Devil (King Brothers #2) Page 5

  She has to do the work that I desperately need her to do, and I want that to be the end of it. I don’t want to have any complicated feelings about her whatsoever. Not now, not during the most crucial time of year, not ever. I can’t afford it.

  She’s staring at the computer when I rip open the door. For a long moment, I stare at her as she resolutely ignores me. I’ve never quite noticed how long her neck is before. It’s really quite slender. Delicate, even. Fucking hell. Andrea Medford’s neck isn’t something I should notice. Her financial mind and ability to type lightning fast are her only talents I have a right to care about.

  After another long stare, I finally meet her eyes. She glares at me, clearly not having forgiven me for what I said earlier. I don’t blame her.

  “Look, I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. It was shitty of me, and inappropriate.”

  She gives me a long, considering look, then shrugs slightly. “As long as it never happens again. Dick.”

  “It won’t,” I say with more certainty than I feel. Of course, I have no intention of deliberately saying something like that again, but sometimes my mouth says stupid shit before my brain can stop it.

  Andrea, of course, knows this about me as well, because she just shakes her head and says, “What do you want, Axel? I’d like to get out of here on time. You know, so I’m not late for my very important date?”

  My teeth actually grind, I clench my jaw so hard. “I don’t want anything. I came here to apologize and let you know that I’ve let all the men go early today, so if you want, you can leave now, too.”

  Andrea’s face twists in surprise. She knows I virtually never let my employees off early. There’s just too much work to do. “Oh well, in that case.”

  Andrea taps a few keys on her keyboard, then stands. And I swear it’s like that damn dress’ effect has multiplied in the hours since I’ve seen her. My gut tightens in unwanted desire. The dress clings tightly to her hips. It must have slid up while she was sitting, because now it barely covers the top of her thighs. She absently pulls it down, still reading something on the screen. All I can think about is how I want to jerk that dress in the other direction.

  Christ, this is bad.

  Andrea steps out from behind the desk. There are those legs again. Hell, were those heels that high this morning?

  I finally manage to tear my eyes away from her figure only to discover that she’s staring at me, lips curved mockingly. My mouth flattens in dismay, but I don’t comment on the fact that she caught me. We’ve already gone over this once today and I put my foot in my mouth. I might now want to do that literally, but saying so would be catastrophically stupid.

  Andrea slowly walks toward me. I stand helplessly, knowing I’m blocking her exit but still unable to move. If I move, I might do something regrettable, like rip that dress off her. She comes to a halt before me, running a long gaze up my body before finally making eye contact with me from under the thick veil of her eyelashes.

  “Can you move? You’re in the way.”

  And then she pokes me.

  Right in the center of my chest with that dainty finger of hers. It shouldn’t do anything to me. It shouldn’t elicit a reaction at all. I certainly shouldn’t have an instant erection. And yet that’s exactly what happens. I stumble out of the way before she can realize she’s elicited a second boner in as many days.

  She smirks at my rapid movement, then strolls out the door. I should know better, but I still turn to watch her go. Her ass swishes tantalizingly beneath that mouthwatering red skirt.

  I never got to see her naked ass. I only got the full frontal, after all. How might it feel in my hands? Probably like the rest of her—fully curved and perfectly proportioned.

  Fuck. I am fucked. I need to get away from her.

  Just when I think she’ll simply leave, Andrea turns back over her shoulder and says, “Take a good look now, because you’ll never see this again.”

  And then, with a careless wave, she’s gone.

  Ah hell, I really shouldn’t find that sexy, but I do. Thank fuck she’s finally gone. Her presence today has been far too distracting for me to get any serious work done. If that becomes a routine, I’m going to have a big problem.

  I’ll plan the stupid party on Saturday if it means she can return to dressing like she’s homeless. I never thought I’d say this, but I would actually prefer to see her in a burlap sack than pretty much any normal piece of clothing.

  Now if only I could just get the memory of her in my bedroom out of my mind.

  What I need to do is get drunk. Not completely hammered, because this is a weekday and I surprisingly still don’t have a drinking problem. I just need enough alcohol to remember that all of this, in the end, doesn’t really matter. I’m attracted to her because I saw her naked, and then she showed up in a dress designed to make men pant. It’s a natural urge, but not one I need act upon. Things will return to normal tomorrow.

  And if I just so happen to find a woman when I’m out tonight, I might just be able to kill this damn attraction to Andrea.

  Unfortunately, I kind of have a women problem. Shocking, I know, but I kind of ran out of options in this town. I mean that literally. Any women I slept with ran around telling the rest of the community that I’m a complete dick.

  I get it. Some women don’t like to be told that they come a distant, distant third, after the farm and my brothers. Some women like to feel special, and I can respect that. But you know what I really value? Honesty. I’m not going to sit around lying to some woman just so I can continue to fuck her when she has no chance in hell of ending up with me.

  I don’t have the time, or frankly, the energy, to date someone seriously. Maybe one day that’ll change, but I highly doubt it. I just have too much to do. Too much responsibility. That means my interactions with women begin and end on the bed. They never move on to the kitchen or the living room—and especially not the church.

