Page 16 of Another Story

“I didn’t fuck that girl,” I lie, keeping my eyes on the car that comes to a smooth stop at the curb.

It feels unnatural, calling her a girl. But correcting Ivan isn’t on my long list of things to do today.

We’ve worked side by side since we were fresh out of college; two fraternity brothers with an idea and a need to make our fathers proud. And with the seed money they gave us, we were able to build an empire.

It’s rare that we go out to make offers, but it seemed like no one in this town ever answered their phones. Or emails. So we took off in hopes of finding success in this treasure trove; we were close enough to New York to drive, but far enough to be its own little oasis.

I’d arrived a few days before Ivan, wanting to see this place as a tourist before approaching the owners in person. Wanting towitness the charm of Cherry Cove. To see what possibilities lived here.

The moment I walked inside ofBordeau Books, I knew the shop wouldn’t make it. The outdated space, the lack of customers, even the heat had taken over, as if the owners had given up.

When I saw Eloise, her skirt hiked up and a fan blowing her thick brown hair from her face, I wanted to know what she felt like.

What she tasted like.

What it would be like to pull sounds of pleasure from her lips.

Someone honks their horn, jolting me back into reality. Ivan doesn’t seem to notice my momentary mental departure as he steps off the curb.

We get into the sleek town car waiting for us at the corner. I can feel eyes on us, and I’m sure some of them are curious about who we are and what we’re doing here.

The ones who give us sour looks know.

“I can draw up some offers and head there again without you,” Ivan offers. “Since she seems to hate the sight of you for no apparent reason.”

His pointed stare is meant to make me laugh and confess. But I don’t desire the tactics of long ago, when I was green in this business and fell into bed with more women than I knew what to do with.

Flash a little money and you can get any woman in the world.

And between me and Ivan, we’d had our fill of meaningless sex.

I became bored with the douchebaggery pretty quickly. But not Ivan. The more years that pass, the more dubious his actions—in the name of his dick.

Ten years in and he’s still getting sucked off under his office desk by a secretary we’ll have to replace within a week.

The amount of sexual harassment claims against him is something the board constantly brings up in our meetings. So pardon me if I don’t want to share my goings-on with him.

“Leave her to me,” I say, my eyes on the passing town.

A woman who looks a lot like Eloise walks down the street, her gait smoother, her hair a lot shorter, and her skin inked with tattoos.

I’m seeing her everywhere.

“I think—” he starts, pulling my gaze away.

“Ivan.” His name tastes bitter with my frustration at my sloppiness. “I can handle this. Your efforts should be placed elsewhere.”

There’s a silence between us that reeks of confusion. But I don’t have the patience to offer anything more.

“Where would you gentlemen like to eat lunch?” my driver asks us as we stop at a red light.

“Not too many options,” Ivan mutters, tucking his phone away. “I miss the city.”

My smirk feels tight on my face as I continue scanning the town. “I don’t know. I kind of like it here.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

FUCK AND FORGET

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