Magpie: Prologue

Robbie

“He doesn’t mind, I promise,” I repeated as I punched in the key code next to the front door. 

My friend Jason narrowed his eyes at me. “And who’s the guy who owns this place again? Your uncle?” 

“Jesus, no! God. No. Kit is… I mean, he’s kind of like an uncle. He’s been my dad’s friend for as long as I can remember.” I shoved the heavy door open and felt the sweet relief of the air-conditioning. Rabbit Island, South Carolina, was more humid than Berkeley, California, by a factor of a hundred million. At least. “But he’s cool. I mean… he’s not as old as my dad, so he’s less embarrassing.” 

“He must be an actor too,” Jason said with a trace of awe in his voice. “Look at this place.” 

I reached down for our bags and pulled them inside before closing the door behind us. “He’s the CEO of Evers Media.” 

Jason’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Evers Media, like the people who make the Nova Syndicate movies?” 

I nodded and flicked on the nearest light switch. The wide expanse of windows across the back of the house reflected warm light from all the lamps around the wide-open living room and kitchen space. “And a bunch of other stuff. They also produce the TAC-9 series and Oxbow Valley.” 

“Holee shit, Robbie. Fuck. This place is insane.” He kicked off his shoes by the door as if afraid to leave even a single smudge on the wide-plank hardwoods and designer rugs. “I don’t even want to touch anything. Can you imagine how much all this shit costs?” 

I hated moments like this, when I was reminded that the world I grew up in was foreign and untouchable to most of my friends. Jason had grown up in a tiny town in Kentucky and had only ended up at UC Berkeley after busting his ass working and establishing residency in California first. He was the poorest of our group of friends, and it was easy to forget.  

“It’s just stuff,” I said defensively. “And you can stop treating everything like it’s precious. I promise Kit doesn’t care. He’s only here like four times a year, anyway. That’s why he said I can use it whenever I want.” 

Jason let out a breath and moved over to the overstuffed sofa before dropping himself onto it. “Okay, then. I’ll stop being a freak about it. But please thank him for me. Being able to take off after finals like that… and ride in your dad’s plane. I feel like I’min a reality TV show or something.” 

“Two college grads pairing low-calorie beer with a family-sized bag of Oreos while falling asleep on the beach is hardly going to pull in big ratings,” I pointed out. 

He grinned. “Wait till everyone else gets here. People would pay money to see a group of hot drunk guys playing beach volleyball. The money would roll in.” 

My phone buzzed with a text. 

Kit 

You made it. Sibley said the kitchen is stocked. She left all the delivery menus in the kitchen and her cell if you need anything. She’ll come by every other day to restock and clean up. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it. Proud of you, Magpie. 

I stared at the words. Proud of you. 

Those words only ever came from Kittredge Evers. Not from my mom, who’d passed away years ago. Never, ever from my dad.  

Heat flushed through me, along with pride, gratitude, and deep affection. This combination of reactions was unique to Kit. The gratitude, pride, and affection had been there for as long as I could remember, but the heat… that had exploded onto the scene at my sixteenth birthday party when Kit had taken me out on a sailboat for the first time. 

I’d seen him shirtless and tanned, muscles corded and taut while he pulled ropes and braced himself against the movement of the deck. Thighs had never been a kink of mine until that day, but even now, seven years later, I fantasized about the sliver of pale inner thigh I’d peeked up the inside of his swim shorts as my eyes had traveled the dips and curves of his quads. 

“Robbie? Hellooo? You still with us?” Jason asked. “Should we find some beer and change into our suits? I know it’s late, but I’m dying to go down to the beach right now.” 

I blew out a breath, blocked out all those inconvenient fantasies, and grinned. “Let’s do it.” 

*** 

Four days later, we were joined by six other friends from college. By then, Jason, Sam, and I were tanned and relaxed, much more at home in the house and in full-on beach vacation mode. Our blood was half beer and half vodka, and we were in a semi-permanent state of drunkenness. Sibley had hooked us up with vats of her fresh salsa and giant, party-size bags of tortilla chips, as well as taquitos, tamales, and soft tacos. 

Once our other friends arrived, we added pot, sex, and louder music to the mix, and I became an expert on mixing strong margaritas. 

It was heaven on Earth. 

Until Kit showed up. 

“Robbie, may I have a word?” His calm, cool voice calling across the kitchen startled me so much I almost dropped the blender jug on the marble countertops. 

“Kit!” I squeaked. “You’re here.” 

His eyebrows rose, but otherwise, his expression remained neutral. “A word. In my office, please.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, only turned around and made his way down the hallway that led to his private rooms, a part of the house that was strictly off-limits and I’d only ever seen once, despite visiting the Rabbit Island house many times over the years. 

