by J. D. Fox
“Right here. Oh, wait, I don’t have a tip.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. The tip’s included in the service.”
I’m not used to this entirely thoughtful and sweet side to Lucius and immediately I’m suspicious. Lucius is not known for his altruism; there is usually an ulterior motive to whenever he’s nice.
You are far too paranoid, Talia Winton. He’s just trying to smooth over the fact you lost the sales director job to him and he making you spend the weekend working to distract you.
Suspicion niggled at the back of my brain, working at that theory. Lucius was only nice when he wanted something. What pound of flesh was he looking to extract from me?
Naw, my brain said. He probably got that out of the agreement you signed and foolishly did not read. So no good worrying about it now.
The idea of that agreement gnawed at me, and I would not be happy until I saw a copy of it. Damn Lucius for running out of town and not leaving me one.
Right now he wants me to go to a spa and since he’s paying for it, I’ll go. Mom’s comfortable in her new care facility, and Eva will visit her. And since it’s not the end of the month yet I don’t need to encourage people to scramble to make their goals. It’s a rare moment of relaxation, and I’m going for it.
My phone dinged again.
Lucius: Ready to go?
Me: What? Why?
Lucius: The limo is coming for you.
Me: Limo?
Lucius: How did you expect to get there?
Me: My car.
Lucius: You can’t arrive at a luxury hotel in your monstrosity of a car. A limo will be downstairs in fifteen.
Me: Monstrosity of a car. Gee, no offense taken.
Lucius: I thought not.
Oh, brother. Subtle, Lucius is not. I pulled on my jeans.
I knocked on Eva’s door and a mumbled “go away” floated from behind her closed door.
“Hey, you don’t have to take me to the spa.”
“Great,” she mumbled.
“But you still need to go to work, and I won’t be here to pour you coffee or dump you into the car.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Eva.
I opened the door to find my roommate still asleep. “Eva, do you hear me?”
Eva scoffed and raised her sleepy head from her pillow.
“You’re mean. I was in the middle of a tryst with Dr. McDreamy and he was about to give me an oral examination with his tongue. But noooooo, Miss Stick-up-her-butt just had to wake me.”
I snorted. “He’ll be back. As your most reliable lover, he always returns.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“You say it yourself.”
“But you don’t have to repeat it.” She picked up her pillow, squeezed it together, and turned her back to me.
“Sorry,” I said under my breath. It’s my own fault. Eva’s early morning grumpiness is legendary, and I’d knowingly entered her room at my own risk. We’ve joked about that in the past, but today was not a joking day. I just wasn’t in the mood.
To make sure Eva didn’t lose my message in her sleep-induced haze, I left a note for her that she didn’t need to drive me to the spa despite our previous plan. I wondered why Lucius was so hot to get me to the hotel since my appointment wasn’t until ten in the morning, and it was only eight.
I quickly found when I got there.
“Ah, Ms. Winton. The stylist is already in your room,” said the hotel clerk.
“What?”
“Here is a note from Mr. Palmer.”
I pulled out the card that was obviously laser printed.
Talia,
I’ve arranged for a stylist to help you choose some clothes for the weekend. Your bags will already be at the lodge, but it’s really best for you to dress your best. Take your time, choose whatever you want. Pick a nice outfit to wear tonight and the rest will be messengered to the lodge.
Lucius
I shook my head. First my car wasn’t worthy, and now my clothes? Ridiculous. I had a mind to give Lucius a piece of. Clearly, I’m not satisfactory for Lucius Palmer.
Infuriating.
The stylist was a woman in her thirties with a cute bob cut, dressed in a perfectly put together outfit that was at once stylish and casual. She looked like one of those women that oozed style without effort.
“I’m Jeanine. I’m here to help you with your selections.” She looked at my jeans and teeshirt with disapproval in her eyes, but kept a professional smile on her lips. Jeanine walked around me and then pulled clothes from two groaning racks sitting in the middle of the room.
