Sugarbaby (12 page)

“Probably.” He laughed a little. “I think I'm the one who's going to need a shower more than you ever did. A very cold one.”

I was fairly sure he was talking about the sext that had started this all, but it wasn't a joke anymore.

None of this was a joke.

***

“Those are some massive bags under your eyes, darlin'.”

Diana came through my door with Carley the next morning, their arms full of bagels, lox, and cream cheese, plus java from Mr. Hernandez's coffeehouse. Both girls scanned me thoroughly once I'd closed the door behind them.

I expected Diana to say something more about how tired I looked, and I started thinking that maybe I should get her together with the equally blunt Simmons.

“I didn't get much sleep last night,” I said. That was putting it mildly. I'd laid awake for hours, one part of me screaming to text Noah and get him over here to finish what we'd started, the other smacking me and reminding me of what moving too fast could do.

I was trying to get my life together, not tear it apart again.

Diana marched to the kitchen table in her blue cowboy boots, jeans, and a torn sweatshirt, then put down her bag. “Is there a reason you stayed up late?”

Had
Carley said anything about Noah to her? Carley wouldn't have known about last night, but did Diana suspect there was something going on? “I had a lot of homework.”

With a cynical glance, Diana watched as Carley dragged past her to put the coffee on the table. “Well, you're not the only sleepy bobblehead around here. Looks like our therapy session needs to start now with this one.”

Carley pulled out a chair and thumped into it, no comment necessary.

I was already getting some old flowered plates from the cabinet as Diana leaned against a chair near my iPad and books. She eyed the textbooks as if she didn't know what they were, but she went to community college like I did. Come to think of it, though, I never did hear her talk about studying.

As Carley unloaded the bagel bag, Diana said, “Carley's in a funk because Bret wrote another song about her. I should be so unfortunate.”

“That's a bad thing?” I asked Carley.

She pried apart a bagel. “He makes me sound like I'm this amazing, perfect woman in his lyrics. Someone's going to hear that song and go, ‘He's singing about
her
?'”

“Just the girls who come to his gigs and slobber over him,” Diana said. “They're the only ones who don't get that you're every inch the woman his songs say you are.”

Aw. Sometimes Diana knew the right thing to say. Sometimes. “Carley, it sounds like you've got an identity crisis.” I wished it were late enough to dial up Evie since she was so good at solving emotional issues like mine and Shelby's. But it'd be too early on the West coast.

Diana stayed standing and grabbed her own bagel. “Carley knows exactly who she is, but she's only got some cold, cold feet. I never thought having a boyfriend worship you would be a bad thing in a relationship.”

“It is,” Carley said, “especially when you have no hope of living up to his ideals. I mean, look how we met—he noticed me from afar and then started to post these lovely TellTales about me. I think he fell for someone who doesn't exist.”

“You're being too hard on yourself,” Diana said. “Or maybe you're just making up drama where none of it is needed.”

“Carley,” I said before Diana made this worse, “how long have you two been dating?”

“Seven months.”

Wow. I knew Bret was out of town a lot, gigging with his band, and refurbishing that house, and teaching at music camps, but that was a long time to date. Then again, maybe it'd taken that long for Carley's neuroses to build up to a bursting point.

And I knew about neuroses.

“That's seven months in which he could've dumped you,” I said, still optimistic. “But I notice that he's still very in to you.”

“He loves her,” Diana said.

“Bret was in love right away.” Carley stopped spreading cream cheese over her bagel. “He told me he loved me the first week we were together, but I took longer. I felt like such shit because I couldn't bring myself to rush into saying it, but I couldn't lie.”

“You do love him now, though,” I said.

“How could I not?” Carley slapped on some lox. “But the thing is, my love is slower, and his is like he's driving two hundred miles per hour and I can't see where we're going.”

I thought back to last night with Noah. Fast. Furious. It wasn't love, but I was just as wary as Carley, anyway. “Talk this out with him.”

“Oh, I've tried. But I feel that if I'm not as intense as he is, he'll be disappointed in me. He wants us to live together and start a life, and I know I can't do that yet. How would we support ourselves with all that rent and bills?”

So this was the true issue that was weighing Carley down—real life versus love.

She shook her head. “Am I an idiot for being so careful? If I wait too long, he might rethink being with me.”

Diana raised a finger, her bagel in her other hand. “Don't you say that about yourself.” She turned to me. “I hate when she calls herself dumb in any way. Her step-ass always tells her she is.”

