My cover story, in case anyone asked, was that I’d done Avery’s makeup on a photo shoot at some indefinite time in the past, and we’d hit it off and become quasi friends.
The only problem was Kenji.
Today he wore a shiny dark-purple suit, the color of an oiled eggplant. The coat, embellished with peacock feathers on the lapels, fell past his knees. His eye shadow matched his suit, and his platform boots matched his vest: searing vomit green. The overall effect was startling. He was only missing a top hat and cane to pass as a ringmaster in an acid-trip circus.
Judging by the sadness in his eyes, however, his mood was anything but circus-like. I wondered how close he and Avery had been.
“So are you and Nico a thing now?” He glanced across the room to where Nico stood staring at me over a bald guy’s shoulder.
“Um.”
Kenji waved his hand. “Oh, lovey, don’t worry, I won’t tell. It’s none of my business. If he’s happy, I’m happy. And I’m guessing by the way the man is ogling you, that he’s plenty happy. I’ll never forget the way he looked at you the day you met—”
“Kenji!” I hissed.
He blinked, surprised. “What?”
Three tall women with the walk and bearing of models approached, accompanied by a short, fat man sweating bullets in a black suit a size too small. The women stopped and looked me over in silence while the fat man stepped forward with his hand extended.
“Hi. Ethan Grossman, Avery’s manager.” His face reddened. “Former manager.”
I shook his hand, smiling tightly. How unnecessary to add that caveat. I disliked him already, especially since he seemed to be looking at my chest with a little too much interest. I’d worn a very simple black sleeveless dress that showed no cleavage, but that certainly wasn’t stopping Mr. Grossman from trying to find it.
“Kat Reid. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Kenji, stylist for the band.” Kenji proffered his hand, which Ethan shook, then quickly dropped, turning his attention back to me.
“You a friend of Avery’s?”
Oh shit. Here we go. My tight smile got tighter. I’m sure my mouth looked as puckered as an asshole. Without looking in Kenji’s direction, I said, “We worked together.”
Technically, that wasn’t a lie. It was definitely stretching the truth, however. I hoped that’s all I’d have to say on the subject, but one of the models perked up, recognizing me.
“You’re the girl in the band’s new video, right?”
The other two models murmured in agreement, assessing me with sharp, calculating eyes. Ethan’s gaze turned wolfish.
“Oh? You’re a model? Do you have representation?” He grinned. “I’m always on the lookout for fresh new faces. And this Christina Hendricks look—” he waved his hand, indicating my figure—“is definitely coming back in style.”
Jesus H. Christ, these people were unbelievable. He was recruiting at a wake? I let my smile drop and just stared at him. He took my look for one of confusion.
“She’s the curvaceous redhead in Mad Men.”
“I know who she is. And I’m not looking for representation, thank you.”
The three models seemed a little too satisfied to hear that. My guess was that they were clients of Ethan’s. I’m sure they didn’t like hearing that zero percent body fat might not be in vogue for much longer.
“Hey.”
The gruff greeting from behind made me jump. I hadn’t realized how tightly my nerves were strung until then. I turned to find A.J. standing there, staring down at me.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
Relief swept over me. Saved in the nick of time. “Of course.” I nodded to Ethan and the three models, who’d never even bothered to introduce themselves. “Excuse me.” I squeezed Kenji’s arm. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Okay, lovey. Whatever you say.”
He seemed distracted, not even offering a smile or meeting my eyes, and I sensed there was more to his mood than the solemnity of the occasion. He kept stealing glances at Nico across the room, then frowning and shaking his head, as if in answer to some silent question he’d asked himself.
Trying not to worry about what the problem might be, I shot a final glance at Ethan, said a silent prayer he wouldn’t ask Kenji anything more about me, then turned to A.J. “Should we go over there?” I motioned to a nearby sofa. A.J. nodded, then walked away as abruptly as he’d walked over. I saw Nico watching us and sent him a one-shouldered shrug. His guess was as good as mine at this point.
