Jailbait (2 page)

Only her.
 

“I will pay you well,” Alcott says. “More than double what you’re making at Cal’s Customs, and more than you’d ever be able to earn on your own given your…your
status.
” My criminal record, he means. “And I will provide you with a place to live, a new phone number, and a vehicle more inconspicuous than that hunk of metal you ride around.”
 

My fingers twitch, wanting to curl into fists. Don’t insult my bike, no matter who you are…and how the fuck does he know all this? Right. You can buy information. I internally shudder. No wonder he needs someone from the outside to watch over Pepper.

“I prefer to provide you with whatever you need…leave the past behind you, so to speak,” he says and narrows his eyes. He leans forward, looking me right in the eye. “This may be presumptuous of me, but I assume you want out.”
 

My mouth goes dry and sweat breaks out along my back. Alcott knows fucking everything. And of course I want out. I never wanted in. No one gets out alive. No one. I look Alcott hard in the eye, and he raises his eyebrows ever so slightly, telling me it’s possible.
 

No one has gotten out alive…but no one had a billionaire buying their freedom either. I might have a snowball’s chance in hell, but if I can get out, get away, and keep the skin on my back…fuck. It’s worth it on its own.
 

“Glad we can come to an agreement,” Alcott says.
 

“I haven’t accepted the job yet,” I remind him.
 

Alcott looks at me, the smile gone. I keep my face set, a bit of a permanent scowl darkening my features. It’s in my nature to play hardball, to not let anyone know what’s going on beneath the surface. If I were a betting man, I could make a decent profit by betting that Alcott already knows what I’ve worked so damn hard to bury.
 

Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have called me. And I wouldn’t have risked everything to come here. But I’ll be damned to admit it to anyone else, let alone myself.
 

I’ve been in love with Pepper Davenwood since the day we met.
 

Chapter One

Pepper

One month later…

Where the hell is my wine?
Granted, I just ordered and teleportation has yet to be invented. I don’t think the waiter has made it back into the kitchen yet, but I need some aged sweet red to get me through what has to be one of the worst first dates in the history of my life.
 

“And that’s when I told him, he can come clean or I can send his ass back to Mexico where he belongs,” Olson Fisk says with a throaty laugh, real proud of himself. “The next day, the candlesticks were back on the table.”
 

I look at the shiny silver fork placed on top of a crisply folded burgundy fabric napkin, and resist the urge to pick it up and gouge out my eyes. It would be more entertaining than sitting here listening to this chauvinistic asshole talk. I twist my mother’s wedding ring around my finger, and look across the dimly lit restaurant for my wine. I wear the ring on my right hand to remind me of her, and how no matter what was thrown at her, she handled every situation with grace. I rub my thumb over the large princess cut diamond, trying to channel her patience. Lord knows I need it now.
 

Raindrops roll down the glass walls in the front of the restaurant, sparkling and shining with city lights. This place is packed, and the front is full of patrons hoping for a table. Reservations book months out, and supposedly the food is to die for. Though right now all I care about is that wine.

I force a smile at Olson, reminding myself he’s the son of my father’s legal advisor, has been an acquaintance for years, and biting my tongue is the best course of action. For now. Once I get home and see dear old dad, he’s getting an earful since he’s the one who set up this walking disaster anyway. My dad’s taking an odd and sudden interest in my love life, urging me to settle down with someone, even if it’s not for the long haul.
 

I’m not the settling type, nor do I think I need a man in my life to feel complete. I’m not opposed to love, and want to believe in soul mates, but I fear that ship has sailed for me. I loved somebody once.
 

And he broke my heart.
 

But that was years ago, and I was only eighteen then. What did I know about love? I knew enough to stay away from pretentious dickmuffins like Olson Fisk.
 

The sommelier returns to the table, primes the wine glasses, and then serves the liquid sanity. I reach for my glass, fingers wrapping around the long stem, and take a big drink before the server comes over to take our dinner orders.
 

