Chapter Five #2
While most of my adolescence was spent in New York, all my summers were in this seaside Connecticut town.
I love the sticky heat off the coast, the way the streets flood with bouncing kids as school lets out, the nostalgic smell of charcoal from Danny’s Dockside Grill.
Sunsets melt like orange freeze pops, and nighttime feels alive with fireflies and bullfrogs.
I might’ve been the son of an eleven-figure fortune, a kid with a distinguished lineage dating back to the 1700s, but I was always just the third.
Able to run off and buy cookie dough ice cream, race through Main Street like a vagabond child, and I found myself kicking soccer balls with other teenagers on the grainy beach as foamy waves crashed to shore.
Always knowing in the back of my head that my family owned half the town.
That our money came from one of the most popular, well-recognized beer franchises in the world.
The guilt came later.
When I realized my summers were blissful and free while my little sister’s were tormented and caged. She might’ve been the fourthborn, but she was the only girl, and our mother had planned Kate’s life down to the hour. Sometimes the minute.
I don’t know what brings more grief: knowing my sister never experienced these idyllic, joyful summers in Victoria or the fact that this might be my last.
My brother might take everything from me. He’s already started to.
Hailey’s fury-laced music bleeds into my veins. I can’t hear the woof of Archer Fitzpatrick’s Saint Bernard as he walks the giant dog along the cobblestone or the beep of cars being locked as vehicles park outside Symphonies on the Pier for dinner.
But I falter when I turn my head…and I spot Oliver Graves.
Fuck. He’s across the street, nearly parallel with me on the other sidewalk, and it’s clear we’re headed in the same direction. The loft above the bookstore.
He has a casual but quick stride, his hands in pockets of tailored khaki slacks. His designer sunglasses match the jet-black shade of his short-sleeve linen shirt.
Oliver dresses like he frequents yachts in the summer and chalets in the winter. Like he was a silver-spoon kid who never lived without a trust fund. I never would’ve questioned his wealth had I not learned the truth.
I stay in time with his lengthy gait. Our builds are very similar and we’re around the same height. I bet I’m stronger. Not a competition.
I breathe out a lengthy breath. Then glance over at him again. He’s not peering over at me. At all. He’s so unconcerned. Unbothered.
There’s something about him that simultaneously stands out and blends in, and I can’t put my finger on what it is.
Maybe it’s the way he carries himself. Like he’s unshackled by life.
Or maybe it’s just that he’s bewilderingly attractive.
I might have the jawline, but his features are striking as they balance between daring and safe. Treacherous and harmless.
If Phoebe Graves is considered stunningly beautiful, I don’t even know what you call her brother Oliver.
What I do know: he’s on the side of the street I need to be on.
Can’t avoid him forever.
With a deep sigh, I cross the road at an intersection, waving politely to Mr. Eddington, who stops his Mercedes for me. Picking up my pace in a slight jog, then I slow right beside Oliver on the cobblestone sidewalk.
I pry out an earbud.
Without looking at me or breaking pace, Oliver says, “The king has returned.” His smile inches upward.
I’ve stopped being surprised that the Graveses and Tinrocks have eyes in the back of their heads.
They’re not just con artists. They are born and raised con artists.
I’m still wrapping my mind around what that actually entails because they’re incredibly secretive about how they grew up. What they did. Where they did it.
“Quoting The Lion King?” I say, pulling out my second earbud, barely able to hear him over the heavy female vocals.
“You are the Disney prince.”
“And that makes you…what?”
He tips his head toward me. “Everything all at once.”
I find Oliver frustrating. At least I know that Grey (Rocky) is a raging, angst-driven asshole. I don’t know who Oliver is other than Phoebe’s brother and Hailey’s…friend with benefits, I guess.
“Everything all at once, huh?” I side-eye him while we keep a steady pace.
His smile slants higher. He twirls a set of keys on his finger. Keys to Hailey’s loft. Keys he shouldn’t have since she’s not supposed to make copies, and I know that because I’m her landlord.
She must’ve given them to him.
I take out the iPod Nano from my pocket to shut off the song.
He lifts his sunglasses to his head. Pushing back his thick hair, he sees the screen of the Nano. “Animal Alpha,” he names the band. “You thieve that from Hails or did she give it to you?”
“I wouldn’t steal anything of hers.”
“You should try.” He outpaces me, just to spin around and walk backward.
He maintains complete eye contact. It’s impressive he’s not tripping or concerned he might bump into a chalkboard sign.
“Hone your fledgling skills, Koning. Or would you prefer I pick up your slack?” He puts a hand to his heart.
“I’ve been known to carry deadweight. Don’t take it personally, I like lifting heavy things. ”
His biceps bulge in his short-cuffed black sleeves.
I shouldn’t stare at his muscles—because it’s obvious he’s being fucking figurative.
From what I know of Oliver, he’s all wit and charm, but I didn’t notice his strength—not until the night my mother died.
