by Elle Kennedy
“Why would you want to impress me?” Her voice came out strained. “I…I don’t get what you want from me, Ben.”
He could see her pulse thudding in her throat, could hear the ragged breaths exiting her mouth, and a thread of confusion stitched his insides. She’d just raised the one question he’d been avoiding for days.
What did he want from her?
Sex would’ve been the answer a week ago.
More sex would’ve been the answer last night.
Yet, if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that it had always been about more than sex. He’d liked Maggie from the moment he met her. Liked her sass, her confidence, her complete disinterest in his celebrity. He liked that she wasn’t scared to tell him off, and he especially liked how she made him work. For her body, her trust, her time.
Women constantly threw themselves at his feet, but not Maggie. She knew who she was and what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to say it. That’s probably what he liked most of all.
“I want to be with you.” He raked his fingers through his hair, frazzled. “I’m with you because I like you. Because you’re…real. Don’t you get it? I’m surrounded by plastic people. Fake, shallow people who think they know me, who pretend they care about knowing me. Do you realize you’re the first person other than a reporter who actually wanted to know where I grew up?”
She didn’t answer.
“Hell, even my own agent doesn’t bother to dig deeper.” His mouth twisted in a bitter frown. “He hasn’t once asked for details about my recent inheritance. He just assumes—like the rest of the world—that I fucked Gretchen Goodrich.”
“And you expected something different?” Her voice sounded cool. “You’ve got a reputation for sleeping around, it’s not so shocking that people believe you went to bed with a married woman.”
Something inside him hardened. “And what about you, Maggie? Do you believe that line of bull?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know you, Ben, outside of the biblical sense, anyway.”
His nostrils flared at her dismissive tone. “And in the entire week we’ve spent together, you didn’t get a sense of who I am, that I might be a decent guy?”
She tilted her head and shot him a look full of distress and far too much wisdom for her age. “Very few people are decent, Ben. In the end, the only person you can count on is yourself. Sex, relationships, even love, they’re not tangible, they disappear in the blink of an eye.”
“So what, you avoid it all for fear that it might disappear?” He shook his head. “Is that why you hide behind your job and your volunteer work and school, because those are the only things you can count on?”
She just frowned.
“Well, I say it’s bullshit,” he continued, gulping in the late night air. “You can count on relationships and other people to be there for you. Some connections can never be broken. Take my mother, for instance. She had a hard life, raised me on her own, struggled to put food on the table, and she never complained, never packed up and left, even though I know there were times she must have felt like it.”
“You want to talk about mothers, Ben?” Maggie shot back, pure venom lining her voice. “Well, mine abandoned me in front of a convenience store when I was five. She told me to wait outside while she went over to the bank, said she’d be back in ten minutes. You know how long I waited out there for her?”
He faltered, completely taken aback by the shards of raw pain slicing her features.
“Thirteen hours. I waited for thirteen hours before the owner of the store finally called the cops, who carted me off to social services.”
The driver pulled the little cart to a stop in front of their bungalow, and Maggie hopped out without another word. Quietly thanking the man behind the wheel, Ben shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and climbed the porch with slow, heavy steps. Maggie was already inside by the time he entered the room, but he still had no idea what to say to her.
Her confession reverberated through his head. It brought a knot of sickness to his stomach, a tight squeeze to his heart, and for a moment he had to wonder how this perfect night he’d planned had ended up in shambles.
Ben couldn’t wrap his brain around it. His own father had walked out on him, but growing up with a warm, loving mother had dulled the ache his dad’s desertion had left in his heart. He couldn’t even imagine how Maggie must feel, knowing she’d been abandoned on the sidewalk like a piece of trash.
“I lived in sixteen foster homes during the thirteen years I was part of the system,” she said, continuing as if they’d never been interrupted.
She paused in front of the armoire and reached for the overnight bag she’d stowed on the bottom shelf. As she rummaged in the bag, she glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “I’ve been on my own since I was five years old, Ben, so don’t talk to me about connections and lasting relationships. In my life, there’s no such thing.”
Chapter Eleven
The Gulfstream jet cruised the morning sky at thirty-thousand feet, heading back in the direction of New York, but Maggie couldn’t decide if she was looking forward to the prospect of going home, or dreading it. The events of last night still haunted her. Sonja’s harsh words, the blow-up with Ben that followed. He hadn’t tried to kiss or touch her after that, just slid into bed and went to sleep, while Maggie lay awake half the night and thought about everything she’d said to him.
Her head told her she’d spoken to truth, and years of being alone only strengthened her belief that relying on others was a mistake. Yet her heart spoke differently. Her heart argued that she shouldn’t allow the past to affect her future. That sooner or later she’d need to lower the walls she’d raised and let someone in.
It was funny, really. She’d tried to explain to Ben why she was keeping him at arm’s length, and in the process she’d ended up doubting her own convictions. She’d always told herself she needed to secure her career before thinking about relationships, about marriage and babies, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Was she simply using her goals as an excuse not to get close to someone? What about when she earned her degree and started her social work? Would she finally open her heart and seek out love, or would she merely find another goal to fixate on as a means of avoidance?
All troubling questions, ones she’d never asked herself before, and she found it ironic that an arrogant movie star had been the one to spur this internal investigation. Celebrities were supposed to be superficial, preoccupied with material things and trivial matters, and though it shamed her to admit it, that was partly what attracted her to Ben in the first place. She’d figured he’d tire of her after a day or two, and then be on his way. That he hadn’t was probably the most troubling thing of all.
Leaning back in her chair, Maggie raised her hands and rubbed her temples, excruciatingly aware of Ben’s presence.
Sitting there in a black long-sleeve shirt and black jeans, with morning stubble dotting his chin and dark hair falling onto his forehead, he looked sexy and dangerous, reminding her of how attracted she was to him. But he hadn’t said a word since they’d boarded the jet, and the silence between them had dragged on for so long she had no clue how to make it go away.
She didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how she felt about him, and she’d never dealt well with uncertainties.
“Gretchen was the other woman.”
Her head jerked up. “What?” She met his gaze, not sure if he’d spoken or if she’d imagined it.
“Remember I said my father ran off with another woman? Well, it was Gretchen Goodrich.”
She had no idea how to respond to that so, as usual, she took the easy route. “Oh.”
Ben shifted in his seat, crossed one leg over the other and inhaled deeply. He looked as troubled as she felt, and she resisted the urge to lean over and kiss his troubles away. That would probably be inappropriate, anyway, considering the bomb he’d just dropped.
Maggie paused. “The Hunters, right? I read on the ’Net that they own a salad dressing empire or something.”
“You read right.” Ben’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m sure that’s what attracted my father to her in the first place.”
“So they got together?”
“They got married,” he corrected. “Of course, dear Dad neglected to tell his new wife that he’d already tied the knot with someone else.”
“What happened?” she asked, curious.
“Long story short, Gretchen and my father were married for two years before her parents finally stepped in. They weren’t pleased with the marriage to begin with, but once my father tried to control the trust fund Gretchen received when she turned twenty-one, her father did some digging and found out about my mother and me. They had him arrested.”
“For…bigamy?”
“Theft, actually. When the truth came out that his marriage to Gretchen wasn’t legal, he tried to run off with a wad of cash and some of her jewelry. He was behind bars for a few years.” Ben let out a sigh. “He had a heart attack in prison and died.”
“Did you and your mother know about Gretchen?”
“Mom did, but she never told me, and the Hunters made sure to keep the scandal under wraps. I only found out when Gretchen contacted me six months ago. She was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she’d been thinking about her life, her past. She said she’d never stopped feeling guilty for being the reason my dad abandoned his family. I guess that’s why she wrote me into her will.”
Ben reached for the coffee cup on the poker table and took a long sip. He set down the cup and glanced over with a pained expression. He looked so solemn, so downcast, that this time she didn’t stop herself from reaching over and touching him. She squeezed his hand and then interlaced their fingers.
“So why didn’t you just tell the truth, to the press, I mean?”
His fingers tightened over hers. “I thought about it, but there was my mom to consider.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gretchen left me that fortune to ease her own guilt, but to me, it’s just a reminder of what a cad of a father I had. Money isn’t going to make the memories go away, especially for my mother.” Ben let out a strangled groan. “Damn it, just knowing the money will be released to me after Gretchen’s estate goes through probate makes me feel like I’m betraying my mom. Like I’m profiting from her pain.”
Oh God. The vulnerability etched on his features left Maggie speechless. How was this the same man who’d practically ordered her to give him a place to stay? How was this the same man whose arrogance drove her crazy?
“Not to mention,” he added, “if I tell the media the truth about Gretchen and me, the vultures will camp out on my mom’s doorstep and demand to know how she feels knowing her husband left her for an heiress. I can’t do that to her.” He released a heavy sigh. “Let the press think what they want of me, as long as they leave my mother alone.”
Maggie swallowed. Hard. Once, twice. After the third gulp she stopped fighting herself and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips.
“What was that for?” Ben murmured after she’d pulled back.
She sighed. “That was for being far more decent than I gave you credit for, Ben.”
The second they stepped out of the gate at the airport, Ben saw the reporters. Rather than the usual folks waiting for friends and families to walk out of the gate, they were greeted by a crowd of vultures with microphones and cameras. Angry flashbulbs exploded in front of his eyes. A slew of questions assaulted his ears, each one bringing a jolt of fury.
He swallowed back the rage and glanced over at Maggie, who looked startled. Her green eyes widened as the mob closed in on them. “What the…”
“Move,” he ordered before she could finish the shocked sentence.
