by Gigi Black
It was cute. Annoying.
Infuriating that I couldn’t make her understand I wasn’t out to get her. I was out to free myself, and she’d receive the same by consequence.
“We’ll have to stay for at least a half hour,” I said and placed my arm around her waist, relishing the sensation of those curves beneath my fingertips. “After that, we can get out of here.”
“Fine.” She was rigid against my side.
“Relax, Hazel.” I placed my nose against her temple, directing hot breaths down her cheek and to her ear. “You’d swear I wasn’t inside you yesterday afternoon. Remember, we’ve got to convince them.”
She relaxed, barely.
“There he is.” I nodded toward my father.
Mortimer had a new woman on his arm—not the assistant he was currently boinking but a redhead that was vaguely familiar. She was pretty, young, but she had the air of a shark that’d scented blood in the water.
Her gaze flickered over to us and a smile twisted her bright red lips. She whispered something to Mortimer, and they swung toward us, the crowd of rich fuckers parting around them.
“Looks like he’s found us first. Gird your loins,” I said.
Hazel snorted.
“You made it.” My father didn’t sound impressed, but who could tell? He’d had so much Botox at this point, it was a miracle he could still frown—his facial expression of choice.
“Shocking, I know,” I replied, easily.
“That’s good, son. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you could convince a woman to spend more than five minutes with you, but it seems you found… someone who’ll have you.” He sniffed.
“Hazel,” I said. “Her name is Hazel.”
“Of course. I was merely expressing how unlikely it was that you would ever have found a woman willing to marry you.” My father actually laughed—it was like the grim reaper himself had just had his toes tickled, a croaky, graveyard cackle that chilled the air.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the redhead said, extending a hand. “Francesca Malone. I’m your father’s new attorney.”
“Taking the business-pleasure relationship to a new level, I see.” I accepted the handshake. “This is my fiancée, Hazel.”
Francesca cast the barest of nods at Haze, who immediately gritted her teeth.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Hazel asked. “You look super familiar.”
“Sorry, no.” Francesca’s reply was flat.
“Speaking of which,” Mortimer said. “I’d love to take you for a drink, dear. Care to join me?”
I did a double take. What kind of snake in the grass ploy was this? “You want to take Hazel for a drink?”
“Of course. She’s my soon-to-be daughter-in-law. I must get to know her.” He took Hazel by the arm and swept her off.
She gave one final terrified glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd heading for the bar in the corner.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Problem?” Francesca asked.
“Anything involving my father soon becomes a problem. You should know that, as Mortimer’s legal representation.”
Francesca tittered like a bird on crack. “Oh, I’m fairly new. Maybe I should pick your brain for some inside information on how to handle him.”
“You don’t handle him,” I replied. “You bear it.”
“Still.” Francesca placed a hand on my arm, her fingers tipped in long, crimson nails. “I would love to walk and talk. I’d feel more at ease.”
As if putting her at ease was my motivation for being here. Still, it would give me a chance to find Hazel and ensure she hadn’t been lowered into a vat of boiling oil.
I walked in the direction of the bar, my new woman-shaped barnacle strutting like she’d just won a beauty contest.
“You know, your father is very excited for you to meet with the board,” Francesca said, breathily. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to it too. Finally taking your rightful place as heir to the Woods empire.”
“Better than pulling teeth,” I grunted.
God damnit, they weren’t at the bar. Where had he taken her? They’d been here a second ago… He’d taken her away so fast, neither of us had gotten the chance to launch a counter-offensive.
“Maybe they’re out on the terrace,” Francesca gestured to the open French doors and the gorgeous view of the city skyline.
Without giving it much thought, I headed for the doors and stepped out onto an empty balcony that contained nothing but the odd chair or potted plant. The starry sky was muted thanks to the lights from the city.
Not here. Where the fuck is she?
I turned back to the doors, but they were closed, now. Francesca stood in front of them, and she swept her hands down her curves, over the glittery silver dress I hadn’t noticed before. “Finally,” she said, “we’re alone.”
26
Hazel
I wasn’t a damsel in distress, but holy crap, where was Damien?
“What do you think?” Mortimer asked, swirling his cognac glass and eyeing me over the rim. He held a cigar in his other hand and puffed on it occasionally, releasing a cloud of smoke into the atmosphere.
He’d taken me to a private bar in the hotel, one where no one would hear me scream. Apart from the bartenders. And the two other groups of folks sitting in the leather-backed chairs in darkened corners of the room.
Then again, they were probably into torture. Why else would anyone suck on cigars or spend time with people like this man? He couldn’t look at me without baring his teeth, like he was ready to go for the jugular.
“Miss McCutcheon?”
I lifted my cognac glass and took a sip of the fiery liquid. Burning runnels trickled down my throat, but I forced a smile. “It’s great. Uh… smooth.”
Mortimer grunted, and I wasn’t sure whether it was in approval or not.
