“You don’t even know him!”
“I know what I don’t approve of. And the boys I’d consider suitable for you wouldn’t be pawing you in public like that. Against a car that belongs in a junkyard, no less.”
“He wasn’t . . . That was a joke.” I feel my cheeks flush, from a combination of anger and embarrassment. Worse, Eddie is listening.
“I didn’t find it funny.”
“You weren’t supposed to see it,” I mutter under my breath.
“You can talk to him, of course. You’re working together for the summer, so it’s not like you can avoid him. But leave it at that.”
I shake my head, my fury rising. My dad’s never made a demand like this. Then again, my circle of friends and male interests has always been associated with Breyers Collegiate and the families that can afford to go there. He approved of Trevor before he ever met him, namely because Trevor’s father is a high-profile civil lawyer.
If he knew what Kyle’s father did for “a living,” we’d likely already be on our way home.
I try another angle. “I really like him, and Mom’s okay with him.”
“She won’t be after I speak with her.”
“Dad!”
“I’m not going to say it again. Do you understand me, Piper?”
And there it is. Kieran Calloway issuing an edict in his calm, cool voice. There’s no swaying him when he gets like this. And he expects me to adhere because I always have. No one defies Kieran Calloway, especially not his children.
Tears of frustration prick my eyes. I shove open the door and climb out, into the drizzle.
“Piper.” I hear the warning in his steely voice.
“Fine. Whatever.”
He sighs heavily, as if I’m being the unreasonable one.
A sudden wave of rebellion inflames me. “Just so you know . . . your perfect Trevor Reilly spiked my Coke to get me drunk so he could try to screw me.” I slam the door with force and storm off, the cool rain against my face a soothing balm to my anger.
I spot Kyle at the far end of the field, shirtless and deftly maneuvering around another player with the soccer ball to take a shot at the goal. It sails into the top left corner, earning a round of cheers from his teammates.
My anger at my father only intensifies.
I glance over my shoulder to see the SUV’s brake lights as it eases around the bend in the road, and then out of sight. He didn’t even bother to linger, to see how I’d handle Kyle.
He assumes I’ll listen.
I always have.
“Hey, Richie Rich!” Eric calls out from his place in net, his blond curls flattened, his T-shirt sitting in a wet heap by the goalpost, to show off a lanky, sunburned torso. “So, is that, like, how your dad rolls all the time?”
“A lot. Yeah.” And for possibly the first time in my life, I’m embarrassed by that.
“Oh.” Eric shrugs. “Cool.”
A cheer carries from the other end, and Eric’s arms are in the air. “Nice! Your boy’s on fire!”
Kyle is high-fiving another guy when he notices me there. He waves and, brushing his damp hair back with his hand, begins jogging my way, his lean body rippled with muscle.
My boy. That’s right. He’s mine. And no one—especially not my dad—is going to decide otherwise.
Normally, I hate the discomfort that comes with rain—clingy clothes and strands of hair stuck to my face. Now, though, I’m too mad at my father and emboldened by my feelings for Kyle to care.
With a determined smile, I take off running across the field, intercepting the soccer ball meant for the center line, to throw myself into Kyle, knocking us both to the soggy grass.
“What are we doing tonight?” I ask, through our laughs.
“I don’t know. Hanging out? It’s supposed to rain all night. They’re talking about setting up the movie screen in the rec hall.” He shifts onto his side, propping himself on his elbow to peer down at me, shielding my face. “How was dinner?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Yeah?” His finger trails my collarbone. “What’d your dad say about me?”
“That you seem nice.”
He gives me a doubtful look. “He doesn’t want you near me, does he?” I see a mix of resignation and disappointment in his eyes.
“He doesn’t want me with anyone he hasn’t chosen.” I hook my wrists around the back of Kyle’s neck. “But it doesn’t matter what he wants. It matters what I want. And I want you.”
“Yeah?” He smiles thoughtfully. “How much?”
I pull him down into a kiss, reveling in his hot, soft lips, mildly tasting of salt from sweat.
Kyle flinches and breaks away when the soccer ball bounces off his hip, reminding me that we’re not alone.
“Are we playing or are we taking a break to watch you two do it right here?” Eric hollers.
“Shut up,” Kyle grumbles, turning back to me. “Maybe we can pick this up later, when we’re not in the middle of a soccer field?”
“Probably a good idea.”
“ ’Kay.” He dips his head into the crook of my neck with a chuckle. “Shit, I need a minute.”
“Why . . . Oh.” A rush of heat floods my body as I get his meaning.
His hard swallow fills my ear. “Quick, help me think of something else.”
Something else besides Kyle and me together? Because now that Eric has said it, it’s all I’m picturing.
“Eric in a maid’s costume. Extra-short skirt and his hairy legs,” I blurt out, because yesterday’s drama performance had everyone torn between howls of laughter and cringes of mortification.
“Yup. That should do it.” With a groan of reluctance, he climbs to his feet, attempting to discreetly adjust himself in the process.
“You gonna be able to run with that?” Eric teases.
