My eyes narrow. “So…what did the asshole do this time?”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, did your dad kill someone this time? Or has Chris ‘Jerk-Off’ Jackson just stuck to stealing every dime of his partners’ money? Which new crime will we see splashed all over the news?”
He frowns. “This meeting isn’t about my jackass father.”
I swallow another gulp of the scotch. “Isn’t it?”
“No, this is about you, bro. And Marilyn. Elsie. Seriously, Sparrow. I know my fiancée needs a break from all this scandal surrounding us. This circus.” His lips turn downward into a frown. “I had to get her out of the house. And I figured you needed that too.” He exhales, his broad shoulders slumping. “What does the doctor say?”
I lower my drink. “It’s good and bad. Mare is going to be fine…” I trail off, my stomach tightening as I say the words. “But my father…”
I don’t have to finish for Brett to understand. He nods, knowing how the sentence will end. He grimaces. “And your father’s lawyer?”
“Another subject for another day.” I sip my scotch, wishing I could shoot the damned liquid into my veins. It’d make the slow death inside of me go quicker, at least. “Let’s just say that my father has left me in charge of his matters.” I take another swallow of the scotch. “More than I ever thought possible.”
Brett stares at my face, hope shining through his different-colored irises. His green one winks at me. “You’ll rise to the occasion, Sparrow. You always do.”
“I don’t know, Brett.” I exhale, removing my coat from my shoulders. “Maybe not this time.”
I watch as he shakes his head. But I don’t want to hear anymore.
No more words of wisdom. No more advice. No more cheer-ups.
I want to hear nothing but the sound of the scotch making its way into my system. I divert the conversation quickly, my fingers tapping the edge of my quickly emptying glass.
“When’s Elsie heading this way?” I watch as Brett glances towards the door.
“They should be here any minute. I didn’t want to interrupt her girls chat but they’re probably on their way as we speak.”
“They?” I ask, my already-tense attitude slipping southward. “They? Who’s they?”
Kent the bartender suddenly reappears. He slides an amber liquid-filled glass towards me, his hazel eyes alight with hidden humor. He winks.
“A glass of Macallan single malt for the lady.” A two hundred-fifty dollar bottle of scotch to meet my current mood.
My smile slips. “Last time I checked I didn’t have any ‘lady bits,’ brother.” I glance down at the glass. “And I didn’t order this drink.”
“No,” Kent gestures towards the end of the bar. “But she did.”
And when I follow his finger to the woman standing on the other end, I suddenly wish I didn’t.
Shock slams into my gut, my breath halting, as I stare at the face of Violet Keats. She glances in my direction, surprise draining the color from her face.
She looks beautiful strolling slowly beside Elsie—regal. Better than I remembered. And she also looks livid, her stare slanting, her stride undeterred as she walks in the direction of the man she once swore she’d never see again.
Just my luck…that I happen to be that man. I sit straighter. Waiting.
One. Two.
Chapter Five
VIOLET
The Cabernet I drank with Elsie earlier in the evening threatens to come up.
I can do nothing but stare as a brown-haired wall of muscle and Italian tailoring stares in my direction, his almond brown eyes locked on my face.
His own face is perfectly symmetrical, strong and sharp at the jaw. I remember when that perfect face was buried between my thighs, licking at my most sensitive parts, bringing me to orgasm more times than all the fingers on my hands could count.
My “Happy Hour” has abruptly become “Throw-up-and-scream Hour.”
Forty minutes after agreeing to meet up with Brett and Elsie for a night-cap, I find myself walking into my favorite Irish pub with my best friend at my side, my pink-painted fingernails digging into the pockets of my red pea coat, a desperate attempt to steady myself when I finally stop in front of the only Sparrow I never wanted to see again, the heir to the Sparrow fortune standing proudly in a charcoal suit the color of a storm-filled sky.
He nods slowly, a natural gesture that speaks of his trust funded sophistication.
“Violet,” he says towards me, towering over me. As usual. I lean in to give my greeting to Elsie’s fiancé, Brett, and the entire time, my body is shaking, regret and anger both working their way under my skin. I stare up into the face of the Devil himself, hating myself for recognizing how handsome he is. I purse my lips as he looks down at me.
“Brett didn’t tell me you were coming,” he declares. He glances down at me, burning a hole into my brain. “It’s been too long.”
I want to say that a century wouldn’t have been long enough to see the man who makes my insides quiver, who pisses me off like none other. I’ve done my best to avoid Heath Sparrow, a feat that was easy when he was still in LA.
But now that he’s here, suited to perfection and smiling in my direction, I have no defenses, no brain cells left to help me speak…and no earthly idea what he’s doing here.
“Elsie didn’t tell me you’d be here tonight either.” I clear my throat. “I thought…” I stumble over my words, sounding drunker than I feel. “I thought you were heading back to Los Angeles.”
He offers the seat beside him, pulling the back of it against his broad body. “I was.” I sit, feeling shaky. He smiles sadly, his brown eyes flashing with something enigmatic. “I’m here for Marilyn, of course.” His voice turns hoarse. “But then I got roped in by this one,” he notes, motioning towards Brett, “into an ‘emergency beer meeting.’”
He smiles with hard, unmoving eyes, shrugging. “I may not know jack-shit about emergencies…but I know a whole hell of a lot about beer.”
His smile—even sad, like it is now—is enough to make the inside of my panties sing a song, and I take my first sip of the whisky, wishing it could chase away the burn I feel every time Heath Sparrow—AKA the worst person in the world—steps anywhere near me.
HEATH
I have never wished to be as fucked as I am now. Literally.
Elsie and Violet sidle up beside Brett and me, joining the small pity party, happening in our barely-lit corner. Watching Brett, my best friend and trusted business partner, with his fiancée is a show I don’t get to witness often enough since I packed up and moved to LA and I find myself enjoying every minute.
Despite the chaos happening in their famously busy lives, I can’t help but watch. Elsie’s mascara-lined brown eyes are excited, her energy contagious. She claps her hands after twenty minutes of conversation, subconsciously seducing both the bar locals and the few bold fans into a captivated submission with the flick of her manicured hands.