24. The “Talk”
THE “TALK”
Trevor
The light in the kitchen is growing dusky, almost holy.
Late sun leaks through the bank of glass, hitting the white marble in a way that makes every surface hum with clarity.
The room is warm, and it smells like sautéed onion and something sweet, basil maybe, and when I round the corner, I see Kayleigh at the stove, bent over a saucepan.
She’s got her hair up in a makeshift knot, a few damp curls sticking to her neck, and she’s wearing nothing but a long, loose dress that’s almost a muumuu, except ten times sexier with a bare back.
My first thought is about how good she looks with her curves poured into that blue linen, the sash tied tight at her waist and the hem riding up on her thighs.
My second thought is not so much a thought as a kind of electric hallucination, because I see it clear as a day: Kayleigh barefoot, belly distended with my baby inside, stirring pasta sauce with a serious look on her pretty features while a little blonde toddler bangs a wooden spoon against the cabinets nearby.
For a second, I see myself in this future, coming home from work to find her just like this, the kitchen hot and bright, our children making a mess on the tile.
Our children.
I blink, hard, and try to kill the thought.
What the fuck is going on? I’m a confirmed bachelor who swore I’d go to the grave single.
Yet, the vision doesn’t die. I look at the pretty blonde again and my heart does this thing—contracts, then goes totally soft and loose.
I stand like a fucking statue, letting the vision burn itself on my retinas.
I’m not a family man. I don’t do babies, or diapers, or anything that requires me to be home at a set hour.
I am not, under any circumstances, a person who should be having these kinds of fantasies. And yet the image lingers.
At that moment, Kayleigh glances over her shoulder, gives a startled smile, then swipes a wet finger across her lips to taste whatever she’s cooking.
“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in,” she smiles sweetly. “Are you hungry? I made dinner, but it’s just pasta and salad. Nothing fancy.”
I watch her for a second longer, taking in the dress, the bare legs, the way she hums a bit while watching the simmering sauce. “Looks great,” I say, and my voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
She smiles and plates the pasta and brings it to the island, sliding the bowl toward me with a practiced flick of the wrist. I take my seat at the counter, and she does the same, perching herself on the high stool, dress bunched between her knees.
We eat in silence for a minute. The food is simple—penne in a red sauce, over-salted but perfect. I watch her twirl noodles around her fork, her hands shaking just slightly. I want to ask her what she’s thinking about, but I already know.
I set my fork down and lean forward. “How was your day?”
She gives a tight smile, brightening. “It was fine. I went by my apartment and picked up some stuff. Stella was there, and that girl is crazy, I have to say.”
I nod.
“Have I met her before?”
Kayleigh cocks her head at me and squints a bit. “I don’t think so. I think maybe you guys saw each other at the bachelor auction, but were never introduced. She’s the beautiful blonde who’s always surrounded by guys. Tall, short, fat, thin, guys just love Stella.”
I shake my head.
“Well, I was obviously immune to her charms because I can’t picture her at the moment.”
Kayleigh nods. “She was at the auction, but running around the entire time. Probably talking to people because that girl is a social butterfly. But I got some other errands done too. I picked up your dry cleaning. Ran by the pharmacy. Called the AV guy about the broken remote.” She ticks off the list on her fingers, as if she needs to prove her worth even here, at the table.
“Also, I ordered the new espresso pods. I didn’t know which flavor, so I got all of them. ”
I grin, then reach over and wipe a dot of tomato sauce from her chin with my thumb. She blushes hard, then licks her lips, which only makes it worse.
“You did good,” I say. “You’ve been very productive, sweetheart.”
Her face is radiantly happy at my praise. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and looks away.
We eat for another minute, and I watch her hands. She eats fast, like she’s afraid of losing her appetite, but her fork is so small in her hand that it looks almost childish.
I take a sip of my drink, then set it down. “So did you get a chance to look around the penthouse?”
Kay nods, blonde head shining.
“A bit. I had to search for some cleaning supplies, and also try to locate an alternate remote. So yeah, I looked around.”
I nod.
“What did you think?”
“It’s interesting,” she says carefully. “It’s perfect, really. Like a magazine spread.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s why I’ve been thinking about selling the place,” I say, casual. “A magazine spread isn’t a home. It’s just a pretty picture for people to look at.”
