by Ashley Gee
A pang of hurt accompanies his words, even though it shouldn’t. I know who he is. “If this is all about business, then you shouldn’t have any problem negotiating.”
His smile of dark anticipation makes my knees go weak.
“Give me your terms.”
“You get my brother out of jail, or at least get his charges knocked down to something that will have him out well before he dies of old age.”
“Is that it?”
I force a deep inhalation of air into my lungs, preparing myself. “And if this is a business arrangement, which I agree is the only way it makes sense, then sex has to be off the table.”
I expect him to fight me, but instead he just smiles. I feel reassured for about a millisecond.
“No.”
I jerk back like I’ve been slapped. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean that your terms are unacceptable, but I’m open to making a counter offer.” He navigates the car onto the exit for the coastal highway, and the ocean looms big and bright ahead of us. “I will do whatever I can to help your brother. But sex is definitely on the table. And in the car, the pool house, my parent’s bed, even in the school cafeteria if the mood strikes us.”
“That’s disgusting,” I scoff.
“Is it? I bet if I stuck my hands down your pants right now, you’d be wet and ready for me.”
I clamp my hands together in my lap to stop them from trembling. “You don’t get to talk to me like this.”
“I’m Vin Cortland, sweetheart. I can do whatever I want.”
My lips thin as I glare at his profile. “Then maybe you should just take me back to school, and we can forget all about it.”
“Take a joke, Milbourne.” He signals to exit for the beach, and the car slows down as we end up on one of the meandering roads that wind toward the ocean. “We are negotiating, after all. But if I give something up, then I’m going to want something else in return. What are you willing to trade if I kill the dirty talk?”
“No sex until after the wedding, then.” I insist on it, not because it matters, but so I can feel like I still have some control over this situation that is quickly flying off the rails. There is a very thin line between a whore and trophy wife, but I’d still like to stay on the right side of it.
His smile is brief. “Done.”
I wonder if I’ve fallen into Wonderland, because everything has suddenly turned upside down. This is not the conversation I wanted to have with him, and I hate that he managed to turn it into this. I’d been so angry with him, ready to tear him into pieces, and now we’re talking about sex.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not how a negotiation works. If you want some time to come up with a list, then you should say so.” His hands glide over the steering wheel with the same strokes he would use to explore the contours of a woman’s body. From the heated look he casts me, the association is deliberate. “But just so you know, I’m already willing to offer you quite a bit. I even ate you out at the Founder’s Ball. I never do that.”
I want to ask him how he got so good at it without any practice, but manage to bite my tongue before the words spill out. This is surreal and not what I planned, but it also might be the most civil conversation we’ve had in years. I could almost pretend that the fragile friendship we used to have is still intact. If an uncomfortable sex talk gets Zion the help he needs, then I’m willing to put up with it.
And there isn’t any other reason to engage with Vin worth mentioning.
“Then you stopped before I came,” I scoffed. “Teasing is worse than nothing at all.”
“Is that what has you so upset? I guess Sophia’s face is as good an outlet for your sexual frustration as anything else.”
“It’s not sexual frustration, you dick. My fingers work just fine.”
I freeze, unable to believe I just said that out loud.
Too late to snatch it back, because Vin already heard every word. His head slowly turns to face me, gaze intent on my face. I shift to glare out the window before he can see my blush.
“Is that so?” His voice turns low and seductive. “Did you think about me while you were bringing yourself off, wishing it was my tongue between your legs and not your own fingers?”
I shake my head, still refusing to look at him. “Just forget I said anything.”
“Not a fucking chance.” He grips the gear shift hard, watching me as his fingers stroke the leather.
I stare down at his hand, trying to forget how much better those strong fingers felt inside me than my own. “Don’t get so excited. It won’t be happening again — I’ve learned my lesson about expecting anything from you aside from disappointment.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried. Just like everything else about you, that hot little body belongs to me. Whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”
A burst of heat hits my belly. “Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Pretending like there is something more here than what there is.”
His quizzical gaze passes over me before his attention returns to the road. “You must know that you’re gorgeous. Sophia wouldn’t hate you nearly so much if you weren’t.”
I hate him for saying that, because I refuse to believe this isn’t just another manipulation. He doesn’t actually mean the pretty words. Empty compliments in the hopes of getting what he wants.
And I’m weak enough that it might be working, at least a tiny bit. But if I allow him to burrow further into my life, then it won’t be possible to get him out again. He will have the power to consume me. And when he finally grows bored and moves on, I won’t be able to rebuild what he will have inevitably broken.
“You need to find another girl you can marry to save your inheritance. This isn’t going to work.”
“Are we back to negotiation? Tell me what would make it work for you.”
“Anything short of you becoming a totally different person won’t be enough. Please, just take me back to school.”
“What kind of person?”
I turn to stare at his profile, midday sun setting his features aglow. “What?”
