw stopped moving completely.
His brows pulled, he shrugged, and then he was back to staring at his plate again. “Yes. I’m fine.”
He sure as hell wasn’t acting fine, but I moved on and answered his question. “I’m going to the bookstore. I wanted to choose some books for the smaller kids at the hospital.” I couldn’t help myself as I tried once more. “Anything you think some of the boys might be interested in reading? What did you like to read as a little boy?”
His shoulders lifted quickly, and then he was up and out of his seat, taking his plate with him. “Reading was never my thing, then and now. I’m sure whatever you get will be good. Do you want more chicken?”
My eyes dropped to my full, uneaten dinner, and I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
He sat across from me again, and he picked up his fork. “What bookstore will you be at?”
I stared at him, feeling completely confused. I couldn’t get him to care enough about the children who fought every day to stay alive, but which bookstore I would be at seemed important. Now I was just pissed.
“Newman’s,” I answered tightly.
“Oh, which one?”
My brows pulled, and I dropped my fork, which clattered against the expensive china my aunt had sent us when we announced our engagement. The angry sound didn’t faze him.
“The one on 32nd street.”
“What time are you going?”
“Okay, what’s going on?”
My tone was enough to catch his attention, and his eyes lifted until they found mine. “What?”
“What’s with the third degree? Is there something you want to ask me?”
Was there a possibility Mitchell thought I was cheating on him?
Could that be what was straining our relationship?
It made me sick to think he could think so little of me, and underneath that feeling was annoyance. How could he think so little of me?
“Do you think I’m … cheating on you, Mitchell?”
He nearly choked on a piece of chicken, and his face turned red as he pounded his chest with his fist. “What?” he managed to gasp out.
I moved to sit in the chair next to him, putting my hand over his that was pressed over his heart.
“You know I would never cheat on you, right? You know what happened with my parents and how I feel about my mother.”
He was staring at me wide-eyed, still red, and nodded. He swallowed what hadn’t managed to choke him and spoke. “Of course, and I would be devastated if anything like that ever happened. You’ve just been so busy, and things have been … different.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me.” I cupped the side of his face.
It had never occurred to me that with all my time spent at the hospital and hanging out with the children that Mitchell might doubt where I spent my time.
I guess because I always knew he was working, I just assumed he knew I was doing the same with my time spent away from him. I instantly felt guilty for not putting in more time with Mitchell.
“I promise I’ll make more time for us, Mitchell,” I told him softly.
Leaning over, I brushed my lips against his and waited, holding my breath. “I want you, Mitchell.” My lips moved against his, begging him not to turn me down.
I could almost sense his hesitation, and I knew it was coming, but then his hands were pulling me into his lap, and our dinner was completely forgotten.
Later that night, while we lay in bed together, pretending to be asleep but both very wide awake, I couldn’t help but wonder if Mitchell was feeling the same disconnection between us after the sex we just had. It was awkward, and uncomfortable, and my faked orgasm had left me sexually frustrated.
What if I was holding on to something that wasn’t there?
What if I was being unfair to both Mitchell and me in pushing this relationship because I didn’t like feeling like a failure?
My what-if questions were enough to keep me up well into the early morning.
THREE
RIFT
Step one: Establish your target.
Check.
Step one was usually the easiest. Well, except for the time I thought I was looking for a Mary and it turned out Mary was actually Mark. I was all for people choosing their own lifestyles and who they wanted to love, but I drew the line at fucking another man. No matter how much money was involved.
It was different with Gwyneth, though. Because I could find next to nothing about her, I had to rely on Mitchell to direct me to where she would be. He didn’t know much about her, considering they were getting married, but he did know her favorite place to get tea and coffee was Just Off Main, a local café and coffee shop.
I found myself waiting for her in the café he suggested two days after my meeting with Mitchell. It was a tiny place in the center of the city that catered to rich housewives and their girlfriends. Women littered the room, chatting over brunch, or whatever the hell they called it.
Other than the chatty housewives, I liked the place. The owners actually worked behind the counter, and no annoying waitresses were eye fucking me. The place was warm and welcoming, and their coffee was more than decent. Gwyneth had good taste. At least in choice of eating establishments. As far as men went, she had chosen badly.
I was there waiting for her and enjoying a cup of coffee when she entered. Watching from my lone table in the corner, she went to a table on the other side of the café and smiled politely at the owner as he took her order.
I studied her from across the room where I was tucked away with a cup of coffee and a newspaper to hide behind. I observed my target, watching her moves and expressions to learn more about the woman she was. You could learn a lot about a woman by what expressions played across her face. I wasn’t a mind reader, but I knew body language well.
She sipped her coffee with her head down as she read a children’s book with a colorful cover featuring rabbits with hats over their floppy ears.
Strange.
Then again, in all the time I’d spent watching women, I’d seen much worse.
