Page 39 of Faking it with the Billionaire

All the guys are in suits and ties. They clean up well for the event. Freshly shaven, hair trimmed, showered, and impressive. “You remember Jasper,” Kyler says, reintroducing me to his brother.

“I never forget the face of a man whose ass I kicked,” I quip with a wry grin.

Jasper’s gaze tightens, and he smiles, but it doesn’t seem as forced as one might expect. “I let you win.”

“You really didn’t,” Kyler says, slapping his brother on the shoulder. “But I still love you, bro. Even though you got your ass kicked by a girl.”

Jasper’s face turns bright red, and he hightails it to the bar without another word.

“He’s pissed at me.” Kyler shrugs and doesn’t seem to let it bother him.

Is that what brothers do, fight all the time? I have a younger sister, Amber, whom I don’t see often enough. I should call her and get together. She lives in the city.

“Coach,” Kyler says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “You haven’t met my girlfriend, Emerson.”

“Malone,” the coach says, holding out his hand to introduce himself.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, forcing a smile. Kyler doesn’t appear tense around his coach, which I suppose is good news. But I don’t quite fathom why he needs me here tonight. Where is the threat? Or is it just because he wants the media to eat up the fact that he has a new girlfriend?

“You should be mingling, Greyson,” Malone says. “Fitzgerald is already in a mood, and you guys standing around isn’t going to help matters.”

“He’s always in a mood,” Owen, one of his teammates, says. I recognize him from the party Kyler had at the house.

“At least he hasn’t been riding your ass all season,” Kyler says, glancing at Owen.

“There are plenty of other teams to play for,” Owen says. “You don’t have to take his shit.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” There’s hesitancy in his gaze. His words evoke confidence, but having learned to read people, there’s something that Kyler Greyson isn’t saying.

What is keeping him in New York? Is it his brother?

Glancing around, my stomach tightens, and I sway on my feet at the sight of Brad Clemens. My stomach flops, and nausea rears its ugly head. He was the leader of the initiation when I joined the FBI. Getting me drunk and taking me home was part of his game.

Bile rises to my throat, and my cheeks burn.

I still hate him for taking advantage of me. But most of all, I hate myself for letting it happen.

Guilt. Anger. Humiliation.

It all resurfaces with one glance in his direction. He took everything from me, my friends, the bureau, and my career that was just getting started.

I was stupid to file a formal complaint.

What I thought would be right only made everything a thousand times worse.

Every friend at Quantico, I discovered, was nothing more than a colleague. They turned their backs, even those who were caught up in the initiation and had been victims. They didn’t want to be tied to the same scandal that burned me.

“Emerson.” Brad stalks right up to me, his wife on his arm. He doesn’t appear the least bit bothered by the fact that he’s slept with both of us.

Although only one of us was conscious enough to let it be consensual.

I remember bits and pieces. Biting down hard on my bottom lip, tasting blood.

She, on the other hand, looks like she sucked a lemon before being dragged over. Not that I should be surprised, I told her what her husband did to me.

Her one-word response on the day I showed up and told her what a dirtbag her husband was and what happened between us.

“And?” she asked, staring up at me like she was waiting for more. As if his forcing himself on me wasn’t enough.