by JB Salsbury
“I’m sure.” More sure than I’ve ever been about anything. “I’m going home, Evan.”
I don’t thank him for the date because what the hell would I be thanking him for? I paid for food I didn’t even eat and stared at his throat all night while he watched television. Not my idea of foreplay.
Hell, I was more turned on by Kingston doctoring up my bloody foot!
“See you at work,” I say and lean over to close the door. “Please go,” I ask the driver.
Evan looks like a wounded bear while he waits, standing on the sidewalk, as we pull away.
“Good call,” the female driver says while meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Could he be any more obvious about wanting to get laid?”
“Right?” I laugh, but inside, my chest aches.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Evan’s end game here.
He’s lonely, horny, and because I don’t have a horde of men begging to date me, he thought I’d be an easy lay.
I can’t blame him for thinking I’d be easy. I long for the skin-on-skin connection that a sexual relationship brings, the intimacy, the pleasure of another person. I may not be the most desirable woman, but I’m not so desperate to end years of celibacy for a man who values a sports game over me.
I’m not that hard up.
Going on a date with Evan has taught me one thing—I may not be the woman I used to be, but I still have some pride left.
Eleven
Kingston
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Hayes glares at me from across the conference table where we’ve all been called by the almighty August North for a meeting.
“What?” I cup my ear. “I can’t hear you from your position with your head that far up my ass.”
“Now, boys,” Hudson, always the peacemaker, says. “Calm down.”
“He’s right,” Alex says to Hayes in his usual deadpan tone. “You’ve been up his ass since you walked in here.”
Hayes throws out a frustrated hand. “Because I asked him if he came prepared?”
I roll my eyes. “You asked me if I brought something besides crayons to take notes with and then asked if I’d prefer a crib in the corner so I could take a nap while the big boys worked.”
“You did say that,” Hudson says.
“You shut your face,” Hayes barks at his twin. “You have no idea what it’s like to have to manage this entitled little prick.”
Alex’s glare tightens. “Says the other entitled little prick.”
“Fuck you.” Hayes scowls around the table. “Fuck all of you.”
I swing my arm in his direction. “Up in our asses. You see what I mean?”
Hudson chuckles, and Alex grunts an affirmative.
“Anyone know what this meeting is about?” I ask.
“August does this sometimes,” Hudson says. “Usually for no other reason than just because he can.”
I check my phone for the time but also notice I have no new text messages from Gabriella.
It’s been three days since she stormed out of my bedroom looking like a wet dream and into the arms of another man. I convinced myself that her leaving upset was for the best. I vowed not to reach out, to follow up, to reopen the door she so firmly closed.
That doesn’t mean I’ve been able to stop thinking about her.
I had to drink myself into a coma to stop imagining her on a date. And worse, to stop imagining what happened after the date. I thought it would help to wish that the man was a selfish lover, that he took all the pleasure from her body and left her unsatisfied. But she deserves better. She deserves to be loved slowly, thoroughly, to have every inch worshipped by a man who truly understands the gift she’s giving him. I want that for her, and I selfishly wish I was the man to give it to her.
The conflicted feelings are at war in my head until I slip into madness. Maybe I need to go out, meet someone new, lose myself inside a woman who doesn’t have thick auburn hair that I want to fall asleep in, probing blue eyes that shred me with a look, plump pink lips that beg to be bitten, and—
“Hello?” Hudson says and waves a hand in front of my face. “You still with us?”
I bat his hand away.
“You okay? You look a little sweaty,” he says.
“It’s hot in here.” I rip off my suit coat and toss it onto the chair next to me.
“The air is always set to sixty-two.” Alex nods to the thermostat in the room. “It’s never hot in here.” His perma-glare tightens. “Are you sick?”
“Sick of being at August’s beck and call.”
I hear our father’s voice before I see him. When he comes around the corner and into the room, he’s accompanied by two women—Miss Vogul, his assistant with benefits, and a dark-haired woman I’ve never seen before.
“You’re all on time,” he says dryly. “What a surprise.” He pulls out a chair for the brunette in the form-fitting, midi-length skirt and matching coat with an embroidered collar. Gucci, if I had to guess. Maybe Armani.
“Boys, this is Sophia Coleman.” He puts his hands on her shoulders, and I don’t miss the way Miss Vogul glares at the point of connection. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“If we could get to the point of this meeting.” Alex’s glare matches his surly tone. “I have work to do.”
“I wanted to introduce you personally to Ms. Coleman as she is the new Senior Project Manager.”
“You could’ve sent a memo,” Hayes growls.
I easily predict where this meeting is going, and so I tune out. I don’t care to hear my brothers argue or give a flying fuck about North Industries’ upper management.
“Princess!” August calls to me. “Ms. Coleman asked you a question.”
I lift my brows at her, bored and tired. “Come again?” How did I manage to say that without a hint of innuendo? Jesus, maybe I am sick.
“I’m looking for staff in my department.” She taps one long, red fingernail on the table. “August has told me a lot about you. He mentioned you’ve outgrown your position in the legal department.”
