17. Hope
CHAPTER 17
Hope
I haven’t had a chance to deliver his special package yet because I had art shows I needed to attend. I was also working on officially dropping out of college, which oddly feels freeing.
When I told Billie and Ivy about me quitting school, neither of them was surprised. Charlotte seemed to be the only one who disagreed with my decision. But a small part of me, as petty as it seems, wonders if that’s because she thinks we won’t hang out as much. And honestly, that might be the case.
I don’t expect her to understand, but I don’t like the fact that she said it’s easy for “someone like me.” I think she was referring to the fact that I already have a booming career, and hers isn’t where she wants to be. I don’t have time for people like that in my inner circle.
The current exhibition has been a massive success. I can tell by how exhausted I am, in desperate need of a recharge from how much peopling I’ve had to do.
“Don’t forget, tomorrow our flight leaves at eight. In the car to the airport, we’ll also be having an interview with a magazine that’s been promoting your work for the last two years. I promised them an exclusive interview on the collection,” Candice says.
When I turn my unimpressed expression her way, she levels me with a stare. “I said I’d cut back on the number of interviews. But ‘exclusive’ means only one for this collection and a fatter paycheck.”
I sigh. It’s exhausting, really.
“I’ll call for the car to be brought around for you. I’m going to close out a few things here,” she says, walking away.
I really envy Candice’s gusto. She’s ten years older than me. And, honestly, if I didn’t have her, I wouldn’t have a routine or half the success I do now. I just enjoy doing my art; the rest of it means very little to me. But if doing all of this now sets me up to be able to live independently and on my own schedule in later years, then that’s what I’ll strive for.
I want to remove my hair from its tight bun, but instead, I fidget with my glasses on my way out of the grandiose building. I lift the hem of my light-blue silk dress so I don’t catch it as I descend the stairs. When the cool air of the evening hits me, I look up. And my heart flutters.
I immediately want to stomp on it.
Braxton is here, leaning against his car. One leg crossed casually over the other as he looks up and smirks. I’m not sure what it is about his smile that sends something off in my stomach. It’s kind of like butterflies, but not exactly. I don’t descend any farther as I stare at him, quite enjoying looking down my nose at him. He pulls his hat off, that arrogant smile not faltering.
“Shortcake.” I raise a brow at the nickname.
“You back to tracking me?” I ask. “Should I call security? You wouldn’t be the first raging fan I’ve had.”
“I’m a detective. It’s what I do. And a raging fan might be a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? I only want you for your body. Not your work.”
Heat floods to my core. Fuck this asshole.
“So, are you saying I should put a restraining order on you?” I quip.
“You could try, but it won’t do much,” he replies. “Why don’t you come down here before I, in a chivalrous way, of course, throw you over my shoulder and into my car?”
“So you’ve resorted to kidnapping me?”
He looks around in mock shock. “Of course not. That’s why I included the term ‘chivalrous.’ I’ll make sure you don’t hit your head when I gently place you into the trunk of the car. I might not even tie you up, even though I know how much you’ll like it.” He winks.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh. Dickhead .
A couple walks past me, leaving as the show comes to a close, and I wonder where my driver is. He should’ve come around by now.
“I had him arrested. Your driver.” Did he read my thoughts? My jaw tightens as I glare at him again.
“You what?”
“He was drinking. We can’t have him driving you while he’s intoxicated, now can we? I’m not only chivalrous but also protective. Very sweet. Very mindful. Very heroic.”
Again, I try not to laugh. This guy is such an asshole.
“You’re lying.” Larry, my driver has always been reliable.
“I guess you’ll never know. Now, come on, Shortcake. Let’s go for pancakes. We have much to discuss.” He holds open the car door.
I shake my head. “I’m not getting into a police car.”
“You are. Get in before I start the sirens.” My dress bunches in my hands from how tightly I’m clutching it. This asshole is so insufferable.
“You have ten seconds.” He starts counting. “Ten. Nine.” His eyes pin mine. “Eight.”
