Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance Page 4
“Don't talk about my mother like that.” Yes, anger—anger was good. She could lose herself in her anger and try not to cut herself on whatever sharp emotion was glinting in his eyes.
“Don't defend her. She sold you to me. Or didn't you wonder how I got your home number? She gave it to me quickly enough when I suggested it might be worth her while.”
He said he would be willing to speak to you. Christ. Her mother had outed herself and she hadn't even noticed; she'd been so wrapped up in the drama of the moment. Danielle Varens hadn't been blocked by the secretary, after all. She'd spoken to the devil himself.
And he wanted to cut a deal with her.
“She's broke,” Jay said, as much for her own sake as for Nick's.
“I don't want to hear the excuses. She made herself broke. She could pawn her jewelry and actually try living within her means for once—I know you sold some of yours. But she didn't want to do that. She'd rather sell you instead and that,” he said savagely, “is precisely why that woman is the foolish whore I say she is. She severely undervalues your worth. I won't.”
Suddenly, it felt like her neck was no longer capable of supporting her head. With a muffled sob, Jay bowed forward, face in her hands as her hair spilled forward over her shoulders, and she heard Nick let out an involuntary breath as she gave him the perfect view down the front of her skimpy top. Blushing furiously, Jay bolted upright, sitting ramrod straight in her seat, but it was too late; he'd already seen what he'd seen.
“Fuck,” she thought she heard Nick mutter. He shifted slightly in his seat and drained his wine glass as a moody pop song began to play from the speakers.
“What do you want?” Jay asked again. She twisted a strand of her hair. “Me, I'm guessing.”
“Quit your job.” He spread his arms over the back of his side of the booth. “Come work for me.”
Jay was no longer sure where she should look. His current posture was so affectedly careless that it was almost crass. He had been just nineteen when she had seen him last. That was not a nineteen-year-old man's body. “One can only assume,” she said to the table, “that you mean on my back.”
His chest hitched in a silent laugh and the buttons seemed to strain dangerously. “No, Jay. My secretary is terrible—she let your mother through, for one, after I specifically told her not to, which is obviously very unacceptable to me. Even if it did work out in my favor. I want you to work for Beaucroft Assets, and if you do, I'll double whatever you're making at the soap shop.”
“Really.” Jay didn't bother to hide her disbelief as she hugged the sweater to her stomach. “You're blackmailing me so you can give me a raise?”
“This is separate. Consider it a gift for your own sake. I've seen where you're living. No, I'm blackmailing you because I have something your mother wants and she appointed you as intermediary to get it from me. She also really decided to fuck you in the process, but she's not very good at fucking you, Jay. I think I can fuck you a lot better than your mother can.”
A strangled sound escaped her. “You don't get to talk to me like that.”
“This is business. It's a fuck or get-fucked world out there.” Nick let his arms fall from the booth as he slid forward. “Guess which side of the table you're sitting on.”
Anger was almost, but not quite, beginning to eclipse her fear. She grabbed her sweater and yanked it back over her head, ignoring his quiet laugh.
“That's what I want, little bird. I want us to continue where we left off. Just like old times. What can I say? I suppose I've been feeling nostalgic in my old age.” She felt a tug on her hair. Nick had captured one of the spiraling locks, twirling it with surprising gentleness in his fingers. When he brushed her nose with it, she flinched, and he released the strand of hair as he leaned back. “I'm going to ruin you either way, so you might as well live a little.”
Chapter Four
2017
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Part of Jay had wanted to pick up what remained of her water glass and slosh it into his face. She could imagine the crashing rush of adrenaline, the startled gasps that would follow, his seething rage. Go fuck yourself, she would say, and for a few minutes, it would be wonderful.
For a moment, she allowed herself to bask in the fantasy, to let her fingers close over her glass and entertain the thought of this alternate-reality Jay who truly didn't give a fuck. But since Jay did, she raised the glass to her lips before setting it down hard enough to splash some water on the table.
