The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(86)

“I’m fucking the nanny,” I admitted, flat out.

My confession was met with loud silence. I unglued my phone from my ear to see if the call was still on. It was. For a second, I regretted how spontaneously I’d given my half-brother—my full-hater—enough ammo to make Da leave me penniless.

Then Cillian spoke. “Is there more to the story, or is this a state-the-obvious theme night?” he growled darkly.

“Wait, you don’t seem surprised.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

“How did you know?” I sat up on the couch. Everyone’s doors were closed, so there was no danger of my being heard.

“Figured when she called me about you that you’d found your way into her heart. And the only tool you have to dig into a woman’s body is your dick. I did the math.”

“Do you think Da knows?”

“Doubt it. He just wants your dick not to shoot everywhere like it’s the wild west, and you seem contained.”

“Well, I haven’t fucked anyone else in all this time. I’m also sober.”

“I don’t care. Move along. My time is precious.” Cillian flicked the cigar with a soft thud I could hear. The music from the restaurant he had left became louder for a second, when someone pushed the door open and called for him in French. He answered her, also in French. She giggled and closed the door.

I shook my head. She’d asked him what he wanted for breakfast. He answered with her name—Rachelle. I Googled the time difference between Boston and Paris. It was nine a.m. there. Fucker. I shook my head.

“Anyway, we were supposed to keep this shit happening until she moves out, but she wants to break it off now.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to be celibate again!” I snapped. Idiot.

My brother chuckled. He found few things as pleasurable as my distress. “What changed her mind?”

“My friend from Cali was over with his fiancée. I kind of ignored her when they were here. And when we did talk, I reminded her that it was just temporary. I think I called it fuck-buddy purgatory.”

“And they say romance is dead,” he noted sarcastically.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m starting to believe I’m the only living person in Boston who hasn’t had the displeasure,” he jested. “Did your friends bring up your sordid past in Todos Santos, by any chance?”

I thought about the story Knight was telling Luna when we thought Sailor wasn’t there and let out a growl.

“She knew I was a player.” I dismissed his theory, though really, could I blame her for bailing on my ass? The weekend was disastrous.

“It’s easy to forget in a city where she’s your only source of entertainment and your social life is nonexistent.”

“What do I do now?”

“Grovel.”

“Screw that.”

“That’s an option, but not nearly as pleasurable as the redheaded beauty sleeping under your roof.” Kill’s husky voice became roughened.

He thought she was beautiful? That made me feel stupidly proud and inanely angry at the same time.

Another groan escaped me. “Gotta go. For the record, you didn’t help at all,” I said.

“For the record, I didn’t try.”

He hung up first, but sent a message a second after.



Cillian: Told you not to touch that one.

Now, two days later, here I was, pushing the door open, expecting to find Sailor in the kitchen, sulking, waiting for an apology (why was I apologizing again?), eyeing me like I took a shit in her bed—like she had for the remainder of Knight and Luna’s stay. The worst part was, I was going to apologize. I’d bought flowers from Trader Joe’s.

I even Googled best flowers to get a chick.

I put work into this thing.

But Sailor wasn’t here. The apartment was empty. I strode to the kitchen island, disposing the flowers on the counter and imagining the worst—she was just the type to throw the last five months away and bail on me—when I noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen island.

I picked it up.



Hunt,

Lana is in town early. I went to see Crystal for an urgent meeting, then found out we landed the GW cover. I’m flying to New York and will be back in a couple days. Notified your father.

Be good.





Sailor


I gritted my teeth to a point I was surprised they didn’t turn to dust.

I had two days of zero supervision without my nanny dearest, and all I wanted was to have her back. The irony wasn’t lost on me. My most unholy temptation was living under the same roof, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I pulled my phone from my pocket, but as I stared at her name in my contacts, I realized this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have on the phone.

It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at all, to be honest.

Besides, maybe some time apart would do us good. Maybe it’d set her head straight and make her see we didn’t need each other after all. Maybe it would remind me of what Sailor was: a temporary fix. I’d talked about her and analyzed her behavior—with my tyrant brother, no less—which meant this shit had gone too far.

The more I thought about it, the more I was happy she wasn’t here. Good riddance.