Chapter 20
Lucian Driver: Heading to Darién Gap tomorrow. Expect me to be out of touch.
Chloe: I’ll be out late, sweetums. Don’t wait up.
Zeke: Wasn’t planning on it, sugar tits.
Chloe: I gain points for that. He’s hot. Ramen noodle fringe and all.
Zeke: If you say so. Where are you?
Chloe: Got a hot date with a smoking brunette.
Zeke: Do I need to remind you of our terms?
Chloe: So sue me, papi.
ZEKE
The tinkling keys of piano music waft across the dimly lit room, finding their way to where I’m standing by the bar of the Chilson House—a members-only watering hole for Manhattan’s elite.
“So, as soon as you get what you need on your father, the girl is gone?” Mason Walker takes a measured sip of his scotch, steely ice blue eyes surveying the room over the crystal rim.
I pull in another sip of tequila and swallow, running my tongue over my teeth irritably as the burn fades.
“That’s the plan.” Liquor traces a warm path down my chest and into my gut, where it sits heavy against the leaden brick wedged there, I suspect from this conversation.
It’s bad enough that I’m strapped into this monkey suit and forced to attend tonight’s gala for some good cause I can’t remember, let alone talking about a certain fiery redhead who has taken up permanent real estate in my mind.
Her presence in my home has been surprisingly tolerable.
More than tolerable, if I’m honest. I find myself wondering if she’s there as I take the elevator up at night.
Damn it, hoping she is. The place feels brighter with her around.
Her cat, on the other hand, who has decided to take up residency in my study half the damn time, I could happily do without.
This is the closest I’ve been to a love-sick puppy in my life, and I can only attribute it to the fact she’s avoided my advances.
Wanting what you can’t have is human nature, of which I am as susceptible to as the next.
Especially when I’m on a sex ban. I blow out a sharp breath through my nostrils, scowling.
Whilst being mostly sure she was teasing about having a date, the thought takes root in the back of my throat and burns all the same.
“Where is Chase tonight?” I want to believe I’m asking just because, but in reality, I’m wanting to rule out she’s with him.
“Out with Mia.” Mason grunts, throwing the rest of his scotch back bitterly.
I chuckle without much humor, my gaze catching on Sacha Erickson, partner of one of Manhattan’s largest advertising firms. Her hazel eyes zero in on mine across the room and she offers me a coy smile.
Brunette, busty, smart, and excellent in bed—she’s exactly what I would usually be doing to distract myself.
But tonight, I’m on a leash. Dipping my head briefly in acknowledgement, I look away.
“You know he sees her as a sister, right?” I slide my gaze sideways as Mason grumbles unintelligibly and lifts his empty glass, catching the eye of a server who saunters over to collect it.
She’s young, blonde, and gazing up at us like we were the first men on the moon.
Usually this would be amusing. But tonight?
I find myself thinking how much I prefer the sharp scorn Miss Devlin throws my way.
Her eye rolling, her huffing and puffing—like I’m the world's biggest nuisance. Or the way her ocean blue eyes flutter beneath her caramel lashes as she succumbs to an orgasm. Her breath catching in her heaving chest, her rose pink lips parted and there for the taking… And now I’m hard.
Gritting my teeth, I tear myself away from the dark thoughts that have been torpedoing through my head at every given moment since we visited her parents two weeks ago.
She’s done her best to avoid me since then, shutting herself away in her bedroom again at the earliest opportunity.
The only time she rewards me with her presence is if my son is in the room.
And I’m not above leaning on his obvious delight over her to see her pale, freckled nose scrunch when she lets that tinkling laugh loose.
Or the way her face lights up with a smile when he winds his pudgy fingers into hers.
Seeing her with Diego is like taking a hit of crack.
It’s addictive and I want more. It must be some weird papa bear complex ingrained in my biology.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can get for you? Maybe something…more?” Blondie is gazing up beneath her lashes, eyes bouncing between the two of us.
“I’m married.” Mason’s voice is cool and indifferent, his attention already turned away from her.
“And my fiancée would probably kick your ass if she were here.” My lips tug up into a smirk as I recall the fiery display of jealousy on the plane.
Red blotches appear in the apples of Blondie’s cheeks, and she mutters an apology before scurrying away.
