Chapter 17 – “imgonnagetyouback” - Taylor Swift
VIOLE
“IMGONNAGETYOUBACK” - TAYLOR SWIFT
“You know we have that gallery auction up in Venice Beach this weekend. I’d love it if you came.” Everett wraps his arms around the back of Elena’s head as he tugs her against his chest.
She locks her hands around his lower back. “I’ll think about it.”
He laughs, pulling away. “That’s better than no.”
She’s swallowed up next by Leo, who presses his lips to the top of her head. “They always donate a portion of their proceeds to ocean conservation efforts. But they’re also working with the Hayes Foundation for this event, so some of the money will be donated in Zach’s name too.”
When Elena steps out of his arms, she blinks hard, eyes fixed on the floor. The information clearly rocks her, and she takes a brief moment to compose herself before responding.
“It’s black tie,” I blurt, forcing the attention from her to me.
All three of them turn my way. Elena swallows, studying my face, though I can’t read the expression on hers. Finally, she blinks and shakes her head. “That’s really cool of them. I’ll definitely try to come, okay?”
Leo gives her a closed-lip smile, and both of them say goodbye before heading out the front door. She lets out a deep sigh before padding into the kitchen and digging through the pantry.
“Don’t get their hopes up like that,” I say, though I didn’t mean to.
I’d definitely had the thought—that the moment Elena heard my brother’s name, she’d have nothing to do with the event—but there was no need to voice it.
She peeks out of the pantry door, bag of pretzels and a jar of peanut butter in hand, slamming it shut with her foot. “What do you mean by that?”
I shake my head, rubbing a tired hand down my face. “I don’t know. Sorry.”
I’ve been running a lot, and I pushed myself especially hard tonight. I’m fucking exhausted. It’s the only thing I can do to keep myself out of her fucking bed. This past week has been torturous. Despite my promise that we were only getting started, I’ve been doing my best to stay away.
Whatever happened that night in her bedroom was an awakening—for both of us, I think.
I don’t want to see the aftermath of what happens when we cross another line, because it would surely be enough to kill me.
It damn near did when I overheard her refer to the night as ravishing, admitting she’d been thinking about it all week.
The satisfaction that coursed through my veins at her words could’ve set my fucking blood on fire.
It took all my strength not to let the reaction show in front of her brothers.
Lusting after Elena is one thing, but actually having her is something else entirely.
It’s detrimental, and I would not survive.
“No, Augustus. Explain yourself,” she presses, her nose scrunching in the way that puts my cock on high alert. I have to grind my teeth to keep from telling her how fucking adorable I find it. Her lip juts out, pouting, and fuck, I want to bite it so badly.
“We all know you’re going to bail,” I mutter, unable to deny myself the urge to piss her off, just so I can see her pretty face twist in vexation. What the fuck is wrong with me? “So, why bother pretending otherwise?”
She scoffs. “What makes you say that?”
I pop a brow, looking her up and down. She’s wearing a maroon crewneck with a dagger in its center, the words Feeling Stabby in cursive lettering are over the top and bottom of the image, paired with mismatched blue cotton shorts covered in…tigers?
“You’re lazy, you rarely leave the house, and you hate being social.” I nod toward her outfit. “Plus, you live in clothing like that. Do you even own something black tie?”
Her brows rise, massive, alluring, want-to-die-inside brown eyes blinking at me in disbelief. Tongue in cheek, she tosses her snacks onto the counter, swiftly closing the distance between us until her toes meet mine.
She bats her lashes, my skin flames, and my cock is hard enough to break through brick when her lips tilt into a saccharine smile.
She places a hand at the center of my chest, the prick of her touch sending shivers down my spine, causing me to bite back a moan at nothing more than the goddamn brush of her fingers over my clothed skin. Fuck. I am so ruined.
She drags her hand down, hovering dangerously close to my cock.
It pulses, knowing that she’s nearby, desperate for her to touch it, take it out.
Hold it, suck it, bite it. If she dropped to her knees in front of me right now, I’d throw every ounce of my well-fought caution to the wind, and if she sucked my cock, I’d chant her name like a god I’m praying to.
She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t do anything but leave me hard and arching when she whispers, “You’re going to eat your fucking words, Hayes.”
