The Essential Jagged Ivory (Jagged Ivory Boxed Set)

by Lashell Collins

  Otis smiled at her as fragments of the conversation he’d overheard this morning at her place floated through his head.

  “Fairytales don’t happen in real life! Why shouldn’t I try to get whatever material perks I can out of this relationship?”

  “Then let’s go get you one,” he said softly, giving her a cocky little smile. If a sugar daddy Prince Charming was what it was going to take to make a romantic connection with her and seal the deal, Otis was willing to try it.

  He took her by the hand and led her around the yard, saying their goodbyes to everyone. And when they had made their escape and slid into his car, he smiled almost wickedly at her, and Brooke could feel her insides flutter wondering what he had up his sleeve.

  He drove straight to Melrose, with his bodyguard trailing behind them, and took her to Agent Provocateur where he instructed the sales girl to help Brooke find the swimsuit of her dreams.

  “You are joking, right?” Brooke asked, astonished.

  Otis frowned at her. “Why would I be joking?

  “Otis … I don’t need a new swimsuit,” she protested.

  “Nonsense. You can’t swim your dress, can you?”

  “Well, no, but …”

  “I mean, skinny-dipping sounds great to me, but I just assumed you would protest, am I right?”

  “Damn right, you’re right!”

  “Okay then. You need a new swimsuit,” he smiled. Then he turned to the sales girl again, who was busy staring at him as if he were a piece of meat, and said, “Whatever she chooses, make sure she looks stunning in it.”

  “Absolutely. Um, if you’d like to sit near the dressing rooms, your girlfriend can come model them for you,” the sales girl offered. And Otis looked back at Brooke with that cocky smirk that she hated.

  “He is not my boyfriend,” she stated.

  “Oh.” The sales girl looked at her as if she were nuts, no doubt wondering why she objected to the notion.

  “No, I’m not her boyfriend,” Otis confirmed, his eyes locked on Brooke’s. “I’m just trying to get into her pants.”

  Brooke’s eyes widened in shock. Did he really just say that? The sales girl looked back and forth between them with a mortified expression, and Otis stared at her obviously quite pleased with himself as he tried not to laugh. Shocking her had clearly been his intention.

  “I think I’m going to have to add crazy or sane to that list of contradictions,” she whispered, and he laughed at her.

  “Go shop,” he smiled, taking a seat on one of the benches as the sales girl led her away. He spent the next thirty minutes or so talking to his bodyguard and signing a few autographs and taking cellphone pictures with other shoppers and sales people. And when Brooke emerged from the dressing room he smiled at her.

  “Did you find something you liked?” he asked.

  “Yes but … you do realize that each piece is sold separately right?” she asked nervously. “The prices …”

  “You let me worry about the prices, Feisty,” he smiled making his way to the counter and pulling out his credit card. And when he had paid for the suit, he took the bag and handed it to her. “I can’t wait to see it,” he whispered, looking into her eyes. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the front of the store.

  “I’m afraid we got company, boss,” Clyde told him as they neared the door, and Otis looked out to see a few paparazzi milling about.

  “Shit,” he whispered.

  “I could bring your McLaren around back, but … they’d see me coming out and rush around there before I even started her up.”

  “Yeah, that’d be pointless, man,” Otis sighed.

  “They had to be tipped off,” Clyde continued. “One of the sales girls probably has ‘em on speed dial for when celebs come in.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed. Then he took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around Brooke’s waist. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

  Clyde opened the door and exited first, purposely pushing toward the cameraman to clear a path for Otis and Brooke as they made their way to his car.

  “Hey, Otis,” the man called out. And Brooke recognized him as the same tabloid reporter who had confronted them outside the restaurant the other night. “Are you not on a date again?” he asked sarcastically. “You guys look really dressed up. Did you and your friend go somewhere special?”

  Otis ignored his questions as he held the car door open for her. And as he walked around to the driver’s side, Otis looked the guy in his face.

