I hand the phone back to Charles and tip my head up proudly. I march into the building but have to stop abruptly to hold open the door for a woman with a double-wide stroller and very pregnant belly.
She ruins my sassy exit.
I draw in a deep breath and put the thought of Brice out of my mind. Sure, it’s nice to think that someone in the city cares about me, but he and I are not meant to happen. He sees the old me. Any thoughts of him, any energy spent bantering back risks slowing me down from where I’m supposed to be.
But damn . . . those dimples.
I wave my key to the doorman as I walk past him.
“Still no bags?” he asks, looking me over nervously as though I don’t belong.
“No.”
“Where are the little ones?”
He looks behind me as though I’m a mother duck and my ducklings should be coming closely behind me in a row.
“No kids.”
“No bags. No kids. Nice.” He shrugs and seems to count himself lucky.
The lobby of the building is bustling with people coming and going. Mothers and children mostly. It isn’t the crowd I hoped to rub elbows with, but they seem nice enough. What is an apartment but a place to rest your head?
“You need anything else tonight, miss?”
“No, I think I’ll be all right. Where is a good place to eat dinner around here?”
The excitement of going out for a fancy meal in the city sweeps me up.
“Uh, they all like the”—he snaps his fingers as the tries to think about it—“the place with the play gym for the kids. Menu?” He reaches behind the counter and digs for the paper.
“No, thank you.”
Brice would know a good place to eat. A quick call and he might even take me to dinner. Because he can’t resist me?
Or because he sees me as some kind of charity case?
I sigh.
What is the chance that a man like him will be in his office thinking about a woman like me? He probably has a hot date with a model.
I google the apartment building across from his—Bachelor Tower. It is an uber elite, all-male building with a bar on the first floor that whole blogs are dedicated to describing escapades from.
Yeah, sounds like he’s alone and wishing I’ll call.
“You okay, ma’am?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking.” I sigh. “Do you have a list of places that deliver?”
“Sure.” He hands me a stack of menus.
I read them over as I walk toward the elevator. Mexican. I wonder if Brice likes Mexican or if he’s too conservative for a little spice.
I hug the menus to my chest as the elevator door closes.
Someday soon I’ll have a little heat in my life and it won’t be from jalapenos.
I remember how good Brice’s arm felt beneath my hand. It’s too easy to use him in every fantasy I have of what I’ll soon be doing. A woman and man enter. She gives me a look and places herself between me and her man.
I smile at her because I’m genuinely happy she has someone so good she doesn’t want to share him. I look the guy over. He seems like a nice enough man. Good for her. She’s glaring at me. I keep smiling. Don’t worry, lady, before you know it you’ll see me in the elevator with my own guy and you’ll realize there are enough to go around.
I look at the menus.
Tonight, take out on my own.
Tomorrow—who knows?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brice
“Being clandestine is literally a core function of your job,” I snap. Charles calls with an apology but I know him too well. “You wanted her to see you.”
“That would be insubordination,” Charles counters as though that isn’t exactly what this is.
“Yes, it would be.”
“However, I am your Royal Guard. I would take a bullet for you, but hide in shrubbery and follow some woman you say you’re not interested in? No, I don’t believe that is a skill I have.”
“You agreed it was important to make sure she was staying somewhere safe.”
“I did that, and now we know she is. Her apartment building is in a nice location and is one I could imagine my own family living in.”
“But?”
“But this feels like a game, and I don’t like games.”
That much has always been true about him. “You like her.”
Charles clears his throat. “I have seen you with many women over the years, Bricelion. You were young and they were willing, so I always looked the other way, but this woman is looking for more than you’d offer her.”
I stand and pace my office while digesting his words. “I have no interest in dating this woman, Charles. If Mathias were here and he’d met her, he would have also wanted to ensure she was okay.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I add, “Before you say I’m not my brother, I am well aware of that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the concept of duty.”
After a moment, Charles says, “You’re not Mathias, but the country only needs one of him. I have a pretty good idea what we’re doing in Boston, and I admire you for it. However, when it comes to this woman, I believe your judgement is clouded. You’ve helped her. She’s in a good place. Perhaps it’s time to end this and finish your work here.”
It is strange to see Charles acting protective of someone besides me. It’s a testament to the impression Savannah made on him. “I can’t walk away until I hear from Simon again. He also has a bad feeling about this Monroe woman. If you know why I’m here, you know I’m close to my objective. I need to stay focused. This isn’t a royal order, it’s a personal request. Keep an eye on her tonight. I only want what you want for her . . . to make sure she’s okay.”
He makes a curt sound of agreement. I hang up the phone and grind my teeth. I need to eat. Sleep. Start over. I call down to the kitchen and order a meal along with an old Scotch that should clear my head. A man rolls a cart of food into my apartment and trips over my computer bag, sending crumbs flying over the dark wood floor. He hastens to clean it up.
The Pop-Tart.
Once alone I fill a glass of Scotch and walk over to my bag. The floor around my bag is clean, but I imagine how the interior is now caked with crumbs. Charles is right. Savannah Barre is nothing like the women I’ve chosen to be with over the years.
