Ignite (Wicked Liaison Collection Book 4)

by Rose Harper

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nat,” she coos. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

  At this point in time, if it weren’t for Angela I’d be pulling my hair out. This is the first—and only time—I can say that I’m glad I relented on my stubbornness. If it hadn’t been for her last night and all of today, I would probably be a completely and total mess.

  “You have no idea. I asked him to let me in and he completely balked the entire idea.”

  For the last month, that’s all it seems to be between Keith and I—going back and forth with no answers in sight. It frustrates me to no end that he cannot simply relent and let me in. Yes, I know I’m asking things of him that I’m not doing myself. And it’s very hypocritical of me if I sit back and think about it. But, my problems aren’t putting the relationship at a standstill. Nothing that has happened in my past, is disrupting what we can have in the future.

  I can imagine her shrugging her shoulder. “Maybe he isn’t ready. Have you asked him why he won’t let someone in?”

  I stop at the crosswalk, looking both directions, before I proceed to cross. I start going over things in my mind, further confusing myself. Have I asked him about his troubles instead of demanding? The more I think about it, the more a sickness begins to grow inside my stomach. Now that I’m thinking about it, I can honestly conclude I haven’t asked him anything. The only thing I’ve been doing is trying to force his hand in telling me about what hang-ups he has. I’ve never truly stopped and tried to figure out who or what caused them.

  “God!” I reply, groaning. “He probably thinks I’m such a nosey little bitch. The only thing I’ve demanded is if he’ll just let me in, not the cause of why he won’t.”

  “Well, I know this is going out on a limb, but … have you tried letting him in first, then see where it goes from there?”

  That is another thing I haven’t thought of. Maybe if he sees I’m ready to let him in on the pain I went through with Jake, he will be more susceptible to come forth with what’s plaguing him. It’s a shot in the dark, but it is something that holds merit. I have heard of plenty of people keeping things held inside because they weren’t comfortable with allowing them to be voiced. It’s as if they think they will be relayed as soft, ignorant, or something of that nature. Maybe if I come out first it will be easier for him to come out of his shell.

  “Honestly?” I say, tilting my head to the side. “It never truly crossed my mind.”

  God, I’m such a putz. This entire time he could just be waiting on me to trust him enough to let him in so he can return the favor.

  “I’m glad I can be of service,” she giggles through the line, causing me to laugh as well. “Now, what are you doing right now, because I’m feeling some Mexican.”

  A bright smile takes over my face. I’ve been such a bitch to her, never truly listening to her side of the story, and it’s as if she’s swept it under the rug to be forgotten. All the mean and hurtful things I’ve said to her; it’s like they don’t mean anything as long as it’s her and me against the world. What did I do to deserve a best friend like her, I’ll never know, but she’s on my side just like a true friend should be—something that I wasn’t to her when that shit went down between Jake and myself.

  “Actually,” I huff. “I was wondering if we could burn up Mr. Assholes Amex card, because I have to get myself prepared for tomorrows charity event. If he wants me to go to something I obviously want no part of, then he’s going to pay.”

  I hear something ruffling in the background, then comes the jingle of keys. “When and where, chicka?”

  Laughing, I take off down the street toward one of my favorite stores to window shop at. I never knew until now that window shopping wouldn’t be the only thing I would do with this fabulous boutique. And if it ultimately hadn’t been for Keith, I would still be doing that. I guess that’s one thing I can thank him for. I can’t wait to try on all the dresses that I’ve drooled over for the past few years. Just to feel their silky material gracing my skin is going to be an orgasm waiting to happen.

  “Dress Me Up,” I say with a smile, hearing her squeal in the background.

  ***

  “Oh. My. God! I feel just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!” I roll my eyes at Angela’s jubilant scream as she switches and sways in her lilac colored evening gown.

  Smirking, I glance over at her. “Just saying, you stole that from the movie, She’s All That. Also, you do realize Julia Roberts sold herself for three thousand dollars and she had to give it up to an old man with wrinkly balls because of it, right?”

  It’s like time stopped, and all chatter ceased to be.

  “What did you just say?” she questions, glaring over her shoulder at me.

  If you haven’t figured it out by the crazy eyes she’s giving me, Angela absolutely loves doing movie references, and she’s a huge Richard Gere fan! Hell, I believe she would have his babies if she could. I, myself, I’m more of a Jensen Ackles fan. All his rugged, supernatural hotness. Hmm, I get shivers just thinking about him.

  “You heard me,” I retort, smirking. “I said, Julia Roberts was a prostitute getting tea bagged with wrinkly old ball sacks.”

  “Forgive her father for she has sinned,” she whispers arching her back in a jerk before straightening back up, looking toward the ceiling of the boutique. “You better watch your mouth, Nat! What if something were to happen to your perception of the male god you mentally fornicate with?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I begin taking a lovely silk beige number off its wooden hanger. “You wouldn’t dare?”

  Putting her hands on her hips, she regards me with a devilish expression. “Try me and find out.”

