Dirty Little Desires (Dirty Little Series Book 3) Read online

  Oliver doesn’t talk much about his family, probably because his parents had a nasty divorce when he was a teenager and all three of them are pretty much estranged now. But talking about this house? There’s a light in his eyes that I’ve never seen when he’s talked about his childhood.

  “I can see why you’d want to buy it,” I tell him, placing my hand on his arm.

  “That’s why I brought you,” he replies with a short huff of a laugh. “Ben would look at this as an investment and he’d tell me not to get sentimental over a house.”

  That sounds exactly like something my idiot brother would say, and it offends me to my core. “What’s wrong with being sentimental?”

  “Clouds the judgment,” he answers. It sounds like an argument he’s heard a hundred times before.

  “So,” I begin, leaning closer. “Am I supposed to talk you into this or talk you out of it?”

  Oliver stands, walks over to the porch railing and rests his elbows on it. He looks back at the house, and then out at the water. “I want you to give me your honest opinion.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I trust you,” he answers without even the slightest hesitation.

  I walk over to him, taking my time to look at the view. I also give the piece of real estate he’s agonizing over another look. For the life of me I can’t figure out why he doesn’t just buy it. “I’m still not following what the issue is here, Oliver. Do you think you shouldn’t have something that’s sentimental to you?”

  His eyebrows scrunch together, and I can tell I’ve hit the nail squarely on the head.

  “It seems indulgent. Frivolous.”

  “Sentimentality doesn’t always have a big price tag. What it means to us makes it worth more than money, so don’t think about the cost, think about the value.”

  He presses his lips together, still hesitant.

  I reach for the chain hanging around my neck, then pull it out so Oliver can see the charm. His eyes immediately light up with recognition.

  “Remember the summer I graduated from high school and you, me, Ben, Marisa, and Caleb went to Thailand to celebrate?”

  Oliver nods. It was an amazing, unforgettable trip.

  “Everyone else went on that bike tour, but I wanted to go to the textile market so you hung back with me. We had khao soi at that busy stall we ate at a thousand times that trip, then stopped in at this tiny jewelry store across the street. I was super into elephants and I was desperate for this necklace, but I’d spent all my baht on yards and yards of silk. You bought this for me, and when you put it around my neck, you said—”

  “So you’ll always remember,” he finishes with a soft smile.

  I drop the charm under my shirt and press my hand against where it always rests on my chest. “It didn’t cost that much, but it makes me happy when I wear it. The way I feel when I look at it, those memories? They’re priceless. If I lost this necklace, I’d pay anything to get it back. If this house makes you happy, makes you remember the good times, then buying it isn’t frivolous at all.”

  He looks like he’s going to hug me, but backs off at the last second. He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze instead and offers me a warm smile. “Thank you.”

  I pat his hand. “You’re welcome. This view alone will be worth however much you wind up paying for it.”

  He nods. We stand together a little while longer, just enjoying the quiet night.

  “Why did you lie to Ben earlier?”

  A spike of adrenaline skips through my system at unexpectedly being called out. “What?”

  “Earlier he asked if you had anything else going on and you said no. Why didn’t you tell him about the clothes you’ve been designing?”

  “How do you know I’ve been designing anything?”

  Oliver turns toward me and raises his brow. “You were up late last night sketching. And a few weeks ago after we all had brunch together, you begged off for work, but you ordered two bagels and a coffee to go. That’s your fabric shopping snack.”

  I sigh. Sometimes he knows me too well for my own damn good.

  “So why did you lie? Are you embarrassed or something?”

  “No!” I scoff. “I’m proud of my work.”

  “Then what’s the issue?”

  I turn and face the house for a few seconds, then lean back against the railing. “Part of me is worried that I’ve been getting by because of who I am, you know? I got styling clients because my parents are socialites, I got work with Marisa because I’m Ben’s sister. My dad doesn’t want me in fashion; he thinks it’s a waste. I’ve been working hard on this line and I don’t want to debut it on our website, because it’s our website. I want someone to recognize my talent and help me grow. I want to move forward because I’ve earned it, because someone saw something in me and knew I could do more. So I lied because designing and sewing has always just been a hobby for me. I never told anyone that I wanted something more out of it. But…mostly because I don’t want Marisa to know. I don’t want her doing me any favors.”

  Oliver grins. “I get that. Sometimes you have to make your own luck.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say with a sigh. “About half my time is spent figuring out how to get lucky.”

  He lets out a surprised laugh.

  “Not like that. I…I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I got it,” he replies with a smile.

  “So…” I turn back around, run my fingertips along the balcony railing. “Are you going to whip out your checkbook or what? We’ve probably left Michaela out there long enough.”

  With a somber, resigned look Oliver says, “It’s not that simple.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The woman who owns this property isn’t going to want to sell it to me.”

  “Did you sleep with her or something?”

  “No,” he replies quickly, like he’s offended. “And for the record I didn’t sleep with Malin Evans either.”

  “Okay,” I whisper. I didn’t mean to offend him, but he does kind of have a reputation as a ladies’ man.

