Scandalous (Sinners of Saint Book 3)

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME to find out about Trent Rexroth?” I dumped a pile of documents onto my father’s desk the following Monday morning, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I’d spent my entire Sunday surfing, avoiding questions about Trent from Bane and trying to convince my mother to get out of bed and have dinner with us. I made couscous (the microwaved kind) and lemon chicken (from Whole Foods), and even made a perfectly edible salad, all of which I ate alone, in front of the kitchen TV. I was twenty minutes into watching a gruesome episode of a reality cop show before I realized I was chewing to the images of criminals throwing bottled piss at police officers.

Guess you could say I was distracted.

The nagging ache between my legs reminded me that Trent had played with my feelings, my sexuality, and my mind. Most of all, his notion that he could do this to me—control me the way my father did—made my vendetta against him almost mandatory. I wasn’t a toy to be controlled and tossed from hand to hand. My father held a very particular power against me.

Trent didn’t.

He was about to find out that I was no pushover, even as I, in fact, let Jordan Van Der Zee shove me around.

My father looked up from his laptop, rubbing his chin with his finger pads. Today, he wore a pale gray suit and a light blue tie, both of which had been tailor-made and purchased during his brief business trip a week ago. Which gave away the fact someone had ordered it for him.

A mistress, no doubt.

He was hopping on a plane that afternoon, flying to Zurich for a week. It was the third time he’d visited there in three months, which led me to believe he had a new shiny toy to play with. Whether he was really going to Zurich, I didn’t care. I was just happy he’d be gone for six days.

“Smart kid.” He clucked his tongue in approval.

Screw you, I answered inwardly. He was right. I was his little shadow puppet, ready to entertain every time he sent a flicker of light my way.

My father collected the documents I gave him and tucked them into a drawer he locked, considering my answer.

“Let’s start off by finding out whether he takes his laptop and iPad home with him, or leaves them at the office. The floor is wired at the reception, outside the bathroom and in front of the elevators. Having a camera in your office is a personal choice. Look for cameras on his ceilings, walls, or embedded in his furniture. Also, I want to know how many electronic devices he has with email and internet connections. And how often he uses them. If you can get your hands on one of them—bring it here.”

Wow, that was incredibly specific. And here I thought he’d give me the benefit of the doubt and wasn’t sure if I’d cave. He obviously had a detailed plan.

For the millionth time, I silently swore that the minute I untangled myself from the messy business with my father, I would throw him out of my life and lock the door behind him for good measure. I didn’t want to depend on anyone for my happiness. But my father had this ability to pull at strings and use his power and connection to hurt people who didn’t see eye-to-eye with him.

Potential sacrifice, the words echoed in my head. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Doable.” I nodded. Trent’s PA, Rina, had emailed me earlier that morning notifying me that I’d spend the majority of Tuesday with Luna and Camila. We were going to go to a local zoo and would catch lunch with Trent at The Vine. The idea of spending time with the girls—both of whom I liked—was nothing short of thrilling. But coming face-to-face with Trent after humping him, as he’d bluntly put it, was disconcerting.

Good news was, I was sure I’d have access to his office at some point tomorrow. “I want my visiting limitations dropped. I want to see Theo on Saturdays and every other Wednesday, and I want to spend my holidays with him.” My voice held a bleeding edge. Jordan waved a hand, his head already buried in a contract he’d retrieved from the printer by his desk. “That’s fine. Tell Max to sort it out.” Max was my father’s PA. My mother had demanded Jordan stop hiring women as assistants in the hopes it would get him to stop cheating with his employees. Yeah. Fat chance, judging from his erratic schedule and sparse visitations to our house.

I made my way outside my father’s office, his voice halting me in place.

“And Edie?” I turned around slowly, examining him behind his titanium desk. He looked so smug. Like he owned the world. Like he was immortal. Fool.

“Just a friendly reminder as your father, your employer, and the man who holds your future in his hands—don’t double cross me. Trent Rexroth is a smart kid, but he is nothing compared to me.”

I closed the door on him, keeping my twitching mouth from opening and spitting out the truth Father never wanted to hear: Trent Rexroth was more than smart. He was devilishly brilliant. But that wasn’t going to help him in this battle because I made him weak.

Weak where it mattered.

Weak where he left me aching.

And in his weakness, I’d find power.

And use it.