“My stepdad doesn't bother me anymore,” Carley said. “Bret has my back whenever I man up to Toby Taylor, Esquire.”

“See,” I said. “Bret's good for you. You just need to make it clear to him that you need time, and it's no reflection on how you feel about him.”

Diana finished chewing her bagel, then set it down on her plate. “I swear, Carley, you and Bret should start from square one and pretend you just met each other. That TellTale stuff messed you up, gave you a relationship before you were ready for one with a boy from the bad side of town.”

Carley flinched. “What does that have to do with it?”

At the same time, I shrank into myself. I was from that side of town, although Bret's family was worse off, living south of this neighborhood in what was known as The Dumps. This was Shangri-la compared to that.

Realizing what she'd said, Diana widened her eyes, then sent me a regretful glance. “I didn't mean that in a terrible way, Jade.”

“No offense taken.”

Carley put down her bagel now. “Where Bret used to live has never been a factor. He's in the apartments closer to Jade's place now. Besides, we're too old to have something like that matter. We're adults.”

“But him being a poor boy does bug you,” Diana said. “He's still a guy who doesn't have a regular job. He lives on poetry. It's romantic, but . . .” She let it go from there.

At the word “romantic,” Noah's green eyes covered my vision, and I pushed the thought away. I tried not to think about when he would text next or what surprises he might have in store for me. My so-called relationship with him was way less steady than what Carley had with Bret. They were a real couple. Noah was the closest to a figment of my imagination as it got.

Carley had slipped down in her seat. “Maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way. I'm a working woman, and I've got a start-up business going. Someday, if it works out, me and Bret can make it. But it won't happen as quick as he wants it to.”

Her bracelet business. I knew Carley was a hard worker and had held another job before she'd come to the Angel's Seat, but waitressing allowed her more time to devote to her passion. Was she more like Bret than she realized? Both of them were all about their passions to some extent.

Diana was talking again. “Just throwing this out there, but there's also the fact that Bret's a sensitive guy for a reason, and those kinds of guys have needs. His family life was shit. His dad took in so many kids from his girlfriends that he barely noticed Bret was around. Do you think that's why he wants love now, while he has it in his grip?”

Carley sighed. “Or it could be that he was born a romantic.”

“You're one, too,” I said. “You would've never met him at the Hellfire Club sight unseen if you didn't have a huge romantic streak.”

“Romance,” Diana said, going toward the fridge. “I've been on so many dates that I'm beginning to think it's an urban legend. Hey, Jade, do you have any butter?”

As she opened the fridge, I remembered all the food Noah had sent over that I still hadn't eaten.

Diana just stood there, taking in all of the containers. Then she said, “What the hell is ratatouille?”

Ergh. How much should I say about Noah? I had that NDA to consider, but even worse, Diana had a mouth the size of Texas itself, and I could see her spilling the beans about him online or around town. That was why I needed to be careful with Carley, too.

I tried for some nonchalance. “My texter sent me some food to say he was sorry for not telling me who he was right away.” It wasn't a lie, but it made things sound as if this texter wasn't of any consequence.

Still, a secret thrill spun through me. Sneaking around with Noah only added to his appeal. It was sexy. Way out of my limited experience.

“Noah left you with food from the picnic?” Diana asked, looking at Carley, who got a pained expression on her face. She'd told.

I didn't have the heart to chide her, so I just shrugged. She looked relieved.

Diana closed the fridge and came to sit at the table. “Okay. Carley messed up and filled me in about your lunch with Noah Reeves, but what's with all this food? Did he come here for a candlelit dinner?”

Think fast
. “No. Like I said, he had the food sent over because he wanted to apologize for not coming right out and saying who he was in the texts. No big thing.”

“He was the texter. Hot. So hot.” Diana waggled her brows. “When you had lunch, it was by the lake. In a tent. That's smokin', too. And now all these good eats.”

“He
is
thoughtful. But it was just lunch and he's moved on.” Maybe she'd think he'd left town.

Unpeeling the butter from its wrapper, Diana said, “It's too bad you couldn't have taken advantage of him while he was here. You should've milked more out of him while he still has some money tucked away like I'm sure all billionaires do. Goddamn, I can't believe you went to lunch with him then just let him go. So what was he like?”

“Carley didn't give you a swoony in-person description of him?” I asked.