  Conceding, I hold my hands up. Because, I’m sorry, nothing is about to happen to my future husband. Just no way in hell. “Alright, you win. Richard Gere did not have wrinkly, old, grapefruit sized nuts, and Julia Roberts wasn’t a prostitute—even though she was—that didn’t take money—even though, she did—for sexual interactions between the both of them.”

  Releasing a breath of exasperation, she finishes zipping herself and smooths out the material clinging to her shapely five foot even form. “Okay, one, you totally just bombed them—again. And two, how fucking hot do I look?”

  “The hottest!” I squeal, gathering my skirts.

  Stepping up onto the platform that’s surrounded on three sides by nothing but mirrors, my eyes come to rest on the dress that… does not go with me. Sweet Jesus! I look like one of those seventy-year-old sweet church going women that did not learn shoulder pads went out of style in the mid-nineties.

  “Son of a carpet muncher, look at this atrocity, Ang?” I hear her snicker in jest.

  “It’s not that bad, Nat.” Clearly it is, because the heifer just burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

  Slowly turning away from the mirrors, I bring my eyes to her. If she doesn’t see I’m practically committing fashion suicide right now, then we really need to get her eyes checked. Why the hell do they still have dresses like this for sale in a high-end boutique in New York? Are they trying to chase away their business?

  I look back at myself again, cringing. “Whatever your say, but I’m not getting this one. It looks like the nineties tried—and was not successful—in making a comeback.”

  Stepping off the platform, I begin making my way toward the dressing area, only to be stopped by the sound of my phone ringing inside of my bag. Gathering my skirts, I race off to it. Digging through my bag, I finally locate it, and to my complete and utter dismay I find it’s only my boss ringing me. It takes everything in my not to throw my phone across the room. I don’t know about anyone else, but I will sincerely take great pleasure in destroying my phone.

  Instead, I’m a fool that answers her phone instead of doing what I really want to do.

  “Yes, Mr. Shaw?”

  “You need to come back to the office. Now.”

  Wow, no hello. No, how are you and your fine self today? No
, will you fuck me, date me, do everything with me? Fucker.

  “I believe I’m doing what you requested I do earlier. You know, spending your money so I do not make a complete ass out of you tomorrow night.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Ms. Bennett.” The tone of his voice has me in alert. There’s only very few times he lets this type of urgency slip into it, and that’s when he’s stressing.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling a knot start to form in the pit of my stomach.

  “Nothing,” he answers too fast. “I just want you back at the office to go over something.”

  Over what? When I left, there was nothing to go over. I made sure of that before leaving and coming on this suicide mission. He’s completely free until Monday morning, where he has an appointment to set Mr. Johnson up with his financial portfolio.

  “For god sakes! Don’t lie to me! Now I asked you a question and I expect an answer.” I never thought my mouth would ever override my ass.

  “You will watch the way you speak to me!” he booms fiercely, the level and tone of his voice taking me off guard. “We may have fucked, but that does not give you permission to speak to me as if I am your equal. I am nowhere near equal with you, so don’t you forget your place. You will show me the proper respect I deserve, and get your ass back to this office at once, or don’t even bother returning. Do I make myself clear?”

  I stay silent for a moment. At this point, I’m speechless. Keith has never spoken to me like this before. Even when we were intimate and I pushed his buttons, he never raised his voice to me. In the back of my mind a tingle of warning starts to push its way to the forefront of my mind.

  “Natalie, I said, do I make myself clear?” he reiterates, his tone no less harsh than moments before.

  Nonetheless, it snaps me out of my frozen state. “Yes, I understand quite well, Sir.”

  Before I can even grasp what all just went down, I hear the dial tone meet my ears. Taking the phone from the side of my head, I stare down at the screen that signals he’s disconnected the call. I want to be pissed off that he has the audacity to order me around, but I can’t find the gumption to back it up. For the first time, Keith is right, and it’s not just me saying that either. I have been getting a little mouthy with him since we started messing around—as if I can push him as far as I want to and he won’t do anything about it. And I should have known when that all stopped, it wouldn’t be the same; that everything would change.

  “Who was that?”

  Turning toward Angela, I give her a weak smile. “That was Satan. He wants his minion to come back to hell.”

  “Well, I heard his side of the conversation all the way over there. Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” she asks, confusion lighting her features. “The Natalie I know would go in there, cuss him up one side and down the other, before walking out and finding a new job. You’ve never dealt with a man telling you what to do. Hell, that’s the reason jackass forced booze down my throat and took me against my will. You are so headstrong you stood up to him on every turn and didn’t take any of his shit. Why are you taking this guy’s crap?”

  That’s a good question. Why am I taking his shit? For so long I’ve been on my own, doing what I want to do without answering to anyone. Now, after taking that job from Keith, I’ve been doing what he’s ordered me to do. Yes, I’ve gotten a little crazy with my mouth a time or two, but even then, it was all in jest. Keith and I both knew I was playing around. So, why now? Why play the superior card? It just doesn’t make any sense.

  Unless…

  Holy shit! Did he just call me from his cell phone?

  Chapter Nine

  Keith

  The moment I unlocked my phone and contacted Thane to ‘unmask’ the messages between Natalie and myself, I was furious with every message I read. My blood instantly began boiling in my veins as my hand nearly crushed the pathetic piece of technology holding all those blasphemous messages.

