A missed call from an unknown DC number caught his eye.
Since the caller hadn’t left a message, he hit redial, crammed the phone between his shoulder and head, and proceeded to boot up the laptop.
“Hello?” The woman on the other end of the line sounded just familiar enough to make him pause.
Declan swallowed, trying to get his heart out of his throat.
It wasn’t Rashae.
“Declan?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Sam? You rang?”
“Yeah.”
“Is... How is Rashae?”
“How do you think? What the hell is going on? What did you do? I want to know what really happened.” The usually quiet, polite Sam that Declan had met was gone. This woman was angry. She sounded a lot like Rashae when she was mad.
Declan stared at the screen without seeing it. He kept seeing Rashae’s horrified face frozen in his memory.
“We were conned,” he said.
“Conned? How?”
“The two game developers who hired me to manage the crowd fundin’ of their game. They used us. They had me get original art work created for them, and they got someone to copy Rashae’s work. They used the temporary access I granted them to demo my accounts to push through their game, and thought they could manipulate me into goin’ along with it. I’m not goin’ to let them. They can’t use Rashae’s work like this and get away with it.”
“She thinks you’re part of it. That you lied to her and used her. Did you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, last I talked to her, she was talking about how much she never wants to see you again. What really happened? Did you lie to her?”
All the air left Declan’s lungs.
“Hello?”
“Aye. I lied to her, but not... I lied about the guys and them changin’ their minds. I had no idea they were goin’ to do this. None at all, Sam. I wouldn’t...”
“Can you prove it?”
“Sam... I wouldn’t do that. I’ve stopped the campaign. I’ve canceled the pledges. I’ve sent notices to my newsletter, it’s on my site, I’ve put it up everywhere that the game isn’t happenin’. I’m workin’ on some other things to make sure they can’t get the game up and goin’ on their own, but it takes time.”
“Last I talked to her, she hasn’t seen any of that.”
“She won’t answer my calls. I keep tryin’ to get through to her.” He paced through the house, needing to move. To do something. “I’m talkin’ to an intellectual property lawyer today, but he’s goin’ to tell me he can’t do anythin’ without Rashae’s involvement.”
“I don’t think you’re understanding me, Declan.”
“What?”
“Rashae’s unplugged. She’s...stopped seeing all of this stuff. Because she’s upset.”
“I’m tryin’ to fix it.”
“What are you to my sister? Her...boss? A friends? Boyfriend? What?”
“We’re...friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
“Friends who sleep together?”
Declan couldn’t answer that. They’d been friends before they met. Once they were face to face...his thoughts about Rashae had never been friendly.
“Declan...” Sam sighed. It was a frustrated sound. “I don’t know what Rashae was thinking, but my sister is the last person who can do friends with benefits. She cares about you, and she’s locked herself up in her studio because she thinks you used her, and she’s hurt and totally blinded to the idea that anything else but her version of the truth might be reality. Am I making any sense?”
“I suppose so. Yeah.” He swallowed again, the single word scraping out of his throat.
“Rashae didn’t talk about how great the game was, how she believed in the project, she talked about getting to work with this super talented guy. That’s what she believed in. You. And now...in her mind, you’ve abandoned her because you got what you wanted. Us Grant girls? We go a little crazy complicated when it comes to people we care for.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” But he knew where she was.
“How much do you like my sister? Do you care about her at all?”
“Yes.” More than he wanted to admit to Sam. Because she wasn’t Rashae.
“If you just like her, then leave her alone.”
“I can’t do that, Sam.”
“That’s...what I was hoping you’d say. I need you to tell me the truth. From the beginning. You convince me my sister should give you another chance, and I’ll do what I can to get her to talk to you.”
The wheels of an idea began to spin, gaining traction on the slippery ice.
21.
New Year’s Eve
R
ashae wrapped both hands around the massive suitcase and tugged, but the stupid thing wouldn’t budge.
Steven and Raul had so kindly helped Tamara and Miranda with their bags, but Rashae only had herself. That was fine. She’d been managing on her own for all these years. She didn’t need a man to help her with her bags, her work, or her future.
That refrain had kept her going since sitting down at her cutting table to begin a last minute cosplay outfit. She had dozens of needle wounds on her fingers from sewing on hundreds of sequins and seed beads, but her big middle finger costume was done.
Now she just had to get the damn bag out so she could go steam the wig and get her attitude adjusted.
“Stupid—fucking—trunk,” she muttered.
“‘ere, let me.”
The sound of that voice shocked her so much she stumbled back and nearly tripped over the curb.
Declan bent forward, grabbed the bag by both ends and lifted it up—and out. Easy as could be.
She blinked, her heart beating painfully in her chest. This wasn’t some sort of daydream. This was real. He was standing in front of her, his gaze narrowed, his expression unreadable.
What the hell was he doing here?
She wasn’t ready for this.
What should she do? What should she say?
Rashae wanted to fling herself into his arms and ram her knee into his balls all at once. One would be stupid, the other could get her charged with assault.
