The Broody Brit: For Christmas ( A Hot Single Father Second Chance Romance) (A Holiday Springs novel)

by MJ Fields

  When he doesn't reply, I feel horrible. Damn it.

  “Let’s compromise. If the roads are bad, I’ll get a room and stay at the hotel where I’m applying, and that’s assuming I even get the job.” I swallow hard, stopping myself from telling him the rest—that this job would only be until I saved up enough to get back to New York.

  “What hotel are you applying to?” He walks around the island and pulls out a chair, and sits down nonchalantly.

  “It’s a chain of resorts called Hawthorne Hotels and Resorts. Like I said, I don't even know if I’ll get the job, but it’s a job I know I’m qualified to do.”

  A door opens, and a man walks out. He’s a huge man… attractive. Very attractive actually, but not like Rafferty Graham. Not to me, anyway. He’s too gruff.

  “What degrees do you hold, and where was it earned?”

  “Jesus Christ, Becks. First, my studio, and now my bathroom?”

  “Morning, Raff.” He smiles widely. “I thought I heard my godson and came over to say hello. Then I tried to hide in the bathroom, being the gentleman I am, so that you two could sort your shit without interruption.” He looks back at me. “Could you answer my question?”

  I look at Raff, and he nods.

  “My economics degree is from Cornell University.”

  “Ivy League.” He steps closer. “Tell me more.”

  “I worked for a large, privately owned family real estate office in New York City for the past four years.”

  “Is that right? Commercial or residential?”

  “Both. Retail, as well.”

  “Outside partners?”

  “No, they never took any outside money.”

  He whistles. “Deep pockets.”

  “Very.”

  He leans on the marble counter. “Why did you leave?”

  Raff steps in. “Okay, Becks, that’s good enough.”

  Becks —whoever the hell he is— walks over and holds out his hand. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Beckett Hawthorne of Hawthorne Hotels and Resorts USA.”

  I stand up and shake his hand while kicking myself in the ass for not realizing Beckett was that Beckett. Especially since he had an Irish accent and I had, in fact, done my research. He’s a lot larger in person than he shows in photos and interviews.

  “I’m so sorry. I should have put two and two together.” I bite my lip, hoping I didn’t just screw up my chances.

  “Understand how that could be done. You’ve just woken up. You haven't had your coffee, hell, you haven't even put pants on.”

  “Okay, Jesus, fuck. Fuck,” Raff sputters as he runs over and back to me with the sweats he’d brought down for me last night that I obviously decided I didn’t need.

  He squats down and holds the pants for me to step into. “Turn the fuck around, Beckett.”

  With his back to me, Beckett Hawthorne continues his questioning. “So why was it that you left?”

  I blink, knowing that I should just get the truth out there. If he calls Townes, he should hear the truth from me first. “It was my ex-fiancé’s family's company. When our relationship dissolved, so did my job.”

  Raff mutters something I can’t catch.

  “How much did you make?”

  I hate this question, and I hate answering it even more in front of Raff, who will no doubt feel even more sorry for me, as well as think I’m weaker than he already does.

  “Not as much as I should have made, but I had perks.”

  “Yet never came on his tongue,” Raff whispers softly, and I swear I want to kill him.

  “That’s not a number.” Beckett pours himself a cup of coffee.

  With as much strength as I can muster, I open my mouth to speak the truth, no matter how embarrassing. “I was paid eight hundred dollars a week.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking,” Raff hisses, “or I will kill that son-of-a-bitch. Did he at least pay you in cash, off the books?”

  “The company paid off student loans, travel, and vacations, all of my living expenses, too.”

  Beckett shakes his head. His brows turned down. “The ex is a multimillionaire and should damn well have taken care of the woman he collared.”

  The casual way he says collared, a common phrase used for a woman who is submissive and owned by a man, shocks me. I don't miss the look exchanged between the two men.