  “I screwed her out of a business deal, and she still holds that against me. I don’t blame her, really. But I could quadruple the offer and she’d still say no. She’s probably burn it down out of spite if she knew I wanted it.”

  “Can’t you buy it under a shell corporation or something?” I’m not sure why I’m throwing out suggestions. Oliver has a whole army of lawyers to figure this out for him.

  He takes a few steps forward, gazing up at the house. “I don’t want to use tricks to get this. My whole life is wheeling and dealing, and I’m not proud of the way I’ve worked things to my advantage. I want this to be on the up and up. I don’t want it to be tainted.”

  I reach over and comfortingly slide my hand across his back. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Back at the rental, Oliver and I are greeted by laughter.

  In the living room, my brother and sister-in-law are hanging out with my brother’s other best friend Caleb and Caleb’s wife, Mia.

  Clearly the wine’s been flowing, and the two couples are sitting on either end of the giant sectional in the great room. Caleb’s looking handsome in a black suit, a red silk tie hanging loose around his neck. Mia’s rocking a black slip dress that I altered for her the other day.

  “Hey,” I say, making a beeline right for Caleb and Mia. I haven’t seen Caleb in a few weeks. They both stand and give me hugs. “You two look gorgeous. What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t make it?”

  “The benefit wasn’t too far and Mia missed you, so we thought we’d stop by.”

  “You want something more comfortable?” I ask Mia. She’s already kicked off her heels, but offering her some yoga pants and a tank couldn’t hurt.

  She squeezes my hand. “No, we aren’t staying long. Where’ve you two been?”

  “Oh, uh…” I wrack my brain for some excuse that sounds reasonable and doesn’t give Oliver away. “I just wanted
to take a look at the island at night.”

  “Because you can see so much of it in the dark,” Marisa says with a laugh. She looks at Oliver.

  “How was the party?” he asks, smoothly changing the subject.

  Caleb chimes in. “Same old, same old. A bunch of flattery designed to get into our pockets.”

  Mia gives him a playful smack. “You’re getting antisocial in your ripe old age. It was for a good cause!”

  He holds his hands up as a peace offering. “It was! But I would’ve given to it even without the dinner. I’d be happy to write a check sitting at home on the couch.”

  “I miss getting dressed up,” I say with a dreamy sigh. “I haven’t been to a party in forever.”

  The guys all let out long-suffering groans.

  “What?” I reply, sounding half as offended as I actually am. “It’s fun picking dresses and getting all glammed up.”

  “Not for people who don’t have your interest in fashion, sweetie.” Mia smiles sweetly, places a placating pat on my knee.

  “I’d do anything to not have to put on a tux,” Oliver replies.

  That’s a damn shame, because he looks so good in them.

  “Aren’t you hosting a benefit at one of your hotels next week?” Ben asks.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “You could just say no when people ask if you’ll host,” Marisa says. “That’s a thing you know.”

  “It’s good for business, it’s good for the people the event benefits. It’s a win all around, apart from having to get dressed up and go there.”

  “What’s it for?” I ask.

  “A children’s center for a friend of a friend’s hometown.”

  “I thought about going and doing something for the site,” Marisa tells me. “I heard Allegra Cruz and Poppy Argyle are going.”

  That name catches my attention. Poppy Argyle is one of my favorite designers. She blew onto the scene a couple of years ago, took the fashion world by storm. She and I have a similar aesthetic; I’d love it if she took me under her wing.

  An egg of an idea hatches in my brain, letting me know this is the perfect opportunity for me to make my own luck.

  “You’re going?” I ask Oliver. I’m barely able to keep my excitement at an acceptable level; I probably look like a rambunctious puppy.

  “Yes,” he laughs. “I’m hosting the thing. Not showing up would be bad.”

  “Take me with you.” The words tumble out before I have the chance to form them into the best possible sentence. “Take me as your date.”

  It takes a second for me to realize what I’m suggesting.

  “Not as a date date,” I quickly clarify, because Oliver stills in a way that indicates the prospect of a date date with me isn’t a good one. But I don’t care about that when what I want is so close within my grasp. “I meant as a companion.”

  Marisa perks up. “That’s a great idea, Oliver.” Oliver’s excellent at schooling his expressions but even I can see a spark of panic taking root. Dragging his best friend’s tagalong sister to a benefit and having to make the, “no we’re not dating, she’s just a friend” speech all night long is a downer for sure. But I don’t care.

  “Yeah,” Mia replies, giving Marisa a look that makes me vaguely nervous before she sets her sights on Oliver. “You should take her.

  “You should go,” Ben adds, before turning to Oliver. “Felicity’d probably make an excellent wing woman.”

  Well, that about kills it for me. “Never mind, it was just an idea. I don’t want you peer pressured into it.”

  “No, no peer pressure.” Oliver smiles a nervous smile. “You should come.”

  “Yeah?”

  It’s like we’re the only two people in the room. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’ll be fun,” he says, although I’m not sure he believes it.

