Four
Ransom
When I slid into the Bentley that my father had provided to drive Opal around, I settled in, then turned to my sister. “You were lied to about her.”
Opal sighed. “No shit.”
“I don’t like him,” I added.
She crossed her legs and her arms as she leaned back in the seat. “Yeah, well, he is one of the best editors in New York. I don’t understand why he was so adamant she was a bitch. Even after you left, he continued to try and convince me that she was difficult to deal with.”
“He wanted to fuck her, and she turned him down. He’s probably not used to that. So, he’s bitter about it. Typical small-dick behavior.”
She turned her head and looked at me. “What does this have to do with the size of his dick?”
“He’s got all the signs,” I replied. “Starting with his insecurity that he masks with that fucking annoying smile of his.”
Opal gave me a scathing look, then shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
I shrugged. “Guy logic rarely makes sense to women.”
“Ugh, I hate the way I treated her. I feel like the mean girl.”
I cut my eyes at her. “When have you not been the mean girl?”
Reaching out, she slapped my arm. “Shut up.”
I chuckled. “We were both assholes. I should have waited that out before assuming the protective big-brother role and ruining my chances of taking her home.”
Opal’s eyebrows shot up. “Taking home Juliette Romeo?”
“Yep.”
She laughed then. “Good luck with that. Even if you hadn’t been a dick to her, she’s not some floozy from Mississippi. You’re used to women being easy. They all throw themselves at you. That woman has class.”
I grinned. “Hey, Mike!” I called out to the “family friend” who had taken the job to be Opal’s driver and bodyguard and moved out to DC when Opal came here.
He hadn’t been born into the family, but his grandfather had been married to our grandmother’s sister.
So, they were related, and he’d done work for the family over the years.
He was around our father’s age, I’d guess, but a few inches taller with an intimidating build.
“Don’t drag me into this,” he replied gruffly.
“Just tell my sister that a Southern man doesn’t need luck in getting off a woman’s panties.”
“I do not want to listen to this conversation,” Opal said. “Don’t answer him, Mike.”
Grinning, I pulled out my phone.
“Are you texting Than to back you up on this now?” she asked me.
I shook my head. “No. I’m shutting up, like you wanted me to.” And sending Noa a text.
I hadn’t gotten one from her in a couple of days.
We’d go through spells where it was back and forth for several days straight, then nothing for a week.
I was curious if she knew Juliette Romeo.
I’d assume so since she worked in the industry.
The small publishing house she edited for wasn’t big enough for someone like Juliette, but she’d have heard something about her. Maybe her real name.
Me: You’ve been quiet, Shakespeare. What’s been keeping you busy?
I waited for the Read notification, then the dots to appear that she was responding, but neither came up. It was late. She was probably asleep. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I turned and looked out the window.
“Who is Shakespeare?” my sister asked.
“You reading my text?”
She shrugged. “It was right there. Hard not to see.”
I shook my head. “No one.”
Noa was someone I didn’t share. The relationship we’d managed to keep over the years through text had become a necessity for me.
She had no idea the times I’d texted her when shit was dark and I needed her wittiness to make me feel more at ease.
She was my escape from reality. I doubted she realized how much I relied on her.
I couldn’t explain our relationship either.
There wasn’t a label for it. Hell, I hadn’t seen her in ten years.
But she knew me better than most people.
“Is it a female?” Opal asked.
Yes, but no—at least not the way she was thinking.
I wasn’t attracted to Noa like that … okay, maybe that wasn’t the complete truth.
Sometimes, I wondered what she looked like now.
How I’d feel about her when I saw her as a man, not some superficial punk kid.
She sat, closed up in an office, reading other people’s books and editing them.
I doubted she’d changed in looks much. That hadn’t been important to her.
Books were the only thing she was concerned with.
And I liked that about her. I also liked that she didn’t try to make me happy.
She didn’t say what she thought I wanted to hear. She was just herself.
“Just a friend,” I replied.
“Who you call Shakespeare.”
Why couldn’t she let this go? She was like a dog with a fucking bone.
“Yeah.”
“Why do you call him or her Shakespeare?”
Groaning, I turned my head to look at her. She had her eyes narrowed, studying me as if the answer were going to appear on my forehead.
“Long story,” I said. “Let it go.”
“Why? It’s a simple question.”
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and I started to reach for it, but with my nosy-ass sister sitting beside me, I didn’t.
We’d be back at her apartment soon enough.
Noa was something that would remain the one thing I got to have for myself.
I didn’t talk to anyone else about her. She was off-limits.