A Jade's Trick

by Lilly Black

  “I’m not so easily offended,” I say lightheartedly, thinking he’s just joking.

  “Actually, you are,” he says. “You’re an elitist, Evan, and you don’t even know it.”

  “Says the rich playboy who thinks his money can buy him anything he wants, including me,” I snap, glaring at him. How dare Cain, of all people, call me an elitist!

  “And that is the reason I borrowed the car. I realized you’d respond better to a man who seemed like he would have to spend his rent money to buy dinner at Maison Latour than a man who actually has the means,” he says as he hits the gas hard, and the car speeds up on the 805 South entrance ramp.

  “That’s a very unfair assumption, Cain,” I say.

  “An elitist and a hypocrite. Lovely.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, and abruptly, he jerks the car to the side to the road and throws it in park.

  “You wouldn’t give me a chance because you think, based on your tax bracket, I assume you are an easy conquest.” I think he’s just as pissed as I am now, but he doesn’t come off as hostile. He’s powerful…dominant…sexy as hell. “You have been making assumptions about me since the night we met. You assume that because I have money, I have no conscience, that I would use any means necessary to get you into my bed, and that getting you into my bed is my only conceivable goal. That is an unfair assumption, Evan. In fact, it’s downright insulting.” My breath catches as he locks me in an intense stare. It’s my move, and though I still believe my assumption, I am well aware that it is completely unfounded. As much as it pains me to admit it, especially to him, I am in the wrong here.

  “You’re right,” I concede. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Evan,” Cain says, his expression softening as he pulls the car back onto the road. “I like you in spite of yourself.” As he makes me laugh just after teetering on the edge of a potentially nasty argument, I realize that I really enjoy his company. He’s not just beautiful. He’s intelligent and clever, and he makes me feel interesting and desirable.

  If only I had met him on a different time line, I think as he drives me home.

  “Stay put,” Cain says when he stops the car in front of the little house I rent with Nicole. “Friend or otherwise, you’re still a lady.” I watch him in the headlights walking around the car to open my door. He takes my hand and helps me out, and for an intense second we stand face to face, so close that I can smell mint on his breath. I know he wants to kiss me, but instead he turns the grip he has on my right hand into a handshake, that smug look on his face as he does.

  “Do you have a security system?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, and he scowls in disapproval.

  “When you get inside, I want you to blink the porch light twice so I know everything’s okay.”

  “Okay,” I agree, thinking it’s silly but flattered by his concern.

  “Good night, Ice Queen,” Cain says, leaning against the car with a stunning smile that I like so much better than his trademark smirk.

  “‘Night, Playboy, and thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it,” I say, and then I walk away without looking back. I unlock the door, blink the porch light twice, and I hear a quick, soft honk of the Toyota’s horn as Cain drives away.

  Damn! I know what I said I wanted, but…damn!

  As expected, Nicole is already in bed. I crack her bedroom door and pop my head in to let her know that although I should be pissed at her, I’m not. That’s all it takes, and she’s up with her bedside lamp on in the blink of an eye.

  “So? When are you going out again?”

  “I had fun, but we decided to just be friends.”

  “Boo!”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “What’s the problem, Evan? The guy’s perfect.”

  “You know very well what the problem is. I have to be realistic, Nic.”

  “I don’t want you to be realistic. If I can’t have his brother, you have to do this for me. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Drama queen,” I say, with a roll of my eyes.

  “Seriously, Ev.”

  “So the older brother impressed you?”

  “He did,” Nicole said, a downtrodden look upon her face. “But the whole thing was just a scheme to hook you up with Cain. I knew Caleb was married all along.”

  “Yeah, Cain told me about his brother’s wife. I’m sorry,” I say as I sit on the bed beside her. It sucks that when she finally meets the guy who measures up to her fantasies, he’s married.

  “Have you seen her?” she asks, and I nod no. “Look her up on the internet. Arianna Ballantyne. She’s really pretty.”