  I’m too excited about my designs being in Poppy Argyle’s vicinity that it doesn’t really hit me until later, when I can’t sleep.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Three

  I stand at Oliver’s door holding a bag with a peace offering in the form of a caramel bun inside and a nervous, uneasy feeling in my stomach.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here staring at the gold plate his apartment number is etched into, but it’s been a while. The concierge knows me and he let me right up, but he probably called Oliver to let him know I was on my way. If I don’t knock soon he’s going to think I’m stuck in the elevator or that the weird guy in 6B cornered me to talk about his thimble collection again.

  We’ve been home from the beach for a few days, during which I’ve had time to think about how the whole “take me as your date” proposition must’ve come across to him. The way I just sprung it on him. The deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face before he’d had a chance to school his expression.

  I’ve also been thinking about how he said he didn’t want to resort to using tricks to buy the house, how he didn’t want to taint it. Whatever I’d get out of meeting Poppy Argyle at this benefit feels tainted now, because I invited myself without even considering that he might have a date lined up already. Or that he’d wanted to go alone.

  So, I’ve come to give Oliver an out and an apology, coated in his favorite caramel pastry.

  I’m just not sure how I’m going to phrase it. I thought a lot about this on my way over, but now my mind’s just…blank.

  Do I say, “Hey, I don’t want my dream to come true because you were peer pressured into letting me tag along to your party, please enjoy this pastry and disregard my invite”?

  I figure maybe it’ll be best if I just wing it.

  I’m about to knock when Oliver opens the door.

  He’s wearing my favorite dark grey henley, the one that really makes his eyes pop. Ugh, he just had to go and wear the shirt that accentuates his gorgeousness today. That’s going to make everything more difficult.

  “Hey,” he says with a smile. “Raoul called to say you were on your way five minutes ago. I was wondering if I was gonna have to save you from 6B again.”

  “What if I were here to see someone else?”

  “Lucky them,” he teases.

  Flatterer.

  “Do you have a few minutes? I realize it was rude not to call first, but I—”

  “Felicity,” he breathes. “I always have time for you.”

  He’s really not trying to make this easy for me.

  “I brought you something.” I hold out the bag and his eyes instantly brighten.

  “Caramel bun?” He’s excited like a kid at Christmas. He opens the bag, brings it up to his nose and breathes in.

  I nod. “Yup.”

  “Okay, now I’m worried.”

  “Why?”

  “You stood outside my door for five minutes after you got here, you have this weird nervous energy going on that you’re trying to hide, and you brought me some comfort food. I always love seeing you but you didn’t come here just to bring me pastry. What’s going on?”

  This would be infinitely easier if he didn’t know me so well. “Can we sit?”

  He really is worried. It’s written all over his face. “Yeah, sure.”

  We step inside, and I make my way to Oliver’s living room. I’ve always been at home here; even though it’s a typical bachelor pad in that it’s filled with high-tech gadgets and TVs that almost take up entire walls and it could definitely use a woman’s touch, it’s…comfy. He has a large sectional with lots of pillows. The whole place is incredibly inviting, just like its owner.

  I plant myself in my favorite spot on Oliver’s couch and pull a giant pillow into my lap because this will probably go more smoothly if I have something to hang onto.

  Oliver sits on the coffee table across from me and reaches into the bag. He pulls out the bun and takes a huge bite, sending flakes all over his lap.

  He hums at how good it is like he always does, and that little bit o
f familiarity comforts me.

  “You’re getting crumbs everywhere,” I say.

  He brushes them off his pants and onto the floor just to irritate me, I’m sure. “I’ll clean it up later. I’m stress eating; I’m not worried about being neat.”

  I playfully roll my eyes. He’s so dramatic. “No need to stress eat.”

  “No? You aren’t about to tell me you’re sick or leaving or something else that’s going to turn my world upside-down are you?” He knocks my knee with his, letting me know he’s teasing.

  “No, nothing that big. I just came to apologize to you. And to let you off the hook.”

  He tears himself away from the bun for a second to give me an adorably confused look. “What?”

  “For the party,” I explain. “We had just had that talk about making your own luck. When Marisa said that Poppy Argyle was gonna be there my mind went into scheming overdrive. She’s my favorite designer; I’d love to work with her. I got this idea in my head that I’d go to your benefit, she’d see my dress, want to know more about the designer, and everything would just…work out in my favor. I got carried away and I cornered you. You looked really uncomfortable and then you got peer pressured—”

  “I told you. I didn’t get peer pressured.”

  I ignore him and keep going. “I didn’t even ask you if you were thinking about taking someone else or stop to consider whether you’d want me hanging around with you all night. So I wanted to give you an out.”

  He puts the bun back in the bag and tosses it aside. “Felicity,” he says in that way only he can, all purposeful and sweet. “I always want you around and I don’t want an out. I’d love it if you’d…how did you put it? Be not my date date, but my companion for the evening.”

  The reminder of my former verbal diarrhea aside, this time he’s smiling in that way that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle up and I know that he absolutely means what he says.

  Peer pressure worries? Gone.

  “Yeah?” I ask, because maybe I just need to hear it one more time.

  He nods. “You know no one makes me do anything I don’t want to do.”