“What’s going on with Dee and Maddox?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, and she’s not answering.”
“I haven’t imagined the chemistry between them then?”
“God, no. She lights up like a lamp when he’s around. He seems very attentive.”
“They’re always talking.”
Cami arched an eyebrow. “That’s not all. I caught them in the kitchen when I went to grab something on movie night. Unless my sister needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation—that was another kind of in-depth conversation they were having.”
I chuckled. “She’s older than he is.”
Cami shrugged. “It’s a number.”
“Bentley says he is the most mature of them all. That he always has been. He’s also the most private and intense.”
She snorted. “There’s the pot calling the kettle black. Mr. Rigid himself.”
“I think he means he is old beyond his years.”
She pulled out her laptop. “Well, I like him, and I think he’s good for her. She smiles more.”
“I guess time will tell.”
She nodded. “For all of us.”
“Who knew all this would happen the day Bentley tripped over my rucksack and told me off?”
“I know. Your millionaire is pretty awesome.”
I scowled. “He’s more than a millionaire.”
“I know that. I was only teasing.”
“He’s so much more than his money.”
“He is with you.” She sighed. “The way he came to me and asked for a dress for you. He was so”—she waved her hand—“earnest and worried. He wanted you to feel pretty, but not overwhelmed. He wanted to make you happy.”
“He did. He does—all the time.” I glanced to the side. “Except for the escorts.”
She shrugged, opening her laptop. “Once this blows over, you’ll go back to normal.”
I took her cue, and grabbed my notes.
I wasn’t sure with Bentley there was such a thing as normal.
Chapter 13
Bentley
We pulled up in front of the house, the entire drive silent. I was fuming, my mood dark, and the scotch I had slammed back souring in my stomach.
Aiden eyed me warily. “You want to talk about it?”
“No,” I snapped. “I don’t even want to fucking think about it right now.”
“Bent, it’s a deal that didn’t work. It’s not like we can’t afford to absorb the loss.”
I threw open the car door. “Not the fucking point.”
“I know the project meant a lot to you, but we’ll regroup and figure out our next step. We’ll find the right spot for your vision.”
“That was the right fucking spot, and someone screwed me over.” I stepped out of the car. “I’m going to find out who it was if it’s the last thing I do.”
He started to follow me, and I held up my hand. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to see anyone tonight.”
“Emmy’s here.”
“She’s different.” I was glad she was there. She would distract me. We could have dinner, and then I would spend the rest of the night inside her. That was always a good distraction. I’d think about the entire fucked up deal tomorrow. There had been too many lately.
“Try to rein in your bad mood. It might help.”
I flipped him the finger, and left him at the car. I didn’t care where he went as long as it wasn’t with me.
In the elevator, I rubbed my eyes, and let my head fall back. I hadn’t felt that amount of rage in a long time. It bubbled and pickled at my skin, and I yanked on my tie, loosening it. I wanted to forget about the entire fucking day. I stepped off the elevator, focused solely on finding Emmy. I paid no attention to where I was going, and found myself on my knees after tripping over something on the floor.
Cursing, I grabbed at my throbbing knees and glanced behind me. Emmy’s old rucksack sat on the floor as if she’d dropped it there in haste. My dark mood grew exponentially blacker. I hated that rucksack with a passion, and even more, I hated what it symbolized. She took it everywhere with her, and she always left it close to the elevator if she didn’t plan on staying—which meant she wasn’t planning to be here long tonight.
I stood, brushing off my pants, and cursing again. There was a tear in the fabric of one knee. I had just bought the suit. I liked it, and now it was ruined, all because of that goddamn rucksack. Without thinking, my foot shot out, and I kicked the offending bag across the floor where it hit the table leg, causing a small piece of sculpture to scuttle over the edge, and smash on the wooden floor.
“Fuck!” I roared.
Emmy appeared around the corner, a knife in her hand. “What on earth—” Her words dried up when she saw me. “Bentley, what’s wrong?”
I stalked over and picked up the bag. “Do you have to fucking leave this by the elevator? I have closets, you know. You could act like a responsible adult, and actually put it away. How many times do I have to trip over this piece of shit?”
She grimaced, and took the bag from my fist. “I’m sorry. I was running late, and I dropped the bag when I came in with my arms full. I meant to put down the groceries and come back to get it. I wanted to have dinner ready for you.” She smiled tentatively. “I’m sorry you tripped.”
“Ruined my new suit!” I snarled, not ready to let it go.
She glanced down. “Oh, God, Rigid. I’m so sorry.”
“My name is Bentley. Not fucking Rigid! Knock it off with the nicknames. I hate them.”
She stepped back, studying me with a scowl. “You never mentioned that. I apologize. Maybe it would be best if I went back into the kitchen and finished dinner, to give you a chance to calm down a little. Maybe have a drink and a shower before we eat.”
Her calm demeanor only angered me further. I poked at the bag. “Why are you still carrying that crap? I got you a new one for your birthday!”
