Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance
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“Aloof. Untouchable. Hollybrook's little ice queen.” He parked the car outside the bar but made no move to unfasten his belt. “You wouldn't let anyone near you. God knows, people tried. It was like you decided anyone who got close to you was only going to disappoint you, so you'd preemptively cut them off before they could.”
“That's not true,” said Jay.
“Name one friend you kept from high school,” he shot back, watching her face pale. “Or college, even. Those two girls—you liked them. Where are they now? Or that woman from your office—Lily, wasn't it? Have you texted her recently? Or have you already started freezing her out, the way you always do?”
“Shut up, Nicholas.”
“And there it is,” he said. “You care too much, blue jay. I don't care at all. And now we're both alone.” When she stumbled out of the Tesla, his hand closed over hers. “Isn't that sad?”
Jay looked down at his hand and then at his face. “I'm not alone,” she said uncertainly.
“I've never heard you tell anyone you loved them. Not once. Anytime someone seems like they're getting close, you run. You ran from Michael and from all your friends, and I bet that's why you broke things off with that waiter boyfriend of yours. You even ran from your mother.”
Her eyes were wide, fathomless, like an autumnal spring shaded by trees. She seemed unable to move and he felt her fingers tighten reflexively around his.
“Come on then,” he said, after a pause. “Before you try to get away from me.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
They were both seated right away at one of the tables in the back. It was so quick, despite being a populous brunch destination, that Jay privately wondered if they had recognized Nicholas and didn't want to cause offense. The table was nice, too, next to a potted dracaena and shielded from the kitchens by a wooden Chinese screen. Even though it was out in the open, it was cordoned off in a way that felt—she swallowed—private.
“You said you were here before.” Nicholas picked up the menu, making the leather in his jacket creak. He looked good in it and she noticed a few of the women around them shooting him discreet glances. “What do you recommend?”
“That was eight years ago,” she said. “The menu is completely different. It's embossed now. My God, this used to be a brunch spot for women who wanted to get tipsy.”
“Seems like it still is,” Nicholas said, glancing around. “Now they just have to pay more.”
“I have no idea what to get. You're on your own.”
“Let's make it interesting. Pick something for me. I'll order for you. Drinks, too. Whatever you think I'd like. I'll do the same.”
“What if I hate what you order?”
Nicholas slapped the menu closed. “Then we try again.”
“That seems like a waste of money.”
“I have money to waste.” He leaned back against the booth, propping his elbow against the back, and she felt something inside her catch and slide free. “Better hurry up, blue jay. I already know what I'm getting you and I know you're going to like it.”
It was so disturbing how his smile could tug at her heart.
The waitress arrived and Nicholas said, “I think we're ready to order.”
“What can I get for you?”
“I'll have the caprese skewers, but can you substitute the mozarella for either tofu or avocado or both? I don't really care which. Oh, and to drink, I'll have a blueberry mimosa.”
Her face! Jay nearly laughed. “And for you?” the waitress asked.
“Seafood paella and sauvignon blanc, please,” said Jay, glancing at Nicholas and then away when she saw how intense his face was. Stuffily, she added, “In fact, go ahead and bring the bottle.”
The waitress left with a carefully blank expression and Jay felt a giggle escape her. “Oh my God. Did you see her face. She thinks we're crazy now.”
“She's going to spit in your glass,” Nicholas said dryly. “Ms. Bring-the-bottle.”
“Well, it's your glass now,” said Jay. “So I hope you enjoy your spit garnish.”
He cracked a smile that made her stomach clench. “Was that supposed to sound like me?”
“I can't make my voice as deep as yours,” she said. “But you sound pretty awful when you're trying to be.” She picked up her phone, eager for an excuse to look away from that pensive stare, and felt a pang when she realized that she'd never responded to Lily's gentle teasing.
Hey, she wrote, hesitating for a moment. Didn't mean to ignore you. How are you?
“Who are you talking to?”
Jay set the phone down. “Lily,” she said quietly. “I forgot to write back to her.”
Something in his face shifted. “Good.”
Their drinks came and Jay watched the waitress open the wine bottle and pour her a rather small glass of the sloshing golden liquid. Nicholas topped it off after she left and swapped their glasses.
“Blueberry for the blue jay,” he said, sliding the mimosa towards her. “Enjoy.”
Jay sipped it cautiously. It was dry and a lttle sweet and would go well with the balsamic reduction on the caprese skewers. “How are you?” she asked hesitantly. “You've been so stressed but you seem better now. Were you able to fix the problem?”
“No,” he said, sifting his glass to watch the pale liquid tilt in the light. “But I've reached a decision.”
“That's good, isn't it?”
“We'll see.” His smile was enigmatic. “I'm surprised you didn't order me steak.”
“I wasn't sure what to get you. You don't seem picky but I figured since I've seen you eat octopus, seafood probably couldn't be wrong. People who order seafood don't usually do it because they can't think of what else to get. It's a life choice.”
