Ivy, page 17
“No.”
Rage surged in her chest, her body vibrating with anger and resentment. But she swallowed it down, fisted her hands and forced the fury from her voice. “I understand.”
Ivy would not be withdrawing her application from the Smithsonian. If by some miracle they hired her, then she’d evaluate her options. Even if that meant saying goodbye to this manor. It was only a house.
“You haven’t been home in weeks. Your mother would appreciate a visit.”
Liar. Mom was probably screwing her newest personal trainer while Dad banged his secretary. Neither wanted impromptu visits from their children. “Okay.”
“Glad we could clear this up.”
She flipped her middle finger into the air, plastering on a phony smile. “Have a nice weekend.”
He hung up on her too.
“Gah.” She flew off the bed, pacing the length of her room until the red eased from her vision. Then she stormed into her closet, ripping through her shopping bags for the dark-green dress she’d bought earlier.
Frustration fueled her movements as she went to her bathroom to apply more makeup and pin up her hair.
Ivy could be free of David Clarence’s chains. All she had to do was walk away from his money.
She hated him for putting her in this position.
She hated herself for being too weak to let the riches go.
Disappointment seeped into her bones as she walked out of her room, dressed for a night at the club before the club was even open. But she went to her car and climbed behind the wheel. Maybe Zain would sympathize with her tonight. Maybe he could give her some tips on how to outsmart their father.
She drove, fully intending to head to Treason, but as she waited at a stoplight, a bar sign from down the block caught her eye. The light turned green, and instead of blowing past the bar, her foot touched the brake and she turned into the lot, parking between two other cars.
Control was slipping from her grasp and she didn’t have a clue how to pull it back. Maybe it was useless. Ivy had been under a man’s thumb since the day she’d been born.
Maybe the only option was accepting her circumstances.
Accepting her fate as a puppet.
And if that was the case, she was going to need a stiff drink.
Autumn’s days were short and the evening light was already fading at six o’clock. But Ivy was grateful for the early hour so that she didn’t have to walk in darkness to the bar’s door. She stepped inside, the atmosphere moody and rich. In the center of the space was a grand piano. A man dressed in head-to-toe black sat at the bench seat, his fingers gliding across the keys as he played.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Drunk,” she answered, taking a stool.
Three glasses of champagne later, she felt no better about her future than she had when she’d arrived. But the pianist was enchanting and the alcohol had helped a bit of her frustration ebb.
“Who cares if I don’t work at the Smithsonian, right?” she asked the bartender.
“Yeah.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, a little deeper in than he had the last time. Inch by inch, he’d crossed too close. “Museums are overrated.”
“Museums are glorious.” She huffed, reaching for her clutch. Maybe she could have forgiven the intrusion into her personal space, but that last comment was her cue to leave.
She texted Geoff, requesting a ride and someone to collect her car. Geoff replied instantly, promising to be there in fifteen minutes with her newest driver in tow. Ivy waited, finishing her champagne, then placed cash on the bar for the museum hater and slid from her stool, taking an equal amount of money to the piano man’s tip jar.
Her ride and Geoff arrived at the bar, exactly fifteen minutes after her initial text.
“Are you returning home?” Geoff asked as she handed him her keys.
“Not yet.”
“Be careful,” he ordered.
Geoff hadn’t asked about the incident at Club 27 but the manor’s walls might as well have been his ears. Somehow, he knew what had happened. And the concern in her butler’s gaze nearly brought her to tears.
Geoff cared. Why couldn’t her father?
“Thank you.” She smiled at him, then slipped into the other car, waiting for the driver to get behind the wheel.
“Where to, Miss Clarence?”
“Club 27.”
It was time to seize control.
Starting with that fucking club.
“I’ll text you when I’m ready to leave,” she told the driver after he’d parked next to the entrance. “I’ll see myself out.”
Ivy stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the driver to leave, but she didn’t walk toward the club’s door. She turned and strode for the parking lot, walking to the exact place where she’d been that night. To the place where that motherfucker had slapped her.
Her pulse throbbed behind her temples and sweat beaded on her brow, but she forced herself to stand there. To revisit the scene of the crime.
Just like she had years ago.
Breathe. Breathe, Ivy. Breathe.
He couldn’t get to her anymore. He couldn’t hurt her again.
It took a few minutes for her body to relax, for her lungs to fill completely, but then she stood taller, straightening her spine.
A sleezy asshole was not going to take her confidence. She smiled to herself as she returned to the club, this time passing the bouncers and going inside.
She went straight to the bar, the light crowd making it easy to find a seat and signal a bartender.
“What are you drinking?” the bartender asked.
“Tequila. Top shelf.” After all, she’d wanted to celebrate tonight. Might as well do it with a few shots. She’d save the bartender from making her a gin fizz that she’d have only gulped instead of savoring.
Within the hour, her buzz was gone and Ivy was blissfully drunk. A flirty smile graced her lips as she talked to the man who’d taken the seat beside her own.
“Let’s do another round.” The guy waved the bartender over. “Whiskey neat for me. And another tequila for this gorgeous lady.”
