Fucking Red. A fitting name, too, considering every time I see her or think of her my vision is awash with red. My feet are already moving before I have the conscious thought to do so. I stop before I reach the kitchen doorway, once again forcing myself to stay put. Rebel doesn’t have to tell me for me to know that he doesn’t want me getting into the middle of this. It would only complicate matters more. Besides, I’m curious to hear what he has to say to her.
Thus proving I must be a glutton for punishment. What if he says the exact opposite of what I want to hear, proving popular theory correct and he really is a cheating bastard? Goodness, I need to take a damn chill pill and relax. How can we ever achieve any kind of trust if my first inclination is to jump to conclusions?
“You need to leave, Florence.”
“Do you know what I don’t appreciate?” she asks, running right over the top of him. “That you went behind my back. You cut a deal with Jack and took what was rightfully mine.”
“I took what was given to me. That was Jack’s prerogative as the owner. If you wanted it so bad, you should have put it in writing.”
Damn. When Rebel gets stern like that, I want to climb him like Mount Everest. Leaning my hip against the counter, I silently root him on.
“When did you become so damn cruel?” Florence asks. “We used to be friends. I used to mean something to you.”
“As a friend, yes. But business is business.”
“Nothing personal, right?” She huffs a humorless laugh. “You know, I could have even forgiven you that if it wasn’t for you bringing your whore onto my payroll and rubbing her under my nose.” Her voice lowers, growing agitated. “Do you know how that makes me feel to have to sit across from her, to see the way she looks at you? When did you become so cruel?”
“I didn’t bring her on. That was Jack’s idea,” Rebel informs her. “But I did back his decision, and I’d do it again. She’s a damn hard worker. If you’d set aside your petty jealously, you might see that she could be a real asset to our company.”
My heart is melting. I never thought I’d hear such nice things about me come from Rebel’s mouth. Hell, I never expected for anyone to take up for me like he has. All my life I’ve had to stand on my own, fight my own battles. This is new. This is unexpected. This...feels really good.
“Right. From stripper to corporate asset. Forgive me if I don’t see the connection,” she scoffs.
“Exotic dancer and there is nothing wrong with how she chose to make a living. She played the system to her advantage. It put her through school. Even you have to admit that’s smart. At least she wasn’t out there selling drugs or worse.”
“You’re absolutely right. She’s one step up from street walker, but hey!” she says, her voice jumping several octaves. “Now that she has a fancy degree to wave around, we should all just pretend that half the city hasn’t seen her naked, right?”
“You’re way out of line here, Florence. This conversation is over now.”
I hear heavy footsteps and then the creak of the front door swinging open.
“Is she here?” Florence demands to know. “Is that why you’re trying so hard to get me out of here? Did I interrupt your hot evening?”
Okay, now the bitch is just coming unglued. I can hear the hysteria in her voice. The more she refers to me, the wilder she seems to become. The kitchen is semi open to the main living space, and I know that it won’t take much for her to see that I’m standing right here, only a few feet away.
Deciding that I might as well put up a strong front than hide behind some cabinets, I step out into the open, revealing myself to her.
“Well, where is the little tramp?” Florence shouts.
Rebel sees me first. He gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, telling me to go, but I know this needs to be done. She needs to know, once and for all, that she and Rebel are never going to be together.
I clear my throat, and the noise catches her attention. Spinning on her heel, Florence stares back at me, wild-eyed. “There you are. See, Rebel, I knew you were hiding her around here somewhere.”
“It’s time for you to go,” Rebel repeats. Leaving the door standing open, he crosses the room and takes hold of her arm. Forcibly, he directs her toward the door.
“You can’t order me,” Florence snarls, ripping her arm from his grasp. To me she says, “He’s mine, you know. I had him first.”
I don’t even know what to say to her. I can tell that she’s under the influence of something. She’s just too erratic not to be.
“Once he’s tired of you, he’ll come back to me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell her, not really intending for it to slip out. But I can’t just stand here and not defend myself in some way. I don’t want to hear her lies, and she needs to stop believing in them herself. It’s warping her.
As soon as my words register, her eyes shoot open wide. “How dare you! You’re trying to take everything from me. But you can’t have him. Do you hear me? He’s mine. I belong to him.”
“Come on, let’s go.” Rebel hauls her backward despite her heels digging into the floor in an effort to stay.
“Sorry, honey. That’s my role now. I’m the one he wants.”
“You stay out of it,” Rebel warns, pointing an angry finger at me.
Holding up my hands in surrender, I bite back the smile that wants so badly to break free and try to remind myself that this is serious. Clearly, this woman is deranged. Does she really think that we’re in competition for this man? She’s dating Ransom now, for crying out loud. Isn’t it enough to have him without going after Rebel?
Although, I can understand her dilemma. Ransom is great in his own right. He’s sweet and caring and attentive, strong and intelligent and full of confidence. Rebel holds all of the same qualities, but he’s got an edge that his brother lacks. There’s something dark and edgy lurking inside of him, and that element of danger is what makes him irresistible.
