Filfthy (52 page)

“How would you know what I need?” I scoff, giving him a look that starts at his head and ends at his feet before zipping right back up. “You know
nothing
about me.”

“You’re right, Serena. I know
nothing
about you.” He takes another step away. “You’re my client. I’m letting you stay here until you get on your feet and we straighten out your estate. Let’s not complicate things.”

“Don’t you think we’ve already arrived at complicated? Christ, Derek, you just admitted you’ve been thinking about kissing me all night, and I basically told you I wanted you to kiss me.” I drag my fingers through my hair and tug a fistful. “Now you want us to walk away and pretend like this conversation never happened?”

“We’re adults. I think we can handle it.” He’s standing at the island now, like he can’t get far enough away from me.

“We’re adults? Is that why you’re treating me like a leper?”

He exhales, his tight shoulders rolling.

“You keep moving further and further away,” I add. “What are you afraid of?”

Without hesitating, Derek flies toward me, holding his mouth inches from mine and causing my heart to leap into my throat.

“I’m not afraid of anything, Serena. But I don’t want to hurt you. I’m keeping my distance right now.” The faded remnants of his morning cologne invade my lungs.

“Hurt me?” I ask.

“Women look at me, and they see one thing,” he says, his jaw clenched. “I do a couple of nice things, I try my hardest not to be a fucking asshole, and women see the kind of guy they think they can fall in love with. And marry. And I’m not that man. Not even close.”

“Who said
anything
about marriage? I thought we were talking about a kiss.” I inhale his warm breath, tasting the sweet wine and imagining his velvet tongue pressed against mine. “Believe me, you’re not my type.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

His words sting, but I accept them. I earned them fair and square.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you extremely attractive,” I say. “Doesn’t mean I want to marry you. And I’m insulted that you file me into the same category as all those girls whose main goal in life is to rope in the first bachelor they see and steal his last name.”

“I’m telling you, Serena, drop the conversation. I’m exhausted. I have to be at the office at seven tomorrow morning. I don’t have time to continue this wildly irresponsible discussion that I
promise
you is going nowhere.”

I imagine him in a courtroom, all suited up, firing pointed questions one after another, his words finessed and strategic, his influence palpable. My body warms from the center outward. The thought of him fighting the good fight, defending the defenseless, and righting wrongs makes me electric.

Now I officially understand the appeal of superheroes. Men who do things for the greater good are sexy. Men who do good things and demonstrate a ridiculous amount of self-control when women are offering themselves up to him are even sexier.

“Do we have an understanding?” He stares down his perfectly straight nose, and I study the way his features are nothing but proportional and symmetrical. It isn’t fair for my attorney to be so ridiculously attractive, all the while placing himself on a shelf just a hair out of reach.

There’s a command in his voice that overrides the foolish notions swirling my mind, and I silently remind myself that I’m in
his
house. I’m
his
guest. I wasn’t raised to behave this way, especially not over a silly little kiss.

“Guess it wasn’t meant to happen.” My voice is a soft whisper, and I sidestep him, heading to my room.

“What are you talking about?”

“The kiss.” I stop, turning to face him, nothing but honesty in my intentions. “I was more curious than anything. Guess we’ll never know.”

“It’s for the best. Believe me.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” I face forward and step down the hall again, whispering under my breath, “I’d hurt you before you ever had a chance to hurt me anyway.”

D
erek

“
Y
ou’re up early
.” I pour a mug of coffee as Serena tiptoes from her side of my apartment, red hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head and a hint of creamy skin peeking out from beneath her cotton pajama tank top. “Coffee?”

She yawns, taking a barstool. “Please.”

I pour her a cup, wondering how long we’re going to dance around what happened last night.

“There you go.” I slide it across the island, and our eyes meet. There’s nothing there. No unspoken words. No threat of a rehashing of last evening’s topic of conversation.

Good.

My gaze lands on her pink lips, a self-punishing move. She notices. And I know better.

Still, Serena says nothing, lifting the steaming mug to her mouth and watching me gather my things.

“Sleep well?” I shove a stack of papers inside my messenger bag, followed by my laptop.

“That bed is heavenly,” she says.

