Chapter 16
Chase: If one of you doesn’t drown me in liquor tonight, I’m never speaking to you again.
Mia: Chloe is coming over for dinner tonight. Join us?
Chase: Will you both stroke my hair and tell me I’m pretty?
Mia: I’ll give it my best shot…
Chase: And will this be scheduled before or after you both pillow fight in lacy underwear?
Mia:
Chloe: Only if you wear lacy panties too, Chase.
Chase: Deal.
CHASE
“What are you doing?”
Pearlescent pink hair bobs up, the scent of heated solder reaching me across the desk from where Pepper is hunched over what looks like a circuit board.
“Erm…” She has the grace to look sheepish at least, rolling her lips in and removing my protective glasses that are far too big for her head. “Playing?”
That’s an understatement if the mess in here is anything to go by.
Every surface has tools splayed over it, lights on and a soft bassy beat playing in the background.
She has shucked her sweater, and the white short sleeved T-shirt she wears shows off a smooth expanse of ochre skin, but what catches my attention the most are the dark tattoos snaked up one arm.
I’m only human, and that is fucking hot.
It makes me wonder if she has any more…in less visible places.
Mentally shaking myself, I lift one eyebrow and slide off my tie.
Honestly, it can only be late afternoon, but I’m ready to be done with the day.
Between prototypes that aren’t behaving as they are supposed to, a three-hour-long legal briefing, and a shitty market day, I need vodka.
“I see that. Didn’t I leave you here to look over that data? ”
“That took me about twenty minutes.” She huffs, waving a gloved hand in the direction of my desk.
“And what happened to keeping her out of anything she shouldn’t be in, Jen?” I wrap my tie slowly around my knuckles as Pepper picks up the fiberglass board and wedges it an inch from her nose to examine her own handiwork.
“Chicks before dicks, Walker.” The familiar voice has a sassy edge I’ve never heard before. And what the hell is it on about, chicks before dicks? “Pepper taught me girl code.”
I turn my focus incredulously back to the pink-haired pain in my ass standing front and center. There is a smudge of something dark just above her cheek, like an errant finger swiped hair out of her face, too engrossed in her work.
She bites down on her full lower lip and places the circuit board gently on the illuminated desk, pausing for a second before speaking. “We got bored!” she whines suddenly, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “You were gone for ages.”
“So what, you decide to rifle through everything in this place?” I pick up a stray screw before it rolls off the edge of the desk.
“We also ordered takeout on your card and watched Crazy Stupid Love on the big screen.” She flicks her finger over her shoulder, indicating the two large beanbags placed in front of the wall of monitors.
“Where did you get beanbags from?” I frown at the large navy seating bags, and the empty Chinese takeout boxes that surround them.
“This is New York City, I could order a dominatrix to comb my hair and ride me like a pony and she would be here within twenty minutes. You think I can’t source beanbags?”
I scratch the back of my head, my brain running sluggishly, by my standards. “And why are there two?”
“One for Jen, duh?” She makes a face at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and I’m about to remind her that Jen is an computer program without a body, when it hits me.
“Wait, how did you get my card details?”
“I was bored!” she cries, throwing her arms into the air like boneless pool noodles.
This fucking woman. “You are unbelievable, do you know that?”
A small feline smile creeps across her full lips, bringing her back into her usual realm of stoic smugness.
Likely on account of successfully erecting my irritation.
It’s not the only thing fighting to stand to attention either, and that part leaves me baffled.
I’ve always liked my women fiery and confident, but it’s usually a prerequisite that they like me back.
“There is a capital B in that billionaire title of yours, Walker. Good for you.” I grit my teeth as she walks around the work bench and perches on the side closest to me—close enough that I get a hit of that heady jasmine scent.
“Besides, you’re hardly going to turn me in for hacking into your bank account when I heard firsthand earlier today that you commissioned someone to hack into other companies’ databases. ”
I scrub my hand down my face, pausing to press my fingers into my eyes. “And dare I ask why you didn’t just go home instead of all this?”
Her mouth pops open indignantly. “You didn’t tell me I could!”
“And since when have you let that stop you?” I can’t prevent the derision from leaking into my tone.
