I glance at the door, making sure no one is entering. “Well, we’re back on.” My stomach knots a little when I add, “He asked me to go to a gala with him tonight, but I said no.”
Her brows shoot up, though in the same second, Anderson enters the break room, moving toward us at the coffee machine. My cheeks warm with my embarrassment, knowing he probably heard what I said.
Liv hastily puts on her most professional expression. “Again, a job well done on the Lowe deal, Allie.”
“It wouldn’t have happened without you,” I reply, making sure Anderson hears Liv kicked ass, too. “Thanks for the hard work and late nights.”
She winks at me and then saunters out of the break room, leaving me alone with Anderson.
He grabs a mug from the cabinet and makes himself a piping-hot cup of coffee. “Congratulations on your deal.”
“Thanks.” I smile, picking up my mug and carefully taking a sip.
Anderson’s not moving away, so I look up at him, finding him watching me. “Why aren’t you going to the gala tonight with Micah?” he asks.
“I would like to go with him.” I quickly glance at my coffee cup in my hands, feeling my cheeks become hot at his interrogation. “But we all know that going anywhere as Micah’s date will lead to a big tabloid story tomorrow.” Anderson’s not moving or saying anything, so I peek up at him again, finding genuine surprise on his face. “To be honest, I’m not really ready for that.”
“Hmm,” Anderson says, sipping his coffee.
I can tell he’s wondering over my answer. I imagine most women would jump at the chance to be photographed on Micah’s arm.
But then I become the surprised one when Anderson asks, “Can I show you something?”
“Um…okay.” Coffee cup in hand, I follow him to the hallway and then into the elevator. We whizz down to the bottom floor, and soon I’m heading into one of the offices on the lower level. The second I step through the glass doors, I stop dead, gawking at the sign behind the receptionist.
Holt’s Homes.
We don’t find houses.
We find homes, so you can create memories.
While the sign is making me do a double take, something else makes me completely speechless. I recognize the people in this small office, who are waving at me and saying hello as they walk by us. It’s all my old Richardson co-workers, just in a much nicer office, with some new employees, too. I glance sideways at Anderson. “What is this?”
“This is the old Richardson and the new Holt’s Homes,” he explains, waving out at the cubicles. “Instead of swallowing Richardson, Micah made a new division of Holt. The sixtieth floor—which includes you and Liv—will handle the upper-class residential sales for Holt. Here, at Holt’s Homes, their focus will be on the middle class, mostly families.” Anderson scans the office from left to right and then smiles at me. “Eventually we hope to see this department grow, but for now we’ll start small and build it up.”
I can’t believe he did this is what I want to say. Instead, I say, “Wow.” But I also can’t believe what I’m seeing: We find homes, so you can create memories. I’d told Micah that’s why I loved selling real estate. I’m realizing that he didn’t only keep his word, he took my ideas and somehow folded them into Richardson to make the company more than it was before.
Yes, this is his company, but my mark is all over it.
Anderson apparently hears the shock rumbling in my voice, since he comments on it. “Yes. What Micah did here…it’s unthinkable for him.”
I place my coffee cup on the desk next to me and then turn to face Anderson fully. “What do you mean?”
He leans a shoulder against the wall, folding his arms. “When Micah’s team told him that we were all against this happening, since it didn’t make sense for Holt to invest money into Richardson, he invested his personal money into this new venture. Which in itself is a risk, since he won’t see a return for at least a year, considering he’s paying Bennett Inc. to get Richardson up to speed.”
So Darius had a hand in this, too? I suppose that explains why he knew I had started working for Holt and how Micah had found out I’m Darius’s half-sister. A lump forms in my throat, but it’s not necessarily a bad lump. It’s one of those life-changing epiphany kind of lumps.
Micah risked things for me. Big things. Financial things that I can’t imagine him ever risking, like using his own personal money instead of Holt’s, all because he gave me his word that he would save Richardson. While I know Micah won’t lose money on this venture, because he’s too business smart for that, he’s still taking a risk…for me.