Not that I should’ve cared, but impressing Damien’s father was on the to-do list if we wanted to pull off the whole fiancé deal. And If I wanted to get the payout that would ultimately change everything.
Be nice. Remember the café. Dad’s hospital bills. The opportunity to… help Kara.
How I could help my sister was another question I didn’t have answers for at this point. She needed an intervention.
“We should probably get back to the event,” I said, setting aside the hellish liquid. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to miss all the, uh, speeches?”
“Those speeches bore me,” Mortimer replied, swirling the cognac in his glass. “But I’m not bored by the idea that my son has managed to attract a woman to marry him. How do you really feel about Damien, Miss McCutcheon?”
“Are you accusing me of being a gold digger again? Because I’m not about that.” I inched to the edge of my too comfy armchair. Any excuse to get out of here. Mortimer made the hair on the back of neck stand on end.
“If that’s what you are, I’d like to know now. It wouldn’t change much other than the pre-nup you’ll have to sign,” Mortimer laughed.
“No. I’m not interested in Damien for his money.” Technically a lie. His money was why we’d shaken hands in the first place. But if this was real? What then?
I had to put myself in the shoes of a… me if Damien and I had legitimately cared for each other.
“Then why?”
“Because I love him,” I replied, and my stomach flipped nervously.
“Why?”
Mortimer sounded like an adult version of an annoying six-year-old who had questions about everything. “Because he’s mine,” I replied, searching for something.
“Damien is a possession to you? An object?”
“Not what I meant,” I said. “He’s… like me. The other half of me, if that makes sense. He’s—I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Try.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek.
Just do it. The sooner you sate this man’s weird appetite, the sooner y
ou can get out of here.
“I’m cool, and he’s hot. I’m smooth, and he’s rough. We meet each other halfway.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“Good thing it doesn’t have to mean anything to you, Mr. Woods,” I replied, stiffly. “When your opinion about my relationships matter, hell will freeze over.”
“Feisty.” Mortimer chuckled and took a sip of cognac. “Forgive me, Miss McCutcheon. I come from a world where love and marriage are bargaining chips. There’s no sense in emotionally investing in someone when all they’re investing in is your pocket.”
“So you don’t believe in love.”
“Correct,” he replied, leaning forward so that the leather squeaked. “In the real world, not the fantasy, ‘hot and cold, he completes me world,’ love is nothing but a chemical reaction in the brain aimed at forcing procreation for the survival of the species. And when those chemicals fade… well, you’re left with ex-wives, unwanted children, and expensive lawyer’s fees.”
What a delightful human being. “I don’t believe that,” I said, firmly. “I grew up in a loving household. My mother and father were happy. I know love is real because I saw it firsthand.” I knew it was real, but I knew it wasn’t for me too.
“You were poor.” He flicked his fingers, dismissively. “That was all your parents had. Throw in some money and you can bet that your lovely little home life would’ve been exposed for what it was. A farce.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
“Careful, dear.” A dangerous glint appeared in those steely blue eyes. “Careful. Don’t take your defiance too far. It becomes less intriguing and more of a hindrance.”
I rose from the armchair, my hand knocking my cognac glass over and spilling the overpriced drink. “You don’t know me or my family,” I said. “Mr. Woods, you don’t even know your own sons. Take a look in the mirror before you judge me and mine.” I walked for the exit.
“He’ll only break your heart,” Mortimer called.
What was his deal? Did he want Damien to get married and take over the business or not? What was he playing at? This had to be some failed attempt at talking me out of the engagement.
Damien would find it both infuriating and interesting.
I strode down the hall, my heels ticking on marble, and made for the events hall. Music played from within, and the speeches hadn’t started yet, but Damien wasn’t at our table. Nor was he at the bar.
“Ugh.” I needed a breath of fresh air.
The doors to the terrace were closed, but they’d been open earlier on, so I made for them, my temper building with each step. What a horrible man. How the hell Damien had suffered through being raised by him was beyond me. It was a miracle he wasn’t more damaged.
Then again, he wasn’t exactly normal either. But then, neither was I. We all had our baggage.
I placed my hand on the terrace door’s ornate handle, but a flicker of movement caught my eye.
There were people out there.
Not just people, but Damien, alone with the redheaded woman from earlier. Francesca.
She stood in front of him, fluttering her eyelashes and pressing her breasts outward, speaking in what was doubtless breathy tones to tempt him.
Damien, to his credit, looked about as interested as if she was literal paint drying on a wall. He shook his head once, taking a step away from her.
She caught him and ran her hands down his front, then moved them to his pants, slipping her hands toward his pockets. What was she going to do, grab his dick through his pants? Old school.
I tried to find humor in the situation, but a green beast erupted inside me and tore at my chest. Pathetic. Damien and I weren’t even an item, and he clearly wasn’t interested in Francesca regardless.
But he would be interested in another woman once this was all over. He would do whatever he wanted with woman after woman, and I would be left with nothing but the jealousy and the bitterness and a fat paycheck.
I had to pull back from these emotions before it was too late.
