Truth in Pieces Page 7

  When he dips his head to whisper against my lips, “You gonna let me?” I falter, my lips parting and then abruptly snapping shut.

  This entire situation has mistake written all over it. This is wrong. Not only because of who he is but because I can’t indulge in this. I’ve permitted myself that kiss, and that will be enough.

  It has to be. Intimate sexual acts of any kind are dangerous for me, which is why I’m always so careful.

  As if moving each muscle in his body incrementally, he slowly releases his hold and backs away. “No worries, Professor.” He unzips his pants to readjust himself with a slight wince before refastening them. “I got the message.”

  I draw in a deep breath, averting my eyes, and smooth a hand down my hair. Stepping over to grab my purse, I open it and dig out my compact mirror, knowing I’ll need to repair the damage inflicted from that kiss.

  With my back to him, I wince at my reflection in the small rounded mirror, hastily reapplying lipstick and attempting to tidy my tousled hair. When my eyes clash with his in the mirror, I snap it shut and shove it in my clutch.

  Turning toward the door, I clear my throat. “I’m ready to head back out.”

  The longer silence greets my words, the more dread fills me. He steps closer, heat radiating from him, warming my back. He reaches past me to lay a hand on the doorknob, his mouth close to my ear.

  “After you.”

  With an easy motion, he opens the door, and I hurriedly step out. I’m jittery, unsettled, as though my body is a live wire flitting around wildly. Nico settles a hand at the small of my back, guiding me down the hall to return to the gala’s gathering.

  Each step I take that brings me closer to the end of the hall has my senses under assault. I’m increasingly aware of his masculine scent and the knowledge that he has the power to kiss me stupid.

  I did the right thing. I did the right thing, I repeat internally, all while another part of me screams at being left unfulfilled.

  “Ah, there she is now.”

  Oh, shit. Of course, now has to be the moment we run into Chancellor Boman and Dean Harrod. As if I’m not thrown off enough.

  Pasting on a polite smile, I greet the men. “Nice to see you both.”

  “Miss Wright told me she was attending with her boyfriend.” Boman lifts his chin smugly in Nico’s direction, offering an outstretched hand. “Imagine my surprise when she mentioned you.”

  They shake hands, and Nico does the same with Harrod, apparently not needing an introduction. Which is…interesting.

  Boman swirls the burgundy wine in his glass and inspects me with a cocky smirk that incites a strange fissure of unease in me. When his eyes rest on my neck, I dart a questioning glance at Nico only to discover him glowering at the man.

  The arm he has draped at my waist tightens. Thumb skimming along my side, Nico peers down at me, his expression softening. “First time we met, I knew she was out of my league.” Turning to face the men, he continues. “But I’m a man who goes after what he wants.”

  Paired with a smarmy smile, Boman narrows his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re a wealthy man.” Dean Harrod chuckles, but it’s short-lived when Nico pins him with a razor-sharp glare.

  “You wouldn’t be insultin’ my lady, now, would you?” His voice possesses a steely core. “Especially a woman who graduated at the top of her university class two years early.”

  It takes all my restraint not to jerk in surprise. Although I suppose it shouldn’t catch me off guard that Nico has dug into my background. I just didn’t expect him to recall details like that.

  “She’s been published in academic journals. And now…” He peers down at me, a faint smirk tugging at his full lips. “She’s a hero who saved a student’s life.”

  “In no way was I insulting Miss—”

  “Professor,” Nico corrects Boman, his tone icy. “And no, you best not insult your star prof. Wouldn’t be good for business, now, would it?” He tilts his head to the side and his granite-hard expression has the men falling silent.

  Dean Harrod pales. Chancellor Boman’s throat bobs as he swallows hard.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse us while we say hello to the mayor.”

  Nico steers us in the opposite direction, but when he draws to a stop near the chocolate fountain, I peer up at him in question.

