Undeniable Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series Book 3)

by Ruth Cardello

  I choke back that comment as well.

  “So, will I see any of these men again?” I still don’t know how the whole process works, but I’m all in.

  “You may. If you take my advice and do this right. Someone will make it a point to find you. Track you down. That’s what you’re here to learn—how to be worth remembering.”

  “They’ll track me down?” Even with my newfound confidence I can’t imagine any of the successful men around me pining after I leave.

  As soon as the thought hits me, I push it back.

  That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Why can’t I be a woman a man will seek out later?

  “Men are persistent when they see something they want. The ones who challenge them and keep them guessing.”

  Not laughing. I could have promised to reduce at least of few of them to laughter. Challenge them? Keep them guessing? What the heck does that look like? “I’ll do my best.”

  “You might surprise yourself. Now, I’m going home. Call if you need anything. You’ll do great.”

  I gulp back my nerves and push down the thought of begging her to stay. No. Like my smelly coat, I refuse to put up protective walls between me and what I want. “I can do this.”

  “Good girl. Do this.” She points around the space. “Don’t do them.” She points at the men in the room. “Not yet.”

  A little laugh escapes my lips, and she hands me a glass of champagne.

  “Have fun.”

  She pats my shoulder and nods to a man who is standing in the corner holding her coat. He moves toward her with intention, helps her slide her coat on and then escorts her out. Her lover? Her butler? A bodyguard? I can’t tell. She’s damn good at being a mystery. Expert level.

  I watch her sashay out of the large hall with her head held high. Men and women watch her leave. She’s living her own advice.

  That could be me.

  What she didn’t tell me was how to start. Do I walk up to them? Do I say something clever? What is considered clever to people like this?

  “Looking for the coat check?” A tall man with sideburns sidles up to me and gestures at my jacket. He’s dressed in a black sweater and slacks.

  I hug my coat a little closer while trying to think of something sophisticated to say. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

  He smiles. He’s a little older than I am but not by more than a few years. “Then you’re in luck, I just found it myself. Allow me to escort you that way.”

  Escort me? Sounds so formal. Better than pointing across the room I guess. “Thank you.”

  He waves a hand and we begin to walk together. “Michael Stockton.”

  “Savannah Barre.”

  He places a hand on my lower back as if ushering me along, but it’s too familiar. I step aside to break the contact. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

  Less is more. “I don’t believe we have.” We reach a small table where a woman takes my coat in exchange for a token I tuck in my small clutch.

  “New to Boston?” He ducks his head down close to mine.

  I step back, but smile. “Why do you ask?” Nerves nip at my confidence, but I look this man in the eye. I donated a hundred dollars to the hospital. I belong here as much as he does.

  “Your accent. It’s . . .”

  I almost say unavoidable, but refuse to apologize for who I am. “Not Bostonian?” What had Jana said . . . less me, more them? “You sound like a local. Are you?”

  “Born and bred, but I only come back when I have to. I prefer a warmer climate.”

  Now that’s something I understand. I glance up at him as we make our way into the main room that has been set up with tables on one side and a small dance floor on the other. His hair has highlights that look natural, and his skin is bronzed from time in the sun. “And the beach?”

  His smile is easy and friendly. “I surf. How about you?”

  Surfing wasn’t big in Coppertop. “Not a surfer, but I do enjoy sailing.” It isn’t a lie. With thousands of miles of coast, Mainers have a natural affinity to the water.

  His eyes perk up. “Really? What’s your craft of choice?”

  “Nothing beats the windjammers in Maine. There’s a historical charm to them I don’t find in modern sailboats. Which do you prefer in a board? Vintage or modern?”

  “Wood all the way. The heart of surfing isn’t about going hi-tech. It was always about connecting to something greater—being aware—in the moment.”

  Our eyes meet. There isn’t a spark, but that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself. This is what I came to do. So far so good.

  Across the room I see an older gentleman wave to him. He groans. “My father. He’s afraid I’ll slip out before making all the perfunctory exchanges. Normally I find these events tedious, but you may have given me a new perspective on them.”

  Me? I keep my surprise to myself and give him a vague smile.

  He glances from me to his father and back. “Have you been to Maui?”

  “No.” I choke out a laugh. I haven’t been anywhere. Yet.

  He tips his head up curiously at me.

  I can’t explain. Too much information. Not enough mystery. Telling this man I’m from Coppertop, Maine, and that I’ve lived a dull life will kill the mood.

  I almost say I’ve always wanted to go, but stop myself afraid it will sound too eager. “Until recently I worked too much to travel for pleasure.”

  “What do you do?” His eyes rove over my body as we talk, and I pretend not to notice. If he were one of the guys back home I would have swatted him and told him to put his eyes back in his head. Tonight, though, I dressed this way so men like him will look at me that way.

  I wait to feel the same kind of warm, tingly excitement that washes over me whenever I catch Brice looking at me, but it doesn’t come. Why am I thinking about him at all right now? Forward, not back. “What do I do for work?” I stall. I’ve never been good at lying. The challenge is to make the truth sound better. “Nothing at the moment, but I’m in Boston working on a project that looks like it will be a real life changer.”