  “She may be, but according to Cain, she’s a harpy,” I say, and we both laugh.

  “It doesn’t matter. Married is married. He’s off limits,” she says with a sigh.

  “There is a younger brother, you know,” I say. “He’s about our age.”

  “I’ll take living vicariously through you, thanks,” Nicole says. I should have known better. She likes her men older…Caleb Ballantyne older.

  “Well, you’re going to have to enjoy living vicariously as Cain’s friend because that’s all we’re going to be.”

  “Psh!” she mutters in disgust.

  “Goodnight, Nicole,” I say, turning off the lamp as I leave.

  “Evan,” she calls out as I am just about to close her bedroom door. “I knew you’d be pissed about me setting you up, but I want you to know why I did it. When he came to me to plan it, the look in his eyes when he talked about you…it was intense, and then when he said that he would do anything to hold you…you wouldn’t believe how hot it was.”

  “To hold me?” I question, certain that Cain did not mean whatever Nicole thinks he meant by the word. It just sounds off, reminding me of what he said about breaking me. “That man has something fucked up on his mind.”

  “Shut up! It was romantic.”

  “‘Night, Nicole,” I say sternly, closing her door.

  In my room, I lay on the bed staring at the dark ceiling, trying to process the evening’s events. Cain seems sincere but too good to be true, and with trust not being in my nature, I cannot let go of the thought that I am just something to be conquered…or held and broken, which I find as unbearable as the prospect of letting him get away without at least giving him a shot.

  And why not? If he fails, I won’t care if he moves on, but as I contemplate it, I know deep down the concern that he will fail isn’t the problem. It’s the fear that he’ll succeed. If he does, I’ll fall in love with him, and then when I ultimately lose him to his next conquest, I’ll be back to square one, knowing undeniably what I am missing. That would be unbearable.

  August 26

  Nicole’s gone when I wake up late Monday morning to find an enormous bouquet of pink roses sitting on the small, cafe-style table in our eat-in kitchen. They’re gorgeous, but he got it wrong. Roses are not my favorite flowers, and pink? Seriously?

  You don’t know everything about me, now do you, Playboy? I think to myself as I reach for the card. As expected, the roses are from Cain. Funny thing is, they’re not for me.

  Nicole,

  Thanks for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you, apparently.

  Cain

  Though part of me was pissed that he wasn’t respecting the boundaries of our “friendship”, another part of me was still smiling ear to ear with her heart all aflutter, but now? Now all of me is disappointed, so consumed by it that I jump when the doorbell rings.

  It’s a delivery man with more flowers. I answer it, expecting that Cain has sent another bouquet to Nicole to say: See, Evan? See what you’re missing? I do see, and despite that I am not a hearts and flowers kind of girl, I want the over-the-top display to be mine.

  “Miss Lucien?” the delivery guy asks, and when I nod, he hands me a heavy vase of calla lilies. These are my favorite flowers, and there must be at least five dozen elegant, white blooms with only occasio
nal sprigs of waxy, twisted greenery. I read the card.

  Evan,

  I look forward to a long and close friendship with you. I believe these lilies are your favorite. I’m sure they will become a favorite of mine.

  Cain

  The wording seems stiff, like there’s something off about it that I can’t quite put my finger on. I read it again and realize that three words are typed in a different font than the rest.

  You are mine, they say.

  And you are relentless, Cain Ballantyne, I think, beaming as I move the bouquet carefully to the nightstand by my bed. Lying down beside them, I text him a quick thank you for the flowers.

  Glad you liked them. Do you have plans this evening?

  The lilies were lovely, but I thought we agreed just to be friends, I text back.

  Friends don’t make plans together?

  I have to work tonight, I send.

  I could stop in for a drink.

  It’s a public place.

  You’re cruel, he says.

  I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.

  I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I’ll see you around seven.

  Don’t be late, I text without even thinking.

