The Bachelor Towers: Books 1-3

by Cardello, Ruth

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?”

  “Is it so hard to believe even I might grow up?”

  “What’s her name?”

  “There is no woman.”

  “Names then. Women?”

  “Let’s just say I have yet to be tempted. I don’t understand the women here. Some less than others.”

  “Ah, so there is one who’s at least perplexing you.”

  “It’s not at all the way you imagine. I was temporarily trapped in an elevator with the oddest woman.”

  “Trapped?”

  “The elevator got stuck between floors.”

  “And?”

  Considering my brother is currently struggling to understand me, it wouldn’t hurt to let him in on a matter of little consequence. “She’s a woman of limited means. New to the city. Her purse was stolen. No money. Possibly, no one watching out for her.”

  “Where is she now?” The concerned tone in my brother’s voice brings me across all the miles that separate us. For as long as I can remember he’s taken the lead. He’s the hero charging in on the white horse. I’ve never taken that role because I’ve never had to.

  Until now, he never needed me to.

  No one did.

  “She had an appointment elsewhere in the building.”

  “So, she does know someone.”

  “She said she did.”

  I know what my brother would do. He would be downstairs already. Actually, he never would have left her side. Not even if she told him she was fine. It would have been his duty to deliver her to a safe situation. Or at least have someone escort her in his place.

  Only in his absence, do I understand him better.

  I don’t like the unanswered questions. Did Savannah meet up with someone? Was she still in the building?

  I had dismissed her as not my problem, and I don’t like what that reveals about me. I have never been the one anyone turned to for help. My father is a strong leader. My brother, his very capable heir. I was kept out of the public eye, educated, prepared but not tested, my value nothing more than my ability to replace my brother in the event it is required.

  Nothing I do matters as long as it doesn’t make the news.

  Savannah is a woman in need.

  And I’m sitting in my office—every bit the dick she accused me of being.

  I surge to my feet and quickly hang up with my brother after assuring him once again that I’m fine.

  I take the elevator with confidence. It would not dare disappoint me twice. I will meet this woman Jana Monroe, confirm that Savannah will be safe in her care, and only then will I return to my work.

  If Savannah is in need of more, I will arrange transportation for her back to her family. Surely she has some.

  As soon as the elevator doors open on the fifteenth floor I feel a rush of adrenaline. The offices are all dark. The glass door leading to them is locked. Is this what Savannah found when she came? I check my watch. Not that much time has passed. I have resources that could galvanize at my command. I take out my phone to call Charles, the Royal Guard who has watched over me since childhood. He thinks I don’t know he has been shadowing me since day one in Boston, but although his loyalty to me is beyond reproach, blending in has never been his strong suit.

  I trust him, though. He bore witness to every cookie I stole as a child, every woman I snuck into the royal palace, every hangover I tried to pass off as the flu.

  In some ways, he knows me better than my family—and never betrays that confidence. Ever present, ever watchful. He would have seen Savannah leave. Might even know where she went.

  As I step into the elevator my phone loses signal. The call is better made from my office anyway, where I’ll be free to command the entire Royal Guard if need be. Their allegiance is technically to my father, but I’m the one they share a drink with, invite into their homes, the one who has covered for them when they’ve needed to sneak their own guests out of the palace. There is a certain brotherhood among those who are deemed less essential to the survival of the royal family—the less elite Royal Guards, the second in line for the crown. We’re all dispensable and we know it.

  But we watch out for each other.

  I groan as I imagine Savannah on the street. Cold. No money. No phone. Lost.

  To me, Boston is a tiger I will tame. But to an innocent like Savannah, the city holds dangers she wouldn’t know to protect herself from.

  The elevator dings at my floor and I find myself moving quicker than normal.

  I shouldn’t have let her walk away alone. I should have made sure someone was there to meet her. It’s a mistake I intend to right.

  I come to a skidding halt at the sight of Savannah sitting behind my desk. Her woolen jacket is slung over the back of my chair.

  The word beautiful comes to mind despite how rough she is around the edges. Her dark blonde hair is in wild disarray. She’s smaller than she appeared in her oversized coat, a fact accentuated by the high back of my desk chair. Her thin shoulders are slumped forward, and she’s tapping her forehead nervously with one hand.

  I want to tell her everything will be okay, but I’m held silent by a confusing mix of relief and attraction. How is this possible?

  Unaware I’m there, she sits back and swipes her hands angrily across her cheeks. Tears.

  Our eyes meet, and my heart thuds in my chest.

  Crazy.

  I step closer and am assailed by a smell that should instantly kill the sizzle in the air, but my cock is convinced there’s nothing wrong with her a little soap wouldn’t cure. Especially once she loses that damn coat.

  My leather chair will never be the same, and I have the uncomfortable feeling my life might not be either.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Savannah

  I can’t catch a break, can I?

  I should have known Jana Monroe wouldn’t wait two hours for me. Not today. I could have committed her phone number to memory, but who does that anymore?

  I’m beginning to question my role in my stretch of bad luck. If I hadn’t decided to come as the real me, I could have headed to the lobby and asked security for her number—but considering how I look and the way my day is going they probably would have called the police.

