Love You Like a Romance Novel

by Megan Derr

  The 'boss' they spoke of was mostly in shadow. Jet couldn't see his face, couldn't see anything particularly telling. The suit was tailored, Calvin Klein he thought, and the shoes Italian. There was a handsome ring, platinum and set with a square-cut ruby the size of a fingernail. It matched the carnelian tie, lurid against the black suit. "You're much smaller in person, Mr. Kristopherson."

  "So I'm often told," Jet said, smiling thinly. "You know me, I don't know you."

  "Yes, I'm aware," the man replied. The wall behind him was polished to a shine, and Jet could just see that the goons had blocked the door. Man, he hoped someone wasn't about to punch him. He was in no frame of mind for taking that any way but violently. Damn it. He didn't want to add fuel to the gossip fires by getting into a stupid fight. For fuck's sake, he'd just wanted a night out with his friends to get away from his own head for a bit.

  So much for that.

  Jet stifled a sigh and said, "So what do you want?"

  "Rumor has it that you're going to sell your father's business," the man said in cool tones. Jet thought he heard a trace of accent, just a touch of New England, in the man's voice. But it was so faint, and the man so soft-spoken, that he couldn't be sure.

  He also wondered where the fuck the rumor had come from. Jason was going to remove testicles when he found the leak; it could only have come from his office. Which really just said that Uncle Henry was all over it. Awesome.

  Jet needed another drink. Instead he said, "I haven't decided anything. But what's it to you? Cause I can tell you now that if this is you making an offer, it's getting rejected. I don't trust men who deal from shadows in places where people go to escape business."

  "I'm not interested in your ridiculous restaurants," the man said. "But there are certain parties to whom we would prefer the offer not be made."

  Christ, it was a chain of restaurants famous for tarted up sandwiches. What was all the fuss about? "None of your business what I sell to whom," Jet said. "If you're not interested in buying, that's the end of your involvement. Like I told you—" He was cut off when one of the goons wrapped an arm around his throat from behind, not quite cutting off his circulation, his other beefy arm holding Jet's much more wiry frame in place.

  Fuck. Fuck. Also fuck.

  "This is not a negotiation, Mr. Kristopherson. I don't conduct business with children, least of all mouthy children. You may do whatever you want with your business except sell it to Lord Enterprises."

  "Lick my nuts," Jet bit out before he went back to being choked.

  He swore the temperature in the room dropped. "I do not think you understand me. I was warned that is a common problem with you. Let me speak more plainly. If you sell your company to Lord Enterprises, then I will express my displeasure with your friends. We'll start with your charming little cousin. His value would drop significantly, I think, if his vocal cords were ruined beyond repair."

  Jet froze. "You touch him and I will kill you. Touch any of them, and I'll kill you so slowly you'll beg for it at the end."

  "Spare me your idle threats," the man said in bored tones. "I have said all I am going to say. Think about my offer and make the wise decision." He flicked his fingers, and Jet was escorted roughly back out to the main room.

  He gave the asshole the finger, knowing he could see it through the mirrored glass, then walked back to his own room. The others were clustered around as he stepped in, and Jet started to say something smartass—but then he saw Jason.

  Not staring was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He didn't know why, but he had totally expected Jason to show up in one of his ubiquitous suits or his slacks and polo or something. Jason in ass-hugging dark denim, boots, and a jewel green shirt with a faint shimmer to it was not anywhere in the realm of possibilities. Fantasies, maybe. But not realities.

  Jet swallowed.

  "Are you okay?" Dai asked, gripping his arms.

  "I'm fine," Jet said, the words coming out garbled, rough. He cleared his throat and tried again, though his voice was still a little rough around the edges. "I'm fine, really. I've been roughed up worse by Nikko on a night when he's too drunk to throw a half-decent punch."

  Dai rolled his eyes and let him go. Jet shifted his attention to Jason. "We need to talk. He knew far too fucking much."

  "Later," Brit interjected, draping himself along Jet's side and dropping a playful kiss on his mouth, tactful as he ever was. Behind him, Brice rolled his eyes, but it was ruined by the obvious amusement curving his mouth on one side.

