Tangled (27 page)

Chapter 16

It
occurred to Tess, around same the time the black town car pulled up outside the
Time Warner Center, that she’d severely underestimated the depths of the
Benoits
’ pockets.

What
exactly did their family do that they could afford to live in one of the most
expensive condos in the country?

More
than out of her element, Tess stiffly walked inside. She gave her name to the
white-gloved
concierge,
half-afraid security would scent
the lack of money emanating from her person and throw her out on the street. Once
her credentials checked out, he scanned her thumbprint into the system and
explained how it would give her temporary access to Lydia’s floor.

Tess
managed to keep a straight face as he worked, as if having her digits
biometrically enrolled and authenticated was an everyday occurrence. Trying her
best not to look completely out of place, she hunted down the elevator. Tess
pressed her thumb screen to the cool glass display. Without having to punch a
single button, the platform began moving on its own.

Nervousness
curdled in her stomach like spoiled milk as the numbers steadily crept toward
the 70
^th
floor.

Here
went nothing.

The
doors slid open with nary a squeak. Tess stepped off and located her apartment.
Tess sucked in a breath and rang the doorbell. Before she could change her
mind, the door swung open. “Tess! Come in. Aren’t you glad you decided to come
out?”

Tess
presumed the question was largely rhetorical.

In
a matter of minutes she was divested of her coat and passed a flute of Dom.

It
seemed wrong to call her place an apartment. Even her stepfather’s penthouse
paled in comparison. Sprawling extravagance was written into every detail, from
its white marbled walls and onyx-lacquered doors to the panoramic
floor-to-ceiling windows. The furniture was all geometric
shapes
and dramatic, standalone pieces that probably cost more than some people made
in a year, if not a lifetime.

Unused
to such grandeur, Tess drowned her uneasiness with champagne as Lydia prattled
on about its previous owner.

“This
is…impressive,” Tess said for lack of a better word.
 

“I
know right. We were actually waitlisted for a while. Can you believe that most
of the residents don’t even live here year round?” Lydia made
a
tsking
sound. “What a waste.
Let’s make the rounds.”

Faces
and names funneled around her brain as Lydia towed her around like some new
plaything. The only person who really stood out was her fiancé, Stan. Though
physically unremarkable, his even-tempered personality served as an appropriate
antithesis to his soon-to-be wife’s fire and dynamo.

Sadly
he didn’t stick around for long. Giving her a commiserating look, he discreetly
tucked out of sight.

Clever
man.

She
wished she could do the same.

Somewhere
between the vortex of questions, answers, and casual commentary, her head began
to hurt.

It
was all too much. Normal people could not afford this. Why was she here? Who
were these people? Who were the
Benoits
and why did
they seem to have more money than God?

Tess
drained the rest of her champagne and used it as an excuse to part from the dapperly
dressed partygoers.

“I’ll
show you where you can refill.”
 

Left
with no other alternative, Tess trailed behind Lydia into the kitchen. Their
old apartment in Brooklyn could occupy its dimension three times over. The
inviting blend of rich wood and dark stone neutralized the slick, ultramodern
conveniences and gleaming stainless steel. At least what it lacked in humility it
made up with style.

“What’s
with the look?”

“What?”

“Is
it too much?” It took a moment for Tess to realize she meant the festive décor.
“Stan says I have a tendency to go overboard sometimes.”

The
apartment alone was overboard. In fact it was so far overboard, it had washed
up on the shore of absurdity. “It’s fine, honestly. You did a great job.”

“All
right. I’m trusting you.” Lydia confiscated her empty glass and gestured to the
impressive line-up of booze that crowded her black-marbled countertops.
“What’ll you have next?”

“I’ll
stick with Dom, thanks.”

“Oh
poo, you’re no fun.”

Tess
waited a beat. “Why exactly did you invite me here?”

She
popped the cork. “Because I want us to be friends.”

Tess
smelled bullshit. “Really? And it has nothing to do with you wanting me to get
together with Adonis?”

Giggling,
Lydia flapped a hand as if to physically ward off the suggestion. “Please, give
me some credit. I like you for you not for what you can do for my brother.” The
champagne splashed, fizzed, and gurgled its way to the flute’s lip. “But since we’re
on the subject, would you mind doing me a favor?”

Tess
instantly went on guard. “And what would that be?” she asked with no small
degree of prudence.

“He’s
been in bed sick with the flu. I made soup and have some cough syrup for him. I
just need you to carry it up to his floor.”

And
there would be the reason behind her invitation. “You two live in the same
building?”

“My
father bought me this condo so I can keep tabs on him,” Lydia said, the
admission flaking with bitter acrimony. “His way of managing Adonis.” She
swapped out the sour expression for a broad, sweeping grin. “But it wasn’t like
I was going to turn this place down.”

Tess
wasn’t amused. “Don’t you have porters or room service to do your bidding?”

