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"Is that what you call it?"
"Oh yeah." He places his hand on his heart. "Everybody loves me." He motions follow me.
Liam is teasing, but he's right. Everyone loves him. Yes, his class clown antics occasionally rub someone the wrong way. But he always wins them over eventually.
He's always bright. Even at the fucking funeral.
I understand his impulse to hide his pain behind humor. And I love him. I'd die to protect Liam, even if he's the most annoying person on the planet, but I'll never understand him.
This—
This is the best I can do.
"You bring your a-game?" He nods hello to a pretty young woman with short hair and an edgy style. "Black coffee for Adam."
"Another cup for you, Liam?" she asks.
"As sweet as your smile," he says.
She laughs. "So black then?"
"As sweet as my smile."
"Still black." Her smile lights up her face. It may not be as sweet as Liam takes his coffee, but it's awfully sweet.
Is she another person who responds to his charms?
Or does she actually like him?
For a minute, the thought of Liam settling down steals my attention. I almost laugh at the image of him buying a ring, proposing, walking down the aisle.
Then we step into the boardroom, and my ease evaporates.
A dozen executives, sitting in expensive ergonomic thrones, trying to pass off bragging as small talk.
A new yacht, a new mansion, a new wife.
They see Liam and smile.
Then they see me.
The room falls dead silent.
The same silence that overtook the house when Bash died.
Liam says hello, introduces me as our CTO, pulls out my chair.
He makes a point of asking about some rich man's wife.
Whispers fill the room.
Is that really Adam Pierce?
I thought he never left the house.
My daughter always found him handsome. Not so much now. What a waste of a nice face.
Good thing he's rich.
I don't know. The scars add character. Like that R&B singer. Didn't he marry a supermodel?
Liam's assistant interrupts with our coffees. He takes a long sip and lets out an over-the-top sigh. "Ah, as sweet as my smile."
She shakes her head ridiculous, but again, she laughs at his antics.
I sit.
Liam takes the spot next to me. He keeps that wide, easy smile as he talks numbers. He drops a joke every few minutes, keeping the room engaged even during painfully dry spreadsheets.
He finishes with a bow and hands the room to me. "Now, for someone who actually knows what they're talking about. Adam Pierce, our CTO."
Before the accident, quarterly meetings were a necessary evil. I didn't enjoy presenting, but I was passionate. That kept my nerves at bay.
Now, with everyone staring, deeming me a monster, wondering if the rumors are true—
My stomach churns.
My shoulders stiffen.
My thoughts refuse to straighten.
"That's just it," Liam says. "You use our new privacy suite, you go silent. No one else will hear a peep."
I nod as if I'm staying quiet on purpose.
"They'll have no idea who you are, where you are, what you do."
I can do this. I can explain. "You control how much you share." I take a deep breath. "We've responded to our major competitors' technology. Including investigator databases." I find my footing enough to finish the rundown.
The room quiets. That familiar quiet I used to claim all the time. Respect. Interest. Admiration.
When I finish, and Liam takes the floor, the quiet shifts. Half attention on my brother. Half whispers.
I guess the accident didn't screw up his head too bad.
He's slower now.
You know why he's upgrading the privacy, don't you?
Because he did it and he doesn't want anyone to know.
How's the software going to help with hiding evidence of murder?
I focus on my coffee. Dark, strong, warm. Comforting in its familiar bitterness.
The meeting ends. My brother shakes hands with our investors. Charms every single one.
I find privacy in the bathroom. Piss. Wash. Check my cell.
Messages from Trish, disapproving of my unplanned exit this morning.
Updates from Louis. He dropped off Danielle an hour ago. Along with everything she needs for dinner. And enough to spend the weekend here. Just in case.
A new image on her Instagram.
Danielle in a long silk robe, standing in front of the wide windows of my penthouse.
Setting up for my next shoot. What do you think of the wardrobe?
Her back is to the camera, but her intent is clear.
She's stripping.
She's taking naked pictures.
In my fucking apartment.
Another dare.
And the only fucking thing that makes sense.
The Bash in my head is right.
She wants me.
I want her.
Why make it complicated?
Chapter Seventeen
Danielle
The afternoon light fades into the orange glow of sunset. The cozy warmth is the perfect contrast to Adam's cold, modern apartment.
I check the light, adjust my aperture, frame the photo just so.
It's difficult, getting into position for a self-portrait without the help of the display screen, but I do my best.
There. Halfway between the dining table and the kitchenette, in front of the window.