She is already opening her mouth to retort, but as my words land, she freezes, a subtle crease appearing between dark arched brows. “Good point,” she mutters quietly, mostly to herself.
“He’s so killing the vibe,” my automated assistant cuts in sassily.
“Another good point,” Pepper agrees readily, folding her arms across her chest in a way that threatens to bring my attention to the smooth skin that presses against the neckline of her shirt. Her tone turns silky and goading. “Does that piss you off, Wolfie?”
My eyes narrow on her androgynous face, trickling down to the way her lithe body leans away from me, palms propped behind her to hold herself up.
Something deep in my chest rumbles its approval, and without thinking, I take a step closer, my leg teasing the dip between her knees, wondering what it would be like to spread them apart and devour her there until she’s pliant and writhing.
I bet that would wipe the self-congratulatory look off her face.
Her eyes go wide as I lean over her, the faint gold that gathers just near her pupils sparkling in the overhead lights like a beacon.
Drawing me in yet warning me off at the same time.
My palms meet the space next to hers, her stature small enough that I still have to curl over her.
I don’t miss the way her breath becomes sharp or how her pulse flutters just below her jaw, as much as I’m sure she would like me to.
We stay caged inches apart for a tense second and when I speak, my voice is gravelly even to my own ears. “I’m a billionaire with a capital B, remember?”
Her sweet breath puffs across my skin, her cadence taking on a breathy, husky edge that has my brain taking a high-speed elevator to the lowest level, where cavemen bash flint together to try and spark fire.
“Good, then you won’t mind that I also relieved you of two hundred thousand dollars for a charity that protects endangered jellyfish in Australia. "
A tingle of awareness crackles over my skin, and I don’t know whether to chew her out, or kiss her.
The balls on this woman outweigh those of anyone I’ve ever met, and what’s more, I fucking love how she doesn’t give a shit about pissing me off.
I lean in closer, our breaths tangling as she tilts her head a touch, a thrill of excitement running through me when I realize she’s angling herself toward me and not away.
“What are you doing?” she asks unsteadily, her cheeks pooling a warm copper brown.
“Satisfying a curiosity,” I murmur, dipping my head slowly down to her shoulder—giving her time to pull away. When she doesn’t, I dust my lips across her collarbone, fighting back a groan when I realize her skin is just as soft as I imagined it to be.
Her chest heaves in my face, and the way I see her thighs press together forces me closer to the edge, my grapple with this invisible force that draws me to her losing ground.
“It’s giving backseat make-out.” The zesty voice above cuts in just at the wrong time, draining the tension from the air. I groan softly, drawing myself away from her soft heat a few inches to look into eyes that are visibly stunned.
We both break into laughter at the same time, the ridiculousness of the situation crashing over what was seconds ago electrical charge. Pepper lets out a cute little snort, causing herself to squeak and clap a hand over her mouth.
“You have to undo whatever you did,” I groan, pulling back to give her a few more inches of space.
She tips her head to the side, her pastel locks falling over one shoulder. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“I get to take the beanbags home.”
“Deal.”
***
“Chase, what is wrong with you?!” A sharp sting on my shoulder accompanies the words and I start, focusing back on the three women sitting on Mia’s large U-shaped couch.
“What was that for?” I whine, rubbing my arm.
Chloe rolls her eyes, batting my hand away. “You’ve been sitting there grunting at everything we say and not paying attention!”
“Oh…sorry,” I mutter, taking a sip from the beer bottle in my hand.
“You have to listen to us moan about men. It’s the rules of girls’ night.” Mia nods, taking a sip of her wine.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. What were you saying? Something about Zeke leaving his socks somewhere?” I raise my eyebrows at Chloe, who just grins.
“He’s probably brooding about the pretty girl I caught him with the other day,” Emily drawls, twisting her untouched beer bottle as she side-eyes me with the distinct expression of someone who is intentionally dropping me in it.
She’s right. I can’t quit thinking of how glassy her eyes got when I leaned over her, or the way her breath felt on my skin, making me think of all the other noises I could pull from her.
Logic seems to escape me when I get too close to Pepper and I make a mental note to keep a safe distance between us from here on out.
Any more of this and I might have to take a long, hard look in the mirror and decide if I have a crush. Like I’m some fucking teenage boy.