Carley sent me a harmless smile. “Yes, I described him to her after the Hellfire Club, which I'm not supposed to really talk about, according to Bret.” She pointed at Diana to preemptively warn her about blabbing too much out of our cone of silence, as well.

“Hey,” Diana said, “I know the rules and I haven't said a word to anyone. So, Jade,
what was he like
?”

“He's handsome, tall . . .” I had to play this down and restrain myself before my heart started coding. “You didn't do any research on him or see him online? I don't believe that for a minute.”

Diana smiled sweetly and lifted her hands.

“You did,” I said.

Carley joined in. “She totally did. Diana, tell her—you spent hours researching Noah Reeves because he fascinated you.”

“It's true.” Diana's smile turned smug. “And he's going to make headlines again someday soon, after he takes down that rat fart Harry Diamont. Then I'll have some real reading to do. Who needs textbooks?”

“Harry Diamont?” I was a little ashamed that I hadn't done as much research as Diana.

She picked up my iPad and turned it on. “That's the guy who's trying to kick Noah Reeves out of his own company. Don't you know?”

As I absorbed that, she brought a news site up on the tablet's screen, and from the way I grabbed the iPad from her, I knew that I'd all but told her that Noah
was
still of consequence to me.

So much for non-disclosure.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered as I read what Diana had shown me on the iPad. I didn't even chastise myself for the cuss, either.

“Harry Diamont,” Diana said as she kicked her blue boots up on the corner of the kitchen table, “really has it coming to him.”

Carley wadded up a napkin and threw it at Diana's feet. With a roll of her eyes, Diana rested them on the chair next to her. But I didn't care about the furniture because I was busy looking at a picture of Noah's enemy. He was older—the article said he was forty-four—but he had a ginger beard and square glasses that gave the appearance of even more years. He was spiffy, though, wearing a plaid bow tie that was almost twee, but he had a fatherly smile. The caption beneath read:

Harry Diamont takes over
.

Reading more, I discovered that The Reeves Group wasn't the first company he'd infiltrated. He'd made his way up the corporate ladder in other businesses, always leaving for a better opportunity, even after he'd met his contemporary, Nathaniel Reeves.

Noah's dad.

“Harry Diamont,” I said. “A worm in a bow tie.”

Diana finished sipping her coffee. “Try a search about Diamont and the Reeves family. There was an article that talked about how he became a right-hand man for Nathaniel Reeves back in the day. Then he was offered a bigger position from another company, and there were no hard feelings. Business was business between these fellows until Diamont decided to become involved with The Reeves Group again, bringing his bigger and better ideas with him. That's where it gets good . . . and stranger than shit.”

I was already on the new search, and the screen blipped with links. I pressed the top one as Carley leaned in so she could see, too.

Diana continued. “Diamont supposedly returned to Nathaniel Reeves about ten years ago when the company he was working for went belly-up, after they ignored all the advice he was giving them. He bought a lot of stocks in The Reeves Group, and Nathaniel welcomed his business acumen with open arms. It sounds like Diamont spent years proving his new faithfulness to his friend, but I'm betting he was only planting the seeds of this big plan he obviously had. Have you gotten to any of
that
in those articles yet?”

“Not yet.” I was stuck on a page with photos of Noah's brothers and uncles. Noah was even in some of them, but although the men were all blond, tall, and gorgeous, my billionaire stood out. And it wasn't because of his masculine beauty and arrogant, poised stance in his fine business suit.

I saw the same anger that I'd noticed before, but it was intensified: There was a darkness in him while he faced the camera, as if there was a fatalistic edge to the way he was staring down the lens.

I'd met this Noah, even though I'd seen him less and less recently.

I pulled my focus away from the tablet and met Diana's gaze. “I think you're missing your calling. You should be the next Veronica Mars. What else did you find out?”

Even though she liked the Veronica Mars comment, her enthusiasm faded. In fact, it was as if she was reluctant to tell me what came next, even if I could find out with a swipe of my fingers.

“You called Diamont a worm,” she said, “but I'd say he's more like a snake.”

I put down the iPad. “Are you talking about how he betrayed Noah's dad . . . and Noah?”

“Before he did even that, he was somehow able to go behind everyone's backs and persuade Noah's younger brothers, his two uncles, and the majority of the board that Nathaniel Reeves wasn't fit to run the company and his ideas were outdated. When Noah was the only Reeves family member to stand up to him, Diamont turned on him also.”

