Chapter 32 – ryan
RYAN
“Pippa, wait!”
Cat’s voice rings with confusion, but she rushes down the hall after her friend without hesitation.
My instincts roar at me to do the same. To chase after Pippa and beg for forgiveness, tell her that I want her, kiss her hard and show her that she’s mine.
Instead, I stay leaning against the hallway wall. There’s nothing more for me to say. There’s only one kind of relationship Pippa and I could possibly have—a secret one. A physical one. So yeah, I’m selfish enough to ask her to break up with Jacob.
But I’m not so selfish that I’d tell her how much I cared when it would only be leading her on. I’ve hurt her enough already.
Across from me, James’s face is inscrutable, the usual scowl carved into his features. I used to think that meant he was pissed at me, but over time, I realized that’s just his natural expression. Resting furious face.
Right now, though, he’d have every reason to be pissed at me. A gigantic party he spent millions of dollars on is raging toward its peak, and poor James is stuck here alone with me.
“I know,” I mutter. “I’m fucking up everything. Go back to the party. It’s not your job to make me feel better about it.”
“Come with me,” James says finally. He tilts his head down the hallway, a silent order for me to follow him. I do, because it’s not like there’s anyone else who wants to be around me right now.
We reenter the party just in time to hear the crowd roar, “Happy New Year!”
Gold and silver confetti rains from the ceiling.
Couples all around us snuggle close together and kiss, while single guests blow horns and top off each other’s champagne with foaming bottles.
The people who know the words join in on singing “Auld Lang Syne” as servers disperse through the crowd, handing out chocolate cupcakes with blinding sparklers stuck in them.
I scowl at everyone. Fuck the universe for making everyone so goddamn happy when I just want to punch someone.
“James, hey!” A gorgeous, high-cheekboned woman with her hair in Bantu knots grabs James by the lapel. She leans into him, smiling up at him with the confidence of a woman who doesn’t get told no.
“Hello, Michelle,” James says with a nod. My jaw drops as I realize this is Michelle Baxter, the star of Sequel’s most successful action series, not to mention the star of every straight man’s spank bank across the globe.
“So, did you get your New Year’s kiss yet?” she says, batting her eyes at him.
“I have to get going.” James’s voice is polite, but dismissive. “Enjoy the party.”
He pulls out of her grasp, striding through the party as she gapes after him. I shoot her an apologetic smile.
“I’m a big fan,” I tell her quickly before chasing after James again.
He moves easily through the crowd, like people rearrange themselves just for him.
I have to shove through guests to keep up with him, and I probably would have lost him in the crowd if he didn’t get stopped by some old guy in a tux.
They shake hands, and I catch the middle of the dude’s sentence.
“...get the honeymoon started as quickly as possible. The faster there’s an heir, the better.”
A muscle jumps in James’s jaw. “I’d like to meet her first, before it’s all settled.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll arrange it.” The man claps James on the shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of his diamond-studded Piaget watch. “Don’t worry, son. You won’t be disappointed.”
James’s expression looks even grimmer than usual as the guy walks away. My brow furrows. “Dude, what was that all about? Who was that guy?”
“No.” James shakes his head, his voice brokering no argument. “We’re not changing the subject to me right now. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you and your sister.”
“Stepsister, man,” I correct him quickly. “Stepsister.”
James gives me a look that says, no shit. “Come on.”
He walks up to a wall, which he presses on. A hidden door, inset into the wall, swings open and my eyes widen.
“Dude, a secret door? Sick.”
James rolls his eyes and gestures for me to go through. The doorway leads to a corridor so narrow, we have to go through it single file. Another door opens, then we’re going down a set of stairs and into the next floor.
We walk through an executive-level waiting room, with plush sofas and expensive-looking art. I let out a low whistle.
“Damn. How many secret passages lead to this floor?”
“Two,” James says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Plus elevator access. Security reasons. Nate designed the whole thing.”
