ARROGANT PLAYBOY (6 page)

BECKHAM

“I’m flying you and Sam to Salt
Lake City for a couple days.” My brother informs me Tuesday morning.

“Wait. Why?”

“We can get more done if we
meet in person, and Beckham, before you suggest that I Skype into the meeting,
I’m going to go ahead and say no.”

I can think of a million places
I’d rather visit than Salt Lake City.

“And it’s Uncle Leo’s birthday.
The three of us haven’t gotten together in a couple years,” Dane says. “He’s
not getting any younger.”

Dane’s flat tone serves to
remind me that Uncle Leo’s lifetime of smoking menthols and drowning in Miller
Lites every night haven’t helped his aging process.
 

“He’s almost seventy,” Dane
says. “Look, I know we’re both busy, but it’s no excuse.”

My brother neglects to say what
he and I both know. We wouldn’t be where we are if it weren’t for the kindness
and generosity of a gruff old bastard named Leo Fickbaum. The truth is, he’s
not our uncle at all. He deserves a better title than that. I shudder to think
of the man I’d have become if it weren’t for the unexpected benevolence of a
middle-aged bachelor who owned a diner in Middle of Nowhere, Utah.

That was the name of the town,
too. It was about a ten mile walk from the FLDS compound I’d lived in my entire
life with my fifty-plus siblings and half-siblings.

“Odessa’s okay with traveling
on short notice?” I ask.

“Sam,” he says. “Her name is
Sam. And yes, I’ve been emailing with her. She’s available. She’ll bring her
laptop and work from an empty office here. I’ll have Maureen email you the
itinerary. You’ll leave Wednesday and fly back Saturday.”

Four full days together ought
to be interesting.

The phone muffles and he comes
back a minute later.

“See you tomorrow, Beck.”

I hang up and head to Odessa’s
office. She’s on the phone, so I wait in the seat across from her desk. She
stares at me as she cradles the receiver, her brows scrunching as if I’m being
invasive, but I ignore it. She’s on my turf. I own this room. The desk. Her
chair. That pen in the corner of her mouth.

“Yes?” she asks when she hangs
up a minute later.

“Just spoke with Dane,” I say.

She nods. “And?”

“You’re okay with Salt Lake
City on short notice?”

“If you’re asking if I’m okay
spending four days with you on a work trip,” she says, “then yes. I think I’ll
be able to handle it. I can even guarantee I’ll keep my hands to myself the
entire time.”

“You didn’t need to take it
there.” My lips twitch, but I refuse to smile. Smiling too much makes me look
like a bumbling idiot, but I find Odessa thoroughly entertaining in the most
confusing of ways. “Just wanted to make sure it was okay with your fiancé.”

She places her pen flat against
her desk, locking eyes with me. “Do you
want
this trip to be as uncomfortable as possible for both of us or are you actually
this socially awkward?”

I fight a smile. “No one has
ever accused me of being socially awkward.”

“I’m sorry.” Her lips pull
wide. “Poor choice of words. What I meant was socially moronic.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“You’re obsessed with me.” She
stands up, plucking her phone and tossing it in her purse before flinging the
bag over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” I rise.
“And I’m
not
obsessed with you.”

“I’m getting coffee. Taking a
walk.”

“Am I making you
uncomfortable?” I can only imagine the lecture I’d get from Dane if legal were
to get involved at any point during this consultancy. Then again, he has no
room to talk, hiring women to do his sexual bidding during work hours.

And he thinks I haven’t seen
the line item for his
concierge
…

She rushes to the door,
stopping short with her hand against the frame. “No. I’m not uncomfortable.
Just annoyed.”

“I’m not trying to annoy you,
Odessa. If you pulled your head out of your ass for two seconds, you’d see I’m
trying to figure you out. You’re an anomaly.”

“Why? Because I’m not drooling
all over your obnoxious Gucci loafers?”

“For the record my personal
shopper chose these. I couldn’t give two shits what brand they are.”

“Mm, hm.”

I smooth my palm against my left
lapel and check the time on my wristwatch before brushing past her.

Something tells me Salt Lake’s
going to be a fucking blast.

ODESSA

Hot coffee comforts me from the
inside out. My feet ache. I walked eight blocks in pointy kitten heels to get
this coffee. Of course I passed several other coffee shops on my way here, but
for a moment, I’d forgotten where I was going so I kept trudging along
aimlessly.

I’m not looking forward to four
days by Beckham’s side, but the change of scenery will be nice. I hear Salt
Lake City has mountain views. And Dane seems nice at least.

I stop at a nearby bench
plastered with the likeness of some arrestingly attractive Realtor named Xavier
Fox who claims to “sell New York.” His eyes remind me of Jeremiah’s. Bright
blue framed with dark lashes. I’ve always had a soft spot for guys who
naturally appear to be wearing eyeliner.

Another sip of coffee warms me
from the inside. I tug the linen scarf from around my neck. The forecast was
way off today. My skin breathes. I don’t want to go back. Today is the perfect
day to pal around the city like a wandering tourist.