  Coming back to the thirtieth floor was hard enough after my grand exit, but discovering even Mr. I don’t care what happens to you was gone took some of the wind out of my sails. Maybe he isn’t coming back. Maybe I really am alone.

  The least he could have done was forget to password protect his computer. If he had, I could have gotten Jana’s contact info from my emails, called her from the landline phone on his desk, and been gone.

  Then here he is as if summoned up to humiliate me more. “All I want is for one thing to go right today. Is that too much to ask?” I demand as if I have every right to be in his chair.

  He doesn’t say anything. It’s borderline infuriating. He has this strange look on his face that I can’t decipher. I hope it doesn’t mean he’s about to call security. I should probably explain I’m not trying to steal any oh-so-important information off his computer. “I don’t have any of the contact information I need committed to memory. If you let me check my email, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  He steps closer, not taking his eyes off me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a spark between us. My body is certainly revving, but I’m realistic enough to keep a clear head. I’m alone in an office with a man who doesn’t look happy to see me.

  It might be time to be nicer to him.

  “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be in here, but I didn’t know what else to do. I hoped I could simply ask you if I could borrow your computer for a minute, but you weren’t here.”

  Okay, the last part comes out like an accusation he doesn’t deserve, but I’m barely holding it together. I’m tired, hungry, and if I’m honest—a little scared.

  “I went downstairs to check on you
.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I must have heard him wrong. “That’s where you were?”

  He folds his arms over his chest and looks down at me like I’m the one acting out of character. Dude, you just said something that sounded like you cared—why do you still look annoyed? Unless you went to check on me because you thought I didn’t belong in the building and now I’m in your office.

  I don’t want to go to jail.

  I stand up and grab my coat. “Listen, I get that you don’t know me, but I’m the type who would return a wallet I found—with the money still in it. All I need is Jana’s phone number.”

  “Sit down.”

  I sit and instantly curse myself for it. He speaks with authority—like someone who expects people to jump when he commands it. I’m not into that. Standing now would be ridiculous, but I shoot him a glare anyway that attempts to say, I’m sitting but not because you told me to.

  I shrug my coat back on because I really have no idea what is going on behind those intense black eyes. I’m not intimidated by him, but when he looks at me like that, I get all fluttery on the inside. Sex scenes from my favorite novels fly through my head, and he replaces every book boyfriend I’ve ever mentally given myself to. I wish he spoke more, so I’d have less time to picture us naked rolling around on the couch on the other side of his office.

  Someday soon, I will find out if couch sex lives up to the hype, but not today and not with this man.

  I smile in an attempt to reassure him I’m not as crazy as I seem. Harmless.

  He doesn’t smile back, but he does come to stand beside me. I let myself indulge in an X-rated version of how this plays out. In my fantasy, he leans in, sweeps my hair back from my ear, and growls something suggestive.

  Desk sex. That has also always sounded incredible to me. I imagine him commanding me to stand, strip and . . .

  He types in his password, closes out his email, then steps back.

  I let out a shaky breath. Yeah, that’s the other way this could go . . . “Thank you,” I say and inwardly give myself a smack. Part of why I came to Boston was to have sex, but not with an unvetted stranger. I don’t want what I could have found on Tinder, Grinder, Hookup Tonight or any similar app. Stand down, overeager vagina—you’ve waited this long. I didn’t fill out a ten-page questionnaire with Jana to throw my first time away on just any man.

  I glance at Brice. He has put an appropriate distance between us. Part of me is tempted to ask him for advice on which search engine to use—just to draw him back to my side.

  No.

  Sorry, Mr. Boston, I don’t have time for this. I need to focus on contacting Jana.

  Oh, my God, I have imaginarily dated, fucked, and now broken up with a man who is probably still trying to figure out how to get me out of his office.

  I turn quickly back to the computer screen. Jana. I open my mail, scan our messages for—bingo—her number. Normally, I would text her, but since I don’t have my phone and I can’t imagine asking to use Brice’s . . . I write the number on a piece of paper and reach for his landline.

  Then pause.

  I should ask first. “Do you mind if I . . .?”

  “Of course.”

  Jana didn’t answer because that would have been too easy. I apologize about missing our meeting, say I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a tough spot by being mugged straight off the bus, and ask her to call me at this number . . . hoping it shows up on her ID.

  I hang up and sit there frozen for a moment. Brice heard me. Is he okay with me waiting for her call?

  He takes a seat in the chair in front of the desk. “You should also call your credit card company. Cancel the cards and order new ones.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” I start using his computer again without asking this time. The formality is melting away as my situation gets more complicated.

  I sign in to my credit card company and put a halt on my cards. I can’t order new ones until I have an address. Shit. When I close out of the site, up pops an article about what to do if your things are stolen while you are traveling. The Internet is handy, but downright scary some times in its ability to know what you need.

  I scan it quickly. “I need to take the police report to the bank tomorrow. Possibly get some cash out. Maybe even some temporary checks so I can pay for the apartment I’m leasing for the month.” I nod to keep myself focused. This will work. I can make this work.