  “Have a nice night,” he said as he opened his car door and prepared to get in.

  “She’s not underage is she?” the guy asked.

  Otis stopped and glared at him in disbelief. “What did you say?”

  “I just asked if she was underage. I know you like ‘em young,” the guy repeated.

  Otis slammed the car door and advanced on him menacingly.

  “Whoa, boss!” Clyde whirled around and caught him before he could reach his target, struggling to push him back and keep him away from the jerk with the camera. “It’s not worth it, Mr. I! He’s not worth it. Don’t give him what he wants!”

  Otis felt the adrenaline coursing through him as he pushed against Clyde’s firm grip.

  “Otis? Please get in the car!”

  Brooke’s voice caught his attention and he glanced her way. She had gotten out of the car and was standing beside it. He took a deep breath and backed away, but his eyes stayed glued to the asshole as he opened his door once more.

  “Get in, Feisty,” he mumbled, and they both climbed into the car and strapped in. As he pulled out of his parking space he could see Clyde making his way to his vehicle, and he cursed under his breath as he gripped the steering wheel. “Fucking leeches!”

  He could feel Brooke’s eyes on him and he took another deep breath as he pulled out into traffic.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, finding it difficult to regain his composure.

  “You don’t need to apologize for that, Otis. Frankly, I don’t know how you or anyone else copes with that sort of thing,” she said. “It would drive me completely insane.”

  He snorted softly and shook his head. Then he glanced over at her and back to the road. Without a word, he reached out and took her hand, lightly squeezing it as he drove on.

  Brooke glanced down at her hand as it rested in his. And she felt a sudden ripple of anxiety as she allowed her eyes to move from their hands over to his body. Slowly, she looked him over as he drove, and admired his form. He was a tall drink of water, that was for sure. Light, caramel complexion and soft, green eyes. And the craziest dimples to go along with that sexy smile that both excited and infuriated her. He wasn’t as pretty as his brother, Noah, but he was every bit as hot. Just in a more rugged, down and dirty sort of way. And she found herself loving the fact that he was equally convincing in the suit and tie as he was in the jeans and rock t-shirts, and she couldn’t decide which look was sexier. Right now, he was truly rocking the gray tuxedo.

  Otis smiled to himself as they drove in silence for a while. He could feel her watching him. Checking him out. He didn’t mind. He was used to being stared at by women and men alike. It came with the territory. Sort of like stripping. He could kind of relate to being ogled and objectified, although he knew it wasn’t exactly the same. Nevertheless, he didn’t mind her staring. In fact, he liked it. It meant that she was thinking about him. Deciding what she felt and how far this night was going to go. Now his job was to try and make it go as far as he could. This girl had to be into him enough to want to keep seeing him. Those were the terms of the bet - to make a romantic connection with her and continue to date her for the entire month that Jagged Ivory was home.

  The crazy part was that it wasn’t so much about winning Noah’s prized Jimi Hendrix guitar. It wasn’t even about holding on to his beloved Rolex. It was just the competition. The challenge. It was a game he and Noah had been playing since childhood, that old sibling rivalry that refused to die. Everything
was a contest when they were growing up, and if it wasn’t, Otis would find a way to turn it into one. Whether that was just his competitive nature at work or his constant aggravation at being beaten at everything by his little brother, he didn’t know. He had never been able to figure it out, and the truth was that he actually never really bothered to examine it before. And he wasn’t going to start now either.

  He brushed his thumb across the back of Brooke’s hand, and he took pleasure in the fact that she hadn’t protested to the hand-holding. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  “So … thank you for going to the wedding with me,” he said quietly, glancing at her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you have a nice time?”

  “I did,” she nodded and smiled at him. “Your friends seem nice.”

  “My friends are nice,” he confirmed. “And the girls really liked you, by the way.”

  “The girls?”

  “Yeah. Mercy, Donna, and Fae. They each made a point of taking me aside to tell me how much they enjoyed meeting you.”

