NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 39
But inside, he’s being the proud, you can do this sorta parent, and I wanna die.
“Maybe we should get closer,” Dad suggests as I sip on my second flute champagne since walking inside. That’s not counting the other two I chugged down in the limo. “If people are asking who made the dress, you’ll be there. It’s a great marketing tool, sweetie. They may even ask if you could design something for them in the future.”
I shake my head, watching people glance and study my work of art. “No, that’s okay. I like watching from afar. You get to see people’s authentic reaction.”
“Amirah.” Dad’s tone dips, clearly not buying into my brand of bullshit.
I glance over at him, finding him watching me with a lifted brow. “I’d like to keep some of my self-esteem with what I do.”
He smiles at me. “Life comes with all sorts of criticism, Amirah. You just have to learn how to swallow and discard some of it.”
I run the side of my finger down the condensation of the flute glass in my hand. “You’re right.”
I don’t move, however.
“Unless something else is wrong.” I shrug off his comment because everything is wrong. “What happened?”
“This isn’t the time or place,” I reply back. “We’ll talk—“
“If it has to do with what I said to your sisters, I need to know.” I feel the strain of his green eyes on me. “What is it? You never were a good liar, Amirah. A trait you got from me.”
A woman in a beautiful long yellow gown directly points at my dress, and I can’t see her face, but it squeezes my stomach like a stress ball.
I knew making the dress would be taxing; I just didn’t think of the aftermath of watching other people examine my work.
“You don’t have to be frightened to tell me,” Dad digresses smoothly. “It sounds like I best know now than later.”
I yank myself from the group regarding my gown and at the matter at hand. Dad’s right; I’m not a liar. I could never get away with anything as a child, hence, why it was good to have a mother who paid zero attention to you because I could still be somewhat rebellious.
“Odette had cut the brake lines to Rhett Mills’s mother’s car,” I give away before I lose the momentum. “His grandmother was hospitalized but, thankfully, not to badly injured.”
“When?” He doesn’t break character. The solemn facade he wears still painted on his features as he looks down at me for answers.
“A few days ago.”
“Amirah—“
“I’m sorry, Dad. I haven’t seen you all week, and it’s not something that should be said over the phone.”
“Why?” he bites out. “Why would they do such a—what do you know? I need to be privy to everything.”
I squeeze the glass in my hands. “I think…it’s because she believes I’m with Rhett Mills. And she might be jealous.”
“All this over a man she kidnapped?” he barks out but not allowed enough to bring any wandering eyes our way. “Amirah, are you sure?”
“Yes. I went to Staten Island to make sure Mills’s mother was alright, and Rhett confirmed what had happened. Odette called me…also confessed to what she had done in her own subtle way. She sent me pictures of the accident, so I know she was there, or someone she hired was. I didn’t want to tell you here and now. I—“
“Let me make a call,” he interrupts, pulling out his phone. “Please excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t wait for me to say a word as he purposely strides away from me in his black suit with his cell attached to his ear, making sure not to bump into anyone on his way out the front door.
Dad isn’t going to be able to do anything but rip their allowance away. And even then, Mom will never stand for it.
It’s a vicious cycle.
It’ll never end.
Not until one of us is dead, in prison, or has run away to another country.
“Rus.” My heart skips then before beating triple time at the sound of his voice. It lightly caresses my skin as I promptly turn around to find the man I’ve been thinking about for days.
In all black everything.
From his suit jacket, vest, undershirt, pants, and tie, all dark, sullen, and the perfect contrast to how bright his stormy eyes look at me.
Up and down, as slowly as the turtle in a hare race, he soaks every inch of me into his focus.
And I shamelessly do the same.
His facial hair is perfectly trimmed, and his medium brown hair lightly gelled upward to give him a casual yet sleek look. He looks rested, as if the days away have done good things for him.
He’s freaking hot as hell.
“You look absolutely fucking beautiful,” he breathes, blowing out the words through an extended and heavy exhale. “My God, why are you standing over here?”
“Observing,” I falter as his laser-beamed contemplation of me halts on my own.
“Woman, you’re so lucky I like you because I’d do some unnecessary shit to you in front of all these people if I saw you all alone over here.”
I swallow but, Lord, I need to know. “Like what? Even if you didn’t know me?”
Sometimes, I wish he didn’t so we could start over. Begin as ordinary people do, like accidentally spilling a drink on him or bumping into each other.
“The front of your dress is worse than the back,” he drawls. “And I mean that in the most respectful and disrespectful way possible.”
My lips curve into a beaming smile. “You know that makes no sense, right?”
“Makes perfect sense when you’ve been dodging me for the last five days.” He treads closer, and I smell his mint and cedarwood cologne immediately. The stuff should be illegal because the immediate contact high is dangerous. “Been thinking?”
“Thinking, planning, freaking out. Also giving you some time to…handle things.”
“I would’ve loved to have been a distraction to all three of your things because I’ve been eating myself alive with not hearing from you.”
