Seducing Kaden (The Kennedy Boys Book 6) Page 2

  I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, and I didn’t know who you were when we met.”

  “Nor I you, but it doesn’t change the fact this could look very bad for me. I really need this job, and my first day hasn’t gotten off to a stellar start, so I’d be very grateful if you could work with me on this.”

  “Of course.” I rush to reassure her. “I don’t want you to lose your job.” Not when you’ve just made this class the most exciting one ever. “I’ve no idea how much it retails for, but I’ll find out.”

  She pulls a business card out of her wallet, handing it to me. “Have your mom’s assistant email me an invoice, and I’ll settle with her directly.”

  Our fingers brush as I take the card from her, sending another jolt through my body. Silence engulfs us, and she stares at me with a look I can’t decipher.

  Man, she’s so beautiful.

  And completely off-limits.

  It’s a crying shame.

  “I’ll do that.” I pocket her card, breaking the spell. “I’d better go. I’ve got behavioral economics next, and I heard the prof’s a real stickler for timekeeping.”

  She walks behind her desk, gathering up papers and books. “Of course. I don’t want to keep you.”

  “Okay, well, bye.” I scratch the back of my neck, awkward tension lingering in the air. I’ve only taken a few steps when she calls out to me.

  “Thank you again, Kaden.” I cast a glance over my shoulder at her. “That is honestly one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and it’s not something I’ll forget in a hurry.”

  And I won’t forget you in a hurry.

  Little did I realize how prophetic I was in that moment.

  Chapter One

  Present Day – 3 Years Later

  Evelina

  “I am going to murder that man in cold blood one of these days,” I grumble, tossing my bag on my desk and slipping out of my jacket.

  “Only if I don’t beat you to it first,” Renee agrees, flopping into the chair in front of my desk and kicking off her heels.

  Hanging my jacket on the back of my chair, I rest my palms on top of my desk. “You know, when I first came to work here, I thought Harvard was more progressive than this, but they’re no different from any other organization, and that has probably been my biggest disappointment to date.” To be fair, it’s the only issue I have with my career, because in every other way this job is my lifeline, my dream, my one true passion.

  “Gender equality is still a desire rather than a right, and until the high level of disparity is fixed, until sociological and societal norms change, women like us, working in male-dominated environments, will always have to fight tooth and nail to be heard, to be given an equal footing, and forced to put up with sexist bullshit from assholes,” Renee says, propping her feet up on the edge of the desk. “It sucks, but it is what it is, and Harvard certainly isn’t the worst offender. Far from it. They are way more progressive than a lot of universities. The Gender Initiative and the various new diversity policies and measures are all wonderful steps in the right direction. The administration shows commitment, but they can’t eradicate sexism or completely remove gender inequality.”

  “I know they’re making policy changes and trying to stamp it out, but unless they’re prepared to lobotomize the Jesses of this world, then I’m destined to put up with his sexist, macho bullshit for plenty more years to come. I’m really getting sick of it.” I pull out my chair and sit down.

  “Maybe you should consider reporting him.”

  “I have seriously thought about it, but I really don’t see the point. He’s too clever. All his comments, innuendos, and putdowns are subtle, and he’d just claim I misinterpreted his intentions.”

  “I’d back you up.”

  I reach across the desk, squeezing her hand. “I know you would, and I love you for that. But the two of us can’t take on the rest of them. Naomi and Kristin won’t say boo, they’re too worried about tenure to risk rocking the boat, and we all know the guys will stick together.” I slouch in my chair, massaging my throbbing temples. “And I’m entering into the fourth year of my five-year contract. I don’t want to risk the possibility of tenure. This job means too much to me to lose it over a jerk like Jesse.”

  “Ah, I know. I felt the same when I was in your position.” Renee’s a few years older, and she’s been here a bit longer than me too. She got tenure and a permanent professor position two years ago. “It’s so wrong. He’s been harassing you from the minute you stepped foot on campus, and all because he’s jealous of your achievements, and he wants in your pants.”

  I cross my legs at the ankles, thinking of the number of times I’ve had to deflect my male colleague’s advances. Jesse’s an asshole with a superiority complex, but he’s also ruled by his dick. He veers between hating my guts and resenting me as his main competition for tenure and lusting after me with little effort to disguise that fact.

  A shiver tiptoes over my spine at the thought of his hands anywhere near me. I’d rather sear the flesh from my bones, excruciatingly slowly, than let him touch me.

  Jesse is a handsome man, with no shortage of women to date, but he has the personality of a wet mop and the attention span of a goldfish. He’s not the sharpest tool in the box either, and everyone knows he got his position thanks to his connections. Not that that seems to dent his ego in any way. The man takes arrogance to a whole new level, and there’s nothing about him I find attractive.

  Not one single thing.

  Notwithstanding the amount of times I reject his advances, how often I call him out on his sexist bullshit, or all the ways he works to undermine and discredit me, he never gives up.

  His love-hate battle is relentless, and I’m really getting tired of it.

