Just then, a text came in, Relax! Going into the air. Call you when we land. It was Derrick, and the tension crept right back up to full tilt.
He needed the public to take him seriously, to show that he had changed. Too bad he couldn’t be seen doing something like saving someone, be a hero. If that happened he could have his deal, and she would feel a lot less guilty about stringing him along. But how?
Light bulb!
Taylor picked up her cell, found her contact list, and dialed before she could change her mind.
“Hey, Marty? It’s Tay! … Yeah, I know, this running a corporation really diminishes my spare time … It does suck … Look, I need a break. Your brother thinks I need to relax … Dinner? Hmmm … I had something else in mind. Meet me at your house in an hour? Great. Oh and, Marty, I need clothes … yeah, for dancing.”
Chapter Twenty
Derrick’s mood wasn’t any better once he was in his car. He had wasted his entire day after clearing his schedule for what he assumed was a done deal, but that had not been the case. A lot had happened: a lot of shouting, a lot of negotiating, and a lot of nothing.
He was really sick of being labeled.
Damn it, he wasn’t a freaking lost cause. In the two years since getting onto the board at Fletcher Enterprises he had implemented more deals and mergers than had occurred in the five years prior. He had driven their stock margin up nearly 215%.
But did that make the papers or blogs? Nope.
Instead they waited and watched to see when he would screw up, fall off the wagon, whoop it up.
Like last month when he was called a loose cannon when he punched that photog in the face. The bastard was so goading Derrick. Pushing, prodding, and then he had mentioned Taylor. “You gonna run and hide like Taylor Preston?”
Wham!
Money could definitely shut that one up, but it had regressed him in the eyes of business.
Now they wanted Taylor’s company to back him in deals, just in case.
“You understand of course, Derrick?” the CEO had told him in today’s meeting.
“No, I don’t. You want to make a deal. You called me here, and for what? To tell me that my fiancé and I have a deal with you. Well, our business dealings aren’t a packaged deal. It’s Fletcher Enterprise with an interest, most specifically me. So is it a go or no?”
It was a no.
And he was upset about Taylor. He knew she was avoiding being alone with him, and it was driving him crazy. Having had her next to him in bed and then giving that up so he could stay alone in his penthouse to prove to her he had her best interests sucked. Upset was the name of the game, and it was mostly focused on Taylor. He was upset she wouldn’t talk to him, upset she had been angry today, upset that she probably hadn’t eaten.
God, he should have left her in that coffee shop. She had been so happy, and she smiled all the time. He had loved watching her smile.
Derrick glanced at his watch, 11:30 p.m.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He hoped Taylor had eaten by now. His flight had hit delays before leaving the ground, and the weather had slowed them down.
He powered up his phone as he exited the jet, grateful that the drop-off was private. Instantly the thing started buzzing.
Maybe Taylor …
Nope, a text from Marty: Help!!!!
Oh God, Marty, what now?
What?
I need u 2 help me, I’m at Hypnotic.
Derrick shook his head. Marty probably wanted him to pay her drink tab, forgot her card again, or something like that. But her security could handle it.
Can’t, going 2c Taylor.
I’m w/ Taylor.
What the fuck?
Derrick dialed, but the phone just rang until Marty’s voicemail picked up. The same thing happened with Taylor’s.
I can’t hear you here, just come, Marty texts him.
Panic engulfed Derrick, causing him to sprint to his Range Rover and drive like Batman in pursuit. Twenty minutes later he was at VIP valet of Hypnotic.
A blaring white, brightly lit club, Hypnotic was one of the busiest in LA. A revolving door of photogs and press were constantly funneling in and staked out around it, hoping to get cover-worthy fodder of celebs and socialites. As Derrick raced past them to get to the entrance, he watched flashes and phones being turned his way.
Greeeeaaaat.
Derrick got to a valet, and he was greeted by a large tank-sized man.
“Mr. Fletcher,” the tank said with a hint of humor in his voice. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Oh, this just kept getting better. And more ominous. What the fuck was happening?