My heart clenched tightly at that feedback.
He’s been thinking about me?
Now I could kick myself in the entire ass for not reaching out.
I lift a brow, my lips following the same direction. “Kyson not reporting back?”
“Who said anyone’s watching you?”
“I did,” I reply confidently. He wouldn’t go this far as to keep me wide open for an assault from my family. He’s already told me that several times.
“Then you’d be correct.” He drops his head before bringing it back up my whole frame again. “Who made this dress?”
“Me.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah…I figured you’d be the death of me one way or another.”
“Mills,” I caution weakly, but I can’t hide the grin beaming off my face like an idiot.
“Did I tell you that you look stunning, Rus, because, fuck me, man…” My whole body continues to buzz at his compliment. I could stand here all night and just look at him and not the dress I designed.
“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Nah, don’t thank me. You know exactly how I like it now, and that’s half-ass.” He reaches underneath his black jacket with both hands as the idea of kissing him poses not a possibility right now. Not when my dad will be back any second, and I’ve already been caught locking lips with Mills by Laurent. “I have something for you.”
A gold cell phone is in the palm of one hand, and a small stack of black business cards with gold lettering shows up in the other.
“What’s this?” I ask, staring down at what he’s holding.
He hands me over the business cards. “This just has your name, phone number and an email address I had made listed on them for now. I suck at coming up with names for anything in general, let along a business name, so I kept it simple.” Then he gives me the cell. “And this is the phone people will be calling you on with the number on the cards. I didn’t want people to bother you on your personal.”
I stare down at the pretty calligraphy font and elegant gold border. “This is for…”
“For when you get your sexy ass over there by your dress and people start asking who made it. Don’t rich people want the most exclusive things? They’re gonna want your name.”
“For designs,” I state simply because it’s genius and creative, and—holy crap—this man did all this for me. It’s so thoughtful and business-oriented that I guess I didn’t give myself as much credit to do something like this for myself.
The fact that he did and thought about going out and getting me a cell with custom business cards that are chic and cute is just…I can’t believe he did this for me.
“I love them,” I quip, drawing my chin up to meet him. “Mills…I can’t thank you enough. They’re fantastic.”
The corner of his lips heave, and it looks handsome and devilish on him. “Wanna try?”
I smile wider, my cheeks straining in an extremely grateful smile while my cheeks picken at all the possibilities we could do. “You’re something.”
His hand falls lightly to my hip and says, “I can be something good.” He leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of my ear. “And I can be something really bad. I’ll let you decide.”
This man…
He could mean that in so many different ways, scenarios, actions, thoughts—holy shit. My body hums at his contact, the way he commands it without so much as trying.
I want him.
And I want him bad.
“But first—“ He pulls away, almost taking my balance with him because my knees are having a hell of a time right now. “— let’s get closer to the gown you busted your ass on. You’ve worked so hard for this, and I almost kept you from your dream. This is all for you. This is your shot, Rus.”
An apology and guilt, that’s what those words are.
He’s really forgiven me, and I don’t know if I deserve it or not, but I’m going to make the best of it.
“Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.” I glance over to the multitude of people still huddled around my dress. “I’m so nervous.”
“That’s normal,” he says softly. “I’ll stay close if you want me to. I came for you.” His sentiment hits me everywhere. I want to kiss him, hug him, tell him how much I appreciate him and everything he’s done.
Facing him again, I seize his specked grays with shards of blue. “I’d want nothing more than for you to stay with me. But just so you know—“
“I’m back,” Dad announces from behind me, literally taking what I was just about to tell Mills.
My dad’s here.
Glancing over my shoulder, Dad is back to dad-mode and as if I didn’t just tell him that the man in front of me just suffered at the hands of his daughters.
He eyes Mills as he touches the center of my back.
“Dad,” I say softly, clenching my hand around the things Mills gave me. “This is Rhett Mills.”
My father immediately stiffens at my side, hesitating at first before shoving it aside and extending his hand. “Mr. Mills, I don’t know if I should say this is a pleasure or an inconvenience for you that I’m here, but it’s…good to meet you.”
Mills immediately returns my father’s gestures and shakes it confidently. “I’d say it’s a pleasure,” he replies smoothly and without an ounce of animosity in his tone. “I finally get to meet the man that Amirah speaks so much about.”
“Yes, well, with everything that has transpired between you and my family, I’d just like to give you my deepest apologizes and—“
“No need,” Mills quickly retorts, locking gazes with mine. “Things worked out, and I wouldn’t change it, Mr. Van Doren.”
Okay, I think my crush just amped up at least two levels, and a piece of my heart just melted off and branded itself to Mills for the rest of eternity.
“I appreciate you saying that and would love to buy you dinner sometime.” He gestures towards the flock of people now by my winning piece. “Would you like to come with us? I’m trying to get Amirah to get near her dress.”
“Already ahead of you.”
