Текст книги "ARROGANT PLAYBOY"

Автор книги: Winter Renshaw

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Chapter Eight

ODESSA

“Odessa, what’s that on your finger?” Beckham’s question kick starts my attention on this particularly foggy Monday morning.

My thumb and middle stop mindlessly spinning the diamond ring currently adorning my left ring finger.

Shit.

I put it on this morning, after spending a lovely Friday night with Jeremiah and a relaxing, tear-free weekend with myself. I’d only meant to wear it for a second, see how it felt. If it still fit. I was alone. No one was supposed to see. I was going to take it off the second I walked out the door, but my phone rang and by the time I finished chatting with my mother I must have forgotten it was still on my finger.

My mother was frantic, upset about the wedding being in limbo and how she was going to tell my father. His tired, failing heart is set on walking me down the aisle in six months and giving me away to the only man he’s ever deemed worthy.

“Tell me you’re not fucking engaged.” Beckham’s heavy words match the storm brewing in his eyes.

“I’m not engaged.”

“You wear a diamond engagement ring for fun?”

“No.” I laugh, only because his accusation is comical. I’ve known girls who do that, and I am absolutely nothing like them. I tap my notebook with the tip of my pen. “Back to the website…”

His steady palm lifts. “No. Not until you tell me why you’re wearing an engagement ring.”

“My personal life has absolutely nothing to do with this consultancy, and to be frank, it’s none of your business.”

“Were you engaged when you slept with me last Thursday?” He has that wild glint in his eyes, the one I first noticed the second I flipped him off on his pretentious private elevator.

I can only hope he’s not about to do anything crazy.

“Nope.” I pull out a word cloud I made last Friday consisting of a bunch of energy conservation buzzwords I harvested from various Internet articles. “We need to incorporate these words into the write-ups on your new website. Some of these could even be interactive headings and–”

“Odessa.” His mouth forms a straight line as he sits up, cocking a disappointing look at me. “Don’t ignore my question.”

“Your question was ignored because it’s not relevant to what we’re doing here.” I clear my throat. “Which is polishing your brand so we can focus on your first PR issue, which your brother filled me in on this morning.”

“You’ve already spoken to Dane this morning?”

“He emailed me over the weekend. Why didn’t you mention the issue with Charity Falls last week when we first sat down?”

“I figured we’d get to it.”

“Charity Falls hates your corporation and your plans to build a wind farm that obstructs their picturesque little community. That is a huge issue to fix, Beckham.” I sigh, grateful to take his focus off my ring for a moment.

“Bet their tunes will change when their little energy bills are slashed in half.”

“But they don’t see it that way,” I say. “To them it’s an eyesore.”

“It’s not my fault they’re stuck in the past. Wind farms are popping up all over the country, improving lives. Creating jobs and saving the environment is more important to me than whether or not the entire one-thousand-and-seven inhabitants of Charity Falls hates me.”

“Please tell me that statement of yours isn’t on record anywhere.” I lift my brows.

“You think I’m that big of an idiot?”

“I think you’re missing a filter. And a sensitivity chip.” I may as well ad insult to injury.

“Now I’m tactless?”

“Sometimes.” I lean back in the guest chair. “This is why you have me for the next three weeks. You’ll work closely with me. Pay close attention to how I handle this situation because this won’t be the last time you have to convince some little chocolate-box town to welcome your energy initiatives with open arms.”

“So what now?”

“I’ll see if they have a newspaper. We can set up an interview. Maybe we can plan a town hall meeting?”

“If I have to go to Vermont, you’re coming with me.”

“If it’s in the next three weeks, then yes.” I brush my hair over my shoulder and lean in. “My goal is to ensure that even without me sock-puppeting you, you’ll be able to carefully select the right combination of words to ensure you don’t come across as a pompous windbag.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find someone who remotely considers me a pompous windbag, Odessa.”

“Really?” My nose wrinkles.

“Present company excluded. Obviously.”

I snicker. Three more weeks. No. Two weeks and four business days.

“You still need to tell me why you’re wearing that ring.” His eyes linger on my glittering rock.