I shake my head. It all seems a little over-the-top to me, but Sequel is a huge global company. James is worth more than all the rest of us combined, so I guess he has to be careful.
We walk past empty conference rooms and a neat, two-desk office I assume belongs to James’s assistants. Finally, he opens the chestnut door to his own office and beckons me inside.
I’ve never been to James’s office. I guess that’s not a big surprise—of all the guys, he’s the one I’m the least close to.
He’s so cold, aloof, and disciplined, and I’m—well, the opposite of all those things.
Basically, James and I would both jump in front of a train for the other one, but we don’t exactly sit around and put on face masks together.
Luke’s the only one who gets the importance of skincare.
The office decor is all icy whites and steely grays. On the wall behind James’s desk is the mother of all corporate art pieces—eight feet tall and wide, all in gray, makes you feel the absence of feeling. It’s anti-art, and it’s probably what the inside of James’s soul looks like.
“Dude, have you thought about redecorating?” I ask. “I’ve got an extra dogs-playing-poker painting if you wanna lighten things up in here a bit.”
He shakes his head, going right to a bar cart to pour us both a nice glass of Twisted Devil whiskey. He takes a seat on the gray leather sectional couch and gestures for me to sit on the other side of the L-shape.
“So,” James says.
Then he waits.
I sigh. “I didn’t kiss Pippa. Not…not tonight, anyway.”
James nods. There’s no judgment on his face, no recrimination. “Okay.”
Relief washes over me like a tidal wave.
Muscles I didn’t even know were tensed immediately relax.
Fuck, I didn’t realize how much this part had been weighing on me—the fact that nobody knew, the fear that my friends would turn away from me if they did.
James’s quiet acceptance means more to me than I ever thought it could.
I throw back some whiskey, and it burns sweetly in my throat.
“I have kissed her, to be clear. A lot. I’ve got a long fucking list of things I’d love to do to Pippa, and I’m nowhere near the end, but I’ve definitely gotten started.”
“So this has been happening for a while.”
“Yes and no. Physically, it’s only been a few weeks.”
“And…emotionally?” James’s mouth moves awkwardly around the syllables, like even acknowledging the existence of emotions is more than his cold little brain can handle.
“A long time. A long fucking time.” I almost empty the glass of whiskey in another long sip. “Since I fucking met her, man.”
There it is. The truth, out there, finally. I’ve felt like this since I was fourteen, being introduced to the pretty girl with too-long dark bangs almost covering her hazel eyes, looking at me like I might bite.
Every day before Dad and Emily got married, I prayed they’d call it off.
If they broke up, the crush wouldn’t mean anything.
As soon as they said “I do,” I was perverted.
Some pathetic, depraved nymphomaniac who was so messed up, he wanted his own fucking sister.
The fact that she wasn’t blood was a technicality. It didn’t absolve me.
So I swallowed it down, hoping it would go away. It didn’t. It just got worse and fucking worse, the more I got to know her. Then one night, near the end of high school, we were both stupid enough to kiss, just once—enough to seal my fate.
“Tell me the truth, James.” I look up at him. “How fucked up am I?”
The edge of his mouth twitches, a hint at a smile. “No more fucked up than I already thought you were. She’s not your real sister, Ryan.”
“You’re my friend, though.”
“Ish.” There’s a flash of humor in James’s cold eyes, which might be the weirdest thing that’s happened all night.”
“What will the rest of the world think?”
James tilts his head. “Do you care?”
“Yes.” I shake my head. “I mean, I don’t care what strangers think, but I care about you guys. My poker buddies. My family.”
“Ah.” That’s all James says. I know he won’t feed me empty promises, telling me that everyone will be okay with it. If James is cool with it, I’m guessing that Nate, Beau, and Luke would fall in line. But our parents…
I can see Dad’s disappointed face. There’s no way he’d accept it. He already loathes every other decision I’ve made about my life. This won’t come close to being different.
“What are you going to do?” James asks.
I hold out my glass. “I’m going to get super fucking drunk.”
Without another word, he fills my glass with whiskey.