He laughed—and for once, there was no malice in it.
“Would you have gotten steak?”
“No.” A shadow slid over his features. “You're right. It is a life choice. I've been trying to avoid red meat since my father's heart attack.”
“Oh, right.” She swallowed. “I'm sorry.”
“Are you?” He sipped his wine calmly. “You just told me you were glad he's dead.”
“Okay, no. He was a bastard and I'm not sorry he's dead.” She stared at a floating blueberry in her sugar-encrusted glass. “I hated him for what he did to me.”
“They say living well is the best revenge.”
“Yeah.” Jay took another sip of drink. “How long have you been managing Beaucroft Assets? It can't be that long now. You started . . . pretty soon after his death, right?”
“Five years,” said Nicholas. “Since my graduation. I'd rather not talk about work.”
“What do you want to talk about, then?”
Nicholas stared at one of the fans twirling on the ceiling, with his wineglass cradled in his hands. She had the feeling that he wasn't really listening to her.
“You know,” he said, after a moment, “it's funny. I never really got the impression that my father really liked me all that much. He spent all this time and effort trying to mold me, to make me more like him, and I used to think that maybe that was how he showed he cared. But lately, I've been thinking that it was just that I was his fucking vanity project.”
His eyes flickered, the same icy gray as his father's.
“The day they read his will, I poured out all his scotch. One of them cost twelve hundred dollars. The one he kept in his drawer—do you remember?” he asked suddenly. “I showed you. He had the same bottle for twenty years and I just dumped it down the drain like expired milk.”
Jay felt an icy blade of dread slide into her stomach. “Why?”
“I suppose because it felt a little like killing him. He did love his things—his furniture, his liquor, his watches. I rented a sledgehammer from someone and smashed up his shit. All of that ugly cabana furniture and the things in his bedroom. His watches. His liquor. His porn. I destroyed everything.”
Jay clutched her own glass. “Why?”
Jay was saved from responding by the appearance of their food, but she could feel her heart beginning to pound with dread. “The moment of reckoning,” said Nicholas, as he swapped the plates out. “Bon appétit, mon petit oiseau.”
“Nick,” she said. “You're scaring me.”
He held up a hand as he bit into the paella. “This is very good. Especially with the wine. I think you might win.” His fingers dipped into his pocket and for a bizarre moment, Jay thought he was going to give her money, like she'd won a bet. Instead, he handed her his keys.
“I plan on getting drunk,” he said, sliding them over to her. “I need to do something and I can't do it sober, so you're going to be driving us home.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Jay,” he said, smiling. “Don't look so worried. I'm not going to drink the whole bottle.”
He drank most of it, though, and by the time they had paid and were walking to the car, he wasn't walking the way he normally did. Anxiety pinched her gut. He drove an expensive car and she hadn't driven at all since leaving Hollybrook for good. In the city, she hadn't needed to.
“Are you okay?” She gripped the wheel so hard her fingers were white.
“I'm so drunk,” he said. “So ready for all of this to be over.”
All of what? His life? Please, not his life. “Please tell me what you're going to do.”
“It's a surprise,” he said. “Now drive.”
“My license expired!”
“So don't get caught,” he said, leaning back. “Simple.”
Simple.
She was shaking by the time they parked in front of his house and looked at him anxiously. He unbuckled his seat belt, swearing as he fumbled the fastenings, and then he left, leaving her with little choice but to chase after him as he headed towards the pool.
Was he going to jump in? She flew at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Don't.”
For a moment, he didn't move, and then she felt his hands come down on her arms, tightening briefly before gently pulling her away. “I'm surprised you don't push me in and hold me under.” He tilted his head towards the pool and her heart stopped. “You must hate me.”
“Nick,” she said, helplessly. “No.”
“Liar.” She saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You've told me you do. You're very honest. You'd be a terrible lawyer.” He laughed humorlessly. “I would know.”
“Let's talk about this inside,” she said nervously. “We can sit down and talk about thi—”
“No.”
“But Nick—”
“Ruin me.”
This was so far from what she was expecting him to say that she let out a slight gasp. “What do you mean?”
“Don't worry about our little deal. I'll write a check for ten million dollars. You can put your mother's name on it, take it for yourself, give it to charity. I don't care. It's yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I'm telling you to hurt me,” he said, slurring a little. “Don't you want to? If you aren't feeling up to murder, you could tank my career. I'm being sued for sexual harassment. Your name came up in the call logs. If you join up with the prosecution and tell them all the horrible things I made you do for me, they'll have a pretty solid case. Even though we're technically family, you can still be called to testify against me. I'd probably be fired.”
Jay couldn't breathe. “Why do you want me to hurt you?”
“Because I deserve it,” he said simply.
She shook her head, taking a step backwards, and nearly fell into the plants. The sharp leaves poked and scratched at her through her back as she scrambled upright. He watched her sink down on the edge of the planter with a strange, feverish glitter in his eyes.