I had to admit that despite my embarrassment, the royal treatment was fun, and the stylist did find great clothes for me. Apparently, Lucius filled her in on my size, coloring and build, and the woman was able to work off that.
I could get comfortable living the lifestyle of the rich and famous.
“How much does this dress cost?” I held a drapey chiffon with blotches of red, black and blue on a white background against me. It almost looked like a Mondrian painting except for the soft edges of the colors. The sleeveless dress had a black v for the neckline, and thick black strips edged the armholes. The stylist looked at me cross-eyed.
“Don’t worry. Mr. Palmer took care of all it.” Her eyes lit on my engagement ring.
“That’s a stunning ring,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Your fiancé obviously loves you very much.”
I had to hold back from rolling my eyes. Whatever Lucius has planned is for his love of money, and not because of any affection for me. And I have one response to that.
Thank God. The last thing I need is a Palmer, any Palmer, in my personal life, fake engagements aside.
The stylist held up an A-line white chiffon dress edged in blue, and printed with red and blue watercolor-like swipes.
“Here, try this dress on. It should bring out your eyes.”
“Yes, but I can’t wear sleeveless for business.”
“Women do all the time.”
“I’m not that kind of woman.”
The woman’s mouth twitched but then she smiled brightly after calculating how much money she’d lose if she didn’t convince me to purchase these clothes.
“Well, let’s see. Here’s a great jacket you can wear over it.”
She was right. The royal blue jacket went perfectly. That a pair of patent leather four-inch heels made me look shiny. I’ll look on the internet and find out the prices later, and form a plan to repay Lucius. No way would I let him get away with spending a bunch of money on me. How much could a dress, a jacket and a pair of heels cost? The rest I’d return after the weekend.
But all those thoughts dissolved in a day of ecstasy. The technicians soaked, moisturized, and massaged every inch of my body until I was a puddle of flesh. They washed and blew-out of my hair, then finished up with make-up, a bag of which the beautician pressed into my hands. It jarred me to stare at the person in the mirror and not recognize her. Sure, she had my eyes, nose, and mouth, but the make-up enhanced my face to give it an ethereal glow, cheekbones, and mysterious eyes.
“What do you think?” Asked the blonde-haired woman responsible for my transformation.
“Wow,” I said. The unfamiliar face in the mirror rendered me unusually speechless.
“Yes, you are very beautiful.”
“I don’t mean that. It’s just I don’t... I couldn’t—”
“Sure you can. I left some pamphlets in the make-up bag on how to apply it. Just start with the light-refracting foundation, and the rest is easy.”
So you say.
I have a clothes sense that works for me, but make-up I’d never grasped as other girls did. I suppose I’d too busy working to suss out how to apply color that made look like a movie star. Plus, I’d always thought dramatic makeup was unnecessarily over-the-top.
But looking at my reflection, I thought I could be wrong.
And when I d
ressed in the outfit I’d picked out earlier, I decided I was wrong about my fashion sense. I should hop a flight to Hollywood instead of driving to Aspen with Sam. Forget team building exercises, I’d take Starland by force and build my own multi-media empire on the force of my appearance.
Yeah, right.
Checking my phone, I saw that it is almost time for Sam to pick me up and the thought released a thousand tingly butterflies in my stomach. Okay, so I do find Sam attractive, but he’s a player and I want nothing to do with that sort of man. I’ve made that quite clear to him.
So why can't I make that clear to me?
Sam drove up in Lucius’s Jaguar, which I recognized from the parking garage at work. Funny— I would have thought that Lucius would drive his car to his business meeting. It’s not as if Sam couldn’t afford to rent a car. His suits were more expensive than my own car.
To my surprise, he got out and opened the car door for me.
“Well,” I said, “aren’t you a knight in shining armor?”
He avoided my eyes.
“No armor, no horse— just a suit, and Lucius’s Jag. But I’m sure you’re used to it.”
