Twisted knight, p.16
Twisted Knight, page 16
“Mase. It’s been long enough. You need to come in, dude.…”
Seconds feel like infinity as I take in the white car at an odd angle. As I try to process the faded blue jeans and red sweatshirt collapsed in a lump on the pavement in front of the tires and against the curb.
It all happens so fast.
The passenger door slamming shut.
Someone yelling, “Go. Go. Go.”
Another squeal of tires as the car slams into reverse before jerking forward and taking off the opposite way.
It all happens, but I can’t focus on it.
All I see is Mason.
His crumpled body.
The skateboard across the street, upside down and wheels still spinning.
TWENTY-TWO
Holden
It’s been a long fucking week. Long days at the office followed by sleepless nights at home or driving around this city I have a love/hate relationship with.
When the insomnia comes—and it always comes—I can’t help but wander to the places I used to find comfort in. The places where the ghosts of my past speak the loudest.
All except for one. The cemetery.
I haven’t been able to bring myself there just yet.
So that’s why tonight’s scheduled “how long can you ignore me, Rowan” session isn’t a hardship.
The scotch is warm on my tongue, like a welcome friend, as I take in my surroundings. The bar is trendy with a cool atmosphere. The music is good but a bit dated.
And the man sitting across from Rowan is unexpectedly cosmopolitan.
If Chad is the quintessential yuppie, this fucker is the definition of New York with his slicked-back hair, knock-off Rolex, and laugh that’s a little too loud because he’s trying too hard.
In other words, he’s an asshole.
It doesn’t help that he keeps touching Rowan. Her arm. Her hand. Her shoulder. For fuck’s sake, we all know you’re here with her. You couldn’t make it more obvious if you held a sign up.
It shouldn’t irritate me, but it does.
What I can’t get a read on from my seat at the far end of the bar is Rowan herself. Is this the type of guy she likes, because if so, I’m having a hard time fucking picturing it.
I study her. Take in her polite smile and impassive expression as he drones on, gesticulating wildly as if to impress her. She’s gorgeous as usual. Her hair is up, her makeup a little more dramatic than at the office, and her heels hooked in the bottom rung of the barstool are high.
And I’m not going to lie. I’m more than fucking glad she’s not wearing one of those sweaters I like.
Those are reserved for me.
But the fire in her eyes when she banters with me? The passion with which she talks about the company? The spark in her glare when she tells me how much she hates me? They’re nonexistent.
The question is, who is Rowan Rothschild? I can’t quite get a read on her when I can fucking read everyone.
She’s loyal to a family who isn’t loyal to her.
She struggles with toeing the family line versus doing what’s in her best interest.
She’s not afraid to play hardball—or at least she says so. I’m waiting to see her do it.
She’s a part of this community—the elite of Westmore—and yet I can’t exactly gauge how she fits in.
And she plays the cello for fucking strangers to help them stop thinking and allow them to get lost for a bit.
Fucking Rowan.
I started this game of cat and mouse with her. The hard-to-get play I made. Her obstinance in ignoring me right back when I sure as hell know she’s curious about what I meant about giving her a seat at the table is cute, admirable even. A turn-on.
But it’s not helping me in the moment.
I need to focus on the enemy I know—Rhett, Chadwick, the others—without having to look over my shoulder for Rowan sticking the knife in my back.
So I’ve upped my game, or “turned on my charm,” as Audrey claims.
If she wants to ignore me, she’s going to have to try a lot fucking harder.
“You good, brother?” the bartender asks me as he wipes his hand on the dish towel tucked in his waistband.
“I’ll have another when you get a chance.”
“Sure. Not a problem.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “You’ve got the redhead at the far end trying to get your attention, the brunette two down on your right, and the blonde across. I’d ask if you need help facilitating this, but I have a feeling this is a normal night for you.” He laughs and shakes his head.
“I’m not interested, but thanks.”
“No? Shit, man, you feeling okay?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve got my eye on someone.” I glance Rowan’s way.
“Oh. Gotcha. Just thought I’d offer to play wingman for you, if needed.”
“Thanks,” I murmur seconds before Rowan’s date steps into the space beside me. He has his phone to his ear, doing that “everyone look at me, I’m cool because I have a cell phone” schtick that was old about twenty years ago.
“Yeah, man. She’s more than fuckable,” he says with a smarmy chuckle. “Great rack. Killer body. Blow-job lips. I mean, from where I stand, don’t be calling me later because I’ll be otherwise occupied this evening.”
I clench my jaw so hard and my hands so tight around my glass that I’m surprised both don’t shatter.
“Another round,” the fucker says to the bartender as I debate how my fist would feel plowing into his face. “Just enough to get her frisky.”
Rowan’s not mine by any means. Yet. But his words have my temper itching to be unleashed.
I glance Rowan’s way only to find our eyes meet across the short distance of the dimly lit bar. Shock flickers over her expression followed shortly by confusion. The confusion then morphs to her being pissed off if the narrowing of her eyes and the setting of her jaw are any indication.
