Chapter 26
twenty-six
ROSE
I wake up in Dare’s bed again, but before I can get annoyed, a soft towel crashes into my chest. My gaze flies up to meet Dare’s hardened stare. He’s already dressed for the day. The Armani suit clings to his muscles in all the right ways, and his blond hair is slightly unkempt, contradicting his chosen attire. His clothes are giving money and success, while his hair screams I don’t give a fuck . Dare studies my face for a moment, then looks away.
“Get ready.”
Anger boils inside of me. “Excuse me?”
“You’re coming with me to work.”
“I’m sorry. I missed the part where you’re allowed to tell me what to do.”
Dare’s lips twitch, his eyes flitting back to mine. “You wanted to snoop, right? Come with me, and you can snoop all you like.” The bastard leaves without another word.
I scowl after him, wondering what his game is. There’s no way he’ll give me the access I really need, but if I can get inside and figure out what systems they use, Cassia might be able to help me.
Pushing out of the bed, I shower in the en suite and storm into the closet to get dressed. I pause when I spot a few new dresses and pairs of shoes. All brand names. All expensive. All in my size. All annoyingly my style.
Dare clears his throat.
I scowl at him, fingers tightening on the soft towel I hold around myself. “You can’t bribe me with pretty clothes.”
“No, but I can admire you in them. Wear the green one.”
Huffing, I shake my head. “You have some nerve.”
“You’re wasting time,” he says, expression bored. His hands are shoved into his pockets, the very picture of unbothered.
I drop the towel, ignoring him but acutely aware of the hot touch of his eyes roving over my skin. It’s been weeks since we last fucked. Every morning, we wake up tangled, aroused, and fighting to pretend like it was nothing. If he’s as horny as I am, I know how to torture him.
Bending, I take my time grabbing a thong and bra, giving him a full view of my ass.
“Rose.”
My lips curling, I straighten, sliding the thong on and then clasping the bra before tossing him a haughty look. His eyes are twin embers, burning with desire, but his jaw clenches and he stays rooted to the spot. That’s right. Fight the desire . Though the green dress is beautiful, there’s no way I’m following his demands. He accused me of being my dad’s puppet, and now he wants me to be his? I think not.
I slip the violet sweetheart-neckline dress off the hanger. It’ll look better with my eyes. Giving Dare my back, I slide the dress up my body, settling the cap sleeves over my shoulders. I reach for the zipper. Dare bats my hand away, and I suck in a sharp breath, hating that he snuck up on me. He zips the dress, then wraps his hand around my throat, tugging me back against his body the same way he did that day we met at the bakery.
Only, this time, my heart is pounding for an entirely different reason.
Dare strokes the column of my neck. “You like teasing me, don’t you?”
“Maybe.” My body melts against his.
He chuckles. “Careful what games you start, wife.” Dare releases me and backs away, leaving me flustered, but by the time I turn around to snarl at him, he’s already gone.
“Fucker.”
“I heard that,” he calls from the bedroom. “Stop wasting time. I have a ten o’clock meeting.”
To my surprise, Dare sets me up in the vacant office next to his. There are more than a few curious looks sent my way and a particularly dirty look from one woman. Great. I do not want to have a run-in with a Dare Richardson groupie. The IT guy finishes setting up my computer and showing me the program Vista Holdings uses—he’s smart enough not to ask what I’ll be doing—and soon enough, I’m left alone in the office with the keys to the kingdom.
A group of staff walks by the see-through windows, gawking at me and then swinging their heads around to gawk at the woman in the cubicle across from my office. She’s fuming, and that anger is directed at me as soon as they pass.
What did you expect? A warm welcome ?
Sighing, I ignore the visual daggers being thrown my way and start fiddling with the systems on my computer. Vista Holdings operates a private bank and a lending company: Vista Bank and Vista Lending. The bank, I’m less concerned about for now, but I still click through everything I’ve been given access to.
There’s software for timekeeping and accounting, but I’m not interested in that. Although Dare said he’d give me access, when I click on the lending software, I expect a giant red DENIED message to flash across the screen. It doesn’t.