  “I do mean gave a ring to.” Beckett waves a hand through the air as if that dismisses or erases the shock of his word choice. “I’ll start you at a hundred thousand a year, with room for growth. The first six months or so, you can work out of Holiday Springs. I’m planning to rent an office near the Shepard property, and if you can help me track the owner and get him to sell the property to me, or us,” he looks at Raff. “you’ll get a bonus and a raise.”

  “I never agreed to a partnership,” Raff sighs loudly.

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re local, and it may be the only way he’ll sell, and that’s if Ms. Winterfield can find him.”

  Beckett looks back at me. “It’s a nice office. Three separate rooms inside. I have one woman who can train you on company policy, and then you can train her on the economic side of the business. There should be another who will join you soon, full-time at first, then no more than twenty hours a week. When can you start?”

  “Are there benefits?” I ask because screaming yes while jumping up and down isn't professional.

  “Yes. I’ll have the information emailed to you by my secretary.”

  “And what about vacation time?” Raff takes a sip of his coffee.

  “Four weeks a year. Large discounts on stays at any Hawthorne property, worldwide.”

  “Eight weeks,” Raff counters.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” Beckett huffs.

  Raff sneers, “Don’t be an arsehole.”

  “Fine. But during my wedding and honeymoon, no staff will be allowed vacation time.”

  “Congratulations on your pending nuptials.” I smile at him. “When are they to take place?”

  “She’s being difficult, but as soon as she says yes, plans will be made for swift execution.”

  Oh my God, this poor woman. He just made a wedding sound like a death sentence.

  “Now, when can you start?” he asks.

  “I’d like to give two weeks’ notice at my current place of employment.”

  “One week should be sufficient.” Beckett walks briskly to the door, taking the mug with him. Opening it, he says. “See you both on the football field. Two hours.”

  As soon as the door shuts, I look at Raff. “Did that just happen?”

  He smiles. “Yeah, babe, it sure did.”

  He steps toward me, and I ask, “Wait, what did he mean see you two on the football field? And why should I be so happy my boyfriend basically got me the job?”

  “Did you just call me your boyfriend?”

  “Slip of the tongue.” I shake my head, trying to erase the word choice as one would a failed drawing.

  “Well, there we have it, we’re both fans of one another’s tongue slips.”

  My skin flushes.

  His lips curve upward, obviously amused at himself. “We have half an hour to get through this second date and on the road. Drink your coffee, and let me grab you some bacon and toast.” He grabs me playfully and pulls me into a short yet searing kiss. As quickly as he kisses me, he steps away, leaving me wanting more and heads to the stove. “Then onto our third date after the game and then, well.” He chuckles. “And by the way, I’m sure your resume is amazing. The job would have been yours, regardless. Beckett doesn’t hand out jobs as favors. Ever.”

  I bite my cheek, trying not to smile. I’m relieved that I believe him. “I need to go home, shower, get clothes, and wait.” I shake my head, hoping to clear the fog caused by one Rafferty Graham. “I don’t remember agreeing to—”

  “We have two showers in this flat, and,” he looks over his shoulder, still managing to catch the bacon he flipped on the spatula, “you lo
ok absolutely edible in what you have on right now, Red.”

  After a very quick breakfast and a shower at his place, we walk outside, and Raff takes my hand. Although the gesture is sweet, it’s a bit shocking since Townes was never big on PDA. Unless, of course, camera lights were flashing, as they always were at the never-ending fundraiser events we had to attend. He felt it was tacky, and I agreed with him up until now.

  When he opens my door for me and pops a kiss to my cheek, I can't help but smile.

  “Stop looking at me like that, or my team will be down a center middy.”

  I continue smiling as I slide into the car.

  As he moves into the driver's seat, I lick my now drying lips.

  “So, soccer?” I say, trying my damndest not to stare, drool, or lose my damn mind over how he looks in his tight-fitting white jersey with three black stripes running from his shoulders to his wrists, the matching white shorts that do absolutely nothing to hide what lies beneath them.

