by Raquel Belle
Damian’s lips curved into a smile. His eyes danced with humor, which surprised her. “If you’ll excuse me, Black Sheep. This pompous ass has a speech to give. Good chat though.” He sauntered to the door, downing the rest of the champagne she’d offered him.
For a while, Abby stood frozen and gaped at his broad back disappearing into the crowd. “Oh, my God,” she gasped, clutching the lapels of the jacket around her shoulders. His jacket. With an irritated growl, she shrugged off the garment and eyed it with disgust. At once, the cold night air sent a shock through her system, and she cursed. Taking a quick moment to gather herself, she glided back inside.
Chapter Three
Damian
Damian went through the motions like an automaton. After his speech, he took the time to chat to a few people who considered themselves way too important. But he wanted their money, so he entertained them. All the while, he couldn’t get the intriguing redhead out of his mind. All through his speech, he had searched the crowd for her and was surprised by his disappointment when he didn’t see her. The few minutes he’d spent conversing with her had been the highlight of his night, and he wanted more.
After ditching a group of egotistical men, followed by a group of flirting women and even his own date, he’d decided to remain on the balcony for a little while. He’d been enjoying the solitude until she’d shown up. She’d arrived like a gust of fresh air, all wit, and flaming hair and had made him smile and laugh like no other ever had.
The image of her standing there, bathing in the moonlight, and the glow coming from the ballroom, it was etched in his mind. It was almost as if she were some ethereal entity. She wore an emerald gown that accentuated her classic red curls, and she wore a clinging bodice that showed off her slight curves. Even in the dim lighting, he could make out a pair of pale, blue eyes that shone with intelligence. She was the exact opposite of his type, both physically and personality-wise. He preferred tall, curvy model types who did as little talking as possible and disappeared when he tired of them. The redhead was petite, on the thinner side, and too sassy for his comfort. So why then was he hell bent on finding her in the crowded ballroom? She did still have his jacket—that was the excuse he would use so as not to admit that he was very attracted to her.
She looked familiar, and he’d spent their entire entertaining conversation trying to place her. Clearly, she ran in the circles of the wealthy. But he knew every socialite and aspiring model in the city. He’d slept with just about all of them, and he definitely would have remembered the sharp-tongued redhead who dubbed herself the black sheep of the wealthy. He wanted to laugh, remembering their amusing conversation. Who was she?
After successfully evading a rather pushy man who was trying to get his attention—no doubt, to throw a business pitch—Damian finally made his way to the double doors that led into the hallway. If the mystery redhead had wanted to escape the crowd earlier, he would find her somewhere other than inside the ballroom. To his satisfaction, he did find her in the empty hall, leaning against the wall. The second she spotted him, she straightened, her expression tight.
Damian took slow, purposeful steps toward her, his mouth stretching into a smile. She’d definitely done something to him. He didn’t readily offer anyone a smile, ever. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”
“I had a feeling you’d hunt me down for your property.” She extended an arm with his jacket draped over it.
“Thanks.” Shrugging it on, he was pleased by the whiff of a sweet, delicate scent. For some reason, he liked that part of her had rubbed off on him, and maybe some of him had rubbed off on her.
“Nice speech. Very profound.”
“For a pompous ass?”
Her cheeks took on a bright-pink tint, and her lashes swooped down to hide whatever emotion flickered in her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t …”
“If you’re merely apologizing because you found out who I am, I’m disappointed. Stand in your truth, Black Sheep.”
A ghost of a smile haunted her mouth, and she met his gaze with troubled eyes. “I agree. Fine, I’m not sorry. But you were right, it isn’t fair of me to make assumptions about someone I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve heard some things.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear.”
She inhaled but didn’t comment. Damian shoved his hands into his pockets and studied the woman carefully. Her features were very familiar. “You know my name now. Are you going to tell me yours?”
“Abby.” She lifted her chin as if in a challenge and declared, “Aldridge.”
Damian’s small smile faded. “Aldridge. As in Caleb Aldridge?”
“Not anymore,” Abby said. “He’s dead.”
There was no telling how long the two stood, silently staring at each other. Disappointment coursed through his veins. He was attracted to an Aldridge. Bile rose in his throat. He should have recognized the red hair, blue eyes, and prominent cheekbones. Suddenly, he wanted to dislike Abby. But he couldn’t.
He didn’t bother to offer condolences. After all, Caleb’s demise was what he’d wanted. The flash of pain in Abby’s eyes, however, made him feel contrite. At the same time, confusion swirled in his mind. What was she doing at his event? It was no secret that he despised the Aldridge family, and they despised him. Yet, he’d never met Abby. She seemed so different from the others. Curiosity overrode his confusion, as well as the sliver of suspicion that was creeping in.
He didn’t get the chance to interrogate her. Abby took a retreating step. “I have to get going.”
Damian warred with himself. Should he go after her or forget that they’d ever met? He wanted nothing to do with an Aldridge. Yet, he found himself taking steps in the direction Abby had fled.
“Damian.”
He froze, both annoyed for being stopped and at the same time relieved that he was saved from his own folly. “What is it, Camilla?”