  Beside Brice, Jason did not look nearly so amused—or maybe that was Jet's wishful thinking because he blinked and Jason's face was as expressionless as ever.

  "Your friend is correct," Jason said, and though his tone never changed, Jet swore he made the word 'friend' sound like the lowest of epithets. "It can wait until tomorrow, unless they've threatened to kill someone in the next few hours."

  Jet shook his head, but gave the barest nod of his head toward Dai. Jason's eyes went ice cold. He said nothing, though, merely thanked the waiter who slipped up beside him with a whiskey rocks on a tray. Jason dropped a tip on the tray and took the drink, and the waiter ghosted away.

  "Tomorrow," Jason said. "As early as you can come to my house to discuss it."

  His house, not the office. Over the past few days, while they went over the business and Jet got more familiar with what he had, what he would be selling, they'd stopped meeting at Jason's house.

  Jet knew it was a line that needed to be redrawn. It was too fucking easy for them to fall into bed, to fall onto any surface. Risks they needed to stop taking. So the office it was, though that just kept him from fucking Jason. Certainly didn't stop him from thinking of all the ways he could get Jason fired for gross misconduct.

  "Screw this, let's go dance," Brit said, and he yanked Jet away before anyone could get a word in.

  Stumbling along behind him, feet not catching up until they were on the dance floor, Jet glared. "What are you doing?"

  Brit pulled him close and moved against him as the music kicked up. "Getting you out of there before everyone noticed the fuck me eyes you were making at your cousin," he said into Jet's ear.

  Jet stiffened. "Fuck."

  "Relax, you're fine—this time. You might want to watch it, though, Romeo. Juliet won't be amused if she finds out you're banging her brother."

  Despite himself, Jet laughed at the idea of Brit calling Dai 'Juliet' to his face. Smiling at him, Brit began to dance in earnest, leaving no chance for talking, no chance for anything but moving to the beat. His partners switched faster than he could keep up—Brit became Cassidy became Brice became a series of strangers he did not know or care to.

  Eventually, completely out of breath, Jet stumbled out of the crowd. What time was it? Did it matter? Fuck it.

  A waitress came up bearing a tray that held a glass of water and a rusty nail. Jet drank the water down, then took the drink, dropping a ten on the tray. "Thanks." She smiled at him, then drifted away as silently as she'd arrived—some sort of weird talent all of Taylor's staff seemed to have mastered.

  He watched the dance floor, smiling when he saw Brice and Brit dancing together in a way only those two could get away with and not raise eyebrows. Malcolm and Cassidy had vanished, probably back to the private room; they tended to attract a lot of attention and preferred not. Dai and Cooper were having a blast—funny, when they were so quiet and content to be still when they were apart.

  It was awesome to watch, but cut like a knife. A very dull, very rusty knife.

  Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he half-turned his head. His heart gave a lurch when he saw Jason approaching him. He took a swallow of his drink, mouth suddenly dry, but the burn of whiskey was no match for the very fuck me image Jason cut walking toward him lit by the dance floor lights.

  "I didn't know you owned clubbing clothes," he said when Jason reached him.

  Jason looked equal parts annoyed and amused. "I am an entertainment lawyer;
I do actually mingle in the industry. Contrary to what you and my brother think, I do have a life."

  "Pics or it didn't happen," Jet said lightly, and took another swallow of his drink.

  "The guys you spoke with—will they blow a gasket if they see me here?"

  "Dunno," Jet said. "They're just trying to order me who not to sell to."

  Jason's eyes narrowed, and Jet shivered at the rage that burned like cold fire in them. Even in the dim lights, it was impossible to miss. Or maybe he just knew Jason that well. He tightened his grip on his drink and shoved his free hand in his pocket before he gave in to an urge to reach out and touch.

  "I see the twins are in full tilt tonight," Jason said dryly, eying Brice and Brit. "Brice is supposed to be the smart one."

  "Yeah, well, a few shots or so of Patron and all bets are off." Jet swirled the ice in his glass, then drank down the rest of the rusty nail. He set the glass aside. "I need some air." He walked off, not certain if Jason would follow—not certain if he wanted Jason to follow.

