Chapter 16
DARCY
I t’s the third night in a row that Wren has called when he’s finished work to tell me I should do the same.
“You know better than that by now.” I lean back in my office chair, tearing my gaze away from the bright computer screen for the first time all night.
“I do. So, back to it. Favorite color. Go.”
“It only took us three days to get to the really important questions, huh?”
“Just getting to know you … bro .”
I cringe every time he says that word, and he’s either picked up on it, or he’s getting even more suspicious all because I opened my big mouth while I was drunk.
No more drinking for me, ever. There’s too much on the line for that kind of risk, and Wren makes my lips loose on a good day. I ache to tell him everything because it’s so unfair. On him, on me …
“I don’t hear you answering,” he taunts.
“Are you supposed to have a favorite color when you’re a grown-ass adult?”
“Yes. My favorite color is red. I’m like a bull. I’m drawn to all the red flags when it comes to men.”
“Can relate,” I mutter.
“Okay, I was making a joke.”
“Oh. Yeah. Me too.” Sounds convincing. “I’m just covering because I don’t have a favorite color.”
“Black like the Ritcherson souls?”
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
“Nah, you’re not like the rest of us.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How did you grow up to be a gentle and caring soul when the rest of us are stubborn and selfish?”
“Ah. Did you have a run-in with Toby today?” I hope he can’t hear the croak in my voice from the dryness in my mouth.
“Nah. We’re actually”—he lowers his voice conspiratorially—“getting along.”
“Liar.”
“When he’s not following Junior’s lead, he’s actually a good kid. But if you tell him I said that, I will fly to London and kill you.”
“You still don’t have a passport.”
“Semantics. I’m sure I could pay someone off at immigration to let me in.”
“I don’t think you know how international travel works.”
“You’d be correct there.”
Why can’t we have one conversation without guilt eating at me? When I’m not lusting after the guy, I’m feeling guilty for stealing his life.
At what point do I realize how toxic being in Wren’s life is and I get the courage to tell him we can’t be close anymore. I can’t risk us growing closer.
Yet, for the last three nights, the highlight of my day has been these two a.m. calls.
“I should get back to work.” I don’t want to, but I need to.
“No, you should go home.”
I hate that my chest warms whenever he’s trying to get me to look after myself.
“I’ll get right on that,” I lie.
“No you won’t.” Of course, he sees right through it.
* * *
I lean back in my desk chair, cock tucked away and sated, looking out over London, and realize I’ve come to love this time of night. For the last three weeks, Wren calls me on his way home from work, and I’m here desperately waiting to hear his voice.
The distance between us has done jack shit for the way I feel about him and, in fact, with these stolen moments of his deep voice in my ear, spinning stories of a life outside the one I’ve always known, that consuming need for him grows. Morphs. Twists into something I’m not ready for.
It’s long past when I thought I’d return to America, but I don’t see how I can step foot in Seattle without seeing Wren, and considering the chest-swelling want I have for his voice on the phone, being around him physically will be the death of me.
Especially after beating off over him every goddamn night.
I’m in a routine now. Work my ass off all day to avoid thinking about him, order dinner, work some more, then reward slash torture myself with a quick wank before he calls at two—always at two—never surprised to find me still awake.
Bet he’d be surprised to find you awake with your dick in your hand though.
I mentally flip off the stupid voice.
So what if my gut is a riot of nerves in anticipation of his call?
So what if the second I hear his voice it physically pains me?
So what if I fall asleep picturing Wren doing the very mundane things he tells me over the phone?
I glance at my phone. Five past two.
It’s been killing me to wait all day for this call, so of course, he’s late.
Considering he’s been right on time every other night, I’d say we’ve gotten lucky, and if Tobias is following the list I’ve been emailing through, he’s likely started to sit in on meetings, and it’s always fifty-fifty on whether those things run late.
Only, two thirty comes and goes, and that building excitement fizzles into frustration. I take to pacing my office, annoyance building higher and higher. It’s Friday night, technically Saturday morning here—would he have gone out instead? Blown me off to get his dick wet?
