“If you think I’m not seeing you safely locked behind a door, you’re crazier than I thought. Up. Stairs. Now.”
I’m not sure why he’s getting mad, other than angry seems to be a permanent state of being for Cole. He’s not the one whose life is turned upside down.
“Back off.” The words rip out of me, and I realize I’ve shifted from annoyed to furious without realizing it. I feel like all the blood in my veins has been replaced by burning acid, and I literally want to stomp my feet and yell about how unfair life is.
I need some perspective. My life is just peachy. But I can’t keep that front and center with Cole standing in front of me, all judging because I won’t just do what I’m told.
Pressing my lips together, I hold up my hand and walk to the stairs. “Follow at your own risk. I’ve had enough of this for one day.”
—two—
Cole
I start after her, because I’m not thinking clearly. I never do when it comes to Morgan Reid’s second daughter.
Wilson jams his hand out in front of me. He can’t actually stop me, but the thud of his palm against my chest is enough of a distraction that I stop long enough for him to talk. “Let her be. It’s clear up there.”
It better fucking be, or I’ll kill him. I say as much, then spin around and glare at the photographers on the sidewalk. Hailey wants them gone, I can do that. Then I’m going upstairs so we can have a little talk about safety and common sense.
Hailey Dashford Reid, with her silky brown hair and big, smoky blue eyes, all prim and proper and so fucking sexy it makes my nuts ache. Also, totally off-limits.
For one thing, she’s the daughter of a client. And she hates her father, so that’s…messy. But I’ve fucked messy before, that doesn’t usually bother me.
That it would bother me with Hailey is the biggest reason I need to stay away from her.
Of course, I could have sent Jason or Tag to pick her up, and I didn’t. I wanted that privilege for myself, because if I can’t have her bent over my bed, I’ll take her spitting fire at me. Not nearly as satisfying, but it’s something.
I was happy to let Tag run lead on this current drama with her sister because I’m done with their shit. I’m not entirely convinced that Taylor Reid wasn’t the one who leaked the story to the press. Only in this twisted fucking family would fading from the media spotlight be seen as an unfortunate turn of events.
“Two years from now, Taylor’s going to have her own MTV reality show,” I mutter, and Wilson laughs behind me as I push my way back outside.
I recognize one of the photographers, and I pull out the pack of Cuban cigarillos I always carry for just such moments. “Walk with me, Clark.”
He walks with me. I let him offer me a light, setting the tone. I’m about to do him a favor, and we both know it.
“Listen, she’s in for the day. And night. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, unless she’s going with me. She’s not going to give anyone a statement. Got it? She has no knowledge of the veracity of any allegations.”
“What do you know?”
“Fuck you, that’s what I know.”
“I gotta ask.”
“You want what I’ve got?”
“I want a quote from a Reid girl about the VP breaking someone’s heart.”
“This Reid girl is off limits.”
He takes a long drag. “For real?”
I turn around, looking for someone else to give my scoop to.
“Fine. Sorry. Shit. What you got?”
“The Senate Majority Leader’s in a private meeting with the Democratic Senator from Maine as we speak.”
“Seriously?”
“You haven’t heard the rumours?” Of course he had. They’d been swirling for weeks, but both parties had done a good job of pretending the defection wasn’t going to happen. Liars, every single last one of them.
“You got an address?”
I hand over the card from my pocket. “Both arrived there about an hour ago. You don’t have a lot of time.”
“You going to tell everyone else?”
“In about ninety seconds.”
Nodding, Clark slings his camera into his backpack and heads for his bike. One down, seven to go.
Correction, five to go. Two of them take off after Clark, figuring something is better than the nothing they’re going to get out of Hailey now that I’m here.
Having the reputation of a ruthless motherfucker comes in handy.