  He radiates fury, jaw tense, nostrils flared. Without thinking, I lay a hand on his arm. “Are you…” I trail off without finishing with, “okay?” when his brown eyes lock with mine before flicking to where my hand still lies. As though I’ve just touched something fiery hot, I draw back, but his fingers lock around my wrist.

  I’m unable to look away from his fierce glower that holds me captive.

  “Boman always like that with you?”

  Unsure of how to answer, I play it safe. “It’s a male-dominated department, so often—”

  Nico steps closer, crowding me. “Tell me he ain’t disrespectin’ a smart lady like you.”

  A surprised huff of a laugh breaks free. “Nico, it’s not a big deal.”

  His features transform in an instant, eyes going dark, lips parting for his tongue to wet them. “Say it again.”

  I frown, my words slow, unsure why he wants me to repeat myself. “It’s not a big deal.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. You said my name.” There’s a brief pause before he mutters, “And damn if I don’t like it.”

  His eyes gloss over me from head to toe, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. When his attention veers back to my neck, his expression morphs to irritation, and he releases my wrist. He runs an agitated hand down the back of his head.

  “You got a mark on your neck.” Almost begrudgingly, as though the admission is being ripped from him, he adds, “From me.”

  Eyes going impossibly wide from dismayed embarrassment, I cover my neck with my hand. Boman noticed. That’s why his eyes strayed there. That damn smirk of his.

  My stomach churns sickly at what he must’ve thought. What he must think of me now. Spinning around to face the oversized windows, I stare out, unseeing. “Dammit,” I hiss in a whisper.

  Nico steps closer, drawing my eyes to his reflection beside me. His lips press into a flat, punishing line. “Not gonna apologize for what I did back there. Don’t regret touchin’ you one bit.”

  After the faintest pause, his voice drops lower, nearly guttural. Remorse lurks in the depths. “But I’m fuckin’ sorry it bled over to this.” His tone turns glacial. “Could cut out their fuckin’ eyes for lookin’ at you like that.”

  Feigning disregard, I paste on a smile and turn to him. “I assure you, there’s no need for such drastic measures.”

  With a chin lift, he shoves a hand in his pocket. “Let’s go, Professor.”

  “But I thought you had to talk with the mayor—”

  “Nah.” He cuts me off with a quick shake of his head. Eyes boring into mine churn with something indecipherable. “I gotta get my woman home. He’ll understand.”

  Home. But it’s not my home. Though he may show me the briefest glance of his more human side, I can’t forget one vital fact: I’m merely his pawn. A way for him to eliminate someone else. Then he’ll toss me aside.

  Even as I remind myself of this, it’s difficult to shore up my defenses after he defended me tonight. He had moved closer as if to physically protect me from Boman’s verbal insults.

  And when he takes hold of my hand, his thumb brushing along the top of it, I tell myself it’s all for show. Because the truth of the matter is, none of this is real. I need to ignore every tempting sensation he elicits.

  This proves to be more difficult than I anticipated when I discover the black silk scarf perched on my dresser the next morning.

  15

  Olivia

  The next day

  “Meet tomorrow at the Bayside Coffee Company near your department’s building. Noon. Find the table near the windows with a newspaper on it.”

 
Getting through my classes with the impending meeting on my mind has made today the complete opposite of ideal. I’ve been on edge, trying to figure out who I’m about to meet and what information they could possibly have for me.

  Not only that, but I feel like a teenager trying to hide a hickey from her parents.

  I reach up to run my fingertips along the scarf fashionably tied around my neck that masks the small mark Nico left on my skin. A shiver skitters through me when my mind veers to last night in that office. Discovering the buttery soft fabric in my room this morning—illuminating the fact that he cared enough to leave it for me—still skitters along the recesses of my brain. Though it was completely at odds with the domineering, arrogant façade he maintains, his thoughtful gift meant he put forth an effort to right what he felt was a wrong.

