ARROGANT PLAYBOY (18 page)

BECKHAM

In a moment of weakness, I did
what I had to do. It was selfish to charge into Odessa’s room and take her
without so much as a single word, but words complicate things.

It was better to take her in
silence than to offer her thinly veiled reassurances attached to something we
both knew was purely carnal.

I needed a release, a moment of
emancipation. She was the only one who could give it to me.

And like a fucking coward, I
crept back to my room the second she drifted off.

I shower off as soon as
Elizabeth comes for Sadie. A half hour from now I’ll be face to face with
Odessa, and if she’s in a mood, she’s going to demand an answer.

Unfortunately for her, I’m in a
mood too, and I have no intentions of giving her any answers.

Thirty minutes pass, and I
stand before the dresser mirror tying a tie the color of anger. When I emerge
from my suite, Odessa stands in the hall, leaning on the wall with her arms
folded.

Here we go.

I roll my eyes, shutting my
door. “We’re not discussing it. Not here.”

Watery green eyes blink twice,
her full lip trembles. “Beckham…”

“It didn’t mean anything,
Odessa. You know that.” The words are delivered with as much conviction as I
can muster.

“No,” she says. “Your uncle. He
passed away this morning. Mathilde just told me. I thought I should be the one
to tell you.”

I slump back against the door,
fighting every threat of emotion. Life may have bent me, but I refuse to break.

“I’d like to offer to handle
the funeral arrangements if you don’t mind,” she says. “You and Dane can tell
me if there’s anything special you’d like, and I’ll work with the funeral home.
You should be with family, not worrying about floral arrangements and casket
colors.”

Her niceness infuriates me, and
I’m well aware that I’m the world’s biggest fucking asshole right now.

“What? Are you some fairy
fucking godmother all of a sudden?” My neck strains, and I see nothing but red.
“Stop, Odessa. Stop trying to be…”

So fucking perfect for me.

“What?” Her eyes stop watering
as her face pinches.

“It’s like you’re making me
your sole responsibility. Like I need a fucking keeper. Like I can’t handle
anything on my own,” I say. “Do you realize how goddamn insulting that is?”

“Beckham.” Her voice is as calm
as it is low. “You’re under a lot of stress. You don’t mean any of this.”

I charge toward her, sneering
down my nose. The realest part of me knows she doesn’t deserve this. She’s an
easy target. She dared to show me kindness, and I’m not exactly myself right
now.

Besides, every person who’s
ever shown me kindness outside of my brother and Uncle Leo had an agenda.

“I mean it all.” A brilliant
heat sears across my rising chest. Breathing in her delicate scent normally
brings me down to earth but not today.

She’s on my clothes.

In my lungs.

On my skin.

She says nothing. Her eyes drop
to the floor. A second later, she nods and walks away.

I don’t wear weakness well. And
I don’t tend to fall apart.

I self-implode.

***

Elizabeth rocks Sadie in a
chair downstairs. I check on her one more time before heading out the door. Most
of the time I stand back, watching her. I’ve never known affection in my life.
My instincts aren’t to kiss the top of her head or let her grip my finger
before dashing out the door. But watching her gives me a fullness like I’ve
never felt.

If this is love, it’s nothing
like I expected. It’s gentle and warm and unassuming.

Dr. Brentwood texted me
yesterday during my meeting with Dane and Odessa. He said Eva was doing better.
Making progress. Not knowing how long I’ll have Sadie burns through me and saturates
my disposition with a blanket of rage.

“Where’s Odessa?” I ask
Mathilde as I head to the car.

Her lips purse as her fingers
knit nervously. “She left,
monsieur
.”
 

“What do you mean, she left? I
saw her upstairs ten minutes ago.”

“She asked Bronson to take her
to the airport.”

I spin toward the
porte-cochere. The Town Car that normally waits there is gone.

“She cleared it with
Monsieur
Townsend
,” Mathilde adds.

Mathilde silently excuses
herself, and I stand in the foyer staring at a vase of flawless white roses on
a pretentious marble table.

“What’d you do to upset her?”
Dane lingers in the doorway to his study. He’s not dressed in a suit today,
which serves to remind me that we’re not going to work. We’re planning a
funeral.

My jaw sets. I don’t need to
explain anything to him. It’s not worth my breath, and I don’t need to piss off
the last person on the face of the earth who gives two shits about me.

“Told you not to sleep with
her.” Dane widens his stance, staring me down.