Not because I was vengeful or angry, but because I wanted to save Theo and my mom.

Not because I was a bad person, but because I needed to be good to the ones who depended on me.

I stole his iPad.

The ease with which I did it was both exhilarating and baffling, considering he’d already caught me thieving.

I’m sure he was surprised I joined them without a fight—I cornered Camila in the break room and casually told her I’d been invited by Mr. Rexroth and would be tagging along, which wasn’t a complete lie—but true to his detached reputation, Trent had acted like I was his daughter’s annoying friend. In other words: he completely ignored me.

All throughout lunch, he was busy lavishing Luna with attention, cutting her food, talking to her about their plans for the weekend. He was wearing sharp, navy slacks and a crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to elbow-length. The snaking veins and strong muscles on his forearms were meant to slam a girl against a wall and make her praise the Lord like a born-again Christian. I wasn’t a particularly sexual person. So it definitely caught me off guard when I had to excuse myself and go to the restroom, bracing against the sink in front of the mirror and shaking my head. I tried to make the idea of him crashing me against one of the cubicles, yanking my skirt and underwear down and eating me out from behind, dissolve before my body caught up with my dirty thoughts. I even went as far as convincing myself that wanting to have sex with Trent Rexroth was just a quiet protest against my father. Those forearms, though. I knew they’d haunt me at night, cut me open the next time my toes curled in pleasure. Imagining his strong arms grasping me would serve as a match to ignite the dormant desire sitting in the pit of my stomach. I washed my face with ice-cold water. F-o-c-u-s.

When I got back to the table, Luna pointed at Trent’s cell phone before gesturing with her hands to demonstrate something bigger.

“You want the iPad,” he said. I hated the way he spoke to her. Like he cared—like he truly cared—even though I knew he was just another Jordan. Maybe I was doing him a favor by getting him kicked out of FHH. He obviously needed the perspective and time to bond with his daughter.

“It’s in my office. Camila will give it to you when we’re done. Finish your pasta.”

Luna strummed her fingers on the table, her eyebrows wrinkled.

“Maybe she should learn sign language,” I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else, sticking a fork inside a juicy piece of steak and dragging it along the mashed potatoes. I never went to restaurants anymore—I spent my money on important things like gas and Theo—so this, in truth, wasn’t completely terrible. I hadn’t had a meal this decadent in years. Trent growled, his favorite form of communication.

“She knows how to speak. She just needs to do it.” He scrolled through his digital keypad, not even sparing me a look. Camila patted the corners of Luna’s mouth with a napkin, filling the pregnant air with words like “washing hands is important” and “want dessert?”

“She obviously feels more comfortable communicating with her hands right now,” I persisted, taking another bite of the steak. “Why make her life more difficult? You said yourself that she can speak. She will when she wants to. In the meantime, you can give her another way to express herself.”

He raised his eyes to me, his gaze loaded like a gun, before returning to his phone.

“I’ll ask Rina to find a sign language teacher,” he surprised me by saying.

“You’ll need to learn it, too,” I pointed out. He didn’t like that. I could tell by the way he put his phone down and regarded me with frosty eyes. He hadn’t touched his chicken parmigiana, and I was almost tempted to ask if he would let me take it in a doggy bag.

“Are you done telling me how to raise my daughter?”

“Not really. And I’m not sure you talking to me—or anyone else, for that matter—like this is constructive for her.”

That was the other thing that bothered me in the growing list of things that pissed me off about Trent Rexroth. He often acted like his daughter was not present in the room, even though Luna clearly understood everything he’d said. Her facial expressions molded and changed according to his words.

He stood up, disregarding me, and walked over to the hostess, paying the check. The waitress flirted with him, playing with her hair and laughing loud at what he’d said, even though Trent was the least funny guy I’d ever met in my entire life. If anything, he could bring me to tears just by looking at me if he really tried. He didn’t flirt back, didn’t smile, didn’t look interested, but when she turned her head for one second to swipe his card, he rolled his eyes and sneered. If nothing else, I wasn’t feeling so bad about stealing his iPad now.

Walking back to the office on the busy sidewalk, Trent and I strode next to each other, with Luna and Camila trailing behind us.

“You seem to have a lot of criticism about my parenting style.”

I laughed at his observation. “Oh, you have a parenting style? I hadn’t noticed. You clearly kept your crappy attitude—the one you wear in the office like a badge—at the lunch table, too. You haven’t spared Camila and me so much as a glance. Do you think your daughter can’t tell that you’re only civil to her?”

