by Falon Gold
"I hear you, Blake."
"I know that much, but you haven't been listening, cousin."
"That's not true." Just taking my time about implementing the changes I should’ve made years ago.
"You wouldn't still be hiding shit from Amari right now if you had, or have her sinking or swimming. I'm not entirely sure what you've done, but I know it's got her life at a standstill. You're a Powers through and through, and they thrive on plotting and scheming and watching people squirm."
"The last thing I want is Amari squirming, well, not fully-clothed anyway, and I've already undone everything I did to her, but I will ease her into my demons one at a time, starting tonight at her parents. Happy now?"
Mewling kittens let loose in the background.
"No, I'm not happy." He never is when I do things my way.
"I'm sure you're not happy, Blake, especially with that racket around you. Where are you at? An animal shelter?"
"Worse! I'm in Malisa's and Apollo's nursery, which looks more like a military barrack for the two-month-old triplets who woke up while I was changing BJ's diaper in here. There are cribs everywhere. The triplets started to cry in them. Apparently, they do everything together. BJ joined in the chaos. Now, everybody is wet, hungry, and raising hell. I'm up here by myself. The women are on the other side of the mansion, ooohing and ahhhing over Malisa's finished sunroom on the first floor."
I have to put in work to not laugh out loud at his dilemma and wake up Amari. At least, my envy of his predicament is a quiet sentiment. I've wanted my own family for years with the right woman. Now, I need to make things right with her, earn her trust and her heart, then make her mine. It doesn't have to happen in that order though.
"Blake, go get backup. I'll call you later, and you’re much luckier than you know."
"Backup sounds like a master plan, and I know I’m surrounded by God’s gifts that doesn’t come with a volume button. You will be too one day. Bye, Camron."
No sooner does he hang up Bailey calls back.
Chapter Five
~Amari~
I cruise into consciousness overly warm and curled up between a rock-hard pillar at my spine and a hard barrier pressing into my cheek. I was in this spot before I went to sleep too, which means I’m still in Camron’s lap.
"Got any shaving cream, Dad?" someone whispers behind me, only to burst out laughing.
“Not any for you to waste in Amari’s hand so she’ll slap herself with it, Brandon,” my father drawls from the same area as my brother, the prankster.
Conditioned to keep my back to the wall when he's around, I pop upright.
I’m surprised you didn’t do that the minute you realized where you were.
So, I’m off my game right now. Bite me.
"Whoa, sweetheart." Camron strokes down my arm soothingly. "There's no fire."
"Oh, there will be if Brandon catches me slipping. I've got the singe marks on my Pretty Princess vanity table to prove it. How long have we been in Winchester? The last thing I remember is..."
Camron putting your ass to sleep in the car.
I’m definitely going to keep that between him and I. The letting down of more of my guard around him goes to my grave. Couldn't help allowing him in. Foreplay with him is like walking in a mine field, stepping on every bomb buried, leaving me in pieces to put back however he wants to.
That wasn’t the foreplay that did that.
Maybe not, but why was he determined to hold me afterwards? As if I’m precious to him?
Why are you still in his lap, as if you don’t want to move?
Because… there's nowhere else I'd rather be, and that would be me stupidly developing more feelings for him, but I've stuffed that genie back in the lamp before. I'll just have a fatter demon to cram inside this time, right after I deal with my family. What the hell was Camron thinking carrying me inside like he’s my lover when he’s a stranger? How am I going to clear up the text reporting him as my friend?
I should've told Camron about it. What has he told my family already? We hadn't synced our stories enough for him to be entertaining them by himself yet. Rectifying that right now is a must while everyone that I don’t care to lie to can’t see my mouth move.
When I look at Camron, with the brown wood door enclosed by long windows with tan sheer scarfs and curtains as his backdrop, he's wearing a carefree grin. And it’s hypnotic. I relent to it, forgetting the reason why I was looking at him. Recalling I haven't seen him smile like this since he hired me. A woman would be more than fortunate to wake up to that every morning.
It won’t be the first time you thought that.
I’m not going any further down that road.
Coward.
I need to concentrate on untangling the web of deceit I’ve spun.
Camron squeezes my thigh resting along his stomach. "What's that smile for, sweetheart?"
No, not the terms of endearment in front of the relatives!
I mouth silently, ‘Stop talking right now, Camron’, then slither to an empty space beside him on the crocodile-green, wraparound sofa that’s freestanding in the middle of the living area.
"So, the princess is awake, finally," Brandon quips, using the age-old nickname I loathed from eight-years-old until the day he went away to college.
It’s attached to childhood memories that I'm fond of now, not so much when I still wore princess costumes and a crown. Play things that I’ll spend more time chasing Brandon for than actually wearing after school. He was merciless in snatching then squirreling them away in places I couldn’t reach.
I point an accusing finger at him as he sits beside my father, Mitchum, on the other side of a dark wood coffee table, in matching reclining armchairs.
Brandon’s a younger version of my father’s dark complexion, muscular build, and clean-shaven face. Only Brandon wears a Caesar cut with waves tempered by a razor-edged hairline. Daddy’s receded years ago, so he sports a shiny, bald head.
