CHAPTER TEN #2
“And David Copperfield?” She flicks her ashes into a tray, both eyes on me, as promised. “Where does he come in?”
“With your daughter, I’m desperate to know what’s behind the scenes, but the art of who she is isn’t hidden or an illusion. It’s in every word and laugh and subtle movement. The magic is her.”
Crickets—literal ones—are the only noise. Not a word for a good minute, until …
“Fucking Christ.” But she’s wearing an ear-to-ear grin. “And she danced with you.”
“She did,” I confirm, despite it not being a question. I drag a hand down my jaw, recalling what a goddess she was in that red dress, how she moved with both grace and authority.
My mother, the whimsical Leslie Noire, thought dancing solved any problem. That was what she told my siblings and me when we were young anyway. It’s so ingrained in who we are. And Sylvie … my mom would’ve been wowed.
Instead of divulging all that, I sum it up simply. “She’s good.”
“Very good, but rusty.” Sterling blows a plume of smoke toward the door, glancing that way, as if she’s envisioning another era. “It’s been a long time since she let herself enjoy even a moment.”
I’m not sure what to do with the weight of that, so I recalibrate. “Your turn to spill. What’s she mixed up in?”
“She won’t tell you that either?”
“No.”
She sighs and smashes her cigarette in her ashtray. “That’s a mistake.”
“Agreed. One that you’ll remedy?” I notice her reluctance, but I’m not leaving this office without at least a crumb of what’s going on.
“I’ve asked her a few times, tried to prove that I can be trustworthy, and talked about my family’s resources.
She met my brothers. Axel assured her he could help.
Maybe she doesn’t grasp the power in that, but you should.
There is nothing he can’t solve. And I don’t buy that the only issue earlier was that she twisted her ankle. ”
Conflict sparks in her eyes, but its retreat is brisk. “Heath had a friend. One who helped us out after he was arrested. Our assets were frozen for a while. We were being watched. No one believed I was innocent, so he stepped in.”
“And Sylvie is paying off that debt?”
“Not exactly. It’s her own debt, but …” She purses her lips, her focus flitting to the door again. “She’s very private. And it’s not my story to tell. All I’ll say is that he was good to us, but he’s bad news. He was friends with my husband for a reason.”
“What’s his name?”
“You’ll have to get that from her, but what he uses with us isn’t his real name. I never knew it. Heath didn’t want me mixed up with him or anyone else in the business once he was arrested, so he handled everything.”
I finish the final drops of my drink and stand with the glass. “I’d like to go see if she’s out yet.”
“Of course. She’ll be done soon,” she says, but when I make it to the threshold, her voice stops me. “Have you told her about your parents yet?”
I wasn’t expecting that. Sterling and Heath had known my father.
I think Axel met Heath once too. I’m guessing she’s not referring to the deranged monster my father was though.
It’s probably about how, nearly two decades ago, a house went up in flames, and heaven and hell each gained another resident.
I peer over my shoulder at her. “It’s common knowledge.”
“Newspaper articles are common knowledge,” she argues. “Your experience is not.”
“We haven’t had much opportunity for deep conversation.” That’s the truth, and yet, even if we’d had more discussions, I can’t imagine that being one of them. It’s not something I talk about. “Your point?”
She slants her head in appreciation, pleased that I requested more. “If you want Sylvie—really want her—then you need to be willing to lose as much as she thinks she could. You’re both gamblers. Ante up.”
I turn back to the lanai entrance, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. What do I even expect out of this? What if … “I’m not sure I’m built that way.”
“It’s not a matter of architecture. The door exists. You just have to choose to open it.”
Twenty minutes later, Sylvie wanders into the guest room while I’m digging into my bag. “So, you’re staying?”
“Was the plan for your mother to get rid of me?” I ask without turning around.
“It was a distinct possibility.”
“Sorry about your luck”—I spin with a pair of board shorts folded on my flat palm—“but you said Florida, and I realized it had been a while since I’d been to the beach.”
She’s got her wet hair knotted into a bun atop her head, no makeup on, and she’s wearing a boxy senior-citizen-worthy pajama set, littered with palm trees. Fucking gorgeous.
Her forehead wrinkles as she sniffs. “You had a cigarette with my mom. She only smokes if she’s hopeful or thinking about my father. Which was it?”
I obviously need to shower to get the smell off, but I don’t volunteer that. “Probably both.”
She soaks that in, thinking who knows what, so I drop the swim trunks back in my bag and poke.