She looks up, startled. “You’re selling? But why?”
I scan the kitchen, the slick, angular lines of it, the too-perfect island, the thirty-thousand-dollar espresso machine.
“It’s a good apartment for a bachelor,” I say.
“But lately it feels too sharp and impersonal.” I pick up my glass and swirl it.
“I’m thinking I want something softer. With a yard. Maybe a real garden.”
Kayleigh looks shocked.
“Really? You want to move to the suburbs?” She looks absolutely flummoxed.
I smirk. “Not quite. But somewhere I could raise a family, if I wanted.”
That causes the beautiful girl to freeze, fork halfway to her lips. Then, she sets it down. Her cheeks are pink again, and she stares at the counter, as if waiting for the world to stop spinning.
I let the silence stretch. The air is thick with basil and anticipation.
“A family? Why?” she says, finally, her voice just a whisper.
I watch her face, the way the flush climbs down her neck and pools at the hollow of her throat. “Because I might want one,” I say. “Kids would be cute, don’t you think?”
Kayleigh looks utterly astonished, her cheeks pink.
“I don’t know,” she stammers. “I just never saw you as the family man type. I thought you were a billionaire with an empire to run, always rotating between work, charity events and million-dollar man-caves.”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I lean forward and run my hand along the edge of the counter, then reach for her wrist, circling it with my thumb and forefinger. She doesn’t pull away.
“That’s true, but maybe I want something different now. Maybe I’ve changed,” I say in a deep growl.
She bites her lip, the motion involuntary.
I squeeze her wrist, just hard enough. “Don’t look so scared, Kayleigh. It’s not going to happen overnight, and besides I own you, sweetheart. And I’m not done with you yet.”
She shivers, her other hand clenching tight around the fork. “How long?”
I tilt my head. “How long what?”
She swallows. “How long until you get bored? Until you send me away so that you can move forward with the dream of your big house, with a garden and kids?”
Ah, so she has no idea that I’m thinking of sharing the aforementioned house and kids with her.
And why would she? I’ve given nothing to let on that my mind has been spinning in circles recently, thinking of nothing else but my pretty blonde stepsister.
That I can’t think of anything but Kayleigh, in fact, even with the IPO coming up.
I let my gaze drift over the gorgeous girl, the bare skin, the way the dress does nothing to hide the roundness of her hips, the slope of her shoulders, the spill of hair down her back.
“Well, a million dollars on a personal assistant’s salary takes a long time to pay off,” I say in a silky tone.
“But really, this arrangement isn’t over until I say it’s over. ”
She flushes deeper, the pink fetching. I imagine kissing her at the hollow of her throat, where her pulse flutters, and then removing her dress and kissing her all over. But Kayleigh’s trying to stay calm. She sets her fork down, hands folded, and stares at the counter.
I release her wrist, but let my fingers drag down her arm, slow and soft. “You belong to me,” I say, and the words come out like a prayer. “Which means I get to do whatever I want.”
She looks up, eyes wide and innocently blue. “But what do you want, Trevor?”
I smile, slow and patient. “A lot of things. We could have a lot of fun together, Kay. But tonight, I think I want to take pictures of you.”
She jerks back, the motion so abrupt she almost knocks her stool over. “What kind of pictures?”
“The kind you sent me,” I say, voice low and dangerous. “But better. Professional. Ever since I got that unexpected gift in my Inbox, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. I’ve jerked off to those photos multiple times, Kay. They were the best present ever.”
Her mouth works, but no sound comes out.
I stand, walk around the island, and take her by the hand. Her fingers are cold, but her palm is sweating.
“Come on, sweetheart. Did you take that Epsom salt bath like I recommended?”
She nods, eyes wide, and I chuckle before leading her down the hallway, past the master bedroom, to the heavy, unmarked door at the end. She’s never been in here. I can feel her heart hammering through the bones of her hand.
I key in the code, then push open the door.
The room is all glass and steel, with a huge, curved white wall and a scattering of softboxes and lighting rigs.
There are backdrops in every color, a small dressing area with a curtain, and a full vanity with ring lights.
In the center is a tripod, its lens aimed dead center at a single white stool.
She lets out a tiny gasp, the sound almost lost in the hush of the room.
I drop her hand and move to the camera, flipping switches, checking settings. “Take off your dress,” I say, not looking at her.