2. Weston
Two
Weston
G rowing up, I always told myself that once I made it, I could relax. Bouncing around the care system, working throughout high school, getting my first full time job as a valet at the Merritt Casino—all those years, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Push on, get through this, and one day, West, one day you can sleep through a whole damn night.
All that fighting and striving. Living off beans and rice; fixing my own bike chain for the millionth time; living in a shoebox apartment with four other roommates. Working all those hours, and studying in the gaps in between.
All of it was meant to build to something, to pay off one day, and now I’m sitting in my private office at the Merritt, gazing out at the city skyline. It’s gone midnight, the sky is inky dark, and the lights out there glitter like gold.
Has it paid off? I roll my stiff neck, pondering. There’s no fear of ever missing another meal in my life, and that’s not something I take for granted.
Still, I didn’t expect victory to feel this hollow. Most days, I’m bored out of my skull.
A knock at the office door interrupts my brooding. My desk chair swings around as my right hand man, Ariq, slips inside. He’s impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, complete with a lilac pocket square, and he’s freshly shaven even though it’s nearly midnight. Though it may simply be that my assistant is still too young to get some decent late night scruff.
“Another incident, sir.” Ariq shuts the door softly behind him, like letting it slam might disturb my evil lair. “Lord Frayton lost at the roulette table and made a scene. When security approached, he threw a punch. Now he’s complaining that the security guard manhandled him, and that he’ll sue for damages.”
It takes a moment to digest this latest update, because my brain snags on a single detail.
“ Lord Frayton?”
Ariq shrugs, forgetting his perfect posture for a split second. “British, I think. An aristocrat.”
I blow out a harsh breath. Ariq and I share a look , one that gives away our shared background. We may both be dressed in fine suits and discussing aristocrats tonight, but we both clawed our way up from the same gutter. Some feckless British lord will never get special treatment in this casino. I couldn’t stomach it, and neither could any of the staff I hired.
“Throw him out, then add him to the list,” I say. “He’ll never step foot through those doors again. And give whoever he punched the rest of the night off, along with a doctor’s visit if they need one.”
Ariq nods, tapping a message on his phone at lightning speed. The blue light washes over his face from below, making him look even younger. I don’t care if Ariq is fresh-faced, though. He’s loyal and his brain moves at a hundred miles per hour. That’s all I need.
“And the lawsuit?” Ariq asks.
I snort, leaning back in the chair until it creaks. “He’s bluffing. It would embarrass him far more than us.”
“But if he does sue and we lose—”
“Then we’ll pay,” I say, waving a hand. My tone is more casual than I feel, because this success took years to build, and yet I’m still not used to it. The muscle-memory of worrying about every cent runs deep. “The Merritt could pay off thousands of Lord Fraytons if it needed to, Ariq. Thousands upon thousands. But it won’t, because he has no claim. The man is an embarrassment, and he surely knows it.”
Ariq nods, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll handle it.”
“Good.”
The door shuts behind my assistant, and my chair swings around as I stare out at the city lights. They wink and glitter, so much brighter than the stars overhead.
I sigh.
There are documents for me to review. Contracts and purchase orders to pore over; forecasts and accounts to sign off. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I bought the Merritt from my old boss—hell, I’d done his job for him for years by that point—and yet the never-ending decisions still get to me sometimes. I push to my feet instead, striding over to the huge glass windows to stare blindly into the night.
I wouldn’t go back to those early days of living paycheck to paycheck, worrying about every letter I got in the mail. Not for anything.
But there was something more real about that life, something that kept me awake and energized. Fear, probably. Nothing good.
Still, for the last year, since buying the Merritt, some part of me has been dormant. Sleep-walking through each day, no longer interested enough to pay attention. So fucking bored.
The office door opens again behind me. I don’t bother turning around—Ariq is the only staff member who comes in here, barring the morning cleaner.
“Problem?” I ask, peering down at the street below. A man who looks suspiciously like a drunk British aristocrat is weaving away along the sidewalk, shaking one fist in the air. “He seems to have gone without too much fight.”
“Weston,” a soft voice says. A female voice.
My whole body turns to stone.
For a long moment, I don’t move. Don’t speak. I don’t even breathe, I just stare wide-eyed down at the city sidewalk, my heart slamming against my rib cage. There’s no sound behind me either, the whole room frozen with shock, and when I finally start to turn around, I half expect the office to be empty.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been haunted by thoughts of her. Surely won’t be the last, either.
