Beauty and the Boss (Modern Fairytales) (9 page)

Chapter Nine

B
enjamin frowned at Maggie’s brownstone, his heart pounding harder than a racehorse’s hooves in the home stretch at the Kentucky Derby. He hadn’t been this nervous since…
ever
. He’d never been the anxious type, not even when he was younger. If shit needed to get done, he did it. If it was going to be a rough night, he grinned and bullshitted his way through it.

His mother had made it perfectly clear he was expected to bring someone proper to the party—and drop his “fiancée” like a hot potato—or he’d pay the price. He’d kindly told her to go to hell, and that he would bring Maggie to the party, and she would deal with it. But now that the moment was here, his palms were sweating, his heart was racing, and he felt as if he’d just finished running ten miles at the gym.

The second he brought Maggie into his world, she’d be subjected to all the petty snarkiness that was served in heaping portions at these events, alongside the champagne and caviar…which he probably should have thought about earlier, but he’d been too caught up in the plan.

Too caught up in
her
. In how she made him
feel
.

She had a hold on him that he couldn’t escape or deny, and he’d stopped trying a while ago. He wasn’t going to confess his undying love for her, or anything so dramatic as that. That was still a foreign emotion he wasn’t sure existed. But she was funny, kind, smart, and beautiful in every way. And the more time he spent with her, the more he became susceptible to those qualities. It was like she was slowly weaving a spell over him, dragging him further and further underwater until he ran out of breath and stopped fighting.

But she wanted to be friends, and he’d been cooling his heels for a week. He was starting to think he might need to be rescued via copter before he died in the damn friend zone she’d cursed him to. But he’d be
fine
. They would both be
fine
. If he said that enough times, he might actually believe it.

Pigs might fly, too. The world was full of surprises.

His driver opened the door, and Benjamin slid out of the seat, holding the flowers he’d gotten her close to his chest. Tugging at his red bowtie, he walked up her stairs, smoothed his tux, and knocked. Almost immediately, the door opened. He smiled, but it faded when he noticed it was a redhead who answered, not his Maggie.

After glancing at the number of the brownstone to make sure he was at the right building and knocking on the right door, since they were all the same on this block, he turned back to the woman in the door. “Hello. You must be Maggie’s roommate. I’m—?”

“Damn.” The redhead looked him up and down. “She didn’t say you were
this
hot.”

“Uh…” Yeah. He had nothing to say to that. He held his hand out politely. “I’m Benjamin Gale the third. And you are…?”

“The third, huh? Wow. So official sounding,” the woman said, laughing lightly and shaking his hand before letting go. She picked up her purse and smiled. “I’m Becca Marigold, the first, and I was just leaving for my own date. Maggie’s in her room finishing up, so she’ll be out in a minute.”

He bowed and moved out of her way, still holding the flowers to his chest. “It was lovely meeting you, Ms. Marigold.”

“Likewise,” she said drily. “Good call on the flowers. She hates roses.”

He glanced down at them. Damn, he’d really screwed up on that first date. Wrong restaurant. Wrong flowers. Wrong everything. It was a miracle she’d agreed to give him a second chance, and it only went to show how incredible she was, and that he didn’t deserve her. “Thanks.”

After shooting him one last look, the woman let the door close behind her.

He was alone in Maggie’s living room. Glancing around, he swallowed hard. The whole place, while clean, was best described as organized chaos. Pillows lay askew on the couch, and she had books and magazines strewn all over the place in no semblance of order. There were empty mugs sitting on the coffee table, and a few blankets tossed here and there.

His fingers twitched. “Maggie? I’m here.”

“I’ll be out in a second. Make yourself comfortable,” she called out.

He eyed the sofa and took a deep breath. When the door opened and she came out, he was sitting on the couch with the flowers resting on his thighs. The second he saw her, all thought fled. She walked into the room in a red dress that clung to her every curve. It had beaded lace overlaying the material underneath, and her long brown hair fell around her bare shoulders in soft, gentle waves.