The glare she cuts me has me choking on my breath, and satisfaction simmers in her gaze as she drops her hand, stepping back and snatching her pretzels from the counter before turning toward the stairs.
I watch her perfect ass sway with each step she takes, and I can’t help my smile.
“I don’t doubt I will, Little Vice.”
“Baby girl, I told you not to be lifting heavy shit in your condition,” Dom, Everett and Leo’s friend, says as he steps away from me and finagles a large box out of his wife’s hands. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”
“No worries,” I say, lifting my glass of whiskey to my lips. “Do you need any help?”
I came early to the event—an auction at an art gallery named Muse—because it’s partially happening in my brother’s name. The Foundation’s name. My parents aren’t attending, though, not able to make the drive from Palm Springs.
I talk to my mother often, but our relationship has been notably distant since my brother died.
My dad fucking hates me and refuses to acknowledge my existence.
It’s why I had no part in the Foundation when they started it, and why I’ve never attended the events they’ve put on.
But tonight’s auction is in large part due to Everett and Leo and the relationship they have with the gallery’s owner.
They were insistent that I attend, that I be involved in the Foundation and my brother’s memory.
Unsurprisingly, once that was made clear, my parents were conveniently unavailable.
So, I arrived early, because as the only member of the Hayes family in attendance, I felt like I should. Though, everyone keeps treating me like I’m fragile, like I shouldn’t lift a finger. I want to scream that it makes me feel out of place and like a burden, but I don’t know them that well.
“It’s not a condition, Dominic,” his wife, Macie, snaps. “It’s your spawn.”
He laughs affectionately before kissing her forehead. “Okay, fine. Please don’t strain yourself while you’re developing my spawn.”
She huffs, placing a hand over her rounded stomach before facing me. As if she can read the discomfort in my features, she smiles softly. “Come with me. I’ll have you help Leo with the lights he’s setting up over the front doors.”
I set my drink down on one of the standing tables that outline the perimeter of the showroom. Macie leads me through the large, open space and to the front door, where Leo stands on a ladder, stringing small fairy lights over the top of the frame while his wife watches from below.
He pauses, glancing down at Macie and me. “How’s she cookin’, mama?” he asks, nodding toward her stomach.
Macie drops her head, looking at her body before her gaze swings to Darby. She closes the distance between them. “I’m not as ripe as you are,” she says, placing one palm on her stomach before extending the other to Darby’s. “But she’s baking.”
“I hope they’re best friends someday.” Darby giggles.
“Maybe if we, like…press our bellies together, they’ll absorb each other’s energy or something.” She steps into Darby, bumping their midsections in a way that sends a fit of giggles echoing throughout the room.
I grab the string of lights hanging in the center of the doorway and walk them to the side opposite Leo, tossing them over the frame and latching them into the hooks that line the door.
“Thanks, Auggie,” he says.
Macie turns, hands on her hips as she examines our work. “Perfect.” She claps. “It gets pretty dark in here after the sun sets. We want to keep the lighting low and calm. These will definitely help with ambiance.”
“I don’t need to make a speech or anything, do I?” I ask.
“Nope.” Her blond curls bounce as she shakes her head. “Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t.”
She laughs. “It’ll be pretty low-key. Local collectors and buyers, plus the artists and their families, will be in attendance.
Everyone is free to silently bid on pieces they’re interested in.
Next week, I’ll contact winners and coordinate delivery.
A quarter of the proceeds go to the artist, a quarter to Muse, and the other half is split between the Hayes Foundation and a variety of other conservation charities.
There will be an open bar and hors d'oeuvres. Feel free to mingle and talk with buyers about your story and the Foundation. They’ll probably be willing to bid higher if you do. ”
I chuff awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Honestly, I’d rather not do that, either.”
Macie shrugs. “That’s fine. I can do it. I’m great at talking to people, and there’s nothing I love more than getting a man to open his wallet.”
“Are all the buyers men?” I wonder.
“No. But most of them are married to one, and if there’s one thing I love even more, it’s getting a man to spend exorbitant amounts of cash on his spouse.”
“Damn right,” her husband chimes as he saddles up beside her.
“Please,” she scoffs. “You love spending money on me.”
“Yep.” Dom nods, kissing her temple. “Turns me on.”