Chapter 2
“CANCELLED!” - Taylor Swift
Pierce
This night was doomed the minute Walker suggested a challenge between Maeve and me.
Seriously, what was she thinking? I know we need to do something to end this feud between us, but to force one of us to leave our friend group is maniacal.
Not that that was Walker’s idea. Oh no, that one was courtesy of Maeve herself, the little psycho.
I follow her to where Lux is standing at the door, welcoming me into my own game room.
In front of me, Maeve’s dress swishes back and forth around her hips, and I can’t help wondering what would have happened if Lux hadn’t come out when she did.
There was some serious tension between us, and I don’t think it was all venomous.
I’d love to know what Maeve might do if I backed her into a situation and forced her to let her guard down.
The gang’s all here, sitting around the poker table like a board of executioners waiting to dole out capital punishment.
Lux flits back to her seat next to Slate, and he immediately clamps a hand on her leg.
Doesn’t like to let her out of his sight for long, that one.
I’m just relieved she’s no longer with the scumbag who was hurting her.
He’s nicely tucked away in federal prison after we set him up to go down as the city’s most notorious drug dealer.
The room is dimly lit by the chandelier hanging over the table, but it’s bright enough to see that my housekeeper forgot to dust one of the cubicles on the wall holding my miniature slot machines.
I’m going to have to talk to the cleaning company.
Again. As I move to take one of the empty seats at the table, I straighten one of the machines that wasn’t lined up correctly.
Whatever happened to using a measuring tape when arranging things?
Maeve and I sit next to each other, but she has positioned herself as far from me as possible without climbing into Walker’s lap. Walker herself looks slightly amused by this, and her eyes flick to me in a silent question. What did you do?
It’s not what I did. It’s what I didn’t do.
I should’ve given in to Maeve back at the auction when we tried to take down Deirdre.
The plan was to run Deirdre’s bidding on the hot-air balloon up to a ridiculous sum while Lux drained her accounts.
Temporarily, of course. We’d never be stupid enough to actually steal the money.
It was only meant to be long enough for her check to bounce, so the auction house would cause a scene trying to get their money for the antique balloon.
You know all the rest. How I hired a shell bidder because that’s what we agreed on, while Maeve thought the plan was for her to be the opposing bidder.
To tell you the honest truth, I don’t remember what the plan actually was.
It’s just as likely that I was wrong as it is that she was.
But did I have the foresight to just admit that?
No. Like a complete idiot, I fought her over it, insisted I was right and she was wrong. Now we’re stuck at this table with our hands at each other’s throats, waiting for our friends to tell us how to fight for the right to their friendship.
Rhett is sitting directly across the table from me, wearing a hot-pink shirt, silver chains visible where it hangs open. He waggles his brows at me, then smacks the table. “Shall we get this shitstorm started?”
Beside him, his fiancé, Saylor, rolls her eyes. She’s the newest addition to our group, and I don’t know her well, but from what I’ve seen, she’s good for him. Keeps him grounded. I really hope it works out for them and that I’ll be around long enough to witness it.
Slate shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking between Maeve and me. “Here’s the plan. The two of you will complete a series of challenges between now and October.”
October? It’s only January. I’m not sure whether I’m frustrated or relieved that we have nearly a year of this before us. Maeve makes no secret of how she feels, however.
“That’s ten months away.” She leans her arms on the baize-covered table and pins Slate with an angry gaze.
He ignores her, just continues with his speech.
Why he’s been chosen as their spokesperson is easy enough to guess.
Without Maeve or me to lead, he’s the next obvious choice.
Big guy with a commanding presence who doesn’t take bullshit from anyone.
The muscles in his arms bulge against the tight fabric of his black T-shirt, evidence that you don’t want to cross him.
“The winner will be announced at Heath and Walker’s wedding in October. The loser agrees to leave the group.”
Maeve straightens in her chair. Even though she’s put a space between us the size of a refrigerator, I can feel the tension emanating from her body.
She doesn’t like this any more than I do, and this woman feeds on stuff like this.
Must not be too confident in her ability to win, then. Unusual for sure.
“How will the winner be determined?” she asks.
I bite back a smile. Already trying to mastermind her way to the top.
“The six of us will determine the winner of each challenge,” Slate says. “The person with the most wins by the wedding also wins the game.”
