Tara
Iadjust the dress in the mirror and stare at myself.
This is stupid. This is really stupid. I’m in a black dress with a tight button-down top, the top three buttons open enough to show a bit of my cleavage, and clean white sneakers. My hair’s down and I’m wearing more makeup than I’ve worn in months or maybe years—I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up. I put on a pair of earrings I bought with Cait when we were kids and smile to myself and wonder if he’ll notice.
Probably not.
I don’t know how much he saw back then. The bad stuff, definitely—but what about the good stuff? When Cait and I would lounge around the house eating popcorn and watching movies and making jokes and laughing? He’d join in sometimes and make fun of us but I think he liked hanging around his little sister. Cait was so charming and outgoing and fun, at least when she wanted to be. There was darkness in her, yeah, but I don’t know if the dark outweighed the light.
It didn’t at first, anyway.
I sigh, tilting my head, admiring myself. I’m not that teenage girl anymore. Gone is my gawky awkwardness replaced by a woman’s body. I barely ever think of myself like that—as a woman, with needs and wants and all that. I live like a monk most days. Cleaning, pruning, working.
Trying to scour my soul of all the awful things we did back then.
This is stupid. I should lock the door, turn off the lights, and pretend like I’m not here.
But it’s too late. Kellen knocks once and steps inside, not bothering to wait for me to let him in.
“You can’t keep doing that,” I say, glaring at him from the bedroom. “You know it’s rude, right?”
He shrugs and steps into the hall. I stare at him and try not to let my mouth fall open. Kellen’s in a gorgeous navy suit perfectly tailored to his muscular frame, no tie, and a crisp white shirt. He looks incredible, handsome and modern, and it’s hard for me to connect this clean-cut-looking model with the scruffy, dangerous-looking bastard that’s usually lurking around here.
“You look good,” he says softly as I step out of my room. “I take it Finn mentioned your legs.”
My cheeks turn bright red. Yes, the skirt is a bit shorter than I’d normally wear, and yes, I’m showing off a bit because Finn told me to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His smile drives me fucking crazy. “Good girl. Come on, let’s go.”
I follow him to the door. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“One of my restaurants in the city.”
“You own restaurants?”
“Bars, clubs, restaurants, laundromats, fast food, convenience stores, strip joints. Anywhere with a lot of cash.”
“I thought you were a gangster.”
He laughs softly and drapes an arm across my shoulders. I try to shrug him away but he doesn’t let me. “I am, and that’s what most people don’t understand. The line between a gangster and a businessman is extremely porous. Besides, it’s not smart to assume my crew will be there forever. I need a backup plan in case the less-than-legal stuff doesn’t pan out. It’s called diversifying.”
“You sound very fancy.”
“I am wearing a suit right now.”
We move through the garden and reach the driveway in a few minutes. He asks me questions about the plants to fill the time and I answer them, surprised at my own eagerness to talk about my work. After all these years, finally someone’s showing interest, even if I know he doesn’t actually care and he’s just making small talk. Still, I spent so much of my life making this place beautiful and I like that someone seems to give a crap about it.
His Range Rover is parked with the engine running, and I spot Finn standing up near the house. He grins down at me, gives me a thumbs-up, and winks.
I blush even harder. I should’ve worn pants.
The drive is spent mostly in silence. I ask Kellen about his businesses and he gives me short, terse answers. I take the hint and stare out the window at the landscape as it slowly shifts from a sparse desert to a bustling metropolis.
I love Phoenix. It’s a big city with all that brings, but it’s set in the middle of a damn desert, and it’s got almost a suburban vibe. Lots of single-family homes, lots of cars everywhere. Kellen takes me into downtown, in the middle of the massive business towers, and parks in a lot across the street from an Italian place nestled in a small strip of high-end stores.
“This is us,” he says, opening the tall wooden door for me. It smells incredible inside: tomato sauce and wine and garlic and something spicy. The hostess smiles and greets him as Mr. Kellen and we head right through the main dining room. The place is packed and I actually feel somewhat underdressed—most of the men are in suits and the majority of women are looking like they’re going out for a wedding, which says a lot about me if I think wedding is the only possible reason someone might want to get dressed up.
Kellen takes me to a quiet table in the very back where a man’s sitting drinking wine alone and picking at a plate of mussels.