Hate F*@k: The Complete Story Page 6

  “Have a seat.” She launches into some nice things, then pauses and crosses her hands. “I hope you’ll apply for the job in the summer.”

  “I will.” I press my thumbs into the palms of my hands, two sharp anchors in reality. Be cool, Hailey.

  “And hopefully there won’t be any more drama between now and then, right?” She smiles, but all of a sudden, I’m less enthusiastic. It could be nothing. People say things with smiles on their faces, right? And don’t mean anything by it? I’m talking about normal people.

  Because my people don’t. Not my people by choice, but the ones I’m genetically connected to—and fatally attracted to. Those people lie through their teeth as often as they order martinis and put on suits. All with a smile and a trust me glint in their eye.

  I smile again, more weakly now. “Would it help if I change my name?”

  She laughs, then stops and stares at me. Then laughs again, tipping her head back. “Oh, Hailey.”

  I don’t know how to take that. “I would. If it would help.”

  “Hailey, your last name is as common as apple pie at a Fourth of July picnic. Don’t worry about it.”

  But I do, all afternoon. I worry about it so much that I forget about the stupid family meeting, because I’m so focused on separating myself permanently from said family that it drops from my mind completely that they’re trying to suck me back into their drama.

  It all slams back into me as I step outside at the end of the day and find Cole waiting for me, leaning back against his giant black SUV like he owns the street. He’s big and scary looking, tall and tough and dressed to impress, but no amount of silk suiting can contain his badass self.

  I stomp up to him and prop my hands on my hips. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  “Excuse me?” He smirks and leans in close. “Nice to see you again, beautiful.”

  “No, it’s not nice. It’s awful. Why are you here?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I want to take you for dinner?”

  “Not even a little bit, unless dinner is at my parents’ estate.”

  He shrugged. “I hear they’re serving salmon.”

  “I’m not going.”

  He makes a regretful face. “Ah, but you are.”

  Blood rushes through my ears like the Pacific surf slamming against the beach at dawn. “You did not just threaten to kidnap me against my will.”

  He laughs. “All the magic words there. Got it. No, I didn’t threaten you.”

  “Good. I’m going home.”

  I’ve barely turned before he loops his hand around my upper arm and spins me against the truck as people walk by. He leans over me, looking every bit the part of the adoring boyfriend I’m sure—I know he’s just doing it to hide my face, a weird protective reaction that doesn’t mean anything. He nuzzles my neck and I concentrate on how much I hate the game playing. And him.

  I need to keep reminding myself of that fact.

  “I hate you,” I whisper, because saying it might make it true.

  “No you don’t,” he mutters against my ear. “Because I’m going to take you to this family meeting, but I’ll also get you out of there as quick as I can. Promise.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “We don’t always get what we want.” He says it so authentically, for a second I think he’s on the same page as me, wishing this was a real embrace, but he glances around—we’re alone on the street again—then shoves away from the car and slides his hands into his pockets. He gives me a cold, dismissive look. “Now get your ass in the car.”

  “This isn’t going to go well, I’m warning you.” I’m ramping up fast now, and I’m not sure if it’s the rejection I’m feeling or my general frustration about the situation. “This is beyond the pale, Mr. Parker. Seriously, fucking off-side move.”

  His eyes glitter like smoky quartz set in chiseled granite. “Just doing my job, Ms. Reid.”

  “Don’t say my name like that.”

  “You’re the one who brought back the formal address.”

  “You’re the one who’s acting like a prick.”

  “You have a potty mouth.”

  “Excuse me? A potty mouth?”

  “It’s true.”

  “So I swear. It’s the twenty-first century, women are allowed to do that.”

  “Allowed? Yes.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “I didn’t say I had a problem with it.”

  “Then what’s with the commentary?”

  He barks out a cold laugh. “You’re such a good girl. I didn’t expect you to have a filthy mouth.”

