Page 28 of The Bad Brother
The woman who lived here, whoever she was, had expensive taste. Feeling inadequate—which is stupid because I don’t even know what this woman looks like, I collect everything that seems to belong to her and pile it on the dining room table. Telling myself I’ll snag a box from the hospital to pack it in, I finally give into hunger and head to the kitchen where I find more evidence of the life that was lived before I got here.
Dishes in the kitchen cabinets. Pots and pans. Drinking glasses and silverware. Boxes of stale crackers and cannedgoods in the pantry. I almost cried when I found a can of organic vegetable soup with an expiration date that didn’t scare me. Opening it with a can opener I found in one of the drawers, I dumped it into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave.
While it’s heating, I wander into the living room. Stopping in front of a set of French doors that look out over the river, I open the curtains, immediately flooding the open space with sunlight. From my condo balcony, the river view was beautiful but from this side of the Barrett, it’s absolutely spectacular. So spectacular that not even the fact that I can see my condo balcony from here, as plain as day, could ruin it.
Retrieving my now boiling hot bowl of soup from the microwave, I carry it back into the living room, along with the box of stale crackers. Setting both on the coffee table, I use my phone to reset my Netflix password toethanpryceisadouche.Ridiculously pleased with myself, I set it aside to hunt for the remote with the plan of spending the rest of my day camped out on the couch, binge watchingOne Tree HillandGossip Girl. Opening the drawer on the coffee table, I find what I’m looking for. The TV remote next to a turned over picture frame.
Feeling like a snoop again, I leave the remote where it is in favor of pulling out the picture fame. Underneath it is a ring. Reaching for it, I hesitate, suddenly feeling like I have a million eyes watching me. Reminding myself that I live here and that I have every right to look, I mentally goad myself into picking up the ring.
It's not just a ring.
It’s an engagement ring.
Probably one of the most stunning engagement rings I’ve ever seen. A large, emerald cut diamond in a platinum setting, surrounded by smaller, glittering stones. Resisting the urge to see if it fits, I set it aside to study the framed photograph.
It’s a picture of River’s boss.
In it, he’s on a beach—broad, muscular chest, tan and bare, save for the large, old English B inked into his pec. Palm trees and lounge chairs. Cerulean blue water lapping at the sand. He’s smiling down at a beautiful blonde woman in a bright red bikini while she smiles at the camera and flashes the engagement ring I just found. The glass meant to protect the photograph inside its frame is shattered.
The woman who used to live here wasn’t just some stray River brought home, like me.
She was his fiancé.
Shoving the framed photograph and the ring back into the drawer, I snatch up the remote before slamming it closed. Turning on the TV, I pull up Netflix with my brand-new password and pretend that the way he was smiling at her in that picture doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
HER NAME IS SLOANE MERRICK.
She’s a surgeon at Barrett County. She broke up with her boyfriend after she found out he was sleeping with her best friend. He in turn kicked her out of their place and moved the best friend in—after he drained their joint bank account. It was sheer luck that she had just enough cash to pay for three months’ rent in advance. Even better luck that she happened to meet River in the first place.
More than luck.
It was divine intervention.
And the platinum and diamond bracelet—it was a med school graduation gift from her mother.
It was a gift.
That’s the only thing River reported back to me that I believe. Not that she went to med school or that the bracelet was a gift from her mother. Beautiful, expensive womenlike Sloane Merrick don’t buy themselves jewelry and they don’t buy it for each other either. Not when there are wealthy men in the world, more than willing to do it for them.
Wealthy men like my brother.
“So, let me see if I’m following here,” Cade says while he walks around the pool table, scouting his next shot. He doesn’t have much and he knows it. I’ve strategically placed all my balls in front of his, effectively blocking almost every pocket. He’ll either scratch or miss whichever shot he takes and I’ll clean up the table while he bitches at me for being a cheat. “You think the cute stray River brought home is some sort of mercenary spy, sent here by your brother to destroy you? Three ball, corner pocket.” Leaning down, he taps the tip of his cue against the assigned pocket before lining up his shot. “That doesn’t sound paranoid to you?”
It does.
It sounds more than paranoid. Hearing Cade say it out loud, it sounds bugshit crazy. But being crazy doesn’t make it any less true.
Not wanting to be accused of distracting him, I wait to answer him until after he misses his shot. “She told Riv that she’s a surgeon,” I remind him on a scoff. “Not just a doctor—a goddamnedsurgeon.” Leaning down, I jerk my chin at the pocket Cade just missed. “She look like any kind of surgeon you’ve ever met?”
When I sink shot number two, Cade barks out a curse. “Since there’s not a whole lot of surgeons in prison, I don’t think I’m the right guy to ask.”
“I haven’t met many either,” I tell him on a scoff. “But I can promise you, none of the ones Ihavemet look like that.”
Like what exactly? Like your own personal sex fantasy? Long dark hair. Wide, dark eyes. Flawless skin. Full mouth. Generous breasts. A tight, round ass that was practically made to sit on your face so you can?—
Shit.
Not going there.
