Veronica rolled her eyes, swaying backward with the effort. “Always withthe savior routine with you. Bax”—she stepped closer, the alcohol-tinge of her breath heating the cold air between us—“what if Idon’t want tobe saaaaved, Herooooo?”
“This isn’t about just saving you, Veronica. It’s about the person you could injure—or even kill—being on the roads in your current state. Now, what is your choice? Me, a cab, or the Metro? I think it’s a bit cold to walk.”
She crossed her arms and huffed like a spoiled teenager, then tossed her keys at me. They bounced off my chest and clattered on the ground. “Fine. Youcandrive. But you’d better notwreck my car. You can’taffordtofixit.”
She stumbled to the passenger side as I picked up the keys. By the time I’d started the car, she was almost out cold, her forehead pressed into the window.
I nudged her. “Hey, wake up. You need to give me your address before you pass out.”
She mumbled it just loud enough for me to catch, and closed her eyes. After crossing into one of the nicer parts of the city and having to stop more than once to check the GPS on my phone, I finally made it to her building.
Her loft was in one of those massive gray structures that looked old on the outside but was probably pristine on the inside. There were a lot of places like that in the city; it was a big thing to preserve all the old architecture but maintain some modernity within.
Veronica practically fell out of the car when I opened the passenger door. I scooped her into my arms as though she were a child, and kicked the door shut behind me. With a free finger, I hit the Lock button on her key chain and headed into the building.
She lived on the twentieth floor, so I said a little prayer of thanks when I spotted the elevators in the lavish lobby. I pressed the button with the same finger that held the keys. Although she was surprisingly light, my arms ached as we waited for the elevator. An entire day of ladling soup and carrying trays around had done me in. My muscles shook as I cradled her to my chest.
Veronica mumbled something into my neck as we made our way up in the elevator.
“Sorry, what?” I asked. “I didn’t get that.”
“You’re so nice,” she said into my ear. Her breath reeked of alcohol, and that, mingled with her fruity perfume, made me dizzy in the confines of the small compartment.
A ding announced her floor. I took a deep breath of hall air as I stepped out of the elevator and glanced left and right for her loft number. After going the wrong way once, I finally found it near the stairs. I shifted her in my arms and flipped through her keys to find the one that fit her lock. I muttered a little thank-you when the lock clicked with the second one I tried.
“You’resonice,” she said again, the words slurring into one.
“Yeah, you already said that.”
I found a light switch by the door and flicked it on with my elbow. Her loft was huge, but bare. I stood in the middle of the living room, which consisted of a pair of white couches and some empty bookshelves. The walls were naked. No posters or photos took up space. In fact, there was nothing personal anywhere.
It was like she didn’t even live there.
“I know,” she said. Her breath tickled my neck, raising the hair on my arms. “But I don’t know why.”
“Why what?” I headed down a hall to the right, peeking in the rooms as we passed and hoping I’d be able to tell which one was her bedroom.
“Why you’re sonicetome. I’m not very nice toyou.”
“You’re not nice to a lot of people, so I don’t take it personally.”
I found her bedroom at the end of the hall and did another elbow-flick of the lights. Just as sparsely furnished as the living room, this space consisted of a bed covered in pink silk sheets, a desk, a plush velvet armchair, and an end table with a lamp. The suit jacket I’d returned to her the last time I’d seen her lay bunched at the end of the bed.
Bending at the waist, I gently pried Veronica’s arms from my neck and laid her on top of the sheets. I dropped the bag of her clothes on the floor beside her.
“There,” I said. “You’re home. Now, I’m going to grab you some water and aspirin for later. I think you’ll need it.” I headed to the bathroom that was adjacent to the bedroom.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice halting me in the doorway.
I didn’t turn around. “For what?”
“For being so mean. You’re one of the good ones. I’m not used to guyslikeyou. Most men only want me around for one reason.”
A lump built in my throat. “That’s not true.”
“Itis. I knowit. But you’re different. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.”
“Yeah. Okay, well, I’m gonna get you that water now.”
I searched the medicine cabinet in the bathroom till I found aspirin, and filled the glass beside the sink with water. The bathroom seemed to be the most lived-in place in the entire loft. Perfumes and makeup littered the counter space. Various shampoos and body washes lined the bathtub. I stopped as a piece of turquoise fabric caught my attention from the trash can beside the sink.
My God, the woman was so well off, she threw dresses out when she’d worn them too many times. The least she could do was donate it to Goodwill. I yanked it from the trash so I could donate it for her. Hell, she probably wouldn’t even notice. Purple stains lined the front of the dress, and I held it up to examine it closer. No wonder she’d thrown it out. The bodice was covered in red wine, and the straps were ripped. The skirt had tears in it, and was almost shredded. And were those blood splatters? It almost looked like—
I dropped my arms. Shit. The way she’d jumped when I touched her. The reason I hadn’t heard from her in a week. The number of times she’d called me a nice guy.
I curled my fingers around the decimated dress, anger flaring through me. Someone had hurt her. I wanted to know who, and I wanted to track him down and punch him in the face and balls repeatedly. No wonder she was hating on all men earlier.