The voluptuous black-haired woman raised a brow. “Don’t take that tone with me. It’s not going to fly. You invited me to this thing and you end up ditching me all night.” Her accent added heat to the lecture. “Do you know how many old men I’ve had to fend off this evening?”
Raising a brow, he gave her a look that lacked sympathy. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy fending off old men, Camilla. You love the attention, and I can only imagine the number of clients you gained tonight.”
Blood-red lips kicked up into a smile. Camilla studied her perfectly manicured nails. “Fine, you got me. These rich men have been begging to spend their money on me. I should accompany you to these things more often.” She looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing standing out here by yourself?”
Glancing back, Damian wondered if he should mention Abby. He shared many things with Camilla, she was one of the few people he could trust. His cousin was an amazing person, and very loyal. If only she’d give up her job as an escort. The thought made him scowl. How she’d even ended up in that particular line of work was beyond him. But, she was always getting into something crazy ever since they were kids. She was a free spirit, and if he dished out another stern disciplinary monologue, it would only go in one ear and out the other. “Nothing … I was just about to head back in.”
Her dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Right. Is this how you treat all of your dates? I mean, your real dates. Invite them somewhere and leave them hanging? If so, you need a lesson on how to treat women, mi primo.”
“The day you give up your current profession is the day I’ll take any lesson from you.”
“Screw you, Damian.” She glared at him. “I’m going back inside to find a few more clients.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Damian vowed to never again invite Camilla to an event littered with rich men. Of course, he’d made that vow many times, yet, there she was. When he wanted to avoid having some gold-digging model latched on to his arm all night, and have them assume they were betrothed because of one date, he called his cousin. She was the
perfect hostess and diversionary tactic, leaving him with the opportunity to do things like escape to a balcony and converse with fascinating redheads.
“A fucking Aldridge,” he muttered to himself.
Chapter Four
Abby
Abby wrung her hands together as she paced her father’s office. In just seconds, she was going to have her head gnawed off by her angry mother. She’d botched the mission before it had even begun. “I would make the worst spy ever.”
Running her fingers through her hair and sending her ponytail into further disarray, she stopped and sat in her father’s wingback chair. It somehow made her feel closer to him. Memories of her sneaking into his office as a child when she was supposed to be asleep, crept into her thoughts. Caleb would always welcome her and promise to never tell her mother about their late-night chats. He'd be behind the massive desk while she curled up on the sofa beside him. No matter what he was working on, he’d always stop to talk with her about things that—now as an adult—would be considered trivial.
They spoke about art, school, what she wanted to do when she grew up, even boys she had crushes on. She’d always been closer to her father than she could ever dream of being with her mother or even her sister. She ran her palms over the worn leather of the chair, hating Damian Coldwell even more, and condemning herself for failing her father.
Her misery deepened when muffled footsteps approached. “And here we go,” she whispered.
Celeste entered. She was in a casual, teal dress that floated around her knees, and she wore tan high heels. She was the only person whom Abby knew who wore heels at home. Well, apart from Elaina. Celeste’s graying, blonde hair was in a severe chignon. Abby sighed. Not a hair out of place. Abby patted her messy ponytail self-consciously. Celeste looked impeccable as always, even though it wasn’t yet noon. She always looked like she was ready to meet the Queen at a moment’s notice, which is why Abby always felt scruffy in her mother’s presence. With a rueful glance at her plain t-shirt and ripped jeans, she supposed that she did indeed look scruffier than usual.
“Abigail,” Celeste said, “you could have run a comb through your hair this morning. And do you have to wear those cursed jeans?”
“Yup, Mother, I’m afraid I have to. Comfort all the way.”
Celeste sighed. “You’re hopeless. I wish you could be more like your sister.”
On cue, Elaina sauntered in, teetering on heels as well, and she was wearing a ridiculous, pink jumpsuit. “Yes, Abby, if only you were more like me. If you weren’t such a nerd, you wouldn’t be a twenty-six-year-old virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin.” Abby cursed herself for being goaded so easily. She felt like she was a teenager again, being teased mercilessly by her bitchy sister while her mother stood by and said nothing.
“You said you didn’t screw the old man, Henry. I assumed you still had your v-card.”
“Enough, Elaina. I’m sure Abigail has had at least one boyfriend,” Celeste said.
“Gee, thank you, mother,” Abby said. She rolled her eyes. Celeste and Elaina were quite the pair—very amusing and irritating characters. There were times when Abby swore she was adopted, but then she always thought, no, she was more like her father and brother. Majority ruled. That meant Celeste and Elaina were the ones who were adopted into the family. With a smirk, she stood up to face the music.
She rounded the desk and threw her hands up in surrender. “I know … I wasn’t called here for you two to inquire about my well-being.” God forbid either of them showed they cared one ounce for her. “You want to know how last night’s mission of infiltration went. Well, mission failed—epically.”
Celeste eyed her youngest daughter with annoyance, and Elaina stepped forward. “What do you mean failed? All you had to do was get his attention and follow my instructions. How hard could it be to get a man like Damian into bed? He’ll sleep with anything in a skirt.”