I want us to continue where we left off.
“You want me to work for you,” Jay said slowly. “But you also want to—”
“Fuck,” he supplied, a grim smile touching his mouth. “Say it. You'll be doing it.”
It wasn't hard to imagine him wearing that same look on his face while someone on the other side of a desk stammeringly confessed to a monumental screw-up. Which, she realized with a strange frisson, could easily be her, if she accepted his wildly inappropriate job offer.
She cleared her throat and stared down at her cold fries. “Contrary to what you might think, I am a serious professional. I do actual work for my boss. Good work.”
“I wouldn't touch you in the office. It's bad for morale. I'm not my father,” he added, the rebuke in the words clear.
Jay blinked, memories of a holiday party coming back to her with stark, chilling clarity. Cold blue light. Dark hallways. A woman's low sobs. The sharp, coppery tang of blood.
No, thought Jay. He isn't his father. He's much more terrifying.
“I run a professional business.” Nick refilled his wineglass. His third glass? Fourth? He didn't seem to be tipsy at all. “I fire people who don't. How I conduct my personal life is entirely separate from what I do at work.”
“Not entirely,” said Jay, glancing at her water. Why did she feel like she'd drunk the wine?
“Perhaps.” His tone was level. “I can be discreet, Jay. Patience, however, is not one of my virtues. I've got to return to the hotel and head over to the airport, so I need an answer from you now. Yes or no?”
“Fine.” The word tumbled from her lips, hostile and defiant. “Whatever you want.”
How hideously easy it was to sign her life away. She was sickened—with herself, with him, with the whole situation. For a moment, she stared at the still-full wineglass, sorely tempted.
“Carte blanche?” Nick glanced at her and then at his watch. “Seems unwise.”
Strangely, she found herself becoming insulted. He had blackmailed and bullied her into capitulation and now that he'd gotten what he wanted, he didn't seem to care.
“I'm sorry I'm boring you,” she said icily.
“You aren't. I'm working out some quick math.” He slid his blazer back on without rolling down the sleeves and grabbed his briefcase, glancing at her. “If you're done, we can leave.”
Jay immediately stood up, closing her eyes against the sudden head rush. Nick strode ahead, easily outpacing her. She watched him pay, watched him smile at the hostess—that was weird. The Nick she remembered had never smiled like that; he had always been so sullen.
“What were you working out?” she asked. “The tip?”
“My flight,” he responded. “Your flight, too. It's really too bad you didn't meet me at Bana when I asked. I thought I'd get you in bed at least once before I left.”
She looked at him so sharply that she stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk and nearly went flying. He caught her by the arm, pulling her upright in a way that left her even unsteadier than the near-fall because his grip was strong and filled with the only the scarcest restraint.
It was the first time he'd touched her in eight years and it was making her unravel.
“The logistics aren't great,” he said, “so I suppose I'll have to wait one more day to see you.”
Her body was jolted, hard, as someone shoved past her in annoyance. It crowded her against Nick, who glanced after the man who had shoved her in irritation, even as he moved
them closer to the edges of the building. One more day. “You mean tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes, well. It's not wise to agree to the terms of a contract before you get them in writing.”
She stepped back from him and he let his hands fall back to his side, a smirk playing on his full mouth. She hated him then, but she hated herself just a little more, and said nothing else as they walked back in the direction of her office. Normally, she paid very little attention to her surroundings—which was probably how her purse had gotten stolen in the first place—but in her quest to ignore the man at her side, she found herself noticing everything.
There was a Thai restaurant she hadn't tried; she wished she'd seen it earlier, because she would have gone there with Lily. Movie posters for The Disaster Artist, which she wanted to see, and Dunkirk, which she didn't. An artsy poster for a midnight showing of The Forbidden Zone. In her periphery, she was aware of Nicholas tilting his head to study her, which made her look even more intently at the buildings across the street, even as her heart began to race.