She didn’t hold it against him that he’d forgotten her name. She’d forgotten his too.
No sooner had the bartender placed her shot glass down than a tall, broad figure slid beside her, filling the space between her stool and the next.
Ivy recognized Tate by his cologne and she fought the hitch in her breath. “You again.”
“What are you doing here, baby?”
“Don’t call me baby.” He’d lost that right after he’d ditched her last weekend at the cottage. Ivy reached for her shot but Tate’s palm covered the small glass. “Do you mind?”
He looked over her head to the man who’d just bought her this drink. “Go away.”
The guy didn’t even put up an argument. Wimp.
Ivy’s eyes wandered up Tate’s chest, a curl of desire pooling in her lower belly. His white button-down shirt was tailored to perfection, showcasing those shoulders and flat stomach. The sleeves strained at the bulk of his biceps.
He leaned in close, bending to speak into her ear. His lips brushed the shell, sending a wave of tingles across her skin. “Stop drinking. Baby.”
“Why? Worried I’ll go home with someone else?”
“Because I won’t fuck you if you’re drunk.”
She gulped. “Is that why you left last weekend?”
He leaned away, his chocolate gaze swirling with lust. “You’re my friend’s sister. If I had stayed, I would have fucked you in Zain’s house, and I needed to talk to him first. There are boundaries.”
Ivy knew all about boundaries.
And how much men liked to cross them.
Most would have jumped at the chance for a weekend of sex. Not Tate. She hadn’t known many honorable men in her life, but damn if it wasn’t sexy.
“Did you talk to Zain?” she asked, her heart climbing into her throat. What would her brother say to the idea of his friend and sister?
“I did.”
“And?”
“He threatened to kill me if I hurt you.”
Warmth spread through her veins as a smile stretched across her mouth. Maybe Ivy annoyed her big brothers, but they looked out for her.
“Good.” Ivy placed her hand on his chest, standing from her seat and teetering slightly. She found her footing and rose up on her toes, expecting him to lean in and give her the kiss she’d wanted so desperately at the cottage.
But Tate frowned, shying away. “How much have you had to drink?”
“What are you, my babysitter? I’m drunk. I’m not unconscious. Don’t pretend to be a saint.”
“No, Ivy.” He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “Not tonight.”
Another rejection. Another person trying to steal her control. God, she couldn’t even fuck the guy she wanted to screw.
“Then leave me alone.” Ivy spun toward the bar, wrapped her hand around his wrist and lifted it off her shot glass. Then, before he could stop her, she poured the tequila down her throat. It barely burned.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Not tonight, remember?” she quipped, shoving past him, her knees wobbly. But she regained her balance once more and leveled him with a glare. “Good luck with those boundaries.”
Ivy sensed him behind her as she walked for the exit.
She knew he’d keep watch until she was in her car. So she held it together, using every breath to keep her emotions in check. They raged inside of her, pounding fists against her ribs to be set free. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment.
Everyone wanted something from Ivy. Money. Status. Her father wanted her to be someone else. They wanted the façade. They wanted the rich, beautiful bitch.
She’d thought last weekend that maybe Tate had wanted her. The real Ivy Clarence.
Who was she kidding?
There was no real Ivy.
That Ivy was dead, killed in a car crash years ago. With Kristopher.
eighteen
“Heads, I’m buying. Tails, candy is on you today.” Edwin flipped a quarter into the air, catching it and slapping it over the back of his hand. Then a cocky smirk spread across his face. “Heads.”
“Most people don’t smile when they lose,” Cassia said.
“What can I say? I like buying you candy. Make sure you stay sweet.”
“Oh, Edwin.” She scrunched up her nose. “Please tell me that’s not how you flirt with women.”
“Just you, Red.” He winked at her as he stood, striding to the vending machine.
Yes, the flirting was cheesy. But Cassia was loving every second spent with this guy, and it had little to do with that handsome face.
Edwin had this steady nature. This way of making her smile so effortlessly. Cassia wasn’t sure she’d ever met a person who seemed so comfortable in his own skin. Or a man who was so unabashedly willing to deliver compliments.
Her face was flushed, something that seemed to be a constant when Edwin was around. And oh, had he been around.
She’d seen him every day this week. He’d sat in her room last Sunday, reading while she’d napped and recovered from whatever bug she’d caught. Finally, after she’d insisted she was on the mend—and in desperate need of a shower—he’d left the manor.
Cassia hadn’t expected to see him so soon, but then he’d found her in the library on Monday afternoon. She’d been sitting on the second floor, desperately trying to concentrate and catch up on the work she’d missed while sick. Edwin had packed up her books, without asking, and hauled them to his quiet nook on the third floor, forcing her to follow.
Then he’d bought her a Snickers.
Tuesday, when she’d come to the library, she’d headed straight for the third floor to find him already waiting. He’d flipped that coin, lost the toss and bought her a bag of Skittles.
Wednesday had been Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Thursday had been M&M’s.
Friday had been Hot Tamales.