Damien caught Francesca’s wrists and shook his head at her, anger on his face. He released her then walked for the terrace doors. His gaze locked on mine. “Hazel,” he mouthed.
The classical music from the live band swelled. I offered him a wry little smile. “I’m done,” I said and walked off.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go through with the deal while I felt like this about him. It was a slippery slope, and I was already clinging to the last tuft of grass on the ledge, my grip pulling free, blade by blade.
Jealous of him and some redhead in a glittery skinsuit of a dress? As if. Not happening.
I was already across the ballroom by the time his voice called out for me. I didn’t stop walking.
There had to be another way to get the money for the café. And there had to be another way to fix the house and the… Gosh, what did I have in my bank account right now? I hadn’t been to work in a week. There had to be enough for a motel room for Dad, Kara and I while I figured this stuff out.
Just for a week or so. Then we could assess the damages and go from there.
“Hazel!” Damien called.
I shook my head and doubled my pace. I didn’t want to let my father down, and I didn’t want to lose my dreams either, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t deal with being interested in Damien or anyone.
“Hazel.”
I was outside, heading for the street. A taxi. I needed a taxi. Or an Uber. Whichever.
“Stop.” Damien’s hand closed on my arm, sending shocks through me. “Look at me.”
27
Damien
Fuck, surely she didn’t believe that I’d actually done anything with that Francesca chick? She wasn’t my type. Nobody was my type at the moment.
Except for her.
“Look at me, Hazel.”
“Don’t bother,” she said, softly, voice hitching. “You’re just causing a scene, and it’s totally unnecessary.”
“Of course, it’s necessary. You’re leaving.”
She took my hand, but it wasn’t a sweet gesture. The cold shape of a ring pressed against my palm. My grandmother’s engagement ring. “Take it,” she said. “The deal’s off.”
My world rocked on its axis. She can’t leave. “You’re not calling the deal off,” I said. “You need the money.”
“Aren’t you such a sweetheart?” Hazel blinked, and there were tears in those glittering green eyes. Her soft skin, illuminated by the city lights, the streetlamps, the hotel’s glow, tempted me, but I held back. She didn’t want my affection. She hated me. I read it in the lines on her forehead, the set of her jaw, the thinness of her usually full and welcoming lips.
“You need me,” I replied. “You need the money. So, don’t fake that you’re going to do anything other than—”
“Don’t fake?” she asked. “That’s just the thing. I’m tired of being fake.”
“Meaning what?”
Hazel left the ring in my palm. “I need to get my father out of your house.”
“Hazel. No.”
“Don’t tell me no. It’s my choice where my father goes and what I do. It’s not up to you.”
“You signed a contract,” I said, lowering my voice and looking around, but there was no one on the grand steps of the hotel. I circled so I was on the steps below her, and level with her eyeline. “Look at me. You can’t back out of this now. It’s going to change your life and mine. I need you.”
Hazel shut her eyes, quivering on the spot. “Don’t you get it? I can’t do this with you. I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Hazel. That’s not an answer.”
“You’re just… you’re just—you’re an asshole,” she said.
“You knew that going into this. I don’t understand what bearing that has on our agreement.”
“Dude, I don’t know how else to put this,” Hazel started, then stopped, swallowing. Good god, she
was beautiful—her hair falling around her shoulders, the halo of light framing her from the hotel’s front doors above. “How would you have reacted if you’d seen me on the terrace with some random dude, and he was hitting on me?”
“I rejected her. You saw that.”
“Yeah, I saw that. But I want to know what you would’ve thought or felt if you saw me with someone else,” Hazel said, searching my face. “What would you have done?”
“I would’ve… shit, well, I would’ve been concerned that you might get caught and blow our cover.” I would’ve ripped the fucking door off and thrown the guy over the balcony. I would’ve taken you in my arms and— “I understand your concern, Hazel, but I made sure that my rejection was obvious. If anyone saw us together, they would’ve assumed that I was staying faithful to my fiancée.”
“Our cover,” Hazel whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I was wrong. You’re not the asshole. I am. I have to go.”
“Hazel.”
She brushed past me, her perfume a gentle touch of rose, and made for the sidewalk. She had her phone out, but before she could summon a cab, my chauffer pulled up in the SUV. She got in and leaned forward, speaking to the driver.
I strode down the steps and got into the car after her. “Home, please, Geoff.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hazel glared at me, teary-eyed, then turned her head and stared out of the window.
I didn’t dare touch her.
The ride was silent. We exited the car at the house, and Hazel got out before I could open the door for her. She strode up the stairs, hitching up her silk dress so it wouldn’t catch on her shoes.
I entered the house, hot on her heels, stripping off my tie and unbuttoning the collar of my shirt. “Hazel.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore.” She made for the stairs that would lead to her room on the second floor. Her room without me.
“Stop.”
“No.” Her heels clicked on the stairs.
“I told you not to fall for me.” The words came out angry. “I warned you.”