“I’m
just worried about him,” she said grimly. “Please, could you just check in on
him for me? His housekeeper told me he looks on the verge of death and hasn’t
eaten anything or been out of his room in days.”

“Why
can’t you do it yourself?”

“I
would but I have to babysit my wasted guests and keep them from puking and
dry-humping my furniture.”

Tess
very much doubted any of that would come to pass. This wasn’t exactly a frat
party. But there was no mistaking the sisterly worry in her eyes. She blew out
an inaudible breath, annoyed that she was, yet again, being roped into doing
something that did not involve her. “I’m the last person he wants to talk to.”

“Please,
Tess.” She grabbed her hand, her gaze developing a watery sheen.

“After
I do this, please chill with the meddling. I don’t like being manipulated,
especially by someone who claims they want to be friends. I have enough fake
people in my life.”

Her
elegant brow rose as the beseeching, soon-to-be tears evaporated. “There’s no
fooling you, is there? I respect that. I can be a little aggressive and I
apologize for that. You’re cool people, Tess. And I do want us to be friends, even
if you and my brother don’t get together.”

God,
she was like a dog with a bone. “What number is he?”

Beaming,
Lydia shoveled a card key and a bag of goodies into her arms before spouting
off directions. “I’ll call down to the front desk to give you access. When you
get back your coat and purse will be in my room.”

Tess
drained the champagne, glared at her, and left without as much as an adieu.

Lydia’s
mouth quirked behind her martini glass.

This
was really too easy.

___________________

Tess
loitered outside of his door. What possessed her to agree to this? Adonis had
made himself perfectly clear she meant nothing to him.

Switching
the bag to her opposite hand, she swiped into the condo.

Her
entrance cued the automatic, overhead fixtures. Soft, mustard yellow light
washed the interior in gradual increments. Unlike his sister’s determinedly
chic patina, his place boasted a clean, streamlined look. Rich, reddish-brown
sucupira
hardwood shone lustily underfoot. A sprawling,
black leather couch arched around a dark, matte-finished coffee table. A sleek entertainment
unit dominated the furthermost wall. Housed within was a ridiculous-inch flat
screen television that ran the length of the unit.

The
faint burn of Marlboros scratched the back of her throat and recalled her focus.

The
smell led her to an open balcony door. Through the pane she spotted a chaise
and a crystal ashtray teeming with filters. Solid, blackout curtains obscured
the rest of the terrace.

Well,
fuck that. Tess had an average tolerance for heights. She drew the line at a sliver
of concrete suspended seventy something floors above the ground.

Her
heart rocketed out of her chest as a rough hand dragged her backwards. “What the
fuck are
you doing here?” Adonis snarled, face flushed
and eyes unnaturally bright.

She’d
come here in an act of goodwill and this was what he had to show for it?

Enough
was enough.

“That’s
a good question, seeing as how you fucked me to prove a point. What could I
possibly want from you?”

Her
barefaced candor stole his momentum.

“It
must be the fact that I can’t get enough of you.” Feigning scandal, she covered
her mouth. “Because I’m a whore who’s only concerned about hurting Cam. Or is
it your money? No wait, it has to be your Houdini cock. What girl in their
right mind would give it up?”

He
recovered quickly. “Look at that. Finally showing your true colors,” Adonis scoffed.
“It’s about time.”

Fury
lashed her chest like a razor-studded bullwhip. She tamped it down and
redirected its flow. “You’re right. It’s about time I started embracing my true
nature.” Tess allowed the bag to slide to the floor and poured herself against
him.

He
stiffened as her fingers skated his sides. Tess glimpsed the pulse jabbing
frantically at his jugular and concealed a vengeful smile. “So how about it?
Let’s have one more go round, just for the hell of it.” Tess skimmed his jaw
line with the tip of her nose and almost recoiled. His skin was abnormally hot.
She frowned at the slight rattle and wheeze of his breaths.

“What
makes you think the offer still stands?” His voice cracked with a combination
of tapered anger, waxing frustration, and something more potent.

Arousal.

“I
think it still does. You can’t deny what we have,” she murmured, rubbing
against him and wasn’t disappointed when she felt his body’s enthusiastic
response. “And I doubt Cameron has a tenth of your stamina. We should keep
something going on the side. You can be my dirty little secret. After all, it’s
all you’re good for.”

The
slight snapped him out his stupor. He jerked back, stumbling into an innocent
end table. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Lydia.”
She nodded to the discarded goods rolling out of the neglected sack. “She seems
to be the only one who still cares about your wellbeing.”

Something
about the statement lit a fire beneath him. “I don’t give a shit about her! Or
you! Or anyone!” His rage exploded fast and furious, but a trace of desperation
tinged the emotions. “Get the hell out of my apart-!” A paroxysm of wet,
hacking coughs sidelined his outburst.