And today, Saturday, as the vending machine whirled, she held her breath, waiting to see what he’d choose. Those broad shoulders obscured her view until he turned, holding two boxes of Mike and Ikes.
“I’m feeling sentimental today.” He grinned and handed her a box before returning to his chair.
She peeled the top open, trying to hide her smile as she chewed a piece. “So why are you here?”
“Thought that was fairly obvious. To study.” His blue eyes danced as he studied—her face. Edwin hadn’t brought his backpack today. No textbooks or assignments. He didn’t even have a pen.
“You can’t distract me.” She held up a finger. “I am still behind from last weekend.”
“No distractions. Got it.” He opened his own box of candy, shaking out a handful, as she turned her attention to her notes.
Next week, she had a quiz in two of her classes. She’d felt fairly prepared, but in between lectures yesterday, she’d met with Michael and his study group. Michael had mentioned that their professor had a tendency to pull quiz questions from material they’d barely discussed in class and to make sure she spent some time reviewing the chapters he’d glossed over.
Cassia had appreciated Michael’s tip since she didn’t have his history with the econ professors, but it had twisted her stomach into a knot and had made her feel epically unprepared. She was only a page into the first chapter on her review list when she glanced up to find Edwin’s gaze waiting. “What?”
“You dyed your hair.”
Was that a good thing or a bad? She couldn’t tell from his tone. “It was starting to fade.”
“What’s your natural color?”
“Blond.”
He glanced around like he was checking to make sure no one could hear him. They were alone. Not only was the entire library quiet on a Saturday, but no one ever seemed to find this secluded corner. Almost like Edwin had barred anyone from entering. No matter the day, any time she wandered to this floor, their table was unoccupied.
“Want to know a secret?” Edwin motioned her closer as he leaned his forearms on the table. “This is my natural hair color.”
She laughed. “You don’t say.”
“Shocking, I know. A lot of people assume I get highlights.”
Not Cassia. Those streaks in his light-brown waves were the same she used to get in the summer months. They’d fade through the winter, then return with the hot weather.
“I like the coral,” he said, stretching an arm over the table to touch an errant strand on her shoulder.
“Thank you.” Her heart skipped. “You’re distracting me.”
“I’m not even sorry.”
She blushed as her heart tumbled. This guy was . . . too good to be true? “I really have to study.”
“And you can’t while I’m here?”
“It’s difficult,” she admitted. Too often she found herself breaking focus to look in his direction. She’d lose minutes staring at the line of his nose or the shape of his lips. She’d memorized the deep sound of his laughter when she should have been memorizing economic theories.
“Do you trust me yet?” he asked.
She sat straighter. “Is that why you’ve been coming this week? To earn my trust.”
“Yes and no.” He shrugged. “Yes, I want you to trust me. No, because even if you never trust me, I’ll still keep coming just to buy you candy and see you smile.”
Whoosh. The air rushed from her lungs. “I-I don’t . . .” Wow. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I like you.”
“You do?”
“Thought that was fairly obvious too.”
“But why?” she blurted. Why would Edwin Clarence like Cassia Collins?
“Go to breakfast with me and I’ll tell you.”
“It’s almost eleven. I already had breakfast.”
He chuckled. “Tomorrow.”
“Like a date?”
“Yes, a date.”
Most men would have invited her to dinner or out for drinks. Breakfast was the tamest meal of the day. Maybe that was why Edwin had suggested it, to keep her from getting spooked.
Too late. Whatever interest he had in her, she was wary. But she was wary of all men at this point. And curiosity was eating her alive.
Maybe if she understood why, she’d get a better idea of his motives.
“Okay,” she agreed.
He leaned back in his chair and tossed another piece of candy in his mouth, chewing with a smirk.
“Don’t look so smug.” She rolled her eyes. “The majority of first dates never lead to a second.”
“You just made that statistic up.”
“It’s probably true though.” Cassia bit her bottom lip to hide a smile.
Edwin’s eyes shot to her lips, his eyes flaring. Then he growled and shot out of his chair. “I’ll text you the details for tomorrow.”
“You don’t have my phone number.”
He winked. “See you tomorrow, Cassia.”
Cassia was so captivated by the sight of him walking away, by those jeans molded to the finest ass she’d seen in her life, that it took her a moment to pick up her phone and open the contacts. And there was his name.
Edwin Clarence.
She couldn’t even be mad that he’d busted into her phone.
Because she had a fourth contact. And in true Edwin form, the cocky bastard had even starred his name as a favorite.
Cassia’s nerves rattled her hands as she opened the door to the restaurant. The scent of bacon grease, black coffee and fresh bread filled her nose. Edwin had texted her yesterday after he’d left the library with an address to this café.
The restaurant was in East Boston, and as she’d been driving over, she’d been sure the GPS had steered her wrong. Until the path between two warehouses had opened up to a block full of red brick buildings.
It was trendy and hip, recently infused with money. And God, it was swank. One day, when Cassia had a job and an income stream, she’d love to live in a restored loft like those on the upper floors of these buildings.
This trip away from Aston and the manor had already been worth it. She felt more like herself after getting behind the wheel of her Honda.
