43. Lia

43

LIA

"Jessica's having my baby."

"You don't have to live with her to be a dad."

"If you think that's true—you don't know me as well as you think you do."

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

M y pussy was starting to lose faith in the rest of my body.

I was fairly sure I'd been about to get laid tonight, then Rhaim had pulled a 180—with good reasons, I was sure—but you try talking to your vagina after you've gone and gotten its hopes up.

Especially with his no masturbation rule, which was something I never should have agreed to, not with half the contents of my duffle bag being barely constrained, well-written pornography.

I wanted to throw a little tantrum, but I was nervous he was still watching me, so instead I went to my kitchen to get a glass of water...past the camera he'd installed in my living room.

I realized there were people on reality shows right now getting paid to be there, and laid to boot.

I was neither.

I tossed my bag onto my couch and decided I'd find something dumb to watch, that wasn't horny, as my phone beeped.

I raced back to my bedroom to where I'd dropped it on my bed, only to find a text from Freddie Junior.

Hey—I really do want to be a team player. Can we meet up and talk?

Bold of him to assume I had nothing better to do on a Friday night.

Then again, he was right. I didn't.

I twisted my lips to the side in thought. If I didn't have Rhaim to do ...maybe I should find other useful things to practice?

I'd already stood up to his dad once today, once removed, through him.

What if hanging out with him gave me the chance to do it again?

Yeah—where?

I texted back.

I know a bar I can get a table at—want me to pick you up?

I stared at my phone for a good long time, then hesitantly typed out

Sure

and gave him my address.

I'm not far from there—be outside in fifteen.

Fifteen minutes was long enough for a wardrobe change—I didn't need Freddie Jr. gawking at my cleavage. But I left my makeup on and my hair nice. Maybe some strangers would get to appreciate it.

And when I got downstairs, in fifteen minutes on the dot, Junior was waiting outside wearing casually preppy clothing, with an Uber idling behind him, a gray Kia hatchback. "Thanks for being on time."

"No problem," I said, sliding into the backseat. I buckled things up and looked over. "I know you were surprised about the IPO," I started. I'd decided when I was changing that I'd play nice for as long as he let me.

"No—you were right. I mean, it's a great investment opportunity for all of Corvo. I ran some numbers—it's going to be insane," he said, sounding genuine. "I just woke up to my dad yelling at me was all," he went on—and I wondered how he could run a massive hotel and sleep in until noon. "I'd just really appreciate the chance to start over with you, if I could."

Because now that the ball was in my court, as Rhaim's protégé, I counted.

Part of me wanted to grind it into him with a spike-heel—but there'd be time for that later.

I gave him a half-smile. "Families are weird—and our family more so than others, if you know what I mean."

He rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"How did you end up at Blackwing?" I asked, and we started talking.

He had the Uber drop us off on a side street because he was taking me to some place that wasn't cool yet, but I felt safe enough as he led the way into a genuinely upscale bar, the kind that was most likely losing money until its overly ambitious owners had to close it in six months.

And we did get a table in the place. "I'm an investor here," he said, as we were sat down up front, near a hip-height window, with a view out to not much.

That tracked. "Wow, so—how many things do you run at once?" I asked, pretending to be amazed as a bartender made a beeline for our table and handed us menus for exceedingly precise drinks.

While some of them did look good, there was no way I'd drink around Junior—or go against Rhaim's instructions. "Just water, please," I told the man before he could walk away.

"So you weren't kidding about the not drinking?" Junior asked, after ordering something fancy for himself.

"It's just not my thing."

"Then what is?"

Being lightly choked by a man who knows he could fuck me but won't. "I read."

"An educated girl," Junior said, giving me a grin, and for a second my memories betrayed me, and I remember being trapped, sitting at a dinner table, my dad yelling at me to have some manners and not to fidget, while an adult who looked very much like him, and who I couldn't escape, sat across from me and ran the instep of his shoes against my calves.

The third reason I wouldn't drink tonight was so my nose wouldn't burn from alcohol if I barfed.

"What kind of stuff?" Junior asked, as I swallowed my panic back down.

"Histories." I left out the fact they were romances. If he pressed, I could probably talk about Victorian versus Edwardian fashion and hairstyles for an hour, not to mention all the protocols involved in calling on friends. Toss in some flower-meanings and actual naval battles, and I could absolutely skate by—those ladies got their shit right.

"What about you?" I asked as his drink arrived. "What do you do for fun?"

And pretty much like any other man I'd ever met, he wanted to tell me. At length.