“We’ll both have the steak,” Olson says. “I’ll take the potatoes, and she’ll have a salad on the side. And hold the bread.”
 

I blink, really wanting to gouge out
his
eyes now. Not once did we discuss dinner. “Actually,” I say and look right at Olson before turning my face to the waiter. “I’m not a fan of red meat. I’ll take the chicken pappardelle. And extra butter for my bread, please.”
 

The waiter gives me a small smile before leaving. I take a deep breath and reach for my wine again, noticing that Olson is staring at my tits. I flip my brunette hair over my shoulder, blocking my cleavage with hair, and take another big drink of wine.
 

He starts talking about work again, complaining about a client with a budget. I smile and sigh, watching the rain come down harder, followed by a distant rumble of thunder. A large party is led from the front of the building to the dining area. They’re excited, all smiles and whispers about how great it is to be eating in such a fancy place. One person from their group hangs back, and for a second I think maybe he’s too busy playing on his phone to notice that the others left.
 

But he’s not holding a phone.
 

He turns the opposite direction, toward the door, but not before I get a glimpse of his face. No. It can’t be him. I stare at the man, watching his shadow shrink as he disappears out into the storm.
 

“Isn’t that great, Pepper? Pepper?” Olson says my name flatly, annoyed. He taps the table with his hand. “Pepper, I’m talking to you. Pay attention.” He looks at me, following my gaze to the front of the restaurant. “What is it? A celebrity? I heard Lorde ate here last week.”

“Um,” I mumble, unnerved at the way my heart is about ready to pound out of my chest. It’s not the first time I thought I saw Grayson King this month. Last week, I could have sworn I saw him driving down the road while I was shopping with my best friend Savannah. But it couldn’t have been him. Grayson wouldn’t be caught dead in a BMW. He hates foreign cars.
 

Though the man I just saw, who avoided my eyes at all cost, had to be him. Dirty blonde hair, tousled and messy in an I-just-had-sex kind of way that looks so incredibly good on him. A chiseled jaw covered in stubble. Plump lips that spent a lot of time pressed against mine.
 

And those eyes.
 

Pale blue rimmed with deep sapphire. Intense. Emotional. And God, so sexy.
 

“What about that Hilton girl?” Olson goes on. “Whatever happened to her? Maybe she needs some legal advising, if you know what I mean?”

If I weren’t so close to coming undone at the thought of Grayson, I’d have thrown water in Olson’s face for talking about hooking up with someone while on a date with me. Chivalry can’t stand a chance when class is dead.
 

The conversation is one-sided throughout dinner, but Olson doesn’t seem to notice. I guess he likes to hear his own voice. Despite the shitty company, I enjoy my food—it is as good as it’s hyped up to be—though I decline dessert claiming to be full.
 

“I was thinking we should go somewhere…
tropical
…for dessert,” Olson says, leaning forward. “The family jet has been neglected, after all.”
 

The thought of spending hours in a private jet with Olson sends the same shiver of disgust down my spine I feel when I take cough syrup. And damn, I have no wine left to wash away the aftertaste.
 

“No, thank you,” I say softly. “I’d like to go home.”
 

Olson’s eyebrows go up like he can’t believe I turned him down. I get the feeling he’s used to women fawning all over him at the mention of a private jet and a spur-of-the-moment getaway.
 

The shock stays on his face for a few seconds before he laughs. “Right. Go home. That’s faster. I like the way you think, Pepper.”
 

I can’t help it. My nose wrinkles and I lean back. The urge to tell him what an ass he is rises inside, and I don’t care what the press will say, or how angry my father will be. My heart skips a beat and I take a deep breath. Before I can tell him to go fuck himself, friends of my father walk by and stop to say hello. I blink, calm myself down, and spend a few minutes chatting. Olson stands and offers his hand to help me to my feet. With fake pleasantries, we walk to the valet.
 

