Beautiful Beast by Aubrey Irons (12)

I find Bastian when I get back to the estate the same way I could always find him…

Follow the trail of carnage and destruction.

Follow the trail of tears, the path of shattered glass and broken hearts. And tonight, I’m on a mission to find him. And I want some goddamn answers.

It’s dark when I pull in, but like I said, it’s easy to spot him.

The raging bonfire right next to the pool is sort of a dead giveaway.

I march toward it, my jaw locked and the truck keys digging into the palm of my clenched fist. Lies, all of it. Worse, why would he lie about this? What sort of a fucking psychopath would pretend to be an even bigger asshole than they actually already are? Bastian did not fire my dad for the accident. Jesus, he even went down to the hospital himself to tell my dad everything was taken care of.

I checked that, by the way, at the billing office at Holy Cross before I left. It’s true. The whole fucking bill is being covered under Bastian’s personal insurance account.

So why the hell am I here.

It’s not to protect my dad. And like I said, there are easily four hundred people more qualified and experienced to be a freaking gardener of this place within twenty miles of the front gates.

Me being here doesn’t make sense. Bastian lying about why I’m here makes less sense. And I’m about to straighten this crap out.

The blaze is huge as I get closer. The fire isn’t even in a fire pit, or even a trash barrel or anything. He’s literally just lit this end-of-the-world size bonfire three feet from the pool, right there on the tile patio surrounding it. And the warlord himself is sprawled out in a lawn chair, shirtless, in a bathing suit, with one muscled arm behind his head and the other holding a bottle of something balanced on his abs, a cigarette perched between two fingers. He’s wearing sunglasses, despite it being totally dark outside, and I almost wonder if he’s asleep before he raises the one hand to take a swig from the bottle.

“Bastian.”

He either doesn’t hear me or chooses not to, his sunglassed-eyes still focused on the fire.

“Bastian,” I hiss, storming closer, ignoring the raging heat from the blaze.

Still nothing.

“Goddamnit, I know you’re—”

“Relax, Texas.” He turns to me, pulling the shades off. The blaze of the fire ignites something flickering in his eyes. “Jesus, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, why the fuck didn’t you respond?”

“Catch more flies with honey, isn’t that one of your quaint little southern—”

“Why am I here.”

No bullshit. No more beating around the bush on this one. I’m done playing this game with him.

He arches a brow, the tiniest smile teasing the corners of his lips.

“You mean like, philosophically? Because I can tell you what I think the meaning of life is, but I’m going to warn you, it starts with ‘P’ and ends in ‘U-S-S-Y’.”

“I’m not fucking joking.”

The smug grin fades from his face.

“Clearly.”

“Why.”

His eyes move over me like he’s looking for a weak spot.

“Where were you?”

“You can’t ask me things like that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“I was out.”

“Of that, I’m aware.”

“Well it’s none of your—”

“It’s very much my business, actually,” he growls, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes a sip from the bottle. He reaches next to him, picking up a log from the shadows behind his pool chair and chucking it onto the fire. Sparks ignite into the night sky, making me shuffle a step to the side.

“You disappeared at three o’clock in the afternoon on a work day. And there is shit that is your job to take care of around—”

“I’m going to ask you again. Why am I here?”

Interrupting Bastian Crown when he’s on one of his little tears has always been like dancing across thin ice. I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about that right now.

He takes a second, swallowing whatever he was about to say and taking a long drag from his cigarette instead.

“What?” he finally mutters.

“Why am I here, Bastian? Why me?”

“Do we honestly need to go over this again?” he sighs, flicking the cigarette into the bonfire. “Jesus Christ, I thought I was the one with the drug and alcohol problem.”

“I know you didn’t fire my dad.”

His eyes finally seem to sober, the joke falling from his face.

“So that’s where you went.”

I nod.

“So?”

“So?” I scowl at him. “So why the hell would you lie about firing my father? Why would you possibly take responsibility for that?”

“Is there a point to this, Texas?”

“Yes,” I hiss, jabbing a finger at him as I step towards him. “Why are you going out of your way to be an asshole?”

“It’s not out of the way at all, don’t sweat it.”

“Douchebag.”

“Brat.”

“Why? Seriously, why lie?”

“You’re a smart girl. You haven’t figured that out yet?”

I shake my head as I start to turn away from him and his “Apocalypse Now” late-night fire. “I don’t have time for your games, Bastian. I have to—”

“So you’d come, Ana.”

I shiver at the sound of my name from his lips, a slice of something cutting through me like it always does to me.

I hate myself for that.

I turn back, slowly, seeing his lips curl, his gaze measured as he studies my face - like he’s looking for that reaction I’m trying so desperately to ignore.