My phone dings from my jacket pocket,
so I pull it out. A message from my best friend, Carly, flashes across the
screen. She playfully berates me for being M.I.A. the last couple weeks. I owe
her a call plus dinner and drinks. But it’s hard to be around her. She’s the one
who set me up with Jeremiah. I can’t hang out with her and not be reminded of
our history together. She was best friends with him long before I came into the
picture.

Still is.

I’ll respond later. For now I
want to soak in the refreshing spring air and be alone with my thoughts for a
few more minutes.

A blonde in a plum jacket with
a matching beret walks past, her eyes locked on me. Her face registers as
familiar, and it hits me when I see the tiny quake in her fingertips as she
shoves a leather-gloved hand into her front pocket.

It’s the girl who brought
Beckham lunch last week.

“Hi.” I rise, intending to head
back to the office. Now’s as good a time as any to head back. I give her a polite
wave, only she takes it as an invitation, stopping and smiling like she’s
bumping into an old friend.

“Oh, hi.” She adjusts her hat,
swooping her long bangs across her forehead. Her nails are baby pink, almost
color-matched to her baby soft voice, but the intense focus in her stare
unsettles me.

“I never did catch your name.”
If she dodges my question this time, I’ll know for sure something’s up.

“Annelise,” she breathes, her
lips pulling wide at the corners.

“I’m…” I pause, debating if I
should introduce myself as Sam or not. I’m Odessa in Beckham’s world, and this
woman is clearly from Beckham’s world. No sense in making anything more
confusing than it needs to be. “Odessa.”

“Yes. You are.”

I pretend not to notice as she
casually sizes me up from head to toe.

“Is Beckham your boyfriend?” I
cut to the chase. I hope she says no, if only for her sake since he blatantly
denied the fact that he had a girlfriend.

She hesitates before saying,
“It’s complicated.”

“I could definitely see that.”

“Beckham is…well, you know how
he is.”

I nod, but not too vigorously.
I don’t want her knowing
exactly
how
well I know him.

“I’m doing some PR consulting
for his company. I don’t really know him that well, but let’s just say I’ve
noticed he’s a man living by his own rules.”

Her bottom lip trembles, her
eyes glossing.

“Are you okay?” I reach for her
arm, running my hand along her beautiful plum jacket. A glistening platinum and
diamond brooch in the shape of a lotus flower anchors her lapel.

She smiles through tears,
blinking them away and wiping the ones that slide down her cheeks with a gloved
finger.

“Is this about Beckham?” I ask.

“Isn’t everything about Beckham?”
She pulls in a long breath, her shoulders rising and sinking. And then she
laughs. “I’m sorry. This is
so
not like
me.”

The sidewalk fills with men in
suits and silver-haired ladies walking teacup Yorkies. They’re all going about
their days and here poor Annelise is falling apart at the seams in front of a
woman she’s only met once.

She needs a friend.

“Do you want to sit down?” I
motion to the bench behind me. Annelise pauses, but I take her by the elbow and
pull her to the seat anyway. It’s an empty park bench on a busy Manhattan
street. We have to grab it while we still can.

I pull a tiny pack of tissues
out of my bag and hand one off.

“Thank you.” She dabs the
corners of her wide-set eyes. She’s beautiful, even when she cries. Even with
all her insecurities. My heart aches for her.

“He’s not worth the tears.” I
rub her back. “You love him, don’t you?”

Her gloved hand splays across
her heart. She doesn’t speak. She can’t.

“There are millions of men in
this city, and he’s your run-of-the-mill, rich asshole looking for his next
lay.” I shrug. “He’s not the settling kind, Annelise. He’s not the kind you’re
supposed to fall in love with.”

“You slept with him.” Her eyes
close gently.

I don’t know if she’s asking or
making a statement, and I don’t know if now’s the best time to come forward
with that information. Besides, it’s not policy for me to run around sharing
details about my sex life with virtual strangers.

“It’s okay.” The defeat in her
voice is palpable. “I want to know. I won’t be upset with you.”

A response fails to find my
lips, sentences mentally stringing together in nonsensical patterns.

“I work with him, Annelise.”

“You did.” She opens her
mascara-stained eyes and stares at the pavement ahead, her tone flatter than
her expression. “If you didn’t, you’d have said no. It’s okay. I get it. He has
a way with women. He’s convincing.”

I wouldn’t quite label my
experience with him like
that
, but…

“He’s a charmer,” she
continues. “Makes you feel like you’re the only one. And you believe him too.
And the second the newness wears off and things get real, he’s gone. Just like
that. Everyone deserves a chance, don’t you think? A chance to make things
work? A chance to try harder?”

“I think he just likes casual
sex.” I
cannot
believe I’m defending
Beckham King. “Sometimes women go around putting labels and expectations on
people and in places they don’t belong.”

“It was different for us.” She
sniffles, dabbing her eyes once more. “We were in love once.”

I can’t imagine Beckham keeping
anyone around long enough to fall in love but stranger things have happened.

“Maybe the two of you should
sit down and have a talk? Get some closure? Find some common ground?”

She shakes her head. I’m not
sure what that means. If she felt comfortable enough to bring him lunch last
week, I don’t see how a conversation would be off the table.