“Shit, man,” Deke said as I walked by the sofa, where he lay draped over his girlfriend, Hilary. “You in trouble with the old man?” 

“Definitely not,” I said, acting more sure than I was. “He’s not my dad. And he said I could have a house party with everyone to celebrate graduation.” 

In fact, Kit had been the one to encourage me to let loose, to have some fun.  

So why was he here? We’d adhered to all the rules about noise curfews and beachside lights for turtle nests, so what was the problem? 

As I followed him down the dimly lit hallway and into his private office, the only thought in my head was that I wished I were a smidge more sober for this conversation. As it was, there were multiple tight asses in flawlessly tailored suit pants wavering in front of me as we walked. 

When we got to the office, Kit turned to face me. “Close the door.” 

I closed the heavy wooden door and stood with the cool, dark wood at my back.  

Kit’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t speak at first. So I did. 

“W-what’s the problem? Did I do something wrong?” 

His face softened. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. I brought you something.” 

Excitement—unreasonable, disproportionate, and not entirely related to alcohol—bubbled through me. “Yeah?” 

From the front pocket of his shirt, Kit drew a delicate turquoise glass bird, maybe an inch long, and set it on his broad palm. “I was at an interminably long business dinner in Vienna, and these were scattered around the table as decorations—which was possibly the most interesting thing about the whole tedious evening. But it made me think of you.”  

I was probably about seven or eight when this tradition had started. Kit had given me a pretty seashell he’d collected on some foreign beach that had reminded him of how much I loved shell hunting on Rabbit Island. 

I’d immediately declared, with all the confidence of a little kid, that this was a treasure. I’d even found a big glass jar to put it in, along with the broken wishbones I’d kept from my mom’s and my Thanksgiving tradition. After that, Kit would often bring me some small thing—a bottle cap from my favorite soda in a foreign language, a stone “perfect for skipping,” a poker chip embossed with the number 7, which was my jersey number back when I played soccer—to add to my hoard.  

Kit poked the glass bird with one blunt finger, making it glimmer in the light. “See how its wings are unfurled? Made me think of my Magpie, spreading his wings so he can take on the world.” 

I nodded… which had the unfortunate side effect of making the whole world waver like I was underwater. I leaned more heavily against the door. “Thanks, Kit.” 

Kit laughed lightly, closing the bird away in his palm. “C’mere and sit down before you fall over.” 

I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying my very hardest to act sober. I walked soberly toward one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. Paused there… soberly. Then sat soberly in the chair… which unfortunately almost tipped over in a very un-sober way. 

“Sorry,” I said to the chair, though it was clearly the chair’s fault. 

Kit propped his tight ass—stop thinking of his ass, Robbie—against the front of the desk and crossed his arms. The way his business shirt was rolled up over his forearms was incredibly distracting. 

“You have, um… professional arms,” I said, nodding toward them. 

He paused. “Professional arms.” 

I nodded. I’d said professional to keep from saying sexy. Professional was the opposite of sexy, so Kit would never know what I really thought. “Tha’s what I said.” 

He sucked in a loud breath through his nose. “You’re drunk.” 

“No! Not me. Not at all. I’m…” I scrambled for a word that would mean the opposite of drunk. “Professional.” 

That didn’t sound quite right, but it was close enough. 

He scraped his upper lip with his bottom teeth. “I see.” 

“You said I could,” I said stupidly. “You said for me to go to the beach house and get…” I lost track of my thought. 

“Professional?” he suggested dryly. 

I narrowed my eyes at him. “There’s nothing professional about the beach. It’s the opposite of professional. It’s vacation. Something you wouldn’t know anything about.” 

I winced. That last part shouldn’t have been allowed out. It was personal judgment, which was none of my business. “Sorry,” I muttered. “None of my business.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

I looked down at my hands, suddenly feeling like I was in the principal’s office, even though I’d never in my life been called into a principal’s office. In fact, I was getting ready to be a teacher. A fourth-grade teacher. It was everything I’d ever wanted, and I’d managed to land my dream job. As soon as I got back to California, I was moving in with two of my friends and starting my career. 

“Sorry,” I said again. 

Kit uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, reaching for my chin and lifting it up until I was forced to meet his eyes. “Stop apologizing to me.” 

My stomach clenched at the feel of his hand on me and the deep, rolling sound of his voice.  

Gah. The man was so fucking sexy, and he had no clue. Women and men threw themselves at him, and he was so used to it, he seriously thought it was that effortless for everyone. 

There hadn’t been a single time in my memory he hadn’t had a beautiful woman or man on his arm and in his bed. Although those relationships never lasted very long. According to my father, Kittredge Evers was happily married to his company, and anyone else had to play second fiddle to it.  