I don’t need his disapproving
glare to make me feel like a piece of shit. I’m already there.

“Let’s plan this thing,” I say.
“Uncle Leo wouldn’t want us standing around. He’d stick a mop in our hands and
tell us to get the fuck on with our lives.”

Dane’s chin tucks and his hands
go to his hips. “Yeah. You’re right. Thought we could do a private memorial.
We’re the only family he has left, and it’s what he always said he wanted.”

“Fine with me.”

***

I return from the funeral home
with Dane after lunchtime. Only then does it hit me that Odessa’s gone. She
fled.

I succeeded in pushing her
away.

Swaddling Sadie in my arms, I
sink down in a chair and check my phone. Several delivery confirmations pop up
in my email. All the nursery items Odessa ordered earlier in the week have been
delivered to my building.

Holding Sadie washes me with
unexpected peace.

Thumbing through my contacts
until I get to Odessa, I press her number and lift the phone to my ear.

I owe her an apology.

She doesn’t answer.

I listen to her greeting until
the end, soaking in the sound of her voice, and then I hang up.

Like every woman who’s ever
come before her, she’s better off without me.

ODESSA

“You sound depressed.” Carly
chomps her gum on the other end of the phone. Desperate for the comfort of a
familiar face, I called her the second I landed in New York. “You okay?”

“Been a long day. Got to the
airport way too early. Just tired.”

I don’t tell her about Beckham
and the outburst and the sex or any of it. It’s irrelevant. Over and done. An
error in judgment not worth rehashing.

“Do you want to come over
tonight then?” I inject a lighter tone in my voice to hopefully throw her off.
“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Hm.” Carly hesitates.
“Actually, I was supposed to meet up with some people from work.”

“Oh,” I sigh. “That’s fine.”

Heading toward baggage claim
and hailing a cab shortly after, I jet home with intentions of holing up for
the weekend. Halfway home, I see a missed call from Beckham. No text. No
voicemail.

I don’t call him back, mostly
on principle. I didn’t fly all the way back home just to accept his apology so
he can feel better about being a giant asshole.

***

Saturday I meet Jeremiah for
coffee at his request. I briefly mention the Salt Lake City trip, and he asks
questions and pretends the answers don’t bother him.

Slipping his hand across the
table to cover mine, our eyes lock.

“I miss us, Sam,” he says. “I
want you back. I need you back. Going a week at a time without talking to you?
I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. I need an answer.”

He flashes a bleached smile
that makes me happy and sad all at once.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry.” A
middle-aged woman taps him on the shoulder, her phone in hand. She has
Midwestern tourist written all over her face, and she reminds me of my mom.
“You’re Jeremiah Crawford, the chef, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” He twists
to face her, flipping his charm on like a switch.

“I saw you on a billboard in
Times Square this morning. Your show is my favorite,” she gushes, placing a
trembling hand across her heart. “Would you mind taking a picture with me and
my husband?”

A pot-bellied man with aviators
stands behind her, not nearly as happy as his wife.

“I’ll take the picture.” I rise
and grab her phone as the three of them pose. The camera on her phone flashes
and the picture that pops up shows two of the three of them wearing grins wider
than their faces. Jeremiah loves the attention.

“Thank you so much!” The woman
blows him a kiss as her husband steers her away by the elbow.

“Welcome to the rest of your
life,” I say as we sit down.

“Aw, Samantha, it’s fun,” he
says. “Pretty cool knowing I can make someone’s day like that. Wish you’d smile
that big when you see me.”

My head cocks to the side, and
my eyes fall on my ring-less fingers. For the life of me, I can’t remember when
I stopped smiling around him.

“I’m smiling on the inside,” I
tease.

“I’m being serious here.”
Jeremiah’s expression fades into worry. “I messed up. I’m not perfect. I’m
asking for a chance to make it right. And if you still don’t want to marry me,
I’ll leave you alone. I promise. Just give me a chance, Samantha. I’d have
never asked for a break if I knew it’d make you fall out of love with me.”

“The fireworks are gone.” I
pick at my nails, my head tucked. “I miss that crazy, stupid, reckless love we
used to have. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Nothing could’ve come
between us back then.”

“Babe, that kind of love is
only temporary. After it fades, after the newness wears off, this is what’s
left.” He widens his arms. “This is what’s forever. Ask your parents. Ask
mine.”

If this is our forever, I don’t
want it.

