Home > Deathly : The Dillon Sisters(10)

Deathly : The Dillon Sisters(10)
Author: Brynne Asher

Daughter of the infamous Miami-based plastic surgeon, Dr. Astor Dillon. Old Astor looks like he’s worth a fucking mint. I’d wonder why she’d be struggling financially if it weren’t so clear she’s estranged from her parents. I didn’t need to dig deep to figure this out, a blind man could see it in full color.

Aria’s mom is deceased after losing her fight with a rare cancer. It seems prior to biting it, Bette Dillon was known to make a hobby of sampling the best prescription drugs she could get her hands on and washed that shit down with top-shelf vodka. When you’re married to millions, that’s an easy rabbit hole to dive into.

Aria moved here a year ago with her sister, Briar. Unlike the highly-educated psychologist, the younger Dillon has no record of higher education. Despite living paycheck to paycheck, the hot doctor is a generous donor to Redmond Rescue and the new owner of the little shithead who muddied my house.

Interesting how I know everything about her and still feel like I know nothing. What I do know about Aria Dillon is the shit I don’t care about. I want to know what makes her tick. What motivates her. Why she shelled out money for a dog she could’ve paid a small fee for at the pound, because she sure as hell doesn’t want anything to do with me.

And I don’t like that.

I jog the three flights of stairs to her barely-less-than-shitty apartment and rap on the door.

Shithead starts barking, but that’s it.

I knock harder.

No one. Only a dog who wants out as much as I want in.

Hell yeah, I want in.

Aria might have started this by bidding on me, but I’m damn well going to finish it. The moment she laid a hand on me to push me aside and marched her sweet ass out of the station, I made a decision. The timing isn’t great. Even I can’t deny it and don’t need my father to remind me of the flames nipping at my back. I feel the heat.

But the good doctor opened a door. I’m not only going to walk through it, I’ll make the thing mine and lock it behind me until I get what I want out of her.

I knock again. “Aria—”

“You’re early.”

I turn, her voice hitting me from behind. She’s trudging up the steps weighed down with approximately half-a-million bags.

I frown. “I told you eight.”

She pushes by me to get to her door and I’m reminded of her doing the same thing at the station yesterday. “You can tell all you want, Brand, it doesn’t mean your every wish is going to come true. It’s been a long day and I had files to update while details were fresh in my head.”

I take her in from top to bottom. Even dressed for business, I wonder if her patients fantasize about fucking her, because I know I would if she were my doctor. Her sweater is skin tight and her pants might be wide-legged, but they’re like a second skin on her ass. Every curve and swell is on display. My need for therapy just reached epic proportions. “Get changed and we’ll go.”

She stabs a key in the door handle and twists. “I told you, you’re off the hook. I’m tired and have to be out the door before the sun rises. I can’t stress enough, you’re off the hook from your date duty.”

She opens the door carefully and pushes the jumping bean of a dog back. I wonder if he’s run on her too. She deserves the experience after ditching us after the auction.

I don’t give her the chance to shut the door in my face or tell me to get lost again. I move in and slam it behind me. She drops her bags to the floor and her ass follows. I cringe as the dog attacks her face.

“You weren’t invited in,” she mutters, trying to not be tongued by a canine.

I cross my arms. “You two look like you’re going to live happily ever after. My condolences.”

She pushes him away from her face and flips him to his back in her lap. He pants happily as she scratches his belly. “You don’t like dogs?”

“I don’t have the patience for anything that needs my time right now. Puppies are a time suck I refuse to invest in.”

She continues to scratch her dog as she studies me. Or, who the fuck knows, maybe psychoanalyzing me.

“Get changed,” I repeat. “We can’t be late.”

She kisses the shithead on top of his head and reaches for a ball, tossing it down the short hall of her apartment. He scrambles after it and Aria climbs to her feet. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re leaving. I’m hungry, exhausted, and need to call my sister.” The dog returns and drops the ball at her feet. “And I need to walk Muppet.”

I can’t believe I offer, but there’s no way I’m leaving. “I’ll walk him. Get changed and call your sister. We have a reservation, and someone did me a favor to get it last minute. We can’t no-show.”

I turn and nab the leash off the knob. She starts to argue, but I hold my hand up. “It’s just food, Aria. You paid fifteen grand, the least I can do is feed you one meal.”

I’m not used to being around a woman who doesn’t want something from me and I’m really not used to anyone letting me off the hook for something I owe them. I’m a Vitale—there are no favors in my world. Everything has a price tag.

“Get a move on. We’re already late.” I hook the leash on the dog and we’re out the door before she can argue further.

There’s one other thing about being a Vitale—we always get what we want and I’m no exception.

 

 

Aria

 

 

“You’re telling me you paid fifteen thousand dollars—money you do not have—for a dog I could have gotten you for free since I work at the rescue? And now you don’t want to go on the date that comes with the dog? I thought I was the fucked-up one, Aria. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I yank a midnight-blue dress out of my closet. It’s classic enough that it’s not out of style even though I’ve always hated it. The last time I wore it was when Dad forced me to attend a public event with him when Mom was too smashed to scrape herself off the floor. The dress already has bad juju. A stressful night out with Brand Vitale and it might land in the dumpster.

“You’re not fucked up. Stop talking about yourself like that. I explained what it does to your mind and the toll it takes on your body. Speak positively about yourself. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“I’m positive you should go out to a perfect dinner. You won’t see many of those in your near future now that you have to pay off your expensive doodle. Maybe you’ll luck out and it’ll involve salsa.”

I put her on speaker, set the phone by the sink, and yank the dress over my head. “I’m going, okay? I just need a little … I don’t know. Pep talk?”

“The person who hates talking on the phone and has all the pep of an emo cheerleader?” Briar deadpans, but then again she pretty much deadpans everything. “You called me for a pep talk?”

“You’re my person. I have no one else to encourage me.”

“Go get ‘em, Aria. You’re the shit, Aria. If you can’t do him, no one can, Aria. Light his night on fire.” She puts so little effort into it, I even hear her flipping the channels in the background.

I grab my mascara out of my drawer because he’ll be back any moment. “Thanks. You’re a lot of help.”

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