Only Trick (19 page)

Trick moves behind me so he’s looking over my shoulder at our reflection in the mirror. “Darby Carmichael,
you
are beautiful. Gemmie gets a gorgeous head of hair to play with, and I get a perfect canvas.” He kisses my neck and my eyelids grow heavy from his touch. “But honestly, my alluring beauty, marking your perfect skin feels sacrilegious.”

“Trick … touch me,” I whisper with my eyes closed and a fog enveloping my brain.

“If I touch you, neither one of us will be making it to our respective engagements tonight.”

My eyes flutter open. “I’m fine with that.” I reach behind and grab his hands, placing them on my bare stomach.

He pinches my sides eliciting a squeal and a jump. “That’s because your gala is going to be stuffy and boring.”

I grab my newest Rachel Hart green dress and step into it. “That’s because you’re not coming with me.”

He zips my dress. “If Tamsen weren’t leaving tomorrow, I would be going with you.”

“Who’s going to sneak off with me to some private corner and remind me how sexy I look tonight?”

He kisses the skin exposed from the plunging back of my dress. “Only someone with a death wish.”

I close my eyes, trying to shake the memory of Trick holding that gun like it was an extension of himself—confident, controlled, and deadly serious.

“My driver is probably here.” I open my eyes and slip into my heels.

After grabbing my wrap and clutch, Trick escorts me to the car my father sent for me.

He kisses my neck, being careful not to mess up my makeup. “Call me if you need help getting out of your dress later,” he whispers in my ear as the driver holds the door open.

He’s so mean. “Tell Tamsen goodbye for me.”

He nods as I duck into the back of the car.

*

Entering the grand
ball room, I recognize the same wealthy crowd. Everything reeks of money and greed. The team of young wannabe politicians that my father sends door to door asking for votes aren’t instructed to invite the average citizens of Illinois to these galas and fundraisers.
Why is that?

Senator Calvin Carmichael flaunts his “relatable” qualities on TV ads, reminding the public that he grew up the son of a hotel parking attendant and social worker. The ads don’t mention that he basically disowned his parents after he married my mom and started his first company. My grandma Carmichael died of lung cancer a few years ago, and I love that the decor at Rogue Seduction reminds me of her attic and the many hours I spent listening to her stories of each “collector’s” piece she owned. But my grandpa is still alive. Just after my grandma died, he moved to a small house in Watseka, Illinois where he grew up. We weren’t that close because he was always working, but I still visit him several times a year.

“There’s my girl.” My father breaks away from his cronies to greet me with a smile and hug. I hear the click of cameras and squint at the blinding flashes. “No date tonight?” He smiles.

“No. I see that pleases you.” I fake my best grin.

“Nonsense, sweetheart. I like Steven.”

“Mmm, you like Steven’s father.”

He ignores my comment as Rachel joins in our little family reunion.

“Darby!” Rachel greets me with feigned enthusiasm that she’s perfected over the years. She’s a walking billboard for Botox, boobs, and bulimia. “Look at you. Always the belle of the ball.” She’s complimenting her dress on me because when I’m not wearing one of her designs she never mentions my appearance.

“I just wear whatever arrives at the door.”

Rachel flips her pin-straight blond hair back over her shoulder and leans in for her signature air-kiss as the flashes erupt again. “Where’s Steven?”

It’s obvious how much she and my father communicate. “I’m not seeing Steven anymore.”

She looks around the room, giving me a fraction of her attention. “That’s too bad. Is there someone new?”

“Yes, my dear granddaughter,
is
there someone new?”

I turn. “Nana!” I hug her because she’s the only person here tonight that I’m genuinely happy to see.

“Grace.” Rachel steals her for more posed air-kisses. The only reason Rachel tolerates my nana is because she lived with us until I graduated high school. So when my father and Rachel married it was a given that Nana and I were a package deal. I was a junior in high school. We already lived in Barrington Hills, just a “smaller” home. Rachel insisted on buying the largest house she could afford and we all moved in with her. I couldn’t wait to graduate and get the hell out of there; neither could Nana.

“Well, if you ladies will excuse me …” My father’s met his three minute quota with his family. I’m sure he has some girl, no older than his own daughter, waiting with her dress up and panties down.

A server offers us champagne. I shake my head forcing a polite smile, while Nana and Rachel each take a glass.

“So, how’s your
friend
? You’ve kept me in the dark.”

Rachel raises her brows at Nana’s comment. “So there
is
a new guy.”

I smooth my palms over my dress, wishing I had taken a glass just to have something to do with my nervous hands. “It’s a long story, but Trick is good …
we’re
good.” Nana’s going to have to wait for the full version when we’re alone.

Nana winks at me; she’s such a character.

“Trick’s a unique name.” Rachel’s eyebrows furrow, eyes blinking.

“It’s short for Patrick.”

Her tongue brushes the inside of her lower lip as she gives a slow nod. “How did you meet?”

“He’s been doing my makeup for these ‘required’ events.”

“Well, you should bring him to dinner this week before I fly back to New York.”

“Yes, dear, you should, and you should pick your nana up on the way.” Nana’s posture stiffens with an air of readiness.

“Our schedules can be difficult to coordinate…” I glare at Nana for her encouraging this “…but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect. Text me, darling.” Rachel flips her hair and waddles away in her black satin mermaid gown.

“Thanks for that.”

