Slapping a simpering smirk on her face, she ignored the implied threat and asked, “Speaking of whom, will Kim be joining us at any point?”
Rhiann already knew the answer. Of course, she would. No doubt about it. The Ice Queen wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to belittle Rhiann in front of an audience.
Juan gave an exaggerated cough and jumped off the high stool he’d been perched on and shot Rhi a warning look.
Now what?
“Miss me, have you, Miss Wilde?”
Well, fuckaluckadingdong—but in an FML kind of way. Who opened the crypt?
“Hello, Kim,” Rhiann replied as she turned toward her antagonizer. The flash of hatred shining from the Ice Shark’s squinty eyes spoke volumes. Everyone else on the damn planet might bow and scrape for this . . . woman—and she was using the term loosely—but Rhi wasn’t having any of that crap.
Dismissing her troll with the wave of a boney hand, Kim immediately invaded Rhi’s body space, trapping her against a table.
“Have a nice holiday? Your sister’s wedding, right? I hope Liam’s bridal gift arrived in time.”
Wanting to smack the smarmy female across the face, Rhiann instead opened the Dictionary of Snark in her head and searched for every available snipe to describe Liam Ashforth. Motherfucker, of course, was at the head of the line.
Every time she was reminded that he and this bag o’ frozen bones had done the dirty, she wanted to lash out and hit something. He’d fucking told her about the wedding? Told her about the gift for Brynn? Goddammit.
There was no way she was going to give this woman the satisfaction of answering any questions about her personal life, and she didn’t give a flying fuck if Kim fired her at this point. She could only take so much. Only so much hurt and sadness because of that man.
“What can I do for you?”
Kim laughed at the unmistakable deflection and stepped back, smirking in triumph. Tossing a newspaper on the table in front of them, Rhiann glanced down and froze. There, for all the world to see, was a shot of Liam and Kim plastered against each other in what looked like an affectionate embrace and the caption: JFK Airport Holiday Round-Up—Liam Ashforth, President and CEO of BPG arriving at Virgin Atlantic.
The sound of all the blood in her head rushing south was loud enough to make her wince. At that moment, she’d never hated anyone as much as she did the woman in front of her and the man who was making a fucking career out of breaking her heart.
“Don’t pout, little girl,” she purred. “I told you not to fuck with me. You won’t win, no matter what you think.”
Throwing caution aside Rhiann answered the cruel taunts with biting precision. “This is getting old, Kim,” she growled. “Almost as old as you. So, why don’t you save us both some time and fire off the rest of your ammunition so I can get back to work.”
The wretched woman tossed back her head and laughed. To Rhi, she sounded maniacal but to anyone paying attention? It probably looked like the two were sharing jokes.
“I should tell Liam to keep you around for a bit. It’s fun watching you fall on your face.”
“Unless you have something of importance to say, I suggest you jump on your broomstick and fly away because we’re working here. Oh, and take your flying monkey with you. She’s outstayed her welcome.”
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississi . . .
“I eat young things like you for breakfast, Miss Wilde. It would do well for you to remember that before the next time you imagine that being a cunt to me is a wise move.”
“Nice,” Rhi snapped. “You kiss your father with that filthy mouth?”
“Liam likes it filthy.”
Alrighty, then. That shut Rhiann down pretty fucking fast. Her mind shrouded in a haze of contempt and rage, she tried to leave, but Kim reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Don’t walk away from me, you little bitch.”
And just like that, a scuffle broke out between them. Rhiann jerked her arm out of Kim’s frigid grip with a grunt. Reacting defensively, she used her elbow to shove the crazy woman away.
Kim immediately screeched, “Get your hands off me!” which got every head in the room turning their way to see what the commotion was about.
After that, a bunch of things happened all at once—mostly it was a blur. Next thing Rhiann knew, her body was falling in slow motion to the floor after something got in the way of her feet. Kim’s gloating, triumphant sneer followed her descent to the hard concrete.
How she managed to miss the edge of the craft table with her head, she didn’t know. Flinging out her arms to break the fall, her hand hit the floor first as she yelped in pain and rolled to her side.
Within seconds, people surrounded them. The shocked faces of her team and shouts of, “Help her up,” and, “What the hell happened?” ensured that this spectacle was going to get maximum exposure along the gossip chain that existed in most work environments and on everyone’s social media.
As she looked up in agony from her sprawl on the cold, hard floor, she spied at least two people being assholes enough to capture the moment on their cell phones.
“Are you okay, Miss Wilde?”
Rhiann met the concerned and horrified gaze of her intern, Shayne, as the young girl swooped to her knees to help.
Was it possible to look even remotely dignified when your dress hiked up waaaaay too far and a shoe, one of her favorites, had come off and skidded away? Probably not.
The next minutes flew by in a whir as Shayne helped Rhiann to her feet while Rhi cradled her injured arm and tried not to burst into tears.
She heard people talking. Heard the whispers and the comments. But it was that awful woman chiming in with her evil speculation that was the icing on the cake of Rhi’s day.
“Do you think she’s drunk?” she heard her ask in a voice loud enough for everyone and their aunt to hear. “Maybe getting started a bit early for the holiday?”
