ARROGANT PLAYBOY (16 page)

“I might be new at this, Dess,
but I’m not a moron.”

I just called her Dess…

That
came
out of nowhere.

“No one said you were,
Beck..
.” She points her finger at me,
winking before disappearing behind her door.

ODESSA

“I need a word with my
brother,” Beckham says when we arrive at TEH headquarters. The flight was
smooth and uneventful, and baby Sadie only cried once. We settled her in with
Elizabeth at Golden Oak and headed to the office.

“Not a problem,” I say. “I’ll set
my things in the spare office. Got some emails to return. That article from
Charity Falls should be online today too.”

Beckham heads toward Dane’s
office and I make a beeline for the ladies’ room to freshen up.
 

I plunk my bag on the counter
and whip out some lip balm and hand lotion and a compact of touch up powder.
Leaning over the sink, I hear what sounds like crying from one of the stalls
behind me.

Eight stalls behind me are
empty. The ninth has feet. I click across the tile until I get to that door,
and the sobs pause.

“Excuse me, are you crying in
there?” I ask.

It’s quiet just before it gets
loud again. I’m worried that poor thing in there is two seconds from
hyperventilating.

“Hello? I hear you in there.
Open up.”

The sound of ripping toilet paper
is the only response I get.

“I’m Odessa,” I say. “You going
to come out?”

I stand on my toes.

“I’m really tall, and I can see
over the door, so you better come out,” I say with a tease in my tone. “Okay,
never mind. I’m not that tall.”

The click of the lock precedes
the whipping of the stall door, and out emerges a baby-faced blonde in a
cinched pencil skirt with shiny flaxen waves dripping down her shoulders. Her
crystal blue eyes are rimmed in red and glassed with tears.

“Thank you. Yes. There you are.”
I follow her to the mirror. “Got a name?”

She sniffs, staring ahead at
her reflection. “Bellamy. You work here?”

My nose wrinkles. As soon as I
get a chance, I’m accepting the job Beckham offered me. I quietly decided on
the flight over here.

“Sort of. I’m based out of the
New York office.”

“You work with Beckham?” The
blonde asks.

“You know Beckham?” She looks
like the type he’d go for, at least before fatherhood was thrust into his lap.
“Or do you, like,
know
Beckham...”

“Not sure I follow.”

I bat my hand. “Forget I said
anything.”

She washes her hands, drying
them on a paper towel and dabbing her face with cool water.

“You’re crying over a guy,
right?” I step closer.

“Maybe.” Bellamy’s eyes snap to
the counter.

“He’s not worth it, whoever he
is. They never are.”

“I know.”

I smirk. “If you know, then
why’d you let him get you all worked up?”

“It wasn’t really him; it was
mostly the way he spoke to me. It was hurtful, and he wasn’t supposed to hurt
me. At least he said he wouldn’t.”

My eyes roll. I could strangle
the asshole that disrespected this adorable little angel. She has naive written
all over her, which makes her an easy target for heartbreak and rejection.
“That’s what they all say, and you know what? They’re all a bunch of fucking
liars. Pardon my French.”

Bellamy’s lips almost twitch
into a smile. She draws in a cool breath, her shoulders shaking as she exhales.
Her cheeks are less red than they were a minute ago, which is good.

 
“You want to get coffee or something? Are
there any good coffee places around here that don’t have a green mermaid as a
logo?” I point to the door.

Bellamy’s jaw falls, her lips
dancing in hesitation. “I don’t know. I should get back to my desk. My boss is
probably wondering where I am. I’ve been in here a while.”

“Who do you report to?”

“Dane.”

“Oh, I’ve got this. You’re
going with me. I’ll deal with him if he gives you any shit.”
Dane might intimidate everyone else,
but not me. He’s harmless. A kitten. Rapists and murderers are what keep me up
at night, not affluent businessmen who rarely smile.

I take Bellamy by the arm and
lead her out of the restroom and toward the elevator.

“I don’t have my purse,” she
objects as we stride in step.

“Good thing I have a company
credit card.”

***

“How long have you been working
here?” I pull up a chair at a table next to the front window of a small coffee
shop.

“This is my first week.” She
sits down and takes a sip from her small latte. “I’m his
concierge
.”

Her emphasis on the word
concierge
tells me everything I need to
know. One of my friends back in the city did the same thing, only the man
paying her was old enough to be her grandfather and married and everything was
on the low. I bet she’d have killed to be on her knees for someone as striking
and virile as Dane Townsend.

“You’re shitting me.” I place
my cup on the table, sitting up and squaring my shoulders. The corners of my
mouth curling a delayed moment later.

She shakes her head. “No.”

I study her, trying to picture
what might make a young, beautiful girl like Bellamy agree to be a
bought-and-paid-for, modern-day courtesan.

Her hand claps across her
mouth. “Odessa, please don’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

“Were you crying over Dane
then?”

Her chin dips, and her
see-through blue gaze drifts toward the window.

“Please, tell me you weren’t
crying over
Dane
.” Poor thing. He
should’ve picked someone older, more experienced. Someone who wouldn’t have let
her heart get in the way of a business arrangement.

“He’s intense.” She squirms in
her seat like she’s unable to get comfortable. “We have an agreement, and I’m
just not sure I’m what he needs, and I need this job.”

“You’re probably his type.” She
angles herself in her chair, and her tone is flat. “Blonde. Blue eyes. Pretty.
An innocent ingénue ready to be shown the world…”

What
hot-blooded man wouldn’t want that?

“I didn’t know he had a type.”

“Why do you need this job so
bad? There are millions of other jobs out there. Don’t work for someone who
treats you like crap. You’ve got to have more respect for yourself.”