“It’s an amazing thing he did, isn’t it?” Anderson remarks.
Now I’m reading Anderson’s expression perfectly. He cares for Micah—a great deal, it seems—and he showed me this for one very good reason: so I’ll see Micah, not how the world paints him, not as the billionaire, not as the playboy, but as the man. The one who risked things for me when he didn’t have to. The man who wants me there with him tonight. The man who deserves a girlfriend who’s proud to be photographed next to him. “It is amazing, yes.”
Anderson gives a gentle smile. “It’s such a shame that the tabloids don’t focus on stories such as this one or Holt’s Hope, don’t you think?” Then he strides away, leaving me lost in my thoughts.
Yeah, it is a shame. I feel so foolish, so selfish, because I’m doing exactly what I wouldn’t want Micah to do to me. I’m not being there for him when he needs me to be. Determined to correct my error, I reach for my phone from the back pocket of my slacks, scroll my contacts, and then hit Call.
One ring later, Micah’s gravelly voice slides across me in its usual warm sensual way. “This is a wonderful surprise.”
“Guess where I’m standing?” I ask.
“Not naked in front of me; therefore, wherever you are is totally unacceptable.”
I snort a laugh. “I’m standing in Holt’s Homes.”
“Ah…are you?” He pauses, then curiosity fills his voice. “What do you think of my new venture?”
I glance around at the cubicles, seeing Sandy, whose husband died this year, and Jacob, whose daughter has cancer. “Right now, I’m feeling so happy I could damn near explode. It couldn’t be more perfect.”
“Good.” His voice softens, tenderly. “That’s good.”
“You know, though, as I was standing here, I got to thinking about tonight.” He stays silent, so I add, “I’ve changed my mind about the gala. What time will you be picking me up?”
His hesitation is long enough I’m wondering if we’ve been disconnected.
Then, “You don’t have to come with me.”
“I want to.”
Another pause. “Be ready at 6 P.M.” Then his voice became deeper. “Oh, and Allie?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear something sexy.”
Micah
“Mr. Bennett here to see you, sir.”
I turn away from the boat gliding down the San Francisco Bay, seeing the butler of the house, Edward. A gentleman of fifty years, he’s standing near the French doors leading to the mansion’s living room. I don’t have the relationship with Edward that I have with Levi’s father, but I trust him. He is a safe—everything stays locked up tight. I remind myself how much I respect that about him, when he finishes, “He’s waiting for you in the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Edward.”
Allie’s on my mind when I follow him inside the house and watch him scurry off to the kitchen, no doubt to check in on the other staff. The soles of my shoes scuff against the dark hardwood floor as I’m making my way down the long hallway, wishing I could be anywhere but here. I’m not a fan of coming home, which is why I stay at the Phoenix. There are too many memories here.
My skin crawls in the way it usually does when I’m here, as I enter the sitting room on the left, my gaze instantly connecting with the photo of my mother, resting on the small table near the bay window. A dark-haired beauty with de
licate, fine features and eyes matching the color of mine, my mother was an elegant and lovely woman. In the photo, she’s sitting in the very same antique French chair that Darius is now occupying.
He rises from his seat, offering his hand. “Good afternoon, Micah.”
I return his handshake. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“I’ll admit that I was surprised to receive your phone call,” Darius begins, lowering to his seat. “What’s going on?”
There are a hundred things I could say, but I decide not to waste time. “I’ve been dating your sister.”
One second, I’m standing in front of Darius. The next, he slams me against the wallpapered wall. Which is precisely why we’re meeting at the house today and not at Holt.
His coffee-laced breath brushes across my face; a vein in his forehead is straining against his skin. “You will stop seeing her.”
“No.”