I look between Hayes and August. “Did he?”
“I need a few project leaders.” She smiles in a way that I’m sure makes most men fall to their knees. “I’d be happy to train you.”
“I bet you would—”
“Kingston,” Hudson hisses and shakes his head.
“If you’re free for dinner tonight, we could discuss the details—”
“I’m not free for dinner tonight. I have plans.”
“You’ll cancel them,” August says with the rumble of authority and a face-melting glare. He turns to Ms. Coleman. “Seven thirty at Palmettos. Miss Vogul will make the arrangements. He’ll be there.”
I shake my head because why do I even get asked if I have no say?
“Great.” She smiles as if she’s won an award.
Trust me, sweetheart. I’m no trophy.
“I’ll see you then,” she says.
“Not like I have a choice.” I grab my coat and avoid everyone’s eyes as I say goodbye and walk out.
I don’t know what time it is when I finally arrive at Palmettos.
I went straight from North Industries to a little Irish pub to avoid going home. I knew that if I went home, I’d drink myself to sleep, which now, as I stumble through the front door of the restaurant where I’m supposed to meet Ms. Coleman, would’ve been a better idea.
I see the brunette waiting for me at an intimate table for two by the window.
“Am I late?” I say as I take the seat across from her.
“A little.” Her spine is stiff as she refolds her napkin in her lap. “I hope coming late isn’t something you make a habit of, Mr. North.”
“It is, actually,” I smirk. “But most women like that about me.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and I look away as the sight of it makes me a little ill. Or maybe that’s the booze swirling in my gut.
The server, a woman in a black dress shirt and bow
tie, smiles at me. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“McCallan. A double… You know what? Just bring me the bottle.”
“Sir?” She looks to Coleman, who shakes her head ever so slightly.
“Just a glass is fine,” Coleman says. “And we’ll take the pasta with truffles and the halibut, please.” She hands the server our menus.
“Hungry?”
“Listen, Kingston…” She leans forward with her elbows on the table. “Is it all right if I call you Kingston?”
“Would it matter if I said no?”
Her grin is mocking. “I’m going to cut to the chase.”
“I wish you would.”
“August led me to believe you two have a fractured relationship.” She picks up her wine glass and swirls the red liquid around the bowl.
“That’s putting it mildly.” I lean back in my seat, settling in the new information. “Dear old dad shared the family shame with you then, did he?”
“He did.” Her chin kicks up a fraction. “And it’s my observation that your brothers don’t seem to share the same tension with August as you do.”
I don’t respond in words or reaction, but she’s right. I’ve always been the black sheep, the odd man out, the stain on the great North name.
“Wouldn’t you love to—”
The waitress reappears with our drinks, and I accept the disappointingly small glass of scotch. “Thank you.” I sip but hardly taste it.
She sips her wine until the server is out of earshot, then she leans her elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you love for August to finally give you the respect you deserve?”
I throw back what’s left in my glass and swallow. “You think I deserve respect?” I chuckle and lift my glass toward the waitress and point for another. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know August—”
“Spare me the details.”
“—doesn’t deserve the success of North Industries.”
The indignation in her voice catches my attention. Her jaw is hard, and the skin on her neck is red and looks hot to the touch. “Go on.”
“August holds a position of power over you, and you want to be free of his control. Is that accurate?” Her shoulders straighten, and her spine stiffens. “I can help you get out from under that.”
“How?”
She leans back in her seat and sips her wine. “Get me dirt on August. I’ll knock him off his pedestal, and in return, you’ll stay on the North Industries payroll as a consultant for life.”
The waitress sets down my second drink, but I ignore it because what Ms. Coleman is offering is more satisfying than the drink. “You’re saying if I give you information on August, the life-ruining kind, you’ll take over his position at North and keep me on?”
She nods. “You never have to show your face in the building when it’s all said and done, but you’ll continue to receive the paycheck.”
I whistle, drop back in my seat, and drag my scotch to my lips. The opportunity to take down August permanently is too attractive not to consider. But there’s only one thing… “What about my brothers? Hayes would rather die than allow an outsider to run the family business.”
“I’ll deal with Hayes when the time comes.”
I swirl my drink and imagine a life free of August and his expectations. She’s offering me that freedom, but at what cost? Trading one master for another?
“Defective.”
I lift my gaze to hers.
“That’s what August calls you. ‘Kingston, my defective offspring.’”
I chuckle because he’s not wrong.
“You don’t have to take his abuse anymore if you don’t want to. I’m offering you a way out.”
I slam back the rest of my drink, fish around in my pocket, and drop a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “You’ve given me something to think about.” I stand to leave. “Enjoy your dinner.”
As I walk out, a heavy sense of dread presses against my shoulders. I don’t have an allegiance to my family name like some of my brothers do. And a chance to hurt August where it counts, his business, is an attractive offer.
But my brothers are my family. And hurting August will hurt them, mostly professionally. I can’t do that to them.
