I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (20 page)

“You fucked her?”

He frowned. “Who?”

“That inked-up Brit bitch.”

“Who?”

“You sound like a friggin’ owl.” Narrowing my eyes, I gritted through my teeth. “Saskia.”

“Day?” he asked, looking genuinely confused. “She wasn’t the one here last night, so what does she have to do with anything?”

I walked up to him and pushed at his chest. “Because you’re standing
outside
my bedroom door.”

When he looked down at me with absolute mystification, I snapped back to myself, realizing I was giving myself away. I was a good liar who hid my feelings well. I’ve never acted up before. Never let on that I felt —
used to
feel anything for him. Now I was getting jealous and possessive of him when I shouldn’t be.

Maybe Trevillo’s abrupt departure paired with the sex scene from last night was doing my head in. I was being irrational and stupid. Jahleel was free to screw whoever he wanted, just as I was.

Deciding to ignore his offish stance and make light of the heaviness between us, I went back to the previous topic. “JK, there are some things the eyes can’t unsee. So, unless you change that, oh jeez, sofa of yours, we’ll have to start watching T.V. in my living room instead. Okay?”

“Bad girl … ” he started to say with a slow but bothered smile. Then he shook his head sharply and sighed. “Meet you downstairs.”

A few minutes later after getting dressed in a long-sleeved Maxi dress, I went to face my parents. Jahleel and I weren’t afraid of Mr. and Mrs. Kingston, we respected them. They were scrupulous, moralistic, religious people, so after being rebellious to their desired way of life for us, the most we could do was
appear
as sinless and immaculate as possible whenever they visited, presenting ourselves as the children they wished we were.

Our parents preferred the facade we put on instead of accepting the fact we were complete bastards — well, technically, Trey and I
were
complete bastards, Jahleel was the only child by blood. Yet one would think Trey was the child by blood and Jahleel was the bastard, seeing as Trey stuck to our parents’ asses like raw cotton on thorns.

I took a breath as I turned the corner to Jahleel’s kitchen and saw everyone seated at the eight-seat dining table laden with brunch. Evidently, Jahleel knew in advance they were visiting today and failed to tell me. Then again, I hadn’t been around that much of late.

My parents looked up and smiled when they saw me, while Trey cast a bored glance at me and went back to eating.

“Darling,” my mother greeted as I went over to her and kissed both her cheeks like a decent little girl.

Elizabeth Kingston had a mane of rich mocha-brown hair framing around her smooth, heart-shaped face, and a pair of wide whiskey-brown eyes. She was a gorgeous middle-aged woman with a soft voice and humble attitude, and looked the part of a pastor’s wife.

“Every time I see you, your hair is shorter. Aren’t you ever going to let it grow? You had such lovely hair before!”

Nope.
“Maybe,” I smiled sweetly.

I turned to Dad who was grinning wide at me. With low cut sandy-brown hair and dazzling golden irises, he was like an older version of Jaheel. He loved me to no end and, unlike Mom, he loved my hair short.

Like I did with my mother, I kissed both his cheeks. “Hi, Dad.”

That wasn’t enough for him, though; he grabbed my face and pressed a loud kiss on my forehead. “You’re beautiful, dearest. Always beautiful.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I made to move, but he held my face and looked deep into my eyes. “God, too, thinks you’re beautiful. Even with all the serrated slashes the devil hath made to scar your life, God, our God, dearest, sees your beauty. Your true beauty. You
can
be healed.”

Oh sakes, I was not up for a Jesus-died-on-the-cross-for-your-sins lecture today. But I gave him a saccharine smile, nonetheless. “I know, Dad. I’ve been trying to find my way back to him.”

That made his eye twinkle with joy, while Trey snorted next to him. As I moved away from Dad and walk by Trey’s chair, I made a hard swing of my hips and hit the back of his chair, which made him jerk forward and snort up the orange juice he was drinking. He promptly turned to glare at me, but all he got in return was the sweetest smile ever.

Snooty bastard.