There was no feeling behind his eyes. He wasn’t here to say, I’m sorry, he was here for something. She could see it etched into the lines of his face.
“Hi, Rashae.”
“Fuck you.” She snatched the handle of her bag. Yeah, like she was about to leave that in his thieving hands.
“Wait—Rashae—”
“Get the hell away from me.” She turned her back on him. Damn, why hadn’t she taken Tamara’s suggestion to file a restraining order?
“Please, Rashae, I just need a moment.” His bare hand wrapped around her wrist, the touch of him a shock to her system.
She’d missed his work-roughened hands and how gentle they could be, but this was not the man she’d so stupidly fallen for. He was a con artist. And she wanted to hate him. Eventually she would, but right now she needed space. Safety. Distance.
She quick-stepped down the sidewalk, leaving the rental cat unattended. Well, someone should have stuck around to help her. She wasn’t about to wait for one of the guys to get back.
“I need to talk to you,” Declan kept pace with her, his warm touch heating her skin.
“Go away.” Her throat tightened up around the words, eyes blurring.
What kind of hell was this?
She’d made a plan.
She’d spent days getting everything ready for this. It was her I’m-taking-control night.
Rashae blinked away the tears, or tried to. Her vision blurred. She ducked her head, trying to keep from making eye contact with him, but that only made gravity work in her tear’s favor. Her foot connected with something, and she pitched forward.
“Oopse!”
Declan’s grip around her wrist tightened and he hauled her back.
She did a one-eighty, face planting against his chest f
or all of a moment before they went tumbling to the sidewalk.
This was too much. A reminder of that first night, her stupidity, how easily she’d been duped.
“Rashae? Rashae, are you okay?” He gripped her shoulder, pressing her to his chest.
This wasn’t fair.
She pushed at him, shoving to her feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in her ankle and the ache in her shoulder.
The hotel doors were right there.
She dove for them, leaving her bag in favor of getting the hell out of there.
What a crock of bull. She’d told herself she was strong, that she was getting her act together, but one look at him, the feel of his arms and she was done for. Totally wrecked.
“Shae?”
“Hey, Rashae?”
“What’s wrong?”
Her friends’ worried voices chased her into the elevator, but the doors slid shut, blocking them out.
She leaned forward, bracing her dirty hands on her knees and sucked down air.
He was here, but he wasn’t here for her. Whatever he wanted, she hoped he found it in her bag and choked on it. The dirty, rotten liar. He’d broken her heart. She’d be damned if she gave him another second of her time. At least in public. In private, she knew the truth. He still owned her heart, as sad and pathetic as that was.
Declan groaned and slowly got up.
Well, that was a bloody disaster.
Parts of him hurt that weren’t supposed to, and his jeans were streaked with God only knew what. So much for handing her the papers and buggering off.
“Who the hell are you?”
“That’s him.”
He paused in dusting snow and gunk off to glance up at four people now staring at him. Two were familiar from Rashae’s Instagram account. The others, not so much.
Declan patted his pocket—but it was gone.
He whirled around, spotting a brown envelope in the snow.
“Fuckin’ ice,” he muttered.
The paper didn’t seem damaged, which was a relief. He seriously doubted he could get another copy on New Year’s Eve.
“Hey. I’m talking to you.” The Asian woman—Tamara—grabbed him by the jacket. She was an aggressive little thing.
“Easy.” Declan held up his hands.
“You’re Declan.” Miranda he’d know anywhere.
“Aye, I am.” He glanced between the four-person audience.
“You need to leave.” Tamara let go of him only to jab a finger against his chest.
“I will—just, give this to her. Please?” Declan held out the envelope and prayed it didn’t end up back on the street.
“Why the hell would we do that?” Miranda crossed her arms over her chest.
“Babe? Take a step back.” The dark-haired man grasped Tamara by the shoulders and pulled her to his chest.
“Look—I know I’m the last person Rashae wants to talk to. I’m not ‘here askin’ for forgiveness.”
“Then what is this?” Miranda snatched the envelope from his hands and opened it.
“It’s the initial paperwork to begin a plagiarism suit. I know a guy who is an intellectual property lawyer. He’s goin’ to take her case. Says it’s clear cut, and he can do right by her.” It was going to cost a pretty penny, but he’d already taken care of that. He was committed to making John and Ayan pay.
Tamara’s eyes narrowed. She clung to the arm slung across her chest, probably as much to embrace her as hold her back.
“Take your shit and leave.” Miranda tossed the envelope back at him.
“Let me see that.” The man behind Tamara reached out his hand. “Wouldn’t this mean she could sue you, too?”
“That’d be up to her.” Declan sighed and pulled his hat off.
“Why are you here?” Tamara asked.
“Because...because I never meant to hurt her. Steal from her. Or lie to her. I thought...I thought I had it all under control and then we were blindsided. First by John and Ayan’s petty behavior, but that was just a move to fake us out. They used my platforms to promote their stolen work and I don’t appreciate it.”
