Tobias (The Kings of Brighton Book 1)

by Megyn Ward

  14

  Tobias

  2013

  It’s 6AM and I’m still in bed. I should be at the office by now, putting out fires and chewing my way through my usual non-stop parade of morning meetings and conference calls.

  Angus has called me every fifteen minutes since 4AM. I finally shoot him a text that simply read, taking my time this AM. I’ll call when I need a pickup.

  The phone started ringing immediately after I hit send. He probably thinks my text is some sort of code for Help! I’ve been kidnapped.

  Which I have to admit is a valid assumption. I don’t take my time.

  Ever.

  But I’ve never woken up to a soft, beautiful woman in my arms either. Her breath on my neck. Lax hand curled against my chest. Legs tangled with mine.

  I like it.

  I like her.

  Entirely too much.

  The thought should push me out of bed and out the door. Instead, I find myself wondering if I can make it to the bakery across the street for coffee and pastries and back before she wakes up.

  The longer I lay here, the less I want to get up. The deeper I feel myself dig in. I can easily imagine spending the entire day, right here.

  With her.

  But if I keep ignoring Angus, he’s going to call in the National Guard to kick my door down. So, coffee, pastries and a quick call to Angus, letting him know I’m not dead and there won’t be a ransom note any time soon. And then I’ll see where the day takes me.

  Slipping from the bed as silently as possible, I walk my way to my dresser. Pulling open the top drawer to grab a pair of boxers, I notice them right away.

  My pictures.

  One of my brothers.

  One of my mother.

  Heart knocking in my chest, I pull them out to look at them. I always keep the one of my mother behind the one of my brothers and me. I don’t know why. Maybe because I have to prepare myself to see her. I have to psych myself up to remember what she looks like. What it felt like to have her arms around me.

  That’s how I know Argenta saw them. That she stood right where I am now and looked at my family.

  I remember the way she asked me about Gray, insisting she could sense a bond between us. The way I opened up to her, told her about my mother’s death. Things about myself I’ve never told anyone before. Not even my own brothers.

  I feel exposed. Cut open and raw.

  I feel manipulated. Played with.

  She was in here alone. Going through my things. Learning my secrets. Finding my soft spots.

  I want to own my own restaurant someday.

  I’m suddenly sure she knows who I am. What I can do for her financially if she manages to set her hooks into me—and she almost did. She almost managed to do in a handful of hours what some women have made their life’s mission.

  She got closer than anyone.

  I get dressed quickly and quietly, thinking about everything she said to me. It all seems so ridiculous, in the cold light of day. Contrived, the way she turned up at the club, all alone, all but falling into my lap. Giving me just enough to intrigue me. Just enough to make me want more, blowing past every one of my defenses.

  And I let her.

  I let her in.

  I almost fell for it.

  15

  Silver

  I wake up, gloriously naked, aching in all the right places and grinning like an idiot.

  I also wake up alone, the warm morning sun streaming through the floor to ceiling windows. Sitting up, I look around the bedroom. My dress is hanging from a stainless-steel suit rack. My shoes are parked underneath it, as neat as a pin.

  Something about seeing it hanging up instead of on the floor where I left it tickles the back of my throat, a soft niggling that feels strange. Almost feels like panic.

  Calm down, Silver. So, he hung up your dress and moved your shoes. It doesn’t mean anything. You’re going to find him in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Maybe reading the paper. It’s barely 7AM. Where else could he be?

  Since I really don’t want to put it back on and my borrowed sweater is somewhere in the kitchen, I gather my courage and the bed sheets around me and exit the bedroom.

  The place looks as enormous and empty as it did last night. It takes me less than a few seconds to determine that I’m alone.

  Tobias is gone.

  The niggling in the back of my throat starts to squeeze.

  Relax. Maybe he went for coffee. Maybe he left a note.

  I check the kitchen island, doing my level best to not think about what I let him do to me on it only a few hours ago.

