Kyle groans with uncertainty. “A beer, I guess? Whatever they have.”
“I’ll be right back.” I put a finger up and try to look worth waiting for.
I march over to the bar; my high heels tapping against the marble floor. I choose to sidle up right next to him at the bar, but I don’t look at him. “You think you’re bothering me, but you’re not.”
“Glad to hear that.”
I flag the bartender and order two glasses of champagne. “I’m having a perfectly nice conversation with Kyle.”
“Kyle?”
“Yes. And you’re not going to ruin it for me.”
“Got it.”
He isn’t taking me seriously. I spin toward him. “Brice, you’re making this impossible.”
“By being here?”
“Yes.” I collect the two flutes of champagne and slap down a tip.
Brice glances across the room to the man I left waiting for me. “He made you get your own drink. Come on, Kyle, be a gentleman.”
“I told him I wanted to get them myself so I could come tell you to stop destroying my night.”
“Good, boy, Kyle. Sit. Stay.”
“You’re an asshole.” I give him one final glare. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
He lets out a burst of breath. “Again, I haven’t moved. I’ve been right here. Talk to whomever you want.”
I stomp back to Kyle. He accepts the champagne, but makes a face at it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I turn my back to Brice. He only has the power to get to me if I let him.
“You know that guy?” Kyle asks, gesturing with his chin over to Brice.
“No. I mean I do, but he’s nobody.” I take a far-too-big sip of my drink and then position myself so I can keep an eye on Brice. The woman has shifted closer to him. He says something to her, and her laugh echoes across the room.
“Oh,” Kyle says, sounding confused. “Well, so tell me more about what you actually do.”
The woman puts her arm on Brice’s arm and bends forward like she can’t hear him, but she’s really trying to give him a look down her dress. “Why doesn’t she just jump him? How much more obvious could she be?” I huff and look to Kyle for confirmation that he’s seeing what I see.
“Who?” Kyle asks, looking around.
Oh right, I’m the only one fixated on the most infuriating man in the room. “Nothing. No one. I’m sorry what were you asking?”
“I asked what you do for a living. I’ve been telling everyone I export Italian products. That sounds much better than I sell sausages to drunk people in the street at midnight. I figure it’s not a lie, but I won’t embarrass myself.”
“I told someone I’m here in Boston with a real life-changing job opportunity.” I cover my mouth and my nose wrinkles as I hold in a laugh. “I didn’t think he’d be interested in the fact that I work at a marina in a very small fishing town in Maine.” I force myself to look at Kyle. “I usually smell like fish. That’s how I met that guy over there. We were stuck in an elevator, and I still had my smelly fish coat on.”
“Umm, I like seafood.” He chuckles awkwardly. He pauses when I don’t laugh. “Do you need to talk to that guy?”
“Which guy?” I ask, my gaze naturally darting to Brice.
“The one you’re obviously interested in. The big guy at the bar.”
“He’s not that big. You’re tall, Kyle.”
“Yeah, but I’m not as interesting as whatever game you’re playing with him.”
The woman beside Brice wiggles closer. “Why doesn’t she just jump in his lap?”
Kyle cranes his neck to see from my angle. “He doesn’t seem that interested in her actually.”
“How can you tell?”
Kyle sighs. “Because he’s been looking over here as often as you’ve been looking over there.”
“I haven’t been—”
“I’m going to go get some fresh air. Nice to meet you, Savannah.” He puts his champagne down on a nearby table and walks away.
So much for me being the one to walk away and be remembered. I shoot another glare at Brice and catch him with that big fat smile on his face again.
I pick up the hem of my dress so I don’t trip on it while I charge toward him. The woman beside him is thin as a rail, gaunt but still beautiful. The kind of woman who deprives herself of the joys of life so she can squeeze into the latest fashion.
“Happy?” I snap.
He makes a show of weighing nothing with his hands. “Things have been better. Things have been worse.”
