Page 9 of Sweet Nothings

Lennon Harding looked at me like I was a stranger.

I laughed and smiled my way through the endless refills of champagne and arrogant conversation about how James Harding controlled nearly every top corporation in the city. Immoral business tactics and questionable investments or what they called ‘donations’.

James Harding was a predator simply seeking his next prey. That night, he was hoping I was his. But all I could do was watch Lennon while wearing the mask of a woman who pretended she belonged. After all, it’s what my uncle requested I do, hoping to strengthen the business relationship between the Hardings and the Branfords.

The crack in my already fractured heart splinters once more when Lennon scans the crowd in attendance at his father’s funeral. His alcohol-soaked eyes catch me for a split moment before resuming his survey of the crowd. Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition. I may as well be invisible.

He lifts his full glass to his mouth and drinks half in one gulp.

I watch him carefully, focusing on the pressure of my fingers pinching the stem of my own champagne glass.

“Excuse me.” Lennon raises his hand in the air. He slowly lowers it as the chatter filling the room quietens completely. “My brothers and I would like to extend a deep, heartfelt thank you for coming today.” He presses his smooth, full lips together and glances down the line at his brothers. They both nod in agreement.

“As many of you know,” Lennon continues, clearing his throat before he swallows deeply. “Our father was anything but shy about the kind of man he was: dedicated, well known,proud, hardworking. I remember when I was a kid no older than three or four, and I was the only Harding brother to exist yet.” His mouth curls into a reminiscent smile before fading. A low rumble of laughter filters through the crowd. “My father used to sit me in his office chair, spin me around until I was facing the whole of Boston. He’d wave his arm and tell me the city was mine and anyone else’s who was unafraid to leave their mark on it. Well, twenty-five years later, he sure as fuck left his mark on this city. And you being here today is living proof. He was admired by many in this city. His death was sudden and unexpected. He will be missed dearly.”

“How exactly did he die?” Roe whispers to Frederick.

He leans back slightly, and half turns his head, keeping his focus on Lennon. “Heart attack.”

Roe raises her eyebrows and slowly pulls back.

Lennon lifts his glass in the air and scratches at his jaw. He looks around the crowd again. “To James Harding!” he yells.

“To James,” the crowd mimics in unison. Everyone lifts their glasses to their mouths, most drinking it all in one gulp. I lift mine and drink what’s left down to the last drop. My cheeks are warm, and my heart is beating faster. When I lower my glass, the two eyes staring directly at me nearly make me choke on my champagne.

The heat in my face radiates. It swells, and fragments of a night I’ve attempted to forget roll back in my mind like waves crashing onto the shores of Cape Cod.

Forever passes when Lennon finally tears his eyes away from mine. He turns, whispers in Jude’s ear, then leaves the room. He doesn’t speak another word to anyone else before disappearing around the corner.

“Respectable and loving speech. James would be proud if he’d heard it,” Frederick says, turning around. “In fact, I think he’d be proud of his sons and where they’re headed in life.”

I bite the side of my tongue. Lennon’s speech was anything but respectable and loving. I’ve felt pain and loss before. Losing both my parents years ago. Lennon isn’t torn apart by the loss of his father. His face may look saddened, but his words said otherwise.

“You’ve spent time with them,” Frederick says to me. “What do you think about maybe holding a business meeting and seeing if they could swing some clients our way? Maybe you could get close to Lennon and see where we stand. Harding Holdings could steer our dwindling assets in the right direction if they would put in a good name with their connections, and it would be nice if you could get to know him a little more. Think of it as getting in some good and much needed PR.”

“I already tried that last year,” I mutter. “Didn’t work.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try again. Could have a better chance with Lennon than you did his father. A deal with the Harding family would give our business the boost and cushion we desperately need.”

I don’t answer Frederick; the silent pleading in his eyes is too much. Instead, I stare at him with a blank expression. His eyebrows are arched across his aging forehead.

Roe blinks, waiting for my answer. My chest weaves into knots, the expectant pressure building inside. I want to explode. I want to yell at my uncle for, once again, using me as a pawn to further his agenda. I want to scream at him and my sister for always turning to me for answers.

Silence falls between the three of us. I can’t think about work. Not when I have my family staring at me expectantly as if I’m somehow the magic key to solving our ever-growing financial problems. The thought of willingly walking up to Lennon and pretending we’ve never shared more than business pleasantries with one another, or that he’s basically a carbon copy of hisfather, sounds like an insurmountable feat—one I don’t want to partake in again.

“I have to use the restroom,” I tell them both. I leave and push through the groups of people congregated around us. When I’m sure I’m no longer in their sight, I make a hard left. My heels click across the marble. Sweeping past the cocktail and snack table, I swipe an open bottle of champagne, wrapping my fingers around the neck, and carrying it with me like a life raft.

Emerging from the open French doors, the clicking of my heels stops when they meet soft grass so lush and green, it’s perfect. Entirely too perfect. There are rows of tall green trees. Lines of purple flowers dot the yard in clusters. A setting sun has the orange glow sparkling across the water. If I didn’t know I was standing on the coast of Massachusetts, I’d think I were somewhere else.

Worried Roe may be following me, I take a swig of champagne and move. After sneaking behind a far row of trees, I follow a cobblestone path. The clicking begins again. I tread carefully. The last thing I need to do is roll my ankle from venturing across uneven stone while tipsy. I follow the path until I come to an opening in the grove. Stone benches sit in front of an old stone brick wall. I’m lifting the bottle to my mouth, once again, when I abruptly stop.

Lennon is leaning against the brick wall. Pinched between two fingers, he holds his cigarette. He inhales a long drag, tilts his head back and blows it harshly between his perfect lips.

I stand frozen in place. My heart races. Unexpectedly seeing Lennon out here isn’t the only reason. It’s the woman on her knees in front of him. Her black dress is tight around her small frame. The bright red bottom of her stilettos are on full display. Her long, curled, blonde hair sways against her bare back as she jerks her head back and forth. She grips Lennon’s cock with one hand, moaning as she slides his length inside her open mouth.Her body shudders when Lennon reaches down with his free hand and grips the back of her head, shoving his cock farther down her throat. She pauses briefly before giving in, letting him take control.

I tighten my grip on the bottle and lift it to my mouth to take a giant swig, hoping it will mask the nausea swimming in my stomach stop. Then my breath is stolen completely when he drops his head back down, and his eyes shoot in my direction. He stares at me with those familiar deep blues. They narrow and study me, heartless and empty. I don’t make a move. Every ounce of energy he forces out slams into me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Thirty long, agonizing seconds must pass with nothing but the deep, stomach-churning sound of moaning against Lennon’s dick. The corner of his mouth curls. A line creases in the corner, deepening the meaning behind his stare. Crude, daring, and unfeeling. This is the genuine Lennon Harding. His father’s twin.

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