Chapter Fifteen
RHYLAND
Row: Are you taking good care of my sister?
Rhyland: Good enough that I demand a raise.
Row: What’d she get herself into?
Rhyland: It’s her story to tell.
Row: Are you already this loyal to her?
Rhyland: No, fuckface, I’m just too lazy/unbothered to type all that shit down.
I called Tate as soon as I left Dylan’s apartment. He answered on the third ring.
“Do you have a minute?” I grunted out.
“No,” Tate said flatly, “though I’m sure it won’t stop you. It never has in the past. What do you want?”
“You still hold the majority of shares at Beaufort?” I cut straight to the chase, stepping into the elevator and trying to keep my temper in fucking check. Tucker had hurt Dylan. And while she wasn’t my woman, she was still a woman, and he was still a man, and this whole thing was still majorly fucked up.
“Who wants to know?” Tate inquired taciturnly.
“Me, fucker. Who else?”
He made an uncommitted grumble. “How—or more importantly, why—should I help you with that?”
“I need you to get two people fired. Stassia and Tara from the marketing department. Low-level folk. Easily replaceable.” I punched the button taking the elevator down, not up. My subconscious had already made a decision that would probably land me a night in the slammer. Ah well. You only lived once, and that was one experience to cross off my bucket list.
“I see.” His icy drawl gave my ear frostbite. The crane descended down. “Not that I ever miss a chance to ruin someone’s day, but may I ask what they did to earn such a visceral reaction from the laziest pothead I know?”
“They basically invited Dylan over for a job interview just to bully and belittle her,” I blustered before considering Dylan might not want me to air her shit publicly. I usually thought things through before I spoke. This was out of character for me. But so was spending ten fucking hours straight with a three-year-old. If this was what they meant by “doing some growing,” then no, thanks. I wanted to stay mentally fifteen.
“And you care because…” Tate yawned.
“Row,” I scoffed. “I care because she is my best friend’s sister, and he’s riding my ass about taking care of her while she settles in.”
“She’s a big girl.”
“Did I ask you for an observation?” I inquired.
“And as much as we like Row—which is not very much in my case and a decent amount in yours—you shouldn’t care that much about his grown-ass sibling.”
In the back of my head, I knew he had a point, but I refused to see it. Unlike him, I was selfish but not sociopathic. I still managed to feel bad for other people.
“Are you going to do it or not?” I snapped.
“I’ll see to it, but you’re going to owe me, and I always collect,” Tate said crisply.
“Yes, I remember. Forty-two percent interest, right?”
“Fifty percent in your case, since I don’t like your face.”
I hung up before he could say anything else. I’d made a deal with the devil just to spite two meaningless bitches I didn’t even know.
And I didn’t regret it one bit.
I grew up as an only child. My parents loved each other too much to spare leftover affection for anyone else, so I never had the pleasure of dislocating anyone’s jaw or nose for mistreating my sister. I’d always envied Row when he defended Dylan’s honor. There was nothing quite as therapeutic as throwing a few well-earned punches after a long, hard day.
Another thing that was long and hard right now: my cock, after being in close quarters with my best friend’s sister.
Violence was sex’s ugly cousin, the Sweet’N Low to its pure, untainted sugar. But it’d have to do for now.
I pushed open the door to the Alchemist, slipping into the loud, darkened room. I spotted Tucker behind the bar. He hadn’t changed much, save for getting more ripped and growing some stubble. He was mixing neon-colored drinks and flirting up a storm with a few leggy patrons. I found a place in the corner of the room, ordered a Peroni, and waited, watching him closely. Patience, I suddenly had. Bloodthirst too.
I grabbed my phone and sifted through some emails while I waited. Between junk mail, pleas from former clients begging me to un-retire so they could flash a fake boyfriend at a wedding or a funeral, and emails from potential investors was an email from Bruce’s secretary. I clicked on it, my heart staggering its way out of my throat.
Dear Mr. Coltridge,
As per your meeting with Bruce earlier this week, Mr. Marshall has expressed an interest in hosting you and your fiancée at his farmhouse on the outskirts of Dallas three weeks from today.
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall would love to have your fiancée and her daughter as guests, show everyone some Southern hospitality, and discuss business as well as examine if you fit the Marshall Corp family and its uncompromised values.
You will be provided with private accommodation in Mr. Marshall’s farmhouse should you accept.
Please let me know if the time and date suits you. If so, Mr. Marshall will see to your transportation arrangements.
Do not hesitate to contact me should you have any questions.
Faithfully,
Portia
Orgasmic triumph flooded me. Finally.
Marshall wanted to close the deal and wanted to spend more time together. I wasn’t excited to pay Dylan for three more weeks, but I was sure as fuck thrilled to see the end was near, for both our sakes. I quickly typed out my acceptance of the invitation and opened a text box with Dylan. She’d had a crap-a-licious day, but not through my fault, so I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to break the inconvenient news to her.
Besides, I’d already filled my quota of being a great fake fiancé for the year.