  Once my class ends at eleven fifty and the last student files out of the classroom, I heave out a sigh of relief. Packing up my materials, I grip the handles of my briefcase in a near-death grip while my mind races, eyeing my surroundings as I exit the building. Nothing seems out of place. No one suspicious lingers nearby.

  Then again, they’d likely be in plain sight, blending in with the rest of the population.

  By the time I slip inside the coffee shop five minutes later, I scan the tables urgently.

  There it is.

  The pit of my stomach churns when I spot the newspaper lying on the empty table by the windows. The blinds have been drawn to block the near-blinding midday sun. Striding over, I cast a glance around before settling into one of the chairs and carefully set my briefcase beneath the table at my feet.

  Just as I reach for the newspaper, an employee arrives and sets a coffee in the spot in front of me. I glance up in question at the young blonde.

  “I was told to deliver a vanilla latte with almond milk when you got here.” She chomps on a piece of gum, appearing bored, and reaches inside her apron pocket to withdraw a piece of folded paper. “Said to give you this.”

  Warily, I accept the paper. “Thank you.” The girl nods and whirls away, heading back behind the counter.

  Dammit. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. I shouldn’t have a damn drug dealer after me, using me to get to their rival.

  After another survey of my surroundings and finding nothing out of the ordinary, I unfold the paper and scan its contents. Almost immediately, I drop it to the table, my fingers flexing as though I’ve been singed. My throat feels like it has invisible hands wrapped around it, squeezing it impossibly tight, robbing me of all oxygen. Even so, I’m powerless to tear my eyes from the photocopy of an obituary announcement from over twenty-eight years ago.

  My own.

  Staring down at the paper in disbelief, I read it at least a dozen times, telling myself it’s fake. It has to be.

  According to this, Oliviana Isabella Santilla-Jiménez died twenty-eight years ago, survived by parents, Antonio Jiménez and Johanna Santilla-Jiménez. The birth date listed here is the same as mine, except my name is Olivia Isabella Wright.

  “It’s real.”

  My head snaps up at the female voice that sounds from the table behind me. Before I can turn in my seat, she snaps, “Don’t. Just listen.”

  Freezing in place, I stay silent.

  “Bet Alcanzar told you a little bit. Thing is, you got yourself smack-dab in the center of a fucking hornet’s nest. They’re both going for the jugular, and you’re the ticket. But this shit is bigger than anyone realizes. Alcanzar’s got people all over the place in his pocket. Here, especially.”

  Meaning Boman and Harrod, likely. And the mayor. Last night had increased my suspicions.

  “You need to watch your back. Trust no one. Alcanzar’s only giving you pieces of the truth, taunting you with bread crumbs to get what he wants.”

  “Who are you?” I hiss.

  She huffs out a humorless laugh. “Just a concerned citizen.” Lowering her voice, she adds, “Finish your coffee, Professor Wright. No doubt, your bodyguard will soon come looking for you in your office.”

  The faint shift of air is all the indication I’m given of her darting from the table. But when I turn in search of any sign of her, it’s fruitless. Whoever she is, she blends in with the rest of the crowd.

  Tracing my fingers over the words on the paper causes my heart to twist painfully while my mind races.

  Quickly folding the paper again, I tuck it in my briefcase and rise with the coffee in hand. I toss it in the trash before exiting to head to my office, eager to lock myself inside and digest everything. To determine how to address this with Nico.

  I have to know if this is true. I need to know.

  I need to know how I was documented as a stillborn baby, born to parents I never knew.

  My heels click on the shiny tile floors of the mansion. “Where is he?” I demand, eyeing Goliath hard. I know I sound like an absolute bitch, but I don’t care. I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.

  “Bossman’s busy in his office.”

  I stop in my tracks and whip around to glare at Goliath. “I don’t care if he’s meeting with the president himself. I need to see him. Now.”

