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It’s happening again. I’m losing my ability to think straight. I remind myself that she’s the last thing I need, and that conversation in her mother’s office told me exactly what she thinks of me and my life’s work.
I tense, waiting for her to continue the jousting, but… she doesn’t. She retreats to a corner of the elevator and her eyes brush over me as if distracted. No, not distracted. Sad. “Are you okay?”
She startles, comes back from wherever she’d been in her thoughts. The sadness falls away—or is willed away—as she seems to register exactly who is in the elevator with her. She winks. “Better than okay. Care to find out? The Ritz isn’t too far.”
Her dark, glossy eyes skim over me like she’s starving and I’m the meal, and damn if it doesn’t shoot me full of hormones. But that open invitation to fuck hits my every nerve, and not in a good way. Not all in a bad way either, but I’m ignoring that part—the part of my body swelling with heat. I want her, but what she said about IPT, the use of former soldiers, her snide derision for my charity, is beyond professionally insulting. It’s personal.
Can’t help but be annoyed, because it’s so easy for her. Rich, beautiful, cocky, and self-righteous. She practically accused me, and all men, of having no more feelings than fight or fuck. And, now, to drive home the point, she invites me to the nearest hotel. “Justice, I think we should work on the business aspects of this interaction. There are a lot of details we need to work out first.”
Her eyebrows rise.
Smooth, Sandesh. It sounds like I’m only putting things on hold until after Jordan. That’s what happens with lack of blood flow to the brain.
The elevator dings again and the doors slide open. I’m not proud of the fact that I’m grateful to the woman who enters, toting a thick briefcase. Seeing a way out, I step past her and off the elevator.
Confused and maybe amused, Justice says, “We’re not on the ground floor.”
No kidding. But I can’t be in that confined space, smelling the invitation on her skin, when I know damn well that I won’t sleep with her.
Not just because her mother is my biggest investor, but because I’ve seen people who give up all control to anger or lust or the emotion du jour, and I’m not going to be one of them. Not again.
The elevator doors began to close. Boldly—which I’m beginning to understand is her calling card—Justice steps forward, stands between the doors, and holds them open. “Are you sure you want toget offhere?”
The double entendre in “get off” makes my cock jump. I want her like gasoline wants fire, but degrading myself for sex isn’t part of my programming anymore.
As if she has no effect on me and my body isn’t screaming for me to jump back on that elevator, I incline my head. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.”
She smiles a grin so seductively promising I nearlydobolt back onto the elevator, but she steps back and lets the door close with a teasingly whispered, “Probably on the plane.”
7
JUSTICE
My backpack bounces against me as, suitcase in hand, I cut across the Mantua Academy’s parking lot. I’m late. Thankfully, the family airport isn’t far.
Opening the door on my Jeep, I mentally calculate how long it will take me to get past security and to the airport.
My cell buzzes as I toss backpack and suitcase into the front seat of my black Rubicon. Gracie. She finally got around to answering my text about Cee coming into the family.
I don’t know, Justice. This kid is kind of scary.
Climbing inside, I shut my door with a heavy slam—which is the only way you can shut the door of a Jeep What is Gracie talking about? You’d think the person in charge of computer operations, the person who found and safely placed victims would be less judgmental.
She’s had a rough road, Gracie. Process her.
I watch the dots blinking… Until she answers with:She’ll never pass a psych eval.
I snort and tap away.That makes two of us. Do your job. I’ll touch base when I get back from my convention.AKA secretly going to kill the Brothers Grim.
K.
A one letter answer? She’s pissed.
I drop the phone into my cupholder, then turn on the car. My cell rings again. I lift my eyes to heaven.Really, God? I’m one of thegood guys.
I answer by clicking the button on my wheel. “Yep.”
“Ms. Parish.” A male voice pipes through my car speakers. “This is Guadalupe from external security. We need you at Southie.”