  In the end, though, Jason did, and actually wound up leading the way up a set of stairs to the wide balcony area that overlooked the city far below. Jet walked to the railing, vaguely hearing the click as the door was locked—and he wondered how the hell Jason was able to lock a door that required a key.

  But then again, it was Jason. Of course he had a fucking key. Made Jet curious as to how he knew Taylor, but it was a question that could wait.

  The hand on the small of his back startled him, but then he just relaxed into it, missing the warmth when Jason's hand slowly slid away. "Who threatened you?"

  "I thought this could wait 'til morning," Jet said, not really surprised—and even relieved—they were discussing it anyway.

  Jason motioned. "I didn't want anyone freaking out. Everyone is already worried about you, no need to stir them up further. Who was it?"

  "I don't know," Jet said, worrying his bottom lip. "He didn't want me selling to Lord Enterprises. Said he'd hurt my friends, starting with ruining Dai's voice. Had a New England accent I think, and a ring. Ruby, set in platinum."

  "I see," Jason said, mouth thinning, eyes taking on a glint of violence.

  Jet's brows went up. "You know who it is."

  "His name is Monroe Appleton. He's a big name in the vacation business, but still a very small fish next to—"

  "Paradise," Jet burst out. "I remember that thing from last year. Lord started a cruise line. Appleton wanted to bind his own cruise line to Lord's, but Lord went with somebody else—smaller, not even a third as well known. Why is he pissed off now?"

  "Because if you sell your company to Lord, then his own second attempt at tying himself to the Lord name will go up in flames. But he never stood a chance anyway; Lord doesn't approve of assholes like Appleton. I'll take care of this."

  Jet scowled. "Dude, I don't need you taking care of every single fucking thing."

  "I'm your—lawyer," Jason replied. "It's my job."

  He didn't want to be Jason's goddamn job. He didn't want to be a damsel in distress either. His father's being dead didn't mean he was suddenly made of goddamn glass. "Your job is whatever I say it is," Jet snapped, "and I'm telling you it's not to take care of Appleton for me. I can handle him. I've handled worse than him. Leave me the fuck alone."

  Jason said nothing, merely walked off. Somehow, it didn't make Jet feel any better. It just made him feel more like shit and cold to the bone when he heard the door open and then close again.

  When it opened again a couple of minutes later, he turned with an apology on his lips—and froze. "What are you doing here?"

  Nikko raised one perfectly shaped brow. "Free balcony last I checked?"

  "Forget it, sorry." Jet sighed and turned back to the skyline. He didn't react when Nikko stood next to him.

  "Here," Nikko said, and Jet turned his head to see he was holding out a pack of cigarettes. "You look like you could use one. They're the only fucking thing keeping me from killing people right now. How much does my life suck when my mortal enemy is the only person I can stand to look at?"

  "Fuck you, I'm the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen," Jet replied, the response automatic. He took a cigarette and said, "Thanks," when Nikko lit it. "Are you getting the delicate princess treatment, too, then?"

  Nikko took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out in a smooth stream before he replied, "Yeah. Makes me want to punch them all, but I'm pretty certain my fuckwit manager will use that as an excuse to finally lock me up somewhere. Probably in a cage in his basement just to be sure I stay locked up."

  "He should electrify the bars, otherwise you'll never fucking stay in it."

  "At least they wouldn't have to keep me on an IV drip full of sedatives, asshole."

  Jet pulled on his cigarette and blew the smoke out over the city, watching it fade away to nothing. "Dick."

  "Bitch."

  Track 04: All the Words We (Don't) Say

  Jason watched as Jet left the balcony, keeping where he could see him until Jet finally left the club surrounded by all his friends. It was two in the morning, and he was going to hate life when his alarm went off at six thirty, but he still had fires to put out.

  Sleep could wait.

  A waiter came up with a bottle of water, and Jason accepted it with a murmured thanks. "Room seven?" he asked.

  "They're still in there. Only one of the boot-kissers has come out in the last hour. Need any help, boss?"

  "No," Jason said. "Just warn Taylor."

  "Already did."