“Um, hello?” the woman says, taking a step back. “Do you need something?”
I want to punch her. I don’t. I wouldn’t have, not even if I were still in jeans and smelling like fish oil. Violence is never the answer. But that doesn’t mean I don’t indulge in the fantasy of socking her one.
Brice puts his arm around my waist. “I never thought I’d put up with a jealous girlfriend, but she’s amazing in the sack.”
With a huff the woman pushes off the bar and charges away.
I’m a tangle of confusing emotions. Relief that Brice really isn’t interested in her. Frustration with myself for caring. And God, being so close to him feels good—too good. How am I going to stay angry with him if I’m reduced down to imagining his lips on mine again?
“This evening is a flop, and it’s your fault.”
“Flop?”
I turn in the circle of his arm and the side of my breast warms as it brushes against his chest. My breath catches in my throat. “How can I relax and meet people when I know you’re watching me?”
“Is that why you’re here? To meet men? If Jana set this up, do you really need more proof that she’s setting you up as some kind of escort? These people are probably clients of hers and she’s dangling you in front of them like a treat.”
“That’s disgusting. And not true.”
“Really? I’d bet my crown she told you to get dressed up and flirt with the men here.”
I tip my head to the side. “Your crown?”
He looks stumped for a second, then picks up a drink from the bar. “Crown Royal.”
How many drinks in is he? He doesn’t know a gin and tonic from a Crown Royal? “Whatever. Today was nearly perfect, and I proved something to myself.”
“What did you prove? That you can make a man want you? I could have told you that. You’re beautiful, Savannah. Whatever Jana is telling you, it’s not true. You don’t need her.”
There’s a possessive look in his eyes that is as scary as it is exciting. Jana told me if I played this right I would attract a man. I remember what Charles said about Brice not having an affinity to monogamy. The way he’s looking at me is probably the same way he’s looked at hundreds of women before me and will look at just as many after me. I don’t want that. “I’m tired, and I’m going home. I appreciate you babysitting me, but as you can see, it wasn’t necessary. I’m taking a cab. It’s only five blocks. Is that all right with you? I’d hate to do anything you don’t approve of.”
He shakes his head in response to my heavy sarcasm. I don’t know if he’s annoyed with me or himself, and I honestly don’t care.
“Good night.” I turn my back and tip my chin up proudly.
Charles meets me at the door. I thank him for the offer, but instead ask the attendant to flag a cab for me.
I spend the short ride back to my apartment telling myself to focus on what went right. Jana now sees me as someone she can work with. I flirted with some degree of success. I didn’t fall on my face in these heels. Didn’t choke on a shrimp tart. I’m still tallying my points as I walk into the lobby of my apartment. My apartment. Brice can’t take the excitement of that from me.
“You’re back.” A woman with two long braids over her shoulders touches my arm and smiles. “We were just talking about you.”
My eyebrows raise.
She quickly adds, “All nice things. We saw you leave in that dress earlie
r and wished we could go with you. You’re the most exciting thing that has happened in this building since it turned into this mom jungle.”
“I am?”
“Yes. I’m Claire. It’s nice to meet you.” Her braids bounce on her shoulders as she practically skips at my side.
“Savannah.”
The other woman is a brunette who is more physically fit than I’ll ever be. Her name is Ronda. She shakes my hand too vigorously. “Tell us it’s none of our business, but we have to know . . . are you dating any of the men we’ve seen visit you? My guess is you moved to the city for the man in the suit. Am I right?” She claps her hands together with excitement.
“No.” I laugh nervously. “I’m not dating any of them.”
“Keeping it casual,” Ronda says knowingly. “That’s what people do these days.”
“No, they’re all just friends.”
“Where were you tonight?” Claire asks, looking over my dress again.
“A charity event. Very nice. I talked to a lot of interesting people.”
“Please let us live vicariously through you. Claire, how long has it been since I’ve worn high heels?” Ronda asks as she looks across at her friend.
