by Scott, Talyn
“The city won’t pass you when you have only three parking spots.” He shrugged indifferently. “You’re still trespassing on Easton property when you utilize the three. That’s Trey’s generosity for you, I wanted to demolish your structure from day one.”
Uncurling a napkin and studying the cutlery, Libby said calmly. “You may want to call security now.”
“Why’s that?”
Brandishing a fork, she aimed it at Drake’s chest. “This may be a dull instrument of death, but you truly deserve slow and painful.”
A hand reached over her shoulder, deft fingers peeling hers away from the fork. “Elizabeth, I’m shocked you’d resort to violence.”
How had Trey, a man dependent on a cane, taken her by surprise? Libby half-turned, grabbing her purse from the floor. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’ve been expecting you.”
“Your receptionist said I have only five minutes with you.” Libby stood, gesturing towards the doors leading to the corridor. “I’ll follow you to your office.”
Trey placed his cane next to the table, sat on the sofa, and slowly pulled her down next to him. “We can discuss matters right here.”
Libby shrugged off his hold as she settled back onto the sofa. “Fine,” she agreed, scooting over, only to smack into Drake’s thickly muscled frame. She tightened her body, trying not to touch either of them. “Let’s discuss.”
After a sharp knock on the door, a harried but efficient assistant entered Drake’s office, carrying a thin file. “I have what you requested, Sir.” The assistant’s eyes were on Trey, however, she placed the file in Drake’s awaiting hands.
Libby wanted to know what had gone so horribly wrong with Trey’s eyesight, only knew that it was some kind of accident. Even considering his bizarre vendetta, she didn’t wish him partially blind. When the assistant left, she ventured, “If you’re trying to sell me back my property, forget it. Thanks to you and the legal fees I’ve incurred, I’m tapped out.”
Trey smiled like a cobra, charming and deadly. “I’m not selling anything.”
Drake placed the papers he'd read from the file into her hands, his dark brow raised in amusement. “Apparently, The Easton Company will rent twelve parking places to you and your partners, including the three we’re currently allowing you to borrow” — he tapped the papers with a fingertip — “on the condition you follow that simple contract.”
“I don’t even have the cash flow to rent the parking spaces.” She hissed, “It’ll take time, only after you call in your dogs at the city office.”
“Cash is not required, Elizabeth.” Trey nodded at the document. “Read.”
Libby looked between Drake and Trey before she lowered her eyes, scanning the prepared document. Her entire body stiffened at the freight train heading her way. “What the…” Starting at the top, she thoroughly read it again, word for word. Minutes passed before she found her voice. “I’m to spend three hours a day with you or Drake…or both of you,” she said in horrified awe, staring at Trey, “at your discretion?”
He nodded as if it were nothing to demand this from her. “Wherever and however either of us sees fit.”
Libby gaped, the papers crinkling under her fingers. “I am not having sex with you!”
“Sex came foremost to your mind.” Trey took the papers from her hands, smoothing away the creases. “Why is that?”
“That states” — she pointed at the papers — “that I have to kiss you during that three hour period.”
“A few kisses are required. I didn’t say, suck me off.” He shrugged. “Unlike others in my social class, I’ve never had to pay or bribe someone for sex, Elizabeth, and I’m not starting that nasty habit today with you.”
“I’m to take you at your word?”
He brushed the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. “I would never ask that of you…never you.” He dropped his hand, when she flinched. “Kisses aren’t sex.”
“Who cares about terminology? I have a boyfriend!”
“He’s not my problem.”
Libby had to hand it to Trey; he didn’t look too worried about Stephen. “I can’t spend three hours a day with you, even if I wanted to,” she declared through clenched teeth. “Not only would I destroy my relationship with Stephen, but I have to work. In fact, I’ll be taking on several jobs” — she stood, marching to a window showcasing an endless view of the Gulf of Mexico — “thanks to you!”
Drake followed Libby, stopping right behind her. “Nine additional parking spaces would allow you to rent four of your long term apartments, generating much-needed income for you and your partners — at least enough to keep the firehouse from completely closing.”
Funny how the Eastons knew she had rented exactly four apartments. She couldn’t imagine the money that they’d wasted on investigators. “Such dirty business tactics,” she said with a dismal shake of her head. “Do either of you sleep at night?”
“Ask your father how well he sleeps, Elizabeth.” Trey said, maneuvering his cane and standing next to her. He looked out the window, and she wondered how much he could actually see. “Ask him to be honest with you, for once.”
“You’ve got to let go of the past. Daddy demanded I break it off with you. I was sixteen, still living under his roof. He discovered we’d had sex.” Her face heated and she kept her eyes averted from Drake and Trey’s probing stares. She could never tell Trey the rest, the hell she’d walked through back then. Instead, Libby asked, “What was I to do, when Daddy said I could no longer see you?”
“If you truly want something, there’s always a way.”
