Deception (Infidelity #3)

“I told him that you deserved respect and gave him a nice, long list of easy lays. I told him that if he ever hurt you, I’d hurt him.”

My face scrunched in disbelief. “You told him to screw other girls but not to hurt me? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t now, but it did then. My mom told me about the charges pending in Evanston. I know Uncle Alton is throwing money at it left and right, but I wasn’t the only one who had a reputation at the academy. From what I heard, Spence liked it rougher than kink. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised that he got carried away and beat the shit out of that girl.”

There were too many parts to his statement to dissect each one. “He had a reputation? Before he dated me?”

“While. Little cousin, all those girls were my cover. You were his.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying he’s gay. I’m saying his preferences don’t make for his Carmichael-Spencer reputation. If you ask me, from all you’ve said, that’s what he wants back. The thing is, I never thought of you as a spoiled princess, maybe because I saw the inside of your castle. Now him…” Patrick shrugged. “…I never understood it. Spence walked around Montague like the royal son, when in reality, he was nothing more than a pauper.”

“The Carmichaels—”

“Weren’t the Montagues. Hell, they weren’t even the Fitzgeralds.”

I shook my head.

“For some reason, Spence had, correction, has, entitlement perfected. If you ask me, you or I should be the ones entitled. Instead, we’re the ones signing our companionship away for a year at a time and he’s back in Savannah crying in his milk, wanting more.”

I stood and this time I took my wine glass to the kitchen and set it in the sink. When I returned to the living room, Pat was still sitting on the couch staring into space. I walked close and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you. Thank you for always being there for me. Not just now, but always.”

He reached out and secured my hand. Turning it over he gently traced the faint bruise on my wrist. “You trust him.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but trust is something that should be difficult to earn and way too easy to lose. Once it’s lost, regaining it is difficult. Spence may have earned it when he was three, but little cousin, if you knew all I do, you’d never put it in his grasp again.”

“But with the rumors about Lennox’s wife…” I almost stopped my question. “…you’d let him have it?”

Patrick shrugged. “It’s not mine to give. But from the look of your wrist, you’ve given it. Do you really want to take it away?”

Do I?

The boa was back.

“Good night, Pat.”





“MR. DEMETRI,” NIKKI, my newest secretary, said as she opened the door to my office. “Daryl Frazier is here to see you.”

I glanced at the clock on the corner of my desk. He was five minutes early—as far as I was concerned, a point in his favor.

“Show him in, and bring us both coffee.”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t listen as she asked Daryl the obligatory questions—cream? sugar? Life would be much easier if everyone drank coffee the way it was intended, black. What was the point if sugar and cream muted the strong, robust flavor?

“Mr. Demetri,” Daryl said as he entered my office, his hand extended.

“Oren,” I corrected as he took the seat across my wide desk. “As you can imagine, my schedule is quite busy. I’m glad my girl was able to squeeze you in, but to be honest, I don’t have much time.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll jump right to the point.”

The door once again opened. Nikki entered, her tight skirt accentuating her small waist, her high heels defining her shapely legs, but it was the neckline on the silk blouse that demanded Daryl’s and my attention. The large scoop fell low enough to showcase her most obvious assets, however, not too low to have them openly on display.

“Your coffee,” she said as she bent at the waist and sat two cups of steaming-hot brown liquid on my desk.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” I replied. “Hold my calls.”

“Yes, Mr. Demetri.”

“You were saying?” I encouraged Daryl, as I reclined slightly, rocking my large leather chair and moving my eyes away from Nikki’s assets.

“Yes, there’s this parcel of land, just south of Danbury.”

“Connecticut,” I confirmed.

“Yes, sir. It was just made available. As you’re probably aware, the population of this area has grown exponentially…”

Being on the receiving line of elevator pitches never got old. For years, ever since I worked to make a name, I was the one delivering the pitch, the one doing what needed to be done.

I wasn’t born to money but worked damn hard for it. Born to a longshoreman, I had a respectable example of hard work. I also saw firsthand who really made the money. It wasn’t my father or the other men who worked their asses off on the docks or out on the boats. It wasn’t their supervisors, because my father made it that far. It was the men who owned the docks.

It was the families that owned the city.

It was the ones who took risks.

My parents wanted me to accomplish something no other Demetri had done. They wanted me to get an education. They believed that would give me the ticket to move beyond the blue-collared world.

I did, but it didn’t.

Oh, it helped. It opened doors, but the real doors required more than a piece of paper or letters after my name.

I worked hard—night shift on the docks doing the same job my father had done, while I took classes during the day. I not only learned about business, I saw it. I watched who was paid to keep everything running smoothly, heard stories of unlikely alliances, and knew the truth about the unions.

I’d heard my whole life how they took their piece of my father’s paycheck. He never complained because, according to him, the union and its representatives were why he made good money—why a man with an eighth-grade education could support a family. They were also why he had health insurance and a retirement plan. He willingly paid his dues, and they took care of him. It was the way it was done.

There were men and women in my classes at New York University who came from money, those with the proverbial silver spoon. I never conceded to their birthright. Most of them had no idea where I came from or that I worked all night to sit in the same class as them. The more I got to know them, the more I recognized that half of them would be eaten alive in a place like the docks of Brooklyn or New York City.

Business was not learned only in books.

I did what my parents—God rest their souls—wanted and completed my degree. In the long run, it did for me what working the docks did—it gave me connections. I knew not only the men and the families I needed to know but also up-and-coming people in the world of business. Some things had been too good for too long. I heard the rumors of change. With my fingers dipped in both pies, I was prepared to move with it.

When I first graduated from NYU, I played the game. I worked for the man. I applied for legitimate jobs in big glass buildings. I wore the best suit I could afford and perfected my pitch. I knew the recession was hitting everyone hard, but I refused to give up. I knew the sacrifices that my parents had made for me and refused to squander them.

I made my name known working my way through the ranks.

It was there in the glass buildings with the fancy views that I learned that it was the same game. Everyone played it. Just like the dockworkers, everyone paid. It didn’t take me long to change my goal. I didn’t long to be someone else’s best employee. No. To truly succeed, I needed to be the one who received the payouts.

I determined that Oren Demetri would be on the receiving end, not the one paying out.