I laugh. “That or you were really exhausted. What’s your plan today?”

“Thought I’d look for a place,” she says. “Put that new laptop to good use.”

“The Wi-Fi password is Haven2012.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll remember that. Any areas you recommend?”

“Hershfield Park is great. So is Marigold Heights. Steer clear of Pilton Street and Main. Bad area.”

“Got it.”

“I’m picking up Haven tonight after work.” I hoist my bag over my shoulder and glance across the kitchen at an image of Serena bathed in morning sun, sitting comfortably at my kitchen island. Her tongue glides along her lips, licking fresh coffee, and she smiles. I think she’s doing it on purpose, but I can’t be sure. Like she said last night, I don’t know her. “I assume you’ll be itching to get out at that point. I can swing by and pick you up. It’s a two-hour drive.”

Serena straightens her back and places the cup in front of her. “Oh, um. Sure. I’ll come along. If that’s okay with you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t okay.” My response is rather curt, and I almost feel like an asshole.

“What time?” Her voice is sweet, unassuming. Forgiving almost.

Which makes me feel like an even bigger ass for brushing her off last night.

But Goddamn it, she needs to believe me when I say I’m not what she needs.

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the kiss. I was playing with fire, and I knew it. And I regretted it the instant the words left my lips, because it turns out that Serena Randall is just as much of an arsonist as I am.

Regardless, the number Kyla did on me left deep scars that have yet to heal. The idea of marriage, of spending the rest of forever with one person, holds zero appeal to me. As far as I’m concerned, no one can be truly trusted, and everyone’s a fucking self-serving liar when the conditions are right.

Frivolous emotions tend to dull common sense, and the bullshit feelings that some people call love tends to turn brilliant, headstrong men into bumbling idiots. I don’t see the point in love or marriage or anything that could steal a man’s God-given right to be happy.

Maybe I used to. Not anymore.

Now I just want to have fun.

And my multimillionaire client is the last person I should be having any kind of “fun” with.

“Come down at five. I’ll pick you up out front.” I pull the door closed behind me and get the hell out of there.

S
erena

I
knew
it was a two-hour drive, but I never knew two hours could feel like an eternity.

“You mind?” I point to the radio. Derek’s made us listen to coffeehouse rock since we left Rixton Falls, and I’m over it.

“Go ahead.” His hands straddle the steering wheel and his eyes are focused on the road.

“How was work?” I hate that I sound like a wife. It’s not intentional. I bet he hates it too. “Anything interesting happen?”

His jaw tenses and flexes, and he shakes his head before sighing. “Just another day.”

I decide that I don’t know this Derek. He’s grumpy and sullen and won’t engage in conversation with me, no matter how ridiculous the topic. I summarized an episode of Judge Judy for him twenty minutes ago, thinking it might capture the tiniest slice of his attention given his line of work. It was my first time watching that show, and I was completely captivated in a way I’d never been before.

But I didn’t get so much as an eyebrow raise from him, just a gruff comment about how those shows are all fake.

It’s tempting to ask if he’s in a bad mood, but I fear stating the obvious isn’t going to help the situation, so I avoid those words at all cost. I also avoid bringing up the whole ‘silent treatment’ and ‘anti-bullshit’ agreement I thought we had.

I’ll just tuck that in my pocket for another day, because I’m a woman and that’s what we do. We save stuff for later, in case we need it sometime. And with men, we always end up cashing in that chip. They’re just as moody as we are, though they’ll never admit it in a million years.

He takes an exit ramp off the interstate and veers toward a little suburban neighborhood with a fountain at the entrance and brand new houses masquerading as old. We pull up to a Victorian with a shiny black door and a white front porch, and the front door swings open.

A sweet, chubby-cheeked angel with hair as white as snow runs down the front porch steps, nearly tripping, barreling toward Derek’s SUV. He climbs out, smiling for the first time all day, and sweeps her up in his arms. His arms dwarf her, and he wraps her up and swings her around. Her legs hang limp and her arms are tightly draped around his shoulders.

From the doorway, a lean woman with a tan complexion and sandy blonde hair stands with folded arms, watching them. She doesn’t smile the way a mother might smile when she sees her child overwhelmingly happy. The woman only observes, her eyes dead and expressionless.