  The irony is all it’d take is one word to my husband, and he’d deal with Jesse.

  Permanently.

  But as much as I despise the man, I won’t go there.

  I won’t have that on my conscience.

  Especially not when Seth’s demise still weighs heavy on my mind, even after ten years.

  No. My hands are pretty much tied when it comes to Jesse.

  And I’m done expending any more energy thinking or talking about him.

  “What are you up to this weekend? Want to meet for coffee or lunch tomorrow?” I ask my best friend.

  She props her elbows on the desk, and a dreamy expression washes across her face. “Oh my God! I totally forget to tell you! Lee has invited me to his parents’ place this weekend, and I think he’s finally going to do it.”

  Renee has invested seven years of her life with Lee, and she’s spent the last four waiting, anxiously, for him to pop the question. I don’t have the heart to tell her she has it so good right now, and that the reality is often the polar opposite of the dream.

  Maybe I’m too cynical. Perhaps it will be different for my friend, and she’ll live the dream. But I can’t help feeling jaded, because my own experiences have been the complete opposite.

  As a little girl, I was in love with the idea of love and addicted to big Hollywood romances and swoonworthy leading men who swept their women off their feet, riding happily into the sunset.

  I had a rude awakening when I was fourteen and my parents shattered every dream I’d ever harbored. That was the moment I moved from adolescence to adulthood. The moment I realized there is no such thing as a fairytale ending.

  The princess doesn’t always get the prince.

  Or even the frog.

  And monsters do exist.

  They don’t hide in closets or under beds.

  They walk around freely, always getting what they want, and challenging anyone who gets in their way.

  I should know.

  Because I’m married to one.

  With every mile
I drive, my anxiety ratchets up another notch, until I’m almost hyperventilating by the time I reach the ornate iron gates. It’s the same every night I return home. My working week is my sanctuary. My escape. My breath of fresh air in the otherwise stifling environment of my so-called life. I delay the time when I need to return to my prison by working late, taking on additional projects, personally tutoring students, attending late night yoga classes with Renee, and occasionally having dinner or drinks with some of my colleagues.

  I’m not close to many people, and that’s by choice. Anyone I bring into my life could end up in danger, so I’ve learned to keep to myself and to hold others at arm’s length.

  I tried to avoid a friendship with Renee in the beginning, but she’s persistent when she wants something, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Now I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it. She has no idea how much she has salvaged my sanity, and how highly I value her friendship. She doesn’t know anything about Jeremy, and that’s the only way this friendship can work. I made it clear at the outset that my husband and my marriage was off-limits. She took that with a pinch of salt initially, probing me for details, but I made it abundantly clear we couldn’t be friends if she wasn’t prepared to drop the twenty-questions routine.

  She hasn’t asked after him in years, and I’m grateful. I know she’s curious, and she can tell I’m unhappy—hell, she isn’t quiet about that—but she doesn’t understand that I’m trapped and there’s no way out.

  The iron gates open inward, welcoming me home. I drive slowly up the impressive driveway, passing plush well-manicured lawns with tall trees and colorful flowerbeds, laughing inwardly at how deceiving the façade is.

  The house looms into view in my windshield, like an imposing overlord. My husband had it built for his first wife just before they got married. Set over two levels, it’s a drab gray stone building with narrow leaded windows that let in little natural light and creepy ivy covering half of one side of the house. The roofs are all at different angles, ending in triangular peaks. Ghastly turrets rest on all four corners of the house giving it a really dated feel.

  This house has never felt like my home. It’s dark and depressing on the outside, and inside it’s a shrine to Jeremy’s first wife, a constant reminder of all he misses and the innumerable ways I disappoint him. By all accounts, she was the love of his life, and he was devastated when she died giving birth to their first child. Neither his wife nor his son survived and, according to some gossip I’ve picked up over the years, their untimely deaths were the catalyst that led to his transformation from semi-legitimate businessman to criminal mastermind. They say grief can do strange things to a mind, and I can relate.

  Because the minute I turned eighteen and was married off to this man, it felt like the real me died, and I’ve been in mourning ever since.

  I turn off the engine and sit in my expensive Audi, giving myself a silent pep talk. I can’t walk into that house until I’ve prepped myself for it. It’s my usual nightly ritual, but Vincent still watches me from his position in the corner of the ten-car garage with a wary expression. His biceps bulge under his black shirt as he folds his arms around his chest, leveling a dark look my way. The gun belt at his waist holds two firearms, which I know he’s not afraid to use. My body trembles as horrific images of a night I’d rather forget surge to the forefront of my mind. Shaking those thoughts away, I focus on steadying my breathing and forcing my limbs into action. But Vincent’s sharp gaze pins me in place, making breathing difficult.

  Most of Jeremy’s men guard our home from the shadows, as discreetly as possible, but not Vincent. Wherever I turn, that man’s brooding, menacing eyes seem to be there, watching, waiting, leering. I know better than to complain to Jeremy, but Vincent is one of the main reasons why I hate coming home and why I’ve taken to locking my bedroom door at night.