I hold up the gifts Mills graciously gave me. “He had business cards made for me and a cell phone specifically for calls for people that would like to work with me.”
“Brilliant idea,” Dad praises, appearing shocked and pleasantly surprised. “Did it work?”
Mills smiles. That boyish, charming quirk of his lips that I’m sure wouldn’t and doesn’t only affect just me. “I think so.”
“C’mon,” I scold lightly, feeling more comfortable with the both of them here. “I’ll go throw myself to the wolves.”
Dad guides us over, and I immediately hear a nearby couple of girls praise my work. They’re talking about some birthday party they need to attend and how sexy yet subtle it is. Then the blonde ponders if there’s a way she could get a hold of me when Mills plays my promo pimp.
“You ladies are in luck,” he advertises. “You’re standing right next to her.” The women look over, taking him in first and foremost—of course, I can’t blame her—before beaming in smiles at me.
“Oh my God, your gown is impeccable,” the blonde beams. “Do you do special orders?”
“I—“
“Please say you do,” the brunette pleads, palming her heart over her strapless black gown. “I’m so tired of running into people wearing the same outfits as me.”
“She just started,” Mills professes. “Although, her schedule is filling up pretty quickly.”
What?
“Oh, gosh,” the blonde quips, looking proud and still in awe. “I can only imagine. I mean, whenever you’re available, of course.”
“Absolutely,” I offer, handing her a business card. “Call or email me at your earliest convenience. We’ll hash out the details and timeline.”
The brunette practically jumps me for a card as well, and when they thank me by name, another young woman approaches me. We talk about materials, designs, and if I wouldn’t mind fitting her into my schedule when I had a chance.
I’m handing off another business card, and she thanks me for speaking to her.
I, on the other hand, am flattered that she wanted to.
I speak and have enjoyable conversations with several more people. I hear Mills and Dad talk amongst themselves from behind me like they’re old friends, which sets my mind at ease.
This night is an absolute hit. I couldn’t ask for anything more than this—the cell phone Mills gave me that I put in my clutch and the business cards that have been flying out of my hand.
Mills did this.
He just opened another door for me and cheered me on with being able to do it. I can do anything now. I can be successful and get my name out there, making quality dresses that I’m passionate about.
My mood is soaring and my future rejoicing until I hear Odette’s cheery voice behind me asking Mills if he wants to go somewhere to talk.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Odette coos, subtly inching closer to me. “Do you mind if we go and speak somewhere…alone?”
The moment her last word leaves her lips, Amirah is whipping around like a mother lion about to pounce on the enemy to protect her cubs. Her wavy copper hair hits her face, my eyes float down the front of her again because I could give a flying shit, care, or fuck that Odette is within strangling length; Amirah is all I see.
The dress she’s wearing, she massacres anyone else in the room. The top starts at a dark purple then ombres out to a lighter shade than white. But that’s not the complete stunner to the outfit.
In fact, it’s the zig-zag straps that go across her breasts to where only her tits are covered and nothing else. I still have Bishop’s knife in my pocket that I’ve been mindlessly carrying around with me. And I want nothing more than to tear a path right between her breast with the sharp edge and use my lips to work her skin behind it.
She’s absolutely gorgeous, and the bitch at my side notices too.
Odette straightens her spine as if she’s needing to suffocate us all with her faux self-confidence. Her younger sister doesn’t know how much Odette envies her. How much brilliance radiates off Amirah, so much so that you’d have to be blind not to see it.
I’ve already caught several men glance her way, eye-fuck the length of her body and come back for seconds.
“Amirah, you look nice,” Odette admires. “Did you buy that at—“
“What are you doing here?” Amirah seethes, stepping up to her oldest sister and, by the look on her face, ready to tear her throat out.
I like that look about her.
I like that she’s pissed.
I like it when she feels the need to protect me, even though I don’t need it.
Passion and sex are a well-concocted mixture of a really good fucking night.
“To support you, of course.” Odette gestures to the overly packed room. “This is a big night for you after all.”
I’m not sure why at this point Odette attempts to make a subtle point that she’s fake as fuck and definitely not here for support. Little does she know, I knew she was here before she even set foot in the room.
She and the other two cunts along with her.
All my boys are scattered around this room. All text messages and phone calls are being monitored.
Their lives are in my hands. I’m just wanting to curl my fingers and squash them.
Or not.
But I’m not going to get into that right now.
“I want you to go,” Amirah snaps, and I hate how she’s looking frazzled when just moments ago, she was having the time of her life speaking with people who praised her design. “Now.”
“Ma chéri,” Juliette greets, stepping to Amirah’s left and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She dressed to the nines in a gold floor-length dress that shimmers against the light with matching earrings and jewelry. Like she’s an Egyptian queen wanting to be quietly announced that she’s meaningful and rich. “I didn’t know you were still in contact with Mr. Mills.”
“We’re not going to start something here,” Amirah’s dad, John, commands sternly. “You three go along now and take your seats for the show.”