His face closes in on me, skin mottling. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, more firmly now. “I’m telling you out of respect, not to seek your approval.” I groan as his fingers tighten on my throat, allowing him to keep me pinned to the wall. I understand his anger. Christ, I deserve his anger. But I’ll only allow this to go so far. “Let me go, Darius,” I warn.
Seconds tick by…
He finally drops his hand, steps back, and jabs a finger in my face. “When did this fucking happen?”
“We haven’t been together long.” I rub my throbbing neck, urging blood flow. “I also didn’t know she was your sister until you told me the other day.” I move to the wingback chair across from the dark wood antique coffee table and take my seat, putting some much-needed space between us.
“You should have told me then,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, I should have,” I agree. “But I also needed Allie to tell me that she was your sister first, and then out of loyalty to her, I wanted to make sure she was okay with you knowing about us.”
Clearly not satisfied with my answer, Darius stays by the wall, planting his feet wide. “What the fuck do you want with her?”
I answer the deeper question hidden in his: Are you just screwing her? “I want to keep dating her.”
A muscle twitches in Darius’s jaw before he turns his back on me, storming toward the bay window. The silence is heavy and thick, becoming daunting as each second passes. I again glance at the photo of my mother, on the table next to me. I think she would approve of Allie. They share similarities, I realize now.
The light they exude, the joy for the little things, the love for life; they both have that blinding glow about them that lights up a room and makes others want to be around them. Which is why I can’t back down now. Allie makes me break my own rules. Rules I thought were unbreakable.
I’ll fight like hell for her.
I hear Darius sighing dejectedly before he faces me again. “You took me off guard. I apologize for—”
“Don’t apologize,” I mutter. “I recognize the position this must put you in.”
He takes the seat beside me, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Does she know about your…particular tastes?”
“No.” Nor do I intend to tell Allie about my dark desires. I’m under control. My demons are calm and quiet, and I learned last night that when they rise up, she can remove them. Christ, maybe I’m past all that now. I want her, and wanting her means I can’t allow any darkness to creep up.
A deep frown creases Darius’s mouth. “This is a fucked-up situation, Micah.”
“I know.”
He finally breaks the staring contest, blows out a deep, loud breath, and shakes his head. “I would never tell Allison who she should date. She would kick my ass from here to Alcatraz if I interfered in your relationship. But I know, and you know, these secrets could hurt her.”
“I’m well aware of what I could do to her.” I put a voice to the conclusions I’ve already made about Allie. “But you don’t need to protect her anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she’s mine to protect now.” I hold his challenging stare. “I don’t need the things you think I do.” The dark, rough sex that tames my demons. “Not with her. Not anymore.”
Darius snorts, giving me an incredulous stare. “You honestly think you can walk away from something you have craved—and needed—for over fifteen years?” He does not believe me.
I told myself I had to. “For her. Yes.”
Darius considers me again, long and hard. He eventually heaves another sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I implicitly trust you, but Allison”—his expression softens and his voice cracks with emotion—“she is very special to me. I need you to promise me…”
“That I’ll be careful with her?” I offer.
Darius gives a firm nod.
I press my hands to my tired eyes, because we both know I could destroy Allie, so very easily. I could take all her innocence for my own personal enjoyment and suck it up until she’s bone-dry. That’s why we have the DC—to provide us with willing women capable of handling men like us. But that feeling to own Allie, to claim her soul in every sense of the word, and to ask her to submit to my dark desires is not driving me now.
I want her heart.
“I know that I only have two choices when it comes to Allie.” I drop my hands, admitting some hard truths. “Leave her alone. Or eliminate my secrets so they can’t hurt her.” With Clara, I’d been an inexperienced kid, unsure what I wanted. I’ve lived in the dark shadows of my dominance, feeding my desire to hide beneath my pain, and that’s not what I want anymore.
Allie, she’s what I need.
“Which is exactly the point,” Darius responds, sternly, to my statement. “You could leave her alone.”
