His Turn (The Turning Series Book 3)

by JA Huss

  “When?” Bric says, sitting up and turning his back to me. Then, “How?” A long sigh from Bric as he presses his fingers into his temple. “I’ll be there this afternoon.”

  He ends the call and sets his phone down on the nightstand. Drops his head into his hands and rests his elbows on his bare knees.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. Because clearly that was not good news.

  “Where’s Jordan?” he asks, instead of answering my question.

  “Work, I guess. I just woke up too.”

  “I have to go away for the weekend,” he says, still hanging his head.

  “What happened?” I want to touch him, but I’m afraid to. Last night was pretty good as far as this whole… relationship goes. But still, I feel like Bric and I are strangers. Not close enough for instant bad news sharing. And definitely not close enough for me to… comfort him. If that’s what he needs right now.

  Bric stands up and lets out a long breath. “My brother died. I need to go to Montana for the funeral.” He walks away. Goes into the bathroom, slams the door behind him, and starts the shower. Even though we just took a shower a few hours ago.

  He’s trying to get away from me, I realize. But I live here now. With him. Because he wanted me here. And there’s no way I’m letting him get away from this conversation.

  I get up, pull the tangled sheet from the bed, wrap myself up, and walk over to the door. Listening with my ear against the wood, trying to get a better understanding of what he’s doing.

  Water splashes into the shower, but he’s not in the shower. I can tell by the sound it’s making. “Elias?” I say, knocking on the door. I almost called him Bric. I need to stop thinking of him that way or one of these days it will slip out at the wrong moment and cause a fight. “Can I come in?”

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” he says. “Go back to bed.”

  I wait for a few seconds. Trying to decide if I should push him. But I end up where he wants me.

  Ten minutes later I give up and close my eyes. His brother died. I get that he’s upset. Clearly. But he’s not overly upset. Like… maybe his brother was sick and he saw this coming? Or… Hell, I have no clue. I know nothing about this man.

  Then why are you living with him?

  Good question, subconscious.

  I grab his phone off the table and find Jordan’s contact. Tab it, listen to it ring.

  Voicemail.

  I text instead. Where did you go?

  I understand that Jordan is busy. He’s some important trial lawyer and he’s got a high-maintenance client. Fine. But slipping out of bed? After a great night of sex? Fuck that. He’s not allowed to do that. This was all his idea. I’m here because he wanted me to be in this game.

  That’s my justification to the internal monologue.

  The phone dings with an incoming text. Had to get a clean suit before work. Don’t worry, I’ll bring my clothes as soon as I get time.

  Hmm.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump a little from Bric’s loud voice. I hadn’t even noticed he opened the bathroom door. “Texting Jordan. Your phone was here and mine is…” I have no idea. “Not here. So I just figured—”

  “You figured wrong,” he says, crossing the room in a few long strides. He snatches the phone from my hand and reads the texts. “Don’t look at my fucking phone.”

  “Hey,” I say. “You asked me where Jordan went so I got you an answer. Don’t be a dick to me because something just went wrong in your life.”

  “My brother is dead, Nadia. That’s more than just something went wrong.” He snarls those words. In fact, this might be the nastiest tone he’s ever taken with me and you know what? I’m fucking done putting up with this shit.

  His brother just died, Nadia. Be nice.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, sighing out a long breath of air. “What can I do to help?”

  “Stay the fuck out of my personal business.”

  That’s it. I’m pissed. I throw the sheet off me, swing my legs out of bed, and stand up. He doesn’t back away. In fact, he looks down at me with a challenge in his eyes. I point my finger in his face. One long, well-manicured pink nail. Right up to his face. “Don’t talk to me that way.”

  He huffs out some air and whips the towel from around his waist. “Go back to sleep,” he says, opening one of the closets and disappearing inside.

  “You know where I’m going the minute you leave?” I ask.

  “Enlighten me,” he says, uninterested.