Tossing the dress back into the trash, I grabbed the aspirin and water and headed back to the bedroom, taking deep breaths to quell the fury in my chest. It wouldn’t help her right now to see me mad. My anger would have to wait.
Veronica appeared to be asleep by the time I set down the glass and bottle of pills on the end table. She lay curled on her side, her hair fanned on the pillow, knees pulled to her chest.
I gently lifted her legs and pulled the sheets out from under her. The too-big shoes slipped off her feet and I set them at the end of the bed before pulling the sheets up to her neck.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
When she didn’t stir, I bent and grabbed my leftovers from the bag with her clothes and moved to the door. I flicked off the lights.
“Bax?” Her voice came from the dark, small and hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“Can you stay? I haven’t been sleeping well.”
I glanced down at my dinner and thought of Ari waiting at home for me. Then I pictured the garment in the trash. Damn. Well, at least my neighbor’s kid was pretty good about walking the dog for me.
“Sure, Veronica.” I held in a sigh. “I’ll stay.”
“Mkay, thanks. You’rethebest.”
“I know.” I stepped into the hall. “I’ll just be out on the couch if you need me, okay?”
Only her deep breathing answered me.
I gobbled down a few pieces of the cold turkey and stuffing and settled onto the couch. It was surprisingly soft. Almost more comfortable than my bed. Almost. Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day crept up on me and I fell asleep, dreaming of Veronica, the woman at the shelter who resembled her, and a wine-stained dress.
Veronica
I always believed that at some point I’d get used to the hangovers. The pou
nding against my skull would somehow become less persistent, the rolling of my stomach more of an annoyance. That theory was most definitely proven wrong when I awoke the morning of Thanksgiving.
Rolling over sent new waves of agony rippling through me and I moaned into my pillow. It had been a long time since I’d drunk myself to this point of misery. I scrunched my eyes against the light poking through the curtains and tried to piece together the events of the day before.
I’d met Bax at the shelter and had been coerced into helping. Everything was actually going great. The people weren’t as icky as I thought they’d be—there was even that one little boy who reminded me of . . .
I let out another moan. First Connor, then her. She’d taken me by more than surprise. All these years later, I’d just assumed she was dead. In fact, coming back to DC had only become an option when I’d stopped hearing from her. I’d figured it was over. I’d moved on. Then she’d come into the shelter and called me Ronnie.
There was so much pillow stuffed into my mouth, it practically suffocated me. I’d gone straight to a bar and tried to drink the memories of the boy and her away, but they still haunted me. Things faded after my fourth shot in the bar. Somehow I’d gotten home.
I forced my eyes open, despite their painful protests, and spotted the glass of water and aspirin beside the bed. Oh, thank God. Heaving myself up, I popped three aspirin and downed the entire glass of water. Funny, it wasn’t like me to think of such things when I was drunk.
With a groan, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and started when my feet collided with something plastic on the floor. I bent over to inspect the object, immediately regretting the decision as the throbbing in my head reached full-on club-bass mode.
“Fuuuuuck.”
I cradled my head as I peered into the bag. My clothes from yesterday. I’d run out of the shelter so fast, I’d left them behind. I hadn’t even cared that I looked like one of the people I’d served all day. If anything, it had helped me fit in at that disgusting bar.
Okay, the water and the bag of clothes told me what I needed to know. Bax had taken me home. But I was fully clothed and appeared to be the sole occupant of my bed, so we hadn’t slept together. I exhaled. Small favors.
Getting to the bathroom took forever, as I walked with small, deliberate steps so as not to disturb the evil being playing bongos on my brain. I brushed my teeth and washed my face, making sure to erase the raccoon-eyes smudge my mascara had become. After putting on a pair of designer yoga pants and one of my own T-shirts, I headed to the kitchen to make some coffee.
A light snoring from my sofa stopped me halfway to my destination. Bax laid across the cushions, shirtless in just his boxer shorts. His impressive chest rose and fell with each breath. I studied him. I hadn’t been lying yesterday when I’d told him he had a nice face. Even with morning stubble, there was something attractive about the slant of his chin, the arch of his nose, the half-curled, half-straight mop of hair on his head. And beneath his grimy clothes, he had a noteworthy body, with abs that rose and dipped in just the right places.
And still, I hadn’t slept with him last night.
Of course, it didn’t help that every time someone touched me lately, their hands became Frank’s hands, and the breath would whoosh out of my lungs like he was on top of me all over again. I’d tried to drink Frank away last night, too. I hated the way he still had a hold on me and that no amount of whiskey seemed to be able to erase him.
Bax let out a loud snore and turned onto his side. A lock of his hair drooped down the side of his head and fell into his eye. I reached out and pushed it aside, letting my fingers linger on his forehead before trailing them down his cheek. His stubble scratched at my palm, and heat rushed to my stomach as I imagined it against my lips.
A grunt emitted from Bax’s mouth and I snatched my hand back.
What the hell? I’d just contemplated kissing Bax. Obviously, I was still kind of drunk. I needed coffee, stat.
