I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series)

by Cole, S. Ann

  Nevertheless, I fought to keep a distance. Besides, he didn’t seem to care that I’d left. With his last whispered words about how he wanted to make me his and give me everything, one would think he would’ve cared, even a modicum, that I left. But I, long ago, learned lessons from other people’s mistakes and knew men will issue sweet promises before they taste you. Then whisper sweet wishes post-coital. But after it all wears off, those sweet words become bitter as gall, as men so often seem to forget all the bullshit they utter in the throes of passion.

  I’d seen firsthand the smoothness, suaveness, gentleness with which Jahleel treated women before he had them. Once he tapped them, he was a Grade-A asshole.

  Therefore, I wasn’t in the least bit surprised a week had passed, and Trevillo hadn’t tried reaching out to me. Fine by me. Really. After all, I was the one who ditched him.

  Now, if only I could get myself to stop thinking about him every second, every minute, every hour of the goddamn day. Wishing I had more of that tongue. That delicious, expert tongue.

  Stop, Krissan. Just freakin’ stop!

  “Huh,” Marsha mused above my head, her mouth twisting to the side as she eyed me with suspicion in the mirror.

  “Huh, what?”

  Wagging the scissors in her hand, she replied, “I’ve never seen that look on you before. But I know it. Perfectly. Oh, boy, do I know it.”

  “What’re you talking about, Marsh?”

  Narrowing her eyes further, she stated, “Someone’s gotten to you.”

  When I swallowed and made no attempt to refute, she began jumping up and down. “Finally! Dear God, finally!” Then she abruptly stopped jumping and glared. “Krissy K, please tell me you didn’t do a runner?”

  Overwhelmed, I brought my hands up to cover my face and screamed into them, not caring about the other patrons in the salon. Feeling a tad better after that release, I removed my hands from my face and looked at Marsha in the mirror, who was now full-on scowling. “It’s driving me crazy. Crazy, Marsh. Please don’t rub in.”

  Marsha’s lips flattened, and without another word, she resumed her task at hand. Whenever she was pissed, she had to be given a few minutes to cool down; otherwise, the subject responsible for her anger would be bombarded with a slew of profanities and threats severe enough to inflict bodily harm. So I kept quiet and waited for her to simmer.

  A few seething minutes later when she swiveled the chair around to trim my bangs, she asked, “So, who was he?”

  Sure, she’d simmered down. But I knew when I answered that question, she was going to go ape-shit on me. “Um … Trevillo Nelson?”

  Marsha stilled for a quick second, then, surprisingly, she continued trimming the bangs and asked in a casual tone, “Trevillo Nelson, as in, real estate tycoon? Owner of that large company you work for? Hot, brooding, six three hunk who has a five star hotel in almost every state and country? That Trevillo Nelson?”

  My reply was hesitant. “Y-yes?”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  There was something off about how calm she was being about that piece of information. Marsha didn’t do calm. However, she quietly trimmed my bangs for the next ten minutes, then swiveled the chair back around to the mirror. Before I knew to shield myself, a wide-tooth comb whacked my skull.

  “Ow!”

  The comb came down hard on my arm this time, again, and again. “You are one fucked-up bitch, Krissy K!” She whacked me again. “Fucked. Up!”

  “Stop hitting me,” I whined, rubbing my arm.

  “Girl, I wanna strangle you!” she yelled. “Who the hell pulls a runner on a man like Trevillo Nelson?! You that stupid?”

  Hearing this, the others in the salon zoned in on me, eyeing me and shaking their heads as if thinking to themselves that I was indeed an idiot. “Would you keep your damn voice down,” I hissed at Marsha.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, and said, “Okay. I’m calm. But tell me, why did you do that? Especially since it’s so obvious you like him.”

  “Marsh, be realistic here. What would a man like him want with me other than sex? He’s not — ”

  “Did he say outright that’s all he wanted? Or did he act like a man and treated you like a woman?”

  “The latter?” It was half-question, half-answer.