Her red lips matched her dress, and she clutched a small black purse in front of her. Her white knuckles betrayed her nerves, and he wanted to kiss her so much it
hurt
him not to do so. Not trusting himself to speak, he examined her and tried to find logical words to say. He failed horribly.

She was too beautiful for mere words.

Shifting on her feet, she nibbled on her lip. “Are you going to say something? Anything? Will I pass for your impoverished fiancée?”

“Yes—” His voice croaked, so he cleared his throat and stood awkwardly, still not able to look away. He’d never seen anyone more stunning than her, and never would. Of that he was sure. “Yes. You…you look exquisite.”

“Thank you.” She relaxed slightly and her knuckles went a little less white on her clutch. “Are those for me?”

“Is what for you?”

Her lips twitched. “The flowers in your hands.”

“Oh.” Surprised, he glanced down. They’d slipped his mind the second she stepped into the room. What the hell did flowers matter when Maggie was there, smiling at him and looking as if she came straight out of a dream? “Yes, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her smile widening. Those freckles of hers danced, making her all the more delectable. She took the bouquet from him and lifted them to her nose. Inhaling deeply, hugged them to her chest. “Snowbells. Good guess—I love these.”

“I didn’t guess.” He’d never been so jealous of flowers in his life. “You told me you liked them last week.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “You remembered?”

“Well, yeah.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I told you I’d try to do bett—
oof
.”

Before he could finish, she’d tossed the flowers onto the couch and threw herself at him. He stumbled back a step before catching himself and closing his arms around her. He had no clue what he did to get such a reward, but he rested his cheek on her head and enjoyed it anyway. When she hugged him close, something deep within him warmed.

Something he didn’t recognize…or
want
to recognize.

And when she pulled back, ending the hug way too quickly, he was almost relieved because those unfamiliar emotions freaked him out. He tightened his hold on her hips, torn between wanting to pull her back into his arms or to push her away. That had been the first time she’d touched him intimately—because, hell yes, a hug like that was intimate in his book—of her own accord, and not part of their deception.

“What was that for?”

She smiled up at him. “The flowers.”

Ah. The flowers. Not just the act of flowers, since he’d done that before and she couldn’t have cared less, but the
type
he’d gotten. Well, hell, if he got a hug every time he did something thoughtful for her, he’d do it all the damn time.

He was all about rewards. Especially when it came to Maggie.

A stray piece of hair fell across her face, so he pushed it away from her cheek gently, staring into her eyes as he did so. It might be cliché, but damned if he couldn’t get lost in those swirling blue-grey depths for hours if she let him. “You’re welcome.”

Moving out of his arms, she picked the flowers up and walked across the room. Halfway there, she stopped and glanced back at the couch with a frown. “Did you…did you straighten up in here? The pillows…and the coffee mugs…and where are my shoes?”

Shit
.

She’d noticed.

“Well…I…” He eyed the neatened couch nervously, and the shoes he’d set by the door. He hadn’t meant to do it, it had just sort of happened. “Uh…you did say to make myself at home.”

She laughed, the musical sound washing over him. “I did, didn’t I? It’s cool. I don’t care if you need to make my couch pretty to sit on it, Benji.”

It’s not that he
needed
to. It’s that for his whole life, he’d had his mother telling him that he had to put on his best face, and never let anyone see him in anything but perfect order. That had stuck with him and made him the man he was today. One that liked order instead of chaos. But he didn’t say any of that.

Why would he?

So he just tugged on his bowtie and checked the time. “Once you’re ready, we need to go.”

“Okay, just give me a second,” she called out from the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.”

He grabbed her jacket off the chair where she’d thrown it, straightened the pillow, and waited by the door. When she came out, the oxygen disappeared from the room all over again. Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because she paused mid-step. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just… You look absolutely gorgeous.” He swallowed, but it was harder than it should have been. “You’ll be the prettiest woman there, inside and out.”

“Thanks. But I’m seriously unqualified to be going to this event.”