  Nothing.

  But my cake is gone and the forks are no longer in the sink. Even the box from Tiffany’s is missing.

  It’s as if every sign of what happened between us, and of me, has been completely erased.

  The squeezing sensation starts to spread. Anchoring itself inside my chest, it starts to claw at my lungs.

  So, he didn’t leave a note. So, he didn’t wake you up before he left. That’s okay. You’re a big girl. You knew what you were asking for when you agreed to come home with him, and besides, he told you last night that he wasn’t a nice guy. That what was happening wasn’t real. He warned you.

  And I didn’t listen.

  I thought I felt something. That, despite what he said, he felt it too.

  I was obviously wrong.

  I don’t know how long I stand here, waiting for something to happen. For the elevator to let out a soft ding! before spitting Tobias out with coffee and maybe some of those chocolate croissants from the bakery across the street. For him to smile and take me back to bed. For this horrible aching pit in my chest to finally close so I can breathe again.

  None of those things happen.

  Tobias isn’t coming back.

  Dragging my bedsheet to the bathroom, I feel like I’ve stepped into one of those Swiss spas my mother loves to drag me to as her idea of mother-daughter bonding. Never mind the fact that I don’t even see her from the time we check in to the time we check out. Smothering the insane urge to laugh, I find a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste sitting on the edge of the sink. Fresh towels near the steam shower. A plush robe hanging from a hook.

  Ignoring the shower, I rip open the toothbrush and brush my teeth. Splash cold water on my face before looking at my reflection. I don’t usually wear a lot of make-up so raccoon eyes are at a minimum. My hair is a mess, long since escaped the topknot I pulled it into last night, so I re-wrangle it into another loose bun before securing my toga and making my way back to the bedroom. I’ll get dressed. I’ll leave a short, thank you for last night. It was lovely note, call an Uber and leave.

  I’m halfway between the bathroom and the bedroom before I notice him.

  A total stranger, standing in the kitchen area.

  No, not a total stranger.

  Tobias’s driver, Angus, wearing a hand-tailored suit, a Bergdorf’s shopping bag dangling from one hand, a cup of coffee from some trendy place on 5th street in the other. Face an impenetrable wall of polite stoicism. It makes me wonder how many times he’s done this.

  Taken out his boss’ trash.

  Before I can say anything, he holds the cup of coffee out to me. “It’s alright,” he says, properly reading my hesitation. “I promise it’s safe to drink.” When I take the coffee, he holds the bag out to me. “Mr. Bright thought maybe this would make your exit less embarrassing,” he says in that same, vaguely British accent I remember from last night. “After which I’ve been instructed to drive you wherever you wish to go.”

  Because I really do want to burn that infernal dress and dance around the flames, I take the bag, telling myself it’s okay. I know where he lives. After I make my escape, I can have whatever is in the bag cleaned and sent back to him by the end of the day. It’s not a gift. It’s a loan.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ll be just a few moments.”

  “Of course,” he says, giving me a small, detached
smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I’ve been marked for slaughter. Best not to get attached to the ones you’ve been charged to get rid of.

  In the bedroom, I dump the bag out onto the rumpled bed. A La Perla bra and panty set. A pair of Saint Laurent jeans. A red silk Chanel blouse. A pair of soft, brown leather boots. All correct sizes. There are even socks. Makeup. A hairbrush.

  Okay, so maybe I over-reacted. Maybe Tobias didn’t simply use and abandon me. He obviously put thought into…

  That’s when I see it.

  The diamond bracelet he gave me last night, on the nightstand. Underneath it, a stack of cash, held together with a purple and white band that reads $10k.

  There’s a note.

  Circling the bed, heart hammering and trying to claw its way from my chest, I pick it all up—the bracelet and the money—to read the note.

  Not sure what the going rate is. If this doesn’t cover your services, speak to Angus. He has authorization to supply you with additional funds.