When I got to the sofa, A.J. was pacing in front of it. With his shaggy blond hair, loping stride, and bulk, he reminded me of a lion. A jittery lion. His hands were on his hips, his gaze on the floor. He hadn’t bothered with a suit for the occasion. Neither had Nico, for that matter. I supposed head to toe black counted as dressing up for a rock star, even if it was jeans and a leather jacket.
A.J. stopped pacing and lit a cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and fixed me with an intense stare. Even in heels, I had to crane my neck to look up at him: the man was a giant. On one side of his neck, a tattoo peeked above the collar of his black T-shirt. I couldn’t make out what it was.
“Your girlfriend,” he said gruffly. “The blonde.”
I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it. “Chloe?”
He nodded curtly, his eyes hard. Something in his demeanor put me on edge. I remembered how Chloe had said he’d been mean to her at the flower shop, and I prepared myself to hear something bad. Was he going to have the balls to talk shit about my friend? At Avery’s wake?
“What about her?”
He licked his lips. In an accusing tone, he demanded, “What’s her deal?”
Oh, no. Oh, no he didn’t. I had to remind myself to maintain my shit, because this was not the time or place to get into an argument with the surly drummer from Bad Habit.
I spoke softly, holding his gaze. “Her deal is that she’s the sweetest, kindest, most loyal person I’ve ever known in my life, and if you so much as speak a negative word against her, I’ll . . . I’ll . . . I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pleasant.”
A.J.’s brows shot up. He sucked hard on his cigarette, blew smoke into my face, and folded his arms across his chest. He stared at me down his nose. “Did you just threaten me?”
I waved the cloud of smoke away. “You’re damn straight I did. No one talks shit about my girls.”
His eyes were a gorgeous golden amber, the color of aged whiskey. Though his face was stone cold, there was a hint of warmth in those eyes. I suspected he was laughing at me.
“I can see that. Guess I’ll have to be more careful in the future.”
“You do that.” I mimicked his posture, crossing my arms over my chest.
We stared at each other. He took another hit from his cigarette. I noticed his knuckles were scarred and abnormally large. The back of each finger was inked with a small tattoo. The only one I got a good look at was a flower with initials on each petal. A.J. saw me looking, transferred his cigarette to his other hand, and shoved the hand with the flower tattoo into his pocket. Weird.
“Are you always this feisty, or am I getting special treatment because you’re still mad about me and Brody walking in on you and Nico in his bedroom?”
My face went molten. I’d been doing a relatively good job up until that moment ignoring the fact that he’d seen me naked. With my hand wrapped around his friend’s dick.
Ugh.
“I wasn’t really that mad about that. Totally embarrassed, but not mad. I know it was an accident.”
Examining me, A.J. drew a thoughtful hit on the cigarette. Like a dragon, he exhaled the smoke through his nose in two long plumes. “It was. And thanks for calming Nico down. I think if you’d asked him to, he’d have ripped out both our throats on the spot. In case you couldn’t tell, he’s more than a little obsessed with you. Never seen him like this before.”
It was
then that I noticed it. A.J. had the faintest echo of a Slavic accent in his voice, a certain way of pronouncing his vowels that sounded vaguely communist bloc. How interesting. I thought a change in the course of conversation was in order.
“Just out of curiosity, where are you from?”
His reaction was so unexpected it took my breath away. He stiffened. The warmth in his eyes turned into an arctic chill. Bristling, he leaned toward me as if he were about to grab me around the neck. “Nevada. Why the fuck do you ask?”
I had the good sense to be terrified, at least. This was not a man to be trifled with. But I didn’t step back, though I suddenly, desperately, wanted to. “Your accent.”
A.J. leaned even closer to me. “I don’t. Have. A fucking. Accent.” He enunciated each word, each syllable, his gaze burning mine.
All the tiny hairs on my neck stood on end. An intuition that A.J. had his own set of dark, dangerous secrets blossomed in my stomach, setting my nerves alight. “Ookay,” I said on a shaky exhalation. “But even if you did, I won’t mention it to anyone else. Your past is your own business.”