  And that pisses me off too. I’m nothing to him. Absolutely nothing to him. “Home,” I say.

  “This is home, Nadia.”

  “Not anymore it isn’t. Jordan is absent, you treat me like shit”—he peeks his head out of the closet at that remark—“and I’m done. I quit this game. Fuck the both of you. I’m sorry about your brother. Clearly, he meant a lot to you. But I can’t do this anymore.”

  “You’re staying here,” he says.

  “Am I?” I laugh.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  “I’m leaving. I’m packing up my clothes, calling an Uber, and I’m leaving.”

  “I have a family emergency, Nadia. You can hold that against me if you want, but—”

  “I’m not holding that against you,” I snap. “I’m holding everything but that against you. I don’t even know you, that’s my problem. And Jordan isn’t playing by the rules.”

  “There are no rules,” he says, pulling on a pair of dress pants.

  “There are rules, Bric.” I use that name on purpose and it gets the desired reaction. Because he opens his mouth to correct me, but I beat him to it. “I don’t know Elias,” I say. “So I’m not calling you that anymore. Elias is the one who goes home for funerals. I only know Bric. And I don’t like Bric very much. I’m quitting because neither of you are taking this seriously. I’m the only one invested in this game. So fuck off.”

  I storm off… but I need clothes. So I end up in the other closet—my closet—and start pulling things off hangers.

  He peeks his head in, adjusting his white dress shirt. “Just fucking stay and I’ll be back tomorrow night. I’ll talk to Jordan and—”

  “No,” I say. “This isn’t my home. It’s just a new house. And it’s not even my new house, it’s your new house. I’m going home. I won’t stay in an empty fucking mansion all alone for the weekend. And yes, I already know I’ll be alone. Because Jordan is too damn busy to pay me any mind at all. The only way I’ll stay here is if…”

  And then a delicious idea pops into my head. An evil, scrumptious, five-thousand-calorie idea.

  “If?” Bric asks, buttoning his shirt up now. “I’m listening,” he says, irritated.

  I smile before I turn around. But then I tuck it away and scowl as I face him. “If you take me with you.”

  “Where?” he asks.

  God, he’s dumb. “To the funeral.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you too,” I say, crossing my arms over my bare breasts. “Either you take me home with you and show me something real, Bric”—I snarl his name this time—“and show me who this Elias man is… or…”

  “Or?”

  “I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. Game over.”

  “You’re not in a very good position to bargain,” he huffs. Laughs, actually.

  “I’m in the perfect position. What we had last night was pretty great. You think so. And so does Jordan. ‘We’ve got something good here,’ remember? Well, I hope you find it again. I really do. Because it’s very clear to me that the two of you need this way more than I do. And I’m the only one invested. You guys come and go as you please. Treat me nice when you want something. Well, fuck that. I don’t need this shit. I’m not even submissive, for fuck’s sake. I quit.”

  I drag a sweatshirt over my head, pull on a pair of leggings, and then step into a pair of winter boots because they’re the only thing in front of me at the moment.

  W
hen I turn, he’s blocking the doorway. Like for real. Physically blocking the doorway with his body. His palms flat against the doorjamb like a stop gate.

  “Just stay,” he says, his tone less irritated. More conciliatory. “I just need to take care of this stuff at home and I can’t bring you with me because…”

  I wait, but he just stops. Looks at the floor. “Because?”

  He looks up and in this moment, he does give me something real. It’s hurt I see in his ink-blue eyes. Pain. Maybe even regret. His brother is dead. I get that. I should not be making this worse for him. But an opportunity is an opportunity. And seeing Elias Bricman in a vulnerable situation can’t come along often. I might never have another chance to get inside that fucked-up mind of his.

  “Because?” I ask again.

  “Because I don’t share that life with people in this one.”

  I shrug. “OK. Your call.” I grab my coat and purse, but when I try to push past him, he doesn’t give in.

  “If you stay,” he says—calm, voice low, all irritation gone—“I’ll tell you more about me when I get home.”