“I have it with me, as well. My hands were full when I arrived. I dropped the rucksack, and as I said, forgot to go get it. I apologize—again.”
“Why the hell do you need two? What is so fucking special about this one? Why do you always have it with you?”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’ll answer your questions when we can discuss it calmly.”
“I want to discuss it now.”
She shook her head. “Too bad. I’m making dinner, and you can go cool off somewhere. I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like my suit being ruined because you’re too lazy to pick up after yourself!”
Her eyes narrowed at my ire. “Well, you’re in a mood.” She turned and walked down the hall. I followed her into the kitchen.
“What is that smell?”
“I’m making tacos.”
I grimaced. “Tacos? I don’t want tacos. Why didn’t you let Andrew make dinner? It’s what I pay him for and at least it would be something an adult would eat.”
She whirled around. “I think you need to leave the kitchen.”
“It’s my kitchen.”
“You’re acting like a child.”
I knew I was. I was acting like an asshole. The truth was I liked it when she made tacos. In fact, I liked everything she made. Tonight, nothing was going to be right. Not even, it seemed, Emmy.
I stormed out of the kitchen. “I need a fucking drink.”
I grabbed the decanter of scotch and poured a healthy shot. I downed it in one swallow, the liquor burning its way down my throat and into my chest. I refilled the glass and stomped upstairs to my room, pulling off my suit. I swallowed some more of the liquor, and stepped in the shower. The sting of the water on my knee made me hiss and looking down I saw a gash from where I fell.
I was going to burn that piece of shit rucksack when I got hold of it.
I turned on all the jets, and closed my eyes as the hot water poured over me. The steam billowed around me and the heat worked its magic on my stiff muscles. Br
acing myself on the wall, I huffed a deep sigh and let the water rain down. I had no idea how long I stood there, but finally, I lifted my head, no longer as tense as I had been.
I reached for my shampoo, and my fingers encountered the buff thing Emmy liked to use. I picked it up, studying it, remembering her reaction to the shower the first time she used it. Her excited giggles and the delight as the water poured all around us. The way she had added her body wash to the puff and scrubbed herself, then me. I thought of her joy and laughter, and the way I had taken her against the tile. A smile tugged on my lips at the memory.
My head fell back with a groan. What had I done? I had been a complete ass to her. My day was shitty from start to finish, and the only thing I had wanted was to be in her company. Instead of brushing off the stupid rucksack incident, I had attacked her over it, and picked a fight with her so my shitty day could get even shittier.
What a fucking moron.
My only consolation was she refused to rise to the bait. Still, I owed her an apology. A big one. Quickly, I finished up, stepped out of the shower and dried off. I swallowed the rest of the scotch, pulled on the silly lounge pants and shirt she had given me, and hurried back toward the main floor.
As I went through the living area, I noticed the broken glass was gone, and Emmy’s messenger bag was tucked by the sideboard. The rucksack wasn’t anywhere to be seen either.
I sighed in relief, knowing she was still there. I had fully expected to find her gone after my behavior. I would have gone after her, because I didn’t want the incident to fester for either of us. She wasn’t in the kitchen though, and the tacos she had been making for dinner were obviously off the menu, since the kitchen was spotless, and the food I had seen earlier, put away.
I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, finding her in the sunroom. It was her favorite place in the house. She was sitting in my chair, her legs drawn to her chest. The rucksack was on the floor beside the chair. I tried not to glare at it. She regarded me silently as I burst into the room.
I went to the bar, and grabbed a bottle of wine and glasses. I had a feeling we were going to need it. I set them on the table in front of her, and filled the glasses, offering one to her. She reached for it, but before she could take it, I grabbed her hand.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I didn’t know if you’d still be here when I got out of the shower.”
She pulled her hand away and reached for the wine. She took a long sip and sighed. “I almost left. I even had my ‘fucking rucksack’ in hand and was going to walk out the door, when I realized if I did, that made my actions seem as childish as your outburst. So, I decided to act like a grown up and stay to see if you wanted to talk, or continue to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
Her eyebrow rose. “I must have imagined that part.”
My shoulders drooped and my head fell forward. I stared down at my clasped hands, trying to find the right words.
“I have a temper, and sometimes I lose it.”
“You told me that once. I thought you were exaggerating.”
I looked up. “I wasn’t. It’s rare that it gets the best of me, and I’m not proud of what happened.” I huffed out a breath. “I had a spectacularly shitty day.”
“You lost the land bid, didn’t you?”
I blinked at her. “You remembered that was today?”
“Of course I did. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I do pay attention.” She leaned forward, patting my leg. “Bentley, I’m sorry. I know how stressed you were over the entire situation.”
I grabbed her hand, not wanting to lose contact with her. “I was stressed, and I now I’m furious. I don’t understand what happened or why things are going to shit businesswise. Still, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. All I wanted was to come home and see you. You were going to be the only good thing about today.”
“Then you tripped over the bag, hurt your knee, ruined your suit, and became even angrier.”