  “Maybe your expectations were all wrong.” And maybe mine were, too. Because the way he’s looking at me…it’s anything but cold. But as quick as I see that flash of heat, it’s smothered again.

  He swears under his breath.

  “Now who has a potty mouth?”

  “Come on. The sooner we finish this up, the better.”

  “Why?”

  “Hailey.” That’s it. He just says my name without any inflection or implied further statement. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

  “Cole.” I say his name loaded with meaning. Cole, you’re inscrutable and don’t think for a second that’s a good thing. Cole, stop dancing around the issue. Cole, please finger-bang me again, I really liked that.

  He laughs again, his voice strained now. “That’s why. Get in the car.”

  —eight—

  Cole

  Hailey’s glowering at me from across the sitting room, probably wondering if I’ll notice if she tries to escape.

  I will. A dark, hungry part of my soul leaps at the idea of prowling after her, caging her against a window just before she tries to climb out. Licking my way down her neck and under that blue blouse she’s wearing. She looks like a sexy librarian.

  A pissed off, sexy librarian, because we still haven’t gotten to the meeting part of the evening. Her father is drinking port and watching Taylor hit on Tag. I don’t like the gleam in his eye, because I know he doesn’t like Tag, so that’s some fucked up shit if he’s enjoying whatever game Taylor’s playing there. Of course, it’s not a hard leap for me to make to think the man’s a pervert. I don’t like anything about Morgan Reid, or our dealings with this family, except for Hailey, who doesn’t belong.

  Dinner was stilted, awkward and fake. I don’t blame her for not wanting any part of this world. I’m used to the passive aggressive layers of this social class, but it’s different with her here. I’m not used to being judged for merely being in their presence.

  She may have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but Hailey’s shucked the trappings of her wealthy upraising. Tonight she’s wearing knee-high brown leather boots, tights and a jean skirt that had me taking notice of her legs as soon as she walked out of work. A button down shirt makes it a work outfit, just barely, and the lace top of her cami underneath makes me think of all the ways I want to get her naked.

  She’s got curves that just won’t quit, and now I know how fucking sweet and soft she is under those layers. I have this fantasy of her, naked in my bed, clutching a sheet in front of her as she yells at me. Her hair tumbles down around her breasts and her eyes will do that thing where they turn to emeralds when she’s pissed off.

  Maybe I could drag her to a back hallway somewhere in this palace and tell her how her black and white view on the world is ten kinds of fucked up. That there’s no good and bad, just bad and worse. She’d yell at me at the same time as she arches her pussy into my hand, hating how wet she gets when we fight.

  I’m a fucking asshole for wanting to needle her, make her spitting mad, then slide my hand between her legs and get her off. And I don’t really want to do that, because she actually is good, the exception that proves the rule. Beautiful and innocent, and I want her to stay like that for the rest of her life. She can’t see what I see, it’ll break her heart.

  One of the hardest adjustments for me in moving from the military to the private sector
was adjusting to clients like Morgan Reid. If Jason didn’t have his own agenda, I’d never have taken him on as a client.

  If Jason didn’t do what he did, I wouldn’t be in this line of work. I’d be on a beach somewhere, teaching Hailey how to surf and making love to her in an outdoor shower.

  But in the hierarchy of what really matters, my base urges don’t rank anywhere near international security.

  I shutter my filthy thoughts as she makes her way around the room. By the time she’s in front of me, I’m back to the cold motherfucker she’s used to. I give her a feral smile, because the best defense is a good offense.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asks, rightfully suspicious.

  “Thinking of ways I can torture kittens,” I mutter under my breath, keeping my eyes on her sister as she talks to Tag on the other side of the room. The last thing I need to see is Hailey blushing if she gets it—or the adorable frown between her eyebrows if she doesn’t.

  “I’m not surprised.” A long pause, then she sucks in her breath. There it is. “Wait, was that a pussy reference? Do you want to fuck my sister? Because that’s disgusting. Which I guess would be par for the course for you.”

