Page 65 of Tied Up in Riches

She nods, and I lean in, kissing her without permission and hoping it won’t be the last time. When I pull back, her eyes have softened. “I’ll be right back,” I assure her again.

I answer the call as I’m walking away, right before my voicemail catches it. “Hey,” I greet the man. “Give me a second.” I scan the room for a hallway, finding one to the side of the bar and walk down it until I find an empty room to slip into. “What did you find?” My voice is hopeful but on edge.

He goes into a few minute breakdown of the nothing that he’s found based on a surface level search. Apparently Beau is a much better lawyer than we’ve given him credit for. I spend the next fifteen minutes going over everything I can recall about my blackmailer and things I’ve noticed since our time in Connecticut and my few chance encounters. We hang up only after he’s assured me that as long as there is something to find, we will find it. I call my lawyer and update him. Once I disconnect from the second call, I check the time. Fucking hell. I’ve been gone for nearly a half an hour. Trying to stay positive, I focus on the gratitude for not only having access to but also being able to afford immediate help this way. I’ve never simultaneously loved and hated money so much, and I pray it’s not what rips me from her. Brooke once told me that her mom says money is the source of all problems. I know she meant the lack of it, and I hate to admit it, but the general idea is not wrong.

I pocket my phone and rejoin the event. Scanning the room, my eyes immediately find the most beautiful girl. My pulse pumps in my ears, tuning out the chaos of the party. I consider myself a calm and collected person, but my panic mode is activated as I watch Brooke lean a little too far onto the bar, flirting with the goofy Frank Sinatra motherfucker. She’s slipping away from me before I’ve even gotten to hold her.

As I approach, she’s laughing about something he said, swirling her wine mindlessly in her glass. My hand touching her lower back startles her, drawing her attention to me. I shoot the bartender a warning glare, and he backs away.

“Hey.” I kiss her cheek, partly for show and partly because I need to be close to her. I need her to know that I want this–want her–before the cards are too stacked against me.

“I think we have a very different meaning of five minutes.” She’s not being harsh. She’s hurt, and I hold onto the feeling that she wants me to be with her. I guide her away from the bar and out of earshot of the bartender.

I pull her to me by the small of her back with one hand. I let the other settle at her neck, my thumb holding her jaw in place as I debate what to tell her. Her hands hesitantly fall to my chest. I brush my thumb along her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know I sound like a broken record.”

“You really do, Marcus. Look, I know you’re . . .” She glances around to make sure no one is near us. “I know you’re not really my boyfriend, but I thought I could count on you to be here for me like we agreed upon.”

Fuck. I want to lay it all on the line, but this moment doesn’t feel right. It’s not some big romantic gesture confessing my feelings as an excuse for why I keep abandoning her–even if this time is completely different. “You’re right.”

“What was so important that it had to be dealt with at 11 p.m.?”

I take a breath, running through my options. I’m not ready to tell her. I don’t want to here, not like this. I want to be honest about Beau, but if she feels the need to confront him that could backfire. I have to take the chance, though, because I don’t want to lie to her more than necessary. “Beau.”

“What about Beau?” She scans the room as if she’ll find him ready to pounce.

“He cornered me. Said he wants you back. That you left Thailand so you could come back to him.”

She laughs incredulously. “You told him to fuck off, right?”

I stare back at her.

“Right? Do not tell me that you believe him.”

“No,” I say hurriedly. “But there’s something else.”

Worry fills her eyes as she waits.

I release a controlled breath. “He’s trying to dig up dirt on me.”

“He what?!” she whisper-yells. “Well he won’t find anything so it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah,” is the only word I can manage to pull from my vocabulary.

She tries to pull away from me. “Where is he? I’m going to put him in his place. That piece of–”

I pull her tight to me, holding her close and hard enough that she can’t escape. “No. Let me take care of it.” She debates her options. “Can I just take you home?”

She nods. “Okay.”

Chapter twenty-seven

Brooke

I run my fingers over my lips as the scalding hot water from the shower runs down my body. That kiss. It’s still playing on repeat like it has for the past two hours. I thought about how he cradled my face in his hands as my mom ranted about my lack of presence at the party. I relived the way his lips felt pressed against mine as I took a sip from a new glass of wine. I thought about how he tasted of bourbon and smelled of sandalwood as Beau attempted to burn me down with a stare from across the purple lit pseudo-casino while I was talking to my mom’s friends. But nothing lights my body on fire the way Marcus does.

It all makes sense now. He’s why the room always feels hotter when he’s near, and why I break into a sweat when it’s cold enough to need a jacket. His presence holds power over my body, and I want him to take control of it more than he already has. There was a dominance in that kiss like he was forcing his way in–not in a breaking and entering way but as if he was trying to rescue me.

That’s exactly what he was doing, though. Rescuing me from Beau, from my mom, from these situations and people I don't want. That was evident in the way that he disappeared only to handle my ex for me. I was so mad because I thought that maybe that kiss meant something to him–more than just a responsibility–but then he ran off the first chance he got.

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