“Two babies ago.” This is the closest thing to girl talk I’ve ever had, and I like it. “Did you go with the hottie?”
“No, but he was there.”
“Of course he was. He likes you,” Claire declares.
“It’s not like that. I hardly know him. He’s just paranoid that someone is going to snatch me or sell me off. I don’t know.”
Claire sighed. “I remember when my husband thought every man I met wanted me. Know what we do now when we get a babysitter? We nap. It’s heaven.”
Ronda gives her friend a look. “If that’s true, you need to up your game, Claire. Babies or not, if you’re not with your husband someone else will be.”
“They won’t want him, because if he ever cheats on me, I’ll remove the part they’d want.”
I snort. These ladies are great.
Ronda turns her attention back to me. “Enough about us. Back to Mr. Hottie. How are you not all over that?”
I have nothing to lose by sharing a little. “He’s a player, and I’m not looking for that.”
Claire nods. “I can see that.”
Ronda taps a finger on her chin. “Sometimes you have a driver. Sometimes you take a cab. That isn’t his driver by any chance?”
I blush. “It is.”
“Sweetie, that man is not with you for friendship.”
Warmth spreads through me even as I fight against it. “Well, that’s all he’s going to get from me.”
Claire and Ronda exchange a look. “Would it be wrong if we took bets on that?”
Funny thing about people in the city, they aren’t so different from the people in Coppertop after all. Ballbusters, all of them. “Not wrong at all. Five dollars says I never sleep with him.”
Ronda shakes on that. “Five dollars says he’s sleeping over by next week.”
Claire put a hand on her heart. “A hundred dollars says you marry him.” When Ronda rolls her eyes, Claire sputters, “Hey, I’m a romantic at heart.”
We all laugh as we head toward the elevators. It’s not until I’m back in my apartment that I think of a bet I wouldn’t want to win. A thousand dollars says if I sleep with him, he breaks my heart, and I wish I’d never come to Boston.
I pull the dress over my head and hang it carefully in my closet. In the mix, I forgot to donate it, but if it really is worth anything, I’ll offer it to the charity tomorrow.
As I let my hair down and remove my makeup, I give myself a stern talking to. No man, not even one with a voice that makes me want to strip for him, is worth risking my future. Brice will never break my heart, because I’m ending things with him now.
He wouldn’t have known about the charity event if I hadn’t told him. It’s my fault he went. I told him just enough to make him think I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sabotaging my own path to success.
Failure here is not an option.
I’m not going back to Coppertop, brokenhearted, with my tail between my legs.
You hear me, Brice Hastings? We’re done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brice
A warehouse. Why in the world would she be going into some warehouse in the middle of the afternoon? The cars outside don’t bring me any comfort: BMWs, Volvos, Hondas. Most look in good condition. The selection of vehicles implies the people inside are neither wealthy nor poor. Money isn’t an indicator of character, though.
I told Charles I was heading to the gym because I don’t want to look him in the eye and try to defend what is clearly becoming an obsession. I should be in my office concentrating on closing any one of the deals I have in progress. Instead, I’m chasing some damn woman around the city.
She clearly doesn’t want me involved in whatever she’s doing. That should be enough to get me to back off. I’ve never been the hero type. My family would have me hauled back home, duct taped if necessary, if they knew I’d made what was already a crazy mission into a solo one. Hell, my brother probably should marry soon and start popping out heirs because I don’t know what I’m walking into. All I know is I’m not leaving without Savannah.
The industrial entrance opens to a carpeted hallway lined with bland enough looking conference rooms. There’s a small piece of paper taped to the door. I lean in to read it.
Barrier Breakers Conference. Empowerment through effective communication.
Presented By Trent Bixby.
A conference? That’s what she’s doing here?