"You’re still a bully, Brandon. I swear all you did was make me cry before you left for college in California."
Camron’s thumb runs along the seam of my jeans squished between our legs. "It must've been fun having an older sibling."
All my blood rushes south to pump savagely in the core of me. Jesus! I scoot further down the couch.
"Anything but fun, Camron," I croak then fan myself viciously with one hand.
He casts a frown my way.
I buck my eyes at him. “What? It’s hot in here.”
Camron winks.
Brandon scoffs. "Really, princess? If I’m a bully, why did you cry the whole time at the airport before I left for Cal U?"
I shoot him a mean scrunching of my nose and mouth. "I had to pretend you'd be missed. That's my job as your sister, or you would've never left, and stop calling me princess."
Deviousness swamps his face. “Would you rather I call you sweetheart?”
Smartass.
Daddy cants his head in a quizzical manner. Well, shit! Here comes the third degree and my mother strutting through the backside of the room from an arched doorway. It intersects with a hallway running dead center of the house, leading to three bedrooms spread out unevenly on each side of the brown-bricked house. Brandon and I co-habited on the left, the master bedroom taking up the whole right wing. I was very unlucky for sixteen years with Brandon as a noisy, unclean neighbor that I shared a bathroom with. Wouldn’t change it for the world. Not going to tell him that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.
Camron stands up, extending a hand to me. I take it until I’m on my feet, then drop it like it’s scorching hot. One of his eyebrows dive upwards.
“Hey, Mama!” I say a little too high-pitched.
Damn nerves.
Six inches shorter than me, she weaves her way around the men’s seats and end tables laden with overweight lamps surrounding the chairs. “Give me a hug, baby girl.”
Her warm, tight embrace never changes. Always bear hugs
me like she hasn’t seen me in years and won’t again. These cuddles have gotten me through all the rough periods during school—two were disastrous relationships. A three-year high school affair with my first love that ended in infidelity on his behalf right before I went to college, the other my first boyfriend dumping me in eighth grade when I wouldn’t sleep with him. The last hurt more than the first. I really had no clue about love back then.
You do now though, don’t you?
For the love of all things holy, shut the hell up.
My mother reverses out of my hold to inspect me from head to toe, her shoulders a little thicker than the last time I saw her in her normal blouse with vibrant tones, slacks in the same solid hue as the overriding shade of fuchsia pink in her shirt. With her love for color, this woman should’ve never been curbed in a puke-green uniform at the local car-manufacturing plant before retiring to watch over my father’s health.
She grins brighter than the muted rays of the lamps beside each of the guys. “Amari, you had poor Camron carry you in here like you’re a queen or something. When did you two get together? I thought you were single.”
“That’s what I thought too,” my father adds.
Double shit—they were waiting for me to wake up before questioning us.
I smoosh one side of her jet-black bob out of a bottle behind her ear. “Well, ah, I was, Mama. How long have we been here?”
Camron drapes an arm over my shoulder. “About ten minutes. We’ve been together for only a day, Mrs. Spencer, though I’ve been in love with Amari for a few years now. When she quit working for me, I realized the best thing that happened to me was leaving and I couldn’t live without her. She put off coming here yesterday so I could come too. I wanted to surprise you all.”
Didn’t I tell him to stop talking? He’s doing the worse thing possible: laying on the lies too thick. I elbow him in the ribs. He grunts.
My mother narrows her eyes at me. “Oh, I’m surprised alright, Camron.”
“Me too,” my father and brother chant together.
Great. Now, they’re all suspicious. Thank you, Camron, for drawing all three Spencer’s to my business. Brandon will meddle just because he can, and my parents will utilize the perk that comes with their twenty-eight-year marriage and giving birth to children—helicopter parenting.
Triple shit!
My mother crosses her hands in front of her. “I don’t know about the two behind me, but I’m shocked she brought you here, Camron. Amari hasn’t brought anyone home since high school. It’s nice to finally meet you since I already feel like I know you. You’re all she talks about on Sunday.”
Sweet baby in a manger!
Camron peers down at me. “I hope it wasn’t all bad, Mrs. Spencer.”
I roll my eyes toward the family portraits on the adjacent wall, utterly embarrassed she’d ratted me out. Things would be so much more awkward if she knew my calls home left out one major gripe about his penchant for dating women at his office.
“Amari has the same woes as everyone else that has a boss, Camron,” she replies sweetly. “Not enough time to date and—”
“O-kay!” I cut in, horrified she’ll rattle off the whole list of my complaints. She needs another list. “What’s for dinner?”
Brandon plops back in his chair, laughing his ass off after spotting a desperate attempt at distraction when he sees one. I’m not hungry in the least when my fake boyfriend wants an audience with my parents who he promised to leave destitute if I didn’t agree to his blackmail scheme. Nope, don’t want to eat.
“We’re having pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn on the cob, the red wine Camron bought, thank you very much, and cherry pie a la mode in twenty minutes, which I need to check on. I’ll yell when it’s time for you to go wash up. Amari, you get to show Camron where yours and Brandon’s bathroom is when it’s time. Brandon and Mitchum will entertain you both until then.” That means the men should get out of me what she hasn’t already since she switched topics so easily.