Because Lena Merritt has lived rent free in my brain since the day I met her, paraded proudly through the casino on her twenty-first birthday. Her father ordered a glass of champagne, sat her down at the blackjack table, and bragged non-stop the whole time she was there. He was a puffed-up peacock, equally proud of his beautiful daughter and his inherited business, as though he could take the credit for either.
It was irritating as hell, watching her toss her hair back and laugh with the other patrons.
I couldn’t look away.
Now, as I turn to face Lena Merritt once again, the effect she has on me has not lessened at all. There’s still a lurch deep in the pit of my stomach, like I’ve been caught on a fish hook; my collar is still too tight, scraping against my throat. I’m dazed by her beauty, all too ready to crash to my knees and beg for a taste, and that makes me feel the same thing it always did.
Bone-deep resentment.
I’m fucking furious. How dare Lena Merritt slip into my office uninvited, as though this is still her family’s playground? How dare she say my name in that husky voice, like she’s been thinking of me too? How dare she stand in my office doorway, her dark hair tumbling over the lapels of her black trench coat, and stare at me with beseeching eyes?
No.
No.
This woman has had every advantage in life. Every single goddamn thing she ever could have wished for, she had with a snap of her fingers. I won’t fall at her feet too. There must be a line.
“You should knock,” I say, “when you barge into someone’s office late at night.”
“Sorry.” Lena gives me a wobbly smile. “I used to sneak up here and visit my father when I was younger. I know all the quiet corridors to slip by unseen.”
I inhale slowly, forcing myself not to react to that new information. To the fantasies spawning deep in my brain—fantasies of Lena slipping in here to see me.
“Thank you,” I say at last, “for demonstrating the gap in our security. We’ll fix it within the hour.” Then she can never sneak up on me again.
I raise an arm toward the door, gesturing for Lena to leave. She winces but stands her ground, her pointed little chin raising as she meets my eye. My gut twists impossibly tighter.
“There’s something I need to discuss with you, Weston.”
Her voice is strong and clear until she says my name. Then it cracks, like she’s overcome with some private emotion. Still, Lena rallies well, squaring her shoulders beneath her trench coat. The belt nips in at her waist, hinting at the perfect figure I know lies beneath.
I look away.
“If you want to meet with me, you’ll need to make an appointment.”
Lena scoffs. “And you’ll agree to that, will you?”
No. Not in a million years.
The Merritt family had their chance with this place, and they squandered it. Their complete lack of care for the privilege they were born with—that’s an insult to everyone who grew up like I did. Why would I ever meet with them now that I no longer need to? Their bad decisions are their own business, thank god.
“Contact my assistant, Ariq. He’ll check my calendar and let you know.” I raise my arm again, gesturing for the door, but Lena huffs and stands her ground.
“You’re fobbing me off. I’m not an idiot, Weston.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And yet the Merritt blood runs in your veins.”
It’s a low blow, and a part of me regrets the words as soon as they pass my lips, especially when Lena stiffens. Only a small part of me, though. I don’t for a moment believe that a woman like Lena Merritt would truly care what a man of my background thinks of her. She’s too proud.
“I’m here now,” she grits out, taking another step into my office. The door swings slowly shut behind her, whispering over the floorboards, and when it finally clicks into place, enclosing the two of us all alone—the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Too aware of her, like always. Electrified.
And how many times have I pictured this? Getting the Merritt princess all alone; getting her to say my name in that husky voice. Having her eyes fixed on me in a dark, private office. More times than I can count.
So humiliating. If I could lobotomize whichever part of my brain keeps fixating on Lena Merritt, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
“It won’t take long,” Lena says, fiddling with the cuff of her coat sleeve. That nervous gesture gives me pause, and she seizes the advantage by walking to the two leather armchairs grouped by the windows. The ones meant for legitimate visitors, who come to discuss business and not to uproot my psyche.
Her heels clack against the floorboards as she walks. Is she wearing a cocktail dress underneath that coat? One I’ve seen before, or something new?
When Lena sinks down into the left armchair, a headache throbs in my temples… but I follow. Fuck.
“Make this quick,” I say, sinking into the other chair. They’re turned toward each other, grouped loosely around a glass coffee table, with a floor lamp and a potted fern in between. I leave the lamp switched off, preferring to keep my expression as shadowed as possible whenever Lena Merritt is near. If she saw the hunger I feel for her, my pride would never recover.
She draws in a deep breath, places both palms on her lap, then meets my gaze straight-on.
“My parents are in trouble.” Lena swallows, her slender throat bobbing. “We need your help. Please.”