  Yes, Ma’am. His response makes me laugh because I can hear the sarcasm in his words just as clearly as if he had spoken them. I decide to let it be the last word for now, but I’m suddenly notably impatient for seven o’clock to roll around.

  What am I doing?

  August 26, Evening

  I clock in at work to find an especially slow Monday. The seconds tick away so slowly that I can almost hear the click of each one as if the digital clock behind the bar were an old school wind-up, but when the little, glowing, red numbers finally change to 7:00 pm, I see the elevator doors open. Cain steps out, and I’m instantly exhilarated.

  “Right on time,” I say as he approaches the bar.

  “Does that please you?” he asks.

  “Cain…” I start to chastise him, but I realize I don’t want to. “Yes, it…pleases me.”

  “But we need to talk?” he asks.

  “We do,” I admit, apologetically.

  “It’s really slow tonight,” Cain hints, and I can’t argue that.

  “Dave! It’s dead in here. I’m giving Nicole the bar. Call me back in if it gets busy,” I call out to him, then I grab my purse, toss Nicole the keys to my car, and lead Cain to the elevator. As he steers me with one hand very low on my back, his touch is electric, and I’m relieved when I can break contact and ride down with my back to the glass wall.

  In the parking lot, his car is in the space right by the elevator, and it’s definitely not the Toyota he borrowed last night. It’s a Jaguar in “ultimate black metallic.” I know the color because this is my if I hit the lottery car. He opens the door for me, and once he gets in on his side, I notice that I can’t smell his cologne as I detect only the heavy scent of the leather seats. The car smells new.

  “Did you trade in the Toyota?” I tease.

  “After driving that thing, I realized that my administrative assistant was underpaid, so I gave her a raise and a car,” he says, pulling onto the street.

  “Was it something I said?” I ask with a pleased smile.

  “Yes, actually, and Veronica sends you her most sincere thanks.”

  “She could have just sent flowers,” I fish.

  “She did,” Cain admits.

  “You had your assistant send those? That’s cheating! They no longer count.”

  “I typed the card myself…”

  “That’s good. I wouldn’t want Veronica having to hide your subliminal messages for you.”

  “Those three little words were hardly subliminal.”

  “No more so than if someone had, say, read them on your lips?” I accuse.

  “Not at all,” Cain says with that smirk of his. “Just like telling my assistant that I want calla lilies sent to you is no different than me telling a florist the same thing.”

  “You have a point, but in the future, do the dirty work yourself if you want the credit.”

  “Duly noted,” he says, pulling onto my street.

  “So let me get this straight. You bought Veronica a new car then turned right around and borrowed it the same day?”

  “No,” he laughs. “This one is mine.”

  “And why did you deserve a new car?” I ask.

  “Because there is someone I’ve been dying to see in pristine, black leather.”

  “A coat would have been a cheaper alternative,” I say, but his response is only a look that gives me the impression that we aren’t talking about the same thing at all.

  “So where do you want to go?” Cain asks. “There’s a good band playing at the Tor.”

  “Okay,” my mouth says before my brain can get involved. The Torrance Music Hall is an old theater converted into a small concert venue and much too loud a place to talk, which I’ve no doubt is by design.

  When we get to the Tor, Cain stops the car in the middle of the street, and a tall brunette woman comes out of nowhere, gets in, and drives it away. She looks vaguely familiar. I think I may have seen her at Prometheus before.

  “I didn’t know they had valet parking here,” I say.

  “They don’t.” Cain offers me no further explanation, and I don’t pry. I probably don’t want to know because the more people he has taking care of mundane tasks for him, the farther apart our worlds seem. This is further evidenced by the fact that we don’t enter through the front door but through the backstage entrance where a huge, muscular bouncer opens the door for us, no questions asked, no tickets required.

  Cain leads me straight through the backstage area, up a staircase and to a completely private loge with a door separating it from the hallway and drawn curtains on the front. We have a table and comfortable chairs, and though the music is still too loud to have the conversation we came here to have, at least I won’t have to scream everything I say up here.