“I don’t care about the suit or my knee,” I confessed. “It’s the bag. What it represents. It was as if it hit me in the gut, and that was it. I exploded.”
“What is represents?”
I leaned forward, gripping her hand. “I love your independence. I love how strong and vital you are. It’s that bag—you carry it everywhere. I know when I see it by the door, you’re going to leave. I feel as though you’re always ready to run.”
Her next words shocked me. “I am.”
“What?” I ran my hand over the back of my neck, the nerves prickling under my skin.
She wanted to run?
“It’s because of my childhood, Bentley.”
“Why, Emmy? I don’t understand. You never talk to me about your past. I told you about my childhood and my messed-up state of mind, but you never share that part of your life.”
She sighed and picked up the rucksack. “This was my brother’s. It’s all I have left of him.”
I was confused. “Isn’t he alive?”
She shrugged. “I think so. I have no idea.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t have a normal childhood. My parents were, for lack of a better term, gypsies. They hated to stay in one place. My grandmother stayed with us since they were always off on some adventure.”
“She’s the one who taught you to make scones?”
A glimmer of a smile tugged at her lips. “Yes. She was the only constant I knew.” Emmy’s smile faded. “She died when I was young.”
“I’m sorry.”
She pulled out a tattered book from her rucksack. “This was hers.”
I took the handwritten cookbook and looked at the pages covered in writing, notes and sketches. I glanced up, nodding at her to keep talking.
“After she died, my parents were forced to stay home more. I was ten, and Jack was fifteen. For the next two years, they were miserable. To this day, I don’t know why they had kids. They were lousy parents, and more concerned with what quest they were missing out on than how their actions affected us. They would disappear for a few days, sometimes longer, leaving us alone. When they were home, they’d move us around constantly. I never had any friends, or stability. Jack tried hard to be the responsible one. He was so much older than me, and I relied on him for everything.”
“That must have been difficult.”
She nodded. “When Jack was seventeen, my parents left, and never came back. They walked away from us. I was only twelve.”
“Jesus. They just left you?”
“Yes. They left money and a note. Told Jack to look after me, and they disappeared. We never saw them again.” She sighed. “We were informed they died in Asia on some expedition. Their bodies were never recovered.” She reached in the rucksack , pulled out a small frame, and handed it to me. “That is the last picture I have of my family.”
I studied the faded snapshot. Her parents were young and smiling into the camera. A child version of Emmy, and a taller boy stood beside them. His arm was around her protectively. Her parents were dressed in hiking apparel, and Emmy looked sad.
“My parents’ behavior taught us to never rely on anyone else but ourselves. I learned early on not to depend on others. Even Jack. He drummed it into my head never to let my guard down. Always be prepared to leave. Be the first to go. Never trust anyone. Be responsible for yourself.”
“That’s one hell of a lesson for a young kid.”
“We had to stay ahead of everything until Jack turned eighteen and could legally care for me. We were constantly on guard.” She sighed, her fingers stroking the worn leather. “He kept everything important in this bag and never let it out of his sight, in case we had to leave.”
The significance of the rucksack became clearer.
“What happened?”
“We never settled in one place for long. When people started asking questions, we moved on. Once he turned eigh
teen and I was a bit older, we came here. Big city, not a lot of people ask questions. No one looked for parents. He found a job and looked after me until I turned seventeen.”
“And?”
Her voice dropped, saturated with sadness. “Jack and I are two very different people. He had more of my parents in him than I did. He hated being in one place, the same way they did. He didn’t want roots. He, at least, had enough of my nana’s teaching to be responsible and care for me so I didn’t end up in foster care. Still, when I turned seventeen, he decided I was old enough to be on my own. He’d done his duty and it was time. I woke up one morning and he was gone. Just like my parents.”
“Emmy,” I groaned, aghast.
“He warned me all my life. Never trust anyone—never rely on another person. He emphasized that above everything else. I never realized he included himself in that statement. He walked away, and all he left behind was this rucksack.”
“You must have been gutted.”
“I was. I was terrified. I grieved, and then I got angry.”
I felt a fission of pride at her words. “What did you do?”
She tossed her hair. “I spoke with Al, and he agreed to let me rent the smaller apartment in the building.”
“That’s where you lived with Jack? Over Al’s?”
“Yes. We lived at the other end of the hall in a larger apartment. I had the bedroom and Jack slept on the couch. I talked to Al, and he let me move to the smaller place and gave me a job. I finished high school and took more courses. I got another job—the one I told you about. I kept working at Al’s, and added a couple other part-time ones to save as much money as I could. I made a decision on what I wanted to do, and I worked my ass off to get into the school I wanted. The only really good thing that happened was I met Cami and Dee, and I made my own family.”
“And you trust them?”
“As much as I trust anyone.”
“What else is in your rucksack?”
She pulled out more pictures, a few trinkets, a broken watch, and some paperwork. There was a small worn box she laid on top.
“The watch was my dad’s. He gave it to Jack, but it stopped working. He always wore it anyway, but he left it the day he left me.”
Bentley: Vested Interest #1 Page 14