The Other Side of Greed by Lily Zante

Chapter Thirty

BRANDON

The weekend seems to last a lifetime. I’ve been dying to know, from the Redhill people, how the city hall event went. So far, I’ve only heard Jessica’s version of events and she’s talked mostly about herself. She also tells me she sought Kyra out and tried to have a conversation with her, but she doesn’t elaborate on it except to say that she seemed to be a good friend of Eli’s.

“You missed a cool night,” Fredrich says when I go to work on Monday. It has killed me going days without seeing Kyra.

“I’m sure I did. My loss.”

“We did miss you, Brad. What did you have that was so important?” Simona asks as she goes through the mail. Kyra is quiet as she gets on with her work. I want to see her reaction, but the way I’m sitting will make it too obvious to the others if I keep trying to catch her attention. I need to find a moment to get her alone.

“I had things to do.”

“Kyra says you’re still upset about your friend, and understandably so,” Fredrich adds, “how is she now?”

I tell them what I know. I know from one of Emma’s friends at work that her condition is stable, but she’s got a long way to recovery. Emma’s sisters and parents are still by her bedside.

“That’s good, but you should have come, dude. It would have taken your mind off things. You missed the chance to meet Elias Cardoza.”

The room falls silent and I’m aware that they are waiting for me to say something. Years of experience with complex negotiations tells me that they aren’t convinced of my alibi. I can’t tell them about my guilt over Emma, or even my relationship to her without giving away who I am. I understand why they are suspicious of me. “I just wasn’t feeling it. Sorry.” I turn to Kyra, but her gaze is on her computer screen where it has been for most of this morning. With dogged determination, she’s managed to stay out of the conversation and is quietly getting on with her work. Avoiding me, I’d say.

“Were you very late?” I ask her, remembering that night. She looks up at me with a brazen smile. “Not really. I made it in good time, but you did miss a great night.” Her eyes twinkle more than I like. As if she’s fangirling over the boxer. As if he’s the one who made it such a fucking great night for her.

“Cardoza made a beeline for her,” Fredrich informs me. My heart pinches. Jessica said the same, but not quite like that. I believe Fredrich. Jessica said she’d purposely sought out Kyra because she wanted to get up close and take a good look at her. I wish I had kept my mouth shut, but back then it seemed the natural thing to do, to tell my potential-trophy-wife about my plan to trick Kyra.

“He made a beeline for you?” The words are hard to dress up in a jokey manner, but I somehow manage it.

“She looked like quite the glamor girl,” Simona announces proudly.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Fredrich says to Kyra. “If Eli was single, he would have asked you out.”

Kyra shakes her head in weary annoyance. “He would not. He and I … no.”

“He’s a fine-looking man,” Simona remarks.

“What is wrong with you people?” There is a level of anger in Kyra’s voice that makes me sit up and take notice. “He’s engaged. Did you not see Harper with him? She’s the love of his life.”

Did I detect a hint of jealousy in her voice? Is there a sinister reason behind Eli being Redhill’s biggest donor?

“But he came straight over to you after the intro speech,” Fredrich presses.

“Is that right?” A knife twists in my belly as I imagine the scene playing out. Kyra and I aren’t even together, so my level of jealousy is excessive. Weeks of simmering tension between us seems to be ratcheting up.

“He came over to talk to me because of the event we had put on and he wanted to thank me in person.” She glares at the others. “He would have thanked you two had you been there.”

“Didn’t you all hang around together?” If only I’d gone. I would have kept Kyra company all night. I picture the worst, that men of all ages and status flocked to her side.

Fredrich rips up another letter and throws it into the bin. “I was mingling.” The grin on his face is telling. “Kyra got lumbered with some stuck-up woman before Eli came.”

“A stuck-up woman?” I say with a tone of exaggeration. I’ve heard all about it from Jessica’s point of view and now I’m curious to know their side of events.

But Kyra stands up, as if she’s had enough. “Do we have enough water bottles for this week?” she asks. “I forgot to buy some last time I went shopping.” She wanders off, presumably to the storeroom. I give it a few moments before I follow her.

She’s around the back, crouching on the floor, peering at the crates of water bottles which we hand out on food nights.

“I’m sure I saw some water bottles,” I state, pulling out a crate from another shelf.

“Who put them there?”

“Someone must have shifted them there. Not everyone is as obsessed with keeping everything perfectly in line.” I attempt a smile, but she doesn’t return it.

“If everyone put things back in their original place, we wouldn’t have to hunt around the entire room to find what we want.”

“What was Fredrich talking about? What stuck-up woman?” I ask, needing to hear her side of the story. More than that, it’s her interaction with Cardoza I want to hear the most.

“What?” There’s an edge to her voice, of irritation, as she starts looking through the cupboards, noting things down. Is she doing a fucking inventory check when I have so much I want to talk to her about?

I’m sick of these baby steps, of holding back, of Jessica and her whining and complaining, of this little dance that Kyra and I unknowingly have been swaying to.