Trey was unhealthily meager at five feet nine inches. However, he had a face that was, not handsome, but pretty. His wide, full lips were a deep unnatural pink for a male, and his lashes were superbly long. His eyes were a sludgy green and his ashy-blonde hair was straight, always parted in the center so it flowed down both sides of his face, channeling at least three inches past his shoulders. As formerly stated, he was pretty. I think he wore make-up, or tinted moisturizer, at least.

I also think he’s gay.

As soon as I sat down beside Jahleel, he took up my plate and began piling things he knew I liked on it while I sweetened my coffee. This was natural for us, we moved in sync like we were joined at the hip. We both ignored Trey as he watched us with narrowed eyes.

Mom and Dad questioned Jahleel about his dance studio and clientele, and about the chain of night clubs he co-owned with his best buddy Chad — not exactly regular night clubs, but strip clubs. The Kingstons weren’t aware of that, so when they started delving deeper into it, Jahleel deftly directed their attention to me, informing them about my ‘big-paying’ contract.

Even though we weren’t the ideal children, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston always tried to give us the world. They were more frequent in offering help now, even when we didn’t need it, because they’d never expected us to be successful on our own. But Jahleel and I had done just that, with the only help from our parents being the house we lived in. Observing our accomplishments, our parents felt left out and unneeded. So at every small with window of opportunity, they would jump to offer their aid. Sometimes, just to make them feel loved and wanted, we let them.

“That’s great, darling!” Mom exclaimed.

“It’s not that big of a deal, really. It’s the same thing I’ve been doing all these years.” I shrugged. “Just an upper-end, higher-paying project.”

“Typical of you to not recognize success when you have it locked in your grasp, dearest,” Dad proudly grinned at me. “I’m guessing this might require harder work and more focus?”

Showing confidence for the first time since I got the contract, I blew on my nails then brushed them on my shoulder. “Yeah, but I got this in the bag.”

Jahleel chuckled at my cocky gesture.

Trey frowned at me, then smirked. “Hey, Mom, Dad, have you ever wondered why these two are so stuck on each other?”

Just as we were so skillful at doing, Jahleel and I ignored him.

“Because they love each other,” Mom answered simply. “They’ve always been like this, since the day we brought you and Krissy home.”

“I am thinking, it’s quite odd Jahleel would gravitate to Krissy instead of me, the
boy
who was his age.”

Unlike Jahleel, Trey used his pronouns and pronounced his ‘ings’ when he spoke.

Jahleel, never, ever spoke to Trey. And he was so good at ignoring him, one would think Trey was nonexistent as far as he was concerned. Trey would perpetually take jabs at Jahleel, and when I would sometimes react in defensively, Jahleel, never, not once, acknowledge him. I believe that’s what irked Trey the most.

Dad sounded annoyed. “Maybe if you’d loosen up a bit and stop being so sniffy with your brother and sister all the time, then you’d be able to understand the natural love they have for each other, son.”

Not caring for the conversation at the table, I tried to steal a sausage from Jahleel’s plate, and he stabbed at my fork. “Get your own.”

“There’s none left.” I pushed out my bottom lip and begged with my eyes until he shook his head with a mischievous smile and relented.

“Bad girl, you can sure have my sausage.”

Trey scoffed, and I looked at him across the table and found him watching us intently. “Yes,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “They
naturally
love each other alright.”

M
imicking the shape of a rhombus, Skylark was fifty-two feet high. The top level of the building held four penthouses, and that’s where the chunk of my work resided. The other apartments were basic and easy, could be saved for last.

When I was first offered — no, commanded — to work on this project, I was indeed terrified. Intimidated. Thought it was much too heavy a task for me. But what I’ve learned since commencing work on Skylark is, working on a project that comes with a budget as tall as the building itself, makes everything a heck of a lot easier. And, if one was like me who planned weeks ahead for possible mishaps, then ‘problems’ and ‘obstacles’ were nonexistent.

Already, I’ve received five apologetic emails about delays on purchases I’d made. But, you see, with the ‘budget’ I was given for this project, I was able to offer ‘extra’ in order to get my goods on time. A lot of companies try to bullshit you when a customer offers ‘extra’ and ‘tips’ to receive their orders when they want it — even on short notice — and to hell with whoever else was in line. So the manufacturers end up pushing back those in queue to put the ‘known’ ahead. I was no Sarah James — I didn’t have a name for myself yet — so I wasn’t under the ‘renown’ category.

