When I walked into Bartini, I noticed the elaborate Moroccan theme apparent throughout. There were many round tables with deep red tablecloths draped over them, candles – although unlit at this hour – and gold accents everywhere. There were throw pillows placed on bench seats, golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and beautiful, lush fabrics in all manner of jewel tones draped the walls in lieu of wallpaper or paint. As I was admiring the décor, a man who worked there led me to a table and told me Mr. Reid would be there any minute. He asked me if I would like a drink and, despite the hour, I told him I’d take a vodka martini, wet, and with an olive.
I pulled out my phone to pass the time and noticed a text message from Derrek.
**I have to go out of town for a few days on business. Don’t expect me home until Sunday evening.**
I stared at the message in confusion, as if it were written in braille. Why in the world, after two and half weeks of not seeing each other or even speaking, really, would he send me this message? My blood began to run a little hot at the thought of him shacking up with his other family all weekend, trying to brush me aside with the cover of a business trip. I didn’t even bother answering, but placed my phone on the table as my drink was delivered.
I brought the glass to my lips, closing my eyes as the vodka and vermouth slid over my tongue. It had been a while since I’d indulged in a real drink and in this moment, it couldn’t have tasted any better. I picked up the skewer that held one green olive and placed it in my mouth, my teeth gliding the olive off and onto my tongue. In that same moment, I saw the door open and I halted, the skewer paused, trapped between my teeth.
A man walked in and part of me hoped and prayed he was there to see me. The other part, the part that wasn’t prepared to deal with the type of masculine beauty he possessed, hoped and prayed he would walk right past me. My breath snagged in my lungs as his eyes met mine and he started toward my table.
Dark hair and dark eyes. Eyes so dark, they could have been chocolate. His chestnut hair was shaved short on the sides, but was longer on the top, just long enough to slide through his fingers when his hand ran through it. I watched as his big hand came to his forehead and then moved through locks that looked as though they might feel like silk. He was wearing a black leather jacket that looked soft and worn. Although the jacket fit well enough, it hugged his biceps and the sight of the muscles hidden beneath the supple leather made my stomach flip. He wore a black button-up shirt beneath the amazing jacket, the top two buttons undone, and only part of the hem tucked into his faded blue jeans, ending with black leather shoes to match the jacket.
And he came right for me.
He stalked toward me with his eyes zeroing in on mine. I didn’t stand when he stopped next to me, did not move a muscle except the ones in my neck that made it possible for my eyes to remain locked on his. My head tilted up, captivated by him, and I couldn’t even find the words to utter a greeting.
“Lena?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. There was that voice again. The voice matched the man: hard, dark, rough. My poor body couldn’t handle the combination of all the parts which made up that man, especially when they were coming at me all at once, assaulting me. My stomach flipped – bottomed out. My heart pounded and my mouth went dry.
“Yea…yes…that’s me,” I muttered, right after I pulled the skewer from my teeth, which I’d managed to leave hanging there like an idiot. Still not standing or reaching out my hand to shake his. Just staring. He was the one who broke our eye contact, looking at the chair opposite me before he placed himself in it.
“I’m Preston. Thanks for rearranging your schedule and meeting me here instead,” he said, nodding at the waiter who appeared a moment later to take his order. “Scotch. Neat.” The waiter gave a nod and disappeared again.
“It was no problem,” I said in response, surprised I was able to put together a complete sentence. I had never been affected by a man this way before – not even Derrek. Instantly, but just for one tiny second, I felt guilty for the primal and guttural reaction I was having to this man – I was a married woman, after all. But just as quickly as the guilt came on, it slinked away and left me feeling slightly smug. I could, and would, admire this man as long as he was in front of me. And I would enjoy it too.
“So, tell me. How can I be of service to you?” He placed his forearms on the table, clasped his hands together, leaned forward, aimed his coffee colored eyes at me and waited for my response.
“Well,” my voice shook, “I am hoping you can do a little investigating for me. I need someone to catch my husband with whomever he’s cheating on me with.” I lowered my voice a little when the waiter dropped off his drink. I watched as Preston brought the glass to his lips, only just then noticing how full and lush they were, fascinated as he let the smallest sip of scotch past them. I saw his eyes narrow slightly, guessing the burn of the scotch was coating his throat, but other than the small reaction, he looked like someone who drank straight scotch regularly.
Preston reached into his jacket and pulled out a small notebook and pen. He started scribbling notes on a clean sheet and looked back to me.
“What’s your husband’s name?”
“Derrek Bellows.”
“What makes you think he’s cheating on you?”
“Is that relevant?” I put my guard up. I didn’t feel like explaining how my husband found me inadequate to the beautiful man sitting across from me. His hand lifted his glass to his mouth again and he took another sip.