I can't believe he expects me to just go to him—like he thinks I'm on-call, she thought angrily. What am I supposed to do? Uproot my life and everything I worked for because he's—
She caught herself.
Was that food truck always there?
There was an abrupt tug on her arm, a blur of colors and faces and dark concrete walls, and then Jay found herself being dragged off into the alley by her grim-faced stepbrother. “Nick!” she yelped, clutching at the hand on her arm. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“Don't call me Nick.” Without releasing her, he pivoted so that his back was facing the busy sidewalk. Before she could demand her release, his mouth was over hers.
It was—Jay did not have words to explain what he did to her mouth. A kiss was sweet, tender, a promise of passion. This was demand couched in raw, animal hunger; as scorching as the heat of the sweltering kitchen: the unrelenting pressure of his lips on hers promised her own destruction.
Her body sank, her hand still clutching the one of his that was on his arm. Gently, he freed himself from her grip and put his hands on her waist, beneath her heavy sweater, touching her through the thin camisole. Her body jerked as his thumbs traced the shape of her breasts, coaxing her nipples to stiff, aching points. She moaned into his mouth, which still tasted like wine, her fingers digging into his shoulders through the tweed blazer as she lost herself to the sensations of what he was doing to her body. It wasn't like this before, she thought. He wasn't like this before.
And then rough brick was at her back, catching on her sweater, and Nick—Nicholas—was at her front, startling her into opening her eyes as her body brushed against his. She could smell something rotten and was reminded of where they were and how fast she was breathing.
“You see what I mean,” he said, only a little breathless. His eyes were on her face. “You told me I could do whatever I want. Is that a condition you're capable of fulfilling?” His hand, still beneath her sweater, now inched beneath her camisole, thumbing the edge of her waistband. When she didn't speak, his grip tightened and he added harshly, “Would you fuck me in public?”
Jay looked at the empty alley. At the dumpster overflowing with refuse. Then she saw his self-satisfied sneer and her anger spiked in recognition. “Sure,” she said. “Go ahead. Should I turn around or do you want it face to face?”
The sneer disappeared and his face became a perfect blank. He slipped his hands out of her sweater, strumming over her ribs on the way down. Carefully, he tugged at the woolen hem, straightening the fabric, and when his thumbs brushed over her hips, Jay felt curiously lightheaded. I'm too hot, she thought. This sweater is making me too hot.
“I'm not an exhibitionist.” Nicholas gave her a look of reproof. “And I'm not a sadist.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Her words hung suspended between them, barbed and dangerous. She was trembling again; her skin was prickling everywhere he'd touched and she was almost painfully aware of the texture of her clothes and the way they were sliding over her skin. Moisture had gathered between her legs and she felt that, too. Every time she shifted her weight, that cold kiss against her inner thighs felt like a stinging reprimand.
Nicholas released her, holding her at length. The air that flowed in between them burned cold. “You're shaking,” he remarked. “Can you walk?”
“D-don't flatter yourself,” she said. “I'm fine.”
“I'll leave you to sort yourself out, then. I really do need to go. Text me your flight number and I'll arrange a car to meet you at the airport when you arrive at LAX. You have my number.”
“I deleted it.” She didn't mention that she'd had to buy a new phone.
Nicholas made a sound she couldn't interpret and pulled out his phone. She saw his thumbs tap over the screen and then her new phone, which had the same number, bleeped.
She looked down at it bleakly. He'd sent her a bird emoji.
“Don't delete it this time.” The phone was shoved back into his pocket. “And don't stand me up again, Jay. I'll expect that flight number before eight tonight or I'm going to call you—no matter how busy you are. We'll be in touch.”
He's grown up, thought Jay, watching him walk out of the alley.