Yes, I’m here, Rowan. Same place as you. Again.
I smile, lift up my glass, and nod as her date stiffs the bartender a tip and takes the drinks back to their table.
TWENTY-THREE
Rowan
I don’t hear a word Gregory Chapman says because I’m too busy fixating on the fact that Holden is sitting at the bar.
Sitting there with his perfectly cavalier attitude and devastating good looks as he blatantly watches me from afar.
“Right?” Gregory asks.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
I’m being a horrible date. Distracted. Not participating. Fake.
He’s a nice guy. Well educated with a good job, a decent sense of humor if a little dorky, and a good listener, but he has nothing on the man sitting at the bar watching my every move.
Just like he has been for the past week and a half.
If he wants to dangle a carrot and ignore me, then I can do the same. And so far, I’ve been successful at doing so.
Except for right now.
“I was just saying that with the current state of the economy…” Gregory looks at the server who just slid a martini in front of me. “I’m sorry, but I think you have the wrong table. We didn’t order this.”
The server flashes a quick smile and lifts her chin. “It’s compliments of the gentleman at the bar.”
Gregory whips his head over toward where she’s looking, but I don’t have to look. The martini says it all. It’s what I was drinking the night of the auction. The first night we met.
“Seriously?” Gregory mutters as he glares in the direction of Holden. “Send it back, please.”
I look up just in time to see the smirk in Holden’s profile as he lifts his drink to his lips. He finds this amusing. Such an asshole.
The server looks at both of us before reaching for it, but I stop her. “Even better, I’ll bring it back to him.”
“Rowan. That’s not—do you even know the guy? I mean, let me handle—”
“I know him alright,” I mutter as I stride over to where Holden is sitting. A very petty part of me wants to upend the martini in his lap. Dirty up his perfection. Holden turns as I approach, a slow smile crawling on his lips.
“Sunshine. What a nice surprise. Except for the him part.” There is an iciness to his tone, a bit of bite that contradicts the sweetness in his words. But it’s the guarded look in his eyes that tells me there is no surprise about it. He knew exactly where I was going to be.
“I don’t want your drink.”
He angles his head to the side, the muscle pulsing in his jaw. “Always so gracious.”
“The door’s that way. Isn’t that what you said to me the other day?” I ask.
His chuckle rumbles softly. “Good evening to you too.”
“Quit stalking me, Knight. What? Do you have my phones tapped? Are you breaking into the company server to read my emails somehow?”
“It’s a small town. We’re bound to wind up at the same place at the same time every once in a while.”
But it hasn’t been every once in a while. It’s all the freaking time. “You’re full of shit. Keep your drink. Quit being rude to my date.”
“You mean rude like you’re being to him by constantly looking at me?” He lifts his eyebrows as I struggle with a pithy comeback. “Tell me something, Row. Why are you on a date with what’s-his-face when you’re going to be marrying Chadwick?”
I struggle for a response. Chad has no part of this discussion and the fact that Holden keeps bringing him up frustrates the hell out of me. “I already told you, there is nothing between Chad and me. And even if there were, it’s none of your business.”
“Ah, yes, but it is my business if two of three of my top managers are to be married.”
“You can control a lot of things, Knight, but my life? Who I date? Who I marry? You can’t.”
“Never put anything past me,” he murmurs.
Chills chase over my skin. And I’m not sure if it’s because of the huskiness of his voice or the warning in them. Whatever it is, that’s more than enough time with him for me.
“I’d say nice talking to you, but it wasn’t. I need to get back to my date now.”
A smile paints the corners of his lips. He shrugs. “Fine. Go ahead. No skin off my back.”
“Jealous?”
“I’d have to care to be jealous. I don’t. I’m not.” He takes a deliberate sip of his drink. “If I wanted you, I’d have you.”
I snort. “All talk.” The lie rolls off my tongue. The dreams that wake me up panting, with a racing heart and an aching core, prove otherwise.
“Just know that your date is an asshole of epic proportions.”
“You don’t know shit about him.”
“Apparently neither do you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I stand with my hands on my hips and can all but feel Gregory’s stare boring into my back.
“He was just on the phone with his buddy bragging about how he’s going to get some tonight. Would you like me to recount all of the things he said about you?” Annoyance tinges his voice, and I can’t place if it’s directed at me or at Gregory.
“What’s it to you?” I ask but wonder if he’s telling the truth or just trying to bait me.
“It’s nothing.”
“Then why do you care?”
His eyes light with amusement. “Like I said, I care about my employees.”
“I’m not your employee.”
“Sorry. Soon-to-be employees.” His smile is fast and wicked. “Better?”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Thank you.”
“Grrrr.” I fist my hands at my sides in frustration. “Look, Gregory is—”
“Gregory?” He snorts. “Perfect name for a douchebag.”
“He’s a nice guy. Leave him out of your games. Out of this.” I motion from him to me and back.
“Fine. I will.” He stands and puts his hand on the small of my back. “Let’s go.”
