Page 57 of Reckless Temptation

I had been debating backing out. Seeing how Lorsen & Spengler operated had tarnished my interest in being an intern for them this summer. I didn’t want to help sleazy scumbag CEOs get out of trouble they deserved. I wanted to help people—everyday, ordinary neighbors—who actually needed assistance.

But I didn’t want to drop out of the running for that intern spot just because Tiffany feared the competition with me. If I did, that would be quitting.

And I would always champion myself as someone who never quit, not even when things got tough.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts. With a sigh, I got it out of my pocket and answered my mom’s call as I resumed leaving the building.

“Sabrina, will you be home to come with me?” she asked.

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yes, Mom. My last class just ended, and I’ll be on my way to the bus stop now.” She never nagged me. I was too self-sufficient for that. But after the last time I’d promised to be available to help her with a short-staffed catering gig, she had a right to be nervous I wouldn’t show.

“Good. Good. This dinner is bigger than Joann realized.”

“Oh? What’s it for again?” I didn’t really care. All posh parties and events were the same. Crowded with the elite and hours of standing on my feet while I faked a polite, customer-service-ready smile. I had been looking forward to spending time near or with my mom tonight, though. She was always a decent listening ear, and she would hear me out about my issues with Nick. Even if she couldn’t offer me advice, she’d listen. Plus, the auto-pilot work of being a member of the catering staff would be a distraction.

“Some kind of fundraiser,” she replied. “For a lawyers’ association.”

I grimaced.Shit.“Oh.”

It would be just my luck to have to face Tiffany again after her demand that I quit going for the intern spot she wanted.

My mom had to be referencing the group of legal professionals in the area, and the Lorsen family was no doubt included.

I willed this growing tension to cease from getting worse. “I’ll be home soon, Mom.”

So much for counting on a distraction.

20

NICK

Ididn’t make a habit out of attending galas, parties, or fundraisers with George or my mom. Before Dad died, Mom and I weren’t in the partying mood, anyway. Tied up with Dad’s seemingly nonstop leukemia treatments kept us from celebrating much. Even when we finally had something to be optimistic about—the last time they’d declared Dad in remission—we’d been too cautious to let him overdo himself.

Mom and I had never been near the brink of poverty when Dad was alive. Keeping him in the hospital for treatment and rehab had taken a huge chunk out of our finances, but his life insurance policy had tided us over until Mom decided to marry George.

We’d never been without, though. If Mom hadn’t remarried, we wouldn’t have done well financially, but that never happened. She made sure we weren’t destitute, losing both Dad and all our money.

However, there was nothing that would ever make me feel like I belonged in the world of wealth and influence that the Lorsens were a part of.

Going to any of these fancy-ass parties was the clearest reminder I could ever ask for. Surrounded by the rich, crowded out by the powerful politicians, business owners, and CEOs, I failed to acclimate. Living at the mansion was a challenge enough, and still, despite all this time Mom had been George’s second wife, I felt like a guest there.

It wasn’t just because I kept Dad’s surname, my surname. It was because this wasn’t what I knew. It wasn’t what I wanted. Wealth failed to impress me, not when I could see firsthand how corrupt and shitty the upper crust of society could be.

Tonight was an exception, though. George told me that my name was already on the guest list, so I “had” to show up. And the reason that I was on the list was because this association’s fundraiser would introduce a new scholarship made in Dad’s name.

Whatever.

I sighed as I stared out the side window on the ride to the venue, some greenhouse or conservatory place. The suit I wore was itchy and too heavy, and even this tailored outfit wouldn’t hide who I was. As soon as we got there, I’d toss the jacket on a chair and roll up my sleeves, not giving a damn who saw my tattoos. The heat index was over a hundred. Fuck looking dapper. No matter how long I’d scrubbed my hands, paint clung under my nails and around calluses. And I didn’t bother to style my hair, counting on only staying long enough to appease my mom and George.

But then again, what the fuck else am I going to do?

I spent most of the day in the studio, painting over the portrait I’d done of Sabrina. Now that I’d had her, the possessiveness Ifelt for her was even more potent. I didn’t want anyone to see her, not in such an intimate pose like that.

She was mine.

For my eyes only.

Thinking such a fierce claim was a joke. I had yet to figure out how to make Tiffany think I was sticking with our deal that would enable me to pursue Sabrina honestly.

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