She wondered why the thought of that was so utterly terrifying.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
There were few things in life Nicholas couldn't get if he wanted them. Sitting across from Jay in the vegan diner, watching her entrancing face light up with anger and frustration as she tried to poke holes in his carefully constructed plan, he thought that there was perhaps something to the delaying of gratification, after all. It made victory so much sweeter.
She had always been the one thing he could never have.
Control had once been his biggest weakness. Now, he prided himself on his. Seeing how flustered she had become in the face of it had been extremely gratifying—although not quite as gratifying as the unexpected bonus of her presenting him with an unobstructed view of her braless chest that had him sliding a hand into his pocket to readjust himself.
He could still taste her; beneath the taste of oily breading on her tongue was the lingering sweetness that was just her, Jay. Sweet Jay. God—how had he forgotten the feel of her mouth? Or the shape of her breasts? Her nipples had been so hard beneath that ridiculous sweater and the sounds she had made as they kissed had been fucking maddening. If she had been wearing a skirt, he might have fucked her in that filthy alley as a prelude to what he had in store for her. Just remembering the feel of her body against his was getting him hard.
Nicholas shook his head viciously, trying to clear the images. Tomorrow, he reminded himself. She'll be mine.
She didn't belong here, working the grind. Living in an apartment that was scarcely larger than a shed—he'd seen the photographs of it and looked up the floor plan; it was small. Smaller than the actual shed of his own house, where he stored old pool equipment and a grill. No, she belonged in Hollybrook with him. Where she should have been from the very beginning.
The thought was tinged with something approaching guilt. He knew why she'd left. He also knew the reason for the fear on her face and that it was deserved. His house had never been a home to her and as a young man, he had used her badly. His father had provided him with plenty of opportunities to test the mettle of his cruelty and he had insolently seized upon all of them in his willingness to hurt her.
And his father had been the worst of all.
For reasons Nicholas still did not quite fully understand, Damon Beaucroft had seemed to want to see Justine Varens destroyed. Perhaps he had wanted to possess her, too. Considering what had happened the night of that holiday party, that seemed most likely. Jay had been a beautiful girl and his father had enjoyed acquiring pretty, costly things—
And what he couldn't buy, he ruined.
Nicholas slammed his suitcase shut and pulled out his phone, checking his messages. There were
plenty of those but none from Jay, which didn't surprise him. She would probably text him at 7:59, just as she undoubtedly knew that he would call her at 8:01 exactly if she didn't.
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth, softening his face. So predictable.
The smile quickly disappeared as he began scrolling, going to his calendar app and setting up an invitation with Meghana Srivastava from HR.
It was overdue. He wanted to get rid of Crystal Yost immediately and needed to determine a proper course of action before terminating his secretary—administrative assistant, he mentally corrected himself, the smile nearly threatening to resurface—and onboarding her replacement without eliciting a wrongful termination suit or claims of favoritism.
Favoritism seemed the most likely, since he planned to push Jay's paperwork through the day the position opened. Of course, when they met the woman, it would be a reprise of high school. She was so good at making people into her slaves. Owen Parker talked about her like a man with a crush and the other assistant had been ready to throw him out on his ass for her sake.
According to the P.I., she was single and didn't seem to have many close friends. She spent most of her time at home. Which means she lied to me about being busy. Her little show of defiance amused him, even though it had cost him a night of having her in his bed.
Send me your resume, he messaged her, adding his email address.
The cab ride to the airport was unremarkable, and the two hour flight to L.A. was dull. A long night of work awaited him, so he grabbed a coffee on the way out of the terminal, downing most of it in five scalding gulps as he walked up to his driver. Despite his exhaustion and general crankiness, he still managed a quiet laugh when his phone buzzed at precisely 7:59.
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Jay felt as if her limbs had each gained fifty pounds as she dragged herself back to the office. Her heart weighed especially heavily in her chest, so much so that she wondered that it didn't drag her straight down into the earth. He did this to me, she thought, pulling open the door that led to their office suite. He did this, and he barely touched me.