  “And tonight?”

  His question makes the lump in my throat double in size. Nothing on here tells you what to do if you’re stranded until the bank opens.

  “I’ll call a friend back home.”

  “Allow me to lend you enough to carry you through until you can access your own money.”

  I scoff. “I can’t take your money. You’re right, though. I could borrow some. My boss back home could wire me some. This will work out.” If I say it enough times, I wonder if maybe it’ll become true.

  “You sound certain, but you were also sure the woman downstairs was going to wait for you.”

  It’s a pinprick to my already rattled nerves. A jab that he’s not wrong about. “The bar is open, and I’ve known Jimmy my whole life. He’ll send some money, and I’ll get it right back to him.”

  Brice gestures to the phone as if he’s challenging me to prove him wrong. Jerk. If I hadn’t already broken up with him in my imagination, it would definitely be over now.

  Thank God I know the number of the bar by heart. I dial, and bite at my lip.

  “Hello?” Murray shouts into the phone so I have to pull it away from my ear. He’s been tending bar there for forty-one years. My Ghost of Christmas Future if I don’t make some big changes.

  We threw a party for Murray last year. What does forty years at the same place get a person? A lopsided homemade cake. Some balloons and a card signed by all the regular customers who don’t have anywhere else to spend their nights. If they’re happy, I’m happy for them, but I feel like I was meant to do something more.

  My mother had the unfortunate fate of dying during childbirth. Never having held me. Never getting that rush of joy. I never let myself get down about not having a mom, because my dad was so amazing. For the first ten years of my life he was everything I needed. But when I lost him too, it left me with little to hold on to. The guys at the bar became my family.

  I love Murray. But I don’t want to be him.

  “Murray, it’s Savannah. I need to talk to Jimmy.” I try to keep my voice level. Any sign that I’m panicking, and I know exactly how they’ll react. Which is to overreact. I also don’t want Brice assuming he might be right. I don’t want to have to kiss that smug smile off his face. Smack—not kiss. Smack.

  “Hey Savannah. How’s the big city?” Murray clears his throat. I convinced him to stop smoking a few years ago, but he still has that rasp to his voice.

  “It’s great. I’m having a blast. Meeting the nicest people.” I glare at Brice and then roll my eyes so he knows I’m not referring to him. “Let me talk to Jimmy.”

  “He’s setting up karaoke right now. You know that. He can’t talk. He’s the only one who knows how to get those speakers working.” Murray’s voice is quickly drowned out by music. “Your favorite song is about to start. No one sings “Achy Breaky Heart” like Old Man Koy. Want me to hold the phone up so you can hear him?”

  “No, Murray. Don’t.” It’s already too late. The phone is held in the air, and I’ll have to wait out the song. I don’t look over at Brice. He wouldn’t understand any of this. I doubt he’s ever stepped foot in a bar like ours or even considered doing karaoke. When the screechy song ends, Murray says, “He’s getting better.”

  “He’s not.”

  Murray chuckles, and it breaks into a cough. He still looks tough on the outside, and probably hasn’t even seen a doctor, but I worry about him.

  “Have Jimmy call me back at this number. Did it come up on caller ID?”

  “Uh,” Murray pulls the phone a
way from his ear again, and I worry he’s about to forget what we’re doing. “Yeah I got it. He’ll call you.”

  “Thanks Murray. The sooner the better.” I consider for a second that maybe I should tell him it’s urgent. I open my mouth and fish for the right words, but he hangs up before I think of what to say. It’s for the best. I don’t want them worrying.

  When the line disconnects I feel my chest burn with frustration. I know exactly how busy the bar is on karaoke night. The whole town comes out. I’ve been just as quick to get people off the line, but right now I want to ring Murray’s neck.

  My eyes slowly rise to meet Brice’s gaze. “He’s going to call me back.”

  “After the next song?”

  “It’s a busy night there. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You don’t look like the type to hang in a bar.”

  He looks intrigued. “What type am I?”

  “Stiff.” The word sends my eyes to the bulge in his pants. I bet it’s impressive even at half-mast.

  Oh, shit. I’m doing it again. I stand and raise my eyes to his. In my imagination he winks and we have a moment.

  In reality, he looks as uncomfortable as I feel. “You must have work to do. Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just sit over there and wait for Jimmy to call back.” I cross the room to a chair in the corner of his office. The leather is full grain and firm. I run my hand over it, letting myself enjoy the luxury of it. It’s so comfortable and the rich mocha color matches the room perfectly. The whole office belongs in a magazine.

  Just as he does.

  I could rock the cover of Maine Ice Fishing Guide. My backpack, weathered by years of cramming it full of school books and later novels I’d borrow from the library, looks like a heap of trash in this perfectly decorated room. Right now, it’s literally all I have so I hug it to me. There’s only a change of clothes and a few toiletries in it. I hadn’t anticipated needing much since this limbo wasn’t supposed to last longer than the bus ride. I feel something in the front pocket of my bag. A tiny piece of joy.

  Brice can have his fancy office with the supple leather. I have something better.