Scandalous (Sinners of Saint Book 4)

  I paused again, listening to the person on the other side, before responding.

  “It’s a one-month program, and for all I care you can chain her to the fucking bed and let her piss and shit into a bowl. She’s not running away this time. This woman needs to get well.”

  So that Edie will be happy, I didn’t add.

  I hung up, taking a long breath and loosening my tie. Dean cocked his head, placing the joint above his ear. Dudebro move, then again, every single thing in the world had the potential to piss me off these days. I wanted to put the Jordan Van Der Zee shit on lockdown, because it was starting to become evident I couldn’t, for the life of me, stop seeing his daughter. And it was ironic, how I was trying to get her mom off drugs when Edie became my very own addiction.

  “Luna started young. I don’t think my kids will touch drugs before ten,” Dean commented on my phone conversation.

  “Hey, dickface, here, you dropped your sense of humor.” I groaned, scratching my cheek. “The rehab is for Lydia Van Der Zee. Since her husband is too busy to help her and I can’t really ask Rina to do it for me because that’d lead to questions,” I explained.

  “Questions to which their answers are yes, I am fucking his daughter, why, I’m glad you asked, yes, we did it in the office, too, and of course, I want a bullet to my head. That’s why I did it in the first place.” He tapped his chin, like he was waiting for me to throw a fist in his smug face.

  I got up and sauntered over to the bar by the window, grabbing two bottles of water for him and me. “I’m glad you’re in a good mood,” I noted coolly.

  “I’m in the best mood. You finally have a girlfriend.”

  “Incorrect. And even if it wasn’t, don’t repeat that outside these walls,” I shot quickly, chugging the majority of my drink.

  “If you’re not her boyfriend, then why the fuck are you admitting her mother into a rehab facility? You taking a side job as Mother Theresa?”

  Glancing at my watch, I asked myself whether today would be the day she’d finally show up in the fucking office and spare me the agony of walking these hallways without seeing her perky ass in another ill-fitting number she’d stolen from her mom. Even if I never looked at her when she was noticing, I did look. She was my fuel for the rest of the day. She was what kept me going.

  “Mmm?” I hummed at Dean, still not committing to answering him. He leaned forward, stroking the J he plucked from behind his ear in long motions.

  “What is she to you, man? Why are you helping her so much?”

  “Because she needs help, and because her dad will never give it to her.”

  Jordan hadn’t missed a day of work in the week Lydia had been in the hospital. He even stayed late most evenings to catch up on work. The relationship between us had escalated to the point where I no longer pretended like he didn’t make me sick, and he no longer acted like he was indifferent toward me. We openly hated each other, and it dripped from every glance and encounter we’d shared.

  I locked my office every single day. The unattended, full trash bin had already started smelling like leftover protein shakes and stale coffee, but at least the fucker didn’t have access to my shit when I wasn’t there.

  “Speaking of Jordan…” Dean got up from his seat, walking over to the door, his bespoke blue suit so full of swag you’d think he was Conor McGregor. “Thought you should know, he is sniffing to buy one of us out, and he is offering the big bucks. He wants you gone, bro. Do you think he knows about you and Edie?”

  Who the fuck knew? But the thing was, Jordan had wanted to get rid of me long before I drilled my cock into his daughter’s mouth, ass, and pussy. I tucked my hands into my pockets. “Probably not. He wouldn’t miss a chance making a scene or taunting his daughter.”

  Dean gripped the door handle, swiveling to face me. “Well, watch your back.”

  “When have I ever not?”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent smoldering in my own wrath. I knew, logically, that my friends would never sell Jordan shit, which meant he was desperate, and I wondered—why? What the fuck had I done to deserve his hatred?

