Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

Payton straightened and put her purse on her shoulder. “Okay, here’s the plan. You take me out, liquor me up, and maybe . . . Maybe I can get past this. Joseph won’t be so easy. All this shit you just told me, you need to tell him, too.”

“I know.”

&nb

sp; “We’re both stubborn. Be prepared for a lot of work.” She climbed to her feet, and her brother did as well. She ran a hand through her thick hair, as if sorting her thoughts. “I’m free tomorrow night if you want to start putting water under the bridge. Vodka’s Dominic’s favorite problem-solver.”

I pushed back in my chair and stood. “Thanks for the tip. I’d like that.”

Her gaze went to her brother. “Am I okay to leave?”

“You’re under no legal obligation to stay.”

He’d just finished putting his tablet in his briefcase when her hand shot out and gently grasped his elbow. “Hey, thanks for doing this.”

It was impossible to miss the appreciation in her voice. Even though Payton oozed confidence and possessed an ‘I have zero fucks to give’ attitude, it had to be awkward as hell to let her brother in on this part of her life. He’d taken it in stride, it seemed.

His voice was affected. “Of course.”

I watched them go, and as I made my way back to my desk, I checked my phone. No new messages. I left him one on Tuesday, once my voice had come back, asking if we could talk. He didn’t return my call. I tried again on Thursday and was met with the same lack of response.

I was fed up with this bullshit. If Silas wanted things over between us, he was going to have to tell me directly. Otherwise, he was going to let me apologize again and forgive me. I wasn’t going to give up on what I wanted.

Andre was seated behind the desk at the back of the gallery, speaking on the phone when I entered. So I strolled through the gallery while I waited. The space that had been occupied by the red fog painting was now the charcoal piece Silas had been working on when I’d interrupted him. The pattern began hard and focused in one corner, and as it drifted over the canvas, it broke. It morphed into a different pattern. Softer. Lighter.

“Do you like it?” Andre asked.

“I don’t know. It’s . . . yeah, I like it.”

He smiled. “I think it’s you, but he won’t admit it.”

My gaze went back to it. Was that how Silas saw me? A transition from hard and exacting to one that was soft and open?

There were several new pieces in the gallery. “He’s been busy. Is he around?”

“Yeah. He’s working in his studio.” Andre gestured to the hallway. “You should head back there.”

“I don’t want to disturb him. I can wait.”

He gave me a plain look. “Yeah, maybe you can wait, but I can’t. He’s been a mopey asshole. Go straighten him out, please.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling unexpectedly nervous. “I’ll try.”

The music flooding the studio was classic rock. Silas sat at the computer, peering intently at the screen, unaware of me. It gave me a moment to admire. His left hand rested on his thigh, and I traced each section of his patterned tattoo as it disappeared beneath his t-shirt sleeve.

I’d made it halfway to the desk before he noticed me. He didn’t look terribly surprised as he leaned over and shut off the music.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you left me no choice when you wouldn’t return my calls.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m so sorry. But when I told you I needed you, I was serious.” I leaned my weight on one foot and put a hand on my waist. “I’m fucking stupid. I keep thinking I can handle whatever fucked up thing life throws my direction, all by myself, but I can’t. Maybe sometimes I need you to tell me what to do.”

Well, that piqued his interest. His mouth dropped open with surprise.

“And if you want to stay mad at me a little longer, that’s fine. But I’m going to need you to put another tattoo on me right now.”

“What? Why?”