“Edie,” he warned. His voice sent a tingle down my spine, and I tried not to let my mouth curve into a smile. We were at it again. The cat and the mouse. But I wasn’t just a mouse. He was Tom and I was Jerry. He might win our battle eventually, but I’d managed to bruise him. I purpled and greened him all the time, leaving battle scars. Marks I loved to look at, in the form of his pissed off face.

“Trent.”

“How’s our little friend, Bane, doing?” He changed the subject.

I bit my lower lip in an attempt to suppress a laugh. The reluctance in his question was no less than thrilling. He shouldn’t have cared. The fact he was the first to bring up that night felt like a victory.

“There’s nothing little about him, and he is good. So, so good.”

“This sass is not worth the retribution, Edie. I promise you that.”

“See, you assuming I care about your power trip is your first mistake. Drop it,” I said easily, and this, right here, was what turned Trent on. I knew it because he stopped for a second, his throat bobbing on a swallow, and slanted his eyes sideways to see if Camila and Luna were watching him as he rearranged his impressive package inside his slacks. I stilled to allow him the time to do so—it was the epitome of provocation, after all. Then we resumed our walk.

“Are you keeping our arrangement?”

“What arrangement?” I bit out, prolonging the conversation. We stopped again, this time at a traffic light, and Luna huddled between him and me, watching the red light with interest. A pedestrian tried to push in front of us, forcing Luna to take a sidestep in my direction. I gathered her by the shoulder and squeezed her to my thigh. Trent caught it, his frown melting very slowly, his set jaw unclenching. The light turned green. We continued walking until we reached the revolving doors of the Oracle building.

At reception, Trent swiveled from the closed elevator doors and offered his daughter his business smile. The one he gave people who were important enough to be acknowledged on the fifteenth floor. All three of them.

“Camila, Luna, get us all some donuts for dessert.” He plucked a bill from his wallet and shoved it in Camila’s hand. She nodded, clasping Luna’s hand and ambling out of the building. The elevator slid open. We walked in, along with two other suited businessmen whom I think worked in accounting on the seventh floor. The four of us stared at the red numbers above our heads with quiet urgency, the tension in the small space making the back of my neck dampen with sweat.

Then the two men filed out on their floor. The second they left the elevator and the doors closed, Trent spun in my direction and slammed my body into the silver wall, and not the way I’d imagined. He didn’t even touch me. He pinned his arms on each side of my head, staring down at me. “Time to cut the bullshit. Did you fuck Bane this weekend?” His voice was an untamed snarl. I blinked innocently, wetting my lips with my tongue. Knowing it would drive him mad. Recognizing that the need was reciprocal. Whatever we were, we were toxic. A lullaby on a thoroughly scratched record that keeps hiccupping again and again on the line that you hate.

This can’t happen.

This can’t happen.

This won’t happen.

“What’s it to you?” I jerked my chin.

“It’s a yes or no question.”

I scanned his face. The way he’d dismissed me on Saturday had left scars on my ego and blisters on my libido.

The way he’d shoved me in his car like he possessed me.

The way he’d undermined my plans like they were meaningless.

The way we’d played with each other’s bodies like they weren’t connected to our souls.

My eyes flicked to the digital numeral above the elevator doors. Fifteen. The doors slithered open and I snaked under his arm, making a beeline toward his office. I could feel him following me by the heat rolling from his body. We passed Vicious and Dean in the hallway. They were hunched together, frowning over a document.

“Everything good?” Trent inquired, maintaining his business-as-usual bravado. And maybe it really was nothing to him. What we were. But for me, it was everything. At least in the realm of the fifteenth floor of the Oracle building.

“Great, where the fuck do you two think you’re going?” Dean was the first to snap his eyes up from the papers, biting his inner cheek to stifle a smile. Vicious ignored us, as he did the majority of the floor. The only time I’d seen him looking at someone—really looking at as opposed to past—was when his lavender-haired, boho-looking wife and cute son had visited the office last week. He’d looked at them with ferocious protectiveness. Like they made his soul both hungry and satisfied at the very same time. Everyone deserves to be looked at that way.

“Work.” Trent sniffed.