Didn’t really matter what happened after that. She knew damn well Kim’s comment had sealed her fate at that moment. If Kim didn’t find a way to use this to get her canned, she was going to fold anyway. Fuck this shit. Bitch was cray-cray and Rhiann couldn’t deal with it—any of it—any longer. That damn news photo was the end for her.
The EMTs arrived in a flash, and after making sure she hadn’t banged her head, arranged for her transport to the emergency room. Her arm was either broken, fractured, or severely sprained and would need immediate medical attention.
Happy Fucking New Year.
IT WAS A TYPICAL FRIDAY night in the booming college town at the beginning of a new school year and as usual, Liam was holed up in his postage stamp sized studio apartment.
While everyone else was out and about, on the move in search of the endless parties and gatherings that took place in the Frat Houses, party spots and watering holes frequented by the rowdy students, he was having none of it.
Though only a couple of years older than the youngest incoming freshmen, Liam felt like an old man when it came to the excesses and fuckery the kids engaged in. Not even his peers in the master’s program, who partied with a bit more circumspection, could persuade him to let loose and join the fun. He always begged off by insisting he had shit to do.
And his shit to do this fine evening? Tonight, he was assembling a Shelby Cobra from a model car kit he’d bought from eBay.
Liam liked the intense focus required for model building. It quieted the racket in his head, forcing him to concentrate and follow directions. Plus, he liked the process as a whole—researching his next purchase, finding the best possible deal—even clearing a space on the only table in his small space so he could spread out the pieces. It was all good.
In the background, he heard the crackle of activity coming from a police scanner. He’d acquired it in a barter with a junior in the engineering program who desperately needed a tutor if he hoped to survive.
Liam liked snickering at the dumbasses that the cops hassled fo
r public drunkenness and noise infractions because somehow their stupidity made him feel superior. And superior worked for Liam. Feeling that way may made him something of a social leper, but in the end, he knew that sort of hubris was going to help him go far. And going far was what this was all about.
Ignoring the racket coming from the house party underway across the street, he sat in the old, wooden captain’s chair he’d trash picked and studied the model building instructions tacked to the wall.
With autumn still weeks away, he had the windows open to enjoy the warm late-summer evening air. Occasionally, the odor of marijuana wafted through, something that always made him shake his head.
Stupid fuckers, he thought. Didn’t those shitheads realize that someday, probably at the worst possible time—like before taking an oath to office or getting a banging corporate promotion—someone would step forward and blab about getting high back in the day and what a stoner they once were.
Getting up from his seat, he went to lower the window. He was just twenty-four, for Christ’s sake, and wasn’t opposed to the occasional joint and certainly didn’t back away from an ice-cold six pack, but he would prefer not to get high tonight from a cloud of second-hand smoke that didn’t seem to be backing off.
Glancing across the street at the rager getting underway, he noted the gaggle of college kids clustered everywhere. On the sidewalk, in the street, five or six people deep in the driveway and even a few dozen openly partying on the lawn. He wondered how long it would take the campus police to roll by—then remembered it was Friday night and snickered. They’d be rolling by a dozen parties just like the one he was seeing and would have their hands full all evening. Being a campus officer must suck donkey dick.
As the window slid lower, he decided not to shut it all the way. He needed the air and didn’t want to run up his electric bill by flipping on the window air conditioning. He heard the trill of a girl’s laughter and stopped. He’d know that sound anywhere. Rhiann Wilde.
Quickly turning off the overhead light and plunging the room into darkness so he could see better without giving himself away, Liam peered from the window and searched for the source of the laughter.
Holy fucking crap. There she was. Waltzing along the sidewalk with her usual troop of girlfriends, making their way into what he knew was a frat house shit show.
They’d met for the first time almost two months ago, during the hottest summer he could remember, when he’d gone to the residence of his grad mentor’s home to deliver some paperwork. And he’d been barely able to think about anything else since.
Cute, like girl-next-door cute, with an adorable laugh and a mouth that surprised him with how wicked she was with her language, Rhiann Wilde was one of those girls who made a guy think all sorts of dirty shit.
Of course, it didn’t help that he had to run into her all the time. Nor did it help that he was pretty damn sure the popular coed was hot for him. Keeping a respectful distance turned out to be a complete joke—helped along entirely by the fact that he kept finding excuses to see her, and she all but glued herself to him at every opportunity.
But he knew that girls like her didn’t end up with guys like him. She was going places—her natural curiosity and joy of life practically assured that, and while Liam knew he was going places, too—there was a dark tunnel detour and some shit-kicking paybacks he intended to mete out along the way. Stuff that would end up souring her sweetness should he let her get too close. He had a lot to do and a good deal of getting his hands dirty before he was done, which essentially made the girl off-limits.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. Or more than just a little turned on each time they met. Liam didn’t even want to think about the number of times he woke up with a throbbing hard-on following a particularly erotic dream starring the feisty brunette.
“Adams Lane. Reports of a disturbance. Sounds like the usual,” squawked the police scanner.
