Page 52 of Promiscuous Lies

I grow uncomfortable, knowing too well a man like this could probably gather all sorts of information on me. And I hate that about him. I hate that because of his power, money, and influence; he can so easily place me in a box that he can dig into my past, to a version of myself that I’d rather leave hidden. But I suppose, at the very least, I can give him an honest answer.

“I’m not. I got caught up in the wrong crowd when I lived in Boston after my parents died. I returned today to grieve the anniversary of their deaths. I didn’t expect someone would be there waiting.”

His eyebrows furrow as if not sure whether to believe me. I don’t give a flying fuck if he does. I have no loyalty to him.

Tension ripples around us, but I refuse to look away. A million unasked questions seem to pass between us and then it’s my turn to question him.

“Why did you follow me? Howdid you know where I was?” I’ve already strangely come to accept that Dutton is an enigma; he’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. But why is he so fixated on me?

“You left my house without saying goodbye.”

I narrow my gaze. “Yeah, newsflash. Most guys prefer that. They don’t haul ass for a four-hour drive and miraculously somehow know where I’m at. That’s stalker-level shit.”

He casually shrugs a shoulder. “I’m attentive. And don’t ever compare me to other men.Ever.I might be so inclinedto uncover the names of every man you’ve slept with and then remove them permanently so you have no one to compare me to.”

“You really are a psycho, aren’t you? Dutton, stop talking in circles. I’m not a stupid woman. Answer me outright.”

He’s not a man who often answers to others, and I imagine he’s not used to revealing his hand. But I’m also one to keep my cards close to the vest.

He rubs his jaw—something I haven’t seen him do before—as if seriously considering what he should say.

“I put a tracker on your car. I’d like to say I take security for my employees very seriously, but I’d be lying if I said you’re not the only one I’ve done it to.”

My jaw drops. “What the fuck?”

“I believe you once called me a possessive asshole; there may be some truth to that, and I’m not going to apologize. Also, you might call it foresight. Because it’s lucky I did track you, or who knows if you’d be coming back in one piece after today.”

I want to argue with him because I know he’s not telling me the entire truth. I feel like Dutton is hiding a motive I don’t entirely understand. He might also be so overbearing that he just tracked me because he has the money and time to do so.

I want to throw every fucking piece of furniture in my house at him and maybe use the bat on his sparkly fucking bike parked in front of my house. But also… he’s right. As if realizing the weight of his words, his expression softens ever so slightly, and he seems lost, as if unsure how to comfort someone.

“Posie, who was that kid?” Dutton asks suddenly, immediately ripping me away from my spiraling emotions. I just needed a night to sleep on it and process it so I can get my shit together.

“My son,” I tell him.

“You never mentioned you had a child,” he says quickly, and I don’t know how to take that. It’s not like I have to answer to him. And, frankly, it’s none of his business.

“You never asked. And to be honest, you and I are nothing serious, Dutton. You’re my boss, and we have sexual chemistry. The sex was good, so let’s leave it at that, and we’ll continue working like nothing ever happened.” He looks like I’ve slapped him. “Okay, cool. Now that we’ve discussed that, I should go inside.” I turn to slip through the door, but his front slams into my back, his hand barricading me in and preventing me from opening the door any farther.

“Are you telling me you don’t want me to fuck you again?” His lips brush my ear lobe, and I immediately sink into him. Fuck, I could do with a release after today. He bites the lobe before he sucks it into his mouth, and warmth floods my core as I lean back against him, my body constantly betraying me around this man.

“No,” I say, not sure what I’m answering. Because now I’m flustered.

How can this man so easily make me melt this way? I hate that he can do this to me.

“Mommy!” Bentley calls: I can tell he’s coming toward the door. I freeze, then shove backward, but Dutton doesn’t budge.

“So help me God, Dutton, if you don’t move, I will get that bat and shove it so deeply up your ass it might actually reach farther than the pole you already have up there.”

“I might like it,” he says, then kisses the side of my neck and backs away. I pull open the door to find Bentley standing there.

“Are we having dessert?” he asks me. I scoop him up into my arms. “Do you like dessert?” he aims this question at Dutton.

“Dutton was just leaving,” I say, then slam the door in his face without so much as another glance at him. Bentley asks why I did that, and I tell him to finish his food. I sit next tohim, staring at my own meal, unsure how to manage this non-relationship with my very dominating and possessive boss.

And that should be the least of my worries, considering what happened at the cemetery. Though I’m certain Bobbi has nothing to go off of to find me. But maybe I should reconsider everything I’ve done recently. Maybe I should delete the social media accounts I created. I didn’t use my real name, and he shouldn’t be able to find me, but I didn’t think he’d have someone watching my parents’ graves just in case I appeared, for fuck’s sake.

I was stupid. I’d been wary all this time, and I gave into a moment of weakness, hoping that I could have this small moment of peace to visit their graves. But Bobbi ruins even that.

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