Derek moves Haven to his hip and steps toward the front porch, where the woman holds out a packed duffle bag covered in glittery pink ponies. She drops it before he has a chance to reach for it.

He scoops it up from the ground, shooting her a look when Haven can’t see.

“Thanks,” he says.

The woman’s gaze moves to the car, and I watch her expression fall when she sees me. The sound of her nagging voice trails in through the open windows, and she’s pointing, asking questions. Berating him for not telling her about me in advance.

She pushes past Derek and makes a beeline for the open driver’s side window.

“Hi.” Her smile is as fake as her breasts. “I’m Kyla. Haven’s mom. Derek’s ex-wife.”

Obviously.

“And you are?” she asks, her lashes batting sweetly.

“I’m a friend of Derek’s,” I say. “A work friend.”

“You’re an attorney?”

“Not exactly.” I play it coy. Stay mum. I know how women like her work, and I’m not about to cause trouble for Derek after all he’s done for me.

Derek stands behind her now, letting Haven slide down his leg before opening the rear passenger door and lifting her into her car seat.

“Ms. Randall is a client of mine,” Derek says. “She’s staying with me temporarily until she finds a place of her own.”

If jealousy could walk and talk, it’d look exactly like Kyla. Her eyes squint as her lips purse.

“Derek, you need to okay this with me. I’m not exactly comfortable with my daughter staying in a home with someone I don’t know.” Kyla pulls on a diamond pendant around her neck before letting the stone get lost between her cleavage.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” His words are as dry as they are sarcastic. “You’ll get over it, I’m sure. You tend to get over most things quickly. You always were resilient.”

Kyla scoffs, stepping backward into the lush grass. She’s barefoot, wearing nothing more than a skimpy tank top and short, white shorts, and I wonder if she always dresses this way when she knows she’s going to see her ex-husband.

“We’ll be at the Carradine Lodge in Beeker Valley,” she says. “I wrote the number down and stuck it in Haven’s bag.”

A quick glance toward the back tells me Haven’s not the least bit upset about leaving her mother’s house. She’s grinning ear to ear, her legs kicking the front of the car seat as she tells Derek we need to go.

Our eyes meet. Hers are pure, ice blue. Pale and angelic. She stares, wide-eyed.

“Bye, my angel!” Kyla kisses her fingertips and waves to Haven.

Haven doesn’t notice. She’s only looking at me.

Derek climbs inside. By the time we pull out of the driveway, Kyla’s standing on her front steps, arms crossed and face twisted into a nasty scowl.

“Don’t mind her,” Derek says under his breath. “She’s a bit of a lost soul.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

He glances into his rearview mirror at his giddy daughter, and I get it. He’s protecting her. His love for Haven is bigger than his hatred for his ex-wife.

Derek Rosewood is a good man.

“Daddy, who’s the pretty lady in the front seat?” Haven asks.

“This is my friend, Serena,” he says. “She’s staying at our house for a little while. You’re going to share your bathroom with her, okay?”

“Okay.” Haven grins, shrugging her shoulders and giggling.

“Nice to meet you, Haven. Thank you for sharing your space with me,” I say. She blushes.

“Daddy, I’m hungry!” Haven yells as soon as we hit the interstate.

“You’re hungry?” He glances at her through the rearview mirror. “It’s seven o’clock. Didn’t your mother feed you dinner?”

“No,” Haven says, yawning. “She said you were going to feed me. She was too busy packing.”

Derek mutters something under his breath, shaking his head. His hands clench hard against the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

“All right, baby,” he says. “We’ll get you some dinner.”

Derek turns to me.

“It’s totally fine,” I say.

“It’s going to be a while before we get home.”

“I know.” I reach across the console and pat his leg. “Derek, it’s fine. I’m just along for the ride. You do what you need to do.”

His face is softer now, and he reminds me of the man I met earlier in the week. The serious yet kind man with the benevolent gaze.

He reaches for the radio, tuning it to some Disney station that manages to elicit a delighted scream from the backseat.

I settle in for the long drive, out of my element and kind of loving it.