Beautiful Burn (The Maddox Brothers #4) (4 page)

“No,” Tyler said. “We can’t. Who’s your friend?” he asked, motioning to Sterling.

“Fuck,” I murmured. I’d meant to run Tyler off. Instead, he’d gotten jealous and saw Sterling as competition he could easily conquer.

Sterling held out his hand, but I slapped it away.

“That was some kiss earlier,” Tyler said. “Makes me reminisce about the time she kissed me like that. Last night seems so long ago.”

My face twisted into disgust. “Really? You’re going there.”

“I did, yeah,” Tyler said, smug.

“Sterling doesn’t care that I took advantage of you in my parents’ bed last night.”

“That was your parents’ bed?” Tyler asked. “Had you already used yours once?”

“As a matter of fact,” I began.

Zeke squirmed. “Tyler, c’mon, man. Let’s just find another table.”

Tyler glowered at Sterling, determined. “I like this one.”

Sterling cleared his throat, unsure how to process the situation. “What do you like about it … exactly?”

Tyler didn’t take his eyes off mine. “Your friend.”

I leaned in. “If you don’t find another place to feed that hole in your face, I’m going to stand up right now and announce to everyone that you have a tiny penis.”

He wasn’t fazed. “I can whip it out and prove you wrong.”

“I’ll start screaming at you for giving me chlamydia. You work here. This is a tight-knit town. Stuff like that gets around.”

He shrugged. “You live here, too.”

“Part-time. And I don’t give two shits what the people here think of me.”

Chelsea brought Sterling’s plate and placed it in front of him, and then mine, along with our drinks.

“We’re ready to order,” Tyler said.

I placed my palm against his face, my face falling, tears filling my eyes. “It’s going to be okay, Tyler. The dripping will stop after a couple of rounds of antibiotics, and the itching will go away.”

Chelsea made a face, looked at Tyler in disgust, and then stumbled over her next words. “I’ll, um … be … I’ll be right back.”

Tyler looked at me, mouth hanging open.

Zeke chuckled. “She warned you.”

Sterling poked around on his plate, tuning us out.

Tyler glanced back at Chelsea, who was whispering to the other waitress and the cook. They were looking at our table, repulsed. “Wow. You just sunk my battleship, Ellie.”

I used my fork to cut into my omelet and took a bite, quite pleased with myself.

“Maybe I just want to be friends,” Tyler said.

“Guys like you can’t just be friends with someone who owns a vagina,” I said.

Zeke nodded. “She has a point.”

Tyler stood, gesturing for his crew to stand with him. They did, their chairs whining against the tile. “We got rid of all the idiots trashing your house last night, and this is the thanks I get?”

I smiled up at him. “Under the douchebag façade, you’re actually a nice guy. I was drunk last night, so my radar was a little off, but I can smell you from a mile away. I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to reminisce about that one-night stand we had that one time. I don’t have time for nice guys, Tyler, and I can’t imagine a more powerfully dirty hell than to be forced to spend time with you sober.”

He nodded to Sterling. “He looks like a nice guy to me.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I was being the meanest I knew how, and Tyler was acting like we were trading pleasantries. “Sterling is a self-loathing, wretched piece of shit.”

“She’s right,” Sterling said casually. “I am.”

Tyler’s team traded glances, and then Tyler watched me for a long time. “Enjoy your eggs.”

“Will do,” I said, making sure not to watch him leave.

Sterling waited a second or two before leaning in. “You must like him. I’ve never seen you so brutal.”

I waved him away. “He might be an overconfident prick, but he’s not a bad guy. He shouldn’t get mixed up with us.”

“True,” Sterling said, shoveling another bite into his mouth. He patted his mouth with his napkin, and then looked at me from under his manicured brows. “Since when are you accountable?”

“Oh, honey … I hope your day is as pleasant as you are.”

He chuckled quietly, and then took another bite.

CHAPTER THREE

Finley ruffled her mink coat and tossed her Chopard Grey glasses on the marble entry table. Finley wasn’t careless; she just wanted everyone to know that the six hundred dollars she’d spent to shield her eyes from the sun didn’t concern her—never mind they would likely be knocked off a leased yacht into the South China Sea the next week.