  “I’d love to hear more about it, but my father looks like he’s about to head over here. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll meet you back here.”

  I take Jana’s advice. “It was nice meeting you.” I step away first. I accept a glass of champagne from a passing server and try to look confident, but panic is beginning to set in. There are small groups of people standing in circles all around the room. Do I simply walk up to one of them?

  “Excuse me,” I say to a man with jet-black hair and a roundish face. “Have you seen Rodney Layne?” I toss out the name of my sixth-grade math teacher simply as an excuse to engage the man.

  “Oh, sorry, I don’t know him.” He looks around the room as though it may jog his memory.

  “Oh that’s all right. I’m sure I’ll catch him at some point. Thank you.” I move aside for a group of women making their way across the room.

  “I can keep you company until you find him.” He gestures over to a small high-top table near the bar station.

  “I’d like that,” I say.

  “I’m Paul. Do you need another drink?”

  “I’m Savannah. No, but thank you.” So far, so good. Paul isn’t the most attractive man in the room, but he gives off a pleasant vibe. Working in a bar has given me good instincts on people. Some people come looking for trouble, others for company. He looks like the latter.

  “I hear they’re going to be serving more appetizers soon. I’m always a sucker for a crab puff. You like them?”

  I smile. Now this is a conversation I can keep up with. “Who doesn’t?” The music in the background is mellow. “Everything has been very nice so far. I don’t come to many of these. I’m enjoying it though. But I feel a little out of place.” I see him relax as I admit my unease.

  “You are out of place,” Paul says, grinning at me. “You look like you belong on a runway in Paris.”

  “Oh, thank you.”
I touch his shoulder. He blushes.

  I’m doing pretty damn good.

  “This season’s Milano Sana Vons dress. Who did you have to kill to get it?”

  I frown as I realize the shop I went to didn’t have a name. “I found it in a little shop run by a Miguel?”

  His eyebrows rose and fell. “Okay, so you don’t want to say. I understand. We all have our sources. Just tell me, was it a purchase or a lend?”

  I know from watching the Oscars that designers dress clients for promotion. Do designers do that for charity events as well? I don’t think he’s suggesting I borrowed it . . . like illegally. “Purchase.”

  He nods. “You might want to consider donating it after the event. Tax write off for you, thousands of dollars in auction for Shriners. My ex-wife used to do it all the time.”

  Wait. I paid a hundred dollars for this dress. Nice as he is, Paul is confused. I’m smart enough not to correct him, though. “Thanks, I’ll consider it.”

  I think about the small shop where I bought the dress. Brice set it up. Had he also gotten me a deal on a more expensive dress?

  I need to stop thinking about Brice.

  “Oh. So you know a lot about fashion?” I force my attention back onto the man I’m with.

  “Only what I learned from fashion week. I’d be a much richer man if my wife hadn’t liked shopping as much as she did.”

  I wince. “Sorry?”

  His cheeks flush. “I don’t know why I’m talking about my ex.” We share an awkward moment, and I consider politely withdrawing. “I’m not good at meeting people.”

  That makes me smile. “Me either.”

  “I do believe in the cause, though. Childhood cancer research. It’s underfunded.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.” I really have no idea.

  “Pediatric cancers just don’t get money.”

  “That’s terrible. It’s great they have people like you.”

  “How about you?”

  “I made a general donation.” Jana is so right. Less is more.

  “So tell me about this Rodney? Is he your date?”

  “Just someone I heard might be here.”

  “So where is your date?” He looks over my shoulder expectantly. “Should I watch my back?”

  “No date for me. I came on my own.”

  “Brave. Although I’m sure you’re never alone long.”

  Time to put on the brakes a little. “I like meeting people. The only scary part is standing around on my own. So I’m glad for the company.” There that didn’t sound like a come on.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “You came alone. Are you planning on leaving alone?”

  “Excuse me?” My sip of champagne clogs in my throat.

  “Savannah, sorry I took so long,” a man says, leaning between us. I recognize his cologne before I see his face. Brice.

  He places a drink in front of me as if I’d asked for it.

  I glare at him, but he smiles and stands too close to me.

  Paul’s face glows red. “You must be Rodney.”

  I open my mouth to announce he isn’t, but Paul’s already backing away. I can’t really blame him, Brice is a least a foot taller than he is and acting like we’re together.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you, Savannah,” Paul says before bolting away.

  My heart is racing. I tell myself it’s from anger. In a low tone, I growl, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “It’s an important cause.”

  “You know I don’t want you here.”

  “You’re not going to thank me from getting rid of that guy for you?”

  “He was a lovely man. He gives all his money to charity.”

  “You weren’t going home with him. Just say thank you.”

  I’m not grateful. I’m turned on and angry with myself for being so. Brice is not part of the plan. He’s the anti-plan. “I’m not going home with anyone, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy meeting new people.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To meet people?”

