Текст книги "ARROGANT PLAYBOY"

Автор книги: Winter Renshaw

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Текущая страница: 43 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

My father continues asking Cortland questions in a feeble attempt to pretend like this is their first meeting. I tune them out. None of it matters. Nothing about him could possibly make me un-see the dark side of him. There’s no going back, and there’s no changing my mind.

I know what kind of life I want, and it’s not a life with any part of Cortland in it.

When the food is nearly gone and we’ve all had our fill, my mothers begin clean up while Waverly takes the younger kids into the family room. It’s just me, Cortland, and Dad.

“I’m so ready to settle down,” Cortland says, turning to look at me. “Sometimes you see someone, and you just know.”

“I know exactly how that goes. I see a lot of myself and Jane in you two. Bellamy’s mother caught my eye at church, and it was all over from there.”

“So you know.”

“I sure do.” My father leans in. “Bellamy, you’re being awfully quiet over there.”

I force a smile. “I’m just letting you two get to know each other. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to get to know Cortland during the courtship.”

Cortland’s hand lifts for a brief second, as if he wants to place it on mine, and then he remembers he can’t.

“Bellamy is a beautiful, intelligent young woman. I don’t know her that well yet, but that much I can tell.” Cortland’s lips must hurt from all the ass-kissing he’s done tonight. “If all goes as planned, I’d like to ask for her hand in marriage soon. I don’t want to let this one get away. I’d love for us to be starting our life together before Christmas this year.”

On any other planet, in any other world, this would be moving along way too quickly. My father doesn’t even seem fazed by this conversation. He acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“The best courtships are short,” my father says, “for practical reasons. The longer the courtship, the more difficult it is to maintain appropriate physical boundaries. I’m fine with that.”

“I agree.” I sit up straight. “I want to move quickly. I don’t want to wait longer than we have to, you know, if we decide we want to be together. I’m ready for the next stage in my life.”

Cortland shoots me a look only I can see.

“Which is why I need to get a job,” I add. Money. That’s what I need. Money equals freedom. Money will get me out of here. I need enough to get on my feet, get a vehicle that doesn’t have my father’s name attached to it and save enough for an extended-stay hotel or an apartment.

I. Need. Money.

“A job?” Cortland scoffs.

“I want a big wedding. It’s always been my dream. And I’d feel bad expecting our parents to chip in. Plus I’ve always dreamed of a European honeymoon. I’m talking at least three weeks going from country to country,” I smile big, like I’m speaking about something I’ve been fantasizing about since I was a little girl. “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”

Lies.

All of it.

“Maybe I can work for a few months? I’ll save everything I make, and we can put it toward the wedding. Anything left over could be a down payment on our first house? Something big with lots of bedrooms.” I’m singing their tunes. I know how this works. I know how to tell people what they want to hear.

“I don’t know,” Cortland says, drawing it slow like he’s waiting for my dad to chime in. “I make enough to support us both…”

“Yeah, but what could it hurt?” I shrug. “Extra money is extra money. I’m done with school, and I’m just living at home. Why not work for a few months?”

My father scratches his five o’clock shadow. “You know, Bellamy has a point. And it’d sure take a load off us when it comes time for her wedding. I know how tough it is to start from ground zero and work your way up. Might give you guys a nice leg up before you start your life together.”

“Where would you work?” Cortland asks. “Want me to get you a job in the office at McGregor Medical Supply?”

“No, no,” I say. “I’ll find something.”

Cortland’s brows furrow. He doesn’t like this idea, but I don’t care. As long as my father goes along with it, that’s the only thing that matters.

“I think it sounds like a great idea.” My father’s words are music to my ears.

Thank God.

“Cortland.” My father clears his throat. “We’d like to see a lot of you around here. And we’d like to meet your family too.”

“I do travel for work, but I’m usually home on weekends and Wednesdays,” he says, turning my way and pinning me with his gaze. “I’ll be here every chance I get.”

My father thanks Cortland for coming and excuses himself.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say. The moment I’d been waiting for all night has finally come, but I won’t breathe easy until I see the red lights of his car growing smaller as he speeds over the hill.

The second we approach the foyer, Cortland peers around. We’re alone. He steps toward me, forcing me to back up until his hands press on either sides of the wall behind me. I’m trapped in his hold. His eyes penetrate with an unstoppable hunger, until he pushes his mouth against mine to take what he believes to be his. His tongue slides between my lips, and though the kiss lasts only a few seconds, it’s a few seconds too long.

