Page 47 of Fake Dark Vows
Damon knocks back a mouthful of his drink and sighs. “No can do. For a wager to be canceled, both sides must agree, and I hate to piss on your parade, brother, but I’m quite enjoying the challenge.”
“The challenge has a name,” I hiss, jaw clenched. “I’m not going to sit back and watch you ruin her life.”
“Bit harsh. It’s only a bit of fun—where’s the harm in that? Or do you want to alter the terms of the wager and have a go yourself?”
Every fight we’ve ever had, every sneaky comment my brother has ever made comes flooding back, and it takes all my willpower not to punch him right there in front of our parents and their friends.
“Back off, Damon.” I keep my voice low, between us.
“Or what?” The swagger is still there—I think my brother was born with the giant chip on his shoulder that he has never tried to shake off.
“Or I’ll destroy our mother’s illusion of your perfect happy family.”
I turn around and walk away, my heart thumping inside my rib cage.
CHAPTER 16
Rose
Brandon doesn’t go with the rest of the party down to the small beach. Today is Harry’s birthday, and they’ve taken a picnic and champagne down to the gazebo that Graham set up overnight. The children were wearing their bathing suits and carrying buckets and spades, and the itinerary stated that the adults could swim if they so wished. The day is to be easy and informal in anticipation of the special banquet being prepared for the evening when Harry will open his gifts.
Ruby doesn’t know about Brandon’s visitor. He asked me to fetch a pot of coffee and a jug of iced water to his father’s study, his tone businesslike, his eyes barely grazing mine.
My stomach sinks when I realize that what happened in the pantry meant nothing to him. I’m not even sure if he remembers what happened. I rush to the family kitchen to prepare coffee with hot stinging tears in my eyes and allow them to spill when I find the room empty.
I’m such an idiot. What did I think it meant to him? He’s a wealthy businessman with the kind of hot actor looks that could get him any woman he wants without even trying. Did I think that calling him a goddamn coward would win him over?
What am I even doing contemplating winning over Brandon Weiss?
I’ve been away from Jess for too long and my head is way up there in the clouds with a mojito in one hand and Brandon Weiss in the other.
I blot my face dry with kitchen paper, prepare the coffee, and blink furiously before carrying the tray to the study. Don’t make eye contact, I tell myself. If he does remember our kiss in the cupboard, it will only make him think that I want to take it further, and that’s not happening.
A few more days. That’s all I have to get through, and then normal life can resume. Surely, I can keep away from Brandon Weiss for a few more days.
The study door is open when I make my way back along the hallway, keeping my eyes on the coffee pot in case it spills. I hear voices. The visitor is standing so close to the open doorway that I can see the tip of one shiny black shoe, and I freeze when I hear the name Russo—the same name I overheard outside the Blond Giraffe.
I shouldn’t be listening.
I turn around slowly—perhaps I can get back to the kitchen before Brandon notices me. But the man is still speaking, and my legs have stopped working.
“The insider trading claims won’t stick, Brandon, but the media will lap up those images with a spoonful of honey on top. They’re visual. It’s what people want to see—it brings you down to their level and then some.”
Images? Whatever they are, they were important enough to bring this man out here on the day of Harry Weiss’s birthday. Important enough to keep Brandon in the house and incur the wrath of his mother.
Brandon’s voice is low, so low, I strain towards the door to hear what he’s saying. I only catch the last few words. “…what I pay you for.”
“I know. If it was anyone else, I’d have thrown the dead cat on the table and wiped the tabloids clean already, but the Russos won’t take that kind of retaliation lying down.”
“What do you suggest?” Brandon’s voice sounds closer, and I instinctively press my back against the wall, praying that the coffee cups don’t rattle.
“There’s only one way you’re getting people to forget they’ve seen the size of your dick. Give them something to love, and I’m not talking about bragging about how long you can keep it up.”
My cheeks are burning. I need to turn around and walk away before they both catch me red-handed. So, why won’t my legs move?
“One of America’s most eligible bachelors?” the guy continues. “You really want me to spell it out?”
That’s when my brain finally tells my legs to move.