When he shed his jacket and attempted to open a metal storm shelter at my family’s estate.
I try to hold his gaze and not outwardly size him up. “I didn’t realize I’ve been deadweight.”
“You didn’t feel me carrying you?” He cracks a smile.
“Just the opposite, actually.” My eyes flit down to his hands. His knuckles are scabbed over, some bandaged with butterfly tape. I’d been at that storm shelter…as he tried to break Hailey out with his fists.
He gives the keys one last spin before pocketing his battered hands. He jerks his head, making his sunglasses purposefully fall over his eyes. He’s a cool fucker, but I can’t tell if it’s just a front.
It shouldn’t spike my interest in Oliver, but I feel myself wanting to know more about him. Likely because he spends plenty of time with Hailey. I just need to know she’s being treated well.
He falls back to my side. “I’m guessing you heard about the letters.”
“Only because I got one, too.” I pull out the envelope from my back pocket and pass it to him.
He raises it to the sky, but the light isn’t bleeding through the paper to reveal anything inside.
I look him over. “Hailey said to wait to open it. We’re all doing it together?” I heard they each received one from Varrick. Oliver’s birth father.
We don’t bring up the relation or the sender.
“That’s the plan,” he confirms, reaching the apartment door beside Baubles & Bookends.
He unlocks it, then gestures me forward into the stairwell with him.
Once we’re inside, he whispers, “If you have the chance, always walk in front of the mark. It’s easier to eavesdrop when they’re behind you.
Tips and tricks of the trade.” He pushes the envelope firmly into my chest, then pats it lightly.
I take the letter from his fingers, my muscles flexing. “Still trying to corrupt me?”
“Corruption or preparation?” He cocks his head in thought.
“Or are they one and the same?” He hooks his sunglasses to his collar.
“If Rocky taught Trevor even half of what he knew a whole lot sooner, then maybe our little psycho wouldn’t be straggling behind us, but like I said, I don’t mind picking up the slack. ”
Rocky has offhandedly mentioned to me that he didn’t want his little brother to turn out like him. Which is likely why he’s been slow to teach Trevor the art of being a silver-tongue. He’s only just recently started taking him under his wing.
“Right.” I breathe out, staring up at the staircase that leads to the loft. The expelled breath doesn’t untense my body. My jaw even clenches.
Oliver glances between me and the loft while sliding a piece of gum into his mouth. “Secrets are no fun unless you tell—”
“Everyone?”
“No. Just me.” His smile reappears as he rests against the stairwell’s railing to face me. I nod a couple times, shove my letter in my back pocket, and study the length of him. I imagine if we found ourselves alone together, he’d warn me to stay away from Hailey.
I keep waiting for the Back off, motherfucker, the sneer between his teeth, the serrated glare…and I realize I’ve been around Rocky too long. That’s his blunt, aggressive routine—growling at me to piss on someone else’s territory and to get the fuck off his.
I’m on defense with Oliver, but how can I play offense when I can’t even give Hailey more than what we are right now?
Silence clings to the air, especially as my eyes hit his.
“And now he’s more interested in me,” Oliver states, reading me too easily. It feels intrusive because I can’t reach into his thoughts. Let alone analyze his feelings. He might as well be an Etch A Sketch, the image disappearing before I see a thing.
It’s…exasperating. Every time I’m around this guy, my brain is a stampede of Thoroughbreds released from a starting gate.
He points up toward the stairs. “Loft? Or me? Where’s your head at, Koning?”
“On Hailey.” I sound protective. I don’t really know him. I just know her.
He blows a bubble. Completely, totally…unconcerned. “Like minds.” He winks.
It’s hard to believe he doesn’t care that I’m sleeping with Hailey when he and I have been actively ignoring each other for weeks.
Can’t get into this right now. Regardless of the thousand and one messages I’m dealing with from lawyers, staff at the estate, country club employees, renters from my other properties—I’m responsible for this job they’ve taken on.
Because I enlisted their help to blackmail my mother.
I brought them into my mess, and I care about them coming out of it unscathed.
The letters—I don’t know what they could be about. But I do know there’s another issue. I release a tight breath and glance at the door to the loft again. “It’s not a secret exactly.”
“Then what is it? A problem?”
“Yeah.” I unpocket my set of keys. “The girls don’t know it yet, but they’re going to need to move out.”
His brows crinkle. “And why’s that?”
“My mother owned the loft. She was going to sell it to Varrick Wolfe, but when she died, that transaction fell through. So now Trent and I have been fighting over it since this asset wasn’t specified in the will.
He knows I want it because my ‘ex-girlfriend’ lives here.
” I use air quotes to refer to Phoebe. “He’s gunning too hard for it, and I need to let it go in order to retain other properties. ”
I still can’t decipher Oliver. He chews casually on his gum. “Well, fuck. Looks like you’ve just made Hailey homeless.” At this, he strides up the stairs, and I follow behind, exactly where he advised me not to be.