  He puts the car in drive. “Do you enjoy football?”

  I hesitate to even mention I played as a child and then end up laughing.

  “There’s a story behind that laughter,” he presses the accelerator.

  “I was definitely on a team. They placed me where I could do the least damage.”

  Pulling out onto Main Street, he asks, “Is it something you’d like to learn?”

  I laugh out a quick, “No.”

  “Will watching bore you?”

  “I’m going to go with a solid no.”

  “You seemed to enjoy watching the other day, so I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch that you may enjoy the old men's league.”

  “Old men, huh?”

  He smirks, a dimple popping, and I’m again entranced by him. He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. We remain silent for the next several minutes.

  Pulling into my driveway, I see Nellie’s vehicle, a little red Mercedes-Benz, sitting in the driveway.

  “Would you like me to go in with you?” he asks.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Of course not.”

  “You have ten minutes, and no, Nikki, it’s not being possessive or controlling. She crossed a line last night.” His features tighten, showing that he’s quite serious, and my chest tightens. It’s slightly overwhelming, but not in a bad way, quite the opposite actually. It’s like my heart receiving a much-needed hug.

  “I’ll be back in nine.”

  The smile I receive from him… incredible.

  Stepping out of the vehicle, I turn and lean back in. “What should I wear?”

  “Very casual. Jeans, yoga pants, whatever you’ll be comfortable in, and layers. As you know, the weather turns on a dime here.”

  I’m thankful that the door is unlocked when I turn the handle, but when I walk in Nellie is standing at the sink, as if she’d been waiting for the moment I walked in. Turns out, I’m not so thankful at all.

  “The dishes are still waiting,” she snaps as if she’s in charge of me.

  “I don't know if you realize it, but I wasn't even here last night.”

  I start walking toward the stairs and hear her following me.

  I stop and pat our old Duke on the head and wait for whatever crap she’s going to start with me.

  “The whole town's talking about where you’ve been for two nights in a row.”

  I look over my shoulder as I scratch behind Duke’s ear. “The whole town can talk all they want. I’m an adult, and so is Raff.”

  “Do you think my parents want to hear about how their skank of a niece bed hops from one man to the next like this?” She snaps her fingers in my face.

  “Townes and I haven’t been together for months. It’s over. I’m allowed to move on.”

  “Maybe you shouldn't pick a rebound who has a child.”

  Biting my tongue, I scratch Duke behind the ear before walking up the stairs to change.

  “Where are you going?” she calls behind me, and I don't say a thing because she is actually acting insane.

  Two things my parents always said hold true in this instance, ‘If you have nothing to say, don’t say anything at all,’ and ‘Don't poke crazy,’ the latter one I never understood until right this minute.

  I close the door behind me, walk to my closet, push past all my aunt’s knitting supplies, and grab a pair of jeans, a tan lightweight sweater, and my off-white pea coat that’s thin enough for fall.

  I pull off the sweatshirt Raff had let me borrow to wear and pull the sweater over my head and continue dressing. As I’m pulling up my jeans, the door opens.

  “Are you going to do the dishes before you go and further embarrass this family?”

  I could say so many things right now to put her in her place, but I don't bother.

  “Oh my God, really, you’re going to be so childish and pretend like I’m not even here!”

  Grabbing a small black weekender bag from under my bed, I tell her, “I’m not pretending anything. I’m simply not going to fight with you because we’re family.”

  “When it’s convenient for you! You never even came to visit. We weren't good enough for you, were we?”

  Shocked, I look up at her as I shove some clothes into my overnight bag. “That’s not true, Nellie. I love you all.”

  “Yeah,” she huffs, “so you send in your holiday cards, birthday cards, and a phone call a couple times a year. You never even asked me to come visit.”

  “That’s not true, you all came to visit me in—”

  “Twice! And we weren't even good enough to stay with you in your fancy penthouse.”

