The Hustle (Irreparable #4) (3 page)

“Look,” she begins, pausing to put Little A in his playpen, “the woman who stormed out of this house a few months ago was not playing you. She was beyond angry. That kind of rage comes from the fear of losing someone or something you care deeply about.”

Her efforts are sweet, if only to ease her own guilt, but she’s wrong. If Eduardo weren’t alive and well—maybe, just maybe I’d believe Maria cared about me. I want to. I even need to. However, for my own sanity, I can’t.

“I appreciate you trying to cheer me up,” I say, kissing her good-bye on the cheek, “but, I’m afraid revenge is the only cure for what ails me.”

Her eyes widen as her hand grips my arm. “No. What are you gonna do? Please don’t go to Monterrey.”

“Don’t worry.” Her head continues to shake frantically as I give her a small smile. “I won’t get myself killed.”

“No. You can’t. You can’t go there!”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, cradling her cheeks in my hands. “I promise.” She nods when I release her face. “When’s Brady get home?”

Her expression brightens as a smile forms on her lips. “The tour ends in Dallas Friday. He’ll be home Saturday morning.”

“I bet your dad will be happy to have your mom back,” I say, ensuring our conversation steers far from my future plans.

Mrs. Preston moved in with Tori after her breakdown. Having her mom around made it possible for Brady, and Second Chances to honor their commitment with their record label and complete the national tour.

“He’s ecstatic, but Mom’s a bit glum about being so far from Little A.”

“I bet. Hey listen, I gotta go, but I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.” She stretches to her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Please, promise you won’t do anything to provoke Mr. Torrente or Eduardo.”

Without making a promise I’ll never keep, I frown and leave my brother’s house as my mind plans out a trip to Monterrey.

I
’m on a call for work when the doorbell rings. I’ve been expecting someone named Peyton from the interior design agency and he’s twenty minutes late. If I didn’t need Javier’s room stripped of toys and trains so I can pretend I was never a father, I’d fire the slacker.

To my surprise, I open the door greeted by long legs wrapped in a tight blue skirt. They belong to a gorgeous blonde and my dick takes abrupt notice.

“Hello,” I greet the woman as I end the call I was on without a good-bye. “How can I help you?”

Her eyebrows crease as though I should be expecting her. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder.”

My eyes focus on the front of the portfolio she holds to her chest.
Homestead Designs.
The gay male I’d been expecting is a hot chick I’d like to bend over my couch immediately, but she’s still intolerably late.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Mrs. . . .”

“Ms.,” she corrects, unintentionally answering my intentional question of her marital status. “Ms. Miles.”

“Ms. Miles, late is late. Don’t let it happen again.”

“No, of course not.”

Her delicate perfume tickles my senses as she brushes past me into my loft without invitation. My eyes zone in on her ass as she struts to the couch with sexy conviction and bends over to set her portfolio and purse down. My gaze lowers to black five-inch heels and rises to perfectly defined calves. This woman needs to be fucked and I hope she performs with the same abundance of self-confidence she currently exudes.

She spins, glancing around the loft. “So, which room are we starting in?”

“This one.”

“And what would you like me to do in here?”

“Get down on your knees and suck my dick.” I lift one side of my lips, grinning, and wait for her response.

She blinks several times. Her expression gives away nothing as she stares at me. Since my face hasn’t been slapped, I know there’s a part of her feeling flattered. I don’t actually expect her to grant my request. My asking was a way to remove the sexual tension by making my intentions clear. Her intensely blue eyes move to my lips before our gazes meet again.

“I’ve heard stories about you, Mr. Hunter, but let’s get one thing straight. I’m here to work and I have no interests in anything other than a professional relationship. Termination works both ways, so unless you want me to fire you, I suggest keeping your lewd and offensive comments to yourself.” Her eyebrows rise. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” I smirk, silently vowing to get her naked by this evening.

“Good. Now . . . I’ll ask you again. What room are we starting in?”

I gesture down the hallway. “Last room on the right.”

“Please, after you,” she offers with a sly grin.

The door hasn’t been opened since Maria and Javier disappeared from my life. What remains behind two inches of wood is a reminder of the charade perpetrated by a woman who used her own son . . . my goddamn son to hustle me.

“Is something wrong?” Peyton asks with genuine concern in her sweet voice.