She turned her diamond nose ring one-quarter turn counter-clockwise, and then popped a mint into her mouth. “I’m going to have to charter from now on. Even first-class has become filthy. And the airports …
ugh
.”

Marco, filling out his charcoal Henley like a Banana Republic model, set their luggage down in the foyer, greeting Maricela and José in Portuguese when they came to collect the bags.

“They speak Spanish, Marco,” I deadpanned.

Marco took off his glasses, grinning at me like he knew a story or five he would tell me later, in front of Finley, when we were all drunk. “It’s close enough.”

I glared at Finley. “You brought him,” I said in an accusatory voice.

“He’s staying in a hotel,” Finley said, barely noticing that Marco was removing her coat. He bent down to untie her fluffy snow boots.

I cringed. “Stop. Marco, stop. Right now.”

Marco slipped off her second boot and set them perfectly side by side, standing up and waiting with want in his eyes—not the sort of desire a woman my age would want an exotic, gorgeous man like Marco to have. He was waiting to oblige me, please me, take care of any need I had, and not for me—for Finley. He didn’t simply take pride in indulging his employer and anyone who surrounded her—it was his obsession. Appeasing Finley and her entourage at once was his specialty, and he loved to show off his talents.

“Could I just,” he began, reaching for her bags.

“No, no you can’t,” I said, slapping his hands away. “Take your luggage and find your hotel. Finley will be able to breathe for herself this week.”

Marco fidgeted, unsure how to grant my demand.

Finley smiled at him with feigned patience. “It’s fine, Marco. Go on. Enjoy your vacation.”

He nodded a few times, both confident and unsure, clearly unsettled at leaving Finley to her own devices for more than a few minutes.

Marco kissed her hand. “Should you need anything, Miss Edson, I’ll be here within ten minutes.”

She pulled away slowly, waving him away, indifferent to his charm.

Marco looked borderline devastated as he collected his baggage and closed the door behind him.

I sighed. “That shit is getting out of hand.”

She smirked, walking the few steps to hug me tight. “You’re just jealous.”

I squeezed her once, and then pulled away. “Does he wipe your ass? Only then would I be jealous.”

Finley laughed, pulling off her gloves and walking down the hall to the piano room. She tossed them on the chaise and sat, relaxing back and crossing her socked feet. Her golden hair fell in soft waves just past her shoulders, shiny and perfect like it should be after the money she’d spent to keep it that way. “Not that he hasn’t tried, my love. You’re right, he would probably breathe for me if he could.”

“Isn’t that annoying?”

“Not really. I worry about nothing except what I have to worry about.”

“When do you go back to work? Is Daddy’s board still bitching about your promotion?”

She sighed. “Soon, and yes. How’s Winterland?”

I looked out the window. It wasn’t snowing, but the wind was blowing icy globs from the tree branches. “I think I’ll be ready for the sea.”

She watched me as her red lips pulled to the side. “You don’t look ready.”

I picked the navy-blue polish off my thumbnail. “I feel numb. We’ve tanned on every beach. Skied every resort from Estes to the Alps.”

“You’re bored?” Finley asked, amused.

“Displaced.”

Finley rolled her eyes, disgusted. “Don’t do that, Ellison. Don’t become a goddamned cliché. The rich girl who is bored with life, surrounded by everyone and no one, feeling all alone.”

“Don’t patronize me. I recall you going through a phase.”

“I shopped and spent a month with you in Barbados. I didn’t fuck my way through it. You’ve always enjoyed your pharmaceuticals—you get that from Mother—but for Christ’s sake, Ellie. Pick a hobby. Get a boyfriend—or girlfriend. Find a cause. Find
God
. I don’t give a fuck, but don’t whine about having too much money and too many options.”

I wasn’t sure what expression was on my face, but it might have mirrored Finley’s. I covered my eyes, and then sat down on the sofa, leaning back. “Fuck, you’re right. I’m Sterling.”

