Chapter One #2
Fucking Aiden. How could he do this to me? What did he mean, he missed me? He saw me every day!
At the memory of his face when I left, somehow both contrite and resolved, my vision flared with white hot rage so fierce I was blinded by it.
I was not going to think about Aiden. I was not going to think about the scope of his betrayal or wonder how my beloved brother could have done this to me.
If I did, I might swing the car around and go back to the office.
If I laid eyes on him again, I'd kill him.
I barely noticed my family home as I sped up the drive. Located on ten wooded acres in the heart of Buckhead, Atlanta's most elite neighborhood, Winters House was a seventeen thousand square foot Mediterranean-style mansion.
At that size, it could have been imposing, but the warm, creamy walls and red tile roof gave it the look of a historic Italian villa, both welcoming and impressive.
Built in a square around a central courtyard, the design made the big building intimate, as well as more secure. When I was a child, the inner gate had never been closed.
After my parents died, we'd all been grateful our home could double as a fortress. With so much of our family gone, we'd wanted to protect what was left.
I came to a stop in front of the black iron gate that protected the courtyard. Stabbing my finger at the remote to open it, I waited for the heavy gate to swing open, vibrating with anger and impatience.
Pulling in front of the tall front doors, I parked, taking my keys with me. I didn't want the staff to move the car as they usually did. I wouldn't be here long enough.
For once, I didn't give a thought to how things looked. I just wanted to get my things and get out. The home I'd always loved looked like a prison, complete with my brother as warden.
I loved Winters House. We all did, but everyone else had eventually moved out. I'd stayed, not comfortable leaving Aiden to rattle around in the big house by himself with only staff for company.
I was over it now. If I had to look at him at the dinner table, I'd stab him with a fork.
Lucky for me, I had somewhere to go. Funny how things worked out. A month before, I'd bought a rundown Craftsman-style home in the Virginia Highlands neighborhood. I don't know why.
Buying that house was the first irrational thing I'd done since I was a teenager. I didn't need a house. And while real estate could be a good investment, that was more Jacob's thing than mine.
All I can say is that the first time I laid eyes on that house, I wanted it. Now it was mine, and it was a mess.
The plumbing was shot, the front porch was falling apart, and the electrical wasn't much better. At least I'd managed to get the single bathroom on the first floor working. I just needed a sleeping bag and a mini-fridge and I could move in.
No one was home at Winters House, another stroke of luck on this unbelievably shitty day. Mrs. Williamson, the family housekeeper, must have been out running errands. There was a gardener, some day maids, and a cook, but they were nowhere to be seen.
I raced to my suite and slammed the door behind me, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror in my dressing room.
It was like looking at a familiar stranger, even after all these years. I had my mother's shiny auburn hair, but I wore mine pulled back into a restrained, professional chignon. I was her height and had the same curvy build.
I could still remember the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her hugs. I'd never be my mom, but she hadn't wanted me to be her. She'd wanted me to be me.
I had no idea who that was anymore.
For a second, I had a flash of another me superimposed over the view of my charcoal suit and sensible heels. Me at fifteen, a little plump, wearing a Misfits t-shirt and a paint splattered pair of Converse, a blue streak in my long hair.
Before my life changed for the second time. Before Elizabeth moved in. It was the last time I remembered being me. Really, truly me. But I couldn't go back. No one could.
If I didn't have Winters Incorporated, I had no idea how to go forward.
I stripped off the suit and pulled on jeans and a short-sleeved cotton sweater. No reason to be dressed up if I was unemployed. Especially if I was going to my house. I loved every decrepit inch, but the place was a mess.
Stuffing clothes and toiletries in a bag, I called Maggie. Magnolia Henry was my cousin's fiancée and my best friend. No answer.
Just before I could leave a message, I remembered she and Vance were out of town with Rosie, Vance's infant daughter. They'd said it was a business trip, but they'd brought along their new nanny and I'd teased Maggie that it was more a pre-honeymoon than a business trip.
She'd blushed so pink I'd known I'd been right. If she had any idea what had happened, she'd rush home in a second. I wasn't going to ruin their mini-vacation. I'd just have to handle this on my own.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and stomped down the stairs, taking a perverse satisfaction in letting my temper out. No need to be professional now. What the hell did I care what anyone thought? It wasn't like I had a job. I didn't even have the prospect of one.
Aiden had blackballed me.
My knees wobbled at the wave of fury. I couldn't seem to get my head around how thoroughly he'd destroyed my career. He knew I wouldn't leave Atlanta.
I love my city. Gage and Annalise aside, my family was here. My friends were here. I could probably find something if I were willing to move, but I wasn't going to flee Atlanta because Aiden was a controlling asshole.
I ground to a halt at the door to his home office.
I wasn't above a little petty revenge. Not in my current mood.
But what I had in mind wasn't petty. On the shelf behind his desk sat a crystal decanter filled with brown liquid.
Aiden's pride and joy. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he did like his whiskey.
I'd never seen him drunk, but I often joined him in his office for a glass after a long day. We drank whiskey together, but not what was in that decanter. I'd never seen him touch the contents aside from a single glass the day it had arrived.
Carefully, I picked up the decanter and one glass, taking them both with me. He'd be furious. Maybe as furious as I was at being fired. Served him right.
I didn't stop to think until I was pulling into the cracked and overgrown driveway at my house in the Highlands.
I unloaded my bags, locked my car, and took the crystal decanter and glass to the back porch.
The covered porch circled the house, and most of it was rotted and unstable.
The section outside the back door was safe enough, I thought.
I liked to sit out there, admiring my tangle of a yard and imagining what the house would look like when I was finished with it. I'd barely gotten started. Too many hours working and not enough free time.