“Keep the car here. I’ll be right out, and I want it ready,” Derrick barked at the valet, sending the man jerking back in surprise. But he didn’t question Derrick; he merely gave a dazed nod.
“Uh, yes, sir,” tank-boy replied, but Derrick barely heard him because he was already making his way inside.
The path to the VIP section was very familiar to Derrick, and he was momentarily overcome with guilt. He was here a lot, liked the attention, liked the party, kept himself busy and in trouble. Allowed himself to forget his stupidity and infuriate his father.
And now he wondered why he wasn’t being taken seriously.
Derrick was torn from his thoughts as a large hand grabbed his arm. He turned to the reach, sneering, ready to get into it with anyone in his way. But he found himself face to face with Rog, Marty’s security guard.
Rog was a man of few words, but he could express a lot. He jerked his head over his shoulder, and Derrick turned to see Marty, but no Taylor.
Derrick stormed to his sister. “Where is she?” he demanded, shouting just as much out of anger as necessity to be heard over the club’s noise.
“I’m so sorry, Derrick,” Marty yelled back. It was completely obvious to Derrick that she was drunk. She was weaving, but she was also terrified. “She wanted to relax, said you told her to.”
Derrick mentally slapped himself. “She had already had champagne when I got there, and we had some more, and she said she wanted to go dancing, so we came, and got some more drinks and—”
“Where the fuck is she, Marty?”
Marty bit her bottom lip and reluctantly, with complete apprehension, slowly pointed to the main stage.
Derrick looked over to the front of the club and saw professional salsa dancers whirling, grinding, and grooving in a mesmerizing choreography to a club song. The woman’s long blonde hair …
Oh fuck.
Taylor was the female dancer. She moved seamlessly to her male counterpart’s rhythm, and they looked like they had been rehearsing the dance for months. Her dress was short, too short, barely covering her ass short, and it was strapless. It hugged her tighter than cellophane on supermarket steak. It had glittering fringe all over the bodice that bounced and shook with her every move.
Derrick was open-mouthed and turned back to his sister, wide-eyed and deranged.
“She’s really good,” Marty offered. “Where did she learn?” she asked but jerked back as Derrick pinned her with a look.
Derrick turned to Rog. “Take her home. Get her to bed,” he shouted at the formidable man. Rog jerked a nod, but then Derrick stopped him again before he moved. “Where is Taylor’s security?”
A glimmer of discomfort flitted across Rog’s face. He leaned into Derrick and explained, “She dismissed him when he told her she couldn’t go dancing up there.”
Derrick’s rage and mix of emotions was palpable. His nostrils flared as he struggled for air to calm himself.
“Go,” he said, and Rog had Marty by the arm, stirring her to the exit before the one syllable word was even finished.
With his sister safe, Derrick tore across the VIP section to a staircase that led him down to the main floor, propelling himself to the front of the club and the stage. When he arrived at the stairs, security tried to stop him. But they took one look at him and stepped back; they all but rolled out the red car
pet for him to ascend.
Before Derrick took a step, he spotted Henry off to the side of the stage, a strained expression on his face as he kept eyes on Taylor.
So maybe the guy wasn’t all bad; at least he still had her in sight.
Derrick made his way to Henry, who jerked when he spotted him coming. It didn’t surprise Derrick. He also felt electric right now, ready to explode.
“Go to the back VIP exit,” Derrick shouted to the other man. “My car is there, and I want a clear shot to get her in the car.”
Henry didn’t argue; he just gave a curt nod and was gone.
Derrick then focused on Taylor. She looked hot, both temperature-wise and just all-out sexy. Her face was flushed, and she was smiling widely as she effortlessly kept up with the moves.
She certainly didn’t seem tense; that was for sure.
Derrick then noticed flashes and looked over to see an abundance of smartphones and professional cameras trained on Taylor. The hangover was going to be the least of her worries in the morning when she saw the photos they had.