“So it’s all their fault and you’re innocent in all of this?” Miranda’s brows rose.
“No, I’m not innocent.” Declan wasn’t making any friends here. “Which is why I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m just tryin’ to do the right thing.”
“You’re leaving yourself open in this, you know?” The dark-haired man waved the papers at Declan.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Why?”
“Because...it’s the right thing to do.” He shrugged and shoved his hands and the hat into his pockets.
“Guys?” The fourth member of their little band, a dark-skinned man with shaggier hair, stepped forward. “Just...an observation? Guilty people don’t roll over.”
Miranda and Tamara glared at the man.
“Raul’s right.” Steven handed the envelope back.
“So now what?” Miranda turned to face Raul, arms crossed.
“I still vote you hold him down for me,” Tamara didn’t mutter.
“How’d you know where we were?” Steven asked.
“Sam,” Declan replied.
“What?” Tamara and Miranda said in unison.
“That settles it.” Steven shrugged. “You can deliver those yourself.”
“No.” Tamara shook her head, but Steven was already whispering in her ear.
“You get a minute’s head start.” Raul handed Declan a keycard with a room number scrawled across the sleeve.
He wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Sixty seconds was more than enough time to hand Rashae the envelope and get lost. He didn’t need to make apologies, because he wasn’t looking for forgiveness.
Declan jogged into the hotel, hauling the suitcase with him—why not?
He hadn’t the foggiest idea what to tell her when he got there, only that he wanted to do right by her. That was it. He wouldn’t beg for more. By the time he reached the room, he still didn’t have a plan.
The keycard beeped, allowing him entrance into a darkened hotel suite, the kind with a communal area, kitchen, and rooms off to either side.
He heard her sniffle the moment the door closed.
Damn him. He’d never meant to hurt her. He’d been selfish, and look where it got them.
Declan swallowed and put one foot in front of the other, but he wasn’t ready for the sight of Rashae sitting on the floor, her back against the king-sized bed, face in her hands.
This, he didn’t know how to fix.
The wrongs committed against her as an artist? He knew what to do about that. Who to talk to.
He should drop the envelope and walk out, and yet, he crossed the floor and sat down next to her.
“I’m not worth cryin’ over,” he said, because it was the truth.
“I’m not crying over you,” she said with venom in her voice.
“Good, because I’m a sorry sack of shit. What’s wrong?”
“I—I hurt my wrist.”
“Is it swellin’?”
“No.”
“Let me see?”
This was stupid. He should leave. He wasn’t a doctor. He couldn’t help her.
She held out her hand and he took it, because he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to touch her. He ran his fingers over the joint, pressing here and there, but all she did was wince at one spot.
“Some tea and a biscuit would fix this up.”
Rashae snorted and glared out the corner of her eye at him.
He was going to miss the good times, short though they’d been.
“Paperwork drawn up by an intellectual property attorney that owed me a few favors. He can put the hurt on John, Ayan, and me, if you so choose.” Declan pulled the envelope from his pocket and set it on her knee.
“What? Why?” Her brow and nose wrinkled.
“I lied to you. I didn’t set out to lie to you. It was selfish. I thought that if I r
olled over for the guys and let them do what they wanted to, you’d...go back to your fairy tower and I’d never hear from you again. I thought that if I had time, if we showed them the right thing, they’d come around. I didn’t know they were con men until they’d already got us. Because they used my accounts, I’m liable. I wasn’t in on it, but I was a part of it. If I’d fired you like they wanted me to, none of this would have happened.”
That was much more than he’d intended to say, but there it was.
He reached over and tapped the envelope. “He needs your signature. Bit old fashioned if you ask me, but he’s the best.”
The envelope fell to the floor. He itched to pick it up, to make sure the pages were safe. This was how they won, how they beat the bad guys.
“Why? Why not tell me that? The truth?” She turned to face him, so fierce.
“Because I lied. I did wrong by you. This is me trying to make it right.” He picked up the envelope.
Rashae smacked the envelope out of his hand.
“I don’t care about any of that. You.” She jabbed her finger against his shoulder. “You lied to me. After everything you said about being different, about us being honest—and you lied to me.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because...”
How did he put it into words?
They stared at each other for long moments, his jaw working soundlessly, her waiting.
“I think I fell in love with you.” It wasn’t a good reason. It wasn’t one that he could prove, but it was all he had.
Rashae just stared, her mouth open.
“I never set out to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to happen. I thought we were going to do somethin’ great, you know? First thing after New Year, I’m goin’ to see a guy about suin’ them for breach of contract and unpaid fees. I’m sorry I dragged you into all this. I wish...I wish I’d have let them fall on their asses instead of pulling you down, too. I’m sorry, Rashae. I would never hurt you like that.”
“Did you just say that you loved me?”
“Yeah, but I’ve never been in love before, so what do I know, huh?” He chuckled, but the sound fell flat.
“Were you part of the campaign at all?”
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 19