Abby nibbled her lower lip. How did she confess to speaking with Damian but not in the character that she was supposed to play? She was supposed to snag Damian’s attention, play the bimbo who hadn’t a thought between her ears and throw herself at him. She’d screw his brains out and proceed to search his place while he slept. The one problem was that she wasn’t a stupid bimbo and he’d spoken to the real Abby. No way was he interested after that.
Problem number two, was that despite not being the virgin Elaina accused her of being, she had no idea how to screw a man’s brains out. Especially not a man like Damian. He was probably used to women who had sex like porn stars. She’d never even given a blow job before! She even blushed at the thought of a man going down on her. The kinkiest she’d ever gotten was reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
“I spoke to him, but I didn’t play the part I was supposed to. Okay?”
“Oh, no,” Elaina said. “You spoke to him as ... you? He must have been so turned off.”
She sent her sister a seething glare before biting her tongue. There were so many insults she could have thrown but she maintained her control and went on the offensive. “Whether I turned him off or not hardly matters. This plan was bound to fail. I mean, how do either of you even know Damian would have responded to my advances? Even if he did, what makes you think I would have ended up at his place?”
“But you would have gotten a foot in, Abigail,” Celeste said.
Gaping at her mother, Abby wondered if Celeste had the emotional capacity to feel even slightly guilty about practically prostituting her daughter to get leverage for a blackmail scheme. “Wow, don’t expect to win Mother of the Year any time soon, Celeste.”
“This is why we never get along, Abigail,” Celeste said. “You never do what you’re told. You’re hard-headed and stubborn just like your father. Look what happened to him. If he’d listened to me, he’d still be alive.”
Shock. Pure shock vibrated through Abby…followed by confusion. “Wait, what?”
Even Elaina regarded Celeste with furrowed brows. “Mom, what are you talking about? You knew what was going on with Daddy?”
Pursing her lips, Celeste inhaled sharply. “Never mind.”
Elaina turned to her, hands on her hips. Hope flickered in Abby’s chest. Her sister was finally about to stand up to their mother, and for once, she wouldn’t have to stand alone. “You can’t just say something like that and not explain.”
Celeste’s eyes flashed like hot embers and her nostrils flared. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone, Elaina. Know your place!”
Abby watched Elaina’s face flush with sinking expectations. Her sister seemed to have lost all her fight and stepped back. And she was alone again. Why did she dare to hope? Before she could take Celeste on about her cryptic statement, Wyatt appeared in the doorway.
Arms folded across his chest, he regarded each woman with curiosity and suspicion. Then, his gaze zeroed in on Abby questioningly. It wasn’t often that he found her conferencing with Elaina and Celeste. When Abby averted her gaze, he squinted. She knew he was going to hound her for an explanation later. What the hell would she tell him? Certainly not the truth.
“Is there something you wanted, Wyatt?” Celeste sent him an impatient glance.
Unmoved by his mother’s hostility, he smirked. “Certainly nothing from you, mother.”
Scratching a brow and waiting for the battle to begin, Abby sighed. She had to be a part of one of the most dysfunctional families in America. She missed New York more and more every day. She missed London as well, where she’d been studying, an entire ocean between her and the madness.
“We have a guest,” Wyatt announced before Celeste erupted. “I was the one to answer the door. I suppose the staff has heard that we’re poor now and they won’t be getting paid. It seems they’ve begun abandoning their posts.”
“We are not poor,” Celeste spat the word as if it were some taboo term.
Amused, Abby pursed her lips to hide her smile. Wyatt was deliberately getting Celeste riled up because he
too, found her reactions laughable.
“The dwindling Aldridge bank accounts say differently. Anyway, I thought you’d all be interested to know that it’s Damian Coldwell who is at the door.” As if it just dawned on him who their visitor was, Wyatt paused. “Why would he be here?”
All three women gaped at him in stunned silence. It was Celeste who recovered first. “I’ll find out.” She turned a disapproving gaze on Abby. “Make yourself presentable. Maybe we can still salvage this.” She rushed from the room.
“Come with me, Abby,” Elaina said. “Your hair looks terrible and you have no makeup on. Unacceptable.” She teetered away without looking back, fully expecting her sister to be in tow.
With slumped shoulders, Abby dragged her feet to the door. “Abby, what the hell is going on?” Wyatt fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Don’t give me that bullshit about legal stuff needing to be discussed.”
“You don’t have to worry about anything, Wyatt.”
“Jesus, Abbs, I’m almost twenty. I’m not a baby you have to protect anymore. If mom and Elaina have dragged you into some shady business, tell me now. I care about you, more so than I do about them. I don’t care what they want to get into, but you, you need to stay away from trouble.”
“Wyatt, don’t say that. They’re our family.”
“Something I try to forget most of the time.”
She looked skyward. Getting Wyatt to like his own mother and sister was futile, and she couldn’t blame him for his resentment. “I’m not getting into anything shady. I had a run in with Damian and that’s what we were discussing.”
“A run in? Like what? An argument?” Wyatt’s eyes widened. “Is he into you? Is that why he’s here?” He laughed. “Now that would be some Romeo and Juliet shit.”
“Someone’s been indulging in classical literature.”
“Of course I have.”