Usually, with a small budget on small projects, I’d be all crotchety and pissed-off, carping about how unfair the system was. But this time, I was able to buy my way to the top like the others. So when manufacturers emailed me about delays, I called them out on their bullshit and offered ‘extra’ to get my shit on its original delivery date. It’s true what they say, ‘money talks and bullshit walks’.

With all my ducks in a straight row, I had a lot of free time doing nothing but overseeing the workmen, who, incidentally, were quite expeditious in their work. They were employed by Trevillo Nelson, after all; one wouldn’t expect anything less than speedy efficiency.

Floor and bathroom tiling would take another two to three days for completion, and I didn’t really have to show up until then, but I figured I’d show up anyway. I checked my watch, noted it was half past five and decided to call it a day.

Tossing my workbag over my shoulder, I signaled to the workmen with a slash across my throat I was leaving, then hopped in the elevator and hit the floor button. As the doors slid shut, I retrieved my cellphone and tapped out a quick message to Carlos.

Hey u,

Leaving work.

Cumin 2 c u.

x

Slipping the cellphone back into my bag, I leaned back against the wall of the elevator and sighed. This was usually the time of the day when thoughts of Trevillo began running wild. The times when my mind was no longer on work and I had too much time before bed to think about him not phoning or visiting me since Saturday night.

That was four days ago.

Four days gone since he’d wordlessly sped off after I told him I thought he
wasn’t
an asshole. Would he have reacted better if I’d told him he was one? Because leaving me without a word was a total and complete asshole move.

After two days of watching my cellphone non-stop, and jumping each time it rang, hoping it was him, I promised myself that I wouldn’t waste anymore of my thoughts on him. I never actually lulled myself into thinking things could work between us anyway. We were worlds apart.

I couldn’t, however, help the feelings I had developed for him. A strong, burning, unending need for him. All the same, I wouldn’t act like a desperate bitch and ring his phone off, demanding an explanation as to why he left me hanging and hadn’t called me since. I have never chased a man in my entire life. And I wasn’t about to start.

So, I buried my head in the work that I had on hand — hence checking in at Skylark when I wasn’t exactly needed — and visiting Carlos more often than usual. Time with Carlos was the perfect distraction. He was the one who I could lose myself with. The one who knew the part of me that wasn’t empty.

Off the elevator and straight to my car, I hopped in and started to drive off the complex when a familiar black Audi turned in and blocked the entrance.

If only I’d left a few minutes earlier …

I waited for him to swerve to the side and drive in so I could drive out, but he wouldn’t move. When I blew the horn, keeping the heel of my palm down on it so it made a continuous sound, he moved, but only to turn his car in direct line with mine, and began creeping forward.

Being mulish, I huffed and muttered to myself I wasn’t going to reverse. But when I realized he wasn’t going to stop creeping forward, and his car was a second away from kissing mine, I swiftly slid the gear in reverse and gassed up. Slamming the gear into Park, I hopped out of the car and marched straight to his.

By the time I got up to his car, he’d gotten out and was standing behind the open door.

“Are you insane?!”

He looked me over and ignored my rant. “Good evening, Krissan.”

Instead of acknowledging his greeting, I gestured to his car. “Are you gonna get the hell out of the way so I can leave?”

“What if I don’t want you to leave?”

Exasperation seeped in. “I’m not one of your starry-eyed women who you can do whatever you want with, Trev. You can’t tell me you want me to be ‘Trev’s’ one minute, introduce me to your family as your ‘girlfriend’, fucking drop me off in my driveway, abruptly leave, and don’t call for four fucking days,
then
you pop up again and expect me to grin like a goddamn sappy teenager!”

Seemingly shocked at my outburst, he stated in a quiet voice, “You’re … really angry.”

I frowned at that. Not until that juncture had I realized just how steamed I was by his unexplained absence. I rarely shouted, and, being good with self-control, I almost never got this angry. That’s when I became aware of my shaking hands. Jesus, I was freakin’ furious. What the heck?