  “Really?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yes,” he repeated. “Mercy said not only are you gorgeous, but also very smart and funny. Donna told me she would kill for your legs, and Fae said you seem like you’d be a lot of fun to hang out with. Oh, and Janie said you seem lovely and she can’t wait to get to know you.”

  “You’re making this up, right?”

  He frowned as he glanced over at her for a moment, and then back to the road. “Now why would I make something like that up?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I just find it hard to believe that none of them know I strip at Sparkles. I figured … since your bandmates, and probably all of the other male wedding guests were at the club last night, someone would have said something.”

  Otis chuckled at her. “I told you before, my bandmates don’t care that you dance at Sparkles. It’s not a big deal to them. And if it puts your mind at ease to know that all four of the girls know what you do for a living, then fine. They all know.”

  “They do?” Brooke huffed.

  “Yes, Feisty, they do. And you know what? They liked you,” he smiled, letting go of her hand as he changed lanes. “The only person who has a problem with your night job is you, baby.”

  Brooke stared at him blankly for a moment before she turned to look out the window. Those four women … the ones he said were like his sisters, had no problem with the fact that she took her clothes off for money or that all of their men had seen her gyrating and simulating sex on the stage last night? One of those women was Donna Devlin for crying out loud!

  “I’m not your baby,” she said with a quiet frown. And Otis smiled.

  “Maybe not yet,” he replied, his voice soft and sexy. Then he smiled at her. “I can’t call you ‘sweet thing,’ I can’t call you ‘baby.’ Am I allowed to stick to Feisty, or is that too familiar or degrading for you?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Donna Devlin doesn’t care that her husband saw me dance practically naked last night? Is that what you’re telling me?” she asked, ignoring his question about terms of endearment.

  Otis smiled again. “Donna Dutton, as she prefers to be called, wanted to know if you got those amazing legs just from the ballet, or if working a pole helped at all. She said she’d be willing to take one of those pole dancing exercise classes if that was the result. I told her she’d have to ask you herself.”

  Brooke wasn’t sure what to make of his statement. And she wasn’t certain why it mattered to her. Why was she worried about what those women thought of her anyway? It wasn’t like they were ever going to be friends or anything.

  A short time later, they pulled into a long circular driveway just off Pacific Coast Highway, and Brooke couldn’t believe the sight. It was obviously a very swanky stretch of real estate, with some of the most incredible homes she’d ever seen. And when they got out of the car, and Otis took her by the hand again and led her to the front door, Brooke was astounded when they stepped inside.

  The elegant entryway opened up onto a cavernous space with a beautiful black baby grand piano at the end of it. To the left was a formal living room that was decorated in soft hues of blue and cream. A color palette that could seem feminine if it weren’t so reflective of the beach and the ocean that were right outside the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and french doors. The dark wood floors, tables and knick knacks helped too.

  To the right of the piano was a formal dining room with the largest, round table Brooke had ever seen, with seating for ten. They stood in the middle of the space near the piano, and Otis watched as she slowly looked around the place.

  “This is beautiful,” she whispered, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “Thank you. I have a wonderful decorator,” he smiled. “Her name is Mom.”

  Brooke turned to him with a curious air. “Really? Your mother decorated this space?”

  “Yep. The whole house,” he confirmed. “She’s been an interior decorator for … I don’t know, twenty years or so now,” he explained. “My dad still takes the occasional blues or funk gig every now and then, but … it’s really my mom’s decorating business that’s kept them afloat. She does okay. She decorated Noah’s place too. And Buzzy’s. And Cory’s for that matter,” he said, thinking back on it.

  “Well, she’s incredible,” Brooke stated, looking around in wonder.

