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“Yes, still working for Dad. I’m now CEO of the London Company, which
is fantastic but it doesn’t really be much time to myself.” I laughed and made a face, not feeling the least bit guilty about making myself out to be a workaholic. Luke smirked and rolled his eyes at me, knowing just how hard I played. Sally and her mother disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Luke and I alone with her father.
“Did you want a drink?” Luke asked. I nodded. Fuck, I was dying for a drink.
“Ah, yes that would be great. A beer?” I said, pretty sure Sally’s father would frown upon me having scotch at eleven in the morning. Luke disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Sally’s father. We eyed each other awkwardly, neither of us speaking. Well, this was fun.
“So how have you been?” I asked easily, taking a seat on the couch. I may have felt nervous, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to show it. Jack Falcon never gave anything away.
“Not bad. You know how it is, I’m sure. You work hard, and then you work even more!” he laughed heartily at his joke, obviously finding his own sense of humor quite amusing. I laughed politely.
I discreetly reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. No missed calls and no messages. I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t been expecting to hear from her, which was crap. She didn’t even have my number, but my mind had decided it was plausible that she might’ve checked the incoming calls on the phone she called from my phone the night her car broke down. I’m not crazy at all, right?
The doorbell rang, interrupting my thoughts. Mr. Gale jumped up, muttering something to himself about tardiness and respect. I chuckled, getting the feeling that he and his daughter had a similar relationship to me and my father. I rested my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. I had one fucking hell of a headache and I didn’t think it was planning on going away anytime soon. In the hallway, I could hear Mr. Gale arguing with his daughter. I shook my head, glad it wasn’t me in his firing line. He seemed like a man who held a grudge.
“Annabelle, this is Jack Falcon, a good friend of Luke’s,” Mr. Gale announced. I looked up with my usual smile ready on my lips, knowing I didn’t need to do much to make a good impression. If there’s one thing I did right, it was impress women. It was the only thing I did right.
The smile froze on my lips. What. The. Fuck.
The blood drained from my face as the realization hit me that Sally’s sister Annabelle was my Belle. The same girl I had fucked last night on the bed, in the shower, and on the kitchen bench was standing in front of me, her father’s arm draped over her shoulder, smiling sweetly at me.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, desperately trying to keep my voice even and void of emotion.
“Jack? Nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” she gushed, her green eyes sparkling. My eyes narrowed as I stared at her. She seemed way too calm and together.
Fuck. This was bad.
“I might go and check on the girls. I’m sure you two will be fine here, getting to know one another?” Mr. Gale didn’t wait for an answer. Alone in the room, I grabbed her hand and yanked her towards me. She came freely, her body now oh-so-close to mine.
“What the fuck is this? Did you know who I was?” I said angrily, trying to ignore how fucking amazing she looked in that dress. The lining of the dress clung to her figure while the sheer black outer fabric flowed loosely around her. My god, she was sexy.
She pulled her hand away from mine as hurt flashed through her eyes. “No! What do you think…You think that I knew who you were? That’s fucked up! And besides, you pursued me. You came into my workplace, you drove me home. You chased me.”
My pounding heart began to slow. She had a point.
Suddenly I thought back to my conversation with Luke in the bar the other week. He’d spoken about Sally’s sister, or more specifically, about me staying the hell away from Sally’s seventeen-year-old sister.
Seventeen. Seven-teen. Seventeen.
No matter how I said it, the result was still the same. What was the age of consent? Fuck, this was still really bad. This was really, really bad. I needed a drink. Glancing towards the kitchen, I quickly walked over to the bar, grabbed the first bottle of scotch I spotted, and poured myself a glass.
“Is that your answer for everything—a drink?” Belle hissed.
“You’re seriously having a go at me here? You are fucking minor. You’re underage and I had sex with you,” I growled. “Did you not think of how much fucking trouble that could get me into?”
“I didn’t… It didn’t…” Her voice trailed off, as if she just realized for the first time how serious this was for me. “I’m over the age of consent, Jack. The legal age in the UK is sixteen. I’m seventeen, almost eighteen. Stop calling me a minor.”
“It doesn’t matter! I asked you about college. You let me believe you are in your final year of college! What are you, fucking still in high school? Do you even realize or care that I’m eight years older than you? I mean, we can completely forget the fact that you’re my best mate’s wife’s sister, because there are so many fucking things wrong with this that it’s insane!” I was yelling by now, I had to calm myself down, or everyone in this house was going to know.
Fuck this. I stormed past her and out the front door. I stood on the porch breathing in the fresh air, trying to calm myself down. I had to get through this lunch, and to do that I needed to pretend this just wasn’t happening. I would deal with this later.
When I walked back into the house, Belle was in the dining room setting the table with Sally. Sally glanced up while Belle refused to look at me, placing all her energy into setting the table perfectly.
“Jack, I was wondering where you went,” Sally smiled.
“Yes, sorry. Phone call.” I rolled my eyes as if random work calls happened all the time.
“Have you met Annabelle? You probably wouldn’t remember her—she was barely a teenager at the wedding,” she laughed, hugging her sister. Belle rolled her eyes. Well that made me feel great. At the wedding when I was twenty, and fucking woman after woman, she’d been twelve! The thought made me sick. What kind of perverted freak was I?
