Any Time, Any Place
Page 38
“Spoken like a true company man.” Dalton took a seat on a bar stool and stretched his legs out. “I like to give them as few choices as possible because I always know best.”
“Spoken like a true egotist,” Tristan said.
“Don’t forget to get Sydney the invoices for the job at My Place—that’s a nice profit.”
“Sure. I told Raven she could pay in installments, though.”
Tristan and Cal stared at him. Ah, crap, here we go. “You allowed her to finance?” Tristan asked in astonishment.
Cal raised his voice. “First off, you know that’s the number one rule we rarely break. Once we deliver the product, we get the money. Lesser companies have gone bankrupt. I swear, Dalton, keep your fucking love life out of Pierce Brothers.”
Dalton half rose from the stool and choked on his temper. “Don’t treat me like some lackey rather than a full partner,” he shot back. “Think I’d offer that if I thought for one second she wouldn’t pay? I pushed her for more work, knowing I could get both the money and the marketing from her bar. She’s too damn proud to miss a payment, and already said she’d pay it off early.”
Slamming his ass back on the stool, he glared at both of them. “Now, don’t piss me off any more than you have.”
Silence descended. He brooded, ate his turkey, and the tension finally calmed.
“Fine. I’m sorry,” Cal offered. Tristan nodded in agreement.
“Let’s forget it,” Dalton said. He fought fiercely with his brothers, but in the past year there had been one unwritten rule they all abided by: no more grudges. Their tempers might burn hot, but they forgave easily. It worked for all of them.
“How’s Raven?” Cal asked. “Morgan really wants her to come to dinner. I think she has a girl crush. She’s always saying Raven this or Raven that. It may be the cocktails. Or the tat.”
Dalton grinned. “I have my own crush, and I don’t need any competition.”
“Still no play?”
His grin disappeared at Tristan’s question. “It’s not like that. She’s different.”
“Didn’t look any different when I caught you walking from the shed. You both had guilty looks plastered all over your faces.”
“Just a kiss.” The memory of her lips opening under his shot a bolt of electricity through his body. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
Cal regarded him steadily. “Meaning you want her long term?”
He blew out a breath. “She wants long term, but that’s not my thing. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a deep, satisfying relationship for however long we’re both happy. For now, I’m trying to be her friend. Learn more about her. Figure it out.”
“Good luck with that,” Tristan said. “I’ve never been able to figure a woman out, so now I don’t even try.”
“Dude, if she wants a future, why don’t you just leave her alone? Why torture the both of you? It’s not cool. You’ll end up screwing her over like you always do.”
He stared at Cal, ignoring the twinge of hurt. Dalton knew he was the player in the group, and he usually had no issues with his brothers’ opinions. Cal was now getting married, and Tristan was into sophisticated women who weren’t emotionally messy. He’d said multiple times he’d be ready to settle down if he met the right one. But just because Dalton didn’t see wedding dresses and rings didn’t mean he felt nothing.
In fact, the big problem was how much he felt with Raven.
“Thanks for the support,” he muttered, finishing up his turkey. “I don’t plan to hurt her, Cal. I care about her.”
Cal let out a breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean to step in your business. I’m just warning you to be careful. Friendship breeds closeness and trust. Mix that with sex and you have a combustion ready to happen. I don’t want to see Raven as the casualty. That’s all.”
Dalton gave a jerky nod, still not happy with the sweeping assumptions that he’d walk away undamaged. Looking back, there was no one he’d ever wanted past a few weeks. The buzz and emotional high always drained away. Crap, probably not many almost-thirty-year-olds admitted they’d never been in love before.
He fought off the depression and tried to change the subject. “I hear you. Tristan, did you buy the house on Bay Street?”
His brother grinned with pride. “Damn right, I did. Got it for a bargain, and the inspection came back sound. I think I’ll turn it into an artist’s loft type and change things up a bit. Next weekend I’m heading to Manhattan to get some supplies.”
“Clear next Saturday,” Cal said. “We have to clean out Dad’s room. And the attic. It’s past time.”
Crap. The year after Christian Pierce had died had been taken up with trying to adhere to the terms of the will. They’d scrambled for jobs, moved into the mansion, and tried to find a way to not kill each other. Sorting their dad’s stuff had been the last item on the list. Dalton winced, sharing a glance with his brothers. “Not sure I’m up for that.”
Tristan gave a sigh. “Me neither, but Cal’s right. It’s overdue. We tackled the office, but no one’s been in his personal space since he passed.”
“Fine. I’ll deal with the room, but forget the attic. Leave it.”
“Dalton, we have Mom’s stuff up there, too. It’s not something I wanted to do myself, so I kept it untouched after you left. I think we should do it together.”
His gut churned, and he pushed off the bar stool. “Not interested. If you guys want to, go ahead. I’m heading to bed.”
He threw out the trash and walked to his bedroom, feeling the weight of his brothers’ sympathetic stares on his back. He refused to be dragged down memory lane. Hell, most of his memories were false anyway. Had they ever been truly happy, or was his whole life a hoax? Who was the real Diane Pierce? The woman who laughed with joy and encouraged him to follow his dreams? The woman who taught him not to lie and told him every damn day that she loved him, whether or not he wanted to hear it?
Or the woman who threw it all away for a man she wanted to chase across the world?
He’d blamed that son of a bitch for the first few years after her loss. Blamed him for seducing her and convincing her to leave. But as more time passed, he’d tried to bury the rage and move on. There was no point. Those unresolved emotions came out in one way now—in his sleep.