Lightning and thunder flash and clap above us, the storm gaining strength. The wind picks up, blowing misty rain under the awning. Just as Olson is handing his ticket to the valet, lightning strikes the tall building across the street. For a split second, everything is alive. Electricity buzzes through the air, tingling against my skin. I inhale sharply, mouth opening as I lean back. Watching a million balls of raw energy crackle and spark as they cascade down to the street below.

Then everything goes black. Seconds pass in total darkness before generators come on and lights from cars illuminate the way. Only dim floodlights come on behind us, doing little to help the poor valet match the numbers on Olson’s ticket to the one attached to his keys.
 

Olson grumbles and pulls out his phone. I hear someone say something about a blown transformer, and how it might be several hours before power is restored to the block. I shiver as another blast of wind sends cool drops of water against me.

“Thank you,” I tell the valet, slipping a tip into his hand as he opens the passenger door to Olson’s Audi for me.
 

“The offer to jet off still stands,” Olson says and guns it forward, tires squealing on the wet pavement.
 

“I don’t think a plane could take off right now,” I inform him, watching rain pelt down the windshield. It’s an hour drive from the city to the house, and I don’t think this storm is letting up anytime soon. Great, traffic is moving slow. I don’t want to be in the car with Olson any longer than absolutely necessary.
 

I’m half engaged in a conversation with Olson about an upcoming charity gala, zoning out and watching the headlights of the car behind us in the side mirror. It’s not until a while later that I realize the car has been keeping an unusual distance but has made every single turn we have.
 

“Can you speed up?” I ask suddenly.

Olson doesn’t question why I’m asking him to gun it on the slippery street. He just mashes his foot down on the gas. “I like hearing her purr,” he coos, stroking the steering wheel as the Audi lunges forward. My eyes widen and I’m so thankful for my seatbelt.
 

The car behind us speeds up as well, but is no match for the Audi. I keep my gaze trained on the side mirror, not looking away from whoever might be following us. We veer onto our exit, and a street lamp illuminates the black car behind us. I can’t be sure, but I think the circular symbol of a BMW glitters under the yellow light.
 

I suck in a breath and shiver, and Olson puts his hand on my thigh. We merge onto the freeway, getting lost in traffic. I twist my mother’s ring around on my finger, mind whirling. Is that Grayson in the car? It’s been following me … and I swear that was him I saw tonight. It would make no sense for Grayson King to come back here, to seek me out like this. Whatever we had is over, done and gone. I can’t stop thinking about him, can’t get the image of his gorgeous eyes out of my mind.
 

Usually, when Grayson crosses my mind, I force myself to think about something else. But not this time. I allow myself to recall his face—granted it’s been years—and remember the warmth of his touch.
 

We met as children and saw each other every few years. His father was active in the military and they moved around a lot. Grayson would be here for a while, then gone, and then back before I’d know it. He had a way of popping up in my life at the best and worst times, and until our last meeting, I never knew how to categorize him.
 

He wasn’t really a friend, and he was only a lover for a short while. He was a bad influence, that’s for sure, though he always treated me like I was queen of the world. Of his world, specifically.
   

I’m so wrapped up in Grayson that I don’t realize I agree to be Olson’s date at the gala tomorrow until
after
I agree to it. Dammit, Grayson. I haven’t seen him in years and he’s still causing trouble.
 

*

“Hmmm…no. I don’t like it.” Savannah purses her lips and shakes her head. “What about the blue one?”
 

I run my hands over my stomach, smoothing the gray dress. The color isn’t something I’d pick, but the cut is flattering. “You sure? I kind of like this one. It makes my boobs look big, don’t you think?”
 

She brings a Champagne flute to her lips and takes a sip. “A paper bag would accentuate your tits, Pep.”
 

I give her a glare, and then laugh. Ricky, assistant to the dress designer, holds up the blue gown and smiles.

“I do agree, this would look stunning on you,” he tells me, holding the dress up. Glass beads at the top of the bodice sparkle under the lights of the downtown shop. “It brings out the green of your eyes.”
 

I step away from the mirrors to change gowns. Savannah sets her drink down and comes over, looking me up and down. She takes a step back, whispers something to Ricky, and smiles.