Personally, I’d never understood why that wouldn’t be enough for anyone. Because I’d play second fiddle if it meant sitting next to Kit for the rest of my life. 

“I don’t want to let you down,” I admitted in a small voice. 

“Not possible. There is nothing you could do that would make me disappointed in you.” 

“I feel like I’m in trouble,” I said. 

“You’re not.” 

“Then why are you here?” I swallowed. “I thought you were in Malta with Caroline.” 

“Catherine,” he replied, sounding bored. “Her name is Catherine.” 

I shook my head. I wasn’t that drunk. “Catherine was the woman you dated last year. You’ve been dating Caroline Driscoll for five and a half months. Since…” I stopped talking as I realized mentioning their first date at the Torrington Gala was too specific. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “Caroline. Whatever. That’s over. We’re done. She…” 

I glanced up at him. “She wanted to level up,” I said before letting a giggle escape. “Sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing,” he gritted out. “And yes. She wanted a ring. I suggested she get herself one with her sales bonus. She didn’t appreciate my helpful suggestion. We parted ways.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He glared at me, which only made me giggle again. “S-sorry, I’m sorry. But that one was for real. For you, not for me.” 

“You’re giggling,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together in consternation. “How… professional are you, exactly?” 

I snorted. “Very. Very professional.” 

“I was concerned you might make poor decisions in your current state,” he admitted, stretching his neck from side to side. “I thought maybe I’d come work from here for a little while to keep an eye on things.” 

On the one hand, that was lovely of him. The way Kit cared for me, protected me, warmed me from the inside out. But on the other hand… 

My jaw dropped. “On me?” I squeaked in shock. “You’re… what? Going to babysit me in front of my friends? Are you kidding? You think I’m going to do something stupid? You think I’m reckless?” 

“I’ll stay out of your way, don’t worry. I have a lot of work to do.” His jaw clenched as he let go of me, looked away, and crossed his arms again. “And it’s not you I don’t trust. But sometimes when there’s alcohol involved—” 

“I’m twenty-two! I’ve spent four years learning how to drink responsibly.” 

Kit lifted one eyebrow. 

“Besides,” I snapped, “what do you think I’m going to get drunk and do, exactly?” 

He lowered his chin and narrowed his eyes before pointing toward the door. “Any one of those men out there.” 

My body flushed cold with shock and rage, but also a little warm because Kit had just discussed the topic of me doing someone. Here. In his home. “You don’t think I deserve to fool around and have fun?” 

“Drunk people make stupid decisions.” 

I threw my hands up. “I’m drunk right now, and I managed to get through this entire conversation without telling you I want you to hold me down and fuck me over that desk, didn’t I? I think I can handle fooling around with my friends if I want to.” 

His eyes widened, and his cheeks darkened before I realized what I’d said.  

“Oh,” I breathed. “No.”  

Panic flared hot and uncomfortable in my entire body, making my skin suddenly clammy and my chest unbearably tight. “No. No. I didn’t. I’m…” I grabbed for my chest. Why was there suddenly no air in here? “I didn’t mean that,” I squeaked with the only air left in my lungs.  

Kit immediately realized what was happening. He straightened and uncrossed his arms. “Robbie. Take a breath.” 

I shook my head violently, hoping to communicate that me and breathing weren’t a thing anymore.  

“Rob,” he snapped, startling me. “Stop your thoughts right now and focus here.” His finger went to the tip of his nose before he pressed the same finger to the bridge of my nose and dragged it slowly down.  

The moves were hypnotic. Drugging, almost. I had a vague memory of him doing this once before, a long time ago. Maybe when my mom died? I couldn’t remember exactly. 

I tried focusing on the tip of his nose, but my vision got spotty around the edges. 

Kit’s big hands grasped my upper arms as he shook me. “Magpie, I need you to breathe. Take a slow breath for me. Try to take it in as slowly as possible.” 

He moved a hand up to the side of my face, and I pressed into it, wanting this exact moment to be the last thing I remembered if I wasn’t going to get another breath. 

Suddenly, air flew into my lungs in a big, embarrassing gasp. And then I burst into tears. 

Later, I remembered wet spots from my tears on the white cotton of his shirt, the feel of his strong arms around me, the sound of his urgent reassurance that I was okay, and his admonishment to never scare him like that again because he couldn’t bear to lose me. 

I remembered the feel of his lips pressing kiss after kiss along my forehead and cheeks, the murmured sound of him calling me baby. 

And then I didn’t remember anything at all. 

When I woke up in the morning, I found myself stripped down to my boxer briefs in the center of his giant bed. On the nightstand were my phone, water, ibuprofen, and a tiny turquoise bird with its wings unfurled.  

But I was completely alone. Kittredge Evers was gone.