Monday came too quickly.
Even after having my jalopy break down yesterday and the shop quoting my kidney to fix it, the last twenty-four hours seemed to fly by, giving me no chance to reconcile with my fate. By the time dawn broke, I’d gone through seven outfit changes. They were all either too bold or blatantly underdone. Either way, Bound would see right through me.
With less than five minutes to spare, I decided to keep it genuine with a gray Guns N’ Roses T-shirt just long enough to wear as a dress and black fishnet stocking. For accessories I wore two chokers, one studded and the other black, and my usual ten rings stacked on three of my left fingers. I then slipped my feet into black thigh-high boots with heels even though I’d be on my feet for hours. I never wore sneakers. When I wanted to be comfortable, I wore combat boots, even in summer.
Today it wouldn’t matter what kind of shoes I wore. Bound would be judging me on how well I played.
Grabbing my guitar case, I headed out. Since my car and my cash flow were both out of commission and neither Maeko nor Griff had a car, I’d have to take the bus instead of an Uber.
I used the walk to the bus stop to clear my head and find the nerve to be alone with three of the most notorious men in the world. I desperately wanted to channel the same energy from Friday night if only I could pinpoint the source.
Two buses and forty-five minutes later, I was standing on Sunset Boulevard, a mile downhill from the Beverly Hills address. I guess public transportation wasn’t allowed near the rich and fabulous.
Fantastic.
I’d only been to Beverly Hills once out of curiosity when I first arrived in the city and haven’t been back. Why would I when any check I wrote would bounce?
Forcing my shoulders to square and the pep in my step, I started the trek, feeling like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.
The only difference was that she hadn’t been wearing high heels. I imagined doing this every day for the next three months, and by the time I reached the halfway point, I was seriously considering investing in a new car. Or at least a pair of decent sneakers. I couldn’t afford either.
I was limping by the time I arrived, and to make matters worse, no one had notified the guard at the gate that I was coming. Convinced that I was just a crazed fan, it took me ten minutes to convince him to call one of the assholes inside. I was forced to stand on my blistered feet, my freshly styled hair plastered to my head from sweating, and my thighs burning from the winding walk uphill while the guard tried several times before someone picked up.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Noble. I have a Braxton Fawn here claiming to have an appointment.” He then looked me over before deciding I wasn’t anything of note. “Should I send her away?” I glared at the guard’s profile while he listened to whatever Jericho was saying on the other end. “My apologies. Right away.” Hanging up, he pressed a button, and when the gate slid open, he immediately went back to Friday night’s game and his bowl of Fruit Loops.
“The 76ers won by six points,” I told him, making the spoon fall from his lips. I then swung my hips as I walked through the gate with a smile on my face. Okay, it was a bitchy thing to do, but seriously, fuck that guy.
Somehow, I made it up the short drive and to the front door without falling on my face. Knocking, I waited, half expecting to be waylaid by a butler or housekeeper this time but was surprised when the door opened and Houston stood there.
“You’re late.”
Of all the greetings, like “hi” or “good morning,” that was the one he’d chosen.
“Good morning,” I returned pointedly.
He squinted back at me. “I warned you not to make me wait.”
My fists balled at my side, thinking he’d look good with a black eye. “Maybe if you’d bothered to tell your guard that I was coming, I wouldn’t be late since it’s only two minutes past eight.” I didn’t mention that I would have been early had it not been for my treacherous hike in these heels. My feet throbbed at the reminder while Houston simply stared down at me. “Are you going to let me in or not?”
He pretended to mull it over before finally stepping aside and letting me in. I swallowed my whimper when I stepped over the threshold. I needed these shoes off now.
Jericho and Loren appeared in the foyer, hair mussed and eyes still glazed over from sleep. Houston moved past me, and I realized he was the only one remotely ready for the day.
“Why did you have me come so early if it wasn’t a good time?”
“Who says it’s not a good time?” Houston shot back. He didn’t wait for my answer before disappearing.
Was I supposed to follow him? I scoffed while staying put. Only dogs trailed their master when they moved.
I tucked my lips to hide my smirk when Loren and Jericho left the room behind Houston.
Entering the first room on my left, I found the dining room, which led to the kitchen. Helping myself to one of the Fiji bottles I found in the fridge, I guzzled the water down while kicking off my heels.
I stopped caring about decorum the moment they left me to fend for myself. Hearing my stomach growl, I found the walk-in pantry, spotted a box of granola bars, and tore it open. I devoured two before Loren found me.
Taking in the crumbs dotting my lips and chin, his eyebrows rose as he held up my discarded heels with his forefinger. “You sure made yourself comfortable quick.”
Shrugging, I swallowed the last bite of my breakfast. “None of you seemed interested in playing host.”
“Among other things,” he agreed. His gaze dropped to my chest, and then he groaned. I was about to punch him for ogling when he spoke. “If I didn’t before, I definitely hate you now. Let me guess, you had a thing for Axl.”
“What?”
Wordlessly, he nodded to my dress and the Guns N’ Roses print on the front.
Oh.