“What are you doing here, Brad? Why have you followed me in here?”

I can’t answer that, because whatever things I’ve been feeling and thinking about her, she doesn’t seem to feel the same about me. Her irritation speaks volumes. “I just … I …” I sound like a blubbering, blundering idiot. That’s what she has reduced me to.

“What were you doing sitting in my chair the other day?”

“What?” I attempt deflection, sounding more indignant than I should.

“You were at my desk, making yourself quite at home from the looks of it.”

My insides churn as those gorgeous eyes—the ones I see each night when I rest my head against my pillow—now look through me.

“Are you looking to take over my role?” she asks, giving me an out which I grab with both arms. A laugh tumbles out of my mouth.

“I was going to write you a note and I was looking for a piece of paper.”

“I didn’t see any note.”

“That’s because I didn’t write it.”

“What were you going to write?” She lifts her eyebrow and looks at me as if she doesn’t believe me, and she shouldn’t believe me. I’m no good for her. Even though I can’t take my eyes off her, I’m trouble for this woman.

She should walk away.

She should, but even if she tries, I won’t let her.

“I can’t remember now,” I say, hastily. “It couldn’t have been that important.”

“No?”

“No.”

“It couldn’t have been important,” she echoes.

“Whatever it was went clean out of my head because you walked in and knocked the wind right out of my lungs.” I can’t believe what I’ve said.

Have I overstepped my boundary?

Did I read her signals wrong that night when she showed me the tattoo on her back? When she told me about the other tattoo further down?

Her frown deepens.

I take my chance and confess. “You all dressed up for city hall, Lewis. You with tattoos and those killer heels. I’m having trouble letting go of that image.”

Her eyes widen, in confusion. I wonder if she can sense the sizzling simmering tension between us. Something in the air zings and zaps, and it’s too strong, too palpable to not be real.

“I see,” she says, smoothly sidestepping my comment and reacting as if I’d told her we needed two boxes of crackers for the next food night. I try to think quickly but it’s almost impossible with her this close to me. It’s like wading through honey. My brain fogs up. I get a picture of her in my head. I see her tattoos. I can almost feel the velvety texture of her arms and shoulders. Except that she’s wearing her customary sweatshirt and sneakers now, and her arms fold together as she waits for my answer.

I suck in a breath, scrambling to find the right words to say next.

Tell her the truth.

This woman has flipped every idea I ever had about her, she’s brought me to my knees to the point that I almost don’t recognize the man who came here under with evil intent.

I can’t push her away. I don’t want to. I feel the connection between us so acutely now that her eyes are burning into mine.

My doubts deepen.

What I’m doing isn’t right; going undercover like a Trojan horse. Tricking her into leaving Greenways no longer seems easy. I don’t feel good about tricking her into doing something that will be so wrong for her, and so right for me.

I need to confess.

“What are you doing here, Brad?” she repeats.

I try to buy more time, because telling the truth doesn’t come easy. Lying does. I’ve lied about who I am. Who Emma is. I’ve lied about the reason I’m at Redhill.

I’ve even lied about my name. She will hate me when she finds out, and therein lies my dilemma: I want her to like me, but when she sees me for the devil I am, all hell will break loose. “Here specifically? In the storeroom?”

“Here at Redhill.”

Pinpricks needle in my gut. She’s onto me. “I told you,” I say, putting on my smooth exterior. Hands in pockets, charming her with my smile. Except she doesn’t smile back. She’s not so easy to charm. “I feel the need to help and do my part.”

She opens her mouth, but I put my finger to her lips, making the boldest move ever. “But you want to know why I’m here, in the storeroom with you? It’s not because I give a damn about how many bottles of water you have. I followed you, because ever since I saw you that night, —which incidentally is why I didn’t write the note—I can’t stop thinking about you. I forgot about the note. It couldn’t have been anything important, otherwise I would remember. But you, looking the way you did, you blew my brains, Lewis.”

She tilts her head, bites her lower lip, making me want to press my lips to hers and kiss her.

I take a step closer. My heart is beating so hard and fast, she can probably hear it. “I wish I’d come to that event with you. You looked like a billion dollars.” I lift my hand to her face, a gentle caress more like, and she doesn’t flinch. She rolls her lips together, which only makes the air between us even more charged. I want her. I want to kiss every single part of her. I dip my head, almost making my next move. This is Lewis, and I’m aware that if she doesn’t want this, I’ll be rewarded with a swift kick to my already enlarged balls.

She doesn’t squirm or tell me to get lost; she wants this too. I drop a kiss to the side of her mouth, then brush my lips across her skin, scattering kisses around her mouth but expertly missing her lips. She moans softly, in disappointment, it sounds like. And then my lips press against hers. She is warm and sweet, and the first touch, the first taste, is everything I expected. Heat charges through my veins as we deepen our kissing. My fingers slide and she leans into me, her chest pressing against mine as her hands flank my shoulders.