Twelve
Gabriella
The room is quiet and somber. The last of Mrs. Lawrence’s family left after saying their final goodbyes. She passed away just over an hour ago, surrounded by her loved ones. And now it’s time to get Mrs. Lawrence transported to the morgue.
Evan stands on the opposite side of her bed, and we cover her body with a sheet. He looks over his shoulder at the door and then turns back once he’s sure we’re alone. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he whispers.
I lower Mrs. Lawrence to a flat position rather than the slightly elevated posture she had been in for viewing. “No, I haven’t.”
Okay, I kind of have been. I chose to eat my dinner in Rita’s office rather than the break room because I knew Evan was in there. And when we pass in the hallway, I pretend I’m sending a vital text message until I’m out of sight.
It’s only been a few days since our disastrous date, and thankfully our shifts have overlapped only twice since, so he’s been easy to avoid.
“Give me another chance.” He kicks the lock on the bed wheels and pushes it toward the door. “I can do better.”
I don’t open the door yet. “Evan, I like you, I really do. But the date made me realize I don’t like you in that way. Do you understand?”
“I shouldn’t have taken you to a sports bar,” he says and shakes his head. “I see that now.”
Our entire conversation is whispered over Mrs. Lawrence’s dead body.
“I’m sure there are a lot of women out there who would love a sports bar date.” I push the door open in hopes that being out of the privacy of this room will end the awkward conversation.
I want to be honest with Evan. I think he deserves it, but I can’t tell him the truth. That I have a crush on a beautiful gay man, and until these feelings run their course, I can’t look at Evan with anything other than lukewarm feelings.
If I told him that, he’d think I’m pathetic.
Hell, I think I’m pathetic.
I haven’t had the guts to reach out to Kingston and tell him about the awful date he helped me prepare for. I’m too embarrassed. He’d be appalled to hear I ate potato skins and drank cheap wine in a two-thousand-dollar Balenciaga dress.
I open the door to the back room, where Mrs. Lawrence will wait for her transport to the morgue. Evan pushes her bed against the wall and locks the wheels.
“Gabby, wait,” I hear him say.
A thick hand wraps around my bicep and spins me, and then his mouth is on mine.
The rough stubble of his upper lip rakes against my skin, and I wince and pull away. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” His breath is hot against my lips, and he presses his mouth against mine again, this time using his tongue to probe between my lips.
I give his chest a firm shove. His other arm wraps around my lower back, holding me in place.
“No,” I say and turn my head away.
I don’t realize until I hear a soft intake of breath that I turned my scars toward him, giving him my ugly side to push him away. It works. His hands release their grip, and I scurry to the door that leads to the alley.
“Gabby, hold on,” he says as he comes after me. “I’m sorry, okay? Don’t be like this.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I jog around the building to the main street. In that short span of time, I pick apart our conversation, wondering what I might have said to lead him on, and I come up with nothing. I should’ve pushed him away sooner. Why would he do that? I don’t know if running was the right thing to do, but instinct prevailed over rational thought.
I pull out my phone to call an Uber.
My shift is over in an hour. I’ll leave early and tell Rita I had a family emer
gency. She never argues when I use my family.
“Gabriella.”
I recognize the smooth, lazy timber immediately, and relief floods me. “Kingston?”
He steps out of the same black SUV we rode in the day we went shopping in SoHo. My pulse calms at the sight of him. He is stunning in his black button-up shirt and gray checkered pants. There’s not a man alive who can pull off the bold pattern in a way that still looks masculine.
“What are you doing here?”
He crosses the few yards of asphalt between us, and I’m drawn to him as if by a magnet.
“Just came from a dinner meeting. Passing by. I saw you.” One half of his mouth tips up slowly, and he licks his lower lip. “What are the chances,” he says in a whisper.
“You expect me to believe you came from Manhattan to Brooklyn for dinner? It’s eleven o’clock at night, and you just happen to be driving by right as I walk outside?”
That crooked grin widens.
My eyes narrow.
“Fine, you got me,” he says playfully. “I did have a dinner meeting, and then I wanted to see you, so I’ve been sitting out here waiting for you to get off.”
“How’d you know I’d be working?”
“I asked the lady who left a couple hours ago.”
Annette. Of course, she’d tell him I’m here.
He looks at me from head to toe. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” He does that thing where he takes my hand and has me spin for him. “These scrubs are freakishly flattering on your body.” Once my full rotation is complete, I find him glaring hard at my feet. “But what the fuck are those?”
I look down, rock back on my heels, and wiggle my toes. “Crocs.”
“Yes,” he says, still looking at my shoes with utter disbelief. “But why are you wearing them?”
I shrug. “Because they’re comfortable and easy—”
He presses one long forefinger to my lips, and the contact sends a zap of electricity through my blood. “Shh…” he whispers while staring at the spot where the pad of his finger is pressed against my lips. “That was a rhetorical question.” He drags his finger down ever so gently so that it tugs on my lower lip before releasing it completely. “We need to update your shoes.”