“I give up.” She cupped her throat, willing air in her lungs. “I might as well argue with a drunk. Daddy is as stumped as I am over you turning our lives inside out.”
“Your father is stumped?” Trey placed the contract on the corner of Drake’s desk. “Sudden ignorance is convenient, isn’t it?” He reached inside his coat pocket and produced a pen. “All you have to do is sign, agreeing to these simple terms.”
“Simple terms?” She glanced at the paper. “That damned thing can’t be legal.”
Drake placed a firm hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing. “If you don’t want to sign, then you might as well turn over your keys to the bank.”
“What are you talking about?” She whirled on him. “Payton and Noah invested their college money into the firehouse. They didn’t acquire bank loans.”
“Your father did,” Drake explained patiently. “He was going under financially, when you asked him to invest. The bank holds a hundred thousand dollar note on your property, and with all the new refurbishments and upgrades, many local investors are salivating over the possibility of foreclosure.”
“Like you?” She spat at Drake. “Or you,” she prodded Trey. Trey said nothing. Instead, he reached for her hand and closed her fingers around his pen. Keeping the pen in palm, she jerked her hand away from his. Her eyes burned but she refused to allow another tear to escape, particularly in front of them. However, Libby would humble herself for the sake of Payton, Noah, and her father. With a hammering heart and a shaking hand, she signed the agreement. “When does this start?” She asked, since a specific period wasn’t written anywhere.
“Tomorrow, right after I have the city inspector fix the mistake he made today.”
“You have no shame.”
“Shame is such an ugly word,” Trey said snidely. “It implies I feel guilt.” He walked to the double lacquered doors, dismissing her with ease. “I assure you, guilt is the last thing on my mind.”
“I can’t believe how you’ve changed,” Libby murmured, her hand fluttering over her chest. “What about the rest? The gallery, my remaining apartments, and the roadway access you are blocking. What are your intentions?”
“Live up to our agreement,” Trey tossed over his shoulder as he walked through the door, “and then you’ll discover how amicable I am.”
Chapter 3
“Where’s
the ring, Miss Calloway?” Snap. Flash. Snap.
“Out for sizing,” Payton lied to a throng of awaiting paparazzi, holding up her hand to block out the flashing strobes nearly blinding her. Libby, who had put her foot down and insisted they go out tonight for the sole purpose of fun, had her in a death grip. Libby only stopped long enough to handle the valet in front of Gulf Bleu, a five star restaurant proudly boasting a one-year waiting list — not that either of them had a reservation tonight or any other night. She whispered behind gritted teeth. “Lib, I told you we should’ve stayed home tonight.”
“It was a long fucking day,” Libby argued behind her flash of teeth, “and I refuse to stay in another night.”
Another vulture whined, “Where’s Dylan Easton tonight?” Click. Flash. Click.
“Trouble in paradise, already?”
“I’m having dinner with friends,” Payton said clearly, though her heart sank with the mentioning of Dylan’s name. She hadn’t a clue how she’d fallen hard for two Easton men. Now she teetered a razor thin line between love and what-the-hell-just-happened.
“Lower your hand and try to blink away the spots,” Libby scolded in her ear. “You look like you’re taking a perp walk.”
“I hate this,” Payton whispered as she dropped her hand from her face and strolled through the restaurant’s bright coral doors. All questions ceased instantly, since the vultures weren’t permitted inside private property.
“This is a big night for Noah, and you’ve been cooped up for three days.” Libby adjusted her purse and herded Payton purposefully by the host, as though they were meeting a group already seated.
“Miss Bailey, isn’t it?” The host suddenly stood next to them with an electronic tablet in hand.
“Good evening.” Libby’s smile never faltered, though Payton felt a trickle of perspiration start at her temple.
“Good evening.” He glanced at their oversized shoulder bags severely contrasting with their elegant eveningwear. “My apologies, however, your father’s name isn’t down for tonight, and we’re booked solid.” He was punching his tablet like the world was ending and the damned thing could somehow save him.
“We’re meeting friends.” She charged on. “Thank you.”
He blocked her. “What name is the reservation under?” His tie looked like it was cutting off the circulation to his brain, his face a tad purple. “I can then escort you to the table.”
Libby’s smile slipped, her hand waving to the vultures hovering outside panoramic windows with cameras poised against the glass. “Shouldn’t you call the police? Or would you rather follow us to the powder room, because that’s our first stop.”
Flushing, he glanced between the windows and Libby, turning on his heels to leave. “Again, my apologies, Miss Bailey. Please, send my regards to your father.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she whispered as she tugged Payton to the far corner of the sleek restaurant featuring modern bamboo tables, beige seating, and glittering lighting made from spiraling carnival glass. They were nearly at the ladies’ room, when she added, “Daddy will never eat here again.”