She’s a tiny tornado of chaos. Messy.
Complicated.
Impossible to ignore.
And a virgin.
Irrelevant since I have no intention of seeing her again. Once I confirm she’s not about to be sold into some kind of sex ring, I’ll walk away.
I’m halfway through my meal when my phone rings. “What is it, Charles?”
“So I stayed.”
“Yes.”
“She went to the store.”
“Okay.”
“When we returned to her building there were several men outside. They seemed to be looking for her.”
“A group of men?” I was instantly on my feet.
“Yes. All different ages. A tough looking crew.”
“Where is she? Tell me you whisked her out of there.”
“She appeared to know them.”
“She said she doesn’t know anyone in the city. Are they still there?”
“No, she invited them inside.”
“You let that happen?” I growl the question in a tone that surprises even me.
“You did suggest that I remain less visible. If I intervened, there would be questions. Questions that might reveal who I am and then who you are. If you prefer—”
“I prefer you not let a group of men follow Savannah into her apartment. I shouldn’t have to spell that out for you.”
“What would you have me do, Your Highness?”
Tossing my title out is a response to me sounding like someone who requires it. I shake my head. I can circle back to that later. “I want to know who those men are to her.”
“Then may I suggest you find out?”<
br />
“Me?”
“Unless you are asking me to set up a different type of surveillance on her. I can arrange for her phone calls to be routed to you or a listening device to be delivered to her apartment. Or you could ask her who they are.”
He’s being ridiculous. Or I am. It’s too hard to tell these days. “I’ll call her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay put. If I don’t like what I hear you’re pulling her out of there.”
“Your Highness, if you sense anything is amiss, I can easily handle and dispose of her visitors.”
Now that’s the Charles I know. “Let’s hope that’s not necessary.”
I dial Savannah’s number and listen as the phone goes to voice mail. My heart thuds with adrenaline. Is this what Jana does? Sends groups of men over? I’m boiling with anger as my hands crumple into fists.
When she doesn’t answer, I grab my keys and head out the door. This is none of my business. Not the serious business that brought me to Boston. This is tornado Savannah, tearing through my sanity.
On my drive to her apartment I consider a wide range of reasons why several men would be visiting Savannah, none of them I like. If I get there and any one of those men have laid a hand on her, there will be no safe haven for them. I’ve never utilized my political immunity, but I’ve also never felt such protective rage.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Savannah
In the lobby of my apartment building, I ask, “What are you guys doing here? Who’s at the bar?”
My chest feels like a mug being slowly filled with warm cocoa. My nerves settle. My sweaty palms dry. A little bit of home just showed up on my doorstep. My guys.
“We closed the bar for the night. It won’t kill everyone in town to have to drink their own booze for one night.” Jimmy is wearing his best shirt with a pair of khaki pants. It’s the outfit he wears to the bank to discuss his loan. And apparently the outfit he wears to the city. His hair is combed and set with gel. That’s his church look. All this for me? I’m touched.
“Why would you close the bar?” My eyes are damp with tears. I’ve known him for most of my life. Jimmy and Murray were good friends with my father, which explains why they hired me at the bar even though I had zero experience.
For years, when I wasn’t munching on grilled cheese by my grandmother’s bed, I was eating a basket of chicken wings from the kitchen in the bar with these men. They are as close to family as I have left.
I still can’t believe it: Jimmy, Lance, Jay, and Murray came to the city. Cleaned up. Grinning. Reminding me that, although I’m alone in Boston, I’m not alone in the world.
Jimmy reaches out a hand and pats my cheek. His rough fingers remind me of my father’s. The result of a lifetime of labor. “You gave me this address before you left so I could send your last paycheck. When we talked last night something didn’t sit right with me. That man who answered the phone, the way you sounded. I didn’t like it. I told the guys, and we decided to take a little road trip.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say with a relieved sigh. They’re minimizing how much they had to do and give up to be here. Jimmy closed the bar for a day. In my lifetime, I’ve only seen him do it once, and that was when his wife died. He closed for a week that time. The others will miss money from the shifts they aren’t working. This is big. “I shouldn’t have called you. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Murray holds up a round metal tin. Even in his late fifties, he intimidates people before they know him. Closer to seven than six feet and thick from head to toe, he could break up a bar fight by grabbing the offenders by the scruff of their necks and pulling them apart. He isn’t in his Sunday best. The joke in Coppertop is that when he dies he wants to be buried in those jean overalls so he’ll have them when he reaches the other side. What kind of heaven would it be without them? “We brought cookies from Mrs. Warren. She sends her love.” His eyes sparkle as he hands them to me.
Murray’s rounded center is a direct result of his belief that Mrs. Warren’s cookies can cure almost any ailment. Feeling sad? Chocolate chip. Hung over? Oatmeal. Unable to get pregnant? Macadamia. Don’t ask why; some things require a leap of faith.
Mrs. Warren is a widow with a soft spot for a man who’s handy with tools. We all know she and Murry are more than friends, but they still sneak around like teenagers. No one dares bring it up for fear of being cut off from what is arguably the best cookie connection on the East Coast.
