The Greatest Risk by Kristen Ashley
“Sixx!” Margarita exclaimed when she saw her.
“Hey there, Margarita,” Sixx replied with a nervous, forced smile, seeing Stellan’s kitchen counters were littered with burlap grocery bags in various stages of unpacking.
“I just got back from the grocery,” Margarita declared unnecessarily.
Sixx dropped her camera and workbag on the counter. “Yes, I see.”
Margarita grabbed a package of strawberries and a bag of Bing cherries and headed to the fridge. “Stellan said you’re in all weekend, so I got you covered.”
“That’s cool,” Sixx replied, trying to read anything on her that might be negative, but all she seemed was to be happily buzzing along in her duties. “Can I help?” she asked.
“Nope. I mean, if you want,” Margarita came out of the fridge and shot her a smile, “but you don’t have to.” Her eyes fell on Sixx’s expensive camera and came back to Sixx. “Are you a photographer?”
She shook her head. “Investigator.”
Margarita’s eyes got so big that they made Sixx give her a genuine smile.
“Like, a detective?”
“Sort of. I’m the in-house investigator for a law firm. If they have a case that needs someone to do some digging, I do that digging.”
“Interesting,” Margarita said, like she found it just that and then some.
Sixx’s lips quirked. “It actually is.”
Margarita’s face suddenly fell as her gaze went back to the camera. “Do you,” she turned her eyes again to Sixx, “have to take pictures of unsavory things?”
She nodded. “It’s a bummer but yes. Sometimes. I can’t share what I got snaps of today, it’s all confidential. But at least today’s work wasn’t icky.”
Margarita started chuckling, loading her arms with tortilla chips, boxes of crackers and a bottle of fat olives before heading to the pantry, muttering, “Icky.”
“If you’re down with putting all this away, I need to send these snaps into the office, but seriously, if you need help, I’m in, and the snaps can wait,” Sixx called after her when Margarita disappeared into the large walk-in pantry lined with shelves and cabinets with countertops that she kept stocked with pretty much everything.
“I’m down with doing this,” Margarita called back. “I won’t be long, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You’re not in my hair,” Sixx started with a loud voice but ended it normal when Margarita came back. “And, uh…” How did one do something like this? “If you, well…”
Margarita stopped moving and looked to Sixx after pulling two bottles of Hendrick’s out of a burlap bag.
Two bottles.
Guess she didn’t want them running out.
Or Sixx was enjoying too many of Stellan’s excellent mixology skills.
“If I what?” Margarita prompted.
“Need me to … you know, do anything. To make things easier on you. What with me being here with Stellan now and—”
She interrupted. “It’s my job to make things easier on you.”
“It’s that for Stellan but—”
“No, Sixx. I take care of Stellan, and this household. In other words, I take care of anything important to Stellan that revolves around this household. And since you’re here, and you would not be if you weren’t important to Stellan, I take care of you too.”
That was sweet.
But …
“I can make the bed in the morning,” Sixx offered. “And he told me you, well … get on him about it, so I can make sure Stellan hits the laundry hamper, which I noticed he’s not wont to do.”
Or even get close.
The man dropped his clothes where they hit and that was that, even if it was rooms away.
She didn’t get all she said out before Margarita shouted with laughter.
Sixx didn’t know what made her laugh so hard, so she just stood there, smiling that confused smile people who weren’t in on the joke smiled, waiting to be let in on the joke.
“Querida,” Margarita began after she quit yukking it up, “the only thing I beg you to do is not take care of the things I do for Stellan … and you. What excuse would I have to keep an eye on him if you made the bed and got him to hit the laundry hamper, which could grow to you doing his laundry and then the shopping and then where would he be? Considering the state of the individual who calls herself his mother, someone has to…”
She trailed off when she took in the look that hit Sixx’s face.
The state of the individual who calls herself his mother?
When Sixx had done her deep dive, she’d seen pictures of Brigette Lange. Older ones where she was startlingly beautiful and hanging on the arm of the then-handsome Andreas Lange—the heir to a hotel empire and the beauty who’d caught his eye.
She’d also seen pictures that were not recent but were more recent than those. Pictures of a woman still retaining her beauty even if it looked like a veil that did not conceal the haggard wasteland of the grief of a woman who’d lost her young daughter to suicide.
She hadn’t dug deeper than that into Brigette. It was enough to learn what befell Silie Lange and the public disintegration of any kind of relationship Andreas had with his son after they lost Silie and it came to light precisely why.
“He hasn’t spoken of her,” Margarita noted in a horrified whisper.
“We’re still getting to know each other,” Sixx replied, saw the expression on Margarita’s face and quickly assured, “There’s much that’s difficult for both of us to share. We’re … it’s too much, Margarita. We’re parceling it out. But he will tell me. He’s honest about everything. So you shouldn’t worry you broke a confidence. It’s just that we’ve known each other for years, but what we have is relatively new, and we haven’t gotten around to certain … details.”
Margarita was nodding repeatedly, but Sixx could still see she was shaken.