I have a bigger concern however: Camron is still probing the side of my face. Being alone with him after this, I’d pass on if I could. He’ll take the first opportunity to cross-examine me about what pieces of his dirty laundry I aired. That would be just about all of them. A fatal mistake, obviously. Going to need a therapist with the benefit of patient confidentiality to vent to after this visit.
My mother leaves the room on black, soft kid leather flats, the second shoe design I completed to her specifications for her forty-seventh birthday. She wears them faithfully. When they wear out, I think she’ll give them a proper burial in the backyard.
I ease from under Camron’s arm to the rim of the couch, sitting up ramrod straight. He follows me down, perching with me too close. It gets a little warmer. I plan to inch away to a cooler spot, as soon as my brother and father are looking elsewhere.
“Soooo, Camron.” Brandon palms his chin, elbow burrowing into his armrest. “How long have you owned Powers Enterprises and loved my sister?” Seriously, three little words shouldn’t cause years’ worth of mortification as ‘loved my sister’ does me.
“Mama, is dinner ready yet?” I yell to her stirring something on top of the stove, on the other side of the house.
“No, baby girl.”
Brandon sticks his bottom lip out. “Ah, princess, let us hear about your love life. PG 13, of course. You know Dad still has that bad ticker.”
My father harrumphs, when he should be intervening in Brandon’s tasteless grilling of Camron, who’ll get tripped up in a lie sooner rather than later at this point.
Camron hooks my body in the crook of his arm and carts me into his side. “I don’t mind telling them how long I’ve been pining for you, sweetheart. It’s a cute story.”
Did he say cute?
Yep.
I grit my teeth, smile pleasantly, and then playfully punch his pectoral. It’s like hitting a boulder.
“There is no story… honey. We just got together yesterday, remember?”
He smirks. “Oh, but there’s a story. You just don’t know it yet.”
Yet!
I should’ve been the first. “Before you tell it, let’s go wash up, and I can show you my old room. We’ll be back in time for ‘show and tell’ before dinner.” With our stories synchronized and a muzzle on Camron if I can find one.
“Uh oh. Someone’s in trouble,” Brandon singsongs. Nothing is getting past him.
This social call should’ve never happened.
I motion with my head for Camron to follow me out of the room before hauling ass off the sofa to the left, past my mother retrieving a pan from the oven, and then down the hallway filled with pictures of Brandon and I from every period of our life that we lived here. At the end is a small alcove with three solid white, closed doors. I veer to the left again, into my bedroom that hasn’t changed.
I step back in time as I take in the panoramic view of the room. A pine twin bed posts against the wall, skinny tall boy under the window, along with a small dresser and mirror and pink vanity Princess set with burn marks and a padded stool.
The door closes behind me with a click, snapping me back to why I’m in here. Camron is doing too much and going too far.
I whirl around. “We need to get our stories or rather script down pat first, then cut this visit short, or they’re going to chew us up out there. Pretend you’re getting an urgent business call in about fifteen minutes.”
“No need for any of that, Amari. The truth will do, and I like your family.”
“Just not the whole truth," I say snidely. “I still have to move back home with them, Camron, when this…” I wave my hands around, trying to pluck an appropriate phrase for what we are out of the air, coming up empty-handed. “…thing is over between us. I’d like to not have to dance around too many lies while I’m here, restarting my life.”
He circles around me, nestling on the cheetah print and zebra-striped cover of the bed. “Amari, we’re
not going to lie to them. I said you couldn’t tell them about the contract. That’s all.”
“No, that’s not all. I also can’t tell them we’re as good as history when three months are up and I’ll be homeless, limping back here with my tail tucked between my legs without so much as a purse in my hand. That. Leaves. Lies. Camron.”
“Wrong again, and there is a story behind us.”
I’ve had it with his cryptic statements. “What story?”
“I’ll tell you during dinner with everyone else. Once is enough.”
“Wrong again, Camron.” I back up to the door. “We’re not leaving this room until you tell me first. I should know before anyone else since it’s my story, too.”
“No, it’s actually my story, sweetheart. You just showed them you don’t know it, so your reaction should be genuine when I spill it. Your family will know if you’re not hearing it for the first time.”
I’ll give him this much, he sounds reasonable, but I don’t care much for being blindsided, so I hunker down against the barrier behind me.
“We’re not going until you spill right now, Camron.”
He grins. “Are you testing me right now, Amari?”
“Are you seriously pulling rank right now?”
“Yes. If I didn’t have the contract over you, I think you’d try beating information out of me.”
His torso starts to shake with erupting chuckles, and they’re contagious. I wipe a smile from my face, so not in the smiling mood.
“Don’t do that, Camron.”
“What?”
“Make me laugh. I’m supposed to be wanting to slit my wrists just to get away from your wrecking party of one.”
He laughs harder. “Overdramatic much?”
I snigger. “Not from where I stand.”
His forehead collapses on itself. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to like you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll break me.”
“Never.”
“Prove it.”
“I always planned to.”
And I believe him. Trust him. I’m doomed. Heartache incoming.
Maybe not, but he certainly got your story out of you.
