Blackbird (A Stepbrother Romance #1)(14)

When we’re alone, Thorpe walks over.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You have a history with that woman, I take it. It’s not just a business thing.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s also none of your business. Let it lay.”

“Right. The board has decided to take a formal vote from the shareholders. It’s going to be a proxy fight. That woman has a few big proxies in her pocket already.”

Like I give a shit.

“Give me names and numbers. I’ll handle it.”

“I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, Amsel. If she takes over the company, I’m f*cked. Do you understand me? I’m not talking credit unions here. I mean leg breakers.”

I shrug. “I’m not the one who bet on those basketball games, Thorpe. I know exactly who you’re in debt to. I said I’ll take care of it. Eve isn’t getting shit from you.”

He eyes me coldly, nods twice.

“Go bang a secretary, Thorpe. Go two at a time, I don’t care. I’ll make the calls. Everything is going to be just fine.”

With a hard look, he turns and departs. I’m alone in the bathroom and let out a long, deep breath that threatens to turn into a scream. I do not need this pressure right now. I scrub my fingers through my hair, make myself mostly presentable in the mirror and jog to the elevator, too late realizing I might run into Eve. The temptation to just throw her over my shoulder, tie her to a chair and make her listen to me would be too strong to resist.

You know what? There’s more prayer in prison than a church. People pray, they pray a lot. Save me, help me, forgive me. My prayer was never said out loud. Back when I was a kid and my father was still alive, we used to watch Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston at least once a month. Me and him in the big home theater. He could recite all the lines by memory. It was so weird. I mean it’s a four hour movie, and any time something remotely related would come up in conversation he could start spewing lines from that movie like it was nothing. I never knew how he remembered all that. One line from the movie still sticks in my head. I guess it’s a line from the Bible, actually. And once more, Pharoah’s heart was hardened.

That was my prayer. I never said it out loud, not once. Please. Soften her heart again. Help her believe me.

I didn’t f*ck that girl, Eve. I didn’t betray you. All I ever wanted was you. Nothing else matters.

The elevator doors open. There’s a driver waiting for me. A narrow man with thinning hair he grows to his shoulders and a pinched, weasely face. I don’t know his name and I don’t care to ask. He doesn’t talk.

My associates are not nice people. I prefer not to talk to them. I ride in the back of the car to the airport, to the private jet waiting for me. I don’t know Eve’s exact itinerary, but we’ll be in the air at the same time, land around the same time. Finding her would be trivial, following her would be trivial. As I sit in the plush seat at the back of the plane and lean back into it, all I can think about is the warmth of her body under my hands, pressed against me, the urgency of her pumping hips as I thrust my fingers inside her. It’s been so long.

Before Eve I could have any girl I wanted, and I did. Often.

Then there was Eve and all of a sudden there were two girls in the world. Her, and everyone else.

I’m not a big sleeper. Never had been. I used to vex my parents by lying awake until past midnight and rising with the sun. Even in high school when I was supposed to sleep in I rarely slept more than six or seven hours. There was just too much in the world to be awake for. Now all I want is a damned nap. A nap and Eve in a bed beside me, curled up the way she does when she sleeps, arms around me, pressed against my back. The plane seat is warm and soft but a poor substitute. Can’t sleep through takeoff, but once the plane is in the air I do nod off. Adrenaline will do that to you. It’s a crash worse than caffeine, just like the high is more intense. I nod off into a dreamless and not very restful sleep and when I wake again, the plane is leaning back into the landing. It’s always struck me as strange how planes tilt backwards when they’re going to land, but I guess it makes sense.

The landing is gentle, at least. I want off this f*cking thing. Best thing about private planes is no waiting around for all the nonsense. I’m down the steps and walking across tarmac in less than ten minutes after landing.

I stumble to a stop when I spot my jet. Well, the Amsel holding company’s jet. Eve is there. I can’t see her. I don’t have to. I can feel her.

Time to go, before I do something stupid like throw myself at her feet and tell her everything.

Usually, when one flies on a private jet, one does not take the bus. Yet I walk through the terminal and catch the bus out to the short term parking lot. The Firebird is parked way off on its own, a long walk from where the bus lets me off. I’ve seen some shit, but the way the high pressure sodium lamps that illuminate the parking lot leech all the color out of the world is f*cking eerie, especially on a moonless, cloudy night. It’s going to rain again, or maybe snow. It’s colder now than it was this morning. I feel like I’ve been awake for three days. I slip into the car and lean on the steering wheel, resting my forehead on the cold metal. I give the key a twist and she starts right up. I need to find the time to get under the hood and check her out, sometime. She probably needs an oil change. Dad would flip out if he knew I just drove her off after sitting for years without a thorough going over.