I smirk, rolling my eyes. “Your
parents can’t keep their hands off each other. They act like they’re still
newlyweds. And my parents are more friends than anything else, bound together
by their five kids. We’ll never be your parents, and I don’t want to be like
mine. Not in that way.”

“So you’re saying it’s the end
of the road.” Jeremiah’s nostrils flare as he leans back in his seat, his
bruised ego showing. “You’re saying you don’t love me. You don’t want to be
with me. We’re not getting married.”

The words aren’t as hard to
swallow when I hear them come from someone else’s lips. In my head they’re
terrifying. Final. Nonsensical.

I take in a sharp breath, my
gaze drifting into his. “I’m sorry. You’re not what I want anymore.”

“Shit, Samantha. What the hell
do
you want?” Jeremiah’s pointed
question comes out more defensive than anything else, as if he can’t possibly
fathom the thought of not being good enough for someone.

For the first time in my life,
I have no idea what I want. I thought it’d be terrifying. Turns out it’s not at
all. It’s sweet liberation.

Peering at Jeremiah, I feel at
peace for the first time in over a month. He’s going to be fine without me. His
career will take off. He’ll meet some celebrity-chef groupie or B-list actress
and live happily ever after. I’ll see him on cable from time to time hocking
brightly-colored cookware on QVC or catch re-runs of EAT ME, JEREMIAH!

And I’ll be perfectly at peace
with my decision.

Insert
part A into slot B with hexagon screw, ring washer, and spring washer, and
tighten with Allen wrench.

I should’ve hired someone to
put this shit together.

I’m seated on the floor of a
spare bedroom in my penthouse Sunday evening, Sadie resting on her pink
princess blanket next to me as I assemble her crib.

I’m tempted to call Odessa
because I’m not sure what half the things are that were delivered while I was
gone. But I’m not in a mood to eat crow after having scolded her for her
defiant act of compassion.

Fuck. I hate that I need her
right now.

Soft grunts fill the room, and
I glance over to check on Sadie. She’s probably filling her diaper for the
fourth time today. It’d be nice to have an extra set of hands around here, but
I sent Elizabeth packing after she spent four full days with me in Utah. The
woman never complains, but she deserved a break.

Putting the Allen wrench aside,
I scoop Sadie in my arms and scan the room for her diaper bag. A changing table
lies unassembled in one of these boxes but for now I have to change her at the
foot of my bed. She passes out the second I zip up her sleeper, and I lower her
delicately in her bassinet.

By the time I return, my phone
buzzes in my pocket. With my heart at a standstill, I check the caller ID.

It’s Xavier.

I bet he’s wondering what the
hell happened to me after the bar a couple weeks ago. He won’t fucking believe
any of this, and I’ll gladly remind him that pranking isn’t my style.

Besides, I’m too exhausted to
rehash the fucked up, ill-fitting puzzle pieces that comprise my life.

Glancing at the crib lying in
pieces around my feet, I silence the call for now.

An hour later the crib is
assembled. I inspect every inch of that thing, tugging and pulling and ensuring
it’s secure. Shoving it against the wall, I move toward the changing table box,
read the assembly instructions, and lay the pieces in order.

My phone buzzes again, and I
debate ignoring it altogether. Sometimes Xavier will call two, three times in a
row if I don’t answer.

With a quick change of heart, I
check the screen of my phone.

Odessa.

She never called me back after
fleeing Golden Oak on Friday, and I spent the entire weekend convincing myself
no woman is worth this much headache.

It’s what I should’ve done
since the day she flipped me off in the elevator. Life is so much easier when
you’re not constantly obsessing about your relationship status and whether or
not someone likes you today and if they’re still going to like you tomorrow.

Fuck
that.

“Hello?” I answer, cradling the
phone against my shoulder as I twist a hexagon bolt into its proper hole.

“Hey.” Her voice is annoyingly
nonchalant. “Just sitting here and I realized I was supposed to start my new
job tomorrow.”

I’d forgotten. “Yes?”

“I wasn’t sure if that offer
still stood or…”

“
You’re
the one who ran away.” I snort.

She breathes into the phone.
“Can you blame me, Beckham?”

No. I can’t.

“The offer still stands.” I
tighten the bolt and grab the next of eight more. “You’re welcome to work out
of Dane’s office if you’d like.”

“I’m not moving to Utah,
Beckham.”

“Fine. You can work with me. Don’t
expect any special treatment.”

“Special treatment? What, like
when you fucked me against the wall of my office?”