“We weren’t talking about my past. We were talking about you hearing something that’s not there.”
We were almost nose to nose at this point. I thought people might be beginning to stare. My temper flared; what an asshole!
“Actually we were talking about Chloe. And she was right about you.”
He blinked. Hostility drained away from him as fast as it had come. “She mentioned me? What did she say?”
I waited a fraction of a second, in order to give my words a little more punch. “She said you were a total jerk. Which I’m thinking is the understatement of the decade!”
Heart pounding, I spun on my heel and headed for the kitchen. I’d had enough socializing for one day. It was margarita time.
And lo and behold, who did I find sitting on the marble island in the middle of the cavernous kitchen but Michael, nursing a Scotch and staring glumly at the floor. When I came in, he looked up with a start.
“Oh. Sorry.” I didn’t know why I was apologizing, but I thought I’d probably be the last person on earth he wanted to see at that moment. Turns out I was wrong.
“Kat. I was just thinking about you. Come in.” He set his Scotch on the countertop and slid off the island to stand facing me. He motioned to the army of alcohol bottles lined up on the kitchen counter near the sink, courtesy of the caterer. “Need a drink?”
“Yes, please.” I was grateful. Maybe Michael wasn’t as bad as I’d first thought. Anyone who offered me a drink couldn’t be all bad. I walked closer, inspecting the bottles. “You think there’s any Patrón in here?”
“I’d guess yes. Nico isn’t a skimper when it comes to the good stuff.” His gaze flickered over me. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
I didn’t know precisely what that meant, but it made me uncomfortable. Between Ethan Grossman, the cryptic exchange with A.J., and now this, I was getting a headache.
Michael fished a glass from one of the cupboards, and poured me a shot of Patrón, no mixer or ice. He handed it to me, and hoisted his glass of Scotch and somberly made a toast, all the while staring me in the eye as if down the sights of a gun. “Here’s to new friends.”
I raised my glass. “And new beginnings.”
When I’d downed the shot, Michael was still looking at me with the same strange intensity. He hadn’t taken a swig of his drink.
“Indeed. Nico tells me you’re engaged. Congratulations.”
Oh, Nico. Dammit! My face flushed with heat. “We weren’t going to tell anyone. Under the circumstances, I thought it would be better to wait.”
“You mean, seeing as how everyone thinks Amy—excuse me, Avery—was Nico’s girlfriend.”
My mouth went dry. Nico had told Michael I knew Avery was his sister. When? Why hadn’t he told me? Was this bad, or good?
It felt bad.
“And since we’re on the topic,” Michael said, his voice getting rough, “has he told you what he was supposed to be doing that day she left rehab? Or why she came here, looking for him?”
Carefully, I set my empty glass on the counter. I stayed silent, bracing myself for what was sure to be something I didn’t want to hear.
Michael said venomously, “Nico was supposed to have gone to visit Avery that day. It was her birthday, you see. But instead,” his voice dropped an octave. “Instead he was with you.”
I sensed the rage rising inside him. Heart pounding, I took a step back. “Michael.”
“Rescuing you from the paparazzi, was it?” He sneered, shook his head, and produced a soft, ugly laugh. “Unbelievable. You do realize, Kat . . . ”
He took a menacing step toward me. “That you killed my fucking sister.”
All the blood drained from my face. “That isn’t fair, and you know it. I’m going to assume you’re just upset—”
“You’re goddamn right I’m upset.” His voice was hoarse. His eyes were wild. “I’m beyond upset. I’m fucking furious.”
He was, I could see that. I also saw how much pain he was in. The anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. It appeared he might at any second start to cry.
Remembering what Nico had said about Michael blaming himself for introducing Amy to Juan Carlos, I kept my voice gentle. Though I was angry at what he’d just accused me of, I also understood that he’d just lost his sister. He was hurting. He was lashing out, and I was a convenient target.