  Otis smiled at her once more, reaching out his hand. “Come on.” He led her through the dining room and into what she assumed was the family room. It sported a white, very comfy-looking sectional that was covered in pillows and seemed to hug the fireplace and the large screen TV that hung over it. It looked like a space that you could just fall into and spend entire lazy afternoons, whether watching movies or the amazing view of the ocean outside the windows. The space was connected to the large eat-in kitchen, like a great room, but it all felt so warm and inviting, and Brooke felt herself wishing that she could kick off her shoes and stay a while. And that was not at all the feeling she had expected to get from Otis Ivory’s home.

  He let go of her hand and began to loosen his tie as he walked toward the kitchen. Then he removed his tuxedo jacket and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “I know we had some great hors d'oeuvres and finger food at the wedding, but I’m a little hungry. How about you?”

  Brooke shrugged her shoulders, still wondering about the warm inviting tingle this house gave her. What the hell was that about? “Do you cook too, Mr. Ivory?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Hell no,” he chuckled. “I have Lourdes for that.”

  “One of your sex slaves?”

  Otis’ laughter grew as he pulled a silver tray out of the cabinet and then moved to the large refrigerator. “Lourdes would probably threaten to wash your mouth out with soap for that one. After she finished cussing you out in Spanish.”

  Brooke said nothing as she smiled at him and walked toward the large island, watching as he moved around his kitchen.

  “She’s my housekeeper, and my cook,” he explained. “And she’s a very old school, grandmotherly type, so … she wouldn’t appreciate your sex slave comment.”

  “Does she live here?”

  “No. But when I’m not on tour, she is here every morning at 6am. She makes breakfast and dinner, and in between she cleans the place. And she leaves around five or six in the evening unless I need her to stay.”

  “And you make her take care of you even on the weekends?” she smiled.

  “Well, I’m usually not home much on weekends,” he said, assembling some strawberries, grapes and assorted cheeses on the tray. “And if I am, I go out for dinner or I fend for myself,” he said, gesturing to the tray.

  Brooke nodded her head, but said nothing.

  “There’s a bathroom around the corner,” he said, pointing toward a small hallway to her right. “You can change in there. I’m going to run up to my room and do the same. When you’re ready,
just go out that door and meet me by the pool,” he instructed, pointing to the door off the kitchen that led out to the deck.

  “Okay,” she answered softly.

  She turned and gathered her small clutch purse and the bag from Agent Provocateur, and made her way to the indicated bathroom. And when she closed the door behind her and turned on the light, she was astounded. It wasn’t even a full bath, but it was more than double the size of her and Shelly’s shared bathroom at home. It kept up the same oceanic color palette as the rest of the house, and it was opulent looking.

  She sighed as she walked toward the large vanity and mirror. And she examined herself as she thought about this house and her host. She shook her head slightly at the continuing contradictions surrounding this man. She expected his home to be more rock and roll, more college frat-boy bachelor pad. Instead, it was very grown up and classic. Elegant even. And she wondered how much of that was his mother’s doing. After all, she had decorated the place, so perhaps it was more a reflection on her than her son. But then, Otis had said she’d decorated Buzzy’s place too, and Brooke hadn’t seen much of Buzzy’s home, but she saw enough to know that it was very different from this place. Both in style and in feel.

  He was a true mystery to her, and she wondered again if she would ever figure him out. He certainly hadn’t shown her any of the bad-boy, sleazebag, sexual predator that the news media was trying to make him out to be. And Brooke hated to admit it to herself, but she was actually beginning to think that maybe he was the nice guy and not the pig. And as she slowly unzipped the lace overlay of her dress and stepped out of it, she wondered at her friend Pepper’s insistence that she should pursue a “mutually advantageous” relationship with him, and her befuddlement at Brooke’s reluctance to do so.

  ~~~~~

  “Well, well, well! Coco, you had me fooled, girlfriend,” Pepper had said after she’d shut the dressing room door in Otis’ face. “Here I thought I was schooling you on the finer points of finding a sugar daddy, but you obviously know all about mutually advantageous connections, don’t you?”