Page 15 of Gluttony (Seven Deadly Sins #4)

I was five when this type of moment with my parents was ripped away from me. Five when they were killed by a mass shooter in a fucking mall, of all places.

But I shake it off, this growing anxiety building at the base of my belly and threatening a bout of nausea. Mickey is trying, he’s planned an entire day to remind me of how good we are together.

Still, I can’t help the tiny snark that pops out of my mouth.

“Well, isn’t this a very Norman Rockwell-y image?

” I’d studied the beloved New Yorker paintings in one of my classes in college.

“The American dream viewed through Art.” The obvious message that jumps out is his sentimental portrayal of modern America, but there’s no denying his underlying message was more political in nature.

The realism mixed with just enough caricature is what made him a household name back in the day.

Hell, the fact I’m even referencing him over a hundred years later speaks volumes about his popularity.

“Come on, a couple of laps in the rink will snuff out that bitchiness.” Mickey flashes me a wide grin, reminding me that he’s joking. Maybe I’m being a little too guarded. After all, this is us. We joke, we throw shade, it’s who we are.

“We’ll see.” I grace him with a smile but I’m all too aware it doesn’t reach my eyes.

We skate for almost the entire hour before my bladder screams for a break. It’s cold and I’ve got enough coffee in me to make my bladder cry for mercy.

“Gotta pee.”

Mickey shrugs, indifference written all over his face. In fact, the entire time out there it felt like he was doing me a favor even though being surrounded by happy kids and their parents is literal Hell for me.

As I’m taking my skates back to the rental desk, I scan my surroundings. None of the happy faces are familiar. Just a plethora of proud dads taking pictures and smiling moms giving their kids instructions for the rink. It would be a touching and picturesque scene if it weren’t so damn traumatizing.

“Ready to continue?” I’m exhausted, my screaming feet and numb fingers would much rather be home under the comforter, but I promised I’d be here so here I am.

So why do my thoughts keep veering back to my bosses? Why am I wondering what a day out with them would look like?

This time, I physically shake my head to erase the intrusive thoughts. The CEOs of H2O are our marks. Nothing more, nothing less, and I need to stop thinking of them as anything else.

The day turned out to be fun, after all.

I do love walking around the different, smaller parks of Manhattan, Washington Square Park being at the top of the list. Watching the chess players living their best lives gives me joy.

My favorite part of the day was the Banksy museum.

I’d been meaning to go for a while and, to be honest, I was surprised that Mickey had remembered.

I guess he does listen.

But as we walk into Devon Quinn’s restaurant, the steady sound of people talking and enjoying their food added to the citrus and rosemary aroma that wafts across the space makes my mouth water with anticipation.

I’ve only been here once before, and not only is the head chef and owner hot as fuck, but the food is delicious.

Too bad he only comes to this location maybe once or twice a year.

As we make our way to our table—Mickey made reservations ahead of time—it’s clear I’m underdressed for this place, but since there’s nothing I can do about it, I try not to let it bother me. It helps that the hostess didn’t say anything.

“The special tonight is Moroccan Roasted Sablefish.” The server seats us at the reserved table and takes our drink orders as we eye the blackboard with tonight’s menu choices.

“We’ll both have the special and a bottle of Chardonnay.” I freeze at Mickey’s order, staring at him like he’s lost his mind then forcing myself to shake it off. I was eyeing the Veal Scallopini but…okay, guess I’m having fish.

Once the waiter walks away with our order, I lean and smile, grateful for this day nonetheless.

“By the way, thank you for the rose from Thursday. It was unexpected.” Mickey and I never celebrate Valentine’s Day, not really. At first it was because of our financial situation, no way we were spending food money on flowers and chocolates or whatever. After that, it just seemed silly.

“What rose?” Mickey glances up at me, chewing on a piece of complementary baguette.

“The long-stemmed red rose you had delivered to my door on Valentine’s Day?” My statement ends in a question as Mickey’s face morphs from relaxed to confused by way of his slanted brows and down-tipped mouth.

“Nope, not me.”

A different waiter comes to the table with the Chardonnay, opening it and waiting on us to tell him who will be tasting.

“Right here.” Mickey taps the stem of his glass and the waiter fills it just above the curve. Mickey has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, and neither would I to be honest, so he just downs the white wine and nods at the man watching him.

Once both of our glasses are filled, he walks away from us and I resume my conversation.

“Then who was it?” I realize I’m whisper-yelling like this is problematic, and just as the words fly out of my mouth, the door opens, a gust of wind entering uninvited, as three tall, gorgeous, and pissed-off looking men step inside.

Fuck. Me.

“They’re here.” It’s unclear to me whether I’m speaking to Mickey or talking to myself at this point.

“Who?” Mickey looks over his shoulder as Hadley, Orion, and Hayes stare straight at me before their annoyed gazes swing over to my date.

“This is our first date, play the part.” I smile, talking between my teeth so no one reads my lips as the men nod my way before heading to the back of the restaurant.

“This is good, make ‘em jealous being out with me. Maybe one of them will fuck you tonight. Got a thirty-three percent chance with that.” His words are as powerful as his slap the other night. The delivery, the viscous nature of them, it all feels a lot alike.

“I thought today and tonight was about us?” Even as I ask the question, my eyes dart to the back where the three of them sit, filling the space with their heavy presence.

Hadley has a direct visual of me while Hayes and Orion are facing each other, giving me their profiles.

Fuck, it’s rare that I see them all together like this and, for some reason, it’s overwhelming my entire body. And I do mean everywhere.

