by Kira Blakely
“What on earth?” I cried out, sitting upright. Dougie was hunched on the chair from the previous day, but not facing the corner. “What are you doing in my room?” I demanded. “You’ve scared the crap out of me and now my head feels ready to split. What are you doing here?”
“Bernadette and Ripley always feel like that when they’ve been drunk all night, too. It’s morning,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “You’re on duty. Get up, and stop being lazy.”
What had happened to the tamed boy I’d put to bed the previous night?
My door opened and in walked Katie.
“I want to play computer games,” she informed me.
I was struggling to wake up properly. I’d been dreaming of Brayden, and the memory of his kiss still had the potency to send a shiver through me. The two living horrors in my room were intent on sucking the life from me. They sensed I wanted some time and opportunity to code, and their mission was to prevent that. More than that, I wanted to sit on Brayden’s lap and be petted and hear how sorry he was for throwing me aside. It was too much to bear, and I began to cry.
“This is too hard,” I muttered and punched my pillow as tears formed in my eyes.
“Don’t cry,” sympathized Katie.
Dougie was less generous. “Stop crying, you stupid baby. Bernadette sent us to get you for breakfast. Find something decent to wear and come on,” he said over his shoulder as he left. I allowed myself to wonder briefly if I could plead insanity if I was tried as a murderess.
Sighing, I threw back the covers and flipped on the shower to warm up while I brushed my teeth. When I left the bathroom, I found Katie still waiting on my bed. I really needed my privacy. “What do you want?” I asked her and her face crumbled. “What’s wrong?” I asked her, pulling on panties and a bra and trying to brush my hair at the same time.
“I’m bored,” she whined and I rolled my eyes.
“You’re privileged. You need to have a hobby or some sort of a chore. I’ll tell you what. Your new job every day is to make your bed and straighten your room.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Bernadette has people to do that,” she pointed out.
“Maybe so, but you’re not learning to be responsible or how to have a chore that gives you a sense of accomplishment. That’s really important for how you see life from here on.”
“What do you do?”
Her questions were always pointed, always annoying. She badly needed a lesson in subtlety and empathy. “You mean besides watching you and Dougie?”
She nodded.
“Well, I’m building a website.”
“So, you’re on the computer?” Somehow it sounded over-simplified when she said it.
“Well, I suppose so, yes.”
“You call that working? I do that every day.” She moved to sit in the center of my bed, kicking the blankets with the intent of pushing them into a heap on the floor. I decided she would make my bed each day as well, but knew there was staff who came in to do that.
I pushed out a huge sigh and pulled on sandals. “Katie, you’re making me crazy. Let’s go to breakfast and we can talk about this later.”
“When?”
“When I say, okay?” My frustration level was almost maxed out and I could feel the cold rush of panic beginning in my stomach. I didn’t want anyone to know I had those episodes. They made me look weak.
I motioned for the girl to precede me from the room, and I followed her into the primary suite, where we joined the others for breakfast.
Ripley was reading a paper. No Kindle addict there, I realized. I watched him from the corner of my eye and noticed he wasn’t the least bit interested in what he was reading. It was all a performance that made him feel like the head of the family. It also allowed him to shield his face from the others as he ogled my chest. My face was burning with anger.
“Excuse me, Ripley, Bernadette mentioned that you were interested in getting to know Brayden Campbell?” I threw out the bait and sat back to wait. It didn’t take long.
The paper dropped, and I saw an older version of Dougie’s face on Ripley. His lower lip opened, and he reminded me of Pavlov’s dog, waiting for his reward. “Why, yes! I would very much like that!” he blurted, much to my satisfaction. He’d given himself away. He was no more an old friend of Brayden’s than the man in the moon. He lacked the intelligence and initiative to do anything other than cling to people he thought were successful. It was pitiful to see, but I enjoyed it nevertheless.
Bernadette almost dropped her cup of coffee as her mouth opened to protest, but a look from him silenced her immediately. Oh, my god! She was worse than him! She was wearing some awful green caftan and it had the effect of making her look like a black-haired bullfrog humped up on a rock, waiting for a fly. But I hadn’t finished with Ripley quite yet.
“I had drinks with Brayden last evening,” I continued as I picked up a slice of toast and slowly spread butter on it. “In fact, he asked me about you.”
“Oh? Really? What did he say?” Ripley was ready to wet his pants.
I pursed my lips and frowned slightly, if dramatically. “Oh, Brayden doesn’t talk business to me. He holds his cards close to his chest.”
Ripley’s face flashed toward Bernadette, a look of I told you so all over it.
She smiled with encouragement and pride. “Of course, Brayden wouldn’t discuss business with a nanny,” she threw in, her tone condescending. If I’d been hot before that, she’d just lit the match.
“Well, that may be so.” I threw her a weakened fly. “But I’ve known him long enough to say that when Brayden is intrigued by something or someone, he begins to ask around—you know, sort of see what others think of them? I’ve seen that before, just before he made a major move.”
“Oh, really?” Ripley was beside himself.
