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Sinner(102)

By:Aubrey Irons


“Oh my God, it’s not going to be vibrators. Weirdo.”

The driver’s eyes dart into the rearview mirror, and I cringe a little as my face turns red.

“I’m hanging up now. You’re going to get me in trouble before I even get there.”

My friend laughs. “Fine, call me after though.”

“Obviously.”

The car suddenly comes to a stop.

“Miss? We’re here,” the driver says as he steps out of the car.

Shit, that was fast.

Too fast.

“London, I gotta go.”

“Oh, hey, Serena?”

I take a deep, calming breath. “Yeah?”

“Pade orire.”

“Huh?”

“Google says that’s Nigerian for ‘good luck’. Oh, and if they ask for your social security and bank routing numbers, it’s totally a scam.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

She snorts out a laugh. “Okay, bye.”



The conference room at Standish, Lehman, and Harris is sparsely and yet elegantly decorated – a mix of sleek modernity and mid-century wood finish. An espresso machine sits next to a wet bar on the far wall, a large leafy plant in the corner, and large windows overlooking downtown Denver across one wall.

I’m nervously tapping one foot on the hardwood floor, when the door to the room opens and a silver-haired man with wire-rim glasses steps in.

“Ms. Roth?”

I quickly stand. “Yes?”

He smiles as he strides over with an outstretched hand.

“Robert Lehman, we spoke on the phone.”

“Hi, yes, of course.” I smile, shaking his hand.

“Look, I’m sorry for all the cloak and dagger here,” he shrugs. “The requests within the will are very specific.” His brow furrows slightly, his eyes taking me in as he nods almost to himself. “You probably have questions.”

I laugh nervously. “Uh, some, yeah.”

He smiles, gesturing for me to take a seat before he takes his own across the conference table from me.

“Does the name Samuel Horn mean anything to you?”

I raise a brow. “The Samuel Horn who owns the Denver Rattlesnakes?”

He gives me one of those “impressed” looks men give women like me when we show a modicum of knowledge concerning the game of football.

I give him a thin smile. “I do work for a professional football team, Mr. Lehman.”

To say nothing of the fact that my dad was a Hall of Fame defensive coach.

He smiles. “Of course, of course. And if I may ask, do you know Mr. Horn personally?”

My brow furrows as I shake my head. “No?”

Robert Lehman only nods again, still looking at me curiously.

“Look,” I say flatly, placing my hands on the table. “I can deal with the mysterious phone calls, and the lack of information, and the request that I take off work and fly to Denver. But…”

I arch a brow at the tight-lipped lawyer sitting across from me.

“But I’m here, and now I kinda need answers.”

Robert smiles, momentarily looking past me and beckoning at someone through the glass in the waiting room behind me. I start to turn when he raps his knuckles on the table and chuckles.

“I’m beginning to see why he likes you so much.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Horn.”

The door to the conference room behind me suddenly opens, and a voice I never in a hundred years thought I’d hear again sends a shiver through my whole body.

“Robert, if I’m interrupting, I can wait until-”

I turn in almost slow motion, and the blonde-haired man stops abruptly. His deep green eyes go wide, and those perfect, sculpted lips fall open in shock.

I know that look because it’s the exact same one currently on my own face.

He shakes his head incredulously, his eyes blazing green fire. Robert clears his throat as he stands. “Landon, this is Serena R-”

“Roth, I’m aware,” he says in that velvety, deep voice, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Ah, wonderful! I wasn’t aware the two of you knew each other!”

“We’ve met.”

We’ve met.

That’s certainly one way of putting it.

“What are you doing here?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, but I don’t care.

This is all wrong. I wasn’t ever supposed to see this man again. That was the whole point of it. That was the whole reason behind letting go that one night back in Houston.

Landon Reece, chairman of the board of the Denver Rattlesnakes - direct rivals to the Houston Bulls, who I work for.

The enemy.

He clears his throat, his arms crossing over his chest and those deep green eyes never once leaving mine.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I-” I frown, and I somehow manage to yank my eyes away from his as I whirl on Robert Lehman.