“It’s complicated.” She lifts
her Styrofoam cup and swirls it around to gauge how much is left. “Again, just
please don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Anyone I might tell probably
already knows.” I shrug and peer outside, my eyes following a striking man in a
gray Macintosh jacket and wayfarer sunglasses who passes by. Our eyes lock and
he smiles.

And then he’s gone forever.

As my mind is stuck on the
panty-melting smile I was just gifted by that gorgeous stranger, it occurs to
me that I haven’t thought of Jeremiah all day.

I’m not even sure that I miss
him.

“Who would you tell?” Bellamy
asks. My gaze jerks back to her.

“Well, Beckham.” I shrug. “We
tell each other almost everything.”

Or at least it feels that way.

“Are you and Beckham together?”
she asks.

A robust laugh originates deep
inside, as if it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. “Absolutely
not. And please don’t ever ask me that again.”

Bellamy watches me laugh. So do
the patrons at the next table over.

“Been there. Done that. Got the
t-shirt.” I pull my small clutch from my lap and yank out my phone. “Speak of
the devil.”

Beckham asks where I am and
tells me Dane wants a quick meeting with me before they leave to visit Leo.

 
“I guess we have to head back. I have to
go with Beck to see his uncle in hospice.”

I may not be invited, but I’m
tagging along anyway. He needs my strength. He was silent the entire flight
this morning, wearing nothing but a casual linen suit and the solemn face of a
soldier going to war. Inside he’s got to be falling apart.

“Oh?” Bellamy rises.

“That’s why we’re here,” I say,
standing up and tilting my cup back to get the last drop. After I toss it in a
nearby trashcan, I whip out a tin of Rosebud Salve and coat my lips before
popping in a stick of gum. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

“So Dane didn’t tell you about
Uncle Leo?” I ask.

“No.”

“I’m shocked. The man
practically raised them, well, since they were teenagers.” That’s pretty much
all I know. I’m sure he’d have opened up to me more had I not been so adamant
about not being friends.

We leave the coffee shop and stroll
back to the office. A break in the clouds above allows for sunlight to filter
through and warm the chilly air. Inside, I’m filled with warm coffee and
sadness. My heart breaks for Dane and Beckham.

I need to call my dad later.

We used to talk on the phone
every Sunday night. I stopped picking up the phone the second Jeremiah walked
out. I can’t talk to him about it. He loves Jeremiah. On a larger scale, my
heart knows that Dad’s waiting for me to marry off before he departs this
earth. He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t need to. I see it in his eyes. I
hear it in his words.

“I wish you could’ve met Uncle
Leo in his better days.” I sound like I go way back with him. Despite only
meeting him two weeks ago, he’s the kind of person who leaves their footprint
in your heart. Warm and outspoken and dispensing unsolicited advice with every
breath he takes, he’s the old bachelor version of a stereotypical Italian
mother.

“Is there anything I should do
for Dane?” she asks. “Anything to help him cope?”

My lips purse as my pointed
heels click the cement sidewalk with steady strides. “I doubt it. If he hasn’t
mentioned anything to you yet, he probably doesn’t want to talk about it. The
doctors say it’s going to be any day now. If Dane’s a little more on edge than
usual, that might be why.”

“I see.”

We trek into the lobby and
approach the elevator, and when we hit our floor, we walk side by side past the
reception desk where a gaggle of gawking girls stare us down. I shoot them my
best New York bitch glare, and they all glance away, convincing me they share a
brain.

“You ready?” Beckham rounds the
corner and hooks his arm into mine. There’s a streak of misplaced playfulness
in his stormy eyes. Maybe he had a chat with Dane that lifted his spirits? Or
maybe he’s pretending, for his own sake, that everything isn’t actually falling
apart. “Where’d you go?”

“Coffee.” My arm retracts. “And
it was on you, so…thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he teases, one
eyebrow arched.

“It was great meeting you,
Bellamy.” I place my hand across the side of her arm. “I’m not sure how long
we’ll be around this week, but I’m sure I’ll run into you again.”

I follow Beckham to the
conference room where Dane waits, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed
brow and pursed lips. He’s frustrated about something, Bellamy perhaps. His
uncle.

God, these men are resilient. And
stone cold. Their personal lives are in shambles and yet they’re sitting here
ready to discuss work as usual.

“Let’s make this quick,”
Beckham says. He doesn’t want to be here. I see it in his eyes. I spy him
pulling out his phone. His expression falls as he reads a text. Everything
about him feels a touch darker than before. “I need to see Uncle Leo.”

Dane puts his phone aside and
starts the meeting. I fire off answers, my attention tuned to Beckham. He gazes
to the side, his fingers mindlessly toying with a silver ball point pen.

He’s somewhere else entirely.

Before the meeting concludes, I
bring up the job offer, asking for a six-figure salary. Dane doesn’t as much as
blink before declaring we have a deal. We shake on it, and I thank them for the
opportunity, before Dane checks the time and mentions a two o’clock conference
call. I’m not sure how he can be so focused and robotic with so much on his
plate.

“Ready?” I say to Beckham. He
snaps out of his fog and squints at me from across the polished table. “I’m
going with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

He rises. “That’s really not
necessary.”

“It’s okay to ask for help
sometimes.”

His expression darkens,
hardening as if he takes offense to my offer. “I’m perfectly capable of
visiting my uncle on my own.”

“No, you’re not.” I fold my
arms though I may as well be hugging a cactus.

He tucks his pen into a pocket
behind his linen lapel and strides along the lengthy conference table like a
man on a mission.

“You’re seriously just going to
walk away right now?” I should go easy on him. I know. But the burn in my chest
is causing a rapid boil of words in my head, and they’re all coming to the
surface at once. “Let me be a friend here. It’s all I’m trying to do.”