“You did good tonight, Bellamy.” His voice is hushed, throaty and soft. “I knew you’d see it my way. Won’t be long before we can finally be together the way we were always meant to be.”

I wear the expression of a docile and domesticated wife-to-be, but on the inside I’m kicking and screaming.

“Can’t wait.” I want to spit his taste from my mouth.

“Do you mean that?” His hand leaves the wall and cups my chin, lifting it to his.

I nod. “You shouldn’t do this. If my father sees you touching me this way, being this close to me, it’ll all be over for you…for us, I mean.”

A long sigh drags past his lips before he licks them slowly. “We still need to make time for…us. If you catch my drift.”

I nod again. “We’ll figure it out.”

“And while I’ll allow you to work, it’ll only be temporary. And I should always come first. I’m your first priority,” he says.

“Shouldn’t God be my first priority right now?” I brace myself since he looks like he wants to slap me across the mouth.

He backs away, but doesn’t release me from his stare. “Don’t get smart with me, Bellamy. Let’s not go down that road, okay? You don’t want to see where it leads.”

“Sorry.” I hang my head, feigning shame.

Cortland grips the doorknob, and I watch from the door as he climbs in to his Kia and drives over the hill. The moment he’s gone, I jet upstairs to wash him off of me. Remnants of his drugstore cologne reside in my nostrils and his taste still covers my tongue.

“Hey,” Waverly says when I reach the top of the stairs. She leans against the wall like she wants to chat. “So it went really well! Dad seems to love him. They’re practically the same person.”

“Can you do me a favor, Waverly?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Let’s not talk about Cortland, okay?”

She laughs. She must think I’m joking.

“I’m being serious,” I say, squinting my eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know where this is going to lead.” The truth lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not sure if she’s ready for it just yet. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

“So I’m not allowed to talk about him?”

“I ask that you don’t. For now. Don’t ask me about him. Don’t ask me about the courtship. Don’t say his name around me.” I realize my requests are absurd, and I wish I could sit down with her and explain everything.

I will eventually. When the time is right.

“I-I guess. I mean, if that’s what you want.” Waverly’s eyes turn from scrunched to sympathetic. “You were so quiet at dinner. It’s like you don’t even like him.”

“Of course I like him,” I lie. “This is a very big step to take. I take it seriously. It’s scary.”

“Everything’ll be fine.” She runs her palm across my arm. “It’s all going to work out the way it should. Courting is just…courting. I mean, yeah, it’s like a pre-engagement type thing, but you can still change your mind if you’re not right for each other. God will show you the way.”

If only it were that simple.

“Anyway.” I inhale loudly and wipe the anxious look from my face. “I’m going to go wash up for the night. Maybe do my prayers and devotions early. Call it a night.”

My sister carries on, hopping down the stairs, and I make a beeline for the bathroom. I wash Cortland off of me. My hands, my neck, my face.

After changing into pajamas, I crack open my laptop. Everything on here is filtered by some Christian software my father installed the day he gifted me with this machine. The only reason I got it was for school, and I’m shocked he hasn’t taken it away. I try to keep it out of his sight, so as not to remind him I still have it.

I type in Careerbuilder.com.

BLOCKED.

I go to Jobdig.com.

BLOCKED.

My father blocked every website that wasn’t related to our faith or wasn’t connected to the school library or email system or research journals. I can’t even use a search engine.

I pull up my school email and stare at a blank message as I rap my fingers across my mouth.

I whip up a generic email asking for job search leads and BCC a handful of old instructors, but the second I send it, I realize I’d forgotten my favorite marketing guru.

Professor MacAbee.

A jolt of hope shocks my heart into a rapid beat. I double-click an old email from him in my inbox and type up a quick note.

Hi, Professor,

How have you been? I’m glancing at an old email of yours from the last day of Marketing 275, and I saw that you mentioned knowing of some available jobs in the area? I know it’s been several months, but I was wondering if those positions might still be available?

I’m in desperate need of a job right now, and I’ll take anything.

Thanks and hope all is well.

Bellamy Miller

I give it a quick read and press send, chewing on the inside of my lip as I wait for a response. If he’s anything like he was last semester, he should be glued to his email. Every message I ever sent him was returned almost instantaneously.