That’s the problem with using Simon as a source of information. He provides only what he’s asked for. When I told him to keep me updated on her location and he said he tracked her phone to a warehouse on the edge of the city . . . all kinds of B-rated movies that involve human trafficking propelled me here.
Unarmed because . . . there’s a shred of sanity left in me.
I find where the conference is being held and step through the door quietly. There’s a pot of coffee and some Styrofoam cups sitting on a small table in the back of the room. Chairs are lined up facing a little podium where a man stands fiddling with the microphone, trying to get it to work. He doesn’t need it though. I’m assuming this is Trent Bixby. There are only about twenty people, and I spot Savannah immediately. Her hair is in silky long locks, bouncing a little as she nods her head. She’s sitting in the front row, soaking up every word Bixby says.
She’s not in danger.
The audience is a mix of men and women. Some look like fresh college graduates. Others are older, but have that new penny shine to them that says they came to impress.
She hasn’t seen me. It would be easy to slip out now, but I’m fascinated. How does a conference on effective communication fit into everything I’ve learned about her so far?
Is it as simple as my little Savannah wanting to better herself? After losing her grandmother, she came to the city, sought out someone she hopes will help her transform into what?
Her yearning for a better life is beautiful, but it could also leave her vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Someone as shady as Jana Monroe would see that instantly.
Were the others in the crowd also Monroe’s clients/targets? Bixby’s slicked-back hair and oversized suit coat don’t sell him as someone I’d listen to.
I take a seat in the back, six empty rows behind the others. I cross my arms over my chest as the man launches into a speech about confidence. How to fake it till you make it. Skepticism is my speed in general, but in a place like this I go into hyper drive.
To my surprise, the audience seems completely engaged. Leaning in. Bixby launches into a rationale for creating a vision board. Before you can achieve it or share your vision with others, you need to clarify it for yourself. Clip photos online or with scissors. Choose the people you admire. Listen to how they express themselves. Become the person you
admire.
I make an audible scoffing noise I can’t hold back. A few heads turn my way but not Savannah’s.
Trent Bixby waves me up suddenly. “Sir, thanks for joining us. Why don’t you move up here so you can engage in the dialogue?”
“No, thanks.” At my curt response, Savannah spins around and her mouth drops open in a mix of surprise and annoyance. “I’m good back here.”
Bixby shakes his head. “But you’re not. The back of the room is where people hide. It’s where we all hide. You belong up here. It’s scary, but you can do it. We’re here for you.”
I smirk. “I’m fine where I am.”
Trent takes the microphone off the podium and walks toward me with a look of empathy. “I know how you feel. Trust me I have been the guy in the back of the room. But you can do this. It’s the first step. Join us.”
My eyes move quickly off Savannah and focus on Bixby. “I’m not afraid to go up there.”
“You should be,” Savannah calls angrily.
Bixby gives her a confused look. “This needs to be a safe place for every attendee.”
“What’s your name?” Bixby asks with a gentle voice. He looks like he’s trying not to spook a skittish woodland creature.
“Hastings.” It’s a lie I’ve told so many times it feels real.
Savannah stands, hands on hips. “This is taking it too far, Brice.” She storms down the aisle toward me. “You’re not ruining this for me too.”
Now I feel like an ass.
I want her to find what she came to Boston looking for.
I rise to my feet. “I’m not here to ruin it, Savannah. I’m here to support you.”
Her chest is heaving. “Supportive people call and ask what you’re doing. They wait to be invited. You are a controlling, smug”—she pokes a finger into my chest—“infuriating man who thinks he knows what’s best for me. News flash. You don’t.”
From beside us, Bixby says, “Although it’s good to express how you’re feeling, this is probably not the appropriate space for you to do it.”
Her anger intensifies and her eyes flash at me. “Do you see what you’ve done, Brice? Now he thinks I don’t belong here.” Oh, no. Her lip quivers. “But I do. You’re the one who doesn’t.”
Undeniable Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series Book 3) Page 17