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I glanced at Vicious. “I feel like we should set some ground rules here. I’m not going to date you, and I expect you to stop threatening men who talk to me. Floyd, for instance.”
“First of all, no one wants to date you, Help. I want to fuck you, and by the way you look at me, I know the feeling is mutual. Second, it’s my company, so I make it my business to know when my employees are porking each other in the bathroom.”
As we breezed into the executive lounge, I blushed so hard I felt as if my cheeks were going to burst into flames. He was being crass again, deliberately so.
“Third, I did you a huge favor. The guy is a piece of crap of the worst variety.” He directed us both straight to two plush recliners arranged to face one another.
We both took a seat. There was plenty of food and coffee around, even alcohol—I’d never been in an airport lounge or flown first class, so this was new to me—but neither of us opted for anything. I assumed he was used to this kind of luxury. Me, I was too stunned to make a move. It felt like entering a universe where I didn’t speak the language or know the social codes.
“Fourth, you don’t want a last name like Hanningham,” Vicious finished.
It was so ridiculous I started laughing. Actually, I might’ve also laughed because I was so nervous to board a flight headed back to Todos Santos. I wanted to see my parents but dreaded seeing anyone else.
A troubling thought stabbed at me. “Will Dean be there? Is he still living in Todos Santos?”
Vicious’s jaw twitched the way it did when he was unhappy about something. His grip on the arms of the recliner tightened.
“Dean’s in Los Angeles,” he answered, glancing at his Rolex.
I was glad I didn’t have to see my ex-boyfriend after everything that went down. I eased further into my comfortable seat, closing my eyes. I wondered if I could catch up on some sleep on the plane. I’d worked a shift at McCoy’s last night—I was hedging more bets, not willing to hand in my notice yet.
I felt his eyes on me, but he didn’t utter a word.
I liked when he watched me, and that bothered me.
And he was right about sex, and that bothered me even more.
I did want to sleep with him. It was worse than those butterflies that take flight in your chest the first moment your eyes lock on your crush. When I was around Vicious, they flew all the time. But I also knew that I was not a one-night stand kind of girl. And even though I wasn’t morally opposed to casual sex, starting something up with Vicious was an absolute no-no.
We shared a history.
I had feelings for him.
Bad feelings, good feelings…in short, too many feeling.
“Where are the rest of the guys?” I murmured, my eyes still closed.
Yesterday, I’d done my homework. I knew they were all partners in FHH, and knew the branches of their company were scattered around the world, but I didn’t know who lived where. And Dean living in Los Angeles? That was a surprise. Dean loved New York, talked about living there even when we were teenagers. It was Vicious who always preferred the glitz and plastic, the masks and pretense of Los Angeles. For a cynical person, he really seemed to hate the stark, naked honesty that was a city like Manhattan. In LA, he was another beautiful, empty mask passing for a human being.
“Dean was in New York until about two weeks ago, then I took over. I’m not sure when we’re switching back, but when it happens, I’ll go back to LA. Trent is in Chicago, and Jaime is in London.”
“You switch branches often?”
He shrugged. “’Bout twice a year.”
“Sounds confusing. And pretty dumb,” I mumbled.
“Well, I appreciate the insight, especially from someone who’s been serving beer for a living.”
Silence fell and I looked away, taking in the polished women and suited men around me. As far as I was concerned, the conversation had ended the second he’d decided to act like a jerk again.
“We don’t usually switch places for more than a week,” Vicious gritted out of nowhere. “Special circumstances kept me in New York.”
It was his version of an apology, but I still wasn’t satisfied. I only shrugged.
“How long have you been supporting your sister?” His eyes skimmed down my body. Regret swallowed the sarcasm and edge in his voice. He wasn’t used to being nice to people. To being civilized, really. Though, he seemed to be trying.
I licked my lips, refusing to make eye contact. “Too long,” I admitted. “Is Jaime still with…?” I trailed off when I realized it was none of my business.
Vicious’s best friend had dated our Lit teacher, Ms. Greene, while we were seniors. Their affair blew up shortly before we graduated, making waves in Todos Santos, and a tsunami in our high school. Then he took off with her after the school year ended.
