by K. Webster
I reach up and swipe it away with my thumb. “You’re just a tool with a purpose.”
Stars glitter in my vision when she slaps me. “Fuck you.”
Gripping her throat, I push her down onto the couch, pinning her beneath me. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t fight me off. My hand relaxes, and I use my other one to stroke her cheek. “That’s the other part of our agreement.”
“What?”
“If you don’t get me the meetings I need within one week, we will officially begin our affair.”
“I won’t have sex with you. Not willingly.”
I smirk at her. “You will. I could fuck you right now and you’d be okay with it.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’ll tell Mateo everything.”
“He won’t believe you. He already puts up with you. You’re a child to him. A pretty little plaything who looks good on his arm.”
More tears leak from her eyes. “I’ll break up with him. Then your threats will mean nothing.”
I lean forward and kiss her pink nose. “Even if you broke up with him, you’ll still do what I say. You want to be lieutenant governor and keep your name from getting smeared.”
“I can handle a little heat,” she challenges.
“There is so much more you can’t handle, Poppy. So much more. And if I were to show you, you’d fucking die of mortification. Don’t make me ruin you publicly. I would fucking delight in it, understand? Don’t push me. You do as I say, I delete everything and go away.”
“Just like that?” she breathes.
I run my thumb over her lips. “Just like that.”
“When I get you those meetings, I want you gone from my life.”
“My pleasure. Your life is the last place I want to be.”
I press a kiss to her pouty lips, and then release her. She remains lying on the sofa staring up at me in confusion as I rise and head for the door.
“One week, Poppy.”
Chapter Eight
Poppy
I wake with the sun blinding me. My heart stutters to see the curtains wide open—curtains I keep closed for this very reason. It’s then it all comes back to me.
Camden.
The hotel. The pictures. The blackmail.
A groan rumbles from me as I reach for my phone. I hit my emails first and check for anything important. Being that it’s Saturday, there’s nothing much. I’m disappointed to find no texts or missed calls from Mateo.
My heart sinks as I text him.
Me: Don’t worry about me. I’m okay.
It’s a childish text and Mateo will be annoyed by it, which is part of the reason I sent it. I want him to realize I’m hurt he hasn’t even cared that I didn’t come over or call. With a huff, I shower and dress for the day. Normally, Mateo and I spend our Saturdays when we’re able touring museums or dining in the city or seeing a theater show. When the evening winds down, he takes me to bed, and I spend the rest of the evening clutching onto him. He’s not exactly the comforting type, but I take what he gives, even if it is small. I check my phone, only to be disappointed again.
He doesn’t respond, but someone else does.
Camden: My tongue still tastes like your sweet cunt.
I gasp in horror.
Me: You little asshole. Leave me alone.
Camden: You’ll warm to the idea of anal. Trust me.
Me: What?! That’s not what I meant. Stop stalking me.
Camden: Open your door.
Dread mixed with a little flutter of butterflies sends my emotions into turmoil. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. Yet, I’m storming over to the door to let him in, heat flooding through me. Before I open the door, I take a steadying breath and push out any silly anticipation at seeing him.
The moment I see him, all pep talks are squashed and I stand there gawking. He wears a pair of charcoal gray slacks that hug his muscular thighs and are cinched at the waist with a black leather belt. His crisp, pale blue dress shirt is tucked in, and he’s not wearing his usual tie. The shirt fits him in such a way, it accentuates his shoulders and biceps, making the material slightly tug over his muscles. But it’s not his appearance that holds me captive, it’s his smirk.
Deadly. Ruthless. Calculating.
“Here,” he says, his deep voice causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end. “You’ll need this.”
He hands me a coffee and steps past me into my apartment. Stupid me checks out his ass when I should be beating it instead.
“When are my meetings?” he asks, darting his sharp stare to mine.
Caught looking at his ass, I blink away my daze and scowl. “I haven’t made them yet.”
“Time’s running out.” His features are impassive. Emotionless. “Call them now.”
I grit my teeth and huff. “Anything to get you out of my hair.”
He chuckles as I set down my coffee and pull my phone from my jeans pocket. Still no missed calls from Mateo. My anger is replaced by concern. It’s not like him to just not respond. I scroll through my contacts and find Judge Knutson’s number. One good thing about Camden’s list of meetings is they’re all people I know and have a relationship with. I can set up these meetings and get him out of my life.
As the phone rings, Camden makes himself comfortable on the middle of the sofa while I pace.
“Little Poppy,” Judge Knutson says, a smile in his voice.
“Judge,” I greet.
“Peter,” he admonishes. “You’re to call me Peter, young lady.”
I laugh and try not to make eye contact with Camden. “Okay, Peter, I need a favor.”
“A favor, hmmm? Is this kind of favor going to get me in trouble with the missus?” he asks, ever the flirt.
“No. It’s for my intern. He wants to meet you,” I reply. “This week.”
“Call my assistant and set it up. I’m sure I have a few openings. We should schedule a lunch one day too,” he says. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’ll see what I have open,” I lie. My week is way too busy to shoot the breeze with Peter Knutson as he eye-fucks my tits.