“You said I’d have to be a totally different person for this to work,” he replied patiently. “I’m asking you to expand on that statement. This will probably be your only chance to say exactly what you think of me to my face with impunity. If I were you, I’d take advantage of the opportunity.”
Vin’s voice is mild, but I hear the warning there. Even though his features are relaxed, tension simmers just under the surface.
I take a deep breath. “How about the kind of person who wouldn’t have his friends hold me down while he cuts me up?”
Whatever reaction I expected to that, it isn’t the one I get. He just shrugs. “I have my reasons for that, but okay.”
My hands ball into fists, and I resist the urge to wrench the wheel toward the guardrail. “What reasons could there possibly be?”
“I’ll tell you if you want, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
He drives slowly down the beach road and then parks the car in the nearly empty parking lot attached to the access boardwalk. This isn’t a good spot for surfers and it’s a school day, so the beach is probably deserted. Aside from any homeless people that might wander by, we are completely alone here.
The thought should scare me more than it does.
Screwing up my nerve after a minute of agonizing silence, I finally insist. “Tell me.”
Instead of answering, he gets out of the car and goes around to sit on the hood. With a weary sigh, I shove open my door and follow him. Sand crunches under the thin soles of my sneakers as I deeply inhale air so salty it stings my nostrils.
When I come around the front of the car, he already has his vape pen in his hand.
“Well?”
He takes a pull and exhales a cloud of wispy vapor.
“I cut you when you fuck up so you don’t do it to yourself.”
“What—"
I stop myself short. He can’t possibly know I started cutting myself after my mother left, that I did it for years. Usually when I screwed something up or felt too much like the mistake my parents didn’t want, but I stopped a few years ago.
After the first time he laid a blade against my skin.
“I read somewhere that people who cut use it as a coping mechanism, like a release valve. You weren’t very good at hiding the scars. And they were always low on your arms, places where slicing too deep could mean the end. I would have told you to stop that shit if I thought you’d listen. Instead, I found another way.” His smile is humorless as he takes another pull from the vape. “Just like everything else, if I do it, then it takes all the fun away.”
This is why talking to him is a bad idea. Vin knows how to twist things, confuse me until I’m not sure if I remember parts of my own history correctly.
I hate it.
I hate him, even when I feel other things just as strongly.
“The kind of person I’m talking about wouldn’t do that.” If I don’t steel myself against him, then I’ll drown in the ocean of his personality. “It doesn’t matter what the reason is.”
“You know what also does damage. Nicotine. I read somewhere that one of these cartridges is the same as two packs of cigarettes. No matter how good it tastes, really makes me wonder what this shit does to your lungs.” He takes another pull from his vape pen. “Let’s call it an eye for an eye.”
Does he smoke at times aside from when he is hurting me or being obviously self-destructive? I can’t remember well enough to say.
A pang hits my chest that I try to ignore. I don’t want to weaken where Vin Cortland is concerned.
But it almost sounds like he thinks he hurts me to save me from hurting myself even worse, and then punishes himself for doing it.
There is a twisted sort of caring in that, even though it’s absolutely ridiculous.
And might even be another lie.
“You’ve never been nice to me, not even before we were enemies.” At this point, I’m reminding both of us. I can’t fall under the spell he is trying to cast. “You can’t expect me to think that will change.”
“You can’t tell me what you want and then not even give me the chance to give it to you. Want to walk down the halls of the school holding my hand while chattering to everyone who crosses your path. Fuck it. Fine.”
A tingling sensation starts up on the back of my neck. “And you’ll do whatever it takes to help Zion?”
He gives a heavy sigh as if the subject has grown tiresome and collapses back against the windshield. “I already said I would.”
I can’t fight the impulse to say something about the bitchy elephant in the proverbial room. “I saw you kiss Sophia.”
He glowers at the bright horizon. “Would have been hard to miss.”
“Did you do more with her than kiss that night?”
“Why do you care?” His gaze sweeps over me as he asks. “You made it clear you weren’t interested.”
“And you put on that little display for my benefit, right? I want to know how far you took it, how much you’re willing to use people when it suits you.” I don’t want to say out loud that I’m also asking because of jealousy, but that feeling is there. At least I can admit it to myself. “The kind of person who would treat a girl like that, even Sophia, isn’t someone I can marry.”
Vin settles back with his eyes closed, as if trying to say this conversation is boring him to sleep. “Nothing else happened, okay. I took her home right after we left. I just wanted you to think it was something more. Happy?”
He doesn’t look at me, which makes it impossible to tell if he’s lying.
“I guess.”
“Anything else?” he asks, voice sardonic.
But I just shake my head. All of the anger has completely drained away at this point, leaving me resigned. “All I have to do is stay married to you for a year, and then we go our separate ways?”
He glares at the distant horizon. “That’s it.”
“Fine,” I grouse, already regretting it.
Abruptly, Vin jumps to his feet. “Let’s go.”