I twist it until the glimmering rock is inside my fist and then clench my hand.

“I don’t sleep with taken women. You told me you were single at the bar.” His expression narrows.

“I am single.” I draw in a sharp breath. “I was engaged. He told me a couple weeks ago he needed some space. The engagement is called off. He moved out. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but I was not engaged when I went home with you.”

“You love him?”

I’m not sure why he cares. My face pinches. “Of course I love him.”

“No, you don’t.”

We should be discussing this website, not my love life.

“Yes.” My words sharpen against my tongue. “I do love him. And please don’t suggest otherwise. You and I are hardly more than strangers.”

“Right. I don’t know you. But I do know that a woman in love doesn’t run out and sleep with the first guy she meets at a random bar.”

“Should I be doodling hearts? Skipping? Humming love songs?”

“You look miserable,” he says.

“So do you.” It’s not true. He looks perfectly content with his single-in-the-city lifestyle. “I love Jeremiah, it’s just difficult not knowing what’s going to happen with our relationship. I just want an answer, and he’s not ready to give me one.”

“Why would you waste your time with someone who doesn’t know if he wants to be with you?” Beckham’s eyes squint. “Makes no sense, especially for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“You don’t take shit from anyone, but you’re going to take it from some asshole because he got down on his knee and gave you a ring?”

The last thing I expected when I came to work this morning was to have to defend my commitment to making things work with Jeremiah.

“We’ve been together since college. I can’t imagine spending my future with anyone else.” I speak about Jeremiah with a tone void of emotion because I refuse to get worked up about this here, in front of Beckham. “His circumstances have recently changed, and he’s re-evaluating his life goals.”

“Let me guess, he’s coming into his career, got a taste of success, isn’t sure he’ll have the time to commit to your relationship now, and it’s not fair to you.” Beckham leans back, threading his fingers behind his head with a proud smirk across his lips.

My jaw hangs, rendering me speechless.

“He fed you that line of bullshit, did he?” Beckham’s smirk fades.

When Jeremiah said those words Friday night they made perfect sense. His touch was tender, right along with his delivery.

I want to believe it was authentic.

“Odessa. Come. On.” Beckham leans forward. “I fucking invented that line. Please tell me you didn’t fall for it. He’s stringing you along until he finds something more exciting. Guarantee you he’s got something in the works and he’s keeping you on ice in case it falls through.”

My bottom lip trembles, the hint of a tingle zipping across it as my eyes burn. I’ve stayed strong, and I’m not about to lose my cool in front of him of all people.

I drag in a cool breath and force it away, summoning every ounce of strength I have. I refuse to appear weak in front of Beckham. For all I know, he’s still hung up on me, and he’s looking for an ‘in.’ Can’t think of a more perfect opportunity than a broken hearted girl fresh off a called-off engagement.

“Believe me, my eyes are wide open. I’m not naïve,” I say, fighting the burn in my throat. “But when you love someone, you fight for them. You believe in them. You trust them to do the right thing with your heart.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have it all wrong.”

“I have what all wrong?”

“Everything.” He rises, adjusting the knot of his tie after tugging on his collar. His jester expression dissipates, and he takes weighted steps toward his window. “Don’t live in a bubble, Odessa. All those people out there...” He slips his hands into his pockets, peering out his window toward his expansive view of the city. “Those people don’t give a fuck about you or me or anyone. Everyone’s in it for themselves. The sooner you accept that and the sooner you do the same, the happier you’ll be.”

The room feels darker, heavier.

Last Friday when I Googled Beckham, I didn’t find much beyond some old online gossip articles about his engagement with a hotel heiress named Sophie Glass. Nothing but rumors and speculation about the details surrounding their cancelled wedding. I’d meant to sift through the photos but Devin called before I had a chance and later I scolded myself for wasting my curiosity digging into Beckham’s ancient history.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s thinking about her.

I rise, gathering my folders, papers, notebook, and tablet. I need to go back to my desk and get some real work done. “I’m going to see if I can get Charity Falls on the phone. Line up that interview.”

He says nothing. I leave.

Chapter Nine

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.

Chapter Ten

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.