  Fuck. There’s a part of me that wants to leave it at that, but her voice catches on the idea that someone would prefer Taylor—with the fake boobs, fake laugh and fake food, no calories please—to Hailey’s depth and sexy-as-hell natural beauty.

  “I wasn’t thinking about your sister. Not now, not ever.”

  “Then…” She trails off, and I glance sideways at her, unable to resist. Her cheeks are in fact pink, her lips slightly parted, and I’m totally screwed.

  I turn toward her and drop my voice, ensuring that my words are for her ears only. “Your pussy is the only one I want to devour. I want to lick you up and make you scream. Have you come all over my face and then drive my cock so deep you’ll feel me for a week.”

  “That doesn’t sound like torture,” she whispers.

  “My plans always have a way of going off the rails around you. But if you want me to, I could bend you over that wingback chair, slide my hand up the back of your thighs and tease you while your family drones on about meaningless bullshit. Make you wet and aching, and leave you like that until I take you home.”

  She gasps, her lips dropping into a perfect ‘O’, making my nuts ache and my dick throb at the promise of her sucking me into her hot little mouth. A promise she didn’t make, I need to remind myself. Even though we’ve shared a kiss and I’ve gotten her off, most of the time she doesn’t like me.

  With good reason, because I’m about to tell her she should do something she really doesn’t want to do—put herself out there, give up some of her privacy, and all for her family, who don’t seem like they’d do shit-fuck-all for her.

  I’m not a nice man. I don’t deserve to have her mouth anywhere near my dick, that’s for damn sure.

  As if we’ve arrived at the same conclusion at the same time, she tightens her face into a smooth mask that would rival a Kennedy and steps away from me. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  No fucking shit. “And yet you’re going to let me drive you home.”

  “Do you still have a girlfriend?”

  Regret pangs through my chest at the memory of hurting her like that. “That relationship—and I use that word loosely—has been terminated.”

  “Because of me?” She asks the question quietly, face still blank, but her lips are a bit darker. Her eyes a bit wider. Just enough that I think, she has no clue how much she affects me. She’s full of hope, has no clue, and I’m a fucking asshole for playing with her heart.

  “Yeah.”

  She stares straight ahead and slowly bites her lower lip. And I get a fucking hard-on again. “Then maybe you can take me home,” she drawls with unexpected sass. “If you’re a good boy and get me out of here quickly.”

  I clear my throat and step into the center of the room. “Shall we talk about why we’re all here tonight?”

  —nine—

  Hailey

  I’m a complete idiot. It’s like my panties just take themselves off as soon as Cole wanders past and whispers something filthy in my ear.

  Good girl rule number one: distance yourself from the family without morals.

  Good girl rule number two: don’t take your panties off for someone who will sell you down the river for a pay check.

  Technically speaking, I haven’t actually taken them off for Cole yet, he just shoved them aside last week. And ground against them before that. And made them wet tonight.

  Holy crap, I need to stop thinking about Cole and my underwear, because he’s currently outlining a plan that is the complete opposite of what I want.

  “The focus of the article shouldn’t be Taylor, or any other partier. Let’s sell the reporter on Alison and Hailey,” he says, repeating the suggestion that has me steaming mad. He blithely ignores the daggers I’m shooting his direction with my eyes. “Get some good press for the family for a change.”

  Ali gives me a nervous look, because she knows I won’t go for it. I won’t. I absolutely, under no circumstances…

  Cole turns and pins me with a hard look. His dark amber eyes say a lot of things, including trust me and I’ve had my mouth on your pussy, stop looking at me like I’m evil.

  Evil might be too strong a word, but he’s not the type of guy I ever thought I’d find myself falling for. Because I can’t trust him, and like he knows it, he narrows his eyes and spins back to the group. “Fine, Alison and Morgan Junior, maybe.”