“Dictators aren’t really my type.”
Loren peered at me curiously before plucking the box of granola from my hands and returning it to the shelf. He then pulled me from the pantry, and I tried to ignore the burning sensation of having his hand on me. Sure, it was only my elbow, but I was hard up. Sue me.
“Do you have any coffee?”
He dumped my heels unceremoniously on the floor before nodding toward a fancy-looking machine that I had no clue how to work. Jericho walked in before I could ask Loren to show me. When he beelined for me, my guard shot up even higher.
“I’m calling a redo,” he announced, thrusting out his large hand. “I think we can all agree that we got off to a bad start.” I was shocked, to say the least, and when he smiled…I’d never witnessed anything more magnificent. Jericho had perfect pearl teeth and plush pink lips, but it was more than that. It was the sheer honesty behind the gesture that made it even more breathtaking. “I’m Jericho. My friends call me Rich.”
Shaking his hand, I returned his smile. “Brax.”
“Brax?” Loren mocked, wiping the smile from my face. His back was to me, but I could hear the sneer he undoubtedly wore as he fiddled with the coffee maker. It was all he seemed to do whenever I was in the room. “Is that supposed to make you sound cool?” Sensing that he’d won my attention, he peeked over his shoulder, and the look I gave him made him snort.
I decided right then and there.
I hated him the most.
“You can call me Braxton.”
His stormy gaze, the color of a starless sea, held mine. For a while, it seemed we were both caught in the whirlwind.
Unfortunately, he broke free of the spell first, and I cursed him for beating me to it.
“How about I call you brat instead?”
“I’ll up the ante—don’t talk to me at all.” Deliberately giving him my back, I faced the drummer with the genuine smile. “So, your name is Rich Noble?”
“Yup,” Loren answered despite me dismissing him. “He’s a pretentious little shit, isn’t he?”
I inhaled deeply, ready to give him a piece of mind when it occurred to me that Loren wasn’t being rude to be cruel. The wild thoughts flitting through my mind were my most insane yet—worthy of a trip to the looney bin. Still, they couldn’t be helped.
Was Loren trying to steal my attention from his friend? That would imply they were in competition and—
No. I wouldn’t go there.
Without turning around, I spoke to Loren while staring at Rich. “I thought we established that you and I had nothing more to say to each other?”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he prowled on silent feet. By the time I realized he was on the move, it was already too late. Loren had me pinned between himself and Rich. “Bothered, Brax?”
The cool mint on his breath from his toothpaste wafted over my nape like a cool breeze. The small hairs stood on end while goose bumps spread over my skin. He was too damn close. It was all I could do not to drive my elbow into those abs he loved to flaunt. I bet he oiled them since he thought he was too pretty to break a sweat. Watching his interviews online always made me cringe and groan from second-hand embarrassment, yet I never missed a single one.
“We already know you’re hot,” Loren continued. “Is that why you blocked me on Instagram? I just thought I’d return the favor and offer some constructive criticism of your performance.”
Turning, I faced Loren, but I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. He was that close. “I’m no more bothered by you than a fly when I swat it. You’re a mild inconvenience at best. Besides, there’s nothing constructive about you knowing the color of my underwear.”
“You think so?” Loren pressed in closer until I felt the barest brush of his lips against my forehead. If I still wore my heels, he’d undoubtedly be kissing me right now. “Because I think the ones that you’re wearing right now are black like your heart, Braxton Fawn.”
He was right. They were.
Against my will, I backed up a step only to trade one wall of fire for another.
Jericho.
I was trapped with nowhere to run.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
My head flew to the right, and I never thought I’d be happy to see Houston. That was until I realized his angry gaze was directed at me, and so was his question. Unbelievable.
“Just a little playful hazing,” Loren answered when I kept my mouth shut.
“This isn’t a frat,” I snapped, feeling flustered. Neither Loren nor Rich bothered to move even though Houston had crashed their little party. “And you’re not boys. You’re grown men.”
“You’re absolutely right, and I have the dick to prove it.” Running his thumb across my lip, Loren’s gaze roved my face. “Tell me you’re not interested,” he challenged. Behind the cocky assurance, I could see the small glimmer of hope that I’d say yes.
“In catching a venereal disease? Not a chance.” Feeling a familiar ache between my legs and the taste of cherries stronger than ever before, I pushed past him, and he let me. “Now, if one of you could be professional and point me to a bathroom, please?”
No one said a word or moved a muscle for several tense seconds. Finally, Houston decided. “When you hit the stairs, keep walking. There’s one on your right.”
I fled the kitchen without saying a word.
By the time I found the bathroom, sweat had poured from my pores as fast as arousal ran from my center. Twisting the faucets on the sink until water rushed from the spouts, I pressed my back against the wall and wrestled my hand down my tight jeans and past my black thong.
The moment my fingers touched my clit, a cry slipped from my lips that I quickly muffled with my free hand. Another brush of my fingers and my eyes rolled back as right there in Bound’s powder room, I relieved the ache that had been building since the day I walked into that conference room.