  "Good." Jason handed back the bottle of water, then strode down the row of private rooms until he reached seven. He knocked on it and waited. Knocked it again, waited. Smirking so that Appleton would see it, he pulled out his master keys and unlocked the door.

  The goon skulking by the door was frozen in place, clearly taken aback that Jason had been able to let himself in. Closing the door behind him, Jason stepped further into it and said, "Leave my client alone."

  "Who did you blow to get those keys, Kristopherson?"

  "No one," Jason replied, slipping the keys back into his pocket. He smiled with cold cheer. "Only required a handjob. Stop fantasizing about me giving blowjobs and get out of this club. I don't know how your membership got approved, but if you don't fall back into line you can consider it revoked."

  Appleton narrowed his eyes. Jason fought an urge to roll his. "You've got clout, I'll give you that, Kristopherson. You don't have that much clout."

  Jason pulled his keys out and jangled them. "I want you to leave my client alone. Go anywhere near him, my brother, or anyone else, and I will show you clout."

  "He has my offer."

  "You have mine," Jason replied and left.

  He saw Taylor across the room and waved goodnight. Outside, somebody had already brought his car around, and Jason thanked the man as he pressed cash into his hands. Sliding behind the wheel of his Camaro, he drove off headed for home.

  Parking his car in the garage behind his house, he locked the garage behind him and walked slowly back to the house. The air was cool enough he shivered, and the sky completely cloudless.

  The clock on the microwave in the kitchen reminded him it was nearly three in the morning. No point in going to sleep; it would just make him feel worse. Sucked, because he needed to be at his best to pick a fight with his father.

  Sighing, he made a pot of coffee, then ate a bowl of cereal while it brewed. He saved the marshmallows in it for last, as he'd always done since he was five.

  Putting the empty bowl in the dishwasher, he fixed his coffee and then headed upstairs to change. He drank half the coffee before he climbed into the shower and finished the other half while he picked out a suit for the day.

  Finally choosing a dark blue suit and a silver and blue tie, he got a second cup of coffee and then went to his study. He sighed at the work piled up across it—work he'd meant to get done hours ago, before he'd gotten the call from Jet. There weren't
many people for whom Jason would drop anything and everything, but Jet was number one on that list.

  Well, it was hardly the first time he'd foregone sleep. It had just been easier to do as a dumbass college student. Sitting down, he sipped at his coffee while he slid back into work mode. He had just really settled into red-penning a contract when his doorbell rang.

  Who would bother him at four-thirty in the morning? Sighing, Jason stood up and went to the door. He glanced through the peephole and immediately felt a headache coming on.

  Unlocking the door, he pulled it open and raised both brows in silent query.

  "Oh, shut up," Dai said in reply. "It's not like I woke you up, and I wanted to make sure no one else bothered us. Let me in."

  Jason stepped back and swept an arm out, indicating he should enter, by all means. Dai rolled his eyes and headed straight for the kitchen. Jason stood in the doorway, waiting until Dai had made his coffee, then led the way through the house to his study. "What do you want?"

  "Since when do you give a fuck?" Dai asked, setting his coffee down on the edge of the desk and, near as Jason could tell, promptly forgetting about it. "Seriously, Jay. You're generally perfectly fucking happy not to have anything to do with us. I was honestly shocked you agreed to take us on as clients—"

  "Go to hell," Jason snapped. "You're both spoiled brats, but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you to be fed on by vultures."

  "Other vultures, you mean?"

  Jason stood up, bracing his hands on his desk before he gave in to an urge to throw something. "I've always done a damned good job for your band. Don't try to imply otherwise."

  Dai made a face. "Fine, you're right. You're the least douchebag lawyer I know."

  "Thanks so much," Jason drawled.

  "That doesn't mean you're not an ass," Dai snapped. "I remember every last word you said to me when I left with Jet."

  Jason remembered them, too. But there were things he just couldn't take back, and it was entirely too late for apologies. "I wasn't the only one who said things."

  "No, I guess you weren't," Dai said with a sigh, and he dropped down into his seat. "Doesn't fucking matter. It was years ago. I want to know what's going on now."