“Don’t read into it, sweetheart,” he says with a smug grin.

“Believe me, I wasn’t.”

“It’s a big goddamn estate, and you know your dad’s fucking weird systems more than anyone. It’s a simple equation. I needed you to be here for this place to work, and if you thought there was some gray area, you wouldn’t have come. You already hate me,” he says with a casual shrug. “If I could use that to get you here, so be it.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“Oh, don’t look so wounded.”

“Go to hell. I quit since this has zero effect on my father working here anyways.”

Bastian laughs as I whirl again and start to walk away, my middle finger raised over my shoulder.

“No you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

“It was Tom Westing’s office you were in, when Carl called, right?”

I’m halfway between him and the gate to the pool area and getting away from him, when I freeze, caught by his words.

“The talent guy over at Luminous Records?”

I swallow, my breath coming slow and a small chill creeping down my back as I turn back to him.

“How do you know that?”

He smiles, like a shark.

“Tom and I happen to know each other.”

Of course, they do. Of course, Bastian and guys just like him all know each other. Probably from some sort of secret society of rich, pompous douchebags.

“I could help you get your foot back into his office.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I say thinly, my hands clenched at my sides.

“No, you’re not. You walked out of a meeting with the head talent agent of a major record label. Hell, even I know you don’t get a second meeting after that.”

“I’ll be just fine, Bastian. So thank you, but no thank—”

“Finish the year.”

“Excuse me?”

“Finish the year here. Through New Years. I’ll double your salary, and I’ll make sure you get another interview with Tom.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“And if I am?”

I laugh a brittle laugh. “Then the answer is hell no.”

“You want me to fucking triple it?”

“Stop, Bastian.” I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just stop.”

“Why. Please don’t look like an idiot by saying you don’t need the money. Because we both know you do.”

“I—”

“How’s that demo doing?”

A part of me wants to scream and ask how the hell he even knows about that, but I know it’s useless. Of course, he knows about my failures. Of course, he does.

I glare at him. “It’s not the money.”

“Well?”

“It’s you, that’s why. There’s a catch here, and I know it.”

His brow arches as he appraises me silently. He reaches for his pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and placing it between his perfect, sinfully tempting lips before lighting it. He slowly drags on the smoke, the soft wisps of it teasing and curling around his face.

“Look, this is an easy decision for you.”

“Why,” I hiss. “And please do not tell me it’s because of my gardening skills either.”

“Maybe I just like having you around, Texas.”

“Except you don’t, and you never have, and the feeling is mutual.”

His face is neutral this time. No grin. No arrogant smirk. He studies me, silently smoking his cigarette.

“Fine.”

“Wonderful. I’ll be out by tomorrow morning.”

“No,” he growls. “I mean fine I’ll tell you why you’re here.” His brow furrows. “Why you’re actually here.”

“Save it,” I hiss, turning and starting to walk away. “I honestly don’t give a single sh—”

“I need you to be my fiancée.”

I come to a stop, a shiver running up my spine.

Keep walking.

It’s so obviously just one of his psychopath mind games, and yet I stop. I shake my head, my lips tight as I start to whirl on him. And I’m just opening my mouth to tell him exactly where to go with all of his bullshit when my sandaled toe catches a small piece of firewoood. I falter, and I’m pretty sure I make some sort of garbled animal sound as the world flips upside down and I go tumbling into the pool.

Water rushes past my ears, and I’m barely breaking the surface again when there’s a huge splash next to me. I gasp, sputtering and choking out water as powerful arms grab me, tightening around my body and pulling me close to him as he yanks me toward the edge.

“Let go of me!”

He ignores me and ignores my hands whacking at him as he reaches for the edge of the pool and pulls us over to it. I sputter, finally twisting out of his arms against the side.

“Goddamnit, let me go!”

“Fine,” he snaps, throwing his hands up. His chest rises and falls with his breath, his hair wet across his forehead. He pushes it back with one hand, his fierce dark eyes flashing in the light of the bonfire behind me.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he growls.

“I can swim, just so you know.”

“Well, your walking skills leave something to be desired.”

I flash a sarcastic sneer as I yank my phone out of my pocket and bring it out of the water, groaning at the black screen and tossing it onto a pool chair.

“Told you to wear a bathing suit in the pool area.”

I twist in the water, turning to face him with my back against the edge of the pool. Our eyes meet.

“I wasn’t planning on jumping in.”

“What else didn’t you plan for?”

His hands come to rest on either side of me, holding the pool’s edge that my back is against. I shiver, even if the water is warm, feeling the deep thud of my pulse in my veins.

I swallow thickly.

“A lot of things.”