“You’re not that bad, but you’re one stint in rehab away. You’re not bored, you’re empty. Stop trying to fill up with coke and hash. You know that shit doesn’t work.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “The fuck, Finley. When did you start adulting? You have a ladysitter who stirs your coffee, and you’re coaching me on life choices?”

She stood up, walked the few feet to the sofa, and collapsed next to me, hooking her legs over my lap. She interlaced her fingers between mine. “Betsy OD’d. I don’t want that to be you.”

I sat up. “Betsy March?”

Finley nodded, rubbing my palm with her thumb. “Nine months ago, she was where you are. We all saw it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been MIA, Ellie. No one sees you anymore. Except maybe Sterling.”

“We’re going to Sanya next week.”

“I haven’t seen you in six months. Betsy was empty. I don’t want to hear about you being found lying in your own excrement on the floor. This is our sister talk. You’re fucking up. You need to man up and handle it.”

“Mandle it?” I said, smiling brightly.

Finley was trying to keep it light, but she quickly wiped her eye.

I reached for her. “Fin. I’m fine.”

She nodded. “I know. We’re all fine until we’re not.”

“Come on. You’ve been traveling all day. We’ll run you a hot bath, relax, and order in.”

She smiled at me. “No wonder you’re bored. That sounds dreadful.”

“Fine, take a hot shower, and then we’ll go to dinner and find a bar with a bunch of hot locals.”

She grinned. “Much better.”

The Grove was busy but not packed. Odd for ski season, but I counted us lucky. Finley was dividing her time between her Kir Royale and the surrounding tables, relishing in the curious attention she was getting simply for being beautiful.

“I’ve always liked the men here. They’re a different kind of sexy than what we’re used to. Gruff. I’m liking the beards.”

“Most of them aren’t actually from here.”

She shrugged. “Neither are we.” Her phone buzzed, and she tapped a quick reply, annoyed with whoever had sent the message.

“Mother?”

Finley shook her head. “Marco’s just checking in.”

I leaned in, my nearly exposed breasts pressing against the table. Finley noticed, but only allowed them to distract her for a moment.

“Is he in love with you?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Probably. Where did you get that top? It makes your tiny tits look freakishly perky.”

“My tits are not tiny.”

“Please,” Finley said as the waiter dropped off our edamame. “You’re barely a B-cup.”

“Not everyone wants to surgically insert double-Ds, Fin.”

She looked up at the waiter. He began to speak, but she cut him off. “Yes, I want another. No, there is nothing else you can get for us right now. Yes, the edamame is superb. Thank you.”

He nodded and left for the kitchen.

“He’s going to spit in our food,” I said, watching him disappear behind a swinging door.

She breathed out a laugh. “I wasn’t rude. I just made his drive-by efficient.” Her eyes lit up, and she stood, embracing Sterling. “Hello, my love!”

Sterling kissed her cheek, and then again square on the mouth. She didn’t flinch.

He looked into her eyes, shaking his head and smiling. “Fin. You’re beautiful.”

She smiled. “You’re right.”

Sterling held the back of Finley’s chair until she sat, and then he helped push her forward. I turned my face as he leaned down, allowing him to peck my cheek.

“Disclaimer … I kissed your sister,” Sterling said, sitting down next to Finley.

She glanced at him, and then at me. “What’s he babbling about?”

“I kind of forced him to kiss me yesterday,” I said, already feeling Finley’s silent wrath. She didn’t want Sterling this second, but he belonged to her. “To get rid of the firefighter.”

Finley’s eyebrows rose, and she looked to Sterling for confirmation. They were an odd pair, between them wearing clothes and accessories that cost more than the average home, but both emotionally and morally bankrupt. Finley might have been able to talk me out of a spiral, but she had a pocket full of people and a closet full of things: all expendable. Sterling loved Finley, but would never beg for her, and preferred to wallow in infinite misery than admit defeat and try to love someone else. We were friends because less than one percent of the world’s population could identify with the sorrow of having too much money and too many opportunities—with the boredom of total freedom of monetary limitations.