  That day, I wasn’t The Mute. I was The Asshole, and I was holding that torch for dear fucking life. Even Vicious couldn’t take it from me. I yelled at Rina for bringing me the wrong sandwich for lunch—she’d been working with me for six months, what the fuck was so difficult to remember?—and fired an intern who’d accidentally sent a contract to the wrong client to sign. I fired her on the spot, without a hearing or even time to collect her things from her desk. I then proceeded to patrol the hallways, shooting ridiculous orders at random people, but it did nothing to soothe my anger.

  Edie was still with her mother at the hospital. She said she might drop in to work, just to see me, but she didn’t.

  At first, I thought it sucked. But then I looked at the bright side—with her gone, I could finally confront her piece-of-shit dad.

  I knew I needed to play my cards right. I couldn’t saunter into his office and tear him another melon-sized asshole. So I waited.

  At five o’clock, all the administrative staff tucked their things into their bags and left.

  At six, the brokers followed suit.

  At six thirty, Jaime, Vicious, and Dean met at the hallway where our offices faced one another.

  Vicious knocked on my open door twice, poking his head in. “Shitface, are you coming or what?”

  “I’m going to catch up on some crap.” I nodded toward my unlit computer. He couldn’t see it from this position, but he could still smell bullshit from miles away.

  He flicked one eyebrow in acknowledgement. “If you’re going to murder Van Der Zee, please note that I don’t practice criminal law and will not be able to help you legally. But if you need someone to hide the body, I’m your guy.”

  “How precious,” I commented dryly.

  He shrugged, slapping the oak of the door, already spinning on his heel. “Well, you’re most-fucking-welcome, Rexroth.”

  Six thirty.

  Six thirty-five.

  Six forty-five.

  At seven, the cleaning staff walked in, talking amongst themselves. I lurked behind my computer—what the fuck was it about the Van Der Zees that brought out the stalker in me?—when I saw the maintenance people heading over to the other side of the floor, I stood up and strolled assertively toward the corner office next to mine. To the biggest, most luxurious room in the building. To where the man who’d hurt Edie and her brother tremendously, and was trying to do the same to me, was working. I expected him to be sitting at his computer and typing away as he always was, but the place was empty. It made no sense. Jordan rarely left the office before eight p.m. Working—making money—was his entire life. I whipped my head and caught a glimpse of him entering the elevator.

  And that’s how I knew he was already one step ahead of me.

  He’d realized I would corner him and had walked away before I could confront him. But he had another thing coming.

  Quickly, I made my way to the emergency stairway and started down to the parking lot. I took the stairs two at a time, knowing I’d arrive before him. The elevator stopped on every fucking floor on its way down, because people in accounting and HR stayed way later than the fuckers on our floor.

  When I arrived, I was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Calmly—so fucking calmly—I made my way to his black Range Rover. My heart didn’t beat as fast as it should have. I leaned on the driver’s side of his vehicle, hands in pockets, and waited.

  When the elevator pinged and glided open, the frown on his face twisted into a gape and he clamped it before I could laugh.

  “Are you playing hard to get, Jordi? Because it’s not your ass I’m after.” I flashed him a winning smile. He stepped backwards, his arm already moving to the button panel, before I tsked, shaking my head and holding his gaze with mine.

  “Come on, Van Der Zee. Ignoring me won’t make me go away, but it will make me very fucking pissed.”


  Reluctantly, he loosened his red silk tie, taking a step forward. The elevator slid shut behind him, almost taunting him, and we were alone. We stood maybe twenty feet from each other, but it didn’t make the situation any less suffocating. For him, at least.

  “What are you going to do? Beat me? Kill me?” He raised his head, his eyes spewing hatred at me. Fear was an old enemy. I didn’t allow room for it in my life. Everyone on the floor other than my three friends was practically shaking whenever Jordan addressed them. I was mildly amused with his self-importance. I scoffed.

  “Just because I’m not the same, sickly white color you are doesn’t mean I’m a thug.”

  “You’ve made some questionable mistakes in your life leading me to believe self-restraint is not your strong suit,” he retorted, walking over to me. We were now standing dangerously close to each other for him to say shit like that.

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Your daughter situation,” he said.

  I cupped my mouth to hide my laugh. “I’ve never conducted myself less than one-hundred percent professionally in my career. Whatever happens in my personal life is my business, not yours.”

  “The way a person behaves outside the office is a direct reflection of who he is as a professional.” Jordan stiffened, his spine pencil-straight.

  I pushed off of his vehicle. “Let’s not open this shit, Jordi. You’re hardly a saint, and your sins aren’t limited to fucking the wrong person at the wrong time.”

  I left it at that, refusing to let him know Edie had confided in me—I’d never compromise her secrets—but at the same time, made sure he realized that while he’d been doing his due diligence on me, I’d done the same.

  “What’s your beef with me, huh?” I asked, straight up. Our eyes never broke contact, engaged in a bloody battle of wills. “Why do you want me out so fucking bad?”

  Jordan surprised me by taking a final step toward me, erasing all space between us. We were now toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, closer than I’d ever been to any of my friends.

  A wicked grin bloomed on his wilted face. “You’ll find out soon enough. Tell me, Trent, do you have a plan for how to get rid of me?”

  I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He knew the answer. Otherwise, he wouldn’t want my flash drive so fucking much. The fact he knew about it in the first place was not an accident. I always told people I didn’t trust the secrets I wanted to be passed along. Max, his personal assistant, had been the perfect target. We’d had drinks after work at some HR woman’s birthday party when I’d leaned and mentioned the flash drive, knowing it would send a message to Jordan—watch your back. You’re not the only one with tricks up his sleeve.

  “Because let me tell you, Rexroth, I definitely have a plan to get rid of you, and it is going to hurt you in all the right places. In all the places you hurt me.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  I gave him a sure grin, ignoring his stupid comment. Next thing he was going to vaguebook about me like a hormonal twelve-year-old girl. He obviously had a problem with me. But instead of coming out and saying it, he chose to dance around the subject like a little pussy.

  “The gloves are off, old man.” I smirked, opening the door for him. Confused, he climbed into his vehicle, staring at me suspiciously as I played the dutiful valet. I tapped his window and winked. “May the best man win.”

  “What is it that you think you have on me, Rexroth, that makes you so bloody confident?”

  “That’s not how this game works, Van Der Zee. The surprise is half the fun. Drive safe.” I gave him the words I’d spewed at his daughter on our first encounter. Only with him, I didn’t mean them. I strolled to the elevator, punched the button, and walked in.

  That evening, I called Edie, asking if she was going to come in for work. She said yes.

  The next morning, I placed my flash drive on my desk, in plain sight, left the door open, and walked out.

  “I’ll be taking the rest of the day off,” I told Rina, dropping some paperwork on her desk on my way out. “My office is open. Miss Van Der Zee, Dean, Vicious, and Jaime are allowed in. Everyone else must stay out.”

  It was bait, and I hoped to shit my prey wouldn’t take it.

  I was bait, but what I really did was compromise my life to save hers.

  I didn’t know why I was doing it. Putting my daughter’s future and my own on the line for this teenager girl. But, for all intents and purposes, my decision was already made. She needed the flash drive, so I gave it to her.

  That night, Edie came over after she’d finished work. She made Luna spaghetti and hot dogs—and I let them have their junk. At night, Edie and I fucked hard. In the morning, we fucked soft.

  I didn’t mention my encounter with her father, nor leaving the flash drive on my desk, and she didn’t, either.

  We took separate cars to work, and of course, I got there first because she took hour-long showers.

  I walked into my office with my heart in my throat, only to swallow it down.

  The flash drive was gone.

  THE FIRST THING I DID when Trent left his apartment, taking Luna and Camila with him since it was Office Tuesday, was run into his bathroom and vomit.

  My head was swimming, white dots blurring my vision. Bracing myself with the seat, I slowly got up and limped my way to the sink like an old dog. I washed my hands and face, avoiding the mirror in front of me at all costs. I couldn’t look at myself without throwing up again.

  Traitor. Impostor. Judas. Backstabber. Bitch.

  Stumbling down the hallway, I leaned against the walls for support. Super dramatic, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. Like the world was collapsing directly on my body, crushing me to dust. How I’d managed to live through the last twenty-four hours, I wasn’t sure.

  Yesterday, when I arrived at his apartment, Camila hadn’t been there. Trent had sent her home, telling her she wasn’t needed that night. I’d cooked Luna’s food for her on autopilot, burning myself on the stove twice and making frequent trips to the bathroom to wash my face and take deep breaths.

  Dinner had been fine. I’d filled in the voids telling Luna more about surfing and things I’d read about seahorses. I told her about my brother, how I hoped one day I could take him to the beach. She’d seemed to understand. She looked like she had, anyway.

  At night, I crawled into his bed, stealing what I no longer deserved. His kisses, his caresses, his body brushing against mine. I stole his heat, and the strokes of his tongue, and the thrusts of his cock. I stole his lust, for it was no longer mine. I enjoyed the pain I earned and the pleasure I didn’t. And in the morning, I asked for another round, knowing full well that this afternoon—when I’d give the flash drive to my father—it’d all be over for us.

  “This time, I want us to go slow.” I’d writhed beneath him, under my dark knight with chipped armor, who’d let me crawl into the broken cracks of his shell and settle in, even though he’d known who I was. The Trojan Horse.

  “Why slow?”

  “So I can remember.”

  “Why would you forget?”

  Silence. He’d kissed away my tears, knowing exactly what I wasn’t saying, but not wanting to believe it. He’d made this sacrifice for me—that much was sure. He’d let me break him, and I had. Without blinking, or hesitating, or even stopping to think about it.

  He moved on top of me like I was wave, filling my body, my core, and my soul. Stroking my cheeks, kissing my eyes. “My girl, my obsession, my Tide.”

  It sounded like a goodbye, which only made me cry harder, clutching him like an anchor. Trent knew, and at six in the morning, half an hour before Luna woke up, we’d done the closest thing to making love, knowing that by the end of the day, that love would turn into hate.

  My father’s office door was open.

  It made everything so much more final. If I passed by, he’d call me in. He’d ask about the flash driv
e. I would have to give it to him, then everything would be over.

  Luna.

  Trent.

  Seahorses.

  Tide.

  The ocean was stormy that day. Bane had left me a message at half past six in the morning when Trent was in the shower.

  Don’t even bother coming down. Black flag.

  He hadn’t known I could literally see the flag waving from my spot, at Trent’s window, in his bedroom, butt naked, my hand pressed against the glass. The waves crashed and the wind wailed. It was the weirdest weather for August in California, but as a surfer, I wasn’t surprised.

  The ocean knew.

  In the office, I’d loitered by reception, prolonging walking over to my desk by my father’s door and taking a seat. By eleven o’clock, I couldn’t postpone the inevitable. I was making the twelfth pot of coffee that day—for whom, no one knew—when Max walked in and leaned his arm against the door. He looked like a weasel in a suit, reeking of a pine-scented disinfectant. He always smelled like he bathed in aftershave.

  “Your dad wants to see you,” he announced in his signature chilly tone before walking away. The flash drive burned inside my pocket. I made my way out of the break room, leaving the coffee I never planned on drinking behind me. I passed by Trent’s office. The door was open. I knew he knew. Knew that among other things, this was a test. Knew that I’d failed. I stopped in front of him, briefly. His head was bowed down, and he was signing some papers. I cleared my throat, feeling like my whole body was foreign and strange and not mine.

  “Is this a trick?” I croaked. I hoped, prayed, willed for it to be part of a bigger plan that we could both share. Trent’s eyes were still on the papers. Like he hadn’t held me in his arms hours ago and breathed life into me.