“I’m glad he has you,” Sixx said quietly, and Margarita’s troubled gaze came to her. “I won’t make the bed, and I’ll let him drop his clothes to the floor, so he’ll be sure to keep you. But honestly, I hope you know he’d do that anyway, even if he had to unmake a bed I made so he’d have the excuse.”
Margarita’s head tipped to the side.
“Did you ever expect to have a woman thanking you for not making your bed?” she asked unsteadily, trying to inject humor into what had become heavy.
“No. Then again, I never expected to live in a house where someone comes in every day to make the bed, so lately, my life has been full of surprises.”
Margarita gave her a tremulous smile.
Sixx’s return smile was steady.
“If there’s anything you’d like … I know what Stellan likes, and he has Susan call with any additions. But if there are things you want to have around or things you like to cook…” Margarita offered.
“I hate to give you a poor impression of me, but I never learned to cook because I never had the desire to learn, and thankfully, God offered frozen dinners and microwaves and fast food, so I don’t go hungry.”
Margarita looked alarmed until Sixx finished what she was saying.
“But the only thing I want around is Stellan, and since he lives here, does the cooking and likes doing that, I’m good.”
“Can I admit something to you?” Margarita asked abruptly.
“I’m feeling like breaking open the gin, getting us both sloshed, but before that texting Stellan to warn him he’s going to have to drive you home. So since we’re here, we might as well go for it.”
“If I were to have guessed who he’d pick, it would not be a woman like you.”
Damn.
Sixx fought stepping away or even turning away to hide how deep that stung.
“But after I saw you, I thought about it, and now that I know more about you, I think you’re perfect,” Margarita went on. “He is nowhere near your average man, so why on earth would he choose an average woman?”
Why on earth would
“Margarita,” Sixx whispered, not knowing what to say, not even knowing how she was feeling.
Just that it was good.
The woman nodded smartly. “She’d need to be unique. Individual. A force onto herself and him. Exciting and daring and beyond the pale. Someone who has an interesting job and wears leather shorts in Phoenix in the summertime, looking like a Hollywood starlet.” She kept firm hold on Sixx’s gaze. “And someone who would also offer to make the bed to make things easier on me.”
“When I saw your car, I was worried coming in here,” Sixx admitted. “When Stellan talks about you, I can tell how much he cares about you, and I really wanted you to like me.”
“Well then, mission accomplished, Sixx,” Margarita replied, back to her bright smile.
“Simone,” Sixx blurted.
Margarita appeared confused. “I’m sorry?”
“People I … I mean, I’m known by everyone as Sixx. Except Stellan. He … I’m Simone to him. That is, I’m Simone. That’s my name. But…”
Saving her, Margarita said firmly, “Simone.”
Sixx cleared her throat, then asked, “Do you drink gin?”
“I drink wine and I drink tequila, and I have a husband who will come and get me if I drink too much of either. So you send your pictures, and I’ll finish up here, and we’ll share a drink. And if that becomes two, I’ll call Ernesto, and all will be well.”
Sixx grinned at her. “Cool. Be back in a bit.”
“See you in a bit.”
Sixx grabbed her workbag and camera and headed for Stellan’s office, pulling her phone out as she went.
She sat at his desk and texted, I invited Margarita to stay for a drink when she’s done doing her thing. Cool?
She’d powered up and was loading the pictures on her laptop when his reply came back.
Cool. X
Stellan was not a verbose texter. He got the job done and that was it.
But that was his thing.
X.
Sometimes that would be his only reply.
X.
Sending her a kiss.
So Sixx thought he really didn’t need to say much else.
That was all she needed.
* * *
“I’m not sure how Ernesto feels about my girlfriend liquoring up his wife.”
Sixx was sitting at Stellan’s island, watching him cut up cucumbers that he was apparently going to throw into a salad made of corn he’d grilled on his restaurant-quality stove, chickpeas, mint, oil, lime juice and, obviously, cucumbers.
“I’ll admit, things got out of hand,” she mumbled into her muddled gin. She took a sip, swallowed, and finished, “But only because she’s a lightweight.”
Stellan shot a megawatt smile at her.
He had amazing teeth.
And he’d called her his girlfriend.
Did men like Stellan Lange have girlfriends?
It was he who called it.
So she guessed they did.
And that was her.
Seriously.
How was this happening?
When he tossed the cucumber in, mixed it all up, put it in the fridge, and went back to the tuna steaks, she tried to sound casual as she noted, “You’ve mentioned your dad, but you never speak of your mom.”
He didn’t look up from whatever he was doing to the tuna as he murmured, “Ah, so M has a big mouth when she sips tequila.”
He didn’t appear tense or pissed or hesitant, so Sixx kept at it.
But she did it covering for Margarita.
“She let something slip, freaked, I moved her past it, but she didn’t really say anything.”
He stopped with the tuna, put the heels of his palms to the counter, and looked to her.
“What did she say?”
“She just mentioned her.”
“How?”