“Why her?” Florence cries as he drags her from the apartment. “You know I can make you happy. What does she have that I don’t?”
I don’t hear Rebel’s response, but I wish I had. Unfortunately, they’re too far down the hall for me to pick up his rough baritone.
I stand here, in the middle of the living room, staring at the open door for I don’t know how long. Minutes, easily. Unsure when he’ll return, I return to the kitchen and finish rinsing the dishes. The moment of solitude gives me time to reflect on what just happened, and the more I think about it, the more upset I become.
How dare she come in here and say those things? She’s judging me? What the fuck gives her the right. She doesn’t know anything about me. Maybe I shouldn’t have deferred to Rebel and let him handle it. Maybe, if I had taken matters into my own hands and punched the bitch in the mouth, she would have finally gotten a clue. I know violence never solves anything, but sometimes I wonder if that’s just what people who are too afraid to risk getting their ass beat say.
Rebel isn’t gone for long, but it feels like he is. When he comes through the door, he looks wiped out. My eyes don’t leave him as he crosses the room and slumps down into a chair across from the couch where I’m now sitting and leans forward, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“What happened?” I ask hesitantly, sensing that now is not the time to press buttons.
“I escorted her back to her apartment. She’s been drinking, so I told her to sleep it off. Then I asked her neighbor to check in on her later to make sure she’s still breathing.”
I pull a face, torn between feeling self-righteous and having the barest touch of pity for her. But there is one question I need to ask, and I’m not sure I can let it slide. Not after how far we’ve come. Cautiously, I ask, “Why does she still have a key?”
“Is this you trying to pick a fight? Because if it is, don’t.”
Rolling my eyes, I summon the patience of a thousand saints. “No, Rebel. This is me trying to ask a
simple and relevant question. I’m sure you can understand why I’m asking and why the answer would be important to me.” And if he doesn’t get it, then he has his head too far up his ass. There will never be enough bleach in the world to erase my memory of him in that chair with her on her knees before him.
The firm set of his jaw and stiffening of his shoulders inform me of what he thinks of this. I half expect him to remain tight-lipped and leave me hanging to form my own conclusion, but Rebel surprises me yet again.
“Changing the locks doesn’t change the fact that she’s still the owner of this building. She has a legal right to hold a key to this apartment, so there wasn’t any way around it.”
“But she’s abusing her position,” I point out, irritated by the situation. This woman is stepping over so many lines it’s maddening.
“I know that, and that’s why I signed the lease for my new apartment this morning.”
My eyes widen at this. “You did?” He nods once. “That’s great, but why rent? Wouldn’t you rather buy a place of your own so you don’t have to worry about crazy landlords?”
“Buying is for someone who intends to put down roots, start a family. I’m happy with my life the way it is. I don’t feel the need to complicate it.”
“Oh, that’s right. You have lofty ambitions,” I mock. “A harem of women, wasn’t it?” Suddenly, my irritation shifts to him. I don’t even know why really. This isn’t news. Rebel has always been very up front with me, and it’s not as if my plans were much different anyway. But something about his words makes my stomach drop and my skin prickle.
“You’re picking a fight,” Rebel says, his tone warning.
“When I decide to pick one, you’ll know it,” I snap. Okay, maybe I’m trying to pick one, but he just pulls that kind of response from me sometimes.
“You know, Josephine,” Rebel says, rubbing the skin between his eyes. “I started this day off with high hopes, but it’s all gone to shit. So if you want to fight, you picked the wrong time to do it.”
I don’t know if he means that in a good way, or a bad way, but I have a feeling it’s the latter. One look at him, and I can see plainly that he has reached his limit. There is nothing playful about the way Rebel slouches down in that chair or the pinched look on his face.
Concern for him takes over, pushing away any lingering anger or resentment I might have been feeling. “Are you okay?”
He makes a snuffing sound through his nose that is one part annoyance and two parts strained laughter, and then he shakes his head back and forth. “Okay isn’t a word I would use to describe how I feel right now.” He doesn’t elaborate, leaving me guessing what, exactly, he means by that.
“Okay, I’m not really sure how to go about this,” I confess. This is the first relationship I’ve been in, really, that mattered. Talk about a major learning curve. But I think it’s worth the work to keep it going and make it better. “If there’s something I need to know that you’re not telling me, or if there’s something that I can do to help, you have to speak up here.”
Dropping his hands, he leaves them to dangle loose over his knees as he regards me with those damnable eyes that seem to see straight through me. “There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been said.” Pushing out of the chair, he extends out his hand to me. “I’m tired, and I’m ready to get this day over with. Come to bed with me.”
“When you say come to bed...?” Taking his hand, I allow him to pull me to my feet. I suppose this concession is about as close to him telling me the problem is squashed as I’m going to get.
“I mean sleep.” Linking his fingers with mine, Rebel leads me down the hall to his room. Admittedly, I’m a tad disappointed that there won’t be any naughty times ahead of us, because those are the moments that I feel closest to him, but I’m also looking forward to time alone with him that doesn’t involve anything more than enjoying each other’s company. It’ll be a first for us and a welcome change at that.