Fuck. Adams Lane? The call was probably about the keg and pot rager gearing up across the street. Great.
Dammit to hell. Rhiann. He couldn’t let her get caught up in a police dragnet. Her father would blow his cork, especially since he was a respected professor at the college.
Bolting from his apartment, Liam all but jumped down the stairs and out into the September evening with one aim in mind. White knighting the girl of his dreams and rescuing her silly ass.
Didn’t take long once he was across the street to find her. His dick was acting like a tracking device, steering him through the crowd of inebriated dumbfucks and straight at her . . . and Jesus, what the fuck was she wearing? Aaarrgh.
“Rhiann,” he ground out when he came upon her. Not waiting for her to answer, he silently clasped her hand when she turned toward him and began yanking her as fast as he could toward the door.
Stumbling beside him, she clutched his hand and yelped. “Liam! What the hell?”
“Come with me and hurry,” he told her—not missing the way her eyes turned emerald in color at his command.
Pulling her along like a naughty child found outside the schoolyard, he gritted his teeth and willed his overactive libido to settle the hell down considering that, dressed as she was in a Catholic schoolgirl costume, she very much fit the description of naughty.
Providence must have been smiling on them because he managed to drag her safely away and was almost at the door to his building when four campus police cars pulled up. Thank fucking god.
Dragging her rather unceremoniously up the two flights of stairs to his hidey-hole at the end of the hallway, he made quick work of unlocking his door and shoving her inside.
The minute he had her alone, Liam got right up in her face and snarled, “Rhiann—what the fuck are you wearing? Are you insane going out dressed like that?”
“Whaaat?” she squealed. “What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought it looked pretty cute.”
To make her point she did a little hip shake and spun around just enough that the tiny skirt flared out revealing even more of her naked thighs. More than he was comfortable seeing.
If this wasn’t Rhiann, he might have dropped her to the floor where she stood and fucked the ever-loving shit out of her—‘cause wasn’t that what her outfit suggest he did?
Groaning, he shook his head at her and scowled. “Does your father know you prance around town looking like a cheap hooker?”
Her gasp at his cruel taunt and the quick sheen of tears in her eyes stopped him from continuing. Shit. He was being a dick.
“For your information, Liam, I’m way more covered up than half the girls at that party and besides . . . it’s not like this is normal,” she whined with her hands pressed to her hips. “It was a Pimps and Hos party. How was I supposed to dress? Like a nun?”
Sadly, he would have wanted to screw the holiness out of her even dressed in a head-to-toe habit. The thought was unsettling.
The sound of the police using a bullhorn drew his attention away from her. Going to the window, he looked out at the scene unfolding across the street and sighed. They’d had one hell of a close call, but luckily, he got her out of there before the shit hit the fan.
Peering over his shoulder at the commotion, he felt her warm breath on his neck when she gasped and muttered, “Oh, my god.”
Swiveling his head to look at her, he was stunned into silence by how lovely she was. When she crowded closer to him from behind to get a better look at what was going down, he felt her breasts press against his arm and had to count to ten. Nun, schoolgirl . . . didn’t matter. He wanted her. She could be made up like the bride of Frankenstein and his cock would still be hard and heavy with wanting.
“Oh no!” she cried softly. “Look,” she pointed to a group of coeds being rounded together by the cops. “There are Shelby and Freya, but I don’t see Nic. I hope she got away.”
“You’re welcome,” he growled.
She looked at him a second and blinked once or twice then her whole face lit up. “You rescued me,�
� she whispered.
“Yeah, well . . . didn’t have much choice. Your dad would have shit a brick if you’d managed to get caught up in that mess.”
He slid away from her and went to stand on the other side of the only table in the room, far away from the temptation of her sweet little body.
“Oh! So, what? You rode in on your trusty steed and dragged me away from certain doom because it’s part of your job?”
She made the job sound like a swear word. Somehow, he’d managed to hurt her feelings.
“How’d you know?” she asked. “That the police were coming, I mean.”
“Scanner,” he muttered with a nod toward the small device.
“You have a police scanner?”
He shrugged and picked up one of the model pieces he’d been assembling because suddenly he knew if his hands didn’t have something to do, they’d be reaching for her.
“Thanks.”
Was he surprised that she went from defiantly snapping at him to charming passivity in the space of a heartbeat? Absolutely not. The move was so Rhiann. That mouth of hers was going to get the girl in trouble someday.
Her eyes swept the table between them and she smiled. “Ooooh. A model? I loooove models. What is it? Is there a picture? Let me see.”
He almost smiled. The quick way she asked questions showed what an astute and clever mind she had. And nothing could have turned him on more right then except maybe her mouth on his cock. Or his face between her legs. Either would do just fine.
Tilting his head toward the instructions on the wall next to the table, he told her, “It’s a Shelby. A Cobra, to be exact. Know what that is?”
“Of course, I do,” she replied. “Dad’s got a classic Thunderbird stashed away in the garage. I’ll show it to you sometime, if you’d like. My mom says it’s his other wife because of how much time he spends with it.”
“Are you serious?”
“About which? Showing you or that Dad’s a car freak?”
Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) Page 22