And then the tempo changes. Urgency replaces calm, wet heat replaces sweetness. We’re like two hungry people who have held back for far too long.

Sparks ignite. She moans against my mouth. Her sexy little sigh ignites all the feelings I’ve held in check, every image I’ve had of her at that event with Cardoza, except she’s here with me. It’s my hands around her slim waist. It’s my lips on hers. When she looks up at me with hooded eyes, her lips moist, looking at me as if she wants me, I throw caution to the wind. We tongue fuck. This is rough, and carnal. Willfully wild abandonment. No restraint, no shyness. No more furtive glances.

We kiss as if this might be our first and last chance. Soon enough, she’ll feel my excitement. My desire for her mushrooms, making it almost impossible for me to pull myself away.

We finally pull apart, come up for air. I press my forehead against her, feel her breath against mine. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” I ask.

“How long?” She puts me on the spot. How long has it been? There definitely wasn’t any attraction when we first met. It built up over time. I could never see myself with someone like her, and knowing her as I do, she would never want to be with someone like me.

We are so ill-suited, so different, and yet we are the same. Did my heart open, because the wound has opened, turning me soft? Or has she changed me?

“How long?” she asks again, her eyes burning into mine. I trace my finger over her wet mouth. “Maybe from the first time I helped you with the homeless food night, when Fredrich was away.”

She smiles. It’s a soft, gentle, playful smile. Being this close to her, having tasted her lips, I see all too clearly how she and Jessica are so far apart. Jessica has done nothing but whine and bitch about Kyra. But Kyra hasn’t even mentioned her once, which is a shame because I want to get her take on that night, on Jessica and see what she has to say about her.

I brush my lips against hers, wondering what it would be like to take this further.

“Your friend, how is she?” There’s a questioning tone to her voice.

I shift back a little, trying to buy some more time. “Getting better slowly.”

“She must be very special for you to miss out on the chance of meeting Eli.” She suspects something.

“Did the others say something?” I ask her, because Fredrich didn’t seem to believe me.

“No. We just assumed you were busy.”

I put my hands firmly around her waist and marvel at her slender frame. I like my women with more flesh. Ample and voluptuous. I like the lusciousness of their bodies. Kyra is nothing like that, but what I feel for her goes beyond mere aesthetics. She is slight, and slim, and so neatly proportioned; it’s not her body that caught my interest, it was her smartness and guts. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not.” And then I say something that surprises even me. “You can come and see her at the hospital if you want.”

She blinks.

The moment is weighted with anticipation. And then I’m left wondering why I made that insane suggestion. Kyra looks startled, even seconds later, as my request sinks in. “That’s not necessary. I understand you’re worried about her. She’s lucky to have such a good friend as you.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. I hate to think what I would have done if Kyra had agreed. It would have been selfish and inconsiderate of me to put Emma through something like that.

Take, take, take. That’s all I seem to do. Always in it for me.

She leans towards me and kisses me. It’s soft, and sweet, and seductive, which, I realize, is exactly what Kyra is, now that I’ve come to know her better. I claim her mouth again, and we kiss, reveling in the taste and touch of one another.

“We should get back,” she says.

“Why? You’re doing an inventory check,” I say, rubbing my lips against hers.

“The others,” she hisses. I sense her guilt at being caught. My hand slides down over her buttock, and I squeeze gently. “Careful, Hartley. You’ll have some explaining to do with that steel-hard boner of yours.”

I lick her lower lip, and her tongue slides out and plays with mine. My insides are roiling. I wish we weren’t at work. I have the desire to do things to her that will make her mewl in ecstasy. “I want to see you again,”

“I don’t sleep with people I work with.”

“Me neither.” We exchange a flurry of tiny, playful kisses. Her hand slides down and squeezes my butt. I suppress a groan. I want her naked, stripped down so that I can worship every inch of her body.

I see it in her eyes. She wants what I want. I’m in this, and I can’t back out. This doesn’t have anything to do with the deal. Me wanting her is because I want her. I try not to think about how this will complicate things. Or what the consequences will be.

I can only live for now.

Her eyes widen, and she moves her head to the side when I move in for another kiss.

“Are you really not seeing anyone?” she asks.

Her words make me jolt. “No, I’m not.” But then I remember what she told me about her last relationship and I understand her fear and hesitation. “I wouldn’t be standing here with a boner, kissing you like this if I was.”

It seems to reassure her, because when I move in for another long, take-me-to-bed-and-fuck-me kiss, she mewls and grinds against me. We need a bed, not this goddamn storeroom.

“You should go,” she tells me, her hot breath on my face making me want to do nothing but stay. I could kiss her for hours. Our foreheads are touching, her hands around my waist make me pull her closer. I need to be in bed with her, or somewhere private where we can’t be interrupted. I need to find that tattoo she teasingly dropped a hint to.

“I want to see you, Kyra. Outside of the storeroom.”

She pushes me away playfully. “You will see me. In the office.” Her gaze drops to my middle. She coughs lightly. “You’re going to need to take care of that.”