Page 7 of Sugar Coated Lies
The girl from the diner. Slowly, the night’s events return to me. I touch my eyebrow. Jace’s nasty right hook gave me the black eye. That’s not what I told the girl, though. I lied, just like I lied to Benedict about wanting to fight for his honor and do his dirty work.
He’s held a grudge against this woman ever since he met her last summer in Savannah, when she supposedly screwed him over. I’ve never involved myself in his games, so I couldn’t volunteer to do the prank without Benedict getting suspicious, but I couldn’t let Jace do the deed. The dude’s missing the sympathy gene and can be more devious than Benedict.
“Remind me, why do you hate this chick so much?” I down the second espresso, feeling more alert and less pain in my head.
His features tighten with rage. “For starters, she stole from me! I treated her like a goddamn queen, expecting to get laid, or a blow job at the very least, and she left me with nothing. She took advantage of my generosity. Used me for my money and what I could give her and repaid me by being a low-life thief?”
“That is low.” The part about her stealing anyway. Benedict is a lot of things, but stingy isn’t one of them. Of course, his money comes from a trust fund and the work he often avoids doing for his father.
“It’s worse than low. It’s manipulative.”
I raise a brow at that. Pot calling the kettle black.
He waves away my expression. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This was different. I was different with her. I liked her—really liked her—so I treated her like she was special. I took my time so she’d feel comfortable. I don’t do that with anyone. You know me and how I am. I don’t need to wine and dine women. They come to me.” He pokes his chest. “But she made me work for it, and I wanted that hot ass, so I did. Little did I know, she was a thief who was playing me the whole time.”
“What did she steal again?” I should remember that detail from all the complaining he does.
“My Amex. She stole my black fucking Amex and went on a shopping spree, spending thousands!”
Which didn’t dent his bank account. Regardless,
I try to imagine the waitress from last night scheming to steal from Benedict. He’s not dumb, but she didn’t come across as assertive or confident enough to con him.
“How’d she pull that off again?”
“She…distracted me.”
The way he pauses makes me think he’s leaving something out of the story. It also makes me more curious, and I do love to goad him. “How’d she distract you enough to get your wallet from your pants if you didn’t get anything from her?”
“Because she’s a fucking tease. She teased me without delivery. What the fuck, man? Whose side are you on?” He shoves away from the counter and heads to the bar, pouring himself two fingers of bourbon.
“After what I did last night, I thought it was clear I’m on your side.” I glance at the clock, then gesture to the liquor in his hand. “It’s one in the afternoon.”
“Since when does that bother you?” Standing by the bar, with the under-lighting from the glass shelves casting a golden glow over him, Benedict could pass for the Hollywood version of the devil. Black hair, tan skin, and blue eyes that can charm most women into doing whatever he wants.
He’s always been a ladies’ man, even when we were tweens. The awkward puberty phase skipped right over him, but he was kind enough back then to share the many girls always vying for his attention.
“Forget her,” I say, wondering again if there is more to his story. Did he lead her to believe he had normal sex interests? Did he give her a heads-up beforehand or shock the fuck out of her? The women he dates have always been into it, from what I know.
He downs the liquor in the glass and murmurs, “No one uses me that way. No one.”
Something about the look in his eyes worries me. “Why don’t we hit the gym today? I don’t know about you, but I’ve been wound up lately. Lots of changes have happened in a short period of time.”
I carry the tiny mugs to the sink and dump out the third. Benedict has me more than enough wired and alert. “We deserve a break.” I walk to him and slap his shoulder. “Don’t you think?” This tactic has always worked with him when his mood got a bit dark.
“A break. Yeah. My dad has been up my ass about my performance at work. Fuck, I just started. I need time to adjust.”
“I hear you on that,” I say in understanding, although my dad and I went through this phase six months ago and passed it—not that we’re on the same page. He still wants me to be just like him and do things his way. The farm is dated; stuff needs changed. And he needs to trust me to do my thing and understand that my wishes and dreams will never be the same as his.
Benedict turns and heads for the guest room he’s slowly taken over. “Hey?”
I stop on the way to the master suite.
“How pissed was she when you told her you didn’t have your wallet? I’m surprised she didn’t make you stay and work off the tab by washing the dishes.”
“She was pretty upset.” Even though she was good at hiding it, I saw it in her eyes and the way her shoulders curled in. She was upset because it affected her in a big way, but she was still nice—and for that, I feel like a big dick.
She also offered me pie on the house and was scolded by her fat-as-fuck boss for doing so. I heard him say he was docking her pay, which made me feel like a bigger dick. I couldn’t look her directly in the eyes, afraid my expression would give up my ruse—a bet Benedict made with Jace to go to the diner, treat her like shit, make her stay after hours, order food, and pretend he lost his wallet.
