by Amy Brent
I brought up my hands, balled them into fists, and slammed them so hard on the desk that everything atop it jumped and rattled.
“Don’t you dare say that!” I roared, glaring at him through angry, tear-filled eyes. I wagged a stiff finger at him. “Don’t you ever say that! I have never done anything to disrespect you or Mama. Don’t you dare fucking say that!”
Papa’s brown eyes grew as big as saucers. He held up his hands and patted the air with them. His voice lost some of its bluster. “Serena, don’t use that language with me…”
“Fuck that!” I roared. I narrowed my eyes until they were slits and shook my fists at him. “I am a good girl, Papa. I have always been a good girl, but I refuse to settle for the life you want me to have.”
His forehead cut into deep furrows. “Settle for the life I want you to have? What are you talking about?”
“You think women should stay at home and cook and clean and squeeze out babies,” I said, my fists bouncing on the desk. “Or clean hotels or clean rich people’s toilets. Well, I refuse to do that, Papa. I am going to get my Master’s degree and I’m going to get a job as a cancer researcher and help find a cure for what killed Mama! Don’t you dare use that against me!”
Papa’s nostrils flared. “So, this is about me not being able to pay for your college? You work in a whorehouse because I am too poor to pay for your school?”
“No, Papa, that’s not it,” I said, wiping my eyes without looking away from him. “I work at a whorehouse so I can do something to change the world. This has nothing to do with you. Nothing! This is about me and my future. But I would never—NEVER—do anything to bring shame or disrespect to the family.”
I could tell he wanted to say more, but he leaned back and dug his fingers into his knees and chewed at the inside of his cheek with his eyes staring at the floor between his work boots.
I took advantage of the quiet to compose myself. I plucked tissues from a box on my desk and wiped my eyes, then blew my nose into them.
Papa sat quietly, swiping a knuckle under his eyes. The only other time I had seen him cry was the day we buried my Mama. Even then, he composed himself quickly because his children needed him to be strong, especially his baby girl. I was the weak one, the little girl who had lost her mama. I needed my Papa then, and I needed him now.
I got up and went around the desk to sit in the chair next to him. I took one of his hands in mine. His hand was hard and rough, like a block of sandpaper.
“Papa, please listen to me. I serve drinks and food, nothing more. I make enough money to pay for my schooling and live well without being a burden to you. As soon as I graduate and find a job as a researcher, I will quit the club. I promise you. Until then, you just have to trust that I am your daughter. I will always do what’s right and never compromise my principles for anyone or anything, no matter how much money there might be.”
I realized at that moment that I was preaching to myself. I was falling hard for a billionaire, but his money didn’t matter to me. Honestly, I had barely thought about his wealth and power. I would have felt the same way about Denny if he had been a janitor mopping the floors or a delivery man driving a truck. I was falling for the man, not his bank account.
His money was not important to me.
It would not change my future plans.
I would not drop everything to live in luxury with Denny or let him pay my way. If that’s what he expected… well… he would be sorely disappointed.
I was Serena Diaz, the proud daughter of Carlos and Carlotta Diaz.
I had worked my ass off to get here.
No one had helped me.
No one!
I was an independent woman.
I was my own woman.
I would get my Masters in the fall, find a job at a cancer research center, and work to cure the horrible disease that took my beloved mama and so many others.
If Denny had a problem with that… well… he’d just have to get over it!
“Papa, say something…”
Papa sniffed back tears and slowly nodded his head. He took my hands in his and looked me in the eye.
“I trust you, baby girl,” he said quietly, a shaky smile on his lips. “If you tell me you have never had sex at this place I will believe you.”
Shit.
Like I said, I’d never been able to lie to my Papa.
His hands tightened around mine and his thick eyebrows hovered heavily over his eyes.
“Serena, you have never had sex at that place… right?”
I took a deep breath and mustered the best smile I could.
I said, “Papa, I’ve met someone. His name is Denny Chambers.”
Chapter 13: Denny
Need to talk. My apartment. Come ASAP.
The text from Serena could not have been more vague or set off more alarm bells in my head. I sat at my desk and stared at the screen for a moment, unsure of how to respond.
When I left her in my bed this morning everything seemed fine. Since returning from our weekend at Club D three days ago we’d been together every night after work. Sure, we fucked A LOT, but we also just hung out and ate and drank wine and watched TV and talked and got to know one another better. I was excited that our relationship was quickly becoming more than just sex. And I got the impression she was, too.
Then, out of nowhere, I get this text.
Need to talk. My apartment. Come ASAP.
What the fuck?
My first reaction was to text her back and ask what was going on.
My next reaction was to get her on FaceTime.
No. That wouldn’t do.
Something told me this was a conversation best had in person.
Fuck.