Mitchell Summerton had failed to mention one very important thing about his fiancée—something I rarely asked about since it wasn’t important.
She was ridiculously beautiful.
Like, I-could-barely-take-my-eyes-off-her gorgeous.
It was rare, but it happened on occasion that a woman would take my breath away. Gwyneth definitely did that.
The minute she had entered, I didn’t see her as a mark, as someone I was being paid a lot of money to fuck. It was rare that I fucked a woman who wasn’t a target, but I wanted her. Wanting her meant I would enjoy this job more than the others.
My breath was knocked from me briefly. The picture Mitchell had given me had nothing on the real thing. I had to double check it multiple times to be sure it was really her, but it definitely was. And seeing her with her gorgeous body, beautiful face, and luscious hair, I became aware of one very important thing about my client.
Mitchell Summerton was fucking an idiot.
Model or not, his new piece of ass had nothing on Gwyneth Petrova. Either his Marissa Lovato was a sexual beast who loved anal and giving nightly blow jobs, or Gwyneth was the devil dressed as one of the most stunning women I had ever laid eyes on.
Her long, chocolate hair had highlights, and even from across the room, her large hazel eyes sparkled with her smile. She was shorter; her curvy frame hidden beneath her conservative top and skirt.
She wasn’t what I expected at all. I was usually a great judge of character—discovering the snakes even before speaking to them—but Gwyneth didn’t strike me as venomous. She had honest eyes and a friendly demeanor.
Then again, so had the woman who had turned my soul black.
I had to remember they couldn’t be trusted. Women were soft creatures with hard hearts tucked away behind their ribs. I couldn’t let a pretty face make me forget that.
I would wait a bit before I approached her. I still needed to collect some information on her. It was vital to know who I was dealing with if I wanted to orchestrate the perfect first meeting. I didn’t feel like that would take very long, and when that day came, she would melt in my palm the way they all did.
She wasn’t different. She was a snake hidden behind beautiful eyes, pouty lips, and an honest smile. I’d known a woman just like her once—a beautiful temptress who snatched my heart out of my chest and left me for dead.
Never again.
Gwyneth would pay. Just like the rest of the women I’d ruined. And I’d get paid to do it.
Satisfaction climbed up my spine, sending tingles over my flesh.
She would never see me coming, and when I climbed inside her sweet body, I’d do so knowing I was a ticking time bomb ready to explode inside her and wreck her in more ways than one.
Sexually.
And completely.
The following day, I went to the same café and sat in the same seat. Gwyneth was already there, sipping from her steaming cup and reading yet another children’s book.
Her chocolate hair fell into her face, sliding across her cheek, and she twirled a strand in her fingers before brushing the tips against her lips.
Her being in the same café in the same seat as the day before meant she was a creature of habit. Forty-five percent of women were, and thankfully, that made my job a hell of a lot easier.
One of the first things I did was figure out their schedule. If Gwyneth did the same things on repeat, that could cut my estimated cheat time in half and make Mitchell a very happy man.
A happy Mitchell meant a bigger payday for me.
She twirled the ends of her dark hair and sat relaxed, unaw
are of the things coming her way.
So quiet.
So content.
So utterly magnificent.
It was a shame I had to wreck her world.
I was only laying the groundwork. Getting a feel for her to determine my next move. Each woman was different. Some wanted to be rescued. Some wanted to do the rescuing. It was my job to figure out their sweet spot, and by the lonely look in her hazel eyes when she scanned the café, something told me she needed to be rescued.
Her eyes landed on me, and my breath stopped. I sat frozen, feeling like a deer caught in headlights, which was usually something I never felt. I waited, holding my breath with anticipation—to see if I’d been compromised, but also because having her eyes on me did strange things to my nerves.
Her eyes only stayed on me for a second before they moved around the room, letting me know she hadn’t seen me. It was a weird feeling, going unnoticed, and despite telling myself that was a good thing, a tiny part of me didn’t want to be looked over by her.
She swept her dainty fingers through her luscious hair, smoothing it away from her face as she sat back in her chair and stared out the huge window at her side while slowly sipping from the steaming cup she held.
Her eyes followed the cars passing and the people walking by. She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped when the owner’s wife stopped by her table to ask if she wanted a refill.
I smiled.
She really was clueless and innocent.
An easy target.
It was my job to follow her, so when she left the café, I wasn’t far behind. We stopped a street over from the café, where she climbed into her Mercedes-Benz. I had parked on that same street, so I unlocked my SUV and got inside, as well.
I kept two cars between hers and mine as we drove across the city and parked at the very top of a seven-story parking garage. She didn’t get out of her car immediately, and I waited, tapping my fingers on my leather steering wheel to the music playing softly from my radio.
Finally, she emerged from her black car and started toward the elevators. Her heels clicked in the rhythm of her stride, echoing throughout the concrete space surrounding us.
Little Black Box Set (The Black Trilogy) Page 68