In fact, there’s no delay at all. I can’t edit any fields—which makes total sense, I’m not trying to mess up any applications—but as far as I can tell, I can see everything. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t hidden certain things from my view. The only way to know for certain whether he’s given me full access is to look at the user permissions.
Another worry for another day.
The archived loan applications are easy enough to find, as are all the underwriting documents. I’m a little annoyed that everything is so organized. Dare’s record-keeping policies are clearly top notch. Even my dad would approve.
Twenty loan packets later, a few hours have passed and my stomach grumbles in annoyance. Everything I’ve reviewed is clean. I’m definitely not an underwriter, but I can follow their documentation, and every time, I agree with their final decision on the amount to lend the customer. The interest rates are reasonable. Customer initials are on every page. The full terms were disclosed. There’s no evidence of malice.
Yet.
Dare strolls in and smirks at the annoyed look I shoot his way. “Having fun?”
“It’s been a riot,” I tell him, leaning back in the comfy chair. It’s the only reason my lower back isn’t screaming at me.
“Take lunch with me.”
“What will your girlfriend think?” I nod at the woman who’s now glaring at Dare like she wants to chop his dick off.
Jealousy is an uninvited companion, but she makes herself known in the way my fingers tighten on the arms of the chair to keep from giving him more of a reaction.
Dare glances over his shoulder to see who I’m talking about, then laughs. “That’s not my girlfriend. That’s Briana. This used to be her office.”
My mouth drops open and guilt swims through me. No wonder she’s been giving me death glares. “What the hell, Dare?”
“You don’t like the office?”
I swear he’s being a brat on purpose. “No, you asshole. Of course she’s pissed off at me, because you made her move. Give the woman her space back.”
“You’d rather sit in a cubicle?”
“Yes!”
His eyebrows twist and he searches my face. “You’re serious?”
“Oh my god.” I shove away from the desk and march out of the room, heading straight to Briana, who narrows her eyes at my approach. I hold up one hand to show I mean no harm. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s fine,” she says through gritted teeth, her bleach blonde hair practically twitching in annoyance.
I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”
“Briana,” Dare says, as if he is the reason her entire day has been ruined .
“Dare is giving you the office back. I’ll have my things out in ten minutes.” I glance at Dare. “Now, apologize.”
Briana’s red mouth drops open in shock. Apparently, no one here is brave enough to try and tell Dare what to do.
Dare simply smiles at me, like he’s indulging a child. “I’m sorry, Briana.”
“Don’t look at me. Look at her and say it like you mean it.”
He bites back a laugh, but when he glances at Briana, sincerity takes over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to offend the Miller heiress.”
Briana gasps. “You’re Rosalynn Miller?”
I wait for Dare to correct her on the last name, but he doesn’t. Hasn’t he been insisting that I’m a Richardson now? What’s changed? A frown works its way across my face. “I prefer Rose,” I tell her, trying not to care that Dare isn’t claiming me as his wife. “I’ll gather my things.”
Dare surprises me by helping, but instead of taking my things to the cubicle, he carries them into his office, setting the box on the large meeting table before going back for my computer and monitor. I scowl after him.
If I were married to someone who swore they’d take me down, I’d never leave them in my office. Then again, the few seconds he’s gone is hardly enough time for me to get into trouble.
Crossing my arms, I watch as he sets everything down and drops to the floor to plug things in. “You look so pretty on your knees,” I taunt.
He gives me a wicked grin. “Be a good girl, and maybe I’ll eat you out after everyone goes home.”
My core clenches. “Not going to happen.”
The scarred eyebrow arches in protest. Once the computer is set up, Dare says, “Now can we eat? ”
“I never agreed to lunch.”
“No, but you’re hungry and I’m buying.”
“I can pay for my own food.”
Dare’s eyebrows jump. “Are you trying to kill chivalry?”
“I thought it was already dead.”
“In that case, come to lunch with me, or I’ll call the cops.”
My mouth drops open.
He laughs. “Relax, princess. Your secret is safe with me. Stop being difficult and let me feed you.”
I eye him. “Why are you being nice?”
“Would you prefer it if I were mean?”
“No,” I admit. “What are you up to?”