I glance at Heath and Walker, curious how they feel about their wedding being used as a stage for this ridiculous plan, but neither of them looks particularly agitated by it.
Heath leans back in his chair, hands tucked into the pockets of his sky-blue hoodie.
Walker is sandwiched between him and Maeve, and she looks more anxious for our sakes than her own as she fiddles with the necklace at her throat.
I clap my hands together, ready to get this over with. “Sounds good. What’s the first challenge?”
Lux clears her throat and pulls out her phone. She’s wearing a soft white sweater that accentuates the glow in her cheeks. She reads from her screen. “You will take turns being each other’s assistants for twenty-four hours. Whoever cracks first loses.”
I can feel my brows pulling together. “It took you nearly an hour to come up with that?”
“Easy,” Slate growls, clearly not liking the way I’m talking to his girl. “We were planning all of them.”
Maeve has perked up, back ramrod straight. Gone is her uncertainty from before. In its place is a look I know all too well. So help me god, she is already plotting exactly how to take me down.
I am so fucked.
The easiest thing to do now would be to forfeit.
I don’t have the time or bandwidth to prance around the entire city at Maeve’s beck and call, let alone complete whatever other stupid challenges this crew has cooked up for us.
I’m the CEO of the largest tech company in the nation.
Granted, Wesbourne isn’t a huge country, but Luminara Tech is known worldwide for its innovative and sustainable solutions.
I should toss my metaphorical hand of cards onto the table, tell everyone it was good knowing them, but I’m out. I don’t need to deal with this shit. We’re all adults, but we’re playing games like teenagers.
It’s what I should do. But it’s not what I’m going to do.
These are my friends. We’ve been close since our first year of high school, when we plotted the takedown of the teacher who accused us of cheating.
It wasn’t our best or cleanest revenge plot, but we got the job done with stripper posters and a phone number stolen from school records.
These guys are my family. I would do anything for them, even though the thought of pulling out of the challenge for the sake of my sanity over the next year is tempting.
Maeve is certainly not going to let it go. She’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to stuff like this. She’ll stay in if it kills her—she won’t allow herself to back down. Comes from her family, that shit. A deep-seated need to control and to win, no matter the cost.
Can’t say I don’t struggle with a bit of it myself, if I’m being honest.
I regret not giving into Maeve at the auction even more now. If I had done it then, it never would’ve escalated to this. She would have gloated for several weeks, but then it would’ve been over. So why the hell didn’t I?
Because there’s something about fighting with her. There. I admitted it. I like fighting with her over stupid shit. I enjoy our arguments. I particularly like the way her face and neck turn red, like the sun when it crests the horizon in the morning. Everything’s suddenly illuminated.
It’s like an addiction, our fights. I just can’t seem to stop. I can tell the second her feathers get ruffled, and the words to push her over the edge always find their way into my brain. They’re out of my mouth before I can stop them.
I don’t want to be with her. Obviously that would be hell on earth.
The woman is a maddening combination of cunning brilliance and take-no-prisoners ruthlessness, a fucking panther.
She never slows down, never stops, hardly takes time to catch her breath before she’s off again, either changing or ruining the world in a single day.
It’s not that I think she would be bad in bed.
Oh, no. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Maeve Wilson is a firecracker between the sheets.
With that kind of drive and tenacity? I’ve been imagining what it would be like to fuck her ever since I was fourteen and figured out how to roll on a condom.
She’s stunningly gorgeous too, with those dark eyes that are always sparkling with some devious plan.
Her tiny frame barely reaches my shoulder but packs just the right amount of softness in all the right places, and her hips move in a sultry way even though I know she’s not trying.
It’s just her Italian roots coming through.
She’s magnetic, intoxicating, enigmatic. She’s also fully off-limits. For obvious reasons and then some.
She would demand more from me than I could ever give. Maeve Wilson wouldn’t be content with a man’s body and money. She’d demand his heart too. And that’s one line I’ll never cross, not even for her.
“Any questions?” Lux asks, looking between Maeve and me.
I toss a glance in Maeve’s direction, and she turns to me with a devilish smile.
“Nope,” she says, her bright red lips stretching even wider over her white teeth.
She doesn’t need to say anything else. I can read her body language better than a book. The words are there, written all over her in permanent marker.
Prepare to die.