The Dirty Series 2(69)

Oh, God. What the fuck am I going to do?

I turn toward Jett, preparing to play it off like I was teasing, joking, but it’s the damn truth...and then Jett throws me a life preserver.

“I feel the same way.”

He says the words, but there’s something reserved in his expression. He’s trying hard to move past whatever is in his head, but either he doesn’t really want to, or he’s just failing.

“Good,” I say softly, kissing his smooth cheek.

“Three weeks ago,” he says, almost under his breath, and I shudder involuntarily.

Jett could find out what I’ve done before I have a chance to tell him, and that would be the worst-case scenario.

I open my mouth to tell him. I don’t know what I’m going to say. There’s no way to make this seem less bad than it is. Do I start by telling him that I’ve fallen for him, hard? Do I start by telling him about how the guilt keeps me awake at night? That I’m doing all of this because I’m afraid my brother—and now my mom—might get hurt?

I know where they are, and you know what I’ll do.

I close my mouth again.

I know I’m being a coward. I know it.

I take a breath.

Say it, Angelica.

“Something on your mind?” Jett says.

Elsie, where your mother lives. Your brother’s visiting her right now.

I want to tell him so badly that it hurts.

I want him to think the best of me so badly that I can’t.

I want my mother and my brother to be safe....

“No,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. “Just another long day.”

And every time I lie to you, it gets worse.





Chapter Thirty





Jett



For the first time since she arrived, Angelica and I have an off night.

Not “off,” per se, but...quiet. A little strained.

Her boss must be pushing her, still, and I can’t stop thinking about what Cook said. Three weeks ago, three weeks ago....

I look at Angelica, curled up in one of the massive armchairs in the living room, nose buried in a first edition of Through the Looking-Glass.

None of this can have anything to do with her.

Can it?

I think about the first time I saw her in the elevator. I’ve never asked her about who lives on the eighth floor, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. People deliver things here all the time. It would be a bizarre move to start questioning her about that now.

“Is it good?”

She looks up at me and grins tiredly. “It was one of my favorites as a kid. I don’t know if I love it as much now.”

“Lewis Carroll was a weird bastard.”

She laughs out loud, closing the book. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

“I have a different idea.”

“What’s that?” Angelica glances toward my office, which is where I also keep a small portion of my book collection. I’ve never read most of them.

“It doesn’t have to do with reading.”

Angelica unfolds herself from the chair and stands up to her full height, stretching her arms above her head. I take the opportunity to cross the room and slide my hands over her waist, feeling her body work and turn. She drops her arms around my neck and kisses me just below my jaw.

“I bet I can guess what your idea is.”

“Is that so?” I bend down and nip at her earlobe.

“Yes. In fact....” She leans up like she’s going to whisper something dirty in my ear. “Race you!”

Then she’s tearing through the penthouse, feet soft on the carpet. I stay close on her heels and catch her right inside the doorway to the master suite, letting the momentum carry us both onto the bed, her laughing and gasping and fumbling for my face to draw it in and kiss my lips so hard I think one might bleed, and in between kisses she says,

“It feels so good to be caught.”



That moment is on my mind all day at work on Wednesday—Angelica, pink cheeks and laughter that turned to sex as if it was meant to be. The memory battles for supremacy with the ongoing thought of wanting to resolve this shit with my accounts as soon as possible.

That’s what I’m going to do the second we get back to the penthouse—take twenty minutes in my office and go over everything with Cook one more time. There has to be something he’s missing...or maybe he hasn’t found it yet. Either way, I want to know.

I’m damn thrilled to see Angelica when Stuart pulls the car up to the curb outside the Sisterspark offices. For the millionth time, I scoff inwardly at the name of that website. No wonder they’re losing ad revenue.

But those thoughts are body-checked by her presence on the sidewalk. I hop out of the car before Stuart can even move and hold the door open for her. She slides in, and the moment I have the door shut she’s kissing the side of my neck, breathing me in.