Bad Judgment (15 page)

I nod, even though I don’t have a clue what cognac is, but I want to sleep without having nightmares about someone breaking into my house while I’m inside it. I can just imagine the icy, gut-wrenching fear would have been ten times stronger than the anger and helplessness I felt when I saw the door was kicked in. If Ryker hadn’t pushed me to study tonight at Unwired, I would have been studying at home. Inwardly, I shudder at the thought of what could have happened.

“I’m going to get Justine settled upstairs, and we’ll be back down,” Ryker tells his father.

“I’ll pour some cognac in the library and have it waiting.”

I follow Ryker as he leads me up a wide staircase in the front entryway of the house and then down a hallway to the right. The walls are all stark white, but not plain, because there’s molding about three feet up from the floor and what looks like picture-frame-shaped molding below it. We stop at the end of the hall where there’s a door to the right and a door ahead of us. Ryker twists the handle on the door on the right and steps inside.

It’s a beautiful room in shades of silvery gray and pale purple. A large four-poster canopy bed dominates the space with gauzy silver fabric hanging from it. The matching dark wood dresser sits on the far wall, and a pale purple chair and footstool sit between the dresser and the bed. The silvery curtains are open, but I can see nothing beyond the darkness of the night.

“This is the guest room. Sorry about the purple-and-gray explosion.”

“It’s beautiful.” And it is. Actually, it’s the most beautiful bedroom I’ve ever been in.

Ryker sets my backpack on the bed and nods to the door a few feet from the bed. “You’ve got a bathroom through there that connects with my room. My room is next door, the one at the end of the hall.” He steps toward me and lifts a hand to my face before brushing a stray lock of hair away from my eyes. “If you want to just crash instead of having a drink with my dad, that’s cool. No pressure.”

What I want is for him to kiss me again
.

I freeze at the thought.
I can’t be thinking things like that. And not just because we’re standing in his parents’ house.

But Ryker doesn’t kiss me. He stares into my eyes, trying to read my thoughts, and I’m glad he doesn’t have that power. I saw the confused look on Justice Grant’s face when Ryker curled his arm around my shoulders. He has to be wondering what the hell is going on between his son and me.

I need to talk to him alone. I need to explain that it’s nothing.

Because it is nothing
.
Right?

Maybe if I keep lying to myself, it’ll come true. Fake it till you make it, right?

“I’m good with having a drink. Give me five minutes?”

Ryker’s thumb smooths over my cheekbone before he drops his hand from my face. “Whatever you need.”

He leaves the room, but not without a backward glance that sears me to the core.

I’m so screwed.

Ten minutes later we’re heading downstairs and I’m following Ryker through the halls of the house. It looked big from the outside, but the inside seems even larger. We find Justice Grant in a room that nearly stops my heart. It’s wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling books.

Library envy
. It’s a thing. And I have it. Acutely.

“Wow. This is amazing. Did you collect all of these books?” I can’t hold back the question.

Justice Grant pauses after pouring brown liquor into an ornate glass to match the other two on the small side table. His eyes find mine and he smiles.

“I’ve been a collector of books for many years. Some are gifts from family and friends, some purchased, and some were left when we bought the house years ago. Now I’m running out of shelf space and having to thin down my collection in order to add the ones I want.”

“It’s a beautiful room.” My eyes scan the shelves before landing on the cozy window seat I’d like to curl up in for hours to read.

Ryker steps forward and grabs two glasses off the table and hands one to me. “Let’s see how you like cognac.”

I’m not offended that he assumes I’ve never had it, because it’s the truth. I stare down at the contents of the glass and wonder how I’m supposed to go about drinking this stuff. Do I take it like a shot or sip? I watch both Ryker and his father, and they swirl the liquid before sipping. I mimic their motions, but almost slosh the liquor over the side.

I check both their faces to make sure they didn’t catch my almost faux pas, but neither did.

Putting my lips to my glass of half-swirled cognac, I fear I’m going to hate it or want to spit it out and embarrass the hell out of myself. But surprisingly, it hits my tongue and tastes a little like candy in a glass. It goes down easy, and I don’t have an urge to choke or spit.
Winning
.

As we sample our cognac in silence, I wait for someone to start a conversation. Justice Grant takes the lead.

“I spoke to your mother just before you got here, and she misses you very much.”

“Thanks for the update,” Ryker says, continuing to sip his drink.

I know Mrs. Grant is a big-time partner at a law firm in town called Grant Bentham Beckett. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that she’s one of the founding partners.

“She’s a litigator, right?” I ask.

Justice Grant nods. “Yes, she handles very complex civil litigation, and her cases generally take years of work to settle or take to trial.”

“Wow. That sounds . . . intense.”

“Let’s just say Mom wasn’t around much while I was growing up.”

“She was around as much as she could manage,” Justice Grant adds. “Being a founding partner is no easy job, and we’ve always been very proud of her accomplishments.”

Ryker releases a harsh laugh. “I guess that’s one way to describe it.”

It seems there’s no love lost between mother and son . . . which seems strange, and none of my business. I try to change the subject.