I knew it was too good to be true.
Well, I had never been dumped by text before.
And I sure as hell didn’t plan to start now.
If Serena was giving me the boot she was going to have to look me in the eye to do it.
I texted her back and called downstairs for my car.
On my way.
* * *
“Hi, thanks for coming so quickly,” Serena said as she opened the door to her apartment and waved me in. She gave me a cursory smile, then let it drop quickly as she glanced down the hallway behind me, as if she expected to find someone else lurking there.
“Are you okay?” I asked, giving her a hug that was cordially returned.
“Yes, fine, we just need to talk,” she said, closing and locking the door. Her behavior was a little unnerving, and for a moment, I wondered if an old boyfriend had come back into the picture and confronted her about us. Or if she’d just had a change of heart and decided I was not the guy for her.
I’m a big guy with a black belt in Karate, so I wasn’t too concerned about ex-boyfriends being assholes, but Serena was acting nervous as a cat, as if she expected the door to be kicked in at any moment.
“Come, sit,” she said, forcing the smile again as she took my hand to lead me into the living room. She parked me on one end of the sofa and she curled up on the other end. I could tell by her face that something was wrong. People with good news never have that look in their eye.
She stared at the cushion between us and bit her thumbnail for a moment as if she were considering what she had to say. I took the time to let my eyes drift around her face. She was beautiful even without makeup, black hair pulled back in a ponytail at the crown of her head, barefoot, painted toenails, toned legs, casually dressed in a pair of running shorts and a black t-shirt with the head of a Blue Man on the front.
“What’s going on, Serena?” I asked, turning toward her with my arm draped across the back of the couch. “Did something happen? Has someone—”
“My father happened,” she said with a heavy sigh that seemed to drain all the breath out of her. She put her hands in her lap and started pressing her thumbnails together. “He found out that I worked at Club D and I told him about you.”
I didn’t
know whether to smile or frown, so I tried to do both at the same time and did neither effectively. I decided a blank look was the best use of my face at that moment.
“I take it he was none too thrilled by either point.”
“You might say that,” she said, nodding.
“So, he didn’t know you worked there?”
“God no.”
“How did he find out?”
“I donated a purse to the church yard sale and my nosy sister-in-law found an old card that Mr. Lemon had given me the first time we met. And a pack of Club D matches with my handwriting under the cover. He put two and two together and deduced that his daughter was working as a whore at a brothel.”
“A whore?” I wasn’t sure why, but after referring to the girls at Club D as Escorts and Specialists, the word “whore” seemed terribly old fashioned. It made me smile. “Actually, the politically correct term is—"
“You know what I mean,” she said, cutting me off, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, after a lot of yelling and crying, I convinced him that I just served drinks there and did not service the clientele.”
“It’s the clientele’s loss,” I said, trying to be funny.
“Not funny,” she said, giving me a hard look. “Anyway, he’s not thrilled with me working at Club D, but so long as all I’m doing is serving drinks, he’ll live with it. I explained that I was just doing it to pay for my Masters and as soon as I got a job as a cancer researcher, I planned to quit.”
I nodded along as she spoke, keeping my lips clamped shut. Serena quitting Club D was just fine with me, especially since I had no plans to ever go back there so long as she was in my life.
I asked, “Did that satisfy him?”
“It did and it didn’t,” she said, head down, slowly going back and forth. “He doesn’t like it, but he understands and respects my reasons.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. “You know, you never have to go back to Club D again if you don’t want to. I’d be happy to pay the rest of your tuition and—”
“No!” She said the word so suddenly and forcefully that it startled both of us a bit. She held up a hand and brought her eyes up to meet mine. “I’m sorry, it’s just that, well, we need to get some things straight before we go any further.”
I took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. “Okay, what sort of things?”
She turned to face me, bringing her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “First of all, I don’t care about your money.”
I huffed a smile. “That’s good because I don’t care about it either.”
“I’m serious, Denny,” she said. “I am not with you for your money.”
“That’s good to know, Serena. I’m not with you for your money either.”
She smiled, then quickly forced it away. “I just want you to understand. I like you for you, and the fact that you’re a billionaire is cool, but I do not care about the money or expect anything from you in that regard. I do not want your money. I plan on working at Club D until I graduate, then I’ll quit when I find a researcher position. I do not need or expect you to pay my way. Clear?”
“As a bell,” I said, still smiling because I was thrilled to hear that she didn’t care about the money. Since talking to Sammy, my heart and my brain had been arguing over Serena’s motives, even though she had never given me a reason to doubt her sincerity.
Was Serena with me for me?
Or with me for my bank account?
Now, hearing her say the words, I truly believed with all my heart that the latter was true.
I started to speak, but she kept going.
