Page 9 of Beautiful Killer

CHAPTER THREE

Sunny

The door to my shop, Little Bird Jewelry, opened and closed, and my heart leaped before I could stop it. A whole week had passed since my night with Zeke, and I was still having trouble shaking him from my system. A shiver moved through me before I could stop it. Just thinking of our night had that effect on me. I seriously needed to compartmentalize the whole thing, stop obsessing, and stop reliving every moment in my head. I had a one-night stand. People did it all the time, then they left it in the past and moved on. That’s what I needed to do. I needed to lock Zeke in a part of my brain that I revisited every once in a while, like once a year or something. A place where pleasant moments resided, things that made you feel good when you brought them out, but were otherwise ignored while you got on with your life.

Unfortunately, that was proving easier said than done.

“Do you make these?” The woman that had just walked into my store held up one of my necklaces.

“Yes. I make most of the jewelry here.” I stocked a couple of other designers, but the bulk was mine.

“It’s lovely. You’re very clever.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

I was proud of what I did, of the fact I’d turned my hobby, my passion, into a thriving business. And I was proud of my shop. My mom had called me little bird when I was a baby. No one had ever told me this. My father certainly hadn’t when he was alive, he never spoke of her, but my mom had kept detailed journals her whole life. I loved pulling them out and reading them when I was feeling particularly lonely. Let’s just say they were well read. They helped me feel connected to her, to someone that I knew had truly loved me. I didn’t remember her, she’d died when I was only two, but through those journals I felt closer to her than I had to anyone else.

The woman looked around the shop for a few more minutes then bought the one she’d first picked up, putting it on before she left. Pride filled me, it always did when someone bought one of the pieces I’d created. This store, it was all mine, no one could take it off me.

My phoned beeped, alerting me to a new message. I could count the people who texted me on one hand. My stomach knotted uncomfortably as I picked it up from under the counter and checked the screen. Julia. My stepsister only contacted me when she wanted money. When my father died six years ago, he left myself, Julia, and my stepmother Cathy a large inheritance. I got the bulk of it, but that didn’t mean Julia and Cathy got the short end of the stick. They both got plenty of money and my stepmother got the nine-thousand square-foot mansion in Manhattan. She’d sold it almost immediately and moved to Greece, leaving Julia here in New York. Julia married her high school boyfriend, a creep named Bobby, a year later. Now twenty-five, two years younger than me, she was more than old enough to take care of herself. Well, you’d think so, anyway. Not so much. She’d been coming to me more often lately, which likely meant her and her useless husband had blown through her money already. I didn’t know how she could have, considering the amount she got, but anything was possible with them. A long time ago, I’d hoped she’d be a real sister to me, the sister I never had. I’d been wrong. She’d disliked me from the minute she laid eyes on me, my stepmother right along with her. They’d made sure I knew life would be a whole lot better if I wasn’t in theirs. My father was a workaholic, and honestly had no idea how excluded I’d been. They put on a good show for him when he was home, and they weren’t really mean when he was gone, they just sort of . . . ignored me.

Unless of course they needed something,

I stared back down at the phone, and opened the message.

I’m coming over tonight. Be there.

The knot behind my ribs tightened.

I shoved my phone back in my purse under the counter and got down to the business of closing up for the day. The idea of being on the receiving end of Julia’s resentment and bitterness didn’t appeal. Maybe I’d take a detour on the way home. I guess that made me a coward. But I couldn’t deal with another of her guilt trips tonight.

Thirty minutes later I was sitting in a bar sipping a class of Chardonnay. I hadn’t meant to come back here.

But somehow, I ended back at the same bar I met Zeke, watching the door, looking around like he might suddenly materialize. He didn’t of course. What did I think would happen? I didn’t want a repeat of the other night, did I? Yes, it was the best sex I’d ever had in my life, but wanting more was just setting myself up for disappointment, and if I felt disappointed . . . God, that meant I’d allowed myself to form some kind of attachment. Getting attached to a man I knew nothing about, had no future with, would likely never see again, was the definition of insanity.

What was I doing here?

I stood quickly, leaving my barely touched drink, and left.

When my cab pulled up outside my townhouse a short time later and I climbed out, my heart sank. Julia was sitting on the stoop, a scowl on her overly made up face. Thankfully Bobby wasn’t with her this time. I wanted a shower, my PJs, and a good book. Not to deal with my stepsister and her latest drama. Maybe that made me a bad person, but I was just so damn tired of it.

She stood as I approached. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, I got held up,” I lied, unlocked my door, and walked in. Julia hovered as I disarmed my security system and I was sure I could feel her scowling at my back. I ignored it and headed for the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure,” she paused. “So, um . . . how have you been?”

I passed her a Coke. “Good. No complaints.” This was the part where she pretended to care about me, before she asked for another loan that she’d never pay back. I could ask her how much she wanted, cut to the chase, but I was so damn pathetic, I realized I was suddenly happy for the company, even if it was Julia.

She wondered around my kitchen, picking things up, touching things, taking in my home, and when she turned back to me, bitterness crept into her eyes. “I bet. Not much to complain about living in a place like this.”

Her guilt trip worked. It always did, and she knew it, too. The fact my father favored me in his will was something she would never let me forget. She refused to listen or even acknowledge that the larger portion of the inheritance I received came from my mother, a trust she’d set up for me, which had nothing to do with her. I took a sip of my drink. “How’s your mom?”

She rolled her eyes. “She has new boyfriend.”

“That’s . . . nice.”

“He only wants her for her money, just like the rest.”