As gently as possible, I said, “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m so sorry she’s gone. I’m sure she loved you very much.”
His face turned ashen. “You don’t know anything.”
Taking a risk, I reached out and touched his arm. “I know you loved her. And that you and Nico did the best you could. I don’t know if you blame yourself the way he does for not being able to save her, but I do know that it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
I watched him crumble. His face was transfigured with misery. He put his hands over it to hide as he began to cry. “It is my fault,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “She’d still be alive if only I’d never—”
“Shh. None of that, now. Stop.”
He leaned toward me. I put my arms around him. He sagged gratefully against me, resting his chin on my head as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. It was awkward and strange, but also sweet.
The men in this family weren’t exactly what could be described as stable.
“I’m sorry I said that. I’m a fucking asshole.” His voice was ragged against my ear. His body shook.
“Apology accepted. And you’re not an asshole. Actually I don’t know you well enough to make a determination, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt under the circumstances. We’ll start over from here and get to know one another, and then I’ll let you know.”
He laughed, or made a sound close to a laugh, and I was glad as that’s what I’d been aiming for. After a moment, he pulled away and looked down at me. His cheeks shone with tears. I looked up at him, smiling.
“You’re gonna be my sister-in-law. I’ve never had in-laws before.” He sounded as if he was unsure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing, but had decided to go with it and find out.
That made me hopeful. My smile grew wider. “Well, that makes two of us.”
He was still shaking a little. His eyes were still wet. His arms were on my shoulders, our faces were only inches apart. When his gaze dropped to my lips and he bent toward me, I experienced a moment of shock so profound I didn’t react in time to pull away.
Michael kissed me.
Then I heard Nico’s infuriated voice. “What the fuck is this?”
We broke apart. Michael spun around. There in the kitchen doorway stood Nico, his expression as black as his eyes.
“Nico, it’s not what you think,” I began, but he was already stalking toward us, his lips curled back over his teeth.
My heart leapt into
my throat. I’d seen this look before. I knew what was coming.
“Brother.” Michael held his hands up. Nico ignored the obvious surrender gesture, and launched himself at Michael.
Everything happened so fast.
Fists flying, snarling like a rabid dog, Nico collided with Michael. Instantly Michael began to defend himself and fight back. The two of them staggered around the kitchen, throwing punches, shouting, ramming into the cabinets with a sound like small detonations. They slammed into the rows of bottles on the counter, sending them tumbling to the floor where they shattered. Alcohol sprayed everywhere.
“Nico, stop! Michael! The two of you, cut it out!”
They ignored my shouts, not faltering for a moment as they continued to pummel one another. Michael’s lip was split and bleeding, as was Nico’s cheek. But Nico soon had the advantage, and dealt his brother a blow to the face so severe it knocked him off his feet and onto his ass on the kitchen floor.
“Touch her again and you’re a corpse!” Nico shouted, standing over Michael with legs spread.
Nursing his jaw, Michael looked up at Nico. His laugh was low and sardonic. “Why, afraid she might like it too much?” He glanced at me. Nico’s head turned sharply as he looked at me, too.
“Who kissed who?” he spat, breathing hard.
I gaped at him. Everything inside me went cold. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Answer the fuckin’ question!” Nico roared, stepping away from Michael.
Tears stung my eyes. “If you really think that I’d—”
He was on me before I could finish my sentence. He grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest. “If you lie to me, I swear I’ll—”
“What?” I cried, trying to pull away. “You’ll punch me?”
Like an animal, he bared his teeth. “No. I’ll punish you.”
Dragging me away by my arm, he hauled me out of the kitchen, leaving Michael bleeding and chuckling darkly in a pool of alcohol and broken glass.
There was a door on the opposite side of the kitchen. Nico pulled me through it. It led to the empty dining room. Another door led to a corridor that led outside, to the backyard. Across the yard was a pool house, which was where Nico was headed.
Sweet as Sin Page 20