I didn't have that problem now.
My stomach did an uneasy flip at the reminder that I was unemployed. It wasn't the money. Even accounting for the cost of the house, I had money. I'd been working for Winters Incorporated since my freshman year in college and I'd kept expenses to a minimum.
Hard to spend money when all I did was work. I still drove Aiden's car, the one he'd given me when I turned sixteen. I'd lived at home, so no rent, mortgage, or utilities.
He didn't even let me pay for groceries. I never went on vacation and I rarely shopped except for work clothes. Since buying suits wasn't my idea of fun, I kept that to a minimum too.
I was twenty-four years old with a flush bank account, but no job and no life. A tiny voice whispered that maybe Aiden had a point.
Screw that.
It would be a long time before I'd be willing to talk to Aiden, much less admit he might have done the right thing.
This was my life. I knew he could be controlling, but firing me was beyond insane.
Gritting my teeth, I poured myself a generous portion of whiskey into the crystal glass I'd stolen. At the familiar burn of the liquor, I smiled for the first time since I'd walked into Aiden's office a few hours before.
The whiskey was the best I'd ever had. At fifteen thousand dollars a bottle, it should be. Aiden had bought the Macallan Select Reserve Single Malt at an auction a few years before. He wasn't generally extravagant, but he loved this whiskey.
I took another sip and grinned, remembering the first time I'd stolen Aiden's whiskey. I'd been thirteen and gotten my backside tanned. Back then, the punishment had been worth it, though I'd thought the whiskey was disgusting. How things had changed.
Now I welcomed the smooth burn of the Macallan. Aiden had already delivered his punishment, so why not?
If he could yank my entire life out from under me, I could drink his ridiculously expensive whiskey. Even the crystal decanter was valuable. A special anniversary edition, it was worth almost as much as the contents.
Now, all he had of the set was a single glass. I drained every drop of whiskey from the one I'd stolen and refilled it. I was going to get drunk on obscenely expensive whiskey and figure out the rest of my life later.
"Isn't it a little early for whiskey?"
The voice was smooth, dark, and luscious with a husky bite. At first, I thought it was the whiskey talking. Then I looked up.
Shit. Standing on the other side of the fence was my neighbor, the one Maggie and I called Lawnmower Hottie. The name was silly, but apt.
At first, I'd only seen him mowing his yard, always shirtless, his chiseled body on full display. He was tall, taller than my brothers and cousins. At least 6' 6" and solid, with broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs. All of him was covered in muscle and what seemed like acres of tattoos.
He should have scared me. My cousin Vance was big and had muscles and a bunch of tattoos. But not like this guy. Lawnmower Hottie was dark, with olive skin, black shaggy hair, and apple green eyes. I'd never seen him smile.
And I'd looked. I'm not going to admit how often I'd spied on him. I was Pavlov's dog. I heard that lawnmower start up, and I went straight to the window.
"How much of that have you had to drink?" he asked, nodding at the decanter beside me.
I looked from him to my half-empty glass before I answered. We'd never spoken, never exchanged more than a vague half-wave, but now was as good a time as any to get to know my new neighbor.
For once, I was feeling reckless, my anger and the whiskey mixing in my blood, tugging at my memories of another time, when I'd been another girl.
"This is my second," I said, holding my glass up to the light. "Do you want some? I don't have another glass. You'll have to share with me."
Lawnmower Hottie was over the fence in one fluid leap, landing on the balls of his feet, moving far too quietly for his size. This man was a predator.
Dangerous.
Before I could regret my invitation, he was sitting beside me, his spicy male scent blending with the whiskey and going straight to my head.
Had I said I was feeling reckless? The heat of his body warming my side, he took the glass from my fingers, his skin brushing mine, sending electric sparks shooting down my nerve endings at the brief contact.
My breath caught in my throat. His green eyes were as clear as glass as they studied the whiskey before he raised the tumbler and took a sip.
Up close, he was a study in contradictions—the clarity of his green eyes gemlike, the line of his jaw aggressive, a perfect match for those bladed cheekbones. And his mouth. Lush and full, it was the mouth of a lover, a mouth made for kissing.
I found myself leaning into him, his lips a magnet. I started to pull back, to get myself under control. I was Charlotte Winters. Perfect Charlotte Winters. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect job. Always perfect.
Not anymore. That Charlotte was gone. I was left with Charlie, and Charlie was unemployed, sitting on her back porch in the middle of the day drinking whiskey and thinking bad thoughts about kissing her neighbor.
Charlotte would get up, politely excuse herself, wash out the glass, and set it to dry beside the sink before she went off and did something sensible. But Charlotte wasn't here. And Charlie knew exactly what she wanted.
I didn't care if it was the whiskey, the crappy day, or just good old-fashioned lust. I knew what I wanted. Maybe not in the big picture. My life was in a shambles and I had no clue what to do about that.
But right there, with whiskey and desire fizzing in my veins and Lawnmower Hottie close enough to touch, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Before I could think twice, I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his. Fireworks exploded behind my eyelids. He let out a grunt of surprise and his hands closed over my shoulders. He was going to push me away. Disappointment stabbed through me.
Then I opened my mouth to his, my tongue stroking across his lower lip, and he pulled me closer, my breasts pressing to his broad chest, his mouth slanting over mine, taking control of the kiss.
My blood sang and my body was molten. He tasted of whiskey and pleasure. Of danger and sex. I had to have more.
I was a mess, lost and without direction. I had no idea what I was doing with my life, but I knew one thing.
I wanted more of this man. And I'd do whatever I had to do to get him.