“Why not?” Payton locked the bathroom door behind them. Libby didn’t say anything for a moment, and Payton had a feeling her stress went way beyond the legal battle to open their firehouse. A place where Noah, Libby, and Payton creatively combined an open art studio slash gallery for local and national artists alike with short term and long term apartments located on the second floor. All three friends thought they were set, on the cusp of making a decent income after endless days and nights of wielding tools and saying prayers, but The Easton Company had put the brakes on their dreams. “What’s going on besides the usual?” Payton unrolled her dress from her oversized bag, while Libby did the same.
“I might as well tell you that my parents are…flat broke, Payton.” Libby removed her peach evening gown, balling it up and shoving it in the bottom of her bag.
Payton gaped, meeting Libby’s reflection in the mirror. Both stood in bras, panties, and heels. “If you aren’t stressed enough about the firehouse, Noah’s poisoning, and dealing with the vultures trying to get snapshots of me at all hours, now this.” Payton could do nothing for Libby’s family other than lend a listening ear. “Talk to me.”
“That’s it,” she said, shooting a quick text after she pulled on a midi-contrast pencil dress in white, black, and orange. The weird Halloween contrast worked beautifully on her, particularly while wearing her suede stilettos with leopard print heels. “There’s nothing to tell right now, and this night is supposed to be about fun.”
“And supporting Noah,” Payton added, holding her arm over her head so Libby could zip up her square-necked ebony rockabilly dress, a bargain basement steal at thirty bucks. But no one should tell its cheapness by the way it complimented her fuller figure. “However, I think he shouldn’t preform so soon after his poisoning.”
“Noah insists he’s fine, and I can’t persuade him to take a breather. Of course, who can blame him? Club Saturday pays big bucks, once you get your foot in the door.”
Payton remembered Noah’s drummer had dislocated his shoulder. “How did he replace Aaron so soon?”
“Levi White.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Libby tousled her long blonde hair over her shoulders, swooped on extra layer mascara, and layered pearl gloss over her nude lipstick. “Noah is hotter than ninety-nine percent of the male population, but with Levi preforming on the same stage…” She waggled her flaxen brows.
“Fallen angels, both of them,” Payton said, studying the contents of her travel-sized makeup bag, thinking she should spice up her makeup. “I’m sure Noah won’t be coming home tonight.”
Libby gave that some thought. “I would wager he’s going to sing to you tonight.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t. I wouldn’t dare to disrupt the gravitational pull of his groupies, could get ugly.” She brushed on a coat of mascara, while Libby went to work on Payton’s hair and braided three perfect rolls down the side.
“Who cares about those groupie-hookers?” She slid a glittering chandelier earring in Payton’s lobe. With her long red hair hiked up on one side in braids, Payton looked classically sexy. Libby always made it seem effortless to dress and accessorize her this way. It was like having a personal stylist she didn’t have to pay. Libby added some of her pearl gloss to Payton’s lips and then smoked out her eyes, the deep coloring setting off her green irises amazingly. Libby stepped back, putting her hands on her thin hips. “If you were a hooker, Pay, no one could afford you.”
“Speaking of hooker,” Payton replied, staring down her legs, until her eyes landed on her two-tone stilettos in red and black.
“This dress used to be four or five inches longer.” She tugged at the hem, delivering an accusatory glare at Libby. “When did you delve into tailoring?”
“Logic forced me to intervene,” Libby retorted without apology as she loaded their bags. “You have great legs!”
“Chunky legs,” Payton corrected. “I feel like I need stockings now.”
“Creamy skin and great legs,” Libby argued. “Don’t cover them with stockings!” She checked an incoming text. “I see men ogle you constantly. You’re a confidant woman, Pay, one who can wear short skirts and sky high heels like everybody else! Look in that mirror and see what Noah, and…Dare I say, what Dylan and Avery Easton see when they look at you.” She nodded with a smile. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Payton grumbled and grabbed her bag. If she bent over, the world would see her ass.
A knock sounded on the door. Libby opened it, greeting Casey, one of her boyfriend’s servers from his catering business, who conveniently waited tables at Chef Bleu.
“Stephen’s waiting in the alley behind the kitchen,” she whispered, gesturing for them to follow.
Discretely, they moved through a narrow hallway until it dropped from understated opulence to a stainless steel utilitarian
kitchen. Pots and pans were clanking. Orders were shouted out from line chefs. Servers were moving frantically. Casey pressed a code into a panel by the back door and opened it with a secret smile. “Have fun, girls.”
“We owe you,” Libby said with a wave.
“Just persuade Noah to call me.” She sighed dreamily.
“Another fan girl,” Payton grumbled, when they were out of earshot, while opening the side door of Stephen’s catering truck. “Who hasn’t Noah screwed in this town?”
“Me,” Stephen said from behind the steering wheel, wearing indigo True Religion jeans and a Burberry black check shirt cuffed at his tanned forearms, all casually expensive without being stuffy. He raised an auburn brow at Payton, his moss green eyes dancing in amusement. “Noah is not my type.” His smile turned from teasing to adoring, when Libby took her seat next to him. “Oh, but you are definitely my type. Come. Here. Now.”