“The way I see it,” he stated, not looking me in the eye, but looking at his glass. “You called me. You need my help. I don’t care why your husband is cheating, it makes no difference to me.” His eyes moved up slowly and locked with mine. “But if you want my help, you’re going to have to trust me and tell me whatever it is I want to know.” He paused and for just one brief moment, his eyes glanced at my mouth. Immediately, they were back, focused on my eyes, but it didn’t go unnoticed. “I could walk out of here and take any number of cases. I could find any number of people who won’t question me or act suspiciously when I ask perfectly reasonable questions. So,” he stated finally, “I’ll only ask one more time before I get up and leave you to find someone else willing to put up with your doubts. What makes you think he’s cheating on you?”
I took in a deep breath, but never moved my eyes from his.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but first, you have to understand that what I’m about to say, I’ve never told another living soul. It’s a secret I thought, without a tiny sliver of doubt, I’d take to my grave. I have to believe this is confidential.”
“I’m in the business of secrets, sweetheart.”
I tried to ignore the arousal that pooled in my core at him calling me sweetheart, tried not to give any weight to the fact that my heart thundered in my chest, and tried to mumble my next statement with my voice unaffected.
“Marrying Derrek was the worst mistake I ever made. I was young. I was foolish, and I stupidly believed in our ‘happily ever after’. I can pinpoint, to the second, when my idiocy imploded, and I will forever feel the ripples and after-effects of that one moment in time.”
He lifted his glass again, this time taking a gulp of his scotch, draining it, then nodding to the waiter again, signaling he’d like another.
“Go on, Lena.”
Chapter Five
“The night before our wedding, literally minutes before Derrek left our condo to spend the evening with his buddies, Derrek handed me a packet of papers and told me he needed me to sign them. I looked at them, glanced at them really, and saw he’d handed me a prenuptial agreement.” I stopped to take a sip of my martini, hoping Preston didn’t notice my hand was trembling slightly. I looked back to him and saw he was patiently waiting for me to finish my admission. So I took a deep breath and dove into the story.
“We’d never spoken about having a prenup, not once. So I was obviously caught a little off guard and had a few questions a
bout why and how. Looking back on that evening, I think I acted well within reason – a bride is handed a prenup out of nowhere the night before her wedding, it’s her prerogative to flip out a little. Derrek was telling me just to sign it and get it over with, that he had to go, had things to do, but I couldn’t just sign a prenup. The discussion elevated to a full-on fight, with both of us screaming at each other, both of us using the same piece of logic to argue our very different opinions.” I took in another deep breath and then pushed it out, trying not to let the emotions of that one evening so long ago seep into my reality now.
“I kept asking him, ‘If you don’t ever see us getting divorced, then why should I have to sign this?’ And he kept asking me, ‘If you don’t ever see us getting divorced, then why don’t you sign it?’” I shook my head at the memory, looking down at my hands resting on the tabletop. “It was a cyclical fight, one that we fought for over an hour, yelling at each other. The fight only ended when I picked up the pen and signed the papers, stupidly, without reading them thoroughly.” A small laugh escaped my lips, surprising even me. “Thinking about it now, the fight was probably part of his plan. He needed to distract me somehow, get me riled up about something, push me so far that I’d do something so entirely stupid, and it worked. Here I am. Trying to fight against that stupid piece of paper I signed so long ago – a young bride hoping for a fairytale.”
“What did the contract say about cheating?” Preston’s voice was soft, which surprised me, causing me to look up into his eyes, and his face matched his voice. Softness.
“The prenup states, which I didn’t find out until two years later when I finally grew a brain cell and looked at it, that if I divorced him for any reason, other than adultery, I would leave the marriage with exactly what I came into it with. Which, to be clear, was absolutely nothing.”
Preston was quiet for a moment, his thumb running back and forth over the side of his glass. “So you think he’s cheating, and you need me to get proof so you don’t walk away empty handed?”
“I already have proof,” I stated quickly. “What I need you to find is solid proof. Irrefutable proof.” I leaned closer to him. “I refuse to walk away with nothing. I’ve spent the last seven years supporting him, helping him build his business, being the picture-perfect wife, and I’ll be damned if he gets to keep everything.”
“Careful,” he said quietly. “You’ll start to sound like the bitter, jilted wife.”
“Maybe I am the bitter, jilted wife.”
“What does the contract say about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are the stipulations regarding your extramarital affairs?”
“Same. If he walks away for any reason other than adultery, he forfeits everything to me. Except, if I cheat on him, I’m on the line for punitive damages. I’d be left with nothing except a bill for one hundred thousand dollars.”
“And what if you can prove he’s cheating?”
“Half. Of everything.”
“So, he cheats you get half. You cheat you owe one hundred grand.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“So, have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Cheated?”
“That’s none of your business, and has no bearing on what I’m hiring you to investigate.”
“Yeah, but I’m interested as fuck.”
Hearing him say ‘fuck’ sent shocks of electricity through my veins – another primal reaction to him I desperately wanted to ignore. But I wanted to hear him say that word over and over again, wanted to watch his lips caress that word. I crossed my legs under the table, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was starting to build there. He watched me squirm and I might have seen his eyes shift from curios to aroused.
“Well, you’ll have to live in your curiosity, because my sex life is none of your concern.”
