Beautiful Burn (The Maddox Brothers, #4)(5)

“Definitely not bikini weather.”

“Our hot tub has determined that is a lie. Did you get laid?” She had already forgotten about the mild offense and settled into sister mode.

Finley Edson was the eldest daughter of Edson Tech, and on a direct path to rule with an iron fist that happened to have perfectly manicured nails. We were heiresses, but unlike me, Finley embraced it. Finley was two years older, but she was my best friend, the only one left from our childhood who I could still stomach. The rest had become vapid clones of their mothers.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I said, turning toward downtown.

“Yes, you do. Was it the local you were telling me about?”

“Paige? No. She’s sweet. Too f*cked up for me to use.”

“I’m not sure I believe that person exists.”

“She does, and her name is Paige.”

“You’re getting soft in your old age, Ellie. If we were still at Berkeley, you’d have been all over that just to break her heart. So who was it?”

I cringed at her description, but only because she was right. I’d been the source of pain for most of the people I’d come into contact with, mostly because I didn’t care, but a small part of me enjoyed the temporary distraction from my own pain.

“Do you always have to remind me of my dysfunction?”

“Yes. Don’t change the subject.”

“He’s an Interagency Hotshot guy.”

“A firefighter? Ick.”

“No, not ick. He’s the elite. They deploy them like soldiers to the frontline.”

“That’s kind of hot,” she conceded.

“He was refreshing … let me wipe him off and send him on his way without blinking an eye. And he was hot. So, so hot. Maybe a ten.”

“A ten? Like a solid ten, or barely a ten?”

“Mid-ten. He missed the trashcan when he tossed the condom, but he can fight. Like really fight. He beat a guy’s ass twice his size in the middle of the gallery last night. He’s built like David Beckham. Maybe a little thicker. He’s covered in tattoos, and he smells like Marlboro Reds and copper.”

“Copper?”

“He had the other guy’s blood splattered on his clothes.”

“You let them fight in the gallery last night? Was anything broken?”

“The better question is what didn’t get broken.”

“Ellie.” Her tone turned serious. “Mother is going to flip.”

“Do not parent me from Brazil. I already have two absentee parents. I don’t need you.”

“Fine, it’s your funeral. Or rather, your trust fund’s funeral. I’m intrigued about the boy. I might get on a plane and cover up my wax and pedi with leggings and boots. Oh.” She paused. “Marco? I need flannel shirts!”

“Don’t bring Marco,” I warned.

“He comes with me everywhere. His speaking Portuguese has made the trip here a breeze.”

“He’s not coming here. You’re different when he’s around.”

“What? Like helpless?” Finley was teasing, but we both knew she was whinier and needier when her ladysitter was around. Marco was hired to be more than an assistant. He didn’t just carry bags and keep her schedule; he was also her buyer, stylist, barista, bartender, nurse, waiter, designer, and constant travel companion.

“I hate Finley and Marco. I only like Finley.”

“Correction: you love Finley. I’m bringing Marco.”

“Then he can’t stay here.”

I could hear her pouting through the speakers. “I’ll get him a hotel room. If I need something, I can call.”

“Finley, Jesus Christ.” I pulled a stale pack of cigarettes out of my father’s console and dug around for a lighter. I flipped up the silver cap and pressed, promptly taking a drag.

“Where are you going?” she asked, frustrated.

“Just getting out of the way while the cleaning crew fixes Ground Zero.”

“It’s really that bad? And you’re lecturing me about Marco?” she asked.

“Hold on.” I focused long enough to parallel park, and then turned off the car, finishing my cigarette.

“You there?” Finley asked.

“Yeah,” I said, blowing out a puff of smoke. The white cloud slipped out through the top of the window I’d cracked just enough that I could tell my father I’d tried.

“You’ve got to stop this shit, Ellie. Everyone has a limit.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I said, taking one last drag before pushing the butt through the window. I stepped out, and then ground the cherry of the cigarette with the heel of my boot.

I bent over to pick it up and then tossed it into the nearest trashcan.

“You’re lucky,” a voice behind me said.

I turned around to see Tyler leaning against the brick veneer of an automotive parts store with his arms crossed, a US Forestry truck parked not far away.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“If you hadn’t picked up that cigarette butt, I might have had to arrest you.”

“Someone should inform you that you’re not a cop.”

“I’m friends with a few.”