  “Do you own this place or something?” I ask.

  “Just this little box,” Cain says deliberately.

  “I see,” I say, enjoying his innuendo. I guess if I insist on continuing this friendship charade, I’ll have to get used to him trying to insinuate himself into my baser thoughts. I change the subject, directing his attention to the stage. “So is this the band we’ve come to see?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me who we’ve come to see?” I ask.

  “No,” he says with that smug grin that makes me crazy as I hear the door open behind us. It’s a waitress coming for our drink order. Cain defers to me, and joking, I order his staple drink, thinking AsgÃ¥rd is priced way beyond the top shelf of a place like this.

  “Make it two,” he says.

  “Very good, Mr. Ballantyne.”

  Of course, they have it. What was I thinking? I’m with a guy who gets everything he wants anytime he wants it, and the fact that he can’t have me must be driving him insane. I’m surprised how much that thought excites me.

  When the opening act finally says goodnight, the crowd on the floor is restless. I am, too, wondering what’s behind Cain’s knowing smile as he leans back in his seat, one leg squared over the other. He’s so fucking sexy I almost hate him for it, and as I watch him watching me, I don’t notice what’s happening on the stage until I hear music suddenly come on loud and strong. It’s Sweet Mary. I recognize every note from the very first, and I don’t even need to look to know it’s the real thing. I just can’t figure out why they’re here. They headline arenas, not little places like this. I look at Cain suspiciously.

  “This is my favorite band,” I admit.

  “I know,” he says.

  “But how?” He only smiles and nods his head toward the stage to redirect my attention. I really want to watch the band, but I can’t stop watching Cain and wondering how all of tonight’s events lined up so perfectly.

  When the waitress comes, I ask for water because it
’s definitely time for me to switch as I watch the insanely hot lead singer I’ve considered the sexiest man alive from the first moment I saw him. That is, until the first moment I saw Cain Ballantyne, and if Cain can outshine Mason Steel, I am completely fucked.

  “That was amazing,” I say as the band leaves the stage after the last encore.

  “I thought you’d like it,” Cain says. “So shall we get this talk out of the way?”

  “Actually, right now I’d rather talk about how I could have missed that one of my favorite bands would be playing in my city tonight,” I say suspiciously as I hear the door to our private box open. I look up, and…oh, dear God.

  FUCK. ME.

  Waltzing to our table looking down at me with a lascivious grin is Mason Steel, shirtless and bathed in the sweat of the stage.

  “No one knew,” he says in a soft, sexy voice with a British accent, brushing his shoulder-length, wet, dark hair behind his ears as his ice blue eyes look me up and down with haunting precision.

  “Mason Steel, Evan Lucien,” Cain presents me.

  “Evan,” Steel says, treating my name like a delightful taste in his mouth. “Well, Evan, tonight’s performance was a last minute surprise just for you, my sweet. Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was so ravishing, Ballantyne?”

  “She is ravishing,” Cain says, annoyed. “But I’m very sorry to say she isn’t mine.”

  “No?” Steel says, his eyes flashing at me.

  “We’re just friends, aren’t we, Evan?” Cain says, his voice almost venomous.

  “Then the fair Evan is fair game,” Steel says, and he turns a chair around backwards to sit facing me, his legs spread, emphasizing what he has beneath his tight, black jeans. I steal a quick look south but find myself disappointingly unfazed by this god of sex and rock music that had always stirred so much in me in the past.

  “I suppose she is fair game,” Cain says, giving me a smirk.

  “Well, then, little bird, what are you doing for the next twelve hours?” Steel asks.

  “Our talk can wait,” Cain says, his voice flat.

  “Actually, it can’t,” I say, looking Cain directly in the eye before turning my attention back to Mason Steel, “but it’s been a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Steel.” I give him my hand to shake, but he kisses it instead.