My gaze lingered on him, wondering what he meant, when it hit me that I should be familiar with Lucius’s Jaguar if he was my real fiancé. My stomach clenched, and I held onto the car door give me a solid object to hold. How many other things should I know about Lucius Palmer’s life that I didn’t? This was a new wrinkle, and immediately I was on my guard. What if I said the wrong thing? Did the wrong thing? Then the whole charade would be for nothing. This small terror of an idea seizes my mind as I sit in the car. I bit into my lip while I snapped in the seat belt.
Sam, settled then glanced at me.
“Something wrong?” he said.
“No.”
“You should tighten your seat belt,” he said. “It’s a little lose for you.”
“Yeah... um,” I muttered while my heart rioted in my chest. Oh hell. He stared at me like he expected me to say something about the seatbelt adjustment. Like someone else sat in the car next to me. He suspects something; I know it.
Best to act as if nothing was wrong.
“There,” I said when I adjusted the belt. “All snug and secure.”
“That dress is snug,” rumbled Sam. At least that is what I thought I heard him mutter.
“Did you say something about my dress? Do you like it? Lucius bought it for me.”
There. That should put him off the scent. That was a good, fiancé-like thing for Lucius to do, even if I intended to repay him for the clothes. Sam didn’t need to know that part of it.
Sam glanced to the side mirror and stuck a Bluetooth speaker into his ear. He then pulled the car out the road and took a right turn, obviously listening to Lucius’ inboard GPS.
“Sam?” I said. I wanted to see if he’d heard me about the dress.
“What? Oh, the dress. Yes, it looks good on you.”
Good? Merely good? I looked fabulous. He should say something other than “good.”
Sam’s dismissive attitude grated. Two nights ago he couldn’t keep his hands off me, and now he couldn’t keep his eyes on me. What’s wrong with him?
What’s wrong with you? I chided myself. You told him you weren’t interested. You told him that you were engaged. You got your message across. Why should you be upset?
I am not upset. Sam should take notice, is all. It’s not every day I get a spa day and new clothes and... wait, what did all this cost?
I pulled my phone from my purse and check the hotel spa prices and calculated that, GOOD HOLY LORD, Lucius dropped two grand on my day of luxury. Then I looked up the retail prices of the clothes I’d bought and my face flushed. My little ensemble, dress, jacket, belt, and shoes carried a price tag of four grand. And that didn’t include the other things on their way to Aspen, probably already waiting for me in my room.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I groaned.
Immediately Sam’s head snapped toward me.
“Do you need me to pull over?” His voice was laced with concern.
“No no, it’s just—” How could I complain that Lucius spent too much money on me? He was supposed to be my fiancé.
“I can pull over if you need me to.”
“No.” Good Lord, no.
“Do you need something to drink? I can stop at a convenience store.”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get to Aspen.”
“Sure, sure.” He stared ahead at the road, and we were soon out of the city and on the highway. He pulled the Bluetooth from his ear.
“Look,” he said. “I want to apologize for the other night.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “It’s best if we don’t speak of it.”
“Agreed,” he said. “Tell me, do you and Lucius go to Aspen often?”
Oh hell. What could I say? What was the right answer? What had Lucius told him? I decided to go for truth. At least, semi-truth.
“No, I’ve never been. Lucius talks about how nice it is, though.”
“Really? It wasn’t really his favorite place, seeing as he hates to ski.”
He does? Damn, I’m stepping into the do-do already. I’d better keep my mouth shut.
“You know what, Sam? I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll take a little nap, if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” he said. His mouth formed a tight line. Sam suspects something, I know it. I ruined everything by trying to be cute. How the hell was I going to get out of this now?
Chapter Ten
Sam
Talia is the antithesis of the Gorgon from Greek legends. The Gorgons were women cursed by the gods to ugliness could turn men into solid stone by gazing at them. But Talia is so stunning, seeing her made me melt like butter on a hot Denver sidewalk. I could barely look at her, because if I did, my heart would burst from my chest, or I’d dribble out of my mouth, or something equally absurd.
