The Bachelor Contract

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Cole stopped in front of her. His scent was always a mixture of spicy cologne and spearmint gum, and his height always seemed to tower over her, casting a shadow over her small frame.

  “Did I miss a meeting?” She frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Oh that?” Cole’s warm fingers brushed her arm as he pulled her into step next to him. “I was just reminding them to be on their best behavior while, uh…Nadine Titus visits. VIPs deserve the best treatment, and since she’s the boss now, it’s important to make sure that everyone works hard to…” He coughed. “Make his—” He sputtered. “Her, make her stay…busy.”

  “Isn’t she in her eighties?”

  “She’s young at heart. Spunky. Hell, her itinerary included skydiving.”

  “We don’t offer skydiving.”

  “Exactly.” His breath tickled her ear as they walked toward the hotel lobby, which was busy as always, a flurry blur of action in front of her as valets took suitcases to their rooms and people met over drinks in the main bar.

  “So…” They stopped walking. “Is that all I missed?”

  “Yup. Totally.” Cole was acting weird again; his voice sounded—strange.

  “Cole?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Why would anything be going on? Hey, here’s an idea…” He grabbed her by the arm and led her away from the hustle. “You should go home.”

  “Wow.” Nikki patted his hand and smiled. “What a great idea. Why haven’t I thought of that?”

  “See? Go, you should…do that. Do what you feel.”

  “You must be really stressed.” She let out a relaxed laugh and inhaled. “That smells amazing, what’s on the menu for tonight?” Already, she was leaning toward the restaurant and the delicious aroma coming from its direction.

  “Sushi,” he blurted. “You hate sushi. Where are we on that whole going-to-bed thing?”

  “My bed,” she corrected. “Not yours.”

  “Can’t kill a man for trying.”

  “Also, you’re a liar,” She poked him in the chest and tapped her way toward the smell. “That’s not sushi.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Look, why don’t I have one of the guys walk you home?”

  Nikki snorted, “Because I can’t manage to cross the street on my own? Chill. I’m not going to get hit by a car, I’m not that blind.”

  “Sorry, Nik, I didn’t mean—”

  “Shh.” She took another step as her stomach grumbled. Clearly the pasta hadn’t been enough. “Why don’t you feed me? You’ve been asking me to have dinner with you all week—the least you can do after forcing me to work until eight at night is give me food.”

  He was silent.

  Cole was never silent.

  “Cole?”

  He cleared his throat and pulled away from her. Since when did they ever have uncomfortable silences between them?

  “Sure.” He choked out the word like the absolutely last thing he wanted to do with his life was spend an hour in her presence.

  “Wow. You sound elated.” Something was up, but she was too tired to pry. Maybe the stress surrounding the resort’s acquisition really was getting to him. He worked twelve-hour days and was constantly trying to please every guest that stayed there. Catering to them hand and foot wasn’t easy; he’d said as much before.

  “You know what?” Nikki turned around. “I’m more tired than I thought—I’ll just head home.”

  “No!” Cole blurted, turning her around so fast she nearly fell against him. His bulky arms wrapped around her from behind, his breathing heavy in her ear. “Food. You’re starving. I’m starving. This way!” His panicked voice wasn’t helping his case at all.

  “Remember, I’m not deaf,” she sang in a teasing voice as he jerked her toward a table, grabbed a menu, and shoved it in her face. She recoiled from the intrusion with a jerk. “Um, I can’t read this.”

  “Right.” He swore. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking. Say, speaking of thinking, here’s a totally random thought. Hats.”

  “Hats?” she repeated. “That’s your random thought? Hats?”

  “How do you feel about hats? I think they’re making a comeback.”

  “When did they leave? Be honest, are you having a nervous breakdown?” She groaned. “You slept with one of the maids again, didn’t you? That’s what this is about! And you’re avoiding her?”

  “Ha, maids, classic!” He laughed loudly and then leaned down to whisper. “You’d look sexy in a hat. We should get you one, or say, five, for each day of the week—sunglasses, a makeover might be fun?”

  Her eyes narrowed in on his blur. His body was hunched forward, and something was blocking her view of the other blurs in the room. “Cole?”

  “Should we order?”

  “We just sat down, and then you started yelling about hats. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Completely fine. Never been better. You like steak? We’ll get a few steaks, salads, alcohol—”

  “You’re on the clock.”

  “Today I don’t give a shit.”

  “Whoa.” Nikki leaned back. “She must be horrible.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nadine Titus. Granted, I’ve only met her a few times, but she’s clearly got you ready to nosedive off a cliff into a pool of tequila.”

  “God, that would be amazing right about now.”

  She burst out laughing. “Every time I’ve spoken to her she’s been incredibly sweet.” Except for that one time when she blackmailed Nikki into bidding on Brant. But she kept that information to herself. “I think you’re just stressed.”

  “Not sweet.” He swore. “A nