Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(15)

“What? That’s all you’re going to say is what, Vaughn?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Good thing. I’m not in the mood either.” He winks at me. “But you look like shit—bags under your eyes, way too much of your roots showing, and I bet you a hundred dollars that your lady bits look like a jungle. Add to that the rumors that flew like wildfire around the Hamptons after you left. What’s it been? A week?” He lifts his eyebrows.

“More like two.”

“Ah, the bags and hairy legs make sense now.”

“Rumors?” I ask, ignoring his sarcasm.

“You left the party where you were the main guest. Of course everyone noticed. And then Ryker went looking for you and left abruptly when he couldn’t find you.” He pats the cushion next to him for me to sit down, but I don’t budge. “So I’ll ask your same question back at you: What gives?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m just not looking for something that serious, and . . . you know me—I’m not good with men.”

“And I think you’re full of shit. Successful. Handsome. Loaded. Good in bed—or so one can assume,” he says when my eyes narrow at him. “Just like me.”

“I’m so glad you’re modest.”

“No one in their right mind would pass up a good catch like Ryker Lockhart, so why are you?”

“I don’t need a good catch. I need no one. Nothing.”

“Your nose is growing, Pinocchio.”

“Do you know him?” I ask rather assertively as I take a few steps toward Archer.

“Of him.”

“And?” I prompt.

Archer studies me, those dark eyes seeing so much more than I want him to. “And I think you’re nursing a heartbreak. I think you’re scared and trying to justify a reason to keep your distance when a part of you is dying inside to figure out why.”

I blink away the tears that come, because while I know he’s partially right, he also has no idea what Ryker did to me. And I’m almost too ashamed to tell him.

How screwed up is that? Even while hating Ryker, I’m protecting him by not telling others what he did to me.

“Don’t cry, love,” Archer says as he rises and pulls me into a hug. I accept the comfort and the warmth, all the while realizing how much I miss this feeling. How much I grew accustomed to Ryker’s strong arms and instant reassurance whenever I needed it.

He is bad for you, Vaughn. He makes you needy. Remember that.

“Hey?” Archer asks, stepping back and lifting my chin so I’m forced to look into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“You need to get out.”

“I’m fine. I just need some time to sort through shit.”

Archer laughs. “Which is code for I want to hide away in my bubble and be lost to the world. Well, guess what? As one of your closest friends, I’m not going to allow that.”

“I’m fine,” I groan.

“Look, I have a thing—”

“Aha! I knew there was a reason you stopped by.”

“I need a date for it.”

“Then take Mr. Thirty-Six Hours with you.”

“Ha. That’s funny. His time is already up. Besides,” he says and nudges me, “my dad will be there. You know I need to tame the flame when he’s around.”

I roll my eyes and snort, my first smile finally turning up one corner of my mouth. “No way am I going to be used as a pacifier between you and your father. Been there and done that before.”

“It’s not like that.” He waves his hand in indifference. “It’s a fund-raiser.”

My sigh is exaggerated. The last thing I want to do is get dressed up for something that is fancy and formal, and if Archer is going, then that’s exactly what this is. “Arch—”

“Come on.” He reaches for my hand and swings it. “It’ll be fun. We’ll get you out of the house. We’ll get those roots done. And we’ll raise a shit ton of money for Lucy.”

“What?” My head snaps in his direction.

His smile is wide and his expression smug. “Oh, did I forget to tell you? It’s for DSAF,” he says, so casually referring to the Down Syndrome Advocacy Foundation.

“Dammit, Archer.”

“I knew that would get you,” Archer says and smacks a loud kiss to the side of my cheek. “So . . . it’s a date, then?”





CHAPTER SIX

Ryker

“Bianca . . . I get your frustration, but I can’t force your husband’s hand.”

“Your reputation is at stake here, Mr. Lockhart.”

My chuckle is anything but amused at the senator’s wife threatening me. “I told you I’d get whatever you needed, but it’s going to take time.”

And this is why I don’t take on women as clients. Because they are irrational and demanding and expect results in a day’s time.

“Time?”

“Yes, time.” I shift the phone from one ear to the other.

“You said you had audio of your conversation. I’d love to hear it.”

I think of the recording on my phone. The conversation I can’t even listen to myself.