I kneel and stub the cigarillo I didn’t really want against the road side of the curb. I send most of the others on their way, except for one stubborn dick who doesn’t know what’s good for him. Back inside, I toss the butt in the trash can beneath the mailboxes, send Wilson out to fuck with that guy’s cell phone in the creepy blackhat way he does, and head upstairs.
Hailey Reid and I are going to have a little chat about behaving.
—three—
Hailey
It’s not that I didn’t expect him to come back. I did, at some point. Maybe when I try to sneak out the fire escape to get groceries or if I order in Thai food, he’ll be there to intercept either me or the delivery person or both.
But I’ve only had ten minutes to breathe, and now he’s knocking at my door. I know it’s Cole, because he as much as said that he wouldn’t let anyone else get to me.
I want him to go away, because if he does, that would mean this whole thing would be over. It’s not, so he’s still here. And I want him to go away because…I’m torn between this irresistible tug and my better judgement. I like things I can control. I like things I can put in boxes.
I can’t put Cole in a box. There’s no duct tape strong enough.
The silver lining of him still being here is that I can look my fill of him, even if it incites rioting feelings of guilt and disapproval at myself. Cole Parker in a suit is definitely a guilty pleasure, but a girl’s gotta take what she can get.
I open the door. “Back so soon?”
“This will all go away if you just lie low for a couple of days,” he says as he stalks into my apartment. He stops suddenly, and I enjoy the almost invisible double-take he does at the unusual structure in the middle of my living room. Well, at least I know this is the first time he’s been in my place. So it’s only his co-worker that’s invaded my privacy.
“It was here when I moved in,” I breezily lie, because yes, that’s my stripper pole, and no, I don’t need to explain it to the seething beast. I wonder for a second what Wilson thought, but I have it for shock value, so I hope he did a double-take, too.
I’m not whatever they think I am, that’s for damn sure. I wave my hand toward the couch. Might as well sit and pretend to be civil. “Would you like tea or coffee while you yell at me?”
“I’m not going to yell at you.”
“So when I say that I’ve got a date Saturday night—”
“You can’t go.” Okay, that was more of a growl than a yell.
“It’s for a special performance at the Kennedy Center. Of course I’m going. There will be all sorts of famous people there—”
“—Including the Vice President, and if you say anything—”
“I’ve never met the man. I’m not going to meet him tomorrow night. And just because my sister gave him a blow-job doesn’t mean I care, about him, or her. I’m certainly not going to make a public scene.”
“It wasn’t just a fucking blow-job. It’s practically a professionally made sex tape. He’s going to be impeached over this. It’s going to drag on for months. And they’re going to need all sorts of B-roll to run behind the endless commentary.”
Not for the first time this morning, I consider the possibility that my sister leaked that video herself. The thought turns my stomach. Who would want to forever be associated with a video of themselves on their knees, face buried in an old man’s crotch?
Cole glares at me like I’m an idiot for not getting this. “Hailey, you need to lay low.”
&nbs
p; I decide I need tea, and head for my kitchen. Since I live in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, that’s only ten feet away from the living room, but he follows me anyway.
“I get that I’m being petulant, but this sucks.”
He doesn’t say anything. I glance over my shoulder at him. He just shrugs. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry, princess. Tell your date that you need to stay in. He can bring you ice cream and you can watch Project Runway together.”
I squint, trying to imagine how that would go, suggesting to Trevor Waters that we hang out on my couch for the night instead of being seen. Nope. Never going to happen. A weird, icky feeling twists in my gut at telling Cole that Trevor doesn’t like me enough to bring me ice cream.
That’s okay. I’m only going out with him so I don’t have to go to the opera alone. And I am going. Cole can stuff it.
“If you—” He jams his hands into his suit pants, shoving his jacket out of the way. Scowling, he mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch.
“If I what?”
“Nothing.”
My first instinct is to push more, needle him to say whatever was on his mind, but maybe some of the knee-jerk reactions between Cole and me should stay silent.