  “News flash, Krissy K, men like Trevillo Nelson have the world in their hands. That means, all the bitches in it, too. A man like him wouldn’t need to sweet talk you to get laid. If all he wanted to do was fuck, then he’d let you know that’s all he wanted. If he wanted more from you than your vagina, then he would treat you like someone with a vagina, not treat you like a vagina. Believe me, I should know.”

  Glaring back at her in the mirror, I challenged, “If that’s the case, then why hasn’t he come after me?”

  Marsha gawked at me as if I were daft. “Because you ditched him. You think a man of his status wouldn’t show a bit of pride?”

  Knowing that was true, I folded my lips and shut the hell up. How could I possibly expect Trevillo to come chasing after me? “Well, that’s shot to shit now. So I guess we can stop talking about him.”

  Marsha smirked. “I must say, I’m having fun seeing you suffer. That ought to teach you to stop messing around with people’s feelings. You and your shithead of a brother — or, whatever the hell you two are. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she?”

  I left Marsha’s salon feeling fresher than a mint on a pillow. My new haircut was edgier than it’s ever been, and she’d shaped my eyebrows into sharp arches that did wonders for my face. Trust Marsha Badass Rickettes to sort a girl out.

  In the parking lot, I hopped into my white, two-door Nissan Altima and sped off to Jahleel’s dance studio.

  It was Friday, and the workmen back at Skylark were drilling up the concrete to install wiring and lighting fixtures, so I didn’t have much of anything to do there but pop in to see if all was on track. I worked fast, I worked smart, and I worked hard. Meaning, I prudently scheduled things ahead of time.

  Being an experienced designer, I practiced thinking, not one, but ten steps ahead. Reasons being, shipments got delayed, inventory went out of stock, creations got messed up, workmen made mistakes that had to be uprooted and redone, hidden problems popped-up out of nowhere and rendered tasks longer than estimated time … Basically, things went askew more often than not. And that induced migraines.

  So over the years, I learned to set things in motion far ahead of time as a precautionary measure. Such shrewdness tended to grant me idle time whenever things were going smoothly. And at the moment, things were running smoother than olive oil. So I left the site at noon, went to get bitched-up at the salon, and now was going to loaf at Jahleel’s studio.

  He told me he was choreographing Saskia Day. A Brit who came to the states a few years ago and did a reality show, Days of Saskia, to fire up her music career, and thus, had taken off into stardom. People loved her unique style of music, some called it pop-rock, some say power-pop, some say rock and some just say pop. I say, who cares what’s the genre? Her music sounded helluva awesome, whatever it was.

  When I arrived at the studio, I cheerily waved to Dada at the security desk, a burly African American, who grinned back at me as I skipped up to the dance room. The booming bass of Look At Me Now hit me before I even got near the door. When I entered, I found Jahleel and his boys practicing break-dances. Figures.

  Spotting me in the wall-mirrors, he signaled for the music to be turned down and came across the room to lift me in a hug. “Hey, bad girl. Never told me you’d be comin’ by.”

  Kissing his cheek, I wiggled as a signal for him to put me down. “Just one of those days where the work site doesn’t need me.”

  Ruggedly sexy in über-faded cut-off jeans, white tee, gray beat-up sneakers, and a gray beanie on his head that hid his awesome hair, he tossed an arm around my shoulders and walked me farther into the vast room. “Well, glad you stopped by. You hardly ever come here anymore.”

  “W
eren’t you supposed to be choreographing Saskia Day today?”

  Jahleel snorted. “Ever seen Saskia doin’ any form of dance routines during her performances?”

  I laughed. “True. Not with her kind of music.”

  “She’s … I dunno,” he said with a careless shrug.

  “Where is she, anyway?”

  On cue, the studio door opened and the subject of our conversation came in with an entourage. Saskia Day was of average height, maybe five feet six. She presented with her head of wild-and-sexy black curls tipped deep-purple at the ends. Casual, she wore savagely ripped black jeans, black tee with white graffiti, and unlaced black and white Chucks. Her right arm was covered in tattoos, and she had a cute piercing over her left eyebrow. Gray eyes smoky, she had a waist that seemed surgical, because it was too unbelievably slim to be real. She rocked.

  Those eyes narrowed on me as she came towards us; her entourage remained at the door.