“Spoken like a true egotist,” Tristan said.
“Don’t forget to get Sydney the invoices for the job at My Place—that’s a nice profit.”
“Sure. I told Raven she could pay in installments, though.”
Tristan and Cal stared at him. Ah, crap, here we go. “You allowed her to finance?” Tristan asked in astonishment.
Cal raised his voice. “First off, you know that’s the number one rule we rarely break. Once we deliver the product, we get the money. Lesser companies have gone bankrupt. I swear, Dalton, keep your fucking love life out of Pierce Brothers.”
Dalton half rose from the stool and choked on his temper. “Don’t treat me like some lackey rather than a full partner,” he shot back. “Think I’d offer that if I thought for one second she wouldn’t pay? I pushed her for more work, knowing I could get both the money and the marketing from her bar. She’s too damn proud to miss a payment, and already said she’d pay it off early.”
Slamming his ass back on the stool, he glared at both of them. “Now, don’t piss me off any more than you have.”
Silence descended. He brooded, ate his turkey, and the tension finally calmed.
“Fine. I’m sorry,” Cal offered. Tristan nodded in agreement.
“Let’s forget it,” Dalton said. He fought fiercely with his brothers, but in the past year there had been one unwritten rule they all abided by: no more grudges. Their tempers might burn hot, but they forgave easily. It worked for all of them.
“How’s Raven?” Cal asked. “Morgan really wants her to come to dinner. I think she has a girl crush. She’s always saying Raven this or Raven that. It may be the cocktails. Or the tat.”
Dalton grinned. “I have my own crush, and I don’t need any competition.”
“Still no play?”
His grin disappeared at Tristan’s question. “It’s not like that. She’s different.”
“Didn’t look any different when I caught you walking from the shed. You both had guilty looks plastered all over your faces.”
“Just a kiss.” The memory of her lips opening under his shot a bolt of electricity through his body. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
Cal regarded him steadily. “Meaning you want her long term?”
He blew out a breath. “She wants long term, but that’s not my thing. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a deep, satisfying relationship for however long we’re both happy. For now, I’m trying to be her friend. Learn more about her. Figure it out.”
“Good luck with that,” Tristan said. “I’ve never been able to figure a woman out, so now I don’t even try.”
“Dude, if she wants a future, why don’t you just leave her alone? Why torture the both of you? It’s not cool. You’ll end up screwing her over like you always do.”
He stared at Cal, ignoring the twinge of hurt. Dalton knew he was the player in the group, and he usually had no issues with his brothers’ opinions. Cal was now getting married, and Tristan was into sophisticated women who weren’t emotionally messy. He’d said multiple times he’d be ready to settle down if he met the right one. But just because Dalton didn’t see wedding dresses and rings didn’t mean he felt nothing.
In fact, the big problem was how much he felt with Raven.
“Thanks for the support,” he muttered, finishing up his turkey. “I don’t plan to hurt her, Cal. I care about her.”
Cal let out a breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean to step in your business. I’m just warning you to be careful. Friendship breeds closeness and trust. Mix that with sex and you have a combustion ready to happen. I don’t want to see Raven as the casualty. That’s all.”
Dalton gave a jerky nod, still not happy with the sweeping assumptions that he’d walk away undamaged. Looking back, there was no one he’d ever wanted past a few weeks. The buzz and emotional high always drained away. Crap, probably not many almost-thirty-year-olds admitted they’d never been in love before.
He fought off the depression and tried to change the subject. “I hear you. Tristan, did you buy the house on Bay Street?”
His brother grinned with pride. “Damn right, I did. Got it for a bargain, and the inspection came back sound. I think I’ll turn it into an artist’s loft type and change things up a bit. Next weekend I’m heading to Manhattan to get some supplies.”
“Clear next Saturday,” Cal said. “We have to clean out Dad’s room. And the attic. It’s past time.”
Crap. The year after Christian Pierce had died had been taken up with trying to adhere to the terms of the will. They’d scrambled for jobs, moved into the mansion, and tried to find a way to not kill each other. Sorting their dad’s stuff had been the last item on the list. Dalton winced, sharing a glance with his brothers. “Not sure I’m up for that.”
Tristan gave a sigh. “Me neither, but Cal’s right. It’s overdue. We tackled the office, but no one’s been in his personal space since he passed.”
“Fine. I’ll deal with the room, but forget the attic. Leave it.”
“Dalton, we have Mom’s stuff up there, too. It’s not something I wanted to do myself, so I kept it untouched after you left. I think we should do it together.”
His gut churned, and he pushed off the bar stool. “Not interested. If you guys want to, go ahead. I’m heading to bed.”
He threw out the trash and walked to his bedroom, feeling the weight of his brothers’ sympathetic stares on his back. He refused to be dragged down memory lane. Hell, most of his memories were false anyway. Had they ever been truly happy, or was his whole life a hoax? Who was the real Diane Pierce? The woman who laughed with joy and encouraged him to follow his dreams? The woman who taught him not to lie and told him every damn day that she loved him, whether or not he wanted to hear it?
Or the woman who threw it all away for a man she wanted to chase across the world?
He’d blamed that son of a bitch for the first few years after her loss. Blamed him for seducing her and convincing her to leave. But as more time passed, he’d tried to bury the rage and move on. There was no point. Those unresolved emotions came out in one way now—in his sleep.