“Cute PJs, Sly.”
A smug smile pulls at her lips. “They’re friend approved.”
“Friend approved, in the sense of appropriateness. Unlikely to draw the attention of the male gaze?”
She rolls those pretty amber eyes. “Sure.”
“Hmm,” I hum, unbuttoning my shirt. “You’d have to wear an invisibility cloak to hide how beautiful you are.
Those are just more items for me to imagine piled on the floor.
Next to the red dress.” I toss my button-up over my bag for a visual aid, my eyes never veering from hers.
“I’ll build a monument out of the outfits I rip off your body and turn it into a La Lune Noire exhibit, so choose wisely. ”
She swallows, her focus drifting between my chest, abs, and face, like she’s at war over whether to give in and gawk. “Maybe it’s an enter-at-your-own-risk situation. These are my period pajamas. So, imagine away.”
I’ve admittedly never been in a committed relationship, so maybe I have no right to judge, but has this woman only ever dated colossal assholes?
“You think talking about your period is going to scare me off? I’ve got a little sister and three sisters-in-law. I’m well versed in the ins and outs of that time of the month.”
A vibrant laugh escapes her, and, fuck, the way she makes me work for that sweet sound turns every single one into a treasure. I’m already a greedy bastard who won’t be happy without an entire trove.
Her joy tapers off though. She bites her lip and glances back toward her room with an expression I can’t discern coasting over her face.
“Hey.” I move toward her while still giving her some breathing room.
“If you’re on yours now—and this isn’t some pathetic attempt to pretend you aren’t aware that you’re the sexiest woman in existence—we can skip the beach tomorrow.
Movies and junk food sound just as good to me. I came here for you, not the island.”
She sucks in a heavy breath. “No, I’m … the beach is good.”
“Good.”
Nodding, she turns to leave but thinks better of it and twists back to me, her focus planted firmly on my face. “How long will this visit be?”
I walk back to my bag, pulling out a T-shirt, shorts, and my toiletries and setting them on the bed. “As long as it takes.”
Not-so-well-disguised fury seeps into her tone. “As long as it takes for what?”
Relishing the ability to push her buttons, I face her while unbuckling my belt. “For several things, but one would be for you to tell me what’s got you so shaken.”
Her fury drowns in concern—or fear. “I told you I hurt my ankle.”
“And I heard the lie.”
“I really did step wrong when we were on the phone.”
I whip my belt off. “Something else happened too.”
She narrows her eyes, blasting past my keen deduction. “Don’t you have a resort to run?”
“You’ve had an inside peek at what I do. I think they can spare me.”
Another laugh. “That’s your whole job? Penis pinatas and farm animals?”
“No.” I pull down my zipper with a smirk because she follows the movement. “I’m in charge of entertainment.”
She huffs and looks away, her lips battling her amusement. “Wonderful. They let you strip remotely?”
“This is for your eyes only, baby.” Since she still isn’t looking at me, I leave my pants hanging off my hips while I elaborate. “I oversee the entertainment department of La Lune Noire. But my managers are phenomenal, so they don’t need me on-site.”
Finally, her attention flits to me, and she grants herself a swift perusal with an unaffected expression. “I’d better get some sleep.”
“Sure, unless you want to finish this in the shower.”
She shakes her head, sauntering into the hall, and singing, “Be warned: I might show up to breakfast with zit cream all over my face.”
“Then I’ll know you want me.” I kick my pants off with enough noise that she’s aware of exactly what’s happening and surely picturing me in my boxer briefs—or out of them.
“How do you figure?” she asks, irritated and resisting the urge to peer back in here.
“First,” I call, gathering my things for the shower, “trying that hard to repel me—no matter how useless—would be a clear indication that you don’t trust yourself around me because squeezing those thighs tight isn’t cutting it.
Yep, I noticed. But even if it were an accidental run-in, it would still prove my point.
Obsessing over a blemish that I couldn’t even see could only mean you’re actually obsessing over me. ”
“You’re impossible,” she grouses from beyond the room.
“You’re not mad about that, Palmer. You’re mad because, deep down, you consider me a possibility.”
“In your conceited mind, I’m sure that’s the way you see it, but you’re a pain in my ass, Noire.”
“Say the word, and I’ll even it out with some pleasure,” I holler as I head to the bathroom.
She can’t smother her laughter as she chirps, “Good night.”
“Sweet dreams, buddy.”