Rhyland: Just got word from Bruce. He invited us to his house for a weekend in three weeks. Save the date.
Dylan: Seriously?
Rhyland: I never joke about the prospect of becoming four hundred million dollars richer.
Dylan: I hate it here.
Rhyland: Tough luck, Cosmos. For the money I pay you, you should show up in a gingham dress with a homemade cherry pie, braids, two first names, and your knees ready to be scraped at a moment’s notice.
My breath hitched. Was that last description really necessary? No.
Could I think about something that wasn’t my cock inside her smart mouth? Also no.
Dylan: That is a shockingly detailed kink.
Dylan: I’m happy to report I do, in fact, own a gingham dress, know how to make a cherry pie, and give the best oral sex.
Dylan: As for the braids, I’ll have to charge extra for that. They make me look hella young.
My eyes rolled inside their sockets, my rock-hard cock muscling its way past my zipper, begging to break free. I’d thought eight years would dull out that incident when I almost took her in her tiny kitchen, but they hadn’t.
Rhyland: Forget the braids. Your hair will be in my fis
I erased the entire text message. What was I thinking? This couldn’t happen.
Dylan: Uh-huh. You typed then deleted. Dead giveaway you’re breaking.
It didn’t help that Dylan had the instincts of a panther and the bloodlust of a piranha. I stared at the screen and grinned like an idiot.
Dylan: The offer still stands.
Dylan: So is your cock, I’m willing to bet.
Dylan: No strings attached ofc.
Rhyland: I’m trying to do the right thing here for a change.
Dylan: Why? The wrong thing’s always more fun.
I brought my fist to my mouth, biting it to stifle a groan. Checked my watch. Ten minutes before the bar closed and Tucker was let off. Good. I needed a distraction.
Rhyland: I thought you hated me.
Dylan: I do. I’m also horny and single. And I heard enemies-to-lovers is the best trope for sex.
Rhyland: Wouldn’t know. Never felt anything for anyone I slept with.
Dylan: That’s low-key sad.
No. What was sad was that we weren’t having this conversation face-to-face so I could see her olive skin growing scarlet, her heavy eyelashes fanning her cheeks, and her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of her pulse.
Rhyland: Neither have you.
Dylan: Excuse me?
Rhyland: You’ve never slept with someone you love either, Cosmos. I know, because you told me you fucked Tucker on the day I acted like an ass to you (sorry about that, by the way. What was I to do? Tell Row my cock had bested my mind and I’d decided to get a piece of his sister?). And I know for a fact you haven’t had anyone else since that asshole.
Rhyland: And you didn’t love Tucker. Everyone knew that. Even you. He was just a way to pass the time that got complicated when you got knocked up.
I stared at the screen for a few minutes. No answer. I’d touched a nerve. I decided to dig a little deeper.
Rhyland: Was he at least good in bed?
I was going to deserve the beating Row was destined to give me, no doubt. I’d just earned the first few punches, and I’d gladly take them if it meant prolonging this conversation a little. It was my version of “just the tip.”
Technically, we were just talking. No touching was involved. The dotted line danced on my screen, and I momentarily forgot to breathe and blink.
Dylan: He was actually surprisingly decent, which was why I stayed with him for so long.
Dylan: Gave GREAT head.
My stare grazed the man behind the bar, envisioning him eating her out. Suddenly, I didn’t want to rough him up a little; I wanted to dismember him into three-inch pieces and feed him to zoo animals.
Dylan: What about you? Who was your best?
Rhyland: I don’t think I’ve ever had a best. All my hookups were the same level of adequate.
Dylan: And they say romance is dead.
Rhyland: It is, though, Cosmos. Think about it. Everything that represents love—flowers, hearts, swans, doves—dies eventually.
Dylan: Cosmos is such a terrible nickname. I get that you have to do this because of the fake engagement, but can’t you find something cuter?
Rhyland: Such as?
Dylan: Kitten? Baby? Sweetie pie?
Rhyland: You’re not a kitten and you are not a baby (thank fuck). I’ve also met limes sweeter than you.
Dylan: Whatever happened to trying to pretend to like each other?
Rhyland: The rules don’t apply to me.
Dylan: Why?
Rhyland: BECAUSE I’M THE ONE WHO IS PAYING AN ARM AND A LEG HERE, CASABLANCAS.
Tucker rang the overhead bell, signaling the end of the service, and I slipped out of my seat and outside to wait for him. It took another twenty minutes for him to emerge from the entryway of the bar, a backpack slung over his shoulders and a ball cap covering his eyes. I effortlessly snagged him by the collar and dragged him into the alleyway between the Alchemist and a boutique realty building. I slammed him into a nearby wall with enough force to create an impact. His skull thudded against the stone, and he spurted a surprised, “Shit, man, what the fuck?”
“The fuck is you are a fucking fuckwad.” I snatched the lapels of his shirt with one hand, using the other to throw a sucker punch to his right eye. I let my fist sail through, straight to his nose, hearing a small but prominent crack. He was going to have to get it repositioned.