“Sadly, that’s not an option.” I ignore the way his lips press together tight. This isn’t Darius’s choice. “If I could have left her alone, I would’ve. Yet…” I hesitate, pondering how to put this. At first, it seems complicated, but I realize, in fact, it’s so very simple. “I cannot stay away from her.”
I need her.
Darius scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “But will she even know you? Or will she know the man you want her to see.” He begins tapping his foot; his posture becoming rigid, cords twanging in his neck. “That’s not protecting her, Micah. That’s lying to her.”
I can’t disagree with him.
I’m tainting the relationship right from the start if I keep all my dirty little secrets from her, because my not telling her is a conscious choice to protect myself, not protect her. “Which brings us to the final thing I will say on the matter.” I’m done easing him into his transition. He doesn’t have to agree. But he needs to accept our relationship. “I believe it’s time for me to start stepping away from the DC. We all know I haven’t been as invested in the DC as I once was. Juliet can continue handling all matters with Lace, since she’s doing that anyway. We’ll simply pull me out as the middleman.”
Darius’s eyes widen before he collects himself. “First, you think you don’t need the kink. Now you’re giving up control of a world you’ve held a very tight grip on.” I see no judgment on his expression, only concern as he adds, “Are you sure this is wise?”
I rise from my seat. “I said I’ll protect Allie and be what she needs me to be.” I don’t need doubts. I need to stay focused on what Allie needs of me. “Stop questioning me—it’s my decision to make.”
Darius snorts and rises from his seat, shaking my hand. “While I appreciate and can respect the changes you’re making for Allison, tread carefully with her.” His eyes become hard, cold and flinty, and he squeezes my hand tight. “Cause her any pain whatsoever—heart, body, or mind—and I’ll fucking lay you out, Micah.”
I return the firm grip. He could try. “Warning noted.”
Chapter 15
Allie
In my bedroom, I move to the floor mirror in the corner, running my hands down the bla
ck lace Atelier Versace gown. I turn slightly, admiring the open back all the way down to above my butt. When I turn again to face the mirror, the light sparkles off the Tiffany’s mixed cluster necklace around my neck, matching cluster earrings, and the bracelet on my left arm. All of which are gifts from Micah that were delivered to my condo minutes after I got home from work today.
I heave a long sigh, hearing a scuffle behind me before I see Liv at my shoulder in the mirror.
She smiles, admiring her work. “Wow. Just wow.”
The second I plucked the dress from the white box wrapped in a red bow, I called in reinforcements for tonight. It’d been so long since I went to a black tie event, and wearing this dress and jewelry needs hair and makeup that matches, or there’s no way in hell I could pull off this look. And, well, Liv is really great at girly things.
“You’re going to blow Micah’s mind tonight,” she adds, lifting her twinkling eyes to mine in the mirror.
Even I have to admit that the dress, the heavier makeup than I usually wear, and the soft updo make me look ready to walk the red carpet at the Oscars. Still, though…I draw in a heavy breath and exhale it deeply through my nose, as nervous butterflies flutter in my belly.
Liv rolls her eyes. “And somehow only you could look so miserable in”—she waves a hand over my body—“this.”
“It’s excessive.” I stare in the mirror at the gown, embellished with what I think might be Swarovski crystals. “I don’t even want to know how much Micah spent on all of it.”
“Oh, hush.” Liv tucks a couple of loose, fallen curls back into place with bobby pins. “You’re not supposed to think about those things. Besides, it’s not like it’s breaking Micah’s bank account to get you this stuff.”
“Just because he can afford it”—I step away from the mirror and move into the hallway, entering my living room—“doesn’t mean I need them. There’s starving children in the world, for cripes’ sake.”
Liv follows me into the living room, and when I turn back to her, I find a smile on her face. “There are, yes, and it’s all types of terrible. But let’s not forget that Micah gives a lot of his money to help children, so let him spoil you one day out of the year.”
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