  “No,” I say, ready to stomp my foot like a child. “No,” I say again. “I want to go with you. Am I a secret? Is that it? I won’t embarrass you. I won’t say anything inappropriate. I just want to know you… Elias.”

  I admit, I have to force myself to spit out his real name. But I’m getting to him. He stares down at me with… confusion. Probably grief. And more than a little vulnerability.

  “OK,” he whispers behind me. “You can come.”

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting after he gives in. Instructions, maybe? Don’t embarrass me. Don’t talk about our arrangement. Keep Jordan out of it. Don’t mention the five-million-dollar house I just bought yesterday. Stuff like that. Stuff everyone wants to hide from their family when they’ve been living a life of debauchery a thousand miles from home.

  But all he does is pack up a garment bag. Filling it with two suits. One blue, one black. “I’ll put your dress in here with my suits,” he says.

  I have no idea what a funeral is like in the dead of Montana winter, but I’m going to assume it involves a black dress. The only ones I have almost seem inappropriately pretty. So I choose the plainest one, and offer it over to his outstretched hand.

  We stare at each other for a moment. Eye to eye. I see questions in his. I wonder what he sees in mine?

  But then he turns away to pack up my dress. “Hurry. It’s going to take a while to get where we need to go. They’re having the service on the ranch but the funeral is in town.”

  “Ranch?” I say, picturing this in my head as I look out the window. It’s too dark to see anything, but I have an idea of what winter in Montana looks like. Closed roads comes to mind.

  “We’re not going to stay at the ranch, don’t worry.”

  “Then where are we gonna stay?”

  “Just pack, Nadia.” It could’ve been sharp and dismissive, but it doesn’t come out that way. It comes out… sad. With a long sigh. And a frown.

  OK. He’s taking me to meet his parents. He’s letting me beyond his walls. And isn’t this what I was after? When they asked what I wanted from this? Wasn’t this my whole plan from the very beginning? I won. So I should win gracefully.

  “Here,” he adds a few seconds later, opening up a suitcase on the rumpled bed. “We’ll just take one bag. Put your other stuff in here with mine.”

  I do. And it’s all very intimate. Packing with him, I mean. Our clothes in there, together. Toothbrushes. His shaving kit. My underwear and hairbrush.

  He closes the case and drops it on the floor. Looks at me. “Ready?”

  “Do we have a flight?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but I’m going to take you downstairs and—” He stops to drag a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I forgot. We’re not at the Club.”

  What does that mean?

  “I’ll drop you off at the White Room. You can eat while I make arrangements.”

  The drive over to the Club is not long, but it’s far too silent to be anything other than uncomfortable. It’s not busy when we get inside. Still far too early on a Saturday morning for that. So after Bric disappears I sit at a large back table in the White Room and stare down at my coffee.

  “Oh. Hello?”

  A tall, dark-haired woman I’ve seen around here before is standing at my table when I look up from my steaming cup.

  “Ah… hello.”

  She slips into the other side of the booth, folds her hands on top of the white tablecloth, and smiles. “I’m Chella. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  “No…” I say hesitantly. “We haven’t. I’m Nadia.”

  “Are you waiting for Bric?”

  I nod. “Yes. He’s making arrangements.”

  She cocks her head at me, like she has a lot of questions about that. “Are you his new player?”

  Just like that. Are you his new player? “We live together,” I say.

  “You do?” she asks. “Well.” An uncomfortable laugh squeaks out of her mouth. “I’m… I don’t mean to be rude, but Bric and I are business partners. We own the Tea Room next door. And he hasn’t mentioned you before.”

  “It’s new,” I say, feeling stupid for admitting I’m part of his sick game.

  “Are you living here at the Club?”

  Jesus. What business is it of hers? “No,” I say, staying calm on the outside. “We bought a house. Yesterday, in fact. In Cherry Creek.”

  “You bought a house together?”