“And just because we’re hanging out and having fun, that does not mean I’m going to drop my plans and marry you,” she said, frowning as if I’d made her that offer and it offended her. “I’m a strong, independent woman. I have my life totally planned out. I will not change my plans no matter how much I… like you…”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Have I asked you to change your plans in any way?”
She blinked at me. “No.”
“Have I asked you to marry me?”
“No,” she said, giving me a playful look from beneath her eyebrows. “Not yet.”
“And do you think that I don’t know how fiercely independent you are? How your independence is one of the things I like most about you?”
She blinked again, this time with tears welling in her eyes.
“It is?”
“Yes, it is,” I said, bringing my hand off the back of the couch to rest on her knee. “I’m glad the money doesn’t mean anything to you. And I’m glad you have your life all planned out. And I’m proud to be the man you’re sharing your life with for the moment.” I gave her a little smile. “And maybe, I mean, if things continue, maybe I can be the man who goes on that journey with you.”
“I think I’d like that,” she said, resting her chin on my hand.
I put a finger to her chin and gazed into her eyes. “Serena, I like you. I like you a lot. I love spending time with you and waking up with my arms wrapped around you and your body pressed against mine. I love your laugh. I love your sense of humor. I love your intelligence. I love the way you scream at the TV during baseball games and cry during Grey’s Anatomy. But most of all, I love your fire. Your drive. Your determination. I have never met a woman more in control of her own destiny. I would never ask you to change anything for me. Do you understand? I want you just as you are, without pretense or limitations.”
She smiled as her eyes overflowed. “You do?”
“I do.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto my hand. I cupped her chin in my palm and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips. Pressing my forehead to hers, I stared into her dark eyes just an inch from my own.
“So, are we good?” I asked.
“We’re good,” she said. “But my father would like to talk to you about that comment you made on Good Morning LA.”
“Dammit,” I said with a grin. “I knew that comment would come back to haunt me.”
“What’s the best part about being you, Denny Chambers?” she asked as she leaned back to spread her legs for me.
I smiled as my hands went down her soft inner thighs and into the loose legs of the running shorts. She was not wearing panties. She was wet and hot. I could smell her juices as they flowed from her sweet hole onto my fingertips. My fingers slid in easily, soon to be followed by my tongue and then my cock.
“What’s the best part about being me?” I asked as I pulled aside the leg of the running shorts and lowered my lips lowered to hers. “Your pussy, Serena Diaz. Duh.”
EPILOG: Serena
One of the hardest things I had ever had to do was convincing my Papa that the Denny Chambers he saw on TV—“duh pussy guy” Papa called him—was not the real Denny Chambers, the man I had fallen head over heels silly in love with over the last few months. That was the old Denny Chambers, the billionaire bad boy who just needed to meet a good woman who would force him—or gently nudge him— to grow up.
The man I woke up with every morning now was the new and improved Denny Chambers. And boy, was I having the time of my life with the new version.
For the longest time, Papa was wary of the man who was spending time with his baby girl, even though I was happier than I had ever been in my life. Work was great. I was almost done with school. And my love life was rocking and rolling in every way imaginable. That didn’t matter to Papa. He was still protective as a grizzly bear of its young cub.
Denny was cool with Papa’s attitude and said he totally understood Papa’s desire to protect his baby girl. “Heck, I’ll let boys come anywhere near my daughter,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “I mean, if we ever have a daughter.”
Papa had never been good at hiding his emotions, especially where I was concerned. His icy stare could stop a clock, but it didn’t stop Denny from coming around and trying to win him over. He would just smile at Papa, though h
e told me several times he wondered if Papa’s looks might actually be lethal if he stared at him long enough, like looking at the sun for more than a second, if the sun had been a very large, very angry, Mexican padre.
For months, whenever Denny and Papa were in the same room, things were tense from Papa’s side, like a smoldering fire that might turn into a raging inferno at any moment. Then came Thanksgiving dinner when Denny was finally introduced to my six brothers, their wives, and fifteen kids.
I felt bad for him (not really), this lone white guy sitting off to the side at the table with the kids. A lesser man might have been intimated or insulted, but not Denny. Each time I looked over he was smiling and carrying on playfully with the children.
Slowly, Papa and my brothers came around. The wives already thought Denny was the hottest gringo they had ever seen, so they were an easy sell.
Papa and the boys were still not Denny’s biggest fans, but I no longer thought that they want to kill him and bury him in concrete.
At least not entirely.
Maybe they’d just bury him up to his handsome neck.
* * *
“What are you thinking, Mr. Chambers?”
Denny slid the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and gave me a sideways look. We were lounging naked and sweaty on the private beach on the island Denny and his partners owned in the South Pacific. I know what you’re thinking… his money was not important, but holy smokes, sometimes it sure was nice to have.