Playing with the Enemy

I stared at the kid. Assessing again. I smiled.

"Why should I do that? That price is far more than anyone would charge –"

"But you're not just anyone," the bastard beside the boy stated boldly, "you're the one and only Jayden Malroy! Anything you build will definitely pull in the crowds. Come on, forget the past," he droned with barely concealed arrogance.

I shifted my gaze from the kid to the blonde man with the ice-blue eyes.

"Why are you here?" I grumbled, facing him squarely, finally getting my initial rage under control. Pushing it down to where I could barely feel it.

A skill I had learned years after dealing with the sleek bastard I was facing. A man who looked like ice couldn't melt in his mouth, but was, in reality, a demon in human form.

"Didn't you hear my father?" he droned, almost sweetly. I wanted to burst my own eardrums.

I blinked. I turned to the old man. "I'm sorry, I must have missed something," I remarked slowly.

The elder smiled his patient smile again. He straightened his shoulders. "This is my son, Leon, and my youngest, Adrian. We want Adrian to learn about our business and would like you to work with him during the construction and decorating phases of the project."

I blinked. "I'm not a tutor."

"I understand."

"Nor a babysitter."

"Hence the price we are willing to pay. The lad is even open to putting a much larger sum down than required, but I think," he turned to his young son, "he may have just been too excited," he concluded politely to me, even as his eyes clearly scolded the boy.

I looked at the kid again. He was still pale, but his jaw was clenched. His brow was smooth. His eyes were steady on mine.

Shit! He's this fucker's brother? I cursed in my mind as I read his posture.

"And," Leon rumbled, sidling up to me, putting himself too much in my space, but I didn't move. I stood my ground even though I pressed against Martin.

Martin, my lawyer, my friend, right from the time when I and the fucker in front of us were acquainted, stood fast, supporting me against the devil himself.

"We get to hang out, too, of course," he concluded with a smile that held too much meaning.

I would have bristled, but instead, I just stared at him. Almost blankly. Controlling my expression.

"I won't work with you," I remarked flatly. No passion in my voice. I wasn't a sophomore anymore, and he wasn't my shining, flawless senior.

I was a full adult, independent and free, and he was still a pretentious bastard, only this time, I was fully aware of it.

"You'll work with me," the kid jumped in urgently, taking a step forward. "And only me," he pressed.

I turned to him even as his brother did not move an inch but kept staring right at my face.

"I don't think you understand –" the devil was saying breezily.

"Leon, that's enough," their father cut in, a sharp edge to his voice.

My gaze shifted to the old man. "Do you know about our history?" I asked slowly, my professional self fully engaged. My public persona running on autopilot.

The old man glanced to the side, then back. "He told me you went to school together. I see that you are definitely not strangers."

"You don't have the same last name. If I had known –"

"I need you for this job. My son needs a good guide," the old man cut in patiently. "As for Leon, he will stay away," the old man continued firmly, turning from me to his older son.

I glanced at Martin, who was squeezing my arm, his expression tight. I knew what my lawyer wasn't saying. We needed to close this deal. Too much was riding on it.

It wasn't that my company, or my lawyer's firm, needed money; what was at stake here was our reputation.

Masterson Emporium was not a project to fuck around with.

We had gone through three rounds of submissions and presentations to win the chance to sit down with the owner, a consortium of old-money families who wanted to design a showroom for the ages.

My family's name, my lawyer's firm's name were in the limelight for this work.

If it fell through, just like that, the backlash on our respective businesses would be significant.

But how did this fucker become Sir Sinclair's son? How?! I asked Martin with my eyes as he reminded me of what we both needed to do with his pressure on my arm.

"200," I retorted hoarsely, turning to our would-be client.

"Deal."

I nodded.

No. It wasn't about the money, but I wasn't about to let myself be steamrolled into a shitty relationship or circumstance without gaining anything up front.

I would not lie down and be trodden upon, not again.

Not ever.

If Leon was playing a game, I could play too.

I was not the kid he fucked with for two years. I was not the boy he ruined and threw away like the trash he must have thought I was.

I was something different now. Very different.

And if the gods or devils he served had deemed it fit for him to enter my universe, well, I would have to make do with that. Just as I've had to make do with every fucking nightmare that has been sent my way since I met Leon.

Since I met... him. My mind pulled me toward another. Reminded me of another.

My chest pushed out mentally.

Yeah, we can play, Leon. But this is one match you're gonna fucking lose. I declared privately.

I turned to leave, and Leon reached for my arm. My eyes snapped up to his, and I dared him to touch me. Without a word, I dared him to put his hand on me.

He smiled, that roguish smile that had swept me off course for two entire years, that smile that got me kicked out of my family, that smile that made me lie on my back for others while he filmed everything and sold it online, without my consent.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped back.

"Keep him away from me, or this deal is off," I said roughly to his father, now my highest-paying client, losing my composure for a split second.

The old man nodded, his expression a mix of concern, gratitude, and hesitation.

He doesn't know, I mused. He doesn't know what his son did to me.

I spun and walked out.

The kid's face flashed in my mind.

What am I going to do with this shit! My mind screamed as I headed to my car.