  A powerful shudder rocks my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut, gulping over the painful lump in my throat. Mustering courage, I get out of the car, grab my bag, and walk toward the door, feeling Vincent’s invasive stare with every step. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him or letting him see how much he gets to me, so I plant a neutral expression on my face and push out into the corridor which leads to my home.

  Camille, our housekeeper, has left my dinner on a plate in the kitchen, and I heat it up in the microwave while I pour a glass of chilled white wine. I’m planning on bringing it up to my bedroom when Jeremy steps into the kitchen.

  “You’re very late for a Friday night,” he says by way of greeting.

  “I had some assignments to grade and some coursework to prepare for next week.” I close the refrigerator with my hip as the microwave pings.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. I thought we could spend some time together.” He rakes his eyes greedily over my body, and even though I’m wearing my favorite brown skirt suit, I may as well be naked.

  My insides twist into knots, but I force a smile out. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

  The lustful expression on his face transforms in an instant. Leaning over the island unit, he stares at me with barely contained frustration. “Would it kill you to actually try?”

  “Jeremy, I—”

  He stalks around the island, taking the glass out of my hand and placing it on the marble countertop. Pulling my hand up to his cheek, he covers it with his much larger one. “Am I that repulsive to you?” he asks as I forcibly palm his face.

  “No, Jeremy.” And that’s not really a lie. Jeremy is a handsome man and very youthful looking for his age. Apart from the tiny crinkles around his eyes and the few lines marring his forehead, he could pass for thirty-seven instead of forty-seven. With his chiseled jawline, light sandy-brown hair, and wide blue eyes, he is far from repulsive to look at.

  “So, what is it then? I don’t treat you right? Is there something you need I haven’t given you?” His eyes bore a hole in the side of my skull.

  Yes. My freedom.

  I think it, but I don’t say it. Because you don’t ever get to walk away from this life. And I’m smart enough to know you never ask for that.

  “I can’t complain. I want for nothing.”

  He releases my hand, sighing as he claws his calloused hands through his thick hair. “Then why can’t you love me? Why can’t you be the wife I need you to be?”

  I’m not sure what’s brought all this to the surface now. It’s not like he hasn’t known this for years. I think he realized pretty quickly that his second marriage would in no way compare to his first. Living in the shadow of a ghost isn’t easy, but that’s only half the reason for my lack of investment in this marriage. Mainly it’s because I had no choice and because I abhor the lifestyle he chooses to pursue.

  I turn a blind eye, because I have to, but that doesn’t mean I condone his illegal activities or that I’ve accepted them.

  Because I haven’t.

  And I never will.

  And it’s that, along with the way this marriage was forced on me, that makes him so repulsive in my eyes.

  “I’ll try harder,” I lie, hoping it will appease him.

  He peers deep into my eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

  I nod, keeping my eyes locked on his the entire time, wondering when exactly I became so skilled in the art of lying.

  A softness creeps into his expression, and he hauls me against him, gripping the nape of my neck with his strong hand. “Good, because I’m sick of resorting to others for affection.” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged his penchant for whores. I’ve always known, and it’s never bothered me because it’s kept him out of my bed, except for the weekly pity fuck.

  But looking at him now, I see the determination in his eyes, and I know I’m not going to be so lucky going forward.

  Chapter Two

  Present Day – Senior Year of College

  Kaden
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  I grab a shower at the gym and quickly make my way through campus on foot, cursing as I spot the time. Tiffani hates being late, and she’ll bust my balls if I’m not there to pick her up exactly when I promised I would. Not that my brother Keven will care if I’m late for his twenty-first birthday party.

  He’d probably prefer if I didn’t show up at all.

  While we are back on speaking terms, things are still tense between us. They have been ever since the Ireland vacation and his blatant disregard of my privacy.

  I hotfoot it off campus grounds, out along the busy Cambridge streets, jogging the last couple of miles until I reach my apartment building.

  I purchased the penthouse apartment over the summer, and it’s the first year I’m living off campus. Freshman year I shared a dorm with another newbie, and sophomore year I roomed with Kev. After our falling out, I took a single dorm last year, but it was way too cramped, and it felt like the right time to get my own place.

  Best decision I ever made. I love having something that’s solely mine, and the privacy and solitude suits me. Duke was angling for an invite, and I seriously considered asking him to move in, but I’m at a stage where I just want my own space. My apartment is only a short walk to Harvard and only a few blocks from my brother Kyler’s place. I’ve yet to visit my cousin Faye’s new apartment, but it’s not far either. It should make it easier to hang with my family, but it doesn’t. I hate that I’m not as close to Kev as I once was, and I hate that Ky feels caught in the middle, but I’m too fucking stubborn to admit I might have overreacted a little.

  Back in my apartment, I grab a quick bite to eat, get changed, and then grab the keys to my Jeep and floor it out of there.

  Tiffani is out on the sidewalk waiting for me, a customary scowl already planted on her face. I park at the curb and hop out. “I’m sorry I’m late. I got held up at the gym.”