“Yes. If you’re interested at all, I’d stay close to him. Really close. He’s always been one to include his friends in a spontaneous moment, and they’ve always come out the better for it.” I took a small bite of my toast and leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s a genius, you know. Has an IQ over 165.”
Ripley nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt that. I could tell immediately he was one of us.”
I almost blew my bite of toast across the table at that comment but I forced myself to nod in agreement and even make my eyes adoringly large.
Bernadette’s arrogance was in full swing. With delicate arches of her wrists, she reached outward to shake the folds of her caftan sleeves as though she wore a royal robe. Her chin went up and she lifted her coffee mug with her pinkie arched outward. The mug handle wasn’t designed for that and she dropped it, the coffee cascading over her caftan. She hastily reached for her napkin, as well as Ripley’s. There was no power on the planet that could have forced her from the table during that self-adoring, self-important conversation.
I couldn’t stand it another second. I had to escape before I burst out laughing. “Well, I’m taking the children to the beach,” I announced, pushing back my chair as I stood. I motioned to the brats. “As I said, Brayden doesn’t ask about people casually. If you can spare the time, I’d make the most of it. He could learn a lot from you, you know.”
Ripley’s head was nodding like a bobble-head doll and I left the room, having sealed the deal for the arrogant Mr. Campbell. He needed a lesson in what it meant to underestimate me.
* * *
Wearing the red bathing suit I’d had since high school and with my laptop in the case flung over my shoulder, I shooed the Bonham brats onto the beach. Each had been tasked with carrying their life jackets; Dougie with my beach chair and Katie, the small cooler that held juice boxes. I chose my moments of revenge.
I’d finally decided on a spot when Dougie threw down my chair. “If you want it somewhere else, move it yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes in my best imitation of a prison matron and pointed to the chair. “
Open it out and put on your life jacket.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but the call of the water was too strong. He decided to do as I said, but I suspected he’d get back at me sometime later. Katie set the cooler next to the chair as she obediently put on her life jacket.
“Don’t go in above your waist,” I told them both and settled into the sand to set up my laptop and prop myself up into the beach chair. Naturally, Dougie immediately went in the water neck high. I set my laptop into the case to avoid blowing sand and went after him. Having grown up in Florida, I was a pretty fair swimmer and he recognized he was out of his league. I dragged him ashore by the back of his lifejacket and plopped him down onto the hot sand. “Sit there until you can learn to follow orders.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he shot back. “Too bad you’re so pathetic that your bathing suit has a hole in the butt.”
I stopped and fought the impulse to run my hand over my bottom, but I knew he was lying.
“Geez, when did you get that? 1960?”
The kid had a talent for making me hate him, I had to give him that. He read me well and went on. “Yeah, right over your asshole. You probably farted too hard and it blew right through.”
I tried to ignore him but he kept his eyes on my butt and it was making me crazy. I opened the cooler and took out a juice box, slowly looking at the back label so the colorful pictures of fresh fruit were in his direction. I poked the little straw through the foil spout and sipped it slowly, watching Katie as she scooped holes at the water’s edge and then watched the waves wash them away.
“I want one of those,” Dougie finally said.
I ignored him.
He stood up and came toward me. “I said, you stupid nanny, I want one!” he shouted. There was no one within hearing. I had almost finished mine and now held it out to him.
“Here you go.”
He slapped it out of my hand and the juice made a red stain as it drained onto the hot sand. “I want my own.”
“You will apologize.”
“For what?”
“For everything you’ve done that was rude, mean or lying since breakfast.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I will heave these two remaining juices into the ocean,” I threatened, picking them up and cocking back my arm.
He tilted his head, calculating whether I was mean enough to do just that. He must have decided I was, and I let out a small sigh of relief. He hadn’t called my bluff.
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head with drama.
“Be more specific,” I ordered, still in my matron’s persona.
“I’m sorry for punching Katie in the hallway and for calling you pathetic.”
“That’s it? Haven’t you forgotten another little detail?”
“Like what?” He was being stubborn.
“Like what you said about my bathing suit bottom?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t lying.”
My hand flew to the back of my suit as I frantically felt for a hole in my bottoms. He grinned and while I was off guard, he ran toward me and grabbed the remaining two juice boxes out of my hand. He ran toward Katie, holding one out to her.
“Dougie!” I shouted, angry with myself for being duped.
“Yes?” he called out in a sing-song as he hurled one of the boxes into the ocean and quickly popped the spout on the other and drank it down. He dropped the empty carton at his feet and, with a smirk, headed toward me.
Katie had stood up as she watched the juice box sail over her head into the waves. She walked toward me now and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “You really are stupid, aren’t you?” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. I couldn’t argue with her. She peeled off her life jacket, let it fall to the sand and began walking back toward Utopia. Dougie dropped his jacket and followed her.
“You two come back here and carry your life jackets, cooler and chair!” I shouted after them.
Dougie kept walking but held up his middle finger over his head at me. There was nothing left for me to do but run and collect everything, including my laptop, and follow them like a pack mule.