  “Ready to go again?” Jahleel asked her. “Or do you have another pack of cigarettes you wanna empty?”

  The eyes that held hostility and annoyance in them when narrowed at me, changed immediately to a longing lust when they shifted to Jahleel. But either Jahleel was oblivious to this or he didn’t care, because he wore the expression he usually does whenever he’s annoyed and was barely being tolerable.

  Saskia Day took a breath as if to say something, then stopped, and sighed. It was awkward silence for a moment, then she replied, her British accent thick, “Nah. Done for the day.”

  She shifted her gaze back to me, and this time, they held neither anger nor annoyance, but rather seemed poignant. “You must be JK’s girlfriend, yeah?”

  “No,” I laughed. “I’m Krissy.”

  “And Krissy is … ?”

  Before I could answer, Jahleel bit out, “Krissy’s just Krissy.” He arched a brow at her. “You weren’t clear just now. You’re done smokin’ for the day, or you’re done practicin’? Which?”

  Okay, Jahleel wasn’t usually this much of asshole unless he’d already banged the woman who he was being an asshole with. Therefore, in the midst of that tense exchange, I was left to wonder if he’d already boned Saskia Day and was tired of her.

  Saskia’s lips drew tight and her eyes narrowed as she hissed back, “Both.”

  Stuffing her hands in her back pockets, she seemed a bit lost as if wondering what she should do with herself next. She glanced back at her entourage at the door which consisted of two steroid-ridden men and three highly polished girls, then turned back to Jahleel. “Ma’ mates back there … said they’ve heard about you and wanted to see ya’ … dance.”

  See, I was an expert at lying, so I could detect a lie the second I heard it. And Saskia Day was straight up lying. She was the one who wanted to see him dance. She so wanted Jahleel.

  Jahleel must’ve picked up on the lie, because he smirked at her. When she remained poker-faced, he shrugged his shoulders and told one of his boys, “Jason Derulo’s Breathing.”

  Walking backward to the middle of the room, he pulled his tee up and off and tossed it at me. I caught it before it hit my face. The feel of Saskia’s hand looping around my arm made me jump. Giving me a genuine smile, she walked us off to one corner of the room.

  Taken aback, I might have been a bit robotic for a while. I mean, Saskia Day, an on-top-of-the-world celebrity was holding on to my arm as if we were kindergarten BFF’s. Sure, she was either a year younger or the same age as me, but still, she was Saskia Day.

  The vibration of my cellphone pulled me out of my mini-shock. I pulled it out of my pocket and read the incoming text message from Carlos:

  Hey KK,

  Need you today.

  Can it happen?

  Not when Jahleel was about to dance! I texted back:

  Can’t. Busy.

  Rain check.

  x

  “You two close, yeah?” Saskia asked me as I stuffed my cellphone back into my pocket. Her eyes were glued to the shirtless Jahleel who’d started some sexy foot move to the intro of the song.

  “Yep. We live together.”

  Her body went wooden as she snapped her head to me. “I thought you said — ”

  Holding up a palm to stop her, I informed her, “We’re, um … His parents adopted me when I was young.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “So you’re brother and sister. Why didn’t he just say that?”

  Wincing at that, I rested a palm on her shoulder. “Word of advice: if you don’t wanna get on his wrong side, don’t ever refer to us as brother and sister.”

  Her brows crinkled. “Why?”

  All I offered to that question was a jerk of my shoulders as I turned my attention back to Jahleel on the dance floor. He was doing some wicked foot move to the fast beat of the song, his sweaty abs rippling as he worked his hips then did a back flick. Wisps of his sandy brown hair escaped from beneath his beanie, damp with sweat. As always, when in the throes of dancing, his teeth remained clamped down on his bottom lip.

  Each time I watched him dance, I felt as if I was watching him dance for the first time. He was so good at it and so damn sexy, anyone in a skirt who watched him dance and didn’t want to screw his brains out afterward, had to be an alien disguised as human.

  While I was lost in his breathtaking performance, I became aware of Saskia singing the words of the song, her fingers tapping to the beat on my wrist. That’s when I took notice of how intimate the words of the song were.