With each refreshing of the page, a small part of me sinks when I don’t see a new email pop up. Only when I push my computer aside a few minutes later, do I hear a faint chime. Dragging it back to my lap, my breath hitches when I see Professor MacAbee’s response.

Bellamy! All is well here. Good to hear from you. I’m sure you’re enjoying your permanent hiatus from my lectures, though I have to wonder if you miss my pop quizzes!

One of my old colleagues is looking to hire a bunch of college grads for some simple office work. The job is in Salt Lake City, but I know he’d give you an interview if I threw a personal recommendation his way. Give me a day or two to get this all set up, and I’ll shoot you an email with the details.

Ciao,

Prof Mac

My mouth pulls wider than the Grand Canyon as I shut down my laptop. I knew he’d come through for me.

And that’s how it’s done.

COMING SOON – DARK PARADISE Releasing ~ DECEMBER 2015

*Unedited excerpt

**Subject to change

“Don’t take another step,” he said as the heavy hotel room door slammed behind me. My heels anchored into the dense carpet, my body paralyzed by the assertion in his command. The room was pitch black save for the sliver of light that broke through the heavy drapes. In the corner stood a man, or rather, the outline of a man. I couldn’t see his face. “There’s a blindfold on the table to your left. Put it on.”

“Why? Are you some kind of monster?” I meant to sound lighthearted, but the second my voice broke, I showed my cards. My stomach flipped as I grabbed the blindfold off the table and tied the fabric around my eyes. Satin. Maybe silk. Blackest black. “Where do you want me?”

The hotel air conditioning kicked on, bringing a quick chill to my mostly bare skin. My left spaghetti strap fell down my shoulder.

“Leave it,” he said as I attempted to fix it. “It’s going to be off soon enough.”

His voice sounded closer. Licking my lips, I forced a smile, swallowing the warning sirens going off in my head that drowned out my better judgment and scrambled my thoughts. I could smell him. Vetiver and bergamot with a hint of cigar smoke.

The John’s arm gripped the crook of my elbow with firm intention as he led me over to the bed.

“Bronwyn,” he said. “Couldn’t think of a better hooker name?”

“I’m not a hooker,” I spat. “And it’s my middle name.”

“Is it safe for you to be giving out your real name like that?”

“If it makes you feel better, you can call me any name you want,” I said, the corner of my lip curling up into a teasing grin. My first name was Elinor – Nori for short. But he didn’t need to know that. “My name isn’t all that important.”

“Names are everything.”

“That why you won’t tell me yours?”

“Yes.”

“So who’s name will I be screaming out tonight?” I flirted, though attempting to flirt while blindfolded felt rather ridiculous.

“John. Call me John.”

“Original.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you.” His hand gripped my chin without warning, his thumb tracing over my bottom lip.

My heart leapt. Most of them men I spent time with didn’t like a girl with a mouth like mine so I usually kept it shut, but something about his raw energy made me act out of the ordinary.  He sounded young. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty. Most of the men who requested my company were sexually depraved, middle-aged politicians who bought my exclusivity until they were bored with me or their bank statements were looking rather bleak, and then they passed me onto someone they knew.

In my business, referrals were everything. I didn’t need a pimp. I didn’t need to walk the streets. My services more than spoke for themselves, and what fifty year old man didn’t want a twenty-four year old honey on his arm with natural DDs, bee-stung lips, and an angelic face framed by silken blonde waves? Their own personal Marilyn Monroe. Not to mention I could carry on an intelligent conversation courtesy of my B.A. in Art History from Georgetown.

I didn’t think of myself as a hooker or a prostitute anyway. As far as I was concerned, I was a high-class sexual concierge for the well-to-do. I supposed if someone absolutely had to put a label on me, they could call me a sugar baby. But this guy was too young to be a sugar daddy.

Much, much too young.

“How’d you hear about me?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

“Not at liberty to say,” he said.

I’d had four clients in the last five years. It had to have been one of them or someone close to them who knew what they did under the veil of night.

A man had been standing outside his door when I’d arrived, dressed in black as if he were with the Secret Service. “John” was much too young sounding to be the president, but whoever he was…he was someone important.

“Take off your dress,” he commanded, his voice sending a commanding chill down my spine that prickled my skin and sent a curious smile to my mouth. “Small talk is over.”

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