Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(18)
Author: M. Leighton

I know it’s probably just my conscience playing tricks again. After what I’ve done. Surely she can’t know. But still, I wonder.

“You look stunning,” I say in a moment of honesty.

Her lips part in an even more stunning smile. “Thank you. And you look very handsome. As always.”

I’ll admit I cleaned up a little. But not much. I could’ve gone all out and cut my hair and shaved my face. But I didn’t. And I won’t. I’m still too much of a bastard to do anything drastic like that just to pretend to be Cash (when he’s pretending to be me). Nobody’s that important. Including her. But I did comb my hair back neatly and tuck it behind my ears. And I trimmed my goatee and shaved around it. I’m sure I still look like someone who should never be allowed into a high-society function, tuxedo or not. But they can all kiss my ass. I’m going anyway.

My motives aren’t totally selfish, I guess. By doing this, by going with her, I’ll be proving a point to Marissa about how strong she is. Or isn’t. Taking someone like me to an event like this will push her further one way or the other. Which way is hard to tell.

I refuse to think about any other reasons, deep-seated ones, that might have played a role in my attendance tonight. I can’t afford to let myself feel anything for a damn woman. And that’s that.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

TWELVE

Marissa

How twins can look so much alike yet so different is beyond me. Maybe it’s just his personality that makes him seem so different, but to me, Nash is nothing like Cash. Not at all. I always thought Cash (when I thought he was Nash) was good looking, but he doesn’t hold a candle to the real Nash. He’s breathtaking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sexier man. And even in his tuxedo you can see that he belongs in a black leather jacket, perched on the back of a motorcycle. It’s who he is, right down to his bones.

Dangerous.

“Let me get my things and we can go,” I say quickly, turning to head back to my room. My fingers are shaking anxiously when I throw a lipstick, my keys, a compact, and my debit card into a black sequined clutch and snap it shut.

I pause in front of the mirror and take a deep breath. Why do I feel like I’m walking into an inferno? A moth drawn inexplicably to the brutal flame?

I have no illusions about him. I can’t blame it on any lack of understanding. I know Nash is just that—brutal. But I can’t stay away. Despite the danger, I don’t even want to. It doesn’t make any sense, and I’m not going to try to make it. I’m just gonna run with it. For once in my life, I’m jumping.

Closing my eyes against my troubling thoughts, I make my way back out to Nash. Back out to the flame.

* * *

I think the valet is actually afraid to take the tip Nash hands him. His eyes flit nervously to me, to Nash, and then quickly away before he reaches hesitantly for the folded bill. With a shy nod, he stuffs it in his pocket, hops in the car, and drives very slowly to the parking lot. I hide my smile behind my hand. I bet he makes sure the car is in perfect condition when he brings it back.

Nash joins me at the curb and offers me his arm, a gesture that shows me he knows how to comport himself in company like the people he’s getting ready to meet. And that he’s not going to be totally obtuse.

“Shall we?”

His brow is raised in mockery. I smile and tip my head at him, slipping my hand under his elbow.

My stomach jumps around anxiously. Part of it is the close proximity to Nash. But that’s nothing new. If he’s anywhere around, my focus is almost entirely centered on him. The other part of it is something that has nothing to do with Nash or his effect on me.

I acknowledge with more than a little disappointment that it’s worry, worry that he will do or say something to make a fool of himself. Or me. Or, worse, Daddy.

I remind myself that the new me shouldn’t even care about that. Olivia wouldn’t give something so superficial a second thought. And neither should I.

But old habits die hard. And mine have been in the grave for only a few hours. I don’t want any parts of that woman to be resurrected. I desperately want the old me to stay dead.

Putting on my most confident smile, I glance at Nash, walking cockily at my side, and we make our way toward the lectern to sign in.

The first person to spot us when we walk into the main room is Millicent Strobe, quite possibly one of the most vapid “friends” I have. Evidently she was in the process of exiting one conversation and moving to another, one with a couple situated more in my direction. She rudely abandons them, however, and changes course for, you guessed it, me.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she says in her sugary– sweet way. Her smile is too wide and her eyes too curious as she looks at Nash. She leans in for air kisses to both my cheeks. “A kitty and her chew toy.” She laughs her tinkling, fake laugh and lays her red-nailed hand on Nash’s arm. “Kidding.”

Only she wasn’t. Kidding, that is. The look she gives Nash, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, is full of disdain.

“Who’s this? Nash’s career-criminal brother?” She laughs her fake laugh again, and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. I shouldn’t have worried about Nash embarrassing anybody; I should’ve worried about the people I already knew embarrassing us.

“As a matter of fact . . .” Nash says quietly from my side. At first I think I misunderstood him, but when I glance up at him, I see that his expression is stoic, serious. He’s willfully provoking her.

“Now he’s kidding, Leese,” I interject lightly, laughing as well and using the pet name her close friends have used for years. “This is, um, Cash, Nash’s brother.”

My heart is a jackhammer inside my chest, determined to beat ruthlessly through the wall of my ribs. We didn’t discuss what we’d tell people. I assumed we’d still go with him being Cash, but . . . not like this.

“Yes. Nash. I remember him well. The question is: Do you? Why would you leave him at home on a night like tonight?” Left unspoken is what she really means—and bring this guy instead.

My father never bothered to hide his fondness for Nash and his desire to make him part of the Townsend empire. We live a very public life in some ways, which means that most everyone knows we broke up, too. The thing is, not one of them probably expected me to disregard my father’s wishes. They would expect me to appear here with Nash on my arm by whatever means. Because no one defies a man with my father’s kind of influence.