To be fair to Wren, we never specifically said that we’d talk every night; it just happened, and now it’s not happening, it’s like … it’s like … I don’t even know, but I strangely want to cry. Or send him a grumpy text, maybe?
It’s almost three when I finally give up waiting, but when I snatch my phone from my desk, I’m hit with the most heart-stopping thought.
What if something happened?
What if he’s hurt? Upset? What if my godforsaken brother succeeded in running him off?
My heart is beating sickeningly fast when I hit Call on his name and wait for it to connect. He doesn’t answer.
How could I be so stupid? So caught up in my growing feelings and my guilt that I left him unprotected? If Mom’s come at him with more contracts, so help me, God, I’ll?—
Do nothing.
Fuck . There’s nothing I can do when she knows best of all how fragile my position is.It’s a real kick in the face to have all this power and yet be so cripplingly powerless.
I try Wren again, but he still doesn’t answer, so I make a split-second decision that this is it. I’ve messed around in London for long enough; now, I need to go home and be the grown adult I’m supposed to be.
I’m too agitated, too frustrated with myself, and too pissed the hell off that I should be talking to Wren and I’m not.
I grab my bag, phone midway through booking a flight back to the States, when I open my door, step through?—
And crash into someone right outside my door.
My bag and phone clatter to the ground, and I have a moment of panic that somehow someone got past security, when I glance up and— “Wren?”
I throw myself into his arms. I’m so filled with elation I don’t even realize what I’ve done. “You’re … it’s you. You’re here. What … how ?”
His laugh is warm and deep as he hugs me back. “Careful, Darcy. I’m starting to think you missed me a bit.”
I force myself to pull away from him, but I can’t help my smile. He hasn’t gone out, he hasn’t been injured or driven off.
He’s here .
And I’m screwed.
But I can worry about that another day.
“You don’t have a passport,” I choke out.
“I got one.”
“Apparently.”
“After that first week where you wouldn’t settle on a return date, I figured I’d apply. Toby helped me, and in his words, ‘When you have money, these things work quickly.’ Turns out that’s true, and the second it turned up this morning, I booked the first seat out of Seattle I could find.”
“Tell me it was at least business?”
Wren shakes his head. “None available. Figured cattle class was fitting for me for my first flight.”
“On the way home, I’ll show you how a Ritcherson travels.
” My shock and surprise are finally calming down, and without that stream of WrenWrenWren , I can finally manage my thoughts.
He’s in athletic sweats and a zip-up hoodie, and I may actually agree with him on the suit thing.
He looks far better dressed casually. He looks like him .
I swallow roughly as I look away. “Smooth flight?”
“Fucking horrible.” He adjusts the strap of the overnight pack that’s sitting across his chest. “Now it’s on you to make it worth my while.”
And my twisted mind makes that sentence far sexier than it has any right to be. How would Wren react if I made it up to him by sucking his dick? I have to scowl at myself because there’s only one way he’d react. A swift knee to the jaw would be appropriate.
“Where are you taking me?” he asks.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I dunno, it’s my first night in London, man. A few months ago, I never would have dreamed of being in a foreign country. Show me stuff. Entertain me.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”
“Ah, finally living up to the Ritcherson name.”
I lock my office behind me, leading him back to the elevator. “How dare you. I’m not bossy at all.”
Wren doesn’t reply right away, and when I look over at him, he’s watching me. “You’re not, are you?”
“Just figuring this out now?”
“You did kinda muscle your way into my house and force me to sign that paperwork.”
“Through persuasion. Not force of will. There’s a difference.”
He hums, and when the doors open, he follows me inside. The elevator is empty, of course, so I’m surprised when Wren stands right next to me, arm bumping mine.
“Anything still open at this time?” he asks.
“A kebab shop two blocks away.”
“What else?”
“A bunch of clubs, probably.”
“Feel like going clubbing?”
A flash of Wren dancing wrapped around another man knifes through me. “Not at all.”