Row never got the chance to do this when Tucker ran away from Staindrop, so I considered it a personal favor. I also wanted to put the message across that there would be no more finger imprints or blue marks on Dylan.
“That was from Row,” I announced cheerfully, watching Tucker moan as he reached to clutch his bleeding nose—side effect of the black eye I’d given him. “And this one’s for Dylan.” I kneed his stomach, making sure to stomp on his nuts in the hope he wouldn’t be able to reproduce anymore. This I considered a national service.
Tucker folded over, a squeak escaping his lips. “Enough!” His nose spurted blood that trickled down his neck and his shirt. He tried to push me off, but I only crowded him further. “Enough, please.”
“And finally, this one’s from me.” My fist landed flat against his cheek, sending his head backward again, against the wall.
He collapsed to the ground like a LEGO tower, arms shooting to his face to protect it. He wiggled like a fish out of water on the ground, trying pitifully to get to his feet and run. I considered kicking him in the ribs to drive the point home, but he looked so pathetic, shrimping into himself in whimpers, that I decided not to overdo it.
“Look, man.” He spat dirt into the gravel, eyes clenched shut, and in that moment, I realized he was a coward through and through. A coward who didn’t step up when the girl he’d impregnated needed him. A coward who couldn’t even look me in the face. “I get it. You guys are engaged. I saw the ring. She told me. But you can’t keep me away from my kid. I know my rights.”
That gave me pause. But of course, Dylan had been wearing my engagement ring—why wouldn’t he have jumped to the conclusion? And why would she have corrected him? I was paying her to play the dutiful fiancée. Plus, throwing a new relationship in his face must’ve been satisfying. It worked for us both in maintaining our deception.
I hooked a finger around the back of Tucker’s shirt, tugging him to his feet. He staggered to the wall, plastering himself against it, still flinching.
“Relax.” I fixed the collar of his shirt, which was now red, not blue, thanks to the injuries I’d inflicted. “I’m done putting my point across. Word to the wise—I sincerely don’t appreciate when people fuck with my shit. Dylan came back home with blue bruises over her wrist. I trust this is the first and last time you’ll tarnish what’s mine.”
I used the derogatory language deliberately. Men like Tucker only responded to toxic masculinity.
He jerked his chin in a sharp nod. “I never meant to hurt her.”
“Good. Good.” I clapped his shoulder a tad too aggressively, a serene smile stretched across my face. “Accidents happen. I get it. Like, if someone were to mess with what’s mine again, even though I’d warned them, I could have an oopsie too, you know. Chop their fingers off to ensure it was the last time they hurt a woman or disrespected me. Being theoretical here, of course.”
Tucker rubbed his jaw miserably. Unfortunately, he was still handsome. Fortunately, no pretty face could fix the ugly on the inside.
“Dude, point taken. You want me not to hit on your girl, not to hurt her, not to bail on her.” He studied me through silent fury.
I nodded briskly. “See? Row always said you were so dumb you couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel. I disagree. I don’t think you’re dumber than average, just more malicious. Which was why I felt the need to give you this little welcome despite Dylan begging me to forget all about it.”
“So…Dylan didn’t send you to hit me?” He worked his jaw back and forth, holding it in his fist to ensure it wouldn’t fall off.
“Of course not. Doubt she even remembers she saw you today.” I snorted, downplaying how pissed off I was at the prospect that it gave him hope. “This was all me.”
“Well, you can’t keep me away from my daughter. I wanna see her.” Tucker lurched his chin up.
“Yeah? What stopped you until now?” I parked a hand next to his ear, leaning against the wall, and he instinctively flinched. I chuckled.
“I was going to. This Easter. Go back to Staindrop. I’m better now.”
“Hardly fucking impressive, seeing as you can’t do any worse,” I muttered, rubbing my chin as I considered what to do with him. It was time to wrap it up. “Where were you until now?”
He shrugged, looking childlike. And, to my horror, a little like Gravity. Their lower lips stuck out in the same manner when they were going to cry. Only Gravity was actually fucking adorable when she did that.
You don’t find her adorable. You find her annoying. What the hell are you thinking, Coltridge?
“After Allison got thrown in the can, I stuck around Maine for a little while so I could see her,” he explained.
Allison was the woman he’d been cheating on Dylan with. It was the equivalent of breaking your diet to gulp machine oil.
Tucker’s face clouded. “But then she’d get all difficult and snappy with me when I forgot to top up her inmate card or get her books and magazines, so I decided to travel for a while. Saved up, went to Australia, New Zealand, traveled the Far East by myself a little…”
“Single life is great, isn’t it?” I drawled.
He recoiled again. “I was a kid.”
“So was Dylan. She still stepped up.”
“What do you want me to say, man?” he whined. “I screwed up. I’d do anything to make up for it.”
I shook my head, realizing I wasn’t the one he owed these answers to. Stepping back, I raised a finger between us. “Upset my fiancée again, Tucker, I fucking dare you. I’ll finish the job without blinking an eye. You hear me?”
With that, I turned around and disappeared into the night.