Stealing Her (Covet 1)

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I was going to say shit at least a dozen more times before the day was done. “Does Izzy know about any of this? I’m assuming not?”

She made a face. “Isobel?”

“Yeah.” I felt exhausted, suddenly so exhausted as the pretty blonde watched me warily. “My fiancée, same one.”

“He was going to talk to her the day of the accident. He knew she was upset but was trying to fix it. Honestly, I think he thought Isobel would forgive anything as long as they were together in the end.”

Fuck me.

“Gotta go.” She gave me a sad smile. “He’ll wake up, have faith, alright?”

Why was it that she’d just voiced my biggest fear?

Shame choked me like I was dangling by nothing but a tie.

Because I knew the minute he woke up, Izzy would know the truth, and from what I’d just gathered, it wouldn’t take much confessing for him to tell Izzy everything and beg for forgiveness. He would have no way of knowing I was falling for her.

That I wanted her.

That every night sleeping next to her was pure hell.

The door shut behind Kelsey.

I shoved the USB into my pocket, not trusting the company computers not to have any tracking on them. I knew that there was a good chance the company would be able to see everything I did.

So I purposefully calmed myself the hell down, sat at his desk, and wondered what he would do if he was awake and moving.

Take our dad down?

Get married?

Drink?

I would sign papers Monday as acting CEO for Julian.

I would marry Izzy Saturday, as Julian.

And I knew, as I locked up the office and rode the elevator back down, that my father had genuinely fucked me.

Because I wasn’t standing in for my twin during that wedding.

No. I was supposed to become him, for the media, for the pictures, for the world.

I rubbed my eyes and hopped out of the taxi I’d called when it was back at the apartment. Another elevator.

Another ding.

Another bout of heaviness rested on my shoulders as I let myself in and saw Izzy baking cookies.

It was so normal I smiled.

I needed normal after what I’d gone through that day, more than she would ever realize.

I wanted to punch Julian as much as I wanted to hug him and tell him I was sorry for misjudging him.

It was more than that too. It was deep-rooted jealousy over the life he had. The life that was now mine.

He had hurt her.

I deserved her.

My thoughts swirled around in my head, tempting me to look the other way. It would save Mom.

It would save Izzy.

If I just gave in, told my father that I’d do whatever it took to keep them both, he would be waiting in his high tower with another ironclad contract and a pen filled with my blood.

And he would win.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Even if I wanted the fantasy of Izzy to be true.

She would eventually find out I wasn’t my brother or my father, and it would ruin us just like I deserved.

“You look rough.” She dipped a wooden spoon in the batter and handed it to me. “It’s your mom’s recipe. I may have stolen her number from your phone. Hope that’s okay. I just wanted to check in now that she’s part of our life.”

She said our life and my resolve cracked a little bit more. “That’s more than okay. She needs someone other than me to talk to. I’m boring as hell.”

Izzy’s cheeks pinked. “Not true.”

“Okay, I’m boring as hell when I’m not making you c—”

“Nope, I’m already red enough, I can feel my face heating.” She looked shyly away. “So how’s the dough?”

I licked the spoon and watched her nervously tuck her hair behind her ear. She was in black yoga pants and a long loose sweater that looked easy enough to peel from her body. It was light blue, and I could see skin through it, including her black sports bra and perfect breasts.

“Dough?” I repeated dumbly. “The dough’s good, sorry, I was just looking at your outfit. It’s . . . a little too tempting for a Saturday, don’t you think?”

“As opposed to a Sunday or a Monday?” She took the spoon back and stirred the dough again, then added some chocolate chips.

Part of the sweater fell off her shoulder. “Damn.”

“What?” Her eyes sparkled when she looked up.

I did that.

Me.

Bridge.

Not Julian.

I was the reason she was baking cookies, so why the hell was I not saying anything?

And then it hit me, like shame typically does, it doesn’t creep up and reveal itself slowly. No, it rams you in the chest and steals your next few breaths right along with the beats of your heart.

I, Bridge Anderson, was just like them. Because I was too selfish to tell her the truth even if it meant saving her.