He held onto her arm and practically dragged her toward the exit. The press stayed on their heels, capturing their every move with those intrusive cameras. They were in a large open space but Ben suddenly felt like the entire airport was closing in on him and he quickened his strides, loosening his grip on Maggie’s arm when he noticed his knuckles had turned white and were digging into her skin.
“Enjoy your vacation, Ben?” one obnoxious reporter called out.
Another followed up with, “Maggie, how long have you two been seeing each other?”
How the fuck did they know Maggie’s name? Without pausing to question the woman who’d spoken, Ben pushed Maggie through the automatic doors. Her eyes were still wide with distress, but she didn’t say a word. Just glanced back at the reporters still trailing after them, her face flickering with disbelief and confusion. She looked dazed, stunned, and he didn’t blame her. He’d gotten used to this bullshit years ago, but he understood how it could be overwhelming for someone else.
He took her hand and pulled her toward a taxi, waited for her to get in then slid inside and slammed the door. Another flash caught his eye and he almost gave the finger to the reporter who’d snapped their picture.
Leaning back in his seat, he opened his mouth to address the driver, only to be cut off by Maggie. He was taken aback when she softly gave out directions to the Olive Martini.
As the cab pulled away from the airport, he looked at her and said, “Are you sure you want to go to work?”
“I don’t have a choice,” she said in a shaky voice. “My shift starts in an hour.”
A short silence stretched between them. Maggie kept her gaze glued to the window, but he could tell she was still shaken up and confused by what just happened. He was pretty fucking confused himself. How had the press learned Maggie’s identity? He hadn’t told a soul that he was staying at her apartment, not even Stu or his publicist knew about her. And the resort would never have released the information—Marcus Holtridge and his staff respected their guests’ privacy far too much to sell them out to the media, especially since the resort prided itself on secrecy.
Unless it wasn’t a staff member who’d said anything, but another guest…
He stifled a groan as it hit him. Sonja. It to be Sonja. She’d looked undeniably pissed when he’d left her in the casino after she’d offended Maggie, and he wouldn’t put it past his ex-flame to get even by talking to a couple of reporters. He’d always told Sonja how much he hated the vultures, and if she wanted revenge for his rebuffing her, calling the press would be right up her alley.
The silence in the cab dragged on so long Ben began to feel claustrophobic again. He wanted to say something, but he feared anything he said would only push Maggie farther away from him. She’d been so happy and relaxed when he’d first brought her to the resort, and he knew she’d been having a good time, at least up until when they’d run into Sonja. But despite her shutting down afterwards, she’d seemed to come around again on the plane, when he’d told her the truth about Gretchen. He suspected they’d reached some kind of turning point, though he couldn’t quite put a label on it yet. And now it was all blown to hell, thanks to a few nosy reporters.
He wanted to tell her he’d fix this, that somehow he’d make the media storm go away, but he knew better than to make empty promises. The press would hound him no matter what he did, and even if Stu and his publicist managed to spin the story in a way that made his relationship with Maggie not seem so tawdry, the reporters already knew her name. And that meant they’d soon learn everything else about her. Where she worked, where she lived.
And if he knew the vultures—and boy, did he know them—they wouldn’t hesitate to make Maggie’s life as hellish as
they’d made his.
“You’re late.”
Maggie’s head snapped up, her hand poised over the laces of her sneakers. In the doorway of the employee lounge, Linda stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She could tell from the look on her manager’s face that she wasn’t happy with her.
“I know, I’m sorry,” she burst out, quickly kicking off her shoes and grabbing for the heels at the bottom of her locker. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not.” With a deep frown, Linda stalked off.
Ouch.
Maggie glanced at her watch, which confirmed what she already knew, that her shift had only started five minutes ago. Since when did Linda get so crabby over five measly minutes?
She would’ve arrived at the Olive sooner, but she and Ben had gotten stuck in traffic on the way back from the airport. And boy, had that been one awkward cab ride.
They hadn’t said one word to each other, and she knew it was more her fault than his. After being barraged by those reporters at the airport—reporters who knew her name—she hadn’t known what to say or how to react. The cameras, the photographers, the questions…it was all too overwhelming. Terrifying, if she were being honest. So she’d stayed silent, despite the fact that Ben looked desperate to talk about what happened.
Well, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not now. Not when she had an entire evening of waitressing to get through, not when she still couldn’t put into words how the sight of those reporters had made her feel.
Smothering a sigh, she finished dressing and tied her hair up into a ponytail. God, she didn’t want to be here right now. How could she possibly focus on work when her body still felt bruised from all those reporters’ questions, when her mind was still swimming with confusion about her feelings for Ben Barrett?
The last thing she felt like doing was working, and the feeling only grew stronger when she stepped out of the lounge and realized the owner of the bar had finally decided to make an appearance. She gave a startled gasp as she bumped into Jeremy Henderson in the hallway.