  A prostitute.

  He thinks I’m a prostitute.

  I stand here, staring at my hands, what’s in them, trying to remember if there was anything I did or said that would make him think that. Other than the fact that I was dressed like one, agreed to go home with him and let him…

  I don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s already done. Until the money and his note are shredded and thrown around his room like confetti. Until I’m dressed in the dress and shoes I walked in wearing and heading for the elevator.

  Seeing me, Angus follows. “Do the clothes not fit, Miss?” he says, brow slightly furrowed. “Mr.—”

  “I’m sure they fit fine,” I say, pressing the call button for the elevator. “But I’m fine with wearing my own clothes.” The elevator door slides open and I step inside, turning to find Angus standing on the threshold. It’s clear he expects to share the car with me. That he still thinks he’s going to drive me somewhere.

  I hold out the cup of untouched coffee in my hand and shove it into his, using it to push him back into Tobias’s penthouse. “I’m also fine with finding my own way home. Tell your boss I said thank you for a lovely evening.”

  Before he can say another word, the elevator door slides shut between us.

  I don’t realize I’m still holding on to the bracelet Tobias gave me until I’m half-way home.

  16

  Tobias

  2018

  It’s her.

  That was my first thought.

  My second thought was that maybe my 4AM sparring session with Angus resulted in a little more than a dislocated shoulder. Maybe he really did kick my ass. Maybe I suffered some sort of head injury. Because I have to be seeing things. She cannot be here, standing in front of me.

  Argenta.

  On autopilot, I reach out, shaking her father’s hand and exchanging pleasantries before turning and offering her my hand. She takes it, her smile cooling considerably when she sees my face. That’s the only way I know she recognizes me. Remembers me.

  “Mr. Bright,” she says, slipping her hand into mine for a handshake nearly as firm as Patrick’s. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  That’s how we’re playing this?

  Fine.

  When she tries to reclaim her hand, the gesture is subtle, like the thought of touching me is distasteful to her but she doesn’t want to seem rude. Instead of letting her go, I hold on, keeping her hand trapped in mine.

  “The pleasure is mine,” I say to her, doing my best to match her calm, even tone. To pretend that I’m not staring into the face of the woman who completely destroyed me five years ago. “And please, call me Tobias.”

  I can tell by the look she’s giving me that Tobias isn’t on the list of names she’d like to call me. “Shall we sit?” she says indicating the table with the hand I’m not holding prisoner, giving me little choice but to let her go. I watch as Patrick pulls out her chair and she slips into it, automatically turning her knees away from me like even the thought of accidentally touching me is distasteful.

  “Patrick mentioned that your company owns several restaurants in New York, Tobias,” Davino says, settling his napkin in his lap.

  “The restaurant business is a fairly recent development,” I say, careful to direct my answer in his direction. “The Bright Group is multi-faceted.” Which is a nice way to say that if it turns a profit, I’ve got my fingers in it. Communications. Shipping. Real estate. Doesn’t matter what it is. As long as it’s legal and keeps me in the black, I’ll throw my hat in the ring.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Patrick and Argenta—Silver—with their heads together, talking softly. I think about the hand he placed on the small of her back when he pulled her chair out. The way she smiled when she saw him.

  Five minutes ago, I liked the guy. Now I want to drag him out onto the sidewalk, roll up my sleeves and go to work. Despite his easy-going, nice guy smile, something about him tells me he’d give me a run for my money.

  Which makes me dislike him even more.

  “Silver,” I say, leaning into the table so I can purposely press my knee into hers. “Patrick tells me you’re in charge of the day-to-day operations here.”

  “That’s correct,” she says, turning her knees even further away. “I earned my BA in restaurant management from NYU, as well as an MBA from Boston University.”

  “NYU?” I pretend to be surprised, pressing forward a bit more. “So, you’ve lived in New York, then?”

  Again, she shifts in her seat. If she moves any further away from me, she’s going to end up crawling into Gilroy’s lap.