Sixx lowered her voice and replied, “If you don’t want to talk about this, Stellan, that’s totally all right.”
“She’s a bitter alcoholic who’s managed to burn through the enormous settlement she obtained from my father, the healthy additions I’ve given her in the interim and, regularly, prior to the end of the month, the monthly alimony she still receives. Thus prompting my healthy additions. She’s the reason his prenups are extreme. He’s still supporting her and her excruciatingly slow commission of suicide, but this isn’t why he chafes against it. He simply wishes she’d fade from memory. He’s not a fan of being confronted with his failures since he vastly prefers kidding himself that he doesn’t have any.”
“Baby,” Sixx whispered.
“I understand her bitterness,” he carried on, seemingly effortlessly. “I even understand her addiction. She adored my father. In early years, I remember us all being very happy. However, I think she got a wrinkle, and his love for her died. She was completely unprepared. She thought she’d live the fairy tale forever. And she couldn’t ever imagine how that nightmare would turn into something darker than anyone could believe.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Sixx stated quickly when he paused in speaking.
“Why not?” Stellan asked. “We’re getting to know each other. This is part of my life. A part of my life that you’ll discover, and with something like that you should be prepared.”
“So maybe—” she tried.
But he kept going.
“She lives in a beautiful home outside Sedona. She meditates and wears clothes that appear to be crafted solely out of scarves. She has Tibetan prayer bells installed in her garden, and she drinks three bottles of wine a night and can lapse into rages about a marriage that ended thirty years ago like she just discovered her husband was unfaithful the moment before. She comes down too often and stays with me. When she does, she sits cross-legged by the pool on a Buddhist rug to balance her chi. Later I’ll have to assist her to bed because if I don’t, I’m not certain she’ll make it to her room without injury. She’s delighted I have not married, or even become serious with a woman, because she’s convinced I’ll destroy their life, like my father did before me. And if you told her she thought that, she would be stunned and affronted. However, halfway into bottle of wine number two, she would not be able to stop running her mouth about that very thing.”
When he stopped speaking, without anything else to say, Sixx said, “I’m so sorry.”
“I am too,” he agreed. “I remember her as beautiful and full of life, in love with her husband, and she adored her children. Besotted with us. It was unfortunate the bitterness settled in with permanency quickly, so even Silie lived it. Obviously, I cannot know what was happening in my sister’s head when she made the decision she made. And obviously, I’ve thought of it often since she made it. But I think it was not simply due to the fact she’d been raped by what amounted to a member of our family. It was that after she was, with her mother that bitter, already twisted, completely self-involved and so far down the path to alcoholism there was no turning back, Silie had no one to turn to.”
“Except you,” Sixx whispered.
He nodded once. “Except me, and your sixteen-year-old brother is not the confidant needed to deal with something that hideously ugly. I did my best, but it was never going to be good enough.”
In that moment Sixx was unfairly and irrationally angry at Silie Lange.
Because she hated that Stellan ever thought he wouldn’t be good enough at anything.
“Really, I’m so, so sorry I made you speak of these things, baby,” she said gently.
And when she did, he pinned her with his blue stare and returned, “I speak openly of them, Simone. I do not bury it. I do not hide it. I do not ever attempt to convince myself that it did not affect me, alter me, and those for the worse. I miss my sister. I mourn the life she could have had. I miss the mother and father I knew when I was young because they’ve both died as sure as Silie is gone. It is a fact of my life. It is part of what’s made me. I don’t turn away from it. I face
Sixx looked to her glass before she took a healthy sip.
“That’s not an indictment, darling,” he said softly.
She turned her gaze to the pool.
“Some of us do the best we can do,” he continued.
She cut her eyes to him and looked him up and down, from lean waist to fabulous head of thick, beautiful hair in his stunning kitchen in his Phoenician mansion.
“And some of us do better,” she returned.
“I found my sister dead in a garage. That marked me. I have a weak father and an equally weak mother, and that marked me too. I did not watch my parents get murdered and do it miraculously surviving a bloodbath. After what you’ve endured, the fact that you’re not a junkie, or a prostitute, or a drug dealer, or anything but the magnificent creature you’ve formed yourself into being is frankly no less than a miracle.”
Okay, she hated she put him through that.
But now she really wished she hadn’t brought it up.
“Are you going to cook that tuna or—?” she began.
“You couldn’t have saved them,” he stated.
“I know that,” she snapped.
“I’m not talking about your parents.”
Sixx actually felt her face pale.
Oh God.
Oh no.
God.
He knew everything.
She threw back the rest of her drink.
“They made their choices,” Stellan kept after her.
She glared at him.
“You are not responsible for those choices,” he declared.
“They were my friends,” she clipped.
He raised his brows. “Did you inject them with your uncle’s heroin?”
“Now we need to stop talking about this,” she bit out.
“No we don’t,” he returned smoothly.
“I’m sorry I mentioned your mother. I’m sorry it brought up your father and your sister. But in this getting-to-know-you thing we have going on, I’m not ready for this.”