Vicious chuckled, shaking his head, his eyes still on the page. “Oh, brother.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Trent stopped, prompting me to do the same. The three men were staring at each other, and reading between the lines didn’t take long. They all disliked my father and wanted Trent to stay as far away from me as possible. Rightly so. Jordan would burn down the whole floor and wipe the building off of Earth if I messed with Rexroth the way I’d fantasized about not even an hour ago in the ladies’ room. No daughter of his was going to be caught messing around with an older man. A biracial older man, at that. A biracial older man who despised him and was probably trying to dethrone him.

Trent was the only one out of the four of them who needed me. For Luna, not for work. That made me the others’ problem by association, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they wanted to eliminate me from the equation.

Trent tipped his chin up and cut his gaze to me. “Wait in my office.”

I was going to argue, but then it occurred to me that he’d just given me the perfect opening. I bolted down the corridor, rounding corners, and threw his door open. I rushed over to his desk on shaky legs, stripping out of my scruples and good intentions with every step I took, like a snake shedding skin.

Like a snake. That’s who I was in that moment. A true Van Der Zee.

I don’t remember how I got to his desk, but I do remember trying to rattle the first drawer open. Locked. The second one was locked, too. The realization the room might be wired crashed into me at once, and my head snapped up, my eyes searching for the cameras. Abstract pictures hung on the walls, sparse furniture and a rug stared back at me, but no red flashing dots anywhere to be found. Not that it meant they weren’t there. My damp fingers made indentations on everything I touched, no matter how many times I wiped them on my skirt. Even if Trent had installed cameras around, it was too late to back out of what I was doing. Might as well take what I’d come there for. I resumed my search by reaching for a black leathered case under his desk, shoving my hand into it. A square, cool device met my skin. I fished it out, not taking my gaze off the closed door.

Jackpot.

His iPad was in my hand, nauseous euphoria washing over me. Jordan was in Switzerland. He wouldn’t be able to attend to this until next week. I had to make a fast move.

Tucking the iPad into the waistband of my sensible skirt, I breezed out of the room, throwing polite smiles in my wake as I headed toward my father’s office. I had the key to it, not because he trusted me, but because he was expecting the delivery. Guilt spread inside me like angry cancer cells. My action had pointy teeth, and they ate away at my soul. But Theo was more important than Trent, and, yes, the need to protect him burned in me stronger than caring for Luna.

I slipped into my father’s office, shoving the iPad into one of his drawers and nudging it shut. Quickly—so very quickly—I jogged back to the door, locking it twice behind me and turning the handle to make sure it was tamper-proof. My eyes were so focused on the key clutched in my unsteady grip, the voice behind me made me jump and squeal.

“This is not my office.”

“Good God.” I turned around, slapping a hand over my heart. “You scared the life out of me. I had to stop at Jordan’s office to water his plants.” The lie slipped so fast and easily out of my mouth, I wanted to throw up from what I’d become. True to his Dutch roots, my father was big on flowers and had an unreasonable amount of vases in his office. Trent was going to hate me for real, very soon, when he realized how badly I’d screwed him over. I couldn’t let his soul-sucking eyes and heartthrob body mess with my head.

“Jordan? Why the fuck are you not referring to your dad as Dad?”

Because he isn’t. “European education,” I explained, clearing my throat.

“European, my ass. Never bullshit a bullshitter, ring a bell?”

Trent glanced left and right, making sure we were alone, before grabbing my hand and dragging me to a narrow alcove that separated the restrooms and the break room. He pinned me to the wall again, crowding me. His scent hit me first, drugging my senses, then the soft fabric of his shirt brushed against my shoulder. Every muscle in my body tensed as I tried hard not to shiver.

“I’m asking you this one last time. Have you or have you not fucked Bane since Saturday night?”

I was going to hell for what I was about to do. For the cruelty I was willingly pouring into this already toxic relationship. In my defense, I was certain he only cared because he was an egomaniacal asshole.

“I did,” I lied, not daring to smile. Smiling was too much, but he needed to know he didn’t own me. No one did. Not even Jordan. “As I said before, I don’t take orders from you, Rexroth.”

If I expected him to shout, slam a fist to the wall, or act crazy jealous, I was mistaken. Instead, Trent flashed me a dangerous smirk, turned around, and walked away, leaving me there to pant against the wall. My clenched, needy thighs felt like what we’d done was foreplay, but the hole in my chest suggested this was more than just physical.

Also, what the hell just happened?