“Ugh. Shut up. I’m coming.” Because I know he’ll do it. And the last thing I need is for this to end up as a headlining story or even a minor article because my father will find out one way or another. And I don’t want any of my family knowing I’ve been seen with a cop.
He watches my every step as I descend the stairs. It’s like at the nightclub all over again, but this time, the tension is more palpable, and I can’t blame it on the tequila. His gaze falls to my heels and remains there until I reach him. Then, ever so slowly, he drags his gaze up my body until it reaches my face.
He opens the passenger door and nods his head for me to get in. I look at him, contemplating whether or not I should get in. Someone could see me. But he doesn’t care about that.
I don’t even know why he’s here. I haven’t dropped off my little surprise to him yet, so other than that, I can’t think of why he’d be here demanding I get into his car.
“I’ve been upgraded from the trunk?” I ask indignantly.
“That’s reserved for the girls I like,” he says with an arrogant smirk.
“Suddenly, I can see why you must be lonely, especially if you’re so desperate for my attention.”
I can tell he’s trying to hide a laugh, which fills me with a flash of triumph of sorts. I slide into the car, not wanting him to see my tiny grin.
If my family discovered me willingly sliding into a detective’s car, all the sentiments of how proud of me they are would be thrown out the window. And, yet, part of me wonders if that’s why I’m doing it. It’s the one thing I shouldn’t be doing. The one thing my mother and father would entirely disapprove of. It makes it exciting.
No doubt they would kill him, though.
He knows this and is apparently willing to risk it.
And while he annoys me, I don’t want him dead… yet. I like playing with him. It’s been keeping me very entertained these last few weeks. Granted, I didn’t think I would ever see him again, and now I can’t get him to leave.
He shuts the car door and walks around to the driver’s side. I make a point not to speak to him as he takes us to my favorite diner, He doesn’t push for conversation, either. He just grins the entire fucking trip like he’s already won.
When we park at the diner, he quickly comes around to open the door for me. I don’t thank him. Because this is a kidnapping. Kidnappers do not get manners, even if they have a badge.
I stand out in my formal silk gown and expensive jewelry. And though the café isn’t busy, the few diners scattered at the tables turn to look as we enter.
He leads us to my usual table, ordering two plates of pancakes with extra syrup and two mugs of black coffee as I take the seat opposite him.
It’s eerie that he knows my regular order. A reminder that perhaps I’m too regimented. But if I were to compare myself to my father, then I’m not half as bad, but I don’t know if that’s a good comparison.
“Care to let me know why I’m here?” I ask.
“Because after this, you’ll be coming back to my place, and we’ll be fucking.”
I sneer at him. “I’m not sleeping with a cop.”
“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you? Did Mommy and Daddy teach you that police are the enemy?”
My smile is cruel. “Yes. And they also taught me manners and that if I ever need them to make the scary monsters go away, they’ll be there. But some monsters I prefer to slay myself.”
“You seem to be shit at slaying anything. Maybe you’ll have better luck with my cock.”
“Well, it’s significantly smaller, isn’t it? Perhaps this time, I might use blades instead of my hands.”
He’s smirking as he says, “I much prefer it when you use your mouth.”
My pussy throbs, and before I can reply, the waitress stops at our table and places our pancakes in front of us.
His eyes sparkle as he cuts the first bite and puts it into his mouth. “Are you saying you haven’t thought about it? Your kiss the other night indicates otherwise.”
“I…”
“You have. And you aren’t a virgin anymore. So I don’t plan to treat you like one this time.” He takes another bite, and we both know he was the only one treating me like a virgin that night, and it certainly didn’t end on that note. There was no sweet lovemaking. That’s not why I was there. But next time… It could be disastrous.
I want to say I’m not interested, but I’m curious. I might not be able to kill him right now, but if I can strangle him through other means, I’d be crazy not to take that opportunity.