Mason and I share a look. We don’t need to say it, we’re both thinking the same thing.
We’re good-looking men in our prime, but what really seems to send some women wild is the power we have at our fingertips.
It all boils down to them wanting money or status without having to work for it.
Not Chloe though, she couldn’t give a fuck how many zeros are on my bank balance.
She’ll still cut me to the quick with that sharp tongue and flip me off.
“Bulldog, two o’clock,” Mason grumbles, plucking his refill off the tray of a male server who had been sent over.
Presumably, Blondie knew when she was beat.
Glancing that way, I see Anthony Sweeney waltzing through the room with none other than Lucinda on his arm.
Unfortunately, the smarmy git spots us in the corner and makes a beeline for us.
He’s good looking in a slick kind of way, if you’re into that kind of thing.
His hazel hair is oiled meticulously back into place and his too-white teeth flash beneath a tan I’ve always suspected is fake as he reaches us.
“Guerra. Walker,” he greets us stiffly, extending his hand my way.
I shake it once, dropping it as quickly as possible.
He holds the hand out to Mason, who proceeds to crush it with such ferocity that Sweeney pales under the effort not to react.
My lips twitch. Perhaps Mason isn’t as oblivious to his wife’s business dealings with the man as she might like to think.
“Zeke.” The sickly-sweet voice of Lucinda draws my attention to her.
She’s standing with her shoulders squared, her fake tits jutting out of her plunging neckline, looking like she believes she’s scored a point by arriving with another man.
Little does she know, she could turn up naked with the pope and I wouldn’t give a fuck.
“Lovely to see you, Lucinda,” I reply cordially, declining my head.
“You two know each other?” Sweeney asks when Mason finally stops trying to break his hand.
“Zeke and I are…old friends.” She smirks, lowering her lashes in a good show of affected modesty. It’s funny how someone who once looked like a good time can suddenly be so…unappealing.
“Hmm.” Sweeney’s steel grey eyes bounce between us, his mouth twisted like he’s got a bad taste on his tongue. Lucinda realizes too late that this was the wrong thing to admit, and I almost feel a little bad for her when Sweeney subtly withdraws his arm from her waist.
“That is to say, she joined her father and I for lunch at the Hampton Club a few months ago.” Not strictly true, but I throw her a bone because I’m not a complete asshole. And if ‘joined us for lunch’ actually means pulling me into the powder room to suck my dick? Then yes. Perfectly true.
“Right…” Sweeney trails off, not looking convinced.
“How is business, Walker?” He turns his attention back to Mason, who is still gracing him with the full weight of his icy glare.
He makes no move to reply, the seconds bleeding into one another before he pointedly takes a silent sip of his scotch.
I take another sip of my own drink to hide my smile as Sweeney’s brows knit together.
“And you, Guerra? I hear congratulations are in order,” Sweeney growls through clenched teeth, giving up on a response from Mason.
“Yes. I believe you may know her.” Chloe worked for his company, after all, but I wouldn’t put it past this asshole not to know most of his employees.
X-tech is a major contender in the AI space, with their fingers in all sorts of pies.
Unfortunately, the company has a reputation for trying to sabotage others' success. Sweeney has been trying to infiltrate our social circle for years, but what he fails to understand is that there is enough money out there for us all to be successful. We help each other out when it’s needed and wouldn’t dream of shitting on another person's business just because. No. Anthony Sweeney has never traded a favor in his life, and that’s why he’ll never be one of us.
He opens his mouth to reply, but my attention is drawn away by a soft hand curling around my arm.
Sacha Erikson smiles up at me, her green eyes sparkling prettily—no doubt with memories of our last encounter. “Zeke, come and get a drink with me.”
I hesitate, my polite rebuttal on the tip of my tongue. The only thing that stops me is Sweeney’s raised brow and Lucinda’s scowl at where Sacha’s manicured hand rests on my elbow. I might not want anything from her, but I respect her too much to snub her so publicly.
“Of course.” I dip my head and glance at Mason, who looks like he might murder me for leaving him alone with Anthony Sweeney.
As soon as we reach the bar, I gently uncurl her fingers from my arm and offer them a polite squeeze before dropping them.
“I’m sure you know by now Sacha, but I’m no longer a single man. ”