“Perhaps another time,” he suggests.
“Of course.”
We hang up, and I grin at Camden. “Good news. We just have to set it up and then…” I trail off at his expression. His steel-blue eyes are hard and unforgiving. When they lock on mine, I see into the depths of him. Bitter. Hateful. Angry.
Soulless.
The word is like a cold slap to the face. A reminder. This man is blackmailing me.
“Next,” he says, his tone bored as he schools his expression into one of cool indifference.
I spend the next half hour nailing down two more meetings before dialing Dad last. He picks up on the first ring.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning, Dad.” My chest feels tight, and I have the urge to sob to him. If anyone knows about people using him for their political gain, it’s my father. But knowing what’s at stake keeps me biting my tongue. I want to be lieutenant governor, and if I can’t handle a pesky man-boy who likes using his old babysitter as a political stepping stone, how the hell am I going to help run state-level responsibilities?
“I’m making my famous pot roast this evening if you and Mateo would like to stop by.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Rain check on dinner. I do need a favor, though.”
“What sort of favor?” His voice turns from friendly to stern.
Most dads would simply tell their daughter yes, no matter what it was. My dad has conditions. Clearly.
“My intern needs to meet with you for school.” When I fib the last part, Camden’s brow shoots up. I hate that he shows an interest in me lying to my dad. “This week.”
“No can do.”
Panic rises up inside me. “Dad, please.”
“I have meetings all week,” he grunts. “Is that all? I need to get some work done.”
“It’s Saturday,” I huff.
“Goodbye, Poppy.”
/>
When he hangs up on me, I gape at Camden in shock.
“Daddy tell you no?” His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “If it were so easy, I’d have lined these meetings up myself. The fact that you got the first three is pleasantly surprising. I knew you’d have to work at this.”
“You’ll get your meeting,” I growl. Truth is, though, I don’t know if I can make that happen. Dad seemed firm on the phone, and when he says no to something, he doesn’t budge. Fuck. “Even if I have to tell him my reputation is at stake.”
“You can’t tell him that,” he snaps. When I flinch at his sudden response, he cracks his neck and relaxes. “I would rather you not,” he amends.
Okay.
What the hell?
“I will have to work on him. In the meantime, you need to leave, because I need to go check on Mateo.” I rise from the sofa and hunt down my purse.
“I’m coming with you.” His heat sears me as he stands too closely. “I’m going everywhere with you from now on.”
I spin around, fire igniting within me. “No. You’re already creeping on my life enough as it is.”
His palms grip my hips and I let out a sharp breath of air. He steps until our bodies are touching. “We’ll take my car.”
I tilt my head up to glower at him, but it’s a big mistake. Up close, in the daylight, he’s more handsome than ever. And I can smell him. Minty and clean. He reaches up and gently clutches my throat before pulling me until his forehead rests against mine.
“We’ll take my car,” he murmurs again, his hot breath tickling my face.
It would be wise to move away from him, but I feel like a rabbit caught in a trap. Snared. His hungry stare on me. “No.”
“I like it when you say yes.”
He pulls away, and I’m left shivering from the loss. Damn him. I hate that wicked look in his stare. The one that enjoys screwing with my mind.
“You’re an asshole,” I snap.
“I am,” he agrees. “It’s a damn shame you’re attracted to them. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”
* * *
He’s quiet as he follows me down the hallway to Mateo’s condo. I’d rather it be this way. If he’s going to loom over me like a plague-carrying creep, at least I can ignore him if he doesn’t speak. It’s when he talks that I lose my mind. He says things just to push my buttons. So easily he’s able to push them.
“You’re huffing,” he observes.
I shoot him a withering glare. “I’m mad.”
“Join the club,” he mutters, his eyes looking past me.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
“Why are you mad?” I demand.
Jesus. Apparently, I do care.
He stops in front of Mateo’s door to turn toward me. In the narrow hallway, his giant frame feels too big and too close. I am forced to inhale his delicious scent. “I’m mad about a lot of things.” His voice is low and husky. “I don’t have the time to tell you, and you don’t have the patience or care to listen.”
I open my mouth to object that maybe if he’d stop being a dick for three seconds, I might care. Before the words come out, he lifts a hand and presses a thumb to my parted lips.
“You’re just a tool,” he murmurs.
My brows furl together as I consider his words. You’re just a tool. A flare of emotions glimmer in his steely blue eyes. You’re just a tool. The intensity rippling from him indicates all this is more than just a way to climb the rungs of his career ladder. Something bubbles below the surface. Something more. A reason. A reason that eats him alive. His thumb strokes my bottom lip tenderly, and I let my guard down. I’m just a tool. Which means he’s using me to get to someone else.
Mateo.
“You’re using me to get to him,” I say suddenly, shocked at the realization.
His gaze hardens, and he steps away from me, his nostrils flaring. “You know nothing, Poppy.”
“Whatever he did to upset you, he didn’t mean it. He’s a good guy.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes to scrutinize him. He’s breathing heavily as fury radiates from him. I’ve never seen him like this. “Is it about Four Fathers Freight? Is it about your brother’s shares in the company?”
