Broken Beast

School or work or family.

Liam is surprised he finally found time for a girlfriend. He didn't think it would ever happen.

He doesn't add anything about the accident, the scars, the loss of their brother, but it's in every sentence.

Adam was never a social butterfly. He was never a happy-go-lucky guy. But since the accident—

He's different.

I piece that much together.

I eat too many pancakes and drink too much coffee. By the time Liam announces his departure, I'm jittery from the caffeine.

"You should really move back to the city," Liam says. "You have any idea how long it takes to get here? Even in a fucking helicopter." He shakes his head ridiculous. "You're going to have two hours in your limo Friday. Four if you hit traffic."

"Friday?" I ask.

He nods. "Next week is the Pierce quarterly meeting." He turns to his brother. "Or did you forget?"

Adam fails to hide his discomfort. "I remember."

"You two are going to dinner with me after. No excuses. If you won't meet me in the city, I'll come here, stay the entire weekend."

"Simon too?" Adam asks.

"Up to him," Liam says.

Adam stares at his brother for a minute, then he nods. "We'll be there."

Liam pulls him into a hug. Whispers something in his ear.

Adam releases him with a nod. "Until then."

Liam hugs me goodbye, then he motions call me and he leaves the two of us alone in the big empty house.

"He's a lot," Adam says.

"Like Remy." I move toward the dining room. "Funny."

"The court jester, as Simon says." He says it with affection. "Simon is as serious as I am."

"That's hard to believe," I say.

Adam actually smiles. "Older and wiser."

I guess Adam isn't the oldest, even though he acts like it. He wears the same burden I do.

If Remy died on my watch—

No wonder he locks himself in his office. I'm not sure I'd ever face the world.

It almost makes sense. He's sure he'll never be happy again, and he doesn't want his brothers to worry. So, being rich and powerful and used to getting his way, he tried to buy a solution.

A million dollars for an elaborate ruse.

But did he really pick me because he liked my passion for art?

It's more likely he bought the photos and specifically requested I deliver them, because he enjoys my photos.

But then Mr. Davey said Adam didn't specify who should bring the photos.

Was that true?

Something is missing.

I know he's seen my pictures. I can feel it.

Last night's photo wasn't enough.

I have to push him harder.

"Would you mind?" I ask. "If I shot your brother?"

"He offered because he knew it would vex me. But he meant it. If you'd like to take his photo… I trust your judgment."

"But you'd prefer I didn't?"

"Yes."

Okay. I guess that's clear enough.

"You were great today." He stands. Looks at me awkwardly, like he's not sure if he should hug me, kiss me, shake my hand. "Perfect."

"Thank you."

"I have to get back to work." He doesn't hug me, kiss me, shake my hand. Instead, he nods goodbye. "Thank you, Danielle. Really."

"Sure thing." I nod back. Watch him walk up the stairs.

He slips out of his role as lovebird as easily as he slips into it. That's all it is.

Pretending.

He doesn't love me.

I don't love him.

Yes, I want him. I want him so badly I can't breathe but—

Well, I have my own set of tools there.

I'm going to post pictures until he breaks.

I don't care what it costs me.

We might be lying to the world, but I'm not letting Adam Pierce deceive me this time.

Chapter Fifteen

Adam

Danielle is daring me.

There's no other explanation.

Two hours after I return to my office, she posts a photo taken in her room. Her, draped in the sheer curtains, bathed in soft light.

At dinner, she doesn't mention it.

She doesn't ask me to stay.

She doesn't make conversation.

She says goodbye when I excuse myself. Then she watches a foreign film in the home theater.

I wake to another photo.

This time, Danielle in the boots she wore to dinner, her body bent over the bed, her panties binding her thighs.

Again, she makes small talk at dinner.

Again, she says goodbye without complaint.

Again, she posts an erotic image.

Her body splayed over the soft sheets, her fingers curling into the white cotton.

There's nothing explicit, but I can feel the bliss emanating from the image.

She is fucking herself.

She's not pretending.

For days, she toys with me.

She dares me to divulge my intentions, demand she stop, claim her completely.

For days, I resist.

I run an extra mile, spend an extra hour at the gym, work late.

I hold it together through dinner Thursday.

Until she's sipping her limoncello, looking at me like she's going to consume me.

"We're meeting Liam tomorrow." I'm facing the world tomorrow. I'm not sure which scares me more.

"When will we leave?" she asks.

"Late morning." I stand. Call on all my composure. I'm wary of the looks I'll get from investors. But this, standing here and kissing her?