“Demons,” I say quietly, opening the door.

Peyton steps into the room, but I remain at the doorway afraid if I follow her inside the walls will cave with memories of a time when I was actually happy. Her eyes dart around before she turns to face me. I keep my eyes on her as the ache in my chest intensifies. If I see any of Javier’s things, I’ll lose my false composure, and Peyton will see what a fraud I am.

“This room is fantastic. I assume your son’s outgrown it.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat does nothing to relieve the pressure of my surging emotions. My eyes burn with the onset of impending tears as I remember my precious son. The memories shadowed behind Peyton hit with debilitating force. The intensity threatens to turn me into a pussy in front of a woman I barely know and would prefer to be fucking rather than sharing my painful past. With a firm jaw, I spin and leave Javier’s room, striding with quick steps to the bar in the front room.

Peyton’s heels click into the hardwood as she follows behind me. A drink. I need a fucking drink to alleviate the sadness, to make me forget love wasn’t my only loss. That cunt also took my son and robbed me of fatherhood.

Scotch dulls the pain as I chug straight from the bottle. It’s not enough to completely erase the memories of Javier’s smile when he opened the door to his room for the first time, or the giggle I’d grown so accustomed to hearing every morning.

“Should I come back another time?”

As I set the bottle down, the ripples in the scotch hold my attention. I watch until they settle to a flat line. The amber liquid seeking its own level in seconds amuses me. I’ve spent years failing to find such a calm balance, to even out my life and be the man I’m expected to be. I let out a strangled laugh as I lift the bottle and shake it violently.

Peyton clears her throat, interrupting the kick I was getting out of watching the alcohol bubble and swirl chaotically, unable to escape the glass confinement.

“He’s gone,” I say with my back to her, setting the bottle down.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child.”

She assumes Javier died, but I don’t correct her. Javier might as well be dead because I’ll never see him again. I mourn everyday as though he’s dead.

Anger surges through my veins and heat crawls up my neck as I turn to face Peyton. “I need that room transformed into a guest room as soon as possible.”

“Any particular color scheme?”

“I don’t give a shit. And I want the rest of the loft redone as well. I expect a completely different home by the time I return from a business trip next week.”

The frown she sends me sparks my anger. Fuck! I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. I want her to do her part in making me forget a family used to live here.

“Of course. I’ll make it happen, but . . .”

“Don’t! Remember this is a professional relationship.”

She presses her lips together and they form a flat line as she nods. “Right. I’ll get started tomorrow.”

“Good. My housekeeper will be stopping in while I’m gone. You’ll have twenty-four-hour access and if anything comes up you’re unsure of, you have my number.”

I lift my head, meeting her worried gaze. Her eyes are mixture of green and blue, like a tropical oasis of warm inviting pleasure. They also belong to a woman who’s not about to be sweet-talked into getting naked and pleasing me. However in her stare, I see a glint of desire for more if I were only willing to put some time in to make it happen.

I’m not.

Not now . . . Not ever.

M
y private jet lands in Monterrey at dusk. I check my phone and see Peyton texted me several times.

P: Blues or browns?

P: Hello?

P: You answering might help speed this along.

I smile and reply.

T: What do you think?

P: Blue . . . More cheerful

T: Then brown it is.

P: That’s how this is going to go, huh?

T: Pretty much

P: The trains from your son’s room . . . dumpster, or donate?

T: Donate

P: Aw, I knew there was a softy under that rough exterior somewhere.

She’s dead wrong. There are no warm and fluffy parts of me.

T: Shouldn’t you be working?

P: Probably, the guy from the job I’m on is kind of a dick.

I tilt my head back, laughing out loud before responding.

T: Then you should probably stay off your phone and get back to work.

P: Will do. Have fun on your trip.

I chuckle as I exit the plane. A strange feeling swirls in my gut and I shake my head, reminding myself the last thing I need is to let some chick into my life, even one as sexy and captivating as Peyton.

While waiting in line for a rental car, I can’t help but text her back.

T: So, maybe greens . . . I don’t know. Surprise me.

P: A surprise huh? Oh, this is gonna be fun.

T: I thought I told you to stay off your phone and get back to work

P: I would do that if you’d stop texting me

T: Will do

P: Pink, now that would be a surprise

T: Not if you want to get paid

P: Putting my phone away now