“What?” I sputter out the word and step away from his grasp.
“I said, let’s go. That way he can be left out of this.” He smiles, clearly enjoying this exchange.
“You need to go.”
“Oh, I love it when she gets mad,” he says to no one in particular and then claps his hands and rubs them together.
“You’re everywhere. Then nowhere. You dangle carrots and then when I ask about them, you ignore me,” I say, realizing that by me being here, verbally sparring with him, I’ve giving him exactly what he wants. My time. My energy. My emotions.
He takes a long look at my lips before meeting my eyes and smirking. Something about the combination has me shifting on my feet. “I’m fickle like that.”
“Yeah, well, be fickle elsewhere,” I say and turn my heel, going back to Gregory.
A part of me half expects him to grab my arm and yank me back against him. That part of me is oddly disappointed that he doesn’t.
It only serves to fire the anger that seems to scatter my thoughts every time I’m around him.
“Everything okay?” Gregory asks as I slide into my seat. “You two seemed to be—”
“It’s fine. Totally fine. He’s just…”
“An ex?” Gregory asks.
“No. Never. I—”
“Hm. Could’ve fooled me.”
I try to make my smile as warm as possible and my voice just as placating. “It’s nothing. He’s nothing.” I reach out and squeeze his hand, well aware that Holden is most likely watching. I hope the action pisses him off. But why I want it to piss him off is the even bigger question. To make him jealous? To prove to him I’m a big girl who can do what I want? To push his buttons how he was just pushing mine? “Now, where were we? Something about the status of the economy?” I ask but have absolutely zero interest.
His smile is bright as I focus on him. And it remains that way for the next while as he regales me with his business acumen that he spouts incessantly with a blatant presumption that I know nothing. Why should I be surprised though?
But by the same token, he genuinely is a nice guy. Great manners. A quirky sense of humor. Good-looking in a city-slicker type of way. And while no part of me has the desire to sleep with him tonight, I showed up here. The least I can do is see the night out.
And hopefully in the process piss Holden off in doing so.
That makes you a horrible person, Row. Selfish. Unkind.
And similar, it seems, to the game Holden is playing with me … fair is fair.
“That’s absolutely fascinating.” I take a sip of my drink and smile as the server appears again, but this time she has her teeth sunk in her bottom lip and anxiety written all over her jitters.
“This round is on the gentleman. Again,” she says as she slides fresh drinks on the table but for both of us this time. “And this is for you.” She sets a napkin down in front of me with Holden’s phone number scribbled on it.
The arrogant bastard.
I try to stop the smirk that automatically crawls on my lips.
He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.
“Is that what I think it is?” Gregory asks as I glance up and catch sight of Holden heading toward the men’s restroom as I stand from my seat. “His fucking phone number? As if you’d choose him over me. That prick probably doesn’t have a decent job and is buried in debt while driving some piece-of-shit car.” He puffs his chest out. “I’ll go handle this,” he says but then startles when he looks toward the bar and Holden isn’t there.
“No, please.” I put a hand on his arm to stop him. While it’s more than chivalrous for him to want to take care of the situation, the last thing I want is for him to fight on my behalf. “Just let it go. It’s nothing. He’s nothing,” I repeat again and dart a glance back over to the bathrooms.
Gregory looks at me, jaw clenched and with a scowl on his face as he crumples up the napkin with the phone number already programmed in my phone. “Only dicks do shit like that.”
“I know.” I offer a strained smile, understanding why he’s upset but a little shocked by his reaction. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to the restroom.”
“Sure. Yes. Not a problem.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Rowan
I head toward the back of the bar, down the hall, and right into the men’s restroom without knocking. Holden’s standing on the opposite side of the room, back to me, clearly using the urinal.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve,” I say before the door even shuts.
“Come on in. I don’t mind,” Holden says as he turns around, zipping his pants up. “If you wanted to see my dick to measure it up to how small Gregory’s is, Sunshine, all you had to do was ask.”
My eyes flicker down to where his hands are buttoning his pants and then back up to the grin on his lips.
“The farmers market. The country club. That dreaded fucking polo match. At the gym. In the goddamn warehouse.”
“Are you giving me a tour of Westmore?” His tone is wry and his eyebrows are raised.
“No. I’m telling you all of the places you have miraculously popped up at to purposely annoy the fuck out of me.”
“You forgot the office. I’m there too.”
“Funny.”
He angles his head to the side and meets my glare. “Like I said, Rowan, it’s a small town. If you give me your schedule, I’ll be sure to show up every other place I haven’t.”
“You have a quip for everything, don’t you.”
“Only for you,” he says as the door opens at my back.
I turn to find a wide-eyed guy looking at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. God knows Holden sure makes me feel that way. “Bathroom’s occupied,” I say, to which I just get a dumbfounded look that has me taking the few steps toward the door, shutting it, and twisting the lock.
“Oh.” Holden claps his hands together and rubs them as his cologne drifts through the small space and assaults my senses in the best way. “Things are getting serious.”