As we came closer to Utopia, I noticed a crowd of people in front of the entrance. They’d gathered around a limousine. The door of the resort opened and Brayden sailed out, motioning to his security detail to hold back the crowd. He personally opened the limousine door and handed out a gorgeous woman in a black dress, her Louis Vuitton shoes making her legs appear like a ballerina’s. I could hear her bell-like laughter at whatever Brayden said as he ushered her inside on his arm.
Dougie stopped long enough to turn and look at me. “I’ll bet she doesn’t have a hole in her ass,” he pronounced and continued inside.
God, I hated my life.
Chapter 6
Brayden
Emily Davis, the well-known ballet dancer, was due at any minute. I was watching her limo pull up through the door when I spotted Harper and her two charges trudging toward the Utopia entrance. Harper looked adorable, if a little dated, in a faded red bikini, but she was carrying two orange life jackets, a purple cooler, a lime-green beach chair and a computer case. The kids’ arms were empty but they wore expressions of arrogance as they approached. I felt for Harper and hoped she chose another entrance. Emily was liable to be a showstopper and Harper would feel, well, dowdy. It broke my heart.
True to what I’d expected, Emily was wearing a mini black number and her famous legs were in full display. She was nothing but presentation and while I played the part, I hated it. Harper had paused, and I hoped the kids would give her a break. Naturally, they didn’t, and she was forced to follow them into the hotel lobby in our wake.
I deposited the stunning Ms. Davis among her fans in the tea room and excused myself. I rang Harper’s room.
“Hello?” she answered and I could hear the misery in her voice.
“This is room service calling. Anything I can bring up for you? Me?” I joked.
“Brayden, I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m sorry. I saw you come back from the beach and I don’t blame you. Why don’t you drown the little freaks?”
“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, except that I know the boy would drag me under with him,” she said dryly and I was glad to hear her sense of humor was returning.
“Say, I have some responsibilities to see to for a new guest.”
“Yeah, I saw her.”
“Well, I was calling to ask you to meet me for drinks again tonight at the Cabana. I’d like to do a reset on our last talk—it didn’t go the way I’d planned.”
“If you’re thinking you’ll get me into bed this time, don’t bother, Brayden.”
“Not at all. It felt so good to be with you again last night, Harper. I hadn’t realized how much I missed you. C’mon and be a sport and just meet me to talk?”
There was a pause before she agreed. “Same time?” she asked.
“I’ll come up to your room and get you,” I suggested and she agreed before we hung up. Now I had something to look forward to that would make my day spent waiting on a prima ballerina bearable.
I was headed back to the tea room when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and looked down to see Ripley Bonham standing there, an expectant look on his face. “May I help you?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he replied, and I couldn’t get the image of a worm out of my mind.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry?”
“I thought you might like me to help you with your special guest? I know you’re busy and these are my people. I could take her off your hands.”
What the hell is this stupid fuck talking about?
“You’ve got me at a disadvantage, Ripley. Are you a personal friend of Ms. Davis?”
He looked downward and scuffed the point of his shoe against the patterned carpet. “I know of her, of course.”
The last thing I was going to do was hand off Emily Dav
is, one of the up and coming stars in the world of ballet, to a knucklehead wannabe like Bonham. Emily had a fan base of some of the wealthiest and most snobbish arts aficionados in the world and would be the perfect drawing card for the kind of guests I wanted. People unlike Ripley Bonham. I held my temper, though. I didn’t want a scene.
“Ripley, I appreciate your offer but her schedule is already set by her people and my job is just to make her comfortable during her stay with us. If it looks like help is needed, I’ll be sure to drop your name,” I offered.
He nodded with excitement. “Very well! I’ll be on call, you know where to find me!” He was drooling, the ass.
He stayed behind me as I entered the tea room, and I nodded to one of my security detail to get rid of him. They understood completely and escorted him like a king out to the pool where an overflow of like admirers posed and waited to be introduced like so many peacocks holding champagne flutes. How does Harper put up with his shit?
Just thinking of her made me want to drop everything, including the lovely Ms. Davis, and spirit her away to a shared afternoon at our spot at the beach. I wondered what I was doing in that life. How did Harper manage to keep such a hold on me, considering she’d never graced my bed? I imagined that I got a whiff of her cologne and turned quickly to see if she was in the crowd behind me. She wasn’t. It was probably the last place she’d be; just not her style. Nor mine, to be truthful.
Emily Davis was holding court from her table in the tea room. Nearby, there was a linen-covered table with a tea service and crystal platters of finger sandwiches, fruit and petit fours. Women seemed to like those things. Colorful little pretties that looked elegant when you nibbled on them but had no calories. Give me a prime rib and baked potato anytime.
A potted palm was strategically positioned just behind her and with her magnificently long legs crossed at the knee, she was a photo op from almost any angle. She knew how to play the game, or perhaps it was her handlers who had it in hand. Either way, she was probably originally a cowgirl from Oklahoma who won some local talent contest and her life turned into a fairy tale at that point. I didn’t care, she wasn’t my style. I was into ringlets and jade eyes and breasts that I could bury my dick between. Speaking of… I had to get Harper off my mind or Ms. Ballerina would be getting an eyeful.