I marched into the kitchen, prepped the coffeemaker, and flicked it on. The aroma that arose from the pot as it percolated had to be what heaven smelled like. When it was done, I poured two cups and headed back into the living room.
The scent of coffee had woken Bax. He sat up now—still shirtless—rubbing his eyes.
“Good morning,” I said. “I made coffee. I didn’t know how you took it, so it’s just black.”
“That’s fine. Thanks.”
We sipped in silence, him still on the sofa, me leaning against the empty bookcase that had come with the loft.
Bax set his mug down and scanned me. “How are you this morning? You have to be hurting.”
“I feel like I drank a bunch of nails and now they’re stabbing me in the brain, but okay otherwise. Thanks for taking me home.”
“Yeah.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. “I know your answer, but I thought I’d put it out there. Did you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”
I took a mouthful of my coffee and swallowed. “Not in the least.”
“That’s about what I thought. Just know . . . just know I’m here if you ever decide you need someone to listen.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the concern.”
He grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. Then he stared at the bookshelf beside me. “You don’t have any knickknacks.”
My body relaxed at the change in topics and I downed the rest of my drink. “What?”
“Knickknacks, trinkets . . . You don’t have anything like that.”
“I dunno. I’m not a knickknack type of girl.”
“You live in one of the cities most known for producing them, yet you don’t have a single one.”
“Why would I want them? They’re just clutter.”
He stood and tugged his jeans over his hips. “They’re a way to show who you are. You know, ‘Hello world! I’m someone who collects spoons, or stamps.’ Or, ‘I’ve been to see the world’s biggest rocking chair, and visited the Grand Canyon, or went up the Statue of Liberty!’ ”
I set my cup on the empty shelf. “I don’t do anything like that.”
“You don’t do touristy things?”
“No. Why would I care about that stuff?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Please tell me you’ve at least done it in your own city. Like, you’ve visited the Smithsonian, the Lincoln Memorial, Ford’s Theatre . . .”
“I don’t see why I should.”
“Because you learn so much about your country and your city and yourself.” He swiped his cup off the floor and grabbed mine before heading to the kitchen. “Okay, that’s it. We’re spending the day together, and I’m going to show you Washington. The real Washington.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked
He ran water into the cups. “Look at it this way. You came to me at the shelter yesterday because you want to be partners again, right?”
“Right . . .”
“So, if we’re going to be good business partners, we need to get to know each other better. Otherwise, this will never work. You showed me your DC. Let me show you mine.”
I chewed my bottom lip. A week ago, I would’ve balked at the idea of spending an entire day sightseeing with Bax. Now, I couldn’t ignore the way I relaxed around him. How just having him near me made me forget all the other crap in my life. “Fine. I guess it can’t hurt. Let me change.”
“Naw, you look perfect the way you are.”
I met his eyes, and he actually seemed to think that was true.
“I’m in yoga pants. And I’m not wearing any makeup.”
“And you look amazing. Trust me. Grab a warm coat and comfortable shoes—not those crazy torture devices you usually wear. We’re going to be doing a lot of walking.”
“Fine.” I dug a pair o
f knee-high flat boots from my closet and held them up. “These are the best I’ve got.”
“They’ll have to do. And a coat. They’re calling for snow.”
“In November?”
“Yup.”
I yanked my red Prada coat from a hanger in the back of the closet and wrapped it around me. For good measure, I also wore my matching hat and gloves. By the time I was ready, Bax stood at my door in his coat and shoes, something metal in his outstretched hand.
“Here are your keys,” he said. “I parked on the street out front last night. I hope that’s okay. We’ll head downtown and find somewhere to park for the day. But first, I have a favor to ask.”
I bit back a sigh. “Of course you do. What is it?”
“Can we swing by my place and grab Ari? I think he’d like to join us.”
“Your dog? Yeah, we can do that.” I led him out of the loft and down the hall to the elevators, making sure to stay in front of him so he wouldn’t see my grin.
• • •
To say Ari was excited to go for a drive was an understatement. The moment Bax opened the backseat door, the dog bounded into the car and wedged himself through the two front seats. He planted his front paws on my thigh and proceeded to lick my neck and face.
“Ah, Ari! Dog breath!” Laughing, I tried to push him off, but he climbed farther into my lap, smushing between me and the steering wheel. “Oh, you’re heavy. Hate to break it to you, but you’re not a lapdog.”
“Ari! Get off Veronica!” Bax’s voice took on a sharp quality that was all growly and sexy as he pried the retriever off my legs. He gently pushed the dog into the backseat. “Sorry about that. He really does seem to like you.”
“He has good taste.” I winked at Ari in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you, Armani?”
Bax stared at me like I’d bought a knock-off purse.
“What?” I asked.
“Kids and dogs, huh? I never would’ve thought.”
“Dogs love you no matter what, and kids are innocent. They haven’t had the chance to grow into jerks yet.” Something twisted in my stomach at those last two sentences, and I gripped the steering wheel so tightly it imprinted on my palms. Some of them never got to grow up at all.
Dealing in Deception Page 10