Suddenly, Taylor was sent into a spiraling spin across the floor, and Derrick lunged onto the stage to intercept her.
Taylor leaned back and looked up to see where she had landed, complete confusion all over her face. When she recognized Derrick, the huge smile returned.
“Hi, baby!” she squealed, apparently tickled by Derrick’s presence.
Oh, she was most definitely drunk.
“Let’s go,” Derrick said into her ear, desperately trying to not return the smile, but it was hard. She looked so carefree. No stress, no tension, no falsity, and to top it all off she was ecstatic to see him.
But the smile slid off her face as she processed what Derrick was saying. “No way! I am having so much fun! Come meet my friends!” she said, smiling again and trying to tug Derrick further onto the stage.
It had not escaped Derrick’s mind that they were far enough on stage to be captured on film by some of the patrons. She was going to be bullshit tomorrow because this was going to be all over the news for sure. He needed to get her out of here and do damage control pronto.
“Taylor, let’s go,” he said, louder this time, trying to sound stern.
“Make me!” she yelled back, her voice singsong and taunting as she tried to wiggle out of his arms.
Derrick’s gaze flared; he’d had enough. Without much effort, he bent and tossed Taylor over his shoulder and turned to the exit.
Instead of being angry, Taylor started laughing, belly laughing. But the crowd was not as amused. There were cries of disgust from the crowd as the main attraction was carried out caveman style.
“Where you going, Taylor?” the crowd cried.
Derrick felt Taylor lean up and shrug to her new friends. “Every party needs a pooper!” she shouted back and then swatted Derrick on the ass, hard. The crowd went crazy, cheering, catcalling, and chanting Taylor’s name.
Derrick groaned. That right there was going to be on the morning news, for like days. It was going to be analyzed and evaluated, and they were going to have ass-slap experts and body language analysis.
Derrick ignored it all and tore off the stage, through security, and past the crowd. He took the first door he came to, which led them into the kitchen. People skidded to a halt and stared, “VIP Exit!” Derrick demanded, and multiple hands pointed to the side. He knew he had probably come out this way before, but hell if he could remember any of those times.
He took off in the direction they had pointed, which led down a dark corridor. Behind him he heard the kitchen door burst open and lots of bodies coming through.
Fuck, they were being tailed.
And Taylor was still laughing and wiggling along to the bass that was still totally thriving even in the back scene of the club.
“Taylor, shhhh!”
His demand sent her further into laughter, and Derrick groaned in frustration. He came to the end of the hallway to a bifurcation in front of him and stopped, assessing his options. Suddenly he saw a redheaded refrigerator signaling to him down the hallway to the left. “This way, Mr. Fletcher.”
Oh thank God, maybe he wouldn’t fire that walking appliance after all. Derrick hastily took the hallway to the right. As he approached, Henry threw the door to the parking lot open, forcing shouts of pain and irritation as he struck members of the paparazzi who had obviously positioned themselves there, trying to catch the exit of Taylor and Derrick. Henry blocked the opposite way the best he could and jerked open the passenger door to the Range Rover, allowing Derrick to deposit Taylor in the seat. Henry closed the door quickly, almost catching Derrick, and then positioned himself in front of it, keeping Taylor in, keeping flashbulbs out, and shoving Derrick to the front of the car.
Oh man, he was giving this guy a raise.
Derrick pushed through photographers and gawkers and got into the car with the assistance of the valet, whose skills paled in comparison to Henry’s.
“What a switch, Derrick!” one of the photogs shouted.
“Never thought we would see you dragging someone else out of the club!”
“When’s the wedding?”
Derrick shut the door on the questions and slammed the car into reverse, realizing forward was not an option. He was twisted around and backing quickly down the alley, hoping the way was clear behind him. He reached the end and wheeled the car out into traffic, which screeched and honked all around him. Thankfully, by some miracle, he did not cause an accident. He came to a stop and then hightailed it into drive. As he careened through the club district and reached the freeway, Derrick finally let out his breath. He turned to Taylor, and she was grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat.