Ignoring my question, Mickey leans in and commands my attention. “Don’t fuck this up.” I blink at him, taken aback.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s been two weeks, Bo. That pussy of yours is supposed to be magical, so start using it.” He downs another glass of white and refills.

“I don’t understand how you’re okay with that.” This is like a forbidden question in our relationship. Obviously, cheating is a hard no outside of the cons, but according to Mickey, a job is a job and if I have to use my pussy or he needs to use his dick, then all bets are off.

I’ve never been a fan of this part but Mickey always insisted that sometimes, there’s no other way.

It’s always been his role to pull strings from behind his computer.

He hacks into people’s lives, watches through the cameras, then manipulates everything and anything to get the job done.

Sometimes we use sex as a means and he’s been known to seduce a rich heiress or two in the past, but the whole fake seduction game isn’t my jam.

That said, I’m pretty damn good at it, so his passive-aggressive attitude tonight is not sitting well with me.

“It’s just sex, right? No big deal. It’s not like they’re gonna fall in love with you.” And the hits just keep on coming. Wow, way to make a girl feel special.

Sitting back in my chair, I stare at him from across the table.

He really doesn’t care. He doesn’t care as he drinks his wine or eats his bread.

He doesn’t care when the main course arrives and he downs his carefully prepared fish with a potent paste of parsley and garlic.

There’s no mistaking his annoyance at my silence when he cleans his plate with a piece of bread and washes it down with a glass of water. He. Doesn’t. Care.

Worse, it’s my fault that he doesn’t care. That nothing is working out quickly enough or to his liking is apparently due to my incompetence.

Just as I’m about to take a trip to the bathroom, a shadow falls over the table a fraction of a second before a large man pulls up a chair next to me and sits.

“Bowie. How are you?” Oh, fuck my life. I never told Mickey that they figured out my real name. And by figured out, I do mean that I let it slip.

Taken aback, Mickey cocks his head to the side and flashes me a warning smile. “Yeah, Bo-wie. Tell us how you’re doing.”

This is so fucking awkward. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to blow off Orion or seduce him.

Rubbing my lips together, I take a deep breath and give Mickey my profile so I can face Orion.

“Hi. Fancy meeting you here.” The noise that comes from my mouth is a mix between a giggle and snort. Walking around covered in dog shit would be sexier than that.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

While Orion asks a seemingly innocent question, his entire body is sending a completely different vibe.

It’s more than jealousy or anger, it’s one step removed from…

hatred? And don’t even get me started on Mickey, who at this point is no help at all.

He’s just sitting there being a fucking prick.

“Right, yes. Wow, I’m being rude, aren’t I?” Okay, back to the plan. “Orion Thorne, this is my date, Mi–” I hesitate because we never thought of a fake name for Mickey.

“Miller Cummings.” Mickey puts his hand out, waiting for Orion to shake it.

Problem is, my boss is eyeing said hand like it’s covered in slime, and he doesn’t even try to hide it.

“This is our first date. Hoping I impressed the little lady so I can get another one soon.” Bringing his napkin to his mouth, he pats it clean and gives me a warm smile that reaches all the way to his eyes.

I knew Mickey was a great actor, I just didn’t know he was this good because I never thought he’d use his superpower against me.

“I’m sure.” The venom in Orion’s two-word answer is like poison in the air between us.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the little boys’ room.” Mickey chuckles, a self-deprecating sound I’ve never heard from him before. In fact, Mickey always makes sure he’s the smarter person in the room.

Once he’s out of ear shot, Orion is the one who chuckles.

“Little boys’ room? Sounds about right.”

The room is suddenly too small, too crowded, too warm. Orion’s presence feels like an omen, the inevitable doom of all my plans. Also, he smells so fucking good with his deep tones and seductive sandalwood. Maybe Mickey’s right, I should just stop thinking and give in to this job.

“I’m sure it’s just a figure of speech.” I smile up at him, polite and demure, but inside, my entire body is burning with heat.

Orion leans in, his eyes trained on me for the longest time, his breath fanning over my mouth. “Does that mean you don’t know the size of his cock?” I do, obviously, but it’s nothing to write home about. I found that out when I came mouth to cock with Orion’s.

Fuck my life, when he talks like this, unabashed with his attention fixed solely on me, I feel oddly special.

“No. It’s a first date.” I guess I’m just as good at lying as Mickey, judging from the slow grin that grows across Orion’s lips showing me straight white teeth in neat little rows.

“Correction.” I’m confused by that one word. What does that even mean?

“Pardon?”

“I said…” Orion milks the dramatic pause for all its worth. “‘Correction’.” When he leans back in this time, his top lip brushes ever so slightly over my bottom one and it sends a shot of current straight to my belly. Okay, fine. Not my belly, my clit. Definitely my clit. “This is your last date.”

Why is that so fucking hot?

For the longest time, we just stare at each other, our eyes imprisoned, our attention in a bubble where only we exist. Still, my brat mode is activated.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Oh, but, Bowie, you know I am. One of three, in fact. So be a good girl and say ‘bye bye, little boy’.” My entire face flames red hot at that little praise kink I apparently have going on but I frown at his command, not knowing who I’m supposed to be saying goodbye to since we’re sitting alone.

Just as that thought appears, Orion leans back into his chair and Mickey sits back down across from me.

“Well, I’m going to turn in. Got a long day tomorrow with my parents.” I blink at Mickey’s words. Obviously, he’s letting Orion know that I’m all his, so I follow my boss’s instructions, playing into his hand and keeping up the con.

“Bye bye, little boy.”

And as the words leave my mouth, I wonder what the consequences will be going forward.