“How’d you meet him?” she asks.
She might be all sweet and breathy on the outside, but I’d be foolish to think
she isn’t still a woman on a mission.

I check the time on my phone.

“I really need to get back to
the office. I’m expecting a phone call later this morning.”

Her delicate brows rise, her
mouth dropping. She rises the second I do, following me with swift steps. Not
only is she a woman on a mission, she’s desperate as hell not to let me walk
away without giving her the answers she needs. If I didn’t know better, I might
think she went seeking me out this morning.

Great. Now Beckham’s stalkers
are becoming my problem too.

“Wait,” she calls after me.

I stop, only because it’s the
right thing to do.

“I’m sorry you had to see me
like this today.” Her pale cheeks redden, even against the cool breeze. “This
is entirely out of character for me. I’m quite embarrassed.” Her hand covers
the top of mine, her eyes silently pleading.

“I won’t say anything to him.”

“Thank you.” Her hand drags
from mine, and the corner of her mouth lifts.

“No more crying over him,
okay?” I inject a wink into my uplifted tone, opting to leave this exchange on
a better note. “You deserve better than him. We
all
do.”

She doesn’t smile. Her lips
tighten; a silent sign that she politely disagrees.

If she were a one-night stand
who turned into a crazy stalker girl, I guess I could see why Beckham might be
concerned with women Googling him and obsessing. On my walk back, I decide to
keep my word to Annelise and not bring her up. Beckham would only use it to
further prove his point anyway, and I don’t feel like discussing his past
conquests.

God forbid he thinks I’m trying
to get involved in his personal life. I can’t have him thinking we’re friends
now.

***

I’m not sure how much sense it
makes for the partial-owner of an alternative energy corporation to fly across
the country on a private jet, but I don’t ask. I simply climb on board
Wednesday morning and find a plush leather seat next to a freshly polished
window and try to keep my opinions private.

Beckham arrives ten minutes
after me, taking the seat directly across from me. Ten other empty seats and he
choses that one. I pretend not to notice, grabbing my tablet from my bag and
pulling up a gripping psychological thriller. The estimated time to read it
matches the flight length.

He watches me.

“Yes, Beckham?” My eyes are
fixed on my screen, scanning the words but not processing them. It’s hard to
concentrate when crazy over there won’t stop staring.

The flight attendant secures
the cabin, gently reminding us to buckle up when she walks past.

“You’re that desperate to avoid
conversation that you pull out a book before we’ve left the tarmac?”

I rest the tablet across my
lap, turning to him and flashing him an executive smile. “What would you like
to talk about? I’m all ears.”

He checks his diamond-encrusted
timepiece. “We land in five hours. If I have to spend the next five hours in
complete silence, I’m going to go insane.”

Beckham rests his strong jaw in
the palm of his hand, his elbow planted into his armrest. His blue eyes
flicker, and I’m convinced he’s in a constant state of up-to-no-good. I’ve
never met another man who wears mischief like a second skin.

“I got an email from the mayor
of Charity Falls this morning.” I sit up, crossing my legs and turning his way.
“They want to schedule the town hall meeting for next week. He said he’d
coordinate an interview with the Charity Falls Register while you’re in town.”

“Next week?” He blows a heavy
breath through his full mouth.

“I’ve already checked with
Julie. Your schedule is clear. She’s booking the trip while we’re gone, and
yes, I’m coming with.”

Much to my dismay.

“Lucky you.” His hand hides a
hint of a smirk.

“Lucky me,” I say under my
breath.

“Am I really that bad?” His
eyes glimmer again. I amuse him. Perhaps I’m going about this all wrong. I want
him to find me abhorrent and disinteresting not mildly fascinating. Ironically,
I’m sure if I were to throw myself at him, he’d run in the opposite direction
as fast as his Gucci loafers would carry him.

I’m certain this is nothing
more than a game to him. A guy like Beckham’s not used to women playing hard to
get. The funny part is, I’m not even playing hard to get. I’m playing
leave-me-alone-and-don’t-remotely-consider-me-because-I’m-not-an-option-for-you.

Huge difference.

I almost tell him he’s not my
cup of tea. Someone told me that once. A guy. Right before Jeremiah came into
my life. It hurt worse than I thought it would, especially once I stewed on his
words for a few days.

Funny how a polite insult can
hurt just as much as a nasty one.

“You know, Beckham. It doesn’t
matter what I think of you. We’re both professionals here to do a job.”

The jet taxies to the runway,
bouncing us in our seats with mild force.

“Can you at least try and dial
your contempt down a notch?” Beckham turns forward in his chair, pulling his
phone out to shut it off. His playful half-smile vanishes.

I don’t enjoy being a
cold-hearted bitch. It’s as comfortable as squeezing into a pair of jeans that
are too tight around the middle and four inches too long.

“At least turn it off while
we’re in Salt Lake City,” he sighs. “For my brother’s sake. The last thing we
need is Dane digging around in our personal business and wondering why we can’t
get along.”

“Turn what off?”

“Your contempt.”

“Already planned on it.” I go
back to my book, flipping the page with the flick of a finger.