Nana wraps her arm around my waist. “It’s going to be the highlight of my year. I can’t wait to see how your father handles an entire meal with your rebel artist.”

“He’s not a rebel. That’s such a stereotype, Nana.”

Okay, the fact that he could show up to dinner packing might qualify him for rebel status.

“He’s a gay man banging the Senator’s daughter. If that’s not a rebel then I don’t know what is.”

My chest hitches and my skin flushes as I huddle down closer to her ear. “He’s
not
gay, Nana!” I grit through my teeth.

Her eyes light up. “Oh my, this just keeps getting better.”

*

I’m sure it’s
a hundred ways of wrong that I won’t vote for my own father in the upcoming election, but I detest the limelight, the deceit, the scandals, and the whole mockery of expectations that has jaded our political system. Everything is so elaborate and so … not me. Nana fits in only because she’s lived this life for so long, but she’s managed to navigate through it all while keeping a sense of herself.

I can’t, not anymore. I’m tired of taking one for the team—a team I no longer want to be on. As our dinner plates are replaced with dessert plates, I push back my chair. The room is mammoth, but I feel so claustrophobic that I want to crawl out of my own skin. The orchestra, the numbing conversation, the eager waiting staff doing everything but wiping my ass—it’s too much.

“I’m leaving,” I whisper to Nana as she listens to some lady with diarrhea of the mouth go on about the exhausting task of organizing luncheons, tennis matches, dinner parties, and how she hasn’t had a mani-pedi in over two weeks.

That’s what the wealthy call slumming—pathetic!

Nana nods, squeezing my hand while pretending to be enthralled in what the woman has to say. Nana’s a saint.

My driver is summoned to the front of the hotel, and as soon as I get in I call Trick.

“Hey.”

“I’m leaving the hotel and I could use help with my zipper.”

“Hmm, you didn’t stay long.” The vibrating edge to his hum lights a fire in my belly as the butterflies take flight.

“Do that again.” I squeeze my legs together and close my eyes.

“Do what?

“That.” I moan. “God, Trick. When you talk it feels like you’re stripping me with your voice and leaving me naked—begging for just one more word.”

“Darby—”

“That’s it, keep talking.”

He chuckles. “Grady invited a few friends over. Have your driver bring you here, but call me and I’ll come get you from the car.”

“Trick, I’m physically overdressed, mentally naked, and in desperate need of a Trick fix. I’ll go home and you call me when everyone leaves.”

“Trick fix? That’s my line. You’ll be asleep before that happens. Just come here. I’ll take care of you.”

“What does that mean? You’ll have a change of clothes for me or you’ll give me what I
need
?”

“Just come.”

He ends the call leaving me a puddle on the seat. When the driver pulls up along the street, I text Trick to let him know I’m here.

I open the door before the driver has a chance to get out when I see Trick appear around the corner. He’s decked out in black, including his guyliner, with his arm tats on display right down to his leather wristbands.
Perfection!

Tightening my wrap around my shoulders to block the wind, I clink over to Trick in my heels designed to torture my toes.

“Come.” He wraps his arm around me, leading me inside where the warm air greets my chilled body.

Before we get to the elevator I hear laughter and voices from above. “How many people did Grady invite over?”

“Fifty or so.”

“Fifty? Ten is inviting a few friends over. Fifty is a party.”

He shuts the gate to the elevator, grabs my hands pinning them behind my back, and pushes me into the wall, my chest pressed against his. “So tell me about this
fix
you need.” The elevator jerks into motion as his lips hover achingly close over mine.

I swallow hard then lunge for his lips, but he pulls his head back, denying me.

“Tell me.” He ducks his head, lips ghosting over the swell of my breasts. “Tell me what you need,” he whispers.

“I-I—”

We jolt to a stop and someone slides open the gate, but my eyes don’t leave his. And there it is—the lip twitch.

“Too late.” He winks.

“Darby!” Grady yells.

Trick steps back dragging his eyes the full length of my body—tempting me, teasing me, torturing me. A mob of people I’ve never seen pull him off in one direction while Grady kisses my cheeks.

“Well look who just walked off the cover of
Vogue
!” He holds me at arm’s length. “Remember, Trick’s mine tonight,” Grady leans in and whispers into my ear. “Now, get a drink and mingle.” He pushes me into the crowd toward the kitchen.

Trick’s mine tonight?

I catch a lot of interesting looks, some a little creepy, as I navigate to the kitchen. This eclectic gathering has it all: goth, runway model, tattoos, piercings, shaved heads, fancy hats, and even the beanie-cap-saggy-pant-rapper look. The only thing missing is an over-dressed Senator’s daughter.

Here! Let the fun begin.

“Don’t mind Grady…” I turn to a friendly smile from Tamsen “…the gay masquerade has been a symbiotic relationship between Trick and him for years. So even if Trick decides he’s ready to come out of the reverse gay closet, Grady still needs his favorite decoy.”

“Decoy?” I laugh because there’s nothing normal about Grady and Trick.

“Grady’s my brother and I love him, but he’s a man’s man-whore.”

I look around for Grady and Trick and to see who else is listening to Tamsen. “So what does that have to do with Trick?”

Tamsen loops her arm around mine, pulling me out of the congregation of people and off to the side. “Grady has a knack for falling for married men, usually ones who have lots of money and a reputation to protect.”

“Married men?” I’m feeling dense, completely incapable of following what she’s saying.