I'd known that Noah's dad had been drinking too much, and obviously Diamont had used that against the man. But there was a certain detail that stuck in my mind—his dad had fallen down the stairs. Had he been drunk because of Harry Diamont's antics?

Carley had taken the iPad from me. “Diana, how many articles did you read?”

“As many as there were. What can I say? It was a ho-hum night.” She inspected her manicured nails. “I should add that the best information came from New York gossip sites. They're vicious yet very informative.”

“But I wonder how accurate,” I said.

Diana stopped with her nails. “You should text Noah and ask, go straight to the source.”

I shifted. “He's out of sight, out of mind.”

“Then why're you so interested in all this?” Diana asked.

Carley seemed to be wondering, too, so I dodged, laughing. “Sure, maybe I should ask him. I'll send him a text now, busting into his personal life like I have some right to.”

Just like he'd busted into mine?

Diana dropped the topic, even though she kept watching me from under her heavily mascaraed lashes as Carley read to us from other articles.

Lord, if any of this were true, then I'd been right about picturing Noah as a prodigal son who was dying to go back to his city and retake it. And I was right about him lying low until it was the perfect time to go back.

What else was I about to discover about him? Whatever it was, I couldn't restrain myself from searching.

We were so lost in our intel hunt, actually not finding out much more than what Diana had told us, that when someone rang my doorbell, we all jumped in our chairs.

Dang it
, I thought, rising to my feet,
no more scary movies for you.

I half expected to see Simmons or Noah at the peephole—wouldn't that have been fun to explain to the girls?—but it wasn't either of them. A cosmo woman dressed in a red suit with upswept brunette hair and smooth dark brown skin waited with a wheeled suitcase behind her.

Did Avon ladies still exist? Uncle Joseph used to joke about inviting them in for dinner if one should ever show up at the door.
Bachelors do everything they can to meet the ladies
, he used to say.

But when this lady held up a card that said, “Jadyn” on it, another theory quickly took its place. This had to be one of Noah's surprises.

I glanced behind me to find Carley and Diana still at work on the iPad, and I opened the door, stepping outside so they wouldn't hear whatever business
this
was.

“Special delivery,” she said with a pearly smile.

She handed me the card, and while I opened it, she unzipped the top of the case.

You told me you've got company this morning, so I've kept this very, very secret.

—Noah

Was
he
just enjoying all this sneaking around, or was this one of his impulsive moves?

The woman was holding a flat black velvet jewelry case in her hands, and she nodded at it.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Open it.”

Jewelry.
Tell me he didn't
.

But he
had
. And it was a necklace. No, not
a
necklace—
the
necklace. A circlet of diamonds interspersed with jade droplets fit for a princess.

My breath shook as I exhaled, afraid to touch it.

The woman giggled, obviously loving her job. “Mr. Reeves said these would complement your eyes as well as your name. You've got the most beautiful shade of hazel eyes, just as he said you would. Would you like to try it on?”

I remembered my friends in the house—the ones who hadn't signed non-disclosure agreements. But if Noah was doing foolhardy things like sending me jewelry with them around, did he care if they knew?

Pushing away the temptation, I told myself I was outside, in front of God and country. If anything,
I
needed to be discreet.

“I'll see how this looks on me in a mirror,” I said. “But thank you so much for bringing it over.”

“Oh, honey, I have more than just one treat.” She swept a red-nailed hand to the suitcase. “I'm the stylist, and I apologize for the delay in getting you some accessories for the clothing Mr. Reeves sent over. I was waiting on a few pieces.”

There was more than just this necklace?

I shook my head in utter disbelief. Why? I couldn't even begin to guess, because this was Noah. I should've been getting used to it.

“He so enjoys his gifts,” the woman said.

I was pretty certain she'd signed a non-disclosure agreement, too, but I asked, “Does Mr. Reeves do this often? Buy things for women, I mean.”

The stylist got that look Simmons sometimes got—as if they weren't about to divulge anything.

Knowing that I couldn't send her back with these gifts, I accepted the handle of the suitcase from her, as well as the jewelry box. She reached out to close the lid and then walked down my stairs, her heels clipping over the concrete.

“Thank you,” I said lamely, even if everything in me was swirling around, a thousand flavors of excitement mixing together.

“You're very welcome. Have the time of your life, you lucky girl.”

She walked to a black SUV just like the one Simmons had and . . . Well, no wonder. I saw him sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for her, checking his phone.