“Of course,” Rebel says as we draw back the blankets on the bed. “When I said sleep, I meant naked.”
“Well,” I say, a smile growing on my face as I begin lifting my shirt over my head, “I think that can be arranged.”
Sixteen
I glance up from the laptop Rebel let me use to find him watching me with those penetrating midnight eyes. He’s been doing this all morning and most of the afternoon. I keep catching him looking at me. It’s a combination of lust and...I don’t know. Maybe intrigue. Or adoration. I hesitate to label it. All I know is when I look at him, I imagine that I wear the same expression, and that means something.
We’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch. I’m turned so that the soles of my feet are pressed against the outside of his thigh, so every time he turns his head to take a peek at me, I notice. It’s impossible not to. “Stop it.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he says with a sly smirk, then ruffles the Sunday paper and pretends to read. The man is insufferable. I shake my head, smiling as I try, once again, to get back on track. “What are you working on over there?” he asks me a moment later.
“World domination. Care to join me?”
Discarding the paper on the coffee table, he leans over onto his side, sliding into the gap between the couch and me. Shifting to make more room for him, I lift my arm up, allowing him to rest his head on my right breast. The closeness is unexpected and so nice, I’m almost afraid to move or speak in case I shatter the moment. It reminds me of the time I spent with Ransom, only with Rebel it’s even more valuable because it’s not a given. This kind of intimacy is rarely shown by him. I’m learning that Rebel is a very secretive man. He doesn’t allow many into his inner circle, and even fewer ever gain his trust, so to be this close...I must be doing something right. It feels like a victory.
“Are you actually working?” he asks me when he takes a look at the computer screen.
Shaking off my wonderment, I look down at the screen, at the mismatch of developmental designs I’ve been toying with for the new company project. Why am I working on a Sunday he asks? “If I don’t, it won’t get done,” I say, somewhat bitterly. I’ve been trying my best to leave my work at the door each day but working with Jenna is becoming near impossible.
“What does that mean?” Rebel asks as he props himself up onto one arm and looks at me.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Rebel stares at me for a moment, reading me like an open book. When his brows furrow, I know he’s not going to let this go. “Are you having trouble with someone at the office? Give me their name, and I’ll have a talk with them in the morning.”
“No, there’s no problem and you don’t need to talk to anyone. Although, I appreciate the offer very much.” Sitting up, I capture his lips with a sweeping kiss that’s meant to placate him. It doesn’t work in the slightest.
“If there’s a problem, I want to know about it. Does this have anything to do with Miss Murray?”
Of course, he was there, so he knows that Jenna wasn’t very happy with having to give up her pet project to start work on this one. “It’s not that she’s giving me trouble,” I tell him, jumping to smooth the waters. The last thing I want is to create trouble in the office. I want to maintain a good working environment for everyone. “She’s just eager to get it done so she can get back to what she was working on previously.”
“Those projects have already been reassigned. They’re no longer her concern.” Sitting up, Rebel sets his feet on the floor before bending forward to retrieve his cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
Rebel’s fingers pause on the screen and for an extended moment, he just stares at it. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I was going to call her, but I just realized that would be overstepping. Plus, I don’t have her number and that would mean bothering Tracy on her only day off.”
We look at each other for the span of several heart beats, and then burst into laughter. “You
are absolutely insane. I can’t believe you were going to do that.”
“Why not? You said she was giving you trouble.”
“I did not. I expressly said that she wasn’t giving me trouble,” I say, rubbing tears from my eyes as the laughter finally begins to subside.
Settling back into his seat, I set my feet in Rebel’s lap and watch as he plays idly with my toes. “So is she or isn’t she doing her fair share of the work? And before you think about glossing over the truth,” he warns, his dark eyes flashing beneath a thick row of lashes, “know that I will spank you.”
“That’s hardly a deterrent.”
“It should be.” Slapping my outer thigh, Rebel demands, “Now, tell me where the problem is.”
“So you can fix it? I’m not a baby, Rebel. I don’t need my daddy to come rescue me every time something doesn’t go my way.”
“I’m not trying to be anyone’s father, but I can see that you’re stressed and that sends up red flags. Don’t forget that this is company time and money, too. We’re just as invested, if not more so, than either of you. So, if your partner isn’t pulling her weight or is cutting corners, I want to know about it.”
He has a point, and I don’t like keeping things from him. It feels dirty somehow. But I also don’t want to get Jenna in trouble if it’s not one hundred percent warranted. Everyone is entitled to an off day, and I understand how she might be distracted or not fully invested. However, all the understanding in the world isn’t going to give me the help that I need to meet this deadline. I need help, and Rebel is offering that to me. Whether or not he’s my boss, he is the owner of the company, and he’s entitled to know what’s happening.
“Jenna just isn’t feeling it. I think she might be a little resentful that Florence forced her onto it with me. I mean, she’s a senior designer, and I just graduated college.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Rebel says, cutting me off. “You’re smart and you’re dedicated.”
Fall for Him Page 12