“Look, I get the rules, okay? No comment, ever. Not even if they say something about Morgan and Alison.” My younger siblings live at home. Morgan is twenty-one going on fifty, a total businessman just like our father, except he’s not evil. And Alison…God, my nineteen-year-old sister is so freaking innocent it hurts. But I’m not an idiot. There’s no upside to engaging with a scummy reporter if they try to bait me with a disgusting rumor. “I’m not going to cause any problems.”
Cole stares at me, his eyes flicking up and down my face, and he yanks on his tie. “Fuck. You’re such a distraction.”
His tone does something to my insides that I don’t like. I bristle and point at him, as if my wagging finger could ward off the accidental hurt he just piled on me. I want to tell him I’m just as important as anyone else in my family, but that’s digging deeper into a situation I want nothing to do with. So I tell him off in as light a way as I can muster. “Hey, that’s seriously enough name-calling for one day.”
His fingers freeze at the top button of his shirt. I curse myself for interrupting, because I really want to see the sliver of chest he was about to reveal. “When did I call you a name?”
I stare at that spot instead of answering, and with an exasperated sigh he yanks his tie fully off and stuffs it in his pocket. Then he flicks open the neck of his dress shirt, the crisp white fabric giving way to darker skin stretched taut over muscle and tendon and fantasy fodder. Shadows play along his collarbone and I wonder what the skin there tastes like, and if that subtle cologne he wears smells even better up close.
Clearing my throat, I turn away and grab my kettle to fill. Busy-work might distract me from how good he looks in a suit. I wonder why he’s wearing one if his job today is just to corral me—he doesn’t always suit up. I’ve seen him in khakis and a polo shirt—a more disingenuous outfit for him I can’t possibly imagine—and jeans and a t-shirt, in which he looks most at ease. That was my first glimpse of him, in the middle of the night when we were all sequestered at my parents’ house months ago. Your father boinks a call girl and she turns up dead in the Potomac, you set aside your dislike for the family and crawl inside the castle.
And Cole shows up soon thereafter, his perfect body stretching the limits of denim and cotton, and you decide to stay a while just to look at him.
Even when I realized he’s amoral and has only casual respect for the laws of the land, he’s still nice to look at.
Sometimes I disgust myself. Disgust might be a strong word. Disappoint, maybe, because instead of wanting someone else, someone normal and healthy—an average Joe with a 401k and a Volvo—instead of that, I’m captivated by this man. By brooding eyes and broad shoulders, dark secrets and sharp commands.
Nothing wrong with fantasies, Hailey. I’ll keep telling myself that, because I’ve got a lot of Cole Parker fantasies, including one where he slowly strips out of a suit in my kitchen. Right now, my back is to him, and I’m quite sure he’s not actually taking his clothes off, but he’s prowling around and he did just undo that top button, so this still feels weird and dangerous. And maybe a little bit of a turn-on.
Ugh. “Do you like tea?”
“Sure.” His voice is right there, behind me, and my breath catches in my throat. “What name did I call you before?”
My voice cracks as I answer him. “You said I was crazy.”
“What?”
“Earlier, you said—” I clear my throat and drop my voice an octave. “‘You’re crazier than I thought’. So, why do you think I’m crazy?”
When Cole laughs, it’s ripped from him like he’s truly surprised. I know he’s ex-military, and he sees the worst sides of some scary people, but Jesus, life is too short to not laugh regularly. So even though I don’t like him laughing at me, I bite back the snarky response that slides so easily to the tip of my tongue. Maybe if I’m nice to him for a minute, he’ll get the hell out of my apartment and leave me to my quiet fantasies, where Dream Cole laughs all the time. Naked.
“Hailey.” His voice roughs up a bit as he says my name, and I turn around. He’s not as close as I thought—a solid three feet of empty space sits between us, but he’s leaning forward just a bit, and it’s enough to make me shiver. He lifts his phone, all business again. “I called you twice this morning, so I know you’ve got my number. But you didn’t answer.” He swears under his breath. “Use it. We don’t need to talk, you can just text me. But don’t leave this apartment alone, or there will be hell to pay.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And right there, that’s why I think you’re crazy.”