“Run . . . kick . . .” Kyle hoofs the soccer ball, sending it straight for Eric’s head. “Get back in net so we can finish this.” He offers me his hand to hoist me up off the ground. “Ash and Avery and them are in the rec center, making popcorn. Meet you there when we’re done?”
“ ’Kay.” Maybe it’s a residual of my defying my father, or maybe it’s because of the growing tension between Kyle and me, but I lean forward to graze his earlobe with my teeth, whispering, “Hurry up.”
The pained look on his face as I back away makes me smile.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns.
“I hope so.”
Heat flares in his eyes, and I know in that moment we’re both thinking it at the same time.
The question isn’t if I’m going to give myself completely to Kyle.
It’s a matter of when.
Chapter 15
NOW
Ashley pounces on me the second I walk through the front door of our condo.
“So, what would you think about”—she slips my bags from my arm—“a party?”
“Uh . . .”
“Like a housewarming party.”
“She’s already making a guest list,” Christa calls out from her seat on the couch, one hand holding the remote as she channel-surfs, the other busy stroking a content-looking Elton.
“You’re home early.” I plant myself on a bar stool, inhaling the delicious fragrance of apple pie. A golden-crusted dish sits in the center of the island, caramelized juices oozing through the slats of the lattice top. Ashley’s handiwork, no doubt.
“So are you.” Christa frowns, muting the TV. “What’s going on? Is this about Tripp or Kyle?”
I chuckle despite my dark mood. She’s always been so adept at reading me. “Kyle. And my father.”
Ashley is slack-jawed by the time I finish relaying all that Kyle divulged today about being paid off.
“Wait a second. So Kyle is claiming that your father paid him money to basically disappear?” Christa asks slowly, doubtfully.
“Yup.”
Ashley frowns. “Do you believe him?”
“Ye
ah,” I admit with reluctance. “I do.” While my father has always portrayed himself to be an ethical man, I know he made a significant financial donation to Brown to help alleviate the concerns that Rhett’s grades might not get him accepted. And there was a case at CG, when an employee claimed she had been fired without cause and threatened legal action. My dad paid her a lump sum to make her go away, mainly because he didn’t want the hassle that would come with fighting her in court. So do I think he would be capable and willing to pay a boy he deemed “bad news” to get away from his only daughter?
Yes. A thousand percent, yes.
“It’s like some horribly cliché plot device in a show about rich people,” Christa mutters. “It’s crazy.”
I snort derisively. “What’s crazy is that Kyle could have gotten way more money out of my father.”
“Oh, to be filthy rich,” Ashley murmurs dreamily, her chin resting on her propped arm.
“So, when are you going to confront your father about this?” As always, Christa cuts right to the chase.
“I don’t know if I’m going to. Believe me, I want to look him straight in the eye and make sure he knows that I know what he did. But, as of right now my father doesn’t seem to remember that Kyle ever existed. He didn’t recognize him today, in the lobby. Didn’t so much as blink at him.”
“It’s probably better to keep it that way,” Ashley says.
“Right? Knowing my dad, he’d have Kyle escorted off the property. He’ll probably go after his job.” I feel the compelling urge to stop that from happening, and there is one thing I’m sure of—Dad would never want anyone to know that he basically threatened and blackmailed a seventeen-year-old boy. There must be laws against that. At the very least, it’s shady as hell and wouldn’t do well for his reputation.
“Pretty ballsy move, taking a job in the same building. If he’s telling the truth.” Christa still sounds distrustful.
“What else did Kyle say?” Ashley scuttles around the kitchen, collecting small dishes and forks, and a knife. “You know, besides the fact that he moved across the country for you thirteen years later and is still madly in love with you.”
“He’s not in love with me! And he moved as much to get away from his dad and brothers.” I feel the smile begin to stretch my lips, unbidden. “But he’s single. He’s living with his little brother.”
“Really?” Ashley squeals at the same time that Christa groans, “Here we go.”
“What!”
Christa gives me a flat look. “Forget about the fact that he accepted fifty thousand dollars to stay away from you for a minute. What’s going to happen when your dad finds out you’re dating the building security guard?”
“We’re not dating!”
“Yet,” she mutters, toying with Elton’s ears. “But we all know where this is going.”
“Who says?”
“History! We were there at camp, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ashley’s eyes are star-filled as she sets a plate in front of me. “Like horny magnets. Couldn’t stay off each other.”
I cringe. “That was a long time ago. A lot has changed.” Has it, really? Kyle still commands my attention when he steps into the room and distracts my thoughts constantly. From the moment I saw him in the lobby that day, I haven’t stopped wondering about him. I’m still so wildly attracted to him, I may as well be a hormonal teenager.
“Is that why you can’t look me in the eye right now?” Ashley teases.
“No. I’m just enthralled with this delicious pie,” I mutter around a mouthful. “Mmm . . . so good. Sorry, what were we talking about?”
“How you haven’t stopped thinking about hooking up with Kyle since you found out he was single,” Christa says dryly.
“Or . . . our housewarming party.” Ashley stares at me through wide, pleading eyes. “Please, please, please, please . . . It’d be a good excuse to invite Kyle.”