I was so jealous of Lucius, I didn’t know if I could deliver her to Aspen for him to put a wedding band on her finger. Instead of turning left at Glenwood Springs, I’d drive on through to Vegas and show her the real meaning of a good time. I checked the maps before we left when I got the harebrained idea. I could clearly imagine us riding into Vegas, sweeping her into the most expensive hotel on the strip and treating her to champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries before I ravaged her gorgeous body.
But to do so would be kidnapping, unless I could convince her to go along with it; and judging by her reaction two nights ago, that would not happen. So I’m stuck acting as chauffeur to a princess, with the task of delivering her to a toad.
I am mortified at my reaction; I should be happy for my brother instead of hating him. For the first time in my life, I agreed with my father that Lucius had overreached for what he should not have, because he does not deserve Talia. I am a horrible brother.
At my side, Talia groaned alarmingly.
“I think I will be sick,” she said.
“Do you want me to pull over?” I said. But Talia resisted this and the rest of my solicitous overtures, and I kicked myself in the ass thinking “down boy, down. She’s made her position clear.”
Except the only position I want her in is either under me, sitting on my lap, or really any position she likes, as long as it’s with me and not my dickhead brother.
In small space of the Jaguar, her perfume drives me damn crazy. It has a hint of musk that goes straight to my dick, which wants to get way more intimately acquainted with that scent, and everything else about Ms. Talia Winton.
Soon to be Palmer. Screw me.
Please.
I couldn’t watch them get married, get introduced as Mr. and Mrs, kiss each other as my relatives clinked the glasses with their cutlery, or waltz the first bridal dance. I’d have to slam down as much whiskey as possible to get through the spectacle, and I’m not sure there’s enough of the amber spirit in Colorado, let alone Aspen.
Good lord, he won’t expect me to give a
toast, will he? ME, giving them my good wishes when I could strangle the smarmy bastard where he sat? Kidnapping might be better than fratricide. It carries a lighter jail sentence. Would my father put up bail money for either crime? And then rehab? Because there is definitely heavy drinking in my future.
I took another stab at conversation.
“Look, I want to apologize for the other night.”
Talia pursed her lips as if I were forcing her to suck on a lemon. Well, I’d like her to suck—STOP. I just have put the brakes on that thinking because it was not helping. My tingling cock did not agree.
“That’s okay,” she said. “We won’t speak of it.”
Thank you, God. I did not need to relive the events of that night again until I landed in my bed, pulling on my hard cock to get precious little relief. I’d steer the conversation back to her and him. That should head off my unbrotherly thoughts.
“Agreed,” I said. “Tell me. Do you and Lucius go to Aspen often?”
Her lips drew tighter, hiding that delightful shade on her lips.
“No, but Lucius always talks about how nice it is, though.”
Now, that’s odd. I had thought they chose Aspen because she liked it; Lucius never had. He always groaned and complained about our Christmases there, especially when he was older and couldn’t go out with his Boston friend to tear up the town. I half-suspected that’s why dad dragged us there year after year.
“Really? It never really his favorite place, seeing as he hates to ski.”
I can’t parse the guarded expression on her face. Why does she look as if I hit a sore spot? Damn. I’d ticked her off again.
“You know what, Sam? I’m a bit tired. How long will it be before we get there?”
“About two hours.”
“Good. I’ll take a little nap.”
“Sure,” I said. Once again, my spidey sense pings. What was wrong here? But before I could cogitate that my phone rang, and I hit the bluetooth in my ear.
“Sam Palmer,” I said.
“Mr. Palmer, this is Tate Atkins, from the firm of Wentz and Jacob.”
Ah, the forensic accounting firm.
“Yes, Mr. Atkins. I didn’t realize Wentz would hand off the job.”