“Is it so hard to believe I would want to take care of my wife?”
“Why are you hiding our marriage from your employees?”
“Why do you want them to know?” he challenges.
Maybe I do like the sense of belonging that accompanies him telling people I’m his wife, but is that a weakness I want to admit, on top of everything else I’ve already given him? Probably not.
“Do you always answer a question with a question?” I ask instead.
“Do you?”
Mother. Fucker. Taking a breath, I glare at him. “Fine. You can take me to lunch.”
His smug grin is enough to make me consider changing my mind, but when he drags me out to the waiting car and gives directions to my favorite Vietnamese restaurant, I decide not to fight.
Remy stands sentinel outside of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, always looming close by. Having a bodyguard seems a little excessive, but Dare and Remy carry on as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The restaurant we’re at is nothing fancy, but they have the best pho I’ve ever tasted. The wooden tables are worn, as are the laminated placemats, like they’ve had years of use, and they’re still using those big red plastic cups for drinks. Most of the tables are full, and the servers are rushing around. It’s open seating.
Before Dare can take charge, I pick the table in the back corner and breathe in the delectable mingling of mint, coriander, and Thai basil. Deeper scents tangle with those, threading around me in a warm embrace, promising delicious food and a full belly.
Dare searches my face once we place our orders. The way he watches me is unnerving, like he’s imagining picking me apart, bit by bit. Something tells me he might not put the pieces back together once he’s done.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks.
“It’s only a matter of time.” I unwrap my straw and stick it in the glass of fizzy water.
Dare releases an amused chuckle but lets the subject go. “When did you start drawing?”
The question takes me by surprise. No one has ever cared enough to ask. The few people who’ve seen me with my sketch pad were ex-boyfriends, and all they ever cared about was getting laid or sucking up to my dad. Now that I think about it...I’m not sure I ever dated anyone who actually wanted to get to know me.
Every relationship I’ve had has been superficial, and I have to remember this marriage isn’t real. He might ask questions, but Dare doesn’t really care about me. It’s always about my Dad. Always.
That lonesome ache in my chest grows more pronounced.
“You were drawing at Frank’s,” Dare explains, mistaking my silence for confusion. “And I’ve noticed some discarded sketches in the guest bedroom.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you snooping?” A silly question, given that I literally searched his entire house twice over, but for some reason, him studying my creative work—again—bothers me. Especially since half the ones I’ve thrown away are my attempts to capture Dare on paper.
“Yes.”
A flush crawls up my neck. Great. Now he probably thinks I’m obsessed with him. “I’ve been drawing as long as I can remember,” I say quickly, hoping to hide my embarrassment. “After my mom died, Dad was perpetually busy with work, but he always had a pen and paper with him.” I shrug. “I guess drawing was my way of entertaining myself.”
“You were there for a while?”
“He had work to do.” I glance away, memories of hours spent waiting for Dad to remember I was there suddenly filling my head. His secretary would check on me, but only after she was done taking care of everyone else. It was almost like I was the forgotten child. On those days, I grieved my mom hard, and the more I drew, fueling all of the sadness into creating something, the more I was able to pretend like everything was okay when Dad finished his meetings.
“That had to be hard.”
I bristle. “It was fine. Drawing was entertaining enough, and now it’s part of who I am.” The hobby stuck, despite Dad’s every attempt to get me to stop. To him, art is pointless, but to me, it’s part of who I am.
“You’re really good.”
My eyes cut to Dare’s. I wait for him to talk shit. To poke fun at how many times I’ve drawn him. But it never comes. Like before, I’m conflicted by his compliments.
Those dark brown irises bore into me, piercing through my walls to stare at the Rose I bury behind practiced smiles and a hard exterior. Does he find me lacking? Should I care?
“I especially like the one of the woman in the crowd,” he says.
I know the exact one he’s talking about. She’s stagnant and everyone is rushing by her, not even noticing that she’s frozen. The woman is surrounded by hundreds of people, but she’s alone. It’s one of my more personal drawings.
Dare continues. “It makes me sad in a way. The woman you drew is beautiful and elegant, but everyone is so wrapped up in their own selfish desires, they can’t see that she’s drowning.”