  Out of all the things Natalie could do, she would find a way to piss me off worse than anyone alive. And the fact of the matter is, until now, her messages wouldn’t have upset me. I would have written her off, along with all the others that tried the very thing she’s going, and went about my business. I don’t have time for people that want to moan and groan about every little thing.

  But the fact she sent that, it infuriates me to no end.

  How dare she send me something like that, then at the end, give me an ultimatum. Who the hell does she think she is? What are we? Five? I am not one of her little boys that will run around with his tail tucked between his legs for fear of setting the missus off. I am a man that doesn’t give a good goddamn about what she likes and doesn’t like, and she will do well to remember that. I don’t roll over for anyone, much less a woman. And it shouldn’t matter if she’s the star in my every thought, and the person that plays in most of my dreams.

  It’s simple. I give no shit, and take nothing in return. You would think she got that by now, being that she’s been in my employ for upwards to a month now.

  I don’t need her shit tacked onto the fact that Cash now knows who I am—if he hasn’t all along—and what I’ve been doing with my life since I jumped ship, taking a butt load of his hard-earned money with me. Knowing Cash, he’s going to demand repentance for the things I caused him to lose out on. If anything, he will demand the sum, plus interest for his hardship, and that’s if he takes it lightly. He’s been known, in the past, to take a few digits as well, and I’m not talking phone numbers. He’s balls to the wall just like I am. Hell, how do you think I learned to be as cut-throat as I am now? It certainly wasn’t by my parent’s doing.

  Things begin tumbling through my mind at a feverish pace, causing me to anxiously bounce my knee up and down. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I just can’t push what his cryptic note said behind me. It’s like this reaper digging its claws into my back, daring me to shake him off—daring me not to take him seriously. I know I will not be able to, though. No matter how hard I try, it will always stay with me until I make it right. At least, that’s how it’s been for the last few years. I’ve constantly had to look over my shoulder, fearing that today was the day he would catch up with me. I’ve spent the better part of my life on the run, changing everything about me, and that still didn’t make a difference. Cash still found me. Now I have to play the waiting game.

  Not being able to sit still any longer, I push myself out of my seat. Staring out of the floor to ceiling windows, I see the bright mid-day sun bear down on all of New York. The city I’ve come to call home for many years. I watch silently as people meander through the streets, seemingly with no care in the world. They’re free to come and go as they please, not considering their past actions and what they do in hurting those around them. I long to be as free as they all appear to be. I wish the actions from my past didn’t continue to haunt me even to this day.

  My chest tightens at the thought of finally being free just as all those people are. Their faces all lined with bright smiles as they have a chipper outlook on life. What I wouldn’t give to be able to walk around without a care in the world. To be able to open myself to the thought of love without having to look over my shoulder or fear that someone is going to take what I value most away after I’ve worked so hard to achieve it.

  With a huff, I break eye contact with the outside world and retreat into myself. It’s the safest option, really. Because if it’s just me, no one else can get hurt. I can stew in my own careless actions, wishing I had done things differently. Isn’t that how it always goes? You think or do certain things, wishing they can be different. But, once they are, you long to return it to what it was previously.

  The sound of heated whispers and a crashing noise hits my ears within the next moment, just before a scuffling sounds and more heated whispers from the door. What the hell?

  Rounding my desk, I start making my way to the door. It can only be one person coming to see me, and that person shouldn’t
have anyone with them. I have a few bones to pick with her, and it would be much better without the attention of an audience. Once I pull it open, I’m met with a sight that causes all the other problems to float away. I’m still pissed, but not, I have to fight to help her.

  It is, in fact, Natalie coming to see me, but she’s not alone. And dare I say it, she probably wishes she was alone in a time like this. Natalie is with some woman I don’t know, and said woman is picking Natalie up off the floor with a broken heel hanging from her delicate fingers.

  “You just going to stand there, asshole?” The woman spits, causing me to break eye contact with Natalie to her as she glares daggers at me.

  It may be an asshole move, but I just stand there. “Is that how you greet people you do not know? If so, I see where Ms. Bennett gets it.”

  I stand there silent, watching them struggle to get her up out of the floor. I don’t want to come out and say the reason I can’t help is because I’d be touching her and I wouldn’t be held reliable for my actions. When it comes to Natalie, no matter how pissed I am, just the feel of her luscious curves under my fingers drives me insane. I lust after her as I never have anyone else before, and I can’t fathom why. She’s ordinary to say the least. Her blonde hair is something a famous salon can give women for the right amount of money, and her body is something a few trips to the gym can fix as well. Not to sound like a douchebag, but I’ve had better. I’ve had fucking models!

  But, the fact that at one point in time she was involved with my brother puts her on the do-not-fuck list.

  So, instead, I turn on the dick side of me—channeling the fury I feel toward those messages she sent me, and what she implied she was going to do if I do not ‘grow up and take what I want.’

  “Do try not to waste my time, Ms. Bennett, and make sure to send your friend on her way.” I briskly utter, turning my back to them.

  I hear her grumble a goodbye, then the door of my office slam; the artwork lining the walls shaking from the force.