“Bullshit. You don’t ever have to be nervous walking into a room full of stuck-up snobs, because you’re better than all of them combined.” He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, toe-to-toe. “You’re too good for me. So thank you for doing this.”

She licked her red lips, her cheeks almost matching her lipstick. “I’m not too good for you, Benji.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. You are.” He skimmed his knuckles over the soft skin of her arm, watching with fascination as goose bumps rose where he touched. An answering desire crashed through him. “But the fact that you don’t realize that? It’s what makes you so damn special.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him.

The pull between the two of them was overwhelming, and it took every single damn ounce of his self-control not to kiss her. If he broke down and did it, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he’d promised to take things slow, as friends—like the dumb-ass he was.

When he didn’t lean in and close the distance between them, he swore he saw a flash of disappointment run across her expression. Though maybe that was wishful thinking on his part because, damn it, he wished she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“We should go,” she said softly. Turning her back to him, she peeked over her shoulder. He didn’t move, just clutched her jacket tightly. “Benjamin?”

“Right.” He held it up, and she slid her arms inside. When she turned around and faced him, he caught the lapels of her coat and smiled. “Ready?”

She nodded once and let out a breath. “Yep. Let’s do this.”

He offered his arm, and she took it. As they walked down the stairs of her brownstone, his driver opened the door. She smiled at him and slid inside, and Benjamin followed her. The second the door closed behind him, she sagged against the seat. The short ride to The Frick passed quickly, and in a few minutes, they were parked at the curb outside the hotspot.

Maggie sat up straight and pressed a hand to her stomach, turning green. “Oh God. We’re here.”

He reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” She pressed her hand even firmer against her stomach. “I’m allergic to shellfish. And I’m an only child. My roommate’s name is Becca. And my parents—”

“—Are farmers in South Dakota. You have a black cat back home, who you rescued from an alley, and he hides when people come over so I’ll probably never see him. His name is Lucifer. You also love the Yankees and the Giants, hate the Mets and the Jets, and you like long walks in a light, misting, rain.” He cupped her cheek tenderly, smiling down at her reassuringly. “We’ve got this, darling.”

She played with her seat belt, her fingers skittering over it nonstop. “You actually paid attention to all of that?”

“Of course I did. I want to learn everything about you, because I’m greedy when it comes to you. I won’t pretend otherwise.” He smoothed his thumb over her lower lip. “If you’re talking? I’m listening. We’ve got this. There’s nothing to worry about.”

She straightened and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Sir?” The door opened, and his driver glanced down. “Madam?”

“Thank you, Jeff.” He got out of the car and held his hand out. “Darling?”

She slid her hand into his. Her fingers didn’t tremble.

There was a bit of a crowd checking their coats and greeting each other, but he didn’t see his mother, so Maggie would be spared her company, at least for a little while. “She’s not here yet.”

“Good. I could use a drink or ten before taking her on.” She pressed against his arm, her soft curves taunting him. “Think she upped her trash talk game yet? Or will she call me a ‘lady of the night’ again?”

He choked on a laugh, but managed to hold it back successfully. “I doubt she’s ever actually uttered the word ‘whore,’ so I’d expect her trash talk to remain lame.”

“Figures,” Maggie muttered, checking out the hall. She held his arm tighter, hopping up and down excitedly. “Holy crap, is that a Kennedy over there? He’s got the eyes and the hair.”

He helped her out of her jacket. “Hmm? Where?”

“Over there.” She shrugged free. “The short guy in black, next to the tall woman in black.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed fully this time. “You realize that you just described everyone in the room, right?”

She shot him a frown over her shoulder. “That can’t be true. Look—” She broke off, glanced around the room, and then down at her own gown, which was delightfully red. “Wait. Was I supposed to wear black? If so, I obviously missed the memo.”

The red dress wasn’t why she stood out in the crowd. She stood out because she was kind, gorgeous, and her laugh could light up an underground prison cell. “That’s because there wasn’t one. They’re all dull, while you’re full of life.”

“But still.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Should I wear black next time?”