I’m conflicted. I can’t stand this man, but my body is very interested in having another night with him.
“You hate me, so why would you want to have sex with me?” I ask. I don’t understand why he started playing with me in the first place. It’s most likely to get dirt on my family. But surely, he knows I’m not stupid enough to share information like that with him.
“No, I despise who you are. But hate? That’s a strong word.”
“Should you even be associating with me, knowing who my family is? You’re lucky Hawke didn’t break your legs last time,” I say, keeping my gaze on my pancakes. And it goes without saying that if my father or aunt found out, he’d no longer be breathing.
“Eat. You’ll need the carbs,” he tells me.
I automatically get his reference—he plans to fuck me all night. And the thought of it doesn’t disgust me. It excites me. That is so wrong on so many levels. I’m so conflicted, on the edge of wanting it so badly, but knowing better than to reach for it. I’m already lying to my family about him and our association, but this? This would be damning myself. Wouldn’t it? Or can I gain my own fun from it?
I stab my fork into my pancakes and start to eat. Not because he told me to, but because I haven’t eaten anything for at least six hours. I was too nervous to eat at the beginning of the event, and I chose not to eat during it.
I contemplate the high it’ll give me to fuck him before I kill him. Won’t that be a beautiful, poetic betrayal? The idea is so delicious it makes my pussy begin to pulse.
It’s fucked up and twisted, but isn’t that why he’s here too? No matter our motives, aren’t we both curious?
“Why do you pretend to be so shy?” he purrs.
I look up at him, pushing my glasses up my nose. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I stuttered.”
“I’m not pretending anything. I’m simply selective about who I give my time to. Don’t be offended because it’s not you,” I say with fake calm because I’m anything but right now. Fucking him is one thing, but his judgment really pisses me off. Every time we meet, it’s like he’s studying me, purposely looking for… What? What does he expect to find? Am I scared of what he might find?
“Interesting.” He finishes his pancakes and then sits back to watch me slowly eat my own. We couldn’t be more different. He demolishes his food like an animal, while I manage to only eat half before placing my fork down and folding my hands on the table.
“Are you done?” He glances down at my plate.
I’m not surprised by his appetite. After all, I grew up around the twins in their teens and watching teenage boys eat is like watching a documentary about hyenas on the Discovery Channel. Turns out, their appetites don’t change much when they grow up.
When I nod, he pulls my plate over and starts eating the rest of my pancakes. What’s peculiar is how much he doesn’t care about eating from my plate. We don’t really know one another. We’re not friends. Yet he lacks so much in etiquette that it disgusts me as much as it fascinates me. He really doesn’t give a shit who I am or who my family is.
It’s unsettling.
The moment he’s done, he stands and offers me his hand. I ignore it, getting up on my own. He throws a fifty-dollar bill down on the table and then leads me to the door.
My heart is racing. I know it’s not just the fucking he’s here for. He wants to uncover my weaknesses. But aren’t I curious about his weaknesses as well?
“Are you really planning on taking me to your place?” I ask as we step out into the frigid cold of the night.
“Do you prefer we go back to yours? I’m sure your father would love waking up to his daughter screaming in pleasure,” he says, opening the passenger door.
“You sound awfully cocky as if you know you can make me scream.” I raise a brow at him.
“Oh, I do, Shortcake.” He nods to the car. “Now, get in.”
I want to stay exactly where I am, but I also want to get in that car because it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man. I’ve been so focused on my career. But I made a step this week to free myself ever so slightly. Perhaps this isn’t what my parents would encourage, and my family might shame me for it, but it’s thrilling. His blue eyes anchor me to him as if coaxing me to trust him. I don’t.
I look around, just to make sure none of my family members have followed me. Then I slide into the car. And I wonder if it’s like stepping into hell, because he smirks as he slams the door behind me. No kidnapping or restraints required.
I’m willingly playing with fire.
It could ruin me.
But I hope it ruins him tenfold in return.
If not tonight, then another when I kill him.