He hustles me back into the car as if a fire has suddenly been lit under him. I don’t understand the sudden rush as he guns the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.
“Where are we going?”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “To the D.A.’s office. Your brother isn’t getting out of jail until someone talks to him.”
Twenty-Two
A year isn’t that much to ask.
I’ll bring up the pregnancy requirement eventually. After I got her to agree to the marriage, Zaya seemed so on edge that broaching the topic now might destroy our fragile deal before we can even ink out a contract.
Eventually I can figure out the best way to tell her, when the time is right.
I’m not a complete monster, I’ll make sure that she has everything she needs. She might enjoy playing Mrs. Cortland, assuming she quits the moping enough to enjoy anything. Aside from when I’m just trying to torture her, she has always managed to enjoy our time in the dark together.
We sit silently in the car as I drive to my uncle’s office for the second time in as many days. I glance at her a few times, looking away before she catches me, if just to convince myself she’s still there. Her body language is as tense as ever, but her gaze flits over my profile every few seconds when she thinks I’m not paying attention. Her impressive resolve is weakening, whether she wants to it admit to herself or not.
She said yes.
And she’ll keep saying it until I have what I need.
I can’t fight the triumph that surges through me at the thought. My inheritance is in reach with only a few hurdles left. Zaya has already promised me a year, and eventually I’ll figure out how to broach the subject of having my kid.
I’ve already convinced her of this much, what’s this one last thing?
It’s not like I’d expect her to raise it, that’s what nannies are for. I saw more of my nanny than I ever did my father or Giselle, and I turned out just fine.
Maybe I could even convince her to give it more than a year.
I force away the rogue thought as my fingers tighten on the steering wheel. That is the craziness talking, the impulse I seem to have for destroying things that were working just fine before. This isn’t about love or any other fluffy emotions. Love is a weakness that opens your heart up to being ripped apart.
Zaya Milbourne betrayed me once, I’m not going to give her a chance to do it again.
I want to own her, possess every part of her, and I want everyone in Deception to see me do it. Then I’ll toss her away when it’s all over and done with.
Securing my inheritance is the glorious icing on the cake.
But it isn’t about love.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I force myself to look at her, finding her staring at me. “Fine.”
The district attorney’s office is busy because it’s a Monday morning. That doesn’t stop me from breezing past the reception desk like I always do.
“You can’t just go back there,” the secretary calls as she half-stands, but I hear the resigned note in her voice.
Because she knows as well as I do that yes, I can.
But Zaya hesitates, falling back by a few steps as she looks nervously around the crowded office. I grab her wrist and pull her after me, loving the little squeak of surprise she makes.
“You’ll be a Cortland, too,” I murmur just loud enough for her to hear. “Get used to the fact that normal rules no longer apply.”
She makes a disgusted sound, but follows behind me as we push through the glass doors that lead to the offices. I can’t help but notice she doesn’t pull her hand away.
West is on the phone when we burst in. There isn’t any surprise on his face, just r
esignation, as he waves at me to shut the door. He usually has the male equivalent of a resting bitch face, so it’s an angry expression that passes over us as we step into the room. I have to drag Zaya over to the desk and push her down into the seat because she is so obviously intimidated.
People think that West only got his position through nepotism until they come face to face with him in a courtroom. The man is like a pit bull who grabs ahold of things and refuses to let go. I hope his mood is amenable today, but it’s impossible to know for sure until he opens his mouth.
Zaya sits gingerly, tucking her hands underneath her thighs as if she worries we’ll see them shaking. She shouldn’t bother, West is amazingly perceptive when it comes to people. I’ve always been able to read her like a book, so he’ll know her every secret at a glance.
West barks something into the phone that I can’t translate because it’s in advanced legalese, before slamming the down the receiver and turning to us. “The next time you bust in here like this, I’m having you arrested for trespassing.”
I doubt the threat is a serious one, but who can ever really be sure? Slouching down in the chair like everything bores me, I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s no way to treat family, dear uncle. I always thought you enjoyed our time together.”
“Smart ass.” His narrow-eyed gaze swings away from me and settles on Zaya. “We haven’t officially met, but I assume you’re Zaya Milbourne.”
She nods, eyes wide.
“So, you must be here about your brother.”
Instead of answering, she hesitates and looks at me. It’s interactions like this that make people see weakness and think they can just roll over her. But Zaya isn’t afraid, she just won’t commit to any course of action until she has thought through every angle. For now, that means letting me take the lead.
I’ve seen the core of steel inside of her every time I try to get her to do something she truly doesn’t want to do.
“She saw the police report,” I tell him. “It looks worse than it should. Zion isn’t some cartel boss.”
With an annoyed sigh, West reaches for the stack of files on his desk. “And you thought it made sense to come see the attorney prosecuting the case instead of maybe, I don’t know, hiring him his own lawyer?”