“So, an entire family of lawyers. Are there more in the family tree, or is it just this branch?”

“My father and grandfather were also judges. My wife’s grandfather was a lawyer as well.”

“Wow. Family tradition then, it seems.”

“What about your parents, Justine?” The question comes from Ryker, not from Justice Grant. He already knows some of the details, including how they destroyed my credit by using my social security number before I even turned eighteen.

Looking down at the remaining liquor in my glass, I swirl it before sipping. When I look up, Ryker is watching me and waiting for an answer.

“We’re not close. I haven’t seen either of them since I was fifteen and my grandfather was awarded custody.”

“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Sympathy is obvious on Ryker’s face, but I don’t want his pity.

“It’s no big deal. I just don’t talk about them because there’s nothing to say.”

I brace myself for more questions I don’t want to answer, but Ryker’s phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the display with a frown.

“I need to take this. I’ll be back.” He strides out of the room before he answers.

What the hell?

“Would you like some more cognac?” Justice Grant asks as he reaches for the bottle.

“Please.” I hold out my glass for him to pour me another measure.

“So, do you care to tell me what’s going on with you and my son, because it appears there’s more happening than just studying?”

His forthright question is one I’ve been expecting, but still have no answer for.

“Umm. I— You know—” I stammer out words while I scramble to think of some explanation that would make sense. Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on between us.

“Justine, it’s not a problem. I didn’t put any rules around our deal beyond those we discussed. If there’s more happening, I’m not going to say I’m unhappy about it. Quite the opposite. You’re a smart girl, and my son could do much worse.” He looks down at his drink. “In fact, he has done much worse. So bringing a girl like you home, one who I know is hardworking and dedicated to making her mark on the world, is far from a problem.”

“It’s going better than I anticipated. He’s smart, but you already knew that. I guess . . . I honestly didn’t expect to like him, and it’s kind of throwing me off. But there’s no need to worry. We’re not . . . together, like you’re thinking. We’re just friends. I have everything under control.”

“I have all the confidence in the world in you.”

Before I respond, Ryker returns to the room. “I hate to do this, but I have to go. A buddy of mine ran into some trouble and needs my help. I should be back in an hour.”

“Who is it?” Justice Grant asks.

“Ian. I’ll be quick.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Can I borrow the truck?”

The truck he was supposed to use to help me move. And now he’s borrowing it from his dad to help some friend late at night. Anger blooms inside me, rooted in bitterness and hurt. Why had he screwed me over when it came to something so important, especially after that night in the bar?

“Of course. Take the truck. Justine and I will have another drink, and then this old man is going to bed. I’ve got a big trial kicking off tomorrow morning, so I need to be ready.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Ryker looks at me. “Sorry about this. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I don’t make it back before you go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

I stare up at him, and all I can think about is that damn truck and how quick he is to go to someone else’s rescue. “I think I’ll have another drink.”

Ryker’s eyes lock with mine, and he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I think I see a flash of guilt on his face before he turns and leaves the room without saying another word.

Justice Grant pours me another large glass of cognac, and I savor it as the liquor pools in my belly while he answers my questions about his books.

My head is fuzzy by the time I make my way back up to the silver-and-purple room, but there’s one thing I’ve decided—there really is
nothing
happening between Ryker and me, and that’s the way things are going to stay.

Just. Business.

Justine

I wake up disoriented and confused. The mattress under me is like a cloud, and the blanket tucked up to my neck is soft and warm and smells like lavender and sunshine. That’s when I know I’m drunk—probably from the last glass of cognac I brought up to my room—because sunshine doesn’t have an actual smell.

Blinking, I take in the room around me and remember where I am. Ryker’s parents’ house. My bladder is protesting, so I slip out of bed into the bathroom and take care of business.

Did Ryker come back from his late-night rescue of a friend?

I don’t know why I care because
we’re just friends
, but that doesn’t stop me from quietly pushing open the door that leads from the bathroom to his bedroom.

A king-sized bed takes up a portion of the large room, and even in the darkness I can make out a shape in it. Question answered. Ryker came back.

I tell myself I don’t care either way and tug the handle to pull the door closed, but the hinge squeaks in protest and the shape moves.

Oh crap.

A deep voice, husky with sleep, comes out of the darkness as he sits up. “You need something?”

Caught
.

“Sorry, got turned around. Wrong door.”

My lie sounds believable, even to me, and I hope he buys it. I move to pull the door the rest of the way closed, but Ryker’s voice stops me.

“Come here.”

Into his room? In the middle of the night?

Bad. Plan. Don’t do it, Justine.

But my bare feet are already following his command, stepping from the bathroom tile onto the wood floor.

“What?”

“Come here,” he repeats.

Now that I’m inside the room and my eyes are adjusting to the light, I can see him more clearly. The sheet and blanket pool around his waist, leaving his upper body bare. There’s just enough moonlight coming through the window at this angle to make out the defined muscles of his pecs and deep ridges of his abs.

God bless men who work out.

What? No. Bad, Justine.

Ryker motions for me to keep coming closer and pats the side of his bed. My stupid body responds to his wordless commands, and I pause beside the bed.