“What pretty girl?!” Chloe yelps like the mother hen she is, shooting forward in her seat so quickly a fluffy blanket slips off her legs.
I roll my eyes at the floating fireplace that gently pops and crackles behind the glass, lifting a hand to test if the pink clay face mask painted onto my T-zone is dry. “Just someone I’m working with.”
“Is this the one with pink hair?” Mia asks, a twinkle of curiosity in her ocean-blue eyes.
“Yep.” Emily ends the word on a popping sound, looking extra pleased with herself.
“Pink?” Chloe chimes in, stretching to pick the blanket back up.
“Yeah, like a pearly pink rinse. She’s way too cool for Chase,” Emily adds.
“Did you check on Mom earlier, Emily?” I cut across them to steer the conversation away from the woman whose scent still haunts my nose, but almost immediately regret it when the mood turns from bubbly and light to heavy and sad.
My sister’s face falls flat. “Yeah, she’s doing okay. Still won’t get out of bed, though.”
The room falls into tense silence until a soft throat clearing drags my attention sideways.
“When do we say enough is enough and get her help, even if it isn’t what she wants?” Mia asks quietly, reaching over to place her glass full of golden wine onto the low coffee table in front of us.
“We can’t force her.” I’m taken back in time to a dizzy image of my mother’s unconscious body being pulled from the bathtub, and sit forward, wedging my elbows on my knees—focusing on breathing slowly to quell the snatching fingers of panic that rise with the memory.
Mason’s much younger face swims into my mind’s eye, chalky and clothes covered in blood as he uses towels to try and stop the bleeding, yelling at me to call for help.
We had tried to force her into therapy then, and we very nearly lost her because of it.
No, my mother is content to live in the oblivion of prescription drugs and denial.
That way, she doesn’t have to face the ghosts that haunt this family.
Mia reaches over and squeezes my forearm, and in that moment my long-standing suspicion that she knows all about that night twenty years ago is confirmed.
The lobby doors hiss open and the sharp clip of Italian shoes rings out on marble, seconds before my older brother comes into view, dressed as impeccably as ever in a designer suit, and with his signature scowl heavy at his brows.
He makes a beeline for his wife, icy eyes fixed on her the whole time.
“Ger your sick bags ready, folks,” Emily mutters, pulling her phone from her sweatpants pocket and swiftly diverting her attention to it.
I swig my beer as Mason reaches the back of the couch, leaning over his wife and curling a hand around the side of her neck when she arches to look up at him. “Hi,” he says in a low voice, pausing to do a sweep of her before he kisses her—like he’s checking for injuries. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Mia whispers back, smiling at him with love-heart eyes.
“Are the kids okay?” he follows up, uncaring that anyone else is in the room.
“Asleep.”
“I’ll go and check on them,” he rumbles back to her, delivering a final kiss before he straightens and acknowledges someone other than his wife.
“Red.” He nods at Chloe, who grins at him, my brother’s eyebrow raising when he spots the pink clay face mask currently coating every inch of her face.
His cool eyes land on me next, and turn positively arctic, his upper lip threatening to curl while he clocks my face mask.
And suddenly, I don’t want to be the joker in this moment.
Hatred begins to boil in my stomach, but I fight it back down and open the box I always stuff these moments into, to be forgotten about forever—but this time, I find it crammed full. Mason turns away without so much as blinking, dismissing me the same way he always does.
“One of these days we might fight out what your fucking problem is,” I throw at his retreating back, placing my nearly empty bottle onto the coffee table with a little more force than needed.
Three sets of stunned eyes turn my way from each corner of the couch—my sister’s jaw even drops.
Mason pauses, his head turning just enough to allow us to see his apathetic side profile, and it strikes me at this moment that if it weren’t for Mia, I probably wouldn’t see my brother at all now that our mom isn’t around to drag us back together.
“Don’t, Mason,” Mia warns him softly, turning her head toward his stiff back.
“It’s fine, I’m going anyway,” I grumble, ignoring the concerned looks from the girls as I get up and turn my back on all of them to stride for the lobby.
I don’t give a fuck that I’ve got this stupid shit on my face, and for once I also don’t care that I just showed the people I love a part of me I pretend doesn’t exist.