I waved good-bye to her before I looked at the necklace case then the suitcase. As they drove away, I unzipped the bigger parcel, easing the smaller piece inside, already coming up with a gentle lie for Carley and Diana when I walked in and they saw this special delivery.

“Just a neighbor,” I said to them as I quickly snuck the suitcase to my room, along with all the secrets that went with it.

***

Jadyn:

You shouldn't have, but you did . . . *again.* You're spoiling me.

555-8465:

I like to spoil you.

Jadyn:

You gave me more than I know what to do with. Three necklaces, three matching bracelets and earrings. Wow.

555-8465:

Yet, alas, no rings. Hope you don't feel shortchanged.

Jadyn:

Much too early for rings, even if you are a Romeo. I guess it's time for more brownies?

555-8465:

Wait. Need to take a call. Talk later?

Jadyn

Sure. And maybe this time I'll even surprise *you.*

***

I didn't want to just give Noah the same old brownies, so after Carley and Diana left, I ran to the grocery store, bought ingredients for the best cupcakes ever, and whipped those up.

Since I had another dinner shift at the Angel's Seat tonight, I timed my drop-off around three-ish so I would have enough time to thank Noah properly—and not in
that
way, either—and then be on time for work.

So I drove over to The Hill, dressed in my work T and a jean skirt with boots, hoping I didn't look too downhome. When I arrived at his closed gates, I texted that he had a guest and could he please open up.

My engine puttered as I waited for a response. When none came, I tried again.

Jadyn:

Are you home?

Nothing happened, and my inner neurotic beast went wild. What if this rich guy who could have anything in the world had left Aidan Falls as quickly as he'd come into it, making me eat his dust? Maybe the jewelry had been one last thank-you and he was off to get revenge on Diamont or to entertain himself with another pervy chickie who'd sexted him.

Just as my fears were piling on, the gates opened.

This drive up the hill was slower than the last one because I felt . . . Heck, I couldn't put my finger on it. Actually, that wasn't true. It was caution, come back to visit me.

I parked in front of the fountain, which wasn't running today, the lack of sound leaving an emptiness in the air that was taken up by the clomping of my boots as I climbed the stairs to the wide porch. I faced the iron lion's head knocker on the door.

Ready for the disappointment?
asked a side of me that I'd come to despise.

I adjusted my purse strap on my shoulder as Simmons opened the door. It was the most casual I'd seen him: untucked white button-down, jeans, leather shoes. His hair was as jolly as ever, though.

When he looked at me, I thought I saw something sorry in his eyes. Why?

“Come in, Jadyn,” he said.

A delicate lemon scent wafted on the air as I walked onto the marble floor, a chandelier hanging over the foyer, a grand double staircase greeting me. Flourishing plants and rich wooded furniture were placed ever so carefully, and I wondered if Noah had bought everything in the house from the Walters family, paying them a hefty sum for the convenience. The oil nightscape paintings and seemingly vintage console table looked antique, though, so they probably cost a pretty penny.

Simmons noticed the clear-wrapped plate of cupcakes but didn't remark on them.

I held it toward him. “Chocolate. You want?”

He smiled wistfully, and it seemed out of character. “Save them for Noah.”

And . . . he still stood there.

“Um, where is he?” I asked.

Resting his hands on his hips, he hunched slightly, jerking his chin toward the back of the mansion. But he still didn't move. He almost seemed hesitant and defensive about something.

I decided I should take the initiative and start walking, but his voice halted me.

“Maybe I should take those to him, after all.”

He was acting
very
odd. “Don't tell me he's grounded.”

“He's . . .” Simmons actually looked flummoxed. Then something seemed to click in his gaze, and he sighed. “Let me show you where he is.”

I tried to figure him out while he led me past the staircase then down a dim hallway that seemed to stretch forever. I could've fit seven of my cars into its length.

As we walked, I heard a thudding noise, as if someone was punching a bag. And when we arrived at a door that Simmons slowly opened, I saw the reason for the sound.

I sucked in a strained breath, my heart hammering.

Noah was shirtless, dressed in black sweatpants, a slant of daylight coming through a high window in the huge, sweat-laced room to shine on him and make his skin gleam. His wrapped fists flashed as he threw punches at a long bag hanging from the ceiling by a chain. He was surrounded by equipment: two steel poles with escalating hooks and a slimmer, horizontal pole that fit into the lowest rung; a treadmill for jogging; dumbbells and weight machines that resembled medieval torture devices. But I wasn't concentrating on those.