  Although I wasn’t about to explain why to him, maybe he needed to hear part of the truth. “Yes, and that isn’t possible with you looming over me, so can you please go away?”

  “I don’t like this.”

  There was something in his eyes that made me wish we were on an entirely different journey. It was too easy to imagine we actually were together and that if I licked my bottom lip, he’d lean down with a kiss that would have me forgetting every other man in the room.

  Lust. This wasn’t my first dance with it.

  So much of what Jana said was spot-on. I didn’t wait because no opportunity ever presented itself. In Coppertop I was afraid to let anyone in.

  Boston is about letting that fear go. It is a journey that is supposed to start first with me liking myself, then finding a man. I’m so close too.

  Brice could derail that. I look him in the eye. “That’s not my problem.”

  His expression darkens. “You think you know what’s happening here. You don’t.”

  Here? Like with me and him?

  Or here at the event? I shoot him an apologetic smile. “Then that makes two of us because you’re driving me crazy. I wish I could tell you exactly why I’m here, but you’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  “Just as you will have to trust that I’m here because I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He closes his eyes for a beat, clearly trying to center himself. “I’m going to the other bar in the corner. Forget I’m here.”

  Sure. That sounds easy. I can’t forget you when you’re not here.

  He moves away and I fan my face.

  I can’t flirt if I know he’s watching me. I turn away from him, away from the disaster the event is becoming, and move quickly across the open space. Is Brice so protective because he met me at my worst? I’m half tempted to march over to the bar he planted himself at and tell him I’m not that woman anymore.

  You don’t need to protect me.

  I belong here.

  In pure rom-com-disaster style I slam into a man who was heading in the opposite direction. His drink tips out and splatters onto my shoes.

  “Oh I’m so sorry,” I gasp, covering my mouth. Things are unraveling quickly.

  “No, I am,” he replies hurriedly. “I hope they’re not ruined.”

  “They’re fine,” I say.

  His hazel eyes catch the light overhead as he straightens. “If you need to get them cleaned or something I can probably figure out how to have that done. Do you get shoes cleaned?” The dimple that appears when he smiles is endearing.

  “I don’t know,” I say with an answering smile. “I usually only have the kind of shoes you throw in the washing machine when they get dirty. These would probably fall apart.”

  “I can take your number. Or you can take mine. Maybe we can figure it out.”

  “I can’t,” I blurt out as I remember Jana’s advice.

  He looks slightly embarrassed. “Too blunt? Let me try this again. My name’s Kyle.”

  “A little blunt.” We shake hands awkwardly. “Savannah.”

  Kyle lowers his voice and leans in a little closer. “Sorry. My in-person skills are rusty. So much easier to swipe right.”

  I laugh even though I’m not sure what that means.

  He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “My friend was supposed to come with me tonight but had to work late. He begged me to come anyway. His company needs to fill a certain amount of chairs and I thought hell, I’ll get a free dinner. But so far it’s just me eating crab puffs and making very awkward conversation with people I have nothing in common with.”

  “Nothing?” I tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “I can relate to that. This is all new for me too. You can probably tell by the way I keep trying to put my hand in my pocket only to remember I’m in a gown. I’m sure everyone can tell I don’t belong here. But you must have so
mething in common with people here. More than I do.”

  “Honestly nothing. I own a sausage cart outside of Fenway. Do I smell like peppers and onions right now? That’s all I can think about. That people are sniffing me and realizing I don’t belong here.”

  I grin knowingly. “You smell fine.”

  “We should team up. Try to hide out in some corner until this thing is over. Eat as much free food as possible. Close enough to still get appetizers but far enough to not have to talk about the stock portfolios we don’t have.”

  It’s a fun idea. He reminds me of Lance. Harmlessly bold. “I’d like that.”

  “Let me get you another drink, then we can hide out.” His gap-toothed smile is genuine.

  “I’d love another champagne.” My head is swimming a bit from the drinks, just enough to take the edge off.

  He puts his arm out, and I loop mine into his as we walk toward the back corner of the large and beautifully decorated hall. “Savannah, you might just turn this whole night around for me. I’ll go to the bar and get us drinks.”

  The bar.

  Where Brice is. My eyes, no matter how much I demand they don’t, turn to where I saw him last. He’s there with one hand in his pocket and the other on his drink. Looking like the cover of a sexy business magazine.

  He glances over at me and flashes a smile. But I see something else. There’s a woman at the other end of the bar with her eyes fixed on him. I want to smack the stupid diamond studded tiara out of her hair.

  “Champagne?” Kyle asks, and clearly not for the first time. I’d tuned him out.

  “What?”

  “That’s what you said you wanted, right?”

  The longer I look at Brice, the more smug his smile gets. “Let me get the drinks,” I sputter out. “You stay here.”

  “Really? I don’t mind.”

  “What do you want to drink?” I ask without looking at Kyle. All of my attention is focused on the smile Brice just flashed the tiara woman. She swirls her straw in her drink and batts her lashes at him. I’m about to throw up.