He holds my gaze another second or two, unblinking, unflinching, and unrelenting before he lets go of the edge and backs away. He moves past me, his arms bulging and muscles tensing as he lifts himself from the water. I quickly look away, but it’s not fast enough not to see the water dripping from every part of his perfect body as he climbs out.

“Here.”

I finally turn and glance up to see him standing, reaching down with his hand. I take it and gasp as he effortlessly pulls me from the water and up onto the patio.

“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing a towel from one of the pool chairs and wrapping it around myself before I sit. The heat of the bonfire sizzles over my wet skin and hair as I shake my head, staring at my feet. Bastian throws another log on the fire before he slumps back into the chair next to me.

I ruffle the towel over my hair, squeezing the water from it.

“I was being serious,” he says evenly.

The laugh is bitter on my lips.

“Then you’re drunker than I thought you were.”

“I’m not actually asking you to marry me. Calm down.”

I drop the towel and eye him. “Then what are you asking me?”

“Have a drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“Trust me, you want one.”

I chew on my lip, weighing the idea of still just walking away from whatever insanity Bastian’s about to drop. Instead though, when he hands me the bottle, I take it.

“I turn twenty-eight in six months.”

“Who would’ve thought?”

He smiles grimly, his eyes on the fire in front of us.

“The case has been made that I’m….unfit to inherit the remainder of my trust fund. I’ll grant that my actions haven’t ever been exemplary—”

I laugh, giggling out loud and shaking my head as I take a sip of the whiskey.

Bastian glares at me.

“Hey, your words,” I shrug.

He snatches the bottle back.

“You know about my dad’s brother, in London.”

“Your uncle?”

“Uncle implies family, and family implies not trying to stab someone in the fucking back. So no, I’ll be referring to Franklin as my dad’s brother.”

I nod.

“Here’s the deal. The lion’s share of my trust is supposed to come into my possession on my twenty-eighth birthday. Except, there’s some ambiguous wording involved from whatever hack lawyer my parents used, and Franklin is using that and my accident to try and steal what’s mine from me.”

“You’re not going to really try and cry poverty to me are you?”

“It’s my money.”

“Right, but what do you have now, like ten million dollars?”

“Forty.”

I snort, shaking my head in disgust as I look away. “And what does this have to do with me?”

“I need stability.”

“You need sobriety.”

“I’m going to let you have that one,” he mutters. “What I need, or at least what it’s been suggested to me that I need, is proof that I’m getting my shit together. I need to show that I’m settling down, and starting a life with someone in order to settle this bullshit with Franklin.”

“You mean keep all the money for yourself.”

“This isn’t about the money.”

I snort. “Right.”

“This is about my parents’ legacy. It’s about not sullying the Crown name that’s gone back for generations.”

“Like you’ve ever cared about that.”

Bastian says nothing, turning to glare into the fire.

I let him stew for a second.

“So what exactly is this ‘ambiguous wording’?”

“Just what I said it is. It suggests that I need stability in order to be fit to receive. Planning a wedding would give me exactly that.” He turns to me, pulling a swig from the bottle - swallowing as he passes the bottle my way.

“Look, you don’t even have to tell anyone. Hell, I’d rather you not.”

I flip him off, and he smirks.

“Look, are you in or out.”

The whiskey burns as I take a quick sip.

“Triple your salary, your dad works here when he’s better, if he wants, I settle your financial messes, and I set you up with Luminous Records.”

I rake my teeth across my bottom lip, toying with the bottle in my hands.

“How about ten percent of the money.”

“Not a chance.”

“One percent.”

“You’re a shit negotiator, and still not a chance.”

I shrug. “Or I could walk.”

Bastian’s lips curl wickedly as he reaches out and plucks the whiskey bottle from my hands. “Believe me when I say there are other girls who would do this for me.”

“So go ask them,” I scowl. “Why me?”

I glance up and instantly shiver as our eyes meet, his shimmering that dark fire as the bonfire flickers over them. Wordlessly, he holds mine captive with his, saying nothing and yet everything.

“Do we have a deal or not,” he says lowly, his voice deep in his chest.

I finally break free of the gaze, turning to look into the roaring end-of-the-world bonfire raging a few feet from me.

I want to say I need time to think about it. I want to need time to think about it if only to keep the power balance here at least somewhat equal. But I already know what I’m going to say.

Maybe it’s the money.

Maybe it’s that everything else in my life is somewhat falling apart, and hate it or not, being back here where I grew up is a sort of comforting stability.

Maybe there are questions here we never answered, and answers we never questioned hard enough.

The word comes easy, or at least without thought.

“Yes.”

Bastian’s lips pull into his version of a smile - triumphant, smug, tempting.

We say nothing after that, the fire crackling and clawing at the night sky.

End-of-the-world indeed…