Matt’s smile flashed wide. “There’s my sister I love.”

I let out an abrupt laugh.

Sister. Love.

I felt faint. He could’ve tipped me over, right then and there.

THIRTY-SEVEN

We were heading down the road when the phone in Matt’s car went off. We had a car ahead of us, with security, and an SUV behind us, but he had wanted to drive himself. Hitting the button to answer the phone, he said, “Talk to me.”

“There’s an issue at the field.” It was one of the security teams.

Matt frowned. “What’s the issue?”

“There’s two problems. There’s press, and your loft is being used.”

Matt’s head reared back an inch. His frown deepened. “I figured there’d be press, but I was hoping to enter the back way and let Bailey stay at the loft. Who’s using the loft? It’s supposed to be off-limits unless we give the say-so.”

“According to the field manager, your father gave the say-so.”

“My dad? He’s there?”

“No, but he gave them permission.”

“I want those people cleared. I can’t bring Bailey there unless it is.”

There was silence on their end, until, “Maybe you could go another day?”

Matt’s scowl was immediate. “Fuck that. It’s horses, and sticks waving in the air. Yes, there’s press, but no one that’s a risk to Bailey. We’re going; that’s final. Tell the manager to clear the loft. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I was more distracted by the press comment. “You think Camille Story will be there?” I hadn’t thought about that, but she’d been known to go to events like this. And she loved reporting on Matt. A lot. She had a thing for him. She never came out and said it, but that was my theory. The stats of her stories on Matt compared to those on others was disproportionately in his favor. Almost a landslide.

His answering growl confirmed my question. “I hope not. She’s a pain in the ass.”

I was starting to enjoy this. “You guys ever sleep together? Because she reports on you a lot—like a lot a lot.”

Silence. Again.

My eyes widened. “Are you for real? You did Camille Story?”

He was moving in his seat, adjusting and rolling his shoulders back. “What? She’s hot. And I was wasted.”

“She never reported on that.”

Screw enjoying. I was loving this.

I asked, “Did you reject her? Is she one of the girls that she says you bang for a night and then toss ’em out like garbage?”

“No.” A beat. “Maybe. I don’t know. She took pictures of my dick. She was going to post them on her site, but Kash found out and slapped her with a lawsuit that would’ve bankrupted her four times over.”

“Kash does stuff like that?”

“Kash takes care of us. Either physically or with this shit. He scared the crap out of her. She backed down, signed a contract that she had to destroy all of those pictures—and he got her first site shut down because of it.”

“Oh, whoa.” I remembered when she disappeared for a month.

“We have to watch out for her if she’s there. She’s scared of Kash, though. He’s the reason she posts only half the crap she wants to. She can’t afford to run across him again.”

Really.

What more could I find out about this guy who was crawling into my bed?

I couldn’t stop myself. The need to know was too high. “Who is Kash to your family?”

Matt glanced at me.

“I mean, what exactly does he do? How’d he grow up with you guys?”

“He hasn’t told you?”

I shook my head, slowly.

Matt’s eyelids shuttered closed for a second before lifting to continue watching the road. He spoke tightly. “I think you should wait for that conversation with him.”

Damn it.

“But Bailey.”

“Yeah?”

His tone softened considerably. “Kash takes care of us, and that’s not because he’s paid. He took that role on himself, and even I don’t know the reasons. I’m just saying, he’s complicated. If he tells you everything, then you’ll know more than any of us.”

“You don’t even know?”

“I know some. I know…” He bobbed his head to the side. “I know what I’m allowed to know, I guess I should clarify. Kash is … like I said—”

I finished for him. “Complicated.”

“Yeah.” His hand tightened on the steering wheel, and then we were slowing down. The turn signal was put on and we were going down another road. This one wasn’t as empty as the others had been. Cars were lined up along the side of the road, and the farther we traveled, the more compact they were becoming. They weren’t normal cars, either. They were rich ones. Bentleys. Navigators. More than a few brand-new Audis. A couple Rolls-Royces. Range Rovers. Porsches. A Bugatti, even.

“Who plays in this tournament?”

Matt spared me a grin, slowing the car again, as the rest of the traffic had backed up to where we were. We weren’t moving, so he sat back, his wrist resting on the steering wheel, and he went to switching on some music.