At my words, he visibly relaxes and barks out a harsh laugh. “Mateo is like an uncle to me.”
“And yet you want to hurt him.”
“Collateral damage,” he bites out.
I start to tell him he’s an asshole, yet again, when I hear something that makes my heart stutter in my chest. Laughter. Feminine and happy. From Mateo’s unit.
“Must be his daughter,” I whisper.
“Elma is about to have another baby. She can’t travel. We’re Facebook friends,” Camden says. “It’s not his daughter.”
His words have me fumbling for my key. I nearly drop my purse as I yank the key out and shove it in the door. My mind is jumbled as it tries to make sense of why Mateo’s been ignoring me and why I hear a female in his home. I push through the door and see evidence of a woman. A purse and bag. Some sandals left by the door. A trail of items discarded here and there in the perfect condo Mateo obsesses over.
“Wow,” Camden mutters, pointing to the couch as he closes the door behind him.
I follow his attention to the where a toddler sleeps with a blue blanket covering him. Toys are strewn all over the living room. This doesn’t make sense. It’s as though I’ve walked into the wrong condo. When I hear the laughter again, I rush toward his bedroom. There has to be an explanation. I twist the knob and push inside.
My mouth drops open in shock to see Mateo making wild love to some pretty little brunette. He has her pinned and is nipping at her neck, making her giggle each time. So playful and sweet.
So. Not. Mateo.
Mateo is a robot in the sack. He does everything with precision, gets me off easily, and when it’s done, we clean up and move on to something else. There’s never so much…passion.
“Who the fuck are you?” the girl yells.
“Shit!” Mateo hisses.
Strong arms grab me and pull me from the room. Camden. He closes the door behind us and walks me into Mateo’s kitchen. I’m so stunned, I’m speechless. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Camden cradles my face with his palms and swipes tears away with his thumbs.
“That’s why he didn’t call,” I whisper, my chest feeling tight with the embarrassment and hurt burning through me. I squeeze my eyes shut. “That’s why he didn’t care.”
Camden pulls me to his chest, hugging me. He’s an awful human being, but in this moment, I cling to him as a sob hangs in my throat, begging for release. I can hear Mateo and the girl arguing in the room.
“I’m sure Mateo has a good explanation for this,” he murmurs, kissing my hair.
I don’t move or nod. I cry silently as the severity of what I just saw crashes into me. My fiancé was having an affair with someone who has a kid. The media will have fun running this story.
“Poppy,” Mateo says, entering the kitchen behind us. “Let me explain.”
I flinch at his words, and Camden strokes his fingertips down my spine. His touch calms me. He may be a bastard, but at the moment, he’s not the biggest bastard in the room.
“Rita and I—”
“Rita and I?” Jerking away from Camden, I turn to face Mateo. Anger surges through me. “You’re a fucking couple now? What about us?”
He frowns, shame in his eyes. “There’s a lot to discuss.”
“So fucking discuss it!” I scream.
His face reddens, and he looks over his shoulder. “Calm down and keep quiet. You’ll wake Kai up.” When he turns to regard me, disappointment screws up his features. Disappointment at me for being loud when I just caught him driving into some girl.
“Too late,” the girl says, entering the kitchen with the toddler on her hip.
Quickly, I size her up. Her supple lips are still swollen from kissing and her neck is red from Mateo’s scruff. She blu
rs before me as tears continue to well in my eyes. Hastily, I swipe them away and glower at her.
“What are you? Sixteen?” I hiss.
The little boy sucks on his thumb and frowns at my tone.
“Rita is—was—my daughter’s best friend.” Mateo groans and scrubs at his face with one hand. “Back before you and me…when I sent my daughter off to get away from the wrong crowds, Rita and I started a thing.”
Rita smirks at me.
Camden must sense my urge to claw her eyeballs out because he puts a steadying palm on my shoulder.
Mateo continues with a huff. “We fucked around, and I broke it off when things got too serious. But last week, she reached out to me. After all this time, she realized a boy needs his father and came back last week to tell me.” He reaches over and fluffs the boy’s hair. “When you didn’t show up last night, and they did, we had a long talk. I got to know them. Reconnect with Rita. It felt right.”
No.
The boy looks at me with the same innocent expression Mateo has sometimes.
Mateo is far from innocent, though.
“He’s your son,” I whisper.
Camden squeezes my shoulder.
“He’s my son,” Mateo agrees. “And…” he looks over at Rita and smiles, breaking my heart, “and we want to try to make it work. As a family.”
I jerk from Camden’s grasp and charge over to Mateo. With all the power I have in me, I shove him. He barely moves. Tears roll down my cheeks as I yank the ring from my finger. I grab his wrist and deposit the diamond into his palm.
“You’re going to need this then,” I choke out.
I start to pull away, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me. His eyes are kind as he regards me. “We’ll keep it silent. This won’t affect your campaign,” he vows. “Rita and I have decided we’ll do whatever it takes to keep this from hurting you.”
Rita and I.
“Too late,” I mutter. “Too fucking late.”
When I charge past him, my surprisingly supportive shadow follows after me.
Chapter Nine
Camden
Six days later…