“What makes you think she’s drowning?”
He shrugs. “Something about the way she holds herself. Like she’s spent years catering to other people’s needs and ignoring her own, but that isn’t sustainable. Eventually, she’ll crack, and when she does, when she forgets the expectations of others, that’s when she’ll really shine.”
My breath catching, I glance away. How is he so discerning? Or is it a matter of simply paying attention? “That’s a lot of assumptions for a simple drawing.”
“I don’t think it’s simple at all.” Dare picks up his water. “If you ever listen to anything I say, I hope it’s this: Don’t minimize your art. It’s really good, Rose.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod. “Thank you.”
The heartbeat of New York City—the low and constant buzz of traffic and voices—fills the stark silence stretching between us. I don’t know what to say when I’m not trying to pick a fight. A real conversation with Dare is uncharted territory, and I have no plan. I furrow my brow. Confused.
What is this?
Dare exhales. “I’ve never been good at drawing or anything creative, but I do like boxing.”
Over the many months I had Orion, my PI, following him, I learned as much. I also know that he’s a film buff. I know he likes to work out in the morning rather than at night. I know he’s friends with Crue Rollins. I know a lot of things. What I don’t know is why he’s telling me about himself.
“What are you doing?” I ask as the food arrives. “Thank you,” I tell the server before giving Dare an expectant look.
Dare breaks apart his wooden chopsticks. “Making conversation.”
“Obviously, but why?”
“Not everything is a power play.”
A trickle of unease slithers down my spine. “Says the man extorting me.”
He huffs in frustration and stabs his chopsticks into his dish. “Can you just relax and try to act human?”
I bristle. More than a few tabloids have accused me of being Dad’s doll. Plastic and fake. Only there to look pretty. No real thoughts or emotions. A line cuts across my forehead before I can hide the hurt.
“I’m sorry,” he says, surprising me yet again. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I shrug. “That’s what you think of me, isn’t it?”
Both of us have been put in a box. Dare, the vicious, murderous beast, and Rose, a pretty princess that’s merely a prop. It’s possible we have more in common than I care to admit. I don’t want to feel sorry for him.
He considers me, his dark brown eyes cutting me to my core. “I think you haven’t been given a chance to be your own person.”
My stomach flutters at the spark of worry in his eyes. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like, for once, he’s not seeing me as the enemy he married but as the wife he wants to protect. Maybe that’s his intention.
Either way, there’s no harm in telling him exactly who I am.
“Dad had me attending board meetings at thirteen.” I sip on a spoonful of broth. “I’m sure you know the life. People like us don’t get to have sleepovers or go to fairs. We grow up learning the business, so when it’s our time to take over, we have enough experience.”
Dare shakes his head. “My childhood wasn’t like that.”
Something heavy settles against my chest. “Oh?”
“I didn’t step foot in a board room until I took over the company. Actually, until the day my parents were murdered, I swore I’d never be a part of it.” Dare’s eyes flicker with sorrow so deep, it steals my breath. “When they were killed, I had no choice. I had a few advisors helping me find my way as a new CEO, but there was no one I trusted to run the business more than me.” Those eyes stray to meet mine. “And when the whole world accuses you of being a monster, what’s to stop you from becoming one?”
“So, you became who they wanted you to be?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Did you become who your father wanted you to be?”
Regret slithers through me, and I avert my gaze because the answer is a wholehearted yes. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to do something different. Part of me feels like I let myself down. “Maybe. But I also learned a lot.”
Dare doesn’t respond.
Heat blooms across my cheeks. Even I know it sounds pathetic, but I can’t admit the truth aloud.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. Dare’s questions and words run through my mind over and over. He was adamant that his parents were killed. My dad swears Dare is responsible for their deaths, but so far, most of the things my dad told me about Dare don’t line up with the man in front of me.
I bite my cheek, frustrated as I wrestle with my conflicting thoughts.
He’s definitely dangerous.
He hates my father.
But he’s not a sociopath. He’s not a monster. If he were, I would have known by now. And if it turns out his company isn’t ruining people’s lives?
I’m not sure what the truth is, and I’m not sure why my dad would lie.