  His ever-present nonplussed façade remains in place. “He ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Too damn bad.” I turn and march down the hall, following the trail of Nico’s voice drifting through his slightly ajar office door. I shove a palm against it, and the heavy oak draws open slowly.

  Nico squints at me, brackets forming around his mouth. As he speaks into the phone, his eyes never leave mine. “Yeah, take care of it. I got shit to do. Later.”

  I wait until he sets the phone on his desk before I step inside. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “’Bout what?”

  I drop my purse and briefcase in one of the chairs opposite his desk, then reach inside to retrieve the paper from a small zippered compartment. Unfolding it, I set it down in front of him but remain standing.

  “I received this today.” I tap the edge of the paper, willing my hands not to shake. Regardless of the deep breathing techniques I’ve tried to employ after successfully finding the birth and death records—my birth and death records—online, my nerves are nearly shredded to bits.

  Brows drawn, he skims the paper, and I can tell the instant he registers the contents. His expression shutters before he lifts his gaze to mine. “Who the hell gave you this?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  His jaw clenches. “I said, who gave you this?”

  My voice rises incrementally, my frustration growing apparent. “Why does it even matter?! The least you could do is tell me the truth!”

  He darts up from his seat so abruptly, I jump. His eyes glitter with fury, voice dangerously low and lethal. “You don’t make fuckin’ demands on me, Professor. You’re a means to an end. Get it through your fuckin’ head before you go off half-cocked, thinkin’ you got the right to call the shots.”

  I swallow hard, battling against helplessness and confusion. Most of all, though, I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed in myself for thinking this man had a human side. I’m disappointed in him because last night, I caught a glimpse of what he could actually be.

  Attempting to fortify my defenses, I lift my chin coolly. “Of course. I’m just your goddamn pawn. Thanks for the reminder.” I grab my purse and briefcase, then rush from the room as if the fires of hell are licking at my heels.

  And perhaps they are. I’m here, after all, at the mercy of the devil himself.

  16

  Nico

  Fuck!

  I scowl at the doorway Olivia just stormed through. The woman is driving me out of my goddamn mind.

  The way she’d looked when she burst in my office in that damn pinstriped pencil skirt, blouse, red heels, and that fucking scarf tied around her neck pissed me the hell off. Some caveman instinct had my fingers itching to rip that scarf from her neck so I could
see the proof from last night. The way she responded to me had been off the fucking charts.

  I dart up from my chair, intent on finding her and getting to the bottom of things. But before I can, Rafe appears in the doorway.

  “Got somethin’ you should take a look at.” From the severity of his expression, I know it won’t be good.

  Tossing a glance down each end of the hall before stepping inside my office, he closes the door with a quiet click and draws his phone from his pocket. Thumb swiping across the screen, he hands me his cell.

  As soon as my eyes land on the photo of Olivia sitting with her back to a blonde whose face is partially turned away, only offering her profile, white-hot fury flicks through my veins.

  Goddammit. Who the hell is sniffing around now? I don’t recognize her, but it doesn’t matter. I’m so close to sealing this deal. The last thing I need is somebody who’s got something to prove fucking shit up for me.

  “Who the fuck is she?” I demand while swiping through the three other photos snapped of the two women. They still don’t tell me much of anything, except someone’s sniffing around my professor who’s been itching to know more.

  And this woman threw her a bone in the form of information.

  “Don’t know. Got guys on it as we speak.” I can tell by Rafe’s tone that he’s just as irritated. Fuck knows, he’s been by my side through all this, so the last thing he’d want is someone who didn’t get the damn memo storming in, guns blazing.

  “Gotta say this much: she was fuckin’ thrown off when I picked her up from work. That lady”—he gestures to the phone in my hand—“fucked with her today.” He hesitates, and we’ve known each other long enough that I recognize what he’s about to say before he voices it. “I don’t think she knows what’s at stake. My gut tells me so. Which means there’s a fuckton of other shit at play here.”