  Essentially, whenever I need to scratch that itch, I’m relegated to trolling one of our neighboring towns, where apparently the Red Devil’s reputation doesn’t proceed me. Yet.

  That isn’t exactly simple when I spend virtually all of my time on the farm and don’t have oodles of hours to go cavorting with women.

  Only one option remains to me in these situations. It’s an option I can’t use too often because of the aforementioned ladies in this town. One place where, every once in a long damn while, I might still find a woman who isn’t already aware of the fact that I prefer my women for fucking and not dating.

  And that would be Abernathy’s.

  Ovid isn’t a large town; Abernathy’s is the only real bar we have. We didn’t even have that one for many years. But then my twin brothers got out of college and thought it would be a grand idea to open the only vice establishment in this tiny place. Well, one twin started it, and the other does something mysterious related to it that the rest of us don’t understand.

  Naturally, they’re killing it.

  Abernathy’s is the one place no one ever grumbles about my perpetual bad attitude—and that’s only because I’m related to the owners. I don’t give a shit; I’ll take the nepotism if it’ll allows me to drink in peace and occasionally find someone to bang.

  I get this might be a bit crass, but I’m a man, and like I said before, I value honesty. Men go to bars to find chicks to bang. Unless it’s the Super Bowl or some other Very Important Sporting Event, in which case, stay away.

  What I’m trying to say is that half an hour after Andrea leaves, I’m showered, dressed, and plunking my ass down on one of Abernathy’s stools. It’s barely, and I mean barely, five o’clock, the first socially acceptable time one can reasonably order a drink in a public place here and not get shit for it.

  In fact, it’s so early that when I arrive, the only other person there is Nathan, the older twin, sitting on a stool behind the counter, obsessively rubbing the fingerprints out of various bar glasses, his admittedly attractive face s
crunching in concentration.

  His face lights up when I sit down on the stool across from him. “Well, I’ll be a cat’s meow. I do believe I spy an Axel King. To what do I owe this unfortunate pleasure?”

  Chapter Eight

  I glower at him. He grins. “Why the fuck do you think I’m here, Nathan? I want to drink.”

  “Even more delightful than usual, I see.” When I make no response, Nathan chuckles, shaking his head. “What are you having?”

  “Bourbon, and lots of it. In fact, just keep it coming until I say to stop.”

  His brows raise in surprise. “You plan on driving home?”

  “Of course not. You’ll do it.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re going to get shit-faced and then make me drive you home?”

  “That sounds entirely accurate. And I’m going to pay you for the privilege.”

  “Pay me to chauffeur you? I must have missed my true calling.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to pay for that, just the drinks. You’re going to drive me home because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Well, then I’ll pummel you, of course. It’s my duty as your big brother.”

  Nathan actually rolls his entire head along with his eyes. “Please. I could take you.”

  “You could never take me when we were younger, and you certainly can’t now, not when I have four inches and about fifty pounds on you.”

  “And there it is. Making fun of me for being the shortest brother yet again. I’m still six feet tall, you asshole.”

  “Yes, yes, a six-foot-tall sinner who’s nevertheless still fifty pounds lighter than me and therefore entirely unable to do anything but follow my orders.”

  “Something tells me you being completely inebriated might move the scale in my favor.”

  “Let’s return to this discussion in a couple of hours and we’ll see who’s right. Now where the fuck is my drink?”

  “Patience is a virtue, dear brother. Here you go,” Nathan says, pushing my drink to me. He watches me down it in one go, his face slowly transforming from one of amusement to actual concern. “Care to share with the class what the hell is going on? Why are you in such a foul mood? And hell, I can’t believe I just said that, because you’re always in a bad mood.”

  I just motion for another drink. If I tell any of my brothers what happened with Andrea today, I’ll never live it down. Not in a billion years. A man simply doesn’t need that kind of antagonism, particularly not from Nathan, who will inevitably take it way too goddamn far.

  “Axel.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Ax, my dearest frère. My darling, grumpy, older brother.”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Telllll meeeee.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m having employee problems, okay?”

  “Well, zero surprise there. I’m sure all of your employees hate the Red Devil. It’s not like you’re a warm and friendly boss.”

  I growl at him, tapping the rim of my empty glass, because as far as I’m concerned, his only job right now is to keep the booze flowing, not to give me a lecture. Nathan rolls his eyes again and refills my glass.

  “Seems to me that your employees are always pissing you off. What is it about them today that’s got your panties in such a twist?”

  I shrug. I’m not going to give him a single indication of what’s really bothering me.

  Nathan’s eyes narrow as a particularly shrewd look flickers over his face. “Maybe it’s not your employees in general but rather one in particular.”

  I simply take another sip of my drink. Now that I’ve got one bourbon under my belt, I can enjoy the rest.

  Nathan folds his arms over his chest and then rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s table your confession to Father Nathan for a moment. Griffin called me over the weekend with quite a tasty morsel. Apparently, Jackson and Rory showed up at his house. Rory had blood running down her arm from a nasty cut.”

  Damn Lipton and his fuck-up. Damn Howard for coercing him into it.