“Well, I think you’re crazy for thinking you can somehow determine that there will be ‘hell to pay’.” My voice raises toward the end of that, because fuck it, I’m back to being mad again. “Did you stop for a second and think that maybe you think I’m crazy and a distraction and whatever else because I don’t play your fucking Men in Black games? But news flash, buddy—that’s not my world. I’m not a celebrity, and I’m not a politician. I’m just Hailey Reid, who had the misfortune to be born into a fucked up family. I’m smart enough to see the problems that raises, and for the last time, I’ll be a good girl, okay?”
My chest is heaving as I finish my stupid tirade, and all of a sudden I realize he’s breathing hard, too. He’s glaring at me, like my words wound him up but good, and then he’s in front of me, right in front. Close enough I can smell his cologne and the bare skin beneath it, and then I feel him. It’s weird that I don’t feel him first, because he’s pressed hard against my body, arms bracketing me against the counter on either side of my hips. But once I do, I can’t not feel him. All of him. And he’s big, and hard, and definitely turned on, which I don’t expect. Oh, sweet mother of all that is holy…
“Cole—” I breathe, and he cuts me off.
“When I say you’re a distraction, I mean I can’t get you out of my fucking head. I wonder what the inside of your mouth tastes like and if you’d pull my hair when I go down on you.”
“No.” My voice has dropped to a bare whisper, because holy fuck and how is that possible?
“Yes,” he growls, and I make a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. This is a disaster. It’s one thing for me to covet Cole from a distance. He’s beautiful. It’s something completely different for him to want me.
For a second, I revel in that. I let my mind go blank and roll around in what it’s like for Cole—of the mad driving skills, angry thousand-yard stare, and legendary reputation for all manner of dangerously delicious things—to have a hard-on for me. It’s better than a million dollars, and for the rest of my life, I’m going to remember this moment when someone that out of my league pressed his cock against my belly and growled at me.
Bu
t in the next second, I remember all the reasons this is a bad idea. When I’m not looking at him, I don’t like Cole. And I can’t kiss someone I don’t like. I definitely can’t rub up against them like a cat in heat. And right now, he should be doing something else. Getting my sister out of trouble, for example. And then after that, he probably has a hot date with a supermodel.
I plant my hand firmly in the middle of his chest and push.
He doesn’t move.
“Cole…” Damnit. My voice is not on board with the whole tell him no plan. Instead it does a very uncharacteristic breathy sigh thing that sounds like a completely fake admonishment that’s not-so-secretly an invitation to be bad. Very, very bad.
There are a lot of layers to how fucked up my feelings about this moment are.
“I know,” he rasps. “Just…shut up for a minute.”
He drops his face toward my neck, and as he inhales next to my ear, my insides light on fire, like his breath is a lit match and my blood has been replaced with gasoline. No one has ever done that before, and I want him to do it again, consequences be damned.
Saying my name on a long, slow exhale, he drags his cheek against mine, lining up our faces.
Shut up for a minute. How the hell does that line work on me?
Because it totally worked. Like panty-melting magic. My nipples are tight, my breasts heavy, and my thighs ache.
“This isn’t a thing, got it?” He grinds out the words, his lips now perilously close to mine.
I can’t handle whatever is going on, not straight up, so I get lippy. It’s my way. “Yes. Totally forgotten already. This is nothing.”
“It’s not fucking nothing, Hailey. Jesus.” He pulls back just enough to look at me. Great, now I’ve said the wrong thing and he isn’t going to kiss me. Which should be the right call, but damn, my body is protesting. “It just can’t be more than this.” He drops his gaze to my mouth, and that look feels almost as good as a kiss. It’s deep and probing and hungry.
Hate F*@k:Part One (The Horus Group #1) Page 2
