My eyes scraped a path down her body, cataloging all the similarities and differences. The shirt would have hugged her curves if she had them, but she didn’t. Two hip bones jutted out.
Outside the elevator’s shitty lighting, I could study her better. She looked thinner than I’d ever seen her, borderline fragile and breakable if it weren't for the expression on her face. She looked like the type of girl to brandish her middle finger as a weapon. I knew from personal experience she’d do it while hiding a knife in her other hand. Better to stab you in the back with.
“You’re dressed oddly for a catering gig.” She didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. I continued, “If you’re going to continue working for me, and that’s a big if, you’ll have to learn I don’t tolerate lies,” unless they’re my own, “and respect is demanded. Oh, and do keep your hands out of the proverbial cookie jar. I don’t need the prepubescent offspring of a thief caught working for me, let alone stealing from me.”
“At least I don’t need to pay people to date me.”
“It’s a choice, not a need. Speaking of dates, at least buy me dinner before you mount me next time.”
Her cheeks flushed. “No need to worry. If you recall, the lights were off. Had I known it was you, I would have been looking for a toilet to puke in. I hate you, Nash Prescott, and every time you step into a room I’m in, I’m unsure if I want to vomit or stab you.”
“I know I inspire your gag reflex. It takes time and experience for women to blow someone my size. I wouldn’t worry about it until you get your first period.”
“I’m twenty-two,” she fumed, absently tugging at her shirt until it pulled against her chest and I noticed I made her nipples hard.
“Wow, you’ve been an adult for two seconds. Congratu-fucking-lations.” I tore my eyes away from her nipples. “Nevertheless, I appreciate that—this time—you’re able to keep your hands to yourself. It must be difficult, considering the past two times we were alone in a room together, you forced yourself on me.”
I stepped forward until her tits brushed against my stomach, just like they had last night when she’d pressed against me in the elevator, angry breaths caressing my skin.
She’s Reed’s age, I reminded myself when the urge to turn her around, flip her over my lap, and mark her skin gripped me. She needed to learn discipline, yes, but she was too young and too tempting for me to be near.
“I didn’t force—” She stopped herself, flicked her eyes down to where our bodies met, stepped back, and delivered a saccharine smile. “Is there a point to all this or did you want to isolate me so my coworkers can hate me more?”
I studied her. The daughter of a thief. The woman whose actions could never be justified. I didn’t know who I hated more—her or myself for wanting her.
“The point is, Prescott Hotels is not Winthrop Textiles. I will not allow another Winthrop to ruin the livelihoods of thousands of people. Any stealing, scheming, and general misbehavior will not be tolerated.”
“You’re the thief,” she seethed, ignoring the whole part about the merry band of thieves she called a family. “I want my wallet back.”
“Or?”
Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing. What could she say? The one thing she had that I wanted was her dad’s location, and I wouldn’t let it slip that I wanted it. Not until the perfect moment.
She retreated. Chin up and silent.
I stood alone in the room, staring at her ass as she left.
Victory felt bittersweet on my tongue, and if she was defeat, I wondered what defeat would taste like.
I’d always had an obsessive fascination with storms. They reminded me to breathe, smelled like fresh starts, and were teachers in a world full of lessons.
Sophomore year of high school, Reed and I shared drinks on a backroad deep into my family’s property, the area no one ever went to or even bothered to maintain. Tipsy and reckless as always, I hopped behind one of Dad’s Range Rovers, careening down the road at high speeds.
Half a mile later, Reed swearing in the passenger seat, I crashed the car into a ditch when the rain started slamming against the windshield and visibility went from a hundred to zero fast. By the time Reed and I climbed out, the thunderstorm raged in full force.
Involving Betty or Hank would risk Virginia’s wrath (and their jobs), and Nash had moved out by then—long gone and only showing up every other weekend to eat dinner with his parents and screw whatever slice of the month he graced with his presence.
That left Dad.
I almost begged Reed to call Virginia instead, because even though Virginia would be furious, Dad would be disappointed and that was worse.
He came within thirty minutes, dropping his meeting with a fabric supplier to make it back by dark. The rain poured down on the dirt road. I could barely make out his silver Mercedes.
Reed and I leaned against a tree stump off the path.
“How mad do you think he’ll be?” Reed whispered, tapping his fingers against the ground as Dad drew nearer.
“Not at all.” My words accompanied a groan.
Please, be mad.
Please, be mad.
Please, be mad.
I took in Dad’s face. He shut his door and rounded the SUV to us. Nope. Not mad. Let down. So, so much worse. Eyebrows pulled together, giving me the look parents gave their kids when their report cards came back all Cs.
“Told you he wouldn’t be mad.” I ran a palm along my jaw.
Reed wrapped an arm around my shoulder as if he could shield me from Dad’s woeful eyes.
Dad took in my face, flicked a glance at Reed, and cataloged our limbs to make sure they were still attached to our bodies. “Anything hurt?”
Reed stood up with me. “No, sir.”
“Emery?”
I shook my head. “No, Dad.”
“Good. Follow me.”
Reed and I trailed behind Dad. He swung open the trunk to his G-Wagon and pulled out two child-size bikes.
“No way.” I backed up a step, ignoring the rain. It lashed at my face, punishing me for my mistakes. I could guess where this was going, and I hated it with a capital H. “Dad, that’s child torture.”
“You two are going to get on these bikes and take yourselves home. When your calves are burning and your lungs are struggling for air, I want you to think about the consequences of your actions. By the time y’all get to your rooms, I expect you to be sober with your heads on straight. Y’all got that?”
“Yes, sir,” Reed agreed.
Not me.
I went down swinging.
Always.
I flung my arms out, splashing rainwater in Reed’s face. “That’s insane! Dad, it’s freezing. The rain—”
“You mean the rain you drove drunk in?”
I shut up. I mean, what could I say to that?
He leaned down, placed a hand on my shoulder, and forced me to look him in the eyes. “I can bring you bikes and bail you out of trouble all day, but I won’t always be around, sweetheart. Storms will always rage. Don’t run from them. Face them. Some things in life can only be learned in a storm.”
Dad pressed a kiss to my forehead and sped off before I could complain. The downpour cloaked my sight as we biked back. All I could feel was icy water splattering my face until my vision blurred and my teeth chattered.