“I wanted to see you again—and since I figured that you hated me, I used your mother against you. I used you against you.” He folded his arms, ambling closer. “I never stopped loving you, you know. Ever since we were kids, I loved you. You were the only person in my life who tried to sort me out. You gave me medicine when I was sick and you sat with me when I was lonely and you believed in me when I was just a screw up. And I let my father take that and fuck it all up and then I hurt you and once I started . . . I just never stopped because it would mean—”
His voice broke.
“It would mean having to admit that something was lost.”
He fell to his knees before the planter, pressing his face against her skirt as he wrapped his arms around her legs. “Do whatever you want to me, my darling bird. Whatever it is, I deserve it. Ruin me, take everything, and tell everyone what a terrible man I am—because it's true. You were the best thing that ever came into my life and I'll take whatever you want to give me.”
And then, to Jay's horror, Nicholas began to cry.
Chapter Thirty-Six
2017
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
For a moment, Jay was unable to move. She could feel his breath through her skirt, the strength of his arms beneath that leather jacket. The sun was blazing down in bright golden rays but Jay had never felt colder in her entire life.
Ruin me.
She squirmed, trying to rise, and heard him whisper, “Please don't leave.” And it was like the last broken shard of her shattered heart had finally worked itself free from its frame and fallen, slashing her all up on its way back down.
Remembering the menacing restraint of the man who had come to retrieve her from the city, Jay found she could not quite reconcile that image with the man who knelt before her now. When she tugged up his chin, he bared his throat willingly, leaving her with the sickening suspicion that if she had whipped out a knife, he would have gladly let her slash him with it.
He leaned into her hand, as if craving her touch, and it made her remember—with a painful jolt—how he used to fall asleep on her when they watched TV together, curled into her side as if she and she alone, could offer protection from whatever unpleasant specter haunted his fears.
When had it all gone bad? What had set them firmly on the path to . . . this?
“I'm not going to hurt you,” she said at last, feeling weary. “That's not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“Get up,” she said.
Nicholas stood unsteadily, but obediently, swaying a little as he rose to his full height. She did feel a pulse of resentment then. Even with red-rimmed eyes, he still looked beautiful.
How many times had he made her cry? When he forced her to strip in the restaurant. When he treated her like an escort girl. When he filmed her and made her watch it. When he broke into her room. When he fucked her. When he broke her heart.
When he made her feel things she shouldn't.
She had cried over this man for most of her adult life and nobody would judge her for it. They would only judge her for being stupid enough not to leave. She drew in a breath that made his eyes flick to her and she realized it had sounded like she was about to speak.
Please don't leave.
Wordlessly, Jay headed for the door and he followed her like a large puppy, waiting while she unlocked the side door with his keys. From there, he trailed after her up the stairs. She had to help him. He was too drunk to manage the steps alone.
When they got to his bed, he clumsily kicked off his loafers as he struggled out of his jacket. His sunglasses were missing. They must have fallen out of his shirt. “Do you have your wallet and phone?” she asked, and he looked up from fumbling the buttons of his shirt to pat himself down and hand her both, and once she had divested him of his things, she said, “Listen to me.”
&
nbsp; He blinked up at her.
“I want you to delete everything.” She spoke slowly and clearly, wary of the glaze over his eyes. “Everything you have on me. Photographs. Videos. Anything. Delete all of it, right now. Wipe it. Shred it. While I watch you. I'll bring you what you need.”
“I already did.”
“What?”
“I deleted the video.” He rubbed at his temples, frowning deeply. “I lied in the restaurant. There's no flash drive copy. There's no flash drive. Not anymore. I didn't . . . want my father to find it.”
Jay bit her lip to swallow down her sob. The thought had never occurred to her and she was suddenly, achingly glad it hadn't, or it might have driven her mad. “And the photograph of Ivy?”
“Gone.” He leaned back against the bed and his shirt fell open. “I shredded the physical copy in the airport and created a file to override the virtual one I had on my laptop. Then I deleted the file and compacted the disk.”
“When did you destroy the virtual copy?”
“The day after you slept with me.”
Jay slapped him and he let out a low growl that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
“You bastard,” she whispered. “You deleted everything—and you didn't tell me?”
“You would have left.” Nicholas pressed his hand to his cheek, breathing hard enough that his chest was heaving and she had to look away from him. “And no—not everything. I kept the photos of your mother fucking the pool boy.” His eyes fluttered closed. “You want those, too?”
“What else do you have?” she demanded stonily.
“Photos I took of you. I kept the ones of you in your prom dress.”
“The one I went to with Michael?” He nodded. “Why?”
“Because you looked like an angel.”
A slightly hysterical laugh burst from her lips before she could stifle it. “I thought you said you didn't want to fuck an angel.”
“I lied. I wanted to make you feel dirty; I thought it would make you more willing to fuck me.”
“You—” She froze as his eyes shifted to her hand, which she had raised unthinkingly. “You're trying to provoke me,” she said. “You're still fucking with me, even now.”