  A mental picture that, if I’m being honest, makes me want to haul him across the table by his tie.

  “I—” Before she can answer me, a small army of wait staff descend on the table, pouring wine and offering pre-ordered appetizers while we spend the next few minutes ordering our main courses.

  Finally, the wait staff clear out but before I can press her for an answer to a question I already know, she beats me to it.

  “May I be blunt, Mr. Bright?” she says, lifting her arm to raise her glass of wine.

  “Of course,” I tell her, leaning back in my chair, watching the long column of her throat work while she takes a swallow from her glass. “As long as you call me Tobias.”

  “Very well, Tobias,” she says, setting her glass down. “We don’t need you or your money.”

  Next to her, Gilroy makes a noise in the back of his throat, something caught between a cough and a laugh while beside me, her father goes an unhealthy shade of purple.

  “Silv—”

  I hold up a hand to stop him from admonishing her. “It’s quite alright,” I tell him, my gaze locked on her face. God, she’s as beautiful as I remember. Long dark hair that tumbles past her shoulders in thick waves. Flawless olive skin. Luminous gray eyes. Full, lush mouth. Five years later and I still can’t help but want her. “I invited her honesty and I’d like to hear the rest of it.”

  “As I was saying,” she says, face tipped down while she smooths her hand along the crease of the napkin in her lap. When she looks up at me, her eyes are the color of storm clouds. “I’m perfectly aware that you’re used to people coming to you, every day, asking you to invest in their business—I’m sure it’s tiresome, listening to people beg you for money on a daily basis—but the New York project is my baby, I’ve worked hard to make it happen and it will happen with or without you,” she says. “We’re not here, hat in hand, to beg you for a handout. We’re offering you a seat at the table, and if you’re not genuinely interested, then I think it would be a waste of everyone’s time and a beautiful bottle of wine, to continue this meeting any further.”

  I mean to stand, shake her father’s hand and Patrick’s, thanking them for their hospitality, before leaving the restaurant completely. If I leave now, I’ll still have time to grab Logan, so we can hit that diner he introduced me to with the killer breakfast burritos. I need to get out o
f here. Away from her, and I need to do it fast.

  But then I remember feeding her chocolate.

  The way it tasted on her tongue.

  The way it felt to move inside her.

  The sound of my name in her mouth when she comes.

  Five years later and it’s like it happened only moments ago.

  “That’s one hell of a sales pitch, Ms. Fiorella.” I reach for my glass and raise it. “One I’d be hard-pressed to say no to,” I say, toasting her while her father and the architect look at me like I just sprouted a pair of wings. “You’ve got yourself a business partner.”

  17

  Silver

  This is a nightmare, right? I’m sleeping and having a horrible dream and I’m going to wake up at any moment and Noah is going to be standing at the foot of my bed, asking if he can crawl into bed with me.

  Oh, my god.

  Noah.

  While my father and Patrick dive into an in-depth discussion with Tobias about property locations and cost projections, I lay my napkin on the table and stand. As soon as I do, all three of them follow suit. “Excuse me,” I murmur to no one in particular, just as Tobias’s phone rings. Not waiting to hear him make his excuses, I spin on my heel and make my escape.

  As soon as I’m in my office, I shut the door and lock it for good measure before hustling around my desk to pick up the phone. Dialing fast, I perch myself on the edge of my desk chair, waiting for a rescue.

  “Hey, what’s up,” Jane says, slightly out of breath. “I’ve got Noah and we’re on our way to—”

  “Don’t.” I press a hand to my forehead, trying to stop my brain from spinning. “Don’t bring him here.” Being a single mom is hard. It’s less hard when you have friends like Jane who pick your son up from school on her lunch break and chauffeurs him to you at work. Without Jane, these last four years would’ve been impossible. “Can you please take him home,” I say thinking fast. “Delilah is there, she can—”