Page 16 of Seduction
Jake Sparrow/Asher Christmas
Ifocused on Si’s hand. Around the hospital, everyone knew him as Simon Brown, chief of surgery. His fingers were pinched together, and he shook them as he said, “Are you out of your mind? Have you gone bonkers for shit?”
I settled deeper into the hard leather sofa, arm stretched across the top, legs spread wide, feet planted firmly on the ground, trying to convince him I wasn’t sweating what he should’ve been concerned about. I had made a mistake by inviting Dr. Ross to the penthouse. The thought of her roaming the halls made me eager to get home for once. I wanted to see her—no, I needed to see her.
“It’s already done, Si,” I said. “Plus, I can handle her.” I sounded overconfident, but I knew better than to interact with a woman like Penina Ross without having my guard up.
Dr. Ross was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever laid eyes on. Sensuality dripped from her pores. I wasn’t that guy whose dick got tight every time he spied an exotic and natural seductress of her caliber, but her come-fuck-me quality was unmatched. I was shocked as hell to be that drawn to her when I first saw her walking toward me. Every woman I’d been in a relationship with came with a warning sign I’d seen at first sight. Crazy was in their eyes, proving they were indeed the windows to one’s soul. Penina hadn’t possessed the same quality, though. It was usually women like her I ran away from, fearing commitment and accountability. And before I’d seen her, I wasn’t looking to get involved with another woman, not for a long time.
Si had suggested I take an apartment in her building to help blend in with the others.
“A single doctor, new in town, would live in the boarding hold, at least for a couple of weeks. We maintain a furnished, temporary apartment. Stay there. Show your face. Blend in,” he had said.
I sniffed. “The boarding hold? That sounds like a fucking roach motel.”
Si tossed me a key. “You’re on the top floor. Give it a look, then move your shit in there, and be happy, Ash. Oh, sorry, Jake.”
I hadn’t smoked in ten years, but the apartment, which wasn’t that bad but not my style, was freshly painted, and whoever had done the work left a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the counter. Living in a small place like that with not even my ex-girlfriend, who was more of a friend than a lover, to keep me company, made me want to have a smoke for old times’ sake.
I bet Dr. Ross thinks I fucking smoke. I don’t smoke.
“Did you just say you can handle her?” Si scoffed.
“I am handling her,” I replied.
“Dr. Ross isn’t a bimbo.”
I sniffed bitterly. That was a fucking low blow, and we both knew it. Si was drawing a comparison between the sexy doctor and my ex, Gina Jones.
I shifted out of my relaxed posture to sit on the edge of the sofa. “Let’s leave Gina out of this.”
Si pounded the top of his desk. “No, Gina’s not in this whole fucking scenario. It’s my ass on the line here, Ash.” Then he poked a finger in my direction. “Not yours. You’re a fucking billionaire, Dr. Sparrow. But me?” He jabbed himself in the chest. “I get exposed for helping you change your identity, and I lose my fucking career. I worked hard for it—fucking hard for it.”
Silence fell between us. He knew bringing up my money was a sore spot for me and why. The longer I’d gone without being a Christmas, the happier I’d been. The world knew what kind of depraved soul my father, Randolph Christmas, was. The man was dead, but his sins against the weak, vulnerable, and young lived on. No one had to say they suspected I could be like him. I looked into their eyes and saw that I was guilty by association. Sometimes, I could have sworn I saw the judgment in Si’s eyes too. Maybe I was a coward, but I couldn’t live with that, constantly knowing people were wondering how much like Randolph I was.
“Don’t forget that I worked hard too. And I’m one of the best neurosurgeons in the world, and you know it,” I said, wanting him to admit it.
His face tightened as he examined me. “I know it,” he said finally.
I nodded sharply. “And Gina isn’t a bimbo. She’s a fucking survivor. And don’t worry about Dr. Ross or your career. I’ll take the hit before I let anything happen to you, and you know that too.”
Simon clenched his lips as he shook his head continuously. Fear was in his eyes, and I wished I could lend him some of my confidence.
Si and I had met at King’s Crest Academy, a boarding school in Connecticut. Despite its name, the place wasn’t built to be easy. Each day was supposed to feel as though we were being made to slog through shit—expensive, high-class shit. If I were more like my sister Bryn, I would’ve started brawls, landed myself in trouble, and embarrassed the family, and that would’ve made my father bring me home to be schooled. But living in the family mansion, a place I loathed, was different for a girl than for a boy, slightly more bearable. Our father behaved as if Bryn didn’t exist. I, on the other hand, a boy, a son, was clay for him to mold into a weapon so that he could acquire more financial and political power. It was Bryn who had given me the most valuable advice I’d ever taken. It had gotten me through the four years at King’s Crest and helped me become a person I wouldn’t have been without it.
“Make friends with outsiders, not those fucking cunt boys whose parents are afraid of Randolph. You’ll never be able to trust them. If they don’t know anything about you, then you can feed Father the shit you want him to believe.”
Simon Brown was a brilliant kid from England who had been accepted on a scholarship. I later learned that he grew up as an orphan. Since he had no fucking parents, I thought that made him luckier than me. Before his arrival, I heard talk of boys wanting to crack the outsider’s head open and serve his brains to the birds. Fuckers who were angry because they couldn’t please their fathers liked to run in packs and push around the weak. The problem was that Si wasn’t only a fighter, but he had more authentic confidence and smarts than every boy at the fucking school put together.
Our friendship began on the first day of school in biology class. The teacher told us to pick a partner for the semester. As I roamed the room, focused on the outsider, I could see my classmates eyeing me, hoping I would ask one of them to join me—too chickenshit to ask me themselves. I walked to the far corner of the room and stopped in front of Si’s desk. The outsider sat with his back straight, chin high. It was as if he knew the second-smartest kid in the room would know to approach him. Truth be told, I didn’t even know I was that clever at the time. It wasn’t until we got busy, pushing each other to be our best, that I realized my IQ was above average.
“Want to be partners?” I had asked.
At first, Si tensed up, gripping the side of his desk. Then he sat up straight, composing himself.
“Don’t bring down my grade,” he said.
“I won’t,” I replied quickly.