  Spying from the corner of my eye, I watched how Saskia’s eyes were fiercely locked onto Jahleel, she wasn’t even blinking. Then I began listening to the words of the song and wondered why Jahleel had chosen that specific song. Did he like her, too, and was sending some kind of message? The thought kind of pissed me off.

  Saskia Day was hot, sexy and intense, and Jahleel was parallel. Where Saskia had a tattoo sleeve on her right arm, Jahleel had a design that covered his entire left side down to his hip bone. On his right arm, he had inscriptions that started from his shoulder down to his wrist, and he had his surname ‘KINGSTON’ spread across his upper back. I couldn’t think of anyone who would match him better than Saskia.

  I hated the idea, because then he might fall for her. But I somehow kind of liked it, because I wanted old feelings to remain where they’d been banished.

  I turned my attention back to Jahleel and found him facing in our direction and staring straight at me as he hip-rolled to the music. His face was serious, intense.

  In my conflicted state, I randomly yelled, “Whoo! Show ‘em, JK!”

  He frowned at me and did a cross-flick that propelled him in the other direction.

  “Is he always such an asshole?” Saskia asked out of the blue.

  Turning to her, I stared at her dead on. “Have you fucked him?”

  Her head jerked back at the question, no doubt taken aback by my forwardness. After all, she was her.

  When she didn’t answer, I raised a brow. “Have you?”

  “N-no. I haven’t.”

  “Well, he’s only an asshole to women he’s already fucked. A dirty habit,” I offered. “So if he’s been that way with you, then you must’ve done something to turn him off.”

  Which wouldn’t make sense if he was dancing to a specific song to subliminally send a message to her.

  She squinted at me in hesitance, as though wondering whether she could trust me enough to talk to me. “Do you … think it’s because I smoke?”

  The song ended, and I watched as Jahleel started towards us, one big ball of heaving muscles and sweat. “I don’t know of him having anything against smokers.”

  A sound akin to a sigh of frustration left her just as Jahleel reached us. He snatched his T-shirt from the crook of my arm and wiped the sweat from his face.

  Turning to Saskia, he winked. Ugh. “Why don’t you go find out what your friends thought of that performance?”

  Saskia stared up at him through narrowed, frustrated eyes, whil
e Jahleel stared back at her with impassivity. She took a breath as if to blow fire at him, then she closed her eyes, shook her head, and flounced off.

  Jahleel turned to me and returned the grin I was giving him. “What’s that grin for?”

  My grin was genuinely fake. It was me pretending I liked that he liked her, as I poked a finger at his chest and whispered, “You like her. Like, like her! The chemistry between you two is … phew.”

  Jahleel’s smile melted and creases formed between his brows as he frowned. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

  Folding my arms, I gave him the squinted-eyed look. “Think I don’t see how Saskia keeps tripping over one lust pebble after another? Then you chose that song … that sexy performance … ” Smirking, I pointed one short finger in his face. “Just admit it, you like her.”

  Jahleel shook his head, looking at me the same way Marsha had looked at me a few hours ago: like I was daft. “You think I chose that song and did that performance for … her?”

  “Then who did you do it for?” I asked, feigning confusion.

  Say me.

  Dragging off his beanie, he raked a hand through his damp hair and glanced over his shoulder to the doorway where Saskia and her entourage were shuffling to leave.

  Say it, dammit!

  When he turned back to me, he suddenly seemed tired, exhausted, and defeated. “Let’s just … go grab somethin’ to eat. I say Pizza.”

  His voice was strained, and it was clear he was struggling for nonchalance. Just as I was.

  Feeling just as defeated, I slid a hand around his waist, hooking my thumb through his belt loop as we walked to the door.

  “By the way, your new haircut is fuckin’ fierce,” he commented, smoothing two fingers over the bangs. “I know the crazy bitch hates my guts, but tell Marsh I said she’s boss.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what she does: Hate you.”

  Marsha still wanted Jahleel. If I delivered that message, she’d be on his doorstep the next night, wearing a trench coat and nothing else. I knew it. And he knew it.