  At the loss of his gaze, I feel bereft, and for a foolish minute I consider standing up and pledging that I’ll do the interview after all.

  “No, that’s not interesting in the least,” my mother says from the corner. Nobody else reacts, not even Morgan, which makes my heart break a little. Cold slithers up my back as she continues, not looking at my brother. “Of course Hailey will do it. It might even give that charity she works for some visibility.”

  I know she’s doing it on purpose, but I still snap back. “It’s not a charity. It’s an employment agency. And there’s no of course about it. My life isn’t for public consumption, in the first place, and it’s not that interesting, in the second place.”

  “You’re such an ungrateful brat,” Taylor whines, and I want to slap her.

  “There’s a difference between being ungrateful, and refusing to be forced to be grateful. I pay my own rent, I buy my own groceries. I put up with this bullshit—”

  “Language, Hailey.” Like my mother doesn’t swear. Except she doesn’t. I sigh. “Think of what will make your grandfather happy, perhaps?”

  He’d have been happy if you hadn’t gotten knocked up twenty-six years ago, I think to myself. But she’s not wrong. My maternal grandfather, who paid for my university tuition and has never asked for anything in return, would tell me this is a moment to be selfless and the only cost would be momentary discomfort.

  And maybe it would get them off my back for a while. A girl could dream.

  “Fine. One interview. Not here, they can come to my apartment or meet me at Starbucks.” My voice is strained as I agree, and I can feel Cole looking at me. Screw him.

  And just to show him that I’m fine with the moral gray area, I might just do that.

  A meaningless fuck with a bad boy.

  Watch out, world. Hailey Reid is turning over a new leaf, and it’s going to be good and dirty.

  As the conversation swirls into the nitty gritty details—the “talking points”, Tag calls them—my attention turns to the specific bad boy I have in mind. The only bad boy who’s ever caught my eye. Why does he have to be on my father’s payroll?

  He doesn’t seem to notice my observation of him, but when he pulls his vibrating phone from his pocket and excuses himself into the hallway, I decide to follow.

  I give him a head start, which is stupid, because I’m not stealthy in the least—Taylor smirks at me as I excuse myse
lf like she knows I’m going to play slap and tickle with the butler. I narrow my eyes and throw a silent fuck you in her direction.

  It’s also stupid because now I can’t find him. I grew up in this house, but it’s massive and I can’t guess at where he’s gone. There are four bathrooms on this floor alone, but if he wanted privacy, he might have headed upstairs or to the library.

  I take a wild guess at the last option and head in that direction, but I don’t get that far. I find him standing outside the door to my father’s home office. He’s got his phone in hand, but something isn’t quite right.

  “Hi,” I say quietly, not sure how I feel about…any of this. The evening. Following Cole and finding him here, quietly not doing whatever it was that he seemed to excuse himself to do.

  “Ready to go home?” he asks, cold and distant again, and that’s okay. I’m used to this fire and ice routine now. That’s probably the first sign of Stockholm syndrome setting in.

  “Soon, yes.” I hesitate, then ask the question that’s on my mind because other than a guilty one-night stand, what do I have to lose? “What are you doing here?”

  “I got a call.”

  “You weren’t on the phone.”

  Ice turns to granite. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  It’s the kind of answer that bad guys give in movies, and a frisson of fear skitters through my body. I’m not afraid of Cole, but I am suddenly afraid of whatever is going on, because nothing seems quite right. Cole’s not a natural PR guy, not really. His edge is too sharp, his world-view too rigid, even when he pretends it’s not.

  All of a sudden, I’m sure something is going on, and I don’t like it.

  I excuse myself to freshen up, scurrying off before he can read anything into my expression, and when I return to the sitting room, I’m settled and more calm on the outside.

  I keep the rest of my questions for when we’re in the car, heading back into the city. But as we drive through the night, they all spill onto my tongue and over my lips. “What’s really going on?”