  “Nellie, it was never my penthouse,” I sigh. “And if it hurt your feelings, I can assure you it was never my intention, but trust me when I tell you, I understand that pain.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Raff has a soccer game,” I say, zipping up my bag.

  She rolls her eyes. “And staying with him.”

  Hefting my bag over my shoulder, I nod.

  She gives me a disgusted look, turns: and walks away, mumbling, “And like usual, she will just disrupt anyone's lives for her own selfish needs.”

  I grab my spare keys off my dresser because somehow my other set ended up locked in my Jeep. I pick up my makeup bag, then look around the room, a room that was once mine. A room that isn't anymore, I say to myself as I walk out the door and pull it closed behind me.

  Rule Number Fifteen

  Never get between a girl and her best friend

  Raff

  Holding my cell against my ear with my shoulder, I open the door for Nikki as she walks out, carrying not just one bag but a cosmetic case of some sort as well.

  I feel warmth spread across my chest, and then I hear, “Are you going to answer me?”

  Nikki looks at me curiously, and I roll my eyes as I open the door and take her bags. “Jenny, I've yet to hear a question, just accusations.”

  “My Jenny?” she whispers as she slides into the car.

  I nod as I shut the door, then open the back door and set her bags inside, shut the door, and hurry around the car to get in.

  “The question is, what are your intentions?” Jenny’s voice booms through the speakers as the Bluetooth connects.

  “Hey, Jenny,” Nikki says wearily.

  “I thought you were in the house,” she says in an accusatory voice that makes Nikki grin.

  “I was. Now I’m in the car.”

  “And what, you don’t answer your phone anymore?” Jenny huffs.

  “Um.” Nikki reaches onto the floor where her purse has been since last night.

  “What do you mean, um? That thing is practically glued to your hand, and now when I need you to pay attention, to answer my texts and calls to either confirm or deny the rumors I’m hearing all over Holiday Springs about you and your new boyfriend—including and not limited to a date?”

  “Confirmed,” I answer as I back out of her driveway and onto the street.

  “You shu
sh. I’m asking Nikki.” Jenny all but snaps, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Confirmed.” Nikki laughs.

  “Okay, so the fact that you were walking down Main Street at midnight in the pouring rain because he made you walk—”

  “De-fucking-nied.” I practically snarl.

  “Nikki?” Jenny replies, needing confirmation from her friend.

  Nikki sighs, “He picked me up while I was walking down the street in the rain at midnight.”

  “And why were you walking down the street at—”

  “Because her cousin is a twat,” I answer.

  “Actually, I’m not sure what she is,” Nikki says, resting her head back. “She actually seems to be upset I didn't visit Holiday Springs while I lived in the city, and she also felt like I didn't want her to stay with me at Townes’ place because the few times they did visit me, he booked a hotel for them.”

  Trying to quell my temper when it comes to one Nellie Winterfield’s treatment of Nikki, I tell her, “That warrants a conversation, not locking you out of your own home.”

  “Well, at least I have a possible clue as to how to fix this.” She smiles softly.

  “Hello, Jenny here, the best friend, the one you go to for advice. First, she better grovel, like on her knees begging for forgiveness for pulling that shit.”

  “Agreed,” I say and then watch as Nikki looks down, almost in defeat. “But I also agree with Nikki. If there’s a way to mend fences, you should, but with the understanding that she can’t keep busting them down. Forgiveness isn’t open-ended.”

  “Bitch better be on her knees first, though,” Jenny snaps. “Now, next question. Two back-to-back sleepovers?”

  “Confirmed. Night one in her new apartment,” I say, knowing damn well that will cause a tad bit of controversy, but a hell of a lot less for Nikki to explain to her alone. When she gasps, it doesn't surprise me. But I continue. “And last night, she slept in Nathaniel's bed, and I slept in mine.”

  “Boring,” Jenny sing-songs. “Now, let’s take two giant steps back and revisit the phrase, her apartment.”