“Exactly,” I smirk. “You do
realize that the overwhelming majority of the women I fuck don’t get the
pleasure of a second or third ride.”

I can picture her jaw hanging.
If she were here, she’d slap me across the face good and hard.

“Lucky for you, I jumped off
the Beckham King fuck-me-go-round back in Utah. I won’t be riding again,” she
spits.

My lips spread wide. I haven’t
smiled this wide in days.

“Did you get everything
assembled?” she asks.

“I didn’t realize we were
friends again. When did that happen?”

“It didn’t happen, smartass.
I’m just asking a question.”

“Now that you’re my employee, I
highly recommend not referring to me as
smartass
.”

“I’m not your employee until
tomorrow,” she says. “And I’d like to take the time to remind you that respect
is earned, not given.”

I tighten another bolt and move
on. “Likewise.”

“You’re saying you don’t
respect me?”

“It depends on which Odessa I’m
experiencing at the moment.” I snicker. “The doormat? The one going above and
beyond normal, everyday niceties? I don’t respect her. The one who refuses to
take my shit and gives it right back? Respect the hell out of her.”

“So that’s the secret with you,
eh? You prefer your women bitchy and mean.”

“Not at all.” My palm rakes the
carpet for a missing washer. “Straightforward and allergic to bullshit is
hardly the equivalent of bitchy and mean.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I
guess I don’t understand how being kind to you makes me a doormat.”

“Nice people always have an
agenda.”

“I never had an agenda,
Beckham. I just thought we were friends.”

“Friends don’t fuck each other.
We jumped off the friendship train a long time ago, sweetheart.”

“Ugh.” She groans. “I don’t
have time for this. All I asked was whether or not you’d assembled all the baby
gear. And since you’re not going to answer me, I guess I’ll just see you
tomorrow.”

“Crib’s done. Starting on the
changer now.” I prop up the changer and twist it to face me. A couple shelves
and it’ll be done.

“Two down, ten to go,” she
chuckles. “I’d offer to help you, but I don’t want to be too nice. God forbid
you think I’m a doormat again.”

Glancing around the room at the
never-ending packages of all things baby, I sigh. Help would be nice.

“You’re quiet,” she says. “Too
proud to ask me to help?”

I bite my lower lip, stifling a
smile. She may frustrate the hell out of me, but I’m glad
she’s
back.

“I think you
want
to help.” A bit of reverse
psychology never hurt anyone.

“Actually, that’s where you’re
wrong.” The sound of running water trails through the receiver. “I’m sitting
here in my bathtub, surrounded by bubbles, sipping on champagne.”

My cock stiffens when an image
of a soaking wet Odessa flashes in my mind. “Celebrating something?”

The clink of glass chimes.
“Absolutely. I’m celebrating my freedom. No more Jeremiah.”

“Lucky you.”

“I’m starting to see why the
single life appealed to you so much,” she muses, a hint of a smile in her
voice. “I can get all gussied up tonight, walk down to the bar, go home with
any man I want, and not have all that extra bullshit to deal with the next day,
you know?”

I sit up, the image of her
hooking up with some random schmuck sending an unexpected heat to my veins.

“Don’t be that girl,” I say,
hoping to God she doesn’t see through me. “Don’t be that lonely girl who sits
at a bar waiting for some horny asshole to pick her up and make her feel
special for an hour or two.”

The gentle splash of cascading
water fills my ear, as if she’s sitting up now.

“Sounds like you’re speaking
from experience,” she says.

“Obviously.”

“How about this? How about you
just not worry what I do after the sun goes down, hm?”

“Believe me, you’re the last
person on earth I’d worry about.” Uncle Leo always said anyone who prefaces
their statements with ‘believe me’ is almost always lying. He’d be right.

“Right.” She doesn’t believe
me.

“Why don’t we stop whatever it
is we’re doing here,” I say. “And you come over here and fuck the shit out of
me, and I’ll fuck the shit out of you, and then we can get it out of our
system. Start Monday with a clean slate.”

“You and I both know it doesn’t
work that way.”

“So we should fuck anyway.”

God, I want to fuck her.
Need
to fuck her.

She’s silent.

“My cock is throbbing right
now, Odessa. It’s fucking massive. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste all
because you want to prove a point.”

I hear her sip her champagne
and listen for the clink of the glass when she sits it down. “You’re something
else, Beckham.”

“You coming or not?”

 
She makes me wait a minute longer than
necessary. “Give me an hour.”