  “Can I help you with something? It’s not a good time. His brother died and we’re going home for the funeral.”

  Her mouth falls open, like I just stunned the words right out of her head. But before she can say anything, Bric walks up. “Chella,” he says in that deep voice he has. “Can I talk to you in private?”

  She looks at me again. Smiles. It seems genuine. And says, “Nice to meet you, Nadia. I hope you’ll come by the Tea Room when you get back so we can get to know each other better.”

  “I’ll do that,” I whisper, watching Bric lead her away.

  Did I win? I wonder. Did I really? Because right now I feel like someone’s mistress who was just caught by his wife.

  They talk at the front of the restaurant, their eyes shifting to me once or twice. And then Chella kisses Bric on the cheek and disappears into the lobby.

  Bric’s attention is focused on me as soon as he starts walking back to my table. And before he even gets here, he’s saying, “If I tell you something, Nadia, you don’t repeat it. I didn’t make that clear before now, so I’m not going to make a big deal about this. But I’m making it crystal clear now. I am a private man. If I wanted her to know my brother was dead or that we’re living together, I’d have told her myself.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t let it happen again. If you let anything else slip, I’ll have you signing an NDA agreement so fucking fast—”

  “Whoa,” I say, putting up a hand. Because I suddenly realize I’m not sorry. “What the hell? She came over to me. Started asking me—”

  “Don’t,” Bric growls down at me through clenched teeth, finger pointed at my face, “talk about me to anyone. Do you understand?”

  I have a lot of things to say to that little outburst. Things like, Fuck you. And, Fuck off. And, Go fuck yourself.

  But I don’t say any of them. I take a deep breath and decide I am winning after all. Because he’s losing his cool. Mr. Big Bad Bric has a weakness. And now I know what it is.

  His privacy.

  “I’m sorry, Master,” I say. In the most serious voice I can muster. “I won’t do it again.”

  I let him have his dick moment. I let him think he’s the one in control here. I let him see me frown, look properly admonished, and when he relaxes and takes that finger out of my face, I even let him think he’s won.

  “We have a flight to catch,” he says, snapping up the handle on our shared suitc
ase. “The car is waiting, so let’s go.”

  The journey starts off typical enough. We go to an airfield where a private jet has been chartered. We get in, they offer us drinks. Just like any other plane. But I’ve never been in a private jet before, so the luxury stuns me silent for the entire two-hour journey.

  Not that I have anything to say because Bric is silent too. He reads the Wall Street Journal and sips coffee like this is just another day in the life of Elias Bricman. He smiles and chats with the attendants. Like his brother didn’t just die. Like we’re not on our way to a funeral.

  When we land in Great Falls, Montana, he rents a car. Not a car, a giant truck that looks like it really wants to haul a trailer filled with cattle or horses. It’s snowing, the wind is blowing, and it’s painfully obvious that I did not dress properly when I step outside and feel frost form in my nostrils.

  “Where are we going now?” I ask, the first words I’ve spoken to him since we left the Club.

  “To a hotel, Nadia.” He says it like it’s meant for me. His Nadia voice. Not his flight attendant voice.

  “Where?” I ask, standing at the passenger door of the giant truck, shivering.

  He opens the door for me, holds my arm as I climb in, and then closes it back up without saying a word.

  The backseat driver-side door opens next, and he places the suitcase inside. Then he’s in. The frigid air goes still as we huff out steam and the engine turns over, and over, and over before it finally rumbles to life.

  What the fuck am I doing here? “Where are we going?” He looks at me, annoyed. But I can’t take another rude response, so I interject before it comes out. “I know a hotel. Which hotel? Where are we going? It’s fucking freezing here!”

  “Well.” He sighs, like I’m not on the verge of a meltdown. “It’s not five stars. And it’s not gonna have room service. But it’s better than the other option.”

  “Which is?” I ask, as he guides the truck through the lot, opens his window to feed the ticket to the agent at the rental car gate, and makes any heat coming out of the vents obsolete.