  “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  I nod once, tersely.

  “Hmm. Okay, but did you know Jackson called me the day after about Griffin?”

  Despite knowing not to encourage him, I glance up in surprise. Nathan smirks. “No,” I say. “What did he want?”

  “Oh, he didn’t want anything. He called to tell me that Griffin kept trying to get them out of the house. Pushy-pushy. Acted like a real weirdo.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As serious as fleas on a cat. Jackson was convinced Griffin was inviting someone over for a dinner date.”

  “But he’s been in love with—”

  “I know, I know. Dude’s got no game. But it appears that he’s rallying. Or, at least, finally moving on.”

  “Okay, sure, that one is interesting,” I admit. Griffin’s my least annoying brother, but he’s too polite for his own good sometimes. I have high hopes for him, unlike Nathan, who I wrote off as completely irredeemable years ago.

  Nathan taps his chin in deep thought—well, for him, anyway—for a long moment, contemplating Grif’s perpetual singledom. “We might have to meddle there next. So do you think the plan with Realtor Bro is working?”

  I snort. “What, my plan to force them together, or Jackson’s dubious one to piss her off?”

  Nathan shrugs. “I don’t know. Both? Did Rory finally get her head out of her ass?”

  “Judging by Jackson’s well-fucked demeanor when he came to fuck up my life on Sunday, I’d say the grudge holder has officially climbed down from her high horse.”

  Nathan jerks upright, staring at me intensely. Christ, what a gossip. “So they fucked? Finally? Are you sure? About damn time. Wait, and how did he fuck up your life?”

  Aw shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Damn you, bourbon.

  Nathan latches onto my silence like a shark zooming straight for a bucket of bloody chum. “Oh, interesting. Drama, drama, drama for not one, not two, but three of my brothers? Whatever did I do to deserve such good fortune?

  “Now, let’s see. I’ve always loved the process of elimination. Who in particular might especially piss you off? None of your usual employees, to be sure. You deal with their idiocy on a daily basis and have long learned to tolerate it. So it must be someone actually worth a damn. Which leaves two viable choices. So is it Howard or Andrea?”

  My jaw grinds in distaste. Nathan’s eyes widen in surprise. “Could it be? No. There’s no way both of them did something to you.”

  I make a grunting noise in the affirmative.

  “But what could Howard have done to you!” Nathan says in distress. While neither of the twins have lived at the farm in years, they still love Howard. Everyone loves Howard.

  And I fired him.

  Nathan keeps staring at me anxiously, moving not a single muscle. I know him well enough to know he won’t move a damn inch until I give him an answer. Fine.

  “Howard got fired, is what he did.”

  “What? You fired Howard? Are you out of your goddamn mind? Do I have to sick Serena on you?”

  “Don’t you even think about doing that. Look, Howard did something shitty that I just couldn’t overlook. It had to be done.”

  Nathan’s head rears back like I very well could have done something else. “You have got to be kidding me. You’ve actually lost your mind. I mean, I knew it was only inevitable, but at thirty-three? You exceeded even my dismal expectations.”

  “Oh, fuck off. It’s my business. I make the decisions.”

  “It’s the family’s business.”

  “It sure as shit is not. Maybe if you ever decide to pitch in a bit, I’ll consider taking your advice into consideration. However, such as it is, you don’t do anything but take a paycheck, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  “Fuck you,” Nathan says, but without heat. He knows I have a point. The two of us fall into an un
easy silence for a long moment before Nathan, perpetual pot stirrer that he is, adds, “And what about Andrea?”

  “What about her?”

  “Don’t be an evasive shit. What did she do to piss you off?”

  “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Nathan’s brows disappear into his ridiculously curly brown hair. “You don’t want to talk about her? Who even are you? You always talk about Andrea. She’s your favorite employee. She never does anything but excellent work for you. She saves your ass with the numbers shit and doesn’t make fun of you for it. Even I know that’s priceless. What could she have really done?”

  I shrug again. “This topic is closed to discussion. I mean it. How about you do your job and serve some of your other clients instead of pissing me off?”

  Nathan smirks at me knowingly, because we both know that while other customers might have finally arrived, he’ll be circling back around to this little discussion later.

  Fortunately for Nathan, he’s a damn good bartender—even I’ll admit that—so he doesn’t have much trouble staring at me while serving the people that have just come in after a long day’s work. I, of course, ignore him entirely, except to get more refills. I’ve slowed down a bit, but I still have a pleasant buzz.

  Unfortunately, it does little to distract me. While I’m now inebriated enough to think that this entire situation I’ve gotten into at the farm is rather hilarious, a naked Andrea pops back into my mind every few minutes, and I find myself taking yet another swig of bourbon to drown the memories.

  Before long, the bar is absolutely packed. While I’m happy my brother’s business does well, I’m not in the mood for shooting the shit with a bunch of locals. I relocate to one of the stools at the end of the bar, hoping it will send a clear message that I would prefer to be left alone.

  Of course, the only person who ignores this cue is my social butterfly of a brother, who, a few minutes later, saunters over and says with mock seriousness, “Yes, you know, I think I might have just pieced it together.”