“That was fun. Can we do it again?”
Derrick focused on the road and tried to find his patience. He knew it was somewhere, but his words escaped before he found it, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Taylor laughed again. “I wasn’t! It was fun!”
Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.
“You are going to hyperventilate if you keep doing that,” Taylor observed through her fits of giggling.
“Taylor, you could have been hurt, not to mention the photos that people now possess of that scene!”
Taylor shrugged. “I had so much fun dancing! Do you think they got good shots of me dancing?” she asked genuinely, totally unconcerned.
“Where the hell did you learn to dance like that?” he asked. If she wasn’t going to answer him seriously about what he really wanted to know anyway, he might as well ask.
“Al!” she answered excitedly.
“Who?”
“Al!” she repeated, just as excited. “Well, his full name was Alejandro. Isn’t that sexy? And it just rolls off the tongue. Alejandro, Alejandro,” Taylor repeated, rolling her R’s and the name around in her mouth.
“Who the fuck is he?” Derrick yelled, not hiding his jealousy.
“A friend, from before, when I was fake. He took me out dancing. He told me I was pretty, said I had beautiful eyes. Too bad they were fake!” Taylor explained and exploded into laughter. She smiled and looked at Derrick. “Are you mad?” she sounded totally unconcerned, almost eager and joking.
“Yes!”
A slight frown covered Taylor’s face, but then her smile returned. “Don’t be mad!”
“What were you thinking?” Derrick asked again softly, not expecting an answer, just kind of needing to say it, hoping something would come to him.
Taylor yawned, turned to Derrick, and said, “I was making you a hero.”
Derrick flipped his eyes to her and found Taylor looking back all wide-eyed and serious. There was no more laughing.
“You were making me a hero?” he questioned, glancing at her again.
Taylor nodded. “Mhm.”
“Why?”
“Because you need a good reputation,” she said, flipping her hands up for emphasis, like it was the most obvious things in the world, �
��and everyone thinks you’re a bad boy.”
She held up a finger for emphasis. “But if you save the good girl, if you go to the club and take the good girl from the club, now you are a good boy! Now you’re a hero,” she explained, slurring every now and then, completely factual in her statements. Then Taylor held up both hands and shook them—jazz hands. “Ta da!” she said and fell back into a fit of giggles.
Derrick shook his head. “So you got drunk and went to a club so that I could go there and take you out and be photographed doing so?”
“Yup!” she nodded, looking over the moon that Derrick had finally pieced it all together. “And I got to dance—that was a bonus. I didn’t know it was salsa night! And it was so much fun. I’ve never been drunk before. This is fun too—you feel so free!”
“Yeah, we’ll see what you think of it all tomorrow when you have a hangover and there are photos of you all over the free world,” Derrick muttered. “That was really dumb, Taylor. You could have been hurt, and I don’t want you doing that for me.” He was totally befuddled. She had really put herself out there for him, risked herself. Geez.
“Oh, you can’t be mad at me. I’m still mad at you. And we can’t both be mad at each other about two different things,” Taylor informed Derrick. “That’s just silly.”
“Oh really? And why are you mad? Because I made you stop dancing?” Derrick guessed.
“No, stupid, because you stood me up and broke my heart,” she replied, looking at him seriously, wide-eyed again.
“When did I…” Then it hit him. She was going there. She was talking about back then, and she’s talking about it because she was drunk and didn’t realize and wouldn’t remember it in the morning. “Taylor, we should—”
“You said you wanted to see me and take me out, and then you didn’t show, and I waited and waited. And then I cried all night.” Her voice wasn’t sad, it was more full of wonder, reminiscent wonder. “And then there were the pictures of you out, at the club. They were on the news.”
He remembered. He had really gotten out of control that night, was thrown out of two clubs, passed out at a party. There were pictures of him for days. There were all kinds of theories about him getting over his mom’s death, or him with a drug and drinking problem so bad he couldn’t even mourn his mother.
Inevitable Inheritance: The Inevitable Series | Book One Page 22