First Taste (The Lust List: Devon Stone #1) (8 page)

It takes a second for the meaning of that to dawn on me. Gross. “Lovely.”

“I’m glad I could help. Now let me call my driver and be sure you get to the right location in style.”

His driver? I guess that explains why his car is nowhere in sight.

“Don’t you think it goes against employer-employee appropriateness?” I say, because it’s beyond unacceptable to be hanging out with the indirect boss of my boss.

Devon pulls out his own phone and hits a few soundless buttons. “I’m a firm believer in being inappropriate. But I’m not your employer.”

“I do take this job seriously, you know? I need it. And I can’t have Mr. Keenly thinking I don’t—”

He holds his free hand up to protest. “Hey. I’m only assisting you in being more productive. I assure you, my driver takes his job seriously too. Accept the ride—my friendly offer to you—and you’ll be on your way to being the most efficient party planner in all the U.S.”

As if by cue, a dark gray Mercedes-Benz pulls around the corner and stops in front of us. The windows are so dark, it’s hard to see the person behind the wheel, but a second later, the driver’s side door opens, and a man in a black suit hops out. Devon gives him a subtle wave, like a secret hand signal, and the man retreats back into the car.

Devon walks to the rear passenger door and opens it. “So?” He looks at me. “What are you waiting for?”

“Fine. Okay. Thank you.” I shut my own car door and approach him. “But what’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He adds in an innocent, puppy dog face. “I’m here to help.”

“Mhmm.” I step past him and climb into the backseat.

The driver turns and reaches his hand back to shake mine. “I’m Mark. Where’re we headed?”

“Olivia,” I say, returning the handshake. “And Exotic Blooms—the florist.” I add the extra emphasis and hear Devon chuckle from outside.

Mark nods and turns back around. This
will
be easier. No getting lost. No ending up at a completely different and uncomfortable location. But Devon still waits by the open door. What should I say to him?
I know you’re up to something, so you can just wait here until I get back?

I can’t even make eye contact without smiling though. “What?” I ask him, not bothering to hide my improving mood.

“I mean,” he starts. “I’d hate for you to be lonely in that seat. All by yourself. No one to talk to.”

“I can talk to Mark.”

“Sorry ma’am,” Mark interjects. “Mr. Stone has a strict no-talking-while-driving rule.”

“You’re making that up,” I say to him and then turn to Devon. “He’s making that up.”

I know he’s holding out until he hears exactly what he wants. With that mystery and intrigue mixed with stubborn sexiness, I can’t imagine anyone being able to tell him no.

“Fine.” I sigh and scoot over. “Let’s go. I hope you’re bored out of your mind.”

“Nothing’s boring with me,” he says, sliding into the seat next to me.

And I believe him.

It’s only when we’re in the closed confines of the backseat that I notice my pulse quickening. It was one thing talking to him in the open space of the patio. I felt relaxed and was more curious by his random moment of interest in me to even second-guess what I was doing. But in here, aside from Mark, I feel like we’re somewhere private. My mind is a mush of thoughts.

He’s so close. I want to touch him. The heat from being outside has given his skin a light sheen of sweat. He’d be salty to the taste. I
want
to taste him.

I force myself to turn back toward the window while I steady my breathing.

We’re passing the gates when he speaks. “Look at me.”

An order.

One of his hands finds my chin, making me turn in his direction. What does he want? Is he going to kiss me? Maybe I should let him. Wait, why would he do that? We don’t even know each other. But then, why would he—

“If you’re gawking out the window, the pap assholes will get you in a shot. Unless you want to be plastered in a tabloid…”

Oh. So he’s being helpful again.

He drops his hand, and I feel my cheeks warm realizing all my instant assumptions were way off base. “Thanks,” I say, meekly.

“You fascinate me, you know.”

“What, like a sideshow?” Are the ratty jeans and tee his way of mocking me? I know I’m not rich and glamorous, but I’m put together decently. He smiles, and I know that’s not at all what he meant.

“The exact opposite.” He looks out toward the passing buildings and the beach beyond them. “It’s funny. I’d almost believe you really don’t know who I am. The way you act…you’re not like most girls I come across.”

Because I
don’t
know him. Other than what I saw online and the whole “Lust List” thing. Number Three, I remind myself. But I can’t let him know that. Then I would be exactly like those girls he’s talking about. I decide to challenge him instead. “How do you expect me to know you, when you haven’t told me anything about yourself?”

He waits a long moment before answering, and I wonder if he’s just going to redirect our conversation again.

“I have a father and a brother—both of whom have their heads shoved up their asses. This party you’re throwing? It’s for my dad to announce his retirement—as though it’s a surprise for anyone. The even bigger non-surprise is he’s giving Kaidan everything, the entire company.”

“And you want it?”

“Hell no. But even if I did, they wrote me off a long time ago.”

“Why?” Maybe Devon Stone doesn’t always get what he wants. It’s not the label he cares about though. The tone in his voice makes it clear there’s more to it than business.

“I never kissed their asses. I didn’t care about the fame or the money. Even with its perks, it comes with more than that. That’s what people don’t realize. You’re a celebrity? Great. Here’s a one-way ticket to bad decisions and addictions and an all out rampage on your psychological well-being. People use you. They stick you up on this pedestal and expect you to be a god. But then they exploit you and make up all sorts of shit to make you look like trash.” He runs a hand through his hair as he continues. I’m baffled by how extraordinarily normal he seems right now. I did automatically assume he was privileged and lucky. That he got whatever he wanted and never had to worry about anything. The reality made him seem almost…ordinary, making me feel bad for him. “So while the wonderful Kaidan continues to honor the family legacy, Devon Stone is the officially-licensed punching bag of the Stone Empire.”