Wren whines, leaning his bulk heavily against me. “I’m excited. Don’t make me go home to bed.”
So dramatic. I like it. “Where are you staying?”
“Figured wherever you are.”
Of course he is. “Just going to invite yourself over?”
“Duh. We’re family , after all.”
And with the eleventy-billionth reminder from him tonight, my mood is going downhill fast. “Awfully concerned about brotherly bonds all of a sudden, aren’t you?”
“Trying to embrace it. Being a dick and denying it doesn’t magically change that we’re related, does it?”
His probing tone makes me shoot him a look. He’s still so close, hazel eyes bright in the elevator lights, locked on mine, searching deeper than I’m prepared for.
Does he know something? Did he not let go of what I said while we were drunk and go digging?
It would be impossible for him to find anything.
My parents made sure of that. Warren’s on my birth certificate.
No one outside of my deceased father and my mother knows.
It’s been our secret forever. But what if he did work it out? What if …
My gut simultaneously soars and sinks at the thought, but even as I consider it, I know there’s no way.
The sharp disappointment is worrying. Wanting him is one thing; wanting to throw everything away for him is another.
I’m still spinning that he’s here, so instead of the doubt and guilt and lust that’s been plaguing me for weeks, I’m going to lean into the new emotion. Embrace it. Wren’s excited about seeing London, and I’m excited about showing it to him.
“You’ve actually arrived at the perfect time. There’s no one around, so you’ll get the express tour of all there is to see.”
“Bring it on.”
“I’ll call my driver.”
“You can’t do that. It’s after three.”
“What time do you think he normally picks me up?” I laugh at Wren’s bewildered expression. “Lawrence doesn’t mind. We’ve been working together for years, and considering what we pay him, he’s more than happy to accommodate the bizarre hours.”
“If you say so …”
And like I told Wren, the second I text Lawrence that I’m ready, he thumbs up the message in reply. He’ll get here within minutes at this hour.
“You know,” I say as we wait inside the glass foyer. There’s a security guard at the desk, but the lights are dimmed, and no one else is around. “I thought you weren’t going to call tonight.”
He huffs. “I actually had it all planned that I’d get in an hour early, hang around, and then knock on your door right on two.
But there was a small delay, and then they took forever to let us off, and then I had to find the link to get picked up—and I dunno if you know this, but Heathrow is large —then I finally got here, late, and your dumb security guard wouldn’t let me up. ”
My lips twitch. “You’re upset he was doing his job?”
“He probably thought I was here to murder you. Especially when I kept telling him he couldn’t call you to tell you I was here.”
“You know what, the more you say, the more concerned I am that he let you up there to really murder me.”
Wren grins. “Nah, I showed him my ID from the office and then convinced him to call Toby to check out my story. He tried Junior first, but thankfully, he didn’t answer. Imagine what that asshole would have said? Probably to arrest me for trespassing.”
“You’re such an American,” I say with way too much fondness in my tone. “He would have had you thrown out on your arse.”
“ Arse . I love every time you say that.”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s the thanks I get for flying halfway around the globe for you? Real nice, Darce. Feeling the love.”
“You didn’t fly here for me, you idiot,” I say, butterflies stirring in my gut. And I know the only reason I say it. I’m fishing. I want him to confirm it. That he came for me and not because I’m the only one in the family he can stand. Me, specifically .
“You’re probably right about that,” he says as Lawrence pulls up to the curb. “It must have been for Junior. We need some bonding time. You wait, by the end of the week, the three of us will be braiding each other’s hair and—what are you doing?”
I glance up from my phone. “Booking us a flight home. Tomorrow. Anything to avoid all that ever, ever happening.”
Wren thinks I’m joking, but I’m dead serious.
Junior and I will never have that type of relationship, and I’m thankful for it. After what a dick I’ve been to him for the last few weeks, he’s the last person I’d want to see me around Wren.
That bastard has a nose for a story.
And he never stops sniffing around until he finds it.