I rip the top of the container off. White sugar cookies cut in the shape of shamrocks with green frosting. “For luck,” was all Mrs. Warren wrote. I replace the cover and hug the container. As always, she sent exactly what I need.
It’s only been a couple days but home feels so far away. I haven’t let myself admit I miss any of it. Admitting that would be like suggesting I made the wrong choice to come. But the cookies cannot be denied. I’m a little homesick.
Jay crosses and then uncrosses his arms like he’s not sure he belongs in this nice building. He’s the youngest of the group and washes dishes at the bar. We went to school together though he was a couple grades ahead of me. He left Coppertop for a few years, but won’t talk about where he went. A wool hat covers his mop of hair, and although he’s self-conscious about the scar that cuts through his bottom lip to his chin, he wouldn’t have trouble finding a date if he looked people in the eye. Like me, his life has become smaller and smaller. He works at the bar, the fishery, and odd jobs on his rare days off. Jimmy lets him stay in a back room of the bar. Murray told me Jimmy found him and brought him back to Coppertop.
I didn’t ask why. We have an unspoken rule of not prying into each other’s lives. Jay and I get along because I can tell a filthy joke without blushing or cracking a smile. For some reason Jay finds that hilarious. When no one else can, I can make him laugh. If we work the same shift and I see his ass dragging, I scour the Internet for a new joke then deliver the material as if I’ve known it all along. The rest of the night, I catch him glancing over and chuckling. I decide to start sending dirty jokes to Murray to say to him, although I don’t know if it’ll have the same effect. Wait, he could have Mrs. Warren write them on a cookie. Now that might work.
Jay raises his eyes from the floor. “So who was the guy on the phone?”
“If you have a boyfriend, we’re not here to judge. We just want him to know who will come for him if he fucks up.” Lance’s chest puffs as he chimes in. He’s my age and about half the size of Murray, but that has never stopped him from talking shit. He’s Jimmy’s nephew so he’s never had anyone question if he can live up to his own hype. We all think he’ll take over the bar from Jimmy one day. For now he covers for his uncle and takes courses at the community college. I’m surprised he came as well.
“No boyfriend. Just a friend.” Calling Brice a friend is a stretch that nears being a flat-out lie. For some reason, saying Brice is just some stranger doesn’t feel right. “I wish you’d called before coming. I’m fine.”
Jimmy sighs and tucks his hands into his pockets. “I don’t buy it. You call from some strange number that belongs to a guy. Then you sound all weird on the phone. I didn’t like it. What are you not telling us?”
I realize we have a growing audience so I usher them into the elevator. “Come see my apartment.”
“Apartment?” Murray echoes. “That sounds like you plan on staying.”
“It’s a short-term lease,” I assure them. As we ride to my floor I soak in their presence. Earthy colognes. The hint of cigar smoke. The scent of fish from Jay’s threadbare coat.
A moment later, they’re standing in the living room of my apartment looking out of place and at a loss for what to say. Murray whistles. “Nice place.”
“You sure you can afford this?” Jimmy asks in a paternal tone that makes me want to hug him.
I nod. “My grandmother left me her insurance money. I’m using that first.” I open the tin in my hand, take a cookie and bite into it. “Wit
h a little luck I’ll be working soon.”
Murray walks deeper into the room to peer down the hallway. “You live here alone?”
“Just me.” I hold out the tin for Jay to take a treat. He does with a nod. “Did you guys eat?”
“No,” Lance says, puffing up again like a rooster. “We wanted to get here as quick as we could. Make sure you’re okay. Knock in some heads if we needed to.”
I meet Jay’s eyes and we both kindly hold our mirth in. Someday I might punch Lance just to see if he can actually take one. The image of him not handling it well pulls my lips into a smile I fight. Jay smiles and looks away.
“You look different,” Lance says as he inspects me closely. “Why?”
I shrug. “New clothes?” Although my slacks and shirt are simple, I doubt any of them have ever seen me in anything but jeans.
“You buy them?” Jimmy asks and Murray frowns.
“None of our business, Jimmy,” he says.
I grab his shoulder and squeeze. He sounds so much like I imagine my father would have that it’s hard not to throw my arms around him and cry a little. “You’re just going to have to trust that I know what I’m doing, Jimmy.”
“What happened to your phone?” He’s not sold yet. He’ll get the truth out of me eventually so I just give in.
I drop my hand and look around. To buy myself some time, I place the tin of cookies on the end table beside the couch. When I turn around all four of the guys are looking at me. Waiting. “To be honest I screwed up yesterday. My purse was stolen. I couldn’t get in touch with the woman I was trying to meet up with. It got really complicated. But today was different. I went to my meeting. Got to the bank. Moved into my apartment here. Everything is fine now.”
Lance cocks his head thoughtfully. “You’re really not telling us what all this is about? Why are you here in the first place?”
“She’s moving on,” Jay says in a low tone, looking me right in the eye for once. “She took care of her grandmother for all those years and then the lady dies. Do you think Savannah belongs in a bar in Coppertop?”
The Bachelor Towers: Books 1-3 Page 43