Wow. “I don’t know what to say. That’s… I mean, how could they do that to you?”

He laughs. “Don’t get me wrong. I did my share to earn my reputation, but they just made it easier to give in to
the dark side
.”

I smile though I don’t believe for one second that all this doesn’t hurt him deeper than his ‘bad boy’ exterior. “So then why do you hang around there? You should get on with your own life and cut them loose.”

“I have business to attend to right now. Suspicions I need to clarify. You’ve caught me at an odd time. Usually, I don’t step foot near that house.”

“So where do you live?”

Devon reaches over and pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s top secret information.” He gives me that grin that makes me dissolve into a flutter of nerves, and before I can ask anything else, we pull into a parking lot and come to a stop.

Devon hops out of the SUV to open my door like a perfect gentleman, and I step out smoothing out my shirt. My mind is reeling from the amount of information I just got from him. As sexy as “Lust List” Devon is, this new version—Sincere Devon—is irresistibly alluring. It’s like we’re two, normal people facing our own collection of demons.

Another car pulls into a space near us as I grab my purse.

There’s a quiet pause after Devon closes the door, and then
click.

“Fuck.” Devon takes my hand and pulls me inside the shop in a rush. He yanks the door closed and reaches up to twist the lock. “Sorry. They’re everywhere.”

So much for ordinary.

Two paparazzi climb out of the car, still snapping away as a second car pulls in, not bothering to park in a designated spot.

“Are these the same people from the mansion?” I ask, attempting to cover my face with my purse.

“Around here, who knows? There are so many of them, don’t bother trying to tell them apart.”

I try to put distance between me and the shop windows where three camera lenses are pressed against the glass. I’m sick to my stomach knowing Devon has to deal with this frequently. Having unwanted pictures taken of him and then plastered all over. I’m lucky to be out of the spotlight.

But I’m not. They’re clearly taking photos of both of us. I can’t help but glance back.
Click. Click.
Still there and aiming right at me.

“How do I make them stop?” I don’t want them here. It’s horrifying. Violating. And there’s no way I’m leaving this store until they go away.

“There is no making them stop.” Devon eyes me carefully. “Are you okay?”

No. The constant clicking. The forced attention. It reminds me of something else…

News crews. Waiting outside of my parent’s house.

I hid up in my room for over a week, knowing if I tried to leave the house they’d be out there with their questions.
“How are you handling the tragic loss of your only brother?”

“When do you plan to return to school?”

“How does it feel knowing the alleged murderers walked the same halls, shared the same teachers? Same classes?”

I blink back tears and steady my breathing hoping Devon isn’t paying that much attention. “I’m fine. Let’s just…” I walk to the counter where the florist is waiting, hardly fazed by the fiasco outside.

The sweet-looking, older woman brings out samples of centerpieces, and they’re all larger than life and gorgeous. Enormous bunches of white and cream roses and lilies and hydrangeas. I’m in awe of the last one on the end. Orchids.

I’m drawn to them like a magnet. “These have always been my favorite,” I tell no one in particular. “Each one is so extraordinary it stands beautifully all by itself.”

I’m admiring the natural splendor when my phone begins to ring. It’s Keenly, and he repeats what he said before. I’m not to make any decisions. So I hang up, take a photo of the flowers to send to him, and he tells me to order the roses.

I relay this information to the florist. “He wants twenty of the full centerpieces and eight hundred extra stems—half cream and half white—of the—”

“Orchids,” Devon finishes. “All white. However many you have, and make them look as good as that.” He points to the arrangement.

“No, Mr. Keenly said—”

“I don’t care what he said. Those orchids are perfect. Each one, all on its own. It doesn’t need a bunch of other pretty flowers to be stunning.” He’s staring straight at me, not looking at a single flower. “It just stands on its own in sheer beauty.” He turns back to the florist while my heart flutters. “Also, I’m the boss. I can override his requests. It gives me great pleasure to do so.” He adds a wink in my direction that’s either to confirm his hatred for Keenly or to flirt with me further. I have no idea. I’m far from in control here. Every cell in my body is fighting the urge to flee and return to normal life—whatever normal is. I can’t remember right now.

We finish ordering and get ready to leave. I hesitate and Devon notices. “Come on. It’s okay.”

He wraps an arm around me and makes for the door with his usual confidence and sense of authority. He pushes it open with enough force that the paparazzi waiting jump back and make space for us. I notice none of them get close enough to make physical contact.

I keep myself focused on the car, getting in as fast as I can, and when I’m safely behind the tinted glass, my mind wanders to what just happened in the store. Devon was just being nice, right? He knew I was uncomfortable, so he did something kind to distract me. He hates Keenly and resents his family, so of course, he’d go out of his way to be passive aggressive.

Devon opens his door, and I can hear he’s yelling at one of the camera guys. “…Like last time. You understand, dickhead?”

He climbs in and slams the door shut. The
clicking
of shutters continues as we pull away. Then they rush back to their vehicles and race to catch up. I slouch down in my seat not wanting them to see even the top of my head.

“You can just ignore them now,” he says, as if reading my mind.

How can he just forget about them so easily? They’re following us. “I’m surprised they don’t get all in your face. I suppose there’s some humanity in them.”

“That’s not them being polite. I’ve punched one too many. They know I don’t play games.”

Oh. “So you just…hit them?” It’s almost comical.

He doesn’t laugh. “Sure. I just hit them. Then I
just
got arrested. And then just had to do community service. And just had to deal with the aftermath from my father. And every moment was just covered in the same trashy tabloids those assholes sell their photos to, beginning the circle again.”

It’s not so comical anymore.

“You’ve truly never been involved with any of this before?” He smiles. “I think my first baby photos were even taken by them.”