My heart skitters at the thought of seeing him outside of the office. Somewhere more comfortable, more social. “Shouldn’t we have more than a couch and TV set up before we host people here?”
Ashley bites her lip in thought, her gaze skating over the cheap round table in the middle of the room, and then to the empty, white walls, and out to the barren patio behind the glass. “It’s just such a waste, to have a place like this and not throw a party.” Her shoulders sag with disappointment.
“I mean, I guess I could hire that interior decorator who did my office to fill up this place, but I don’t have time to field all those questions—”
“I’ll do it!” she bursts, putting her hand up as if in class. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Really?”
“Are you kidding me? I know your taste; just give me your budget. Questions will be limited, I promise.” She grins. “And then we can have a party, right?”
I chuckle. “Sure. Okay.”
“Perfect.” She slides over a notepad with her chicken scratch. “Early list of invitees.”
I shake my head with amusement as I scan the list. “My brother?”
“You keep saying we need to meet him.”
“I guess . . .” I frown. “Who are George and Harriet?”
“Our neighbors.”
“We have neighbors?” There are only two units on this floor and the other one hadn’t been sold when I moved in.
Ashley’s eyebrows arch. “Yeah, for like two months now. She’s a teacher at a private school. He’s an investment banker. They’re nice. Well, she’s nice. I haven’t met him yet. I had afternoon tea with her last week. She has great taste.”
Leave it to Ashley to gain herself an invitation to Earl Grey and crumpets.
I keep skimming the list, until one name jumps out at me. “Eric?”
“You said Kyle still talks to him.” She shrugs innocently. “I’m sure he’d love to see all of us again.”
“Right. He missed everyone at Wawa so much that he dropped off the planet and never returned your emails,” Christa mutters, heaving herself off the couch to stroll over to the kitchen island, Elton tucked in one arm. She leans over my shoulder to scan the party invitation list. “You’re kidding me.” She shakes her head firmly. “You are not inviting Zelda to our housewarming party. No way. No psychics.”
Ashley rolls her eyes. “Relax. I’m doing it to be polite. She won’t come. But do you think we should invite your dad, Piper? This is his place.”
“He definitely won’t come. And no.” I would have said that before finding out about the payoff. Now . . . “He’s not welcome. Besides, I’m sure he’ll be too busy intimidating seventeen-year-old boys somewhere. God, what is that sound?” I exclaim, no longer able to ignore the odd rumbling coming from Elton as he nuzzles Christa’s ear.
“He’s just happy. Right, Elton?” Christa rubs her nose affectionately against his while she walks away, her voice shifting several octaves to croon, “Who’s a good kitty? Yes, you’re a good kitty.”
“He snuck into my room last night while I was in the bathroom, pruned the aloe vera, and then puked on my slippers,” Ashley offers as proof of the very opposite to Christa’s claims. “If there’s any chance you’ve developed a sudden allergy to cats, now would be the time to speak up.”
“I heard that!” Christa stops at the hallway that leads to her bedroom. “And Piper? You’re not fooling anyone except yourself.”
I sigh heavily, stabbing at my pie. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do. You need to figure out if you and Kyle can actually make this work in today’s world. Is this going to be an epic star-crossed lovers’ saga or some tawdry two-hour romance where the heiress to billions is banging the security guard on her desk?”
“I’d read either of those stories,” Ashley murmurs through a sip of milk.
Christa rolls her eyes at our romance-obsessed friend. “Figure it out, and decide if you’re okay with it.”
I sigh. “You’re right.”
“Of
course I’m right.” She disappears down the hall.
“So, Shakespeare in Tights has a desperate friend in need of a job, and I’m just supposed to hire her,” David mutters. Thwack. The tennis ball bounces off the window and back, landing in his grip so smoothly that it seems tethered.
When Mark mentioned a friend who was looking for administrative work and asked if David would consider interviewing her, my first instinct was to ask what she did to make him hate her so much. But when he explained that he gave her the rundown on David, that she has a glass-is-always-half-full attitude, and is in fact desperate for a job, the wheels in my brain started churning. This would solve the problem of David—an albeit small problem in comparison to my complications with Tripp, Kyle, and my father—and having David out of my hair is always a good goal to keep.
“She has administrative experience.”
“Yeah, at a truck leasing company.” His voice is filled with disdain as he scowls at the résumé Mark printed out and left on his desk this morning.
“What was that important thing you missed yesterday?” I mock-frown, my index finger to my lip. “Giving a keynote speech, was it?”
“Point taken,” he mutters with a huff. “But I’m not promising anything.”
“Promise you’ll at least give her a fair shot?”
“Well, of course I’ll do that. You know me.”
“I do. Which is why I’m asking you to not be yourself.”
He rolls his eyes.
I want to slap him upside the head and tell him to stop being an idiot. But David is much more receptive to having his ego stroked. “Look, you are far too busy a man to be managing these trivial things.” I keep my voice calm and soothing. “I need Mark’s support full-time and you are not poaching Jack’s assistant. Mark has known Renée for years and can vouch for her as being a competent and hardworking woman.” More important, Renée has already completed David Worthington 101, a course taught by Mark and one that I can guarantee was not complimentary.
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