“Fine, have it your way, sweetheart,” he said as he took another sip of his scotch. “You say you’ve already got proof of his infidelity. So why, exactly, am I here?”
“All I’ve got is my word, and if I’ve got nothing and he’s got everything, he’ll be able to hire lawyers to tear me and my word apart.”
“And what’s your word?”
“Pardon?”
“You say you’ve got your word? What does your word say? What’s your proof?”
“I saw him.”
“Saw him?”
“Yes. Derrek hasn’t been coming home lately, been staying out late or not coming back to the house at all. So a few nights ago, my girlfriend and I followed him when he got off work. We tailed him to a house about an hour out of the city where he was met by a woman with two small children. The children looked to be very familiar with him and he looked very familiar with the woman as he kissed her right on her porch.”
“You’re right,” he stated flatly.
“Right about what?”
“That story would never get you anywhere.”
“It’s not a story, it’s the truth, but you’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know. I need more proof.”
“You think the children are his?”
I thought about the little girl running and jumping into his arms and him lifting her over his head, his beautiful smile pulling across his face at her laughter. A lump caught in my throat and I nodded. “Yeah, I think they’re his.”
“So, he isn’t just cheating on you, he’s got a whole other fucking life.”
My core clenched again at the word ‘fucking’ passing over his lips. My body’s reaction to him was ridiculous, and even though I tried my hardest to fight it, I felt my cheeks flushing, my skin heating. My body should have been reacting to his proclamation, the fact my husband had another life, another woman at his side. Instead, my thighs were clenching together trying to calm the pulsing between them.
“That’s what I’m hiring you to find out,” I whispered. He was quiet for a moment as he stared at me over the table. His face was unreadable. I had absolutely no idea as to what he was thinking. But his stare was heavy and with every second his eyes burned into me, I felt my pulse race faster.
“The retainer’s two thousand,” he finally said, coldly. I swallowed then blinked.
“That’s fine.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my checkbook.
“You can’t write a check. Your husband would figure you out in a heartbeat. Can you get a hold of cash?”
I hadn’t even thought about that. I racked my brain for ways to come up with two thousand dollars without Derrek getting suspicious. I’d have to ask Samantha.
“I can have cash for you in the next couple of days. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine.” Suddenly, he picked up my phone and started touching the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“I called you from my work number. Odds are you won’t be able to reach me there, so don’t even bother. I’ll give you my private cell number and you call me when you’ve got the money. Until then, I’ll start working on this.” He handed my phone back to me. “But if you find something out, anything you think might be useful, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“Okay,” I said softly. “So, that’s it? You just go on your merry way and I sit around while you prove my husband is a cheating bastard?”
“Was there something else you wanted from me?” His face was stoic as he said those words and his eyes bore into me, asking a question heavy with so much meaning. I tried to swallow but found my mouth and throat dry, goose bumps rising on my arms.
“No,” I whispered, some part of me knowing I was telling possibly the biggest lie of all. A quiet moment passed where our eyes held each other’s. Then, so quickly, it was over. He stood and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, tossing two twenty dollar bills on the table, then folded his wallet and put it away again.
“I’ll be in touch.” Those were his last words before he turned and walked right out the door. I let out a loud breat
h and collapsed against the back of my chair, not realizing I’d been upright and tense. I brought a shaky hand to my forehead and brushed my hair back, smoothing away nothing because I knew my hair was perfect. My hands were just looking for something to do besides the very thing they wanted to do, which was slide down my thighs and give attention to the ache that was still pulsing in my core.
I hoped, if only for my sanity, that Preston Reid was as good at his job as he was good looking. The less time I spent around him, the better. He was bad news, but I was beginning to suspect that my body liked bad.
Chapter Six
The next day, after my body had calmed down, I called Sam and asked her over for lunch. Once she arrived, she wasted no time expressing her anger toward me.
“I told you to call me, Lena.”
“And I did. You’re here, aren’t you?” I didn’t bother looking at her as I spoke; I was busy building us sandwiches. I knew she’d be over her tiff in a few minutes anyway. She just needed a few to harp on me and all would be well again.
“Two days later! I texted you a million times. I even came by earlier today but you didn’t answer the door.”
“I was out.”
“Yeah, I figured,” she said snidely.
I turned and handed her a plate with a BLT and some macaroni salad. “Let’s go sit on the deck.” I motioned with my head toward the sliding door that would lead us outside to a wrought iron table and chairs. Once seated, Sam dove right back in.
“So, what’s happened since you discovered your husband is the biggest asshole on the planet?” She finished her sentence and took a big bite of her sandwich, her eyes locked on mine.
I laughed because I loved how much she hated Derrek, and because of how ready she was to simply kick his ass.
“I’ve got a plan in place. Actually, that’s one of the things I need to talk to you about.” I paused and tried to work up the nerve to ask my best friend for a loan. A loan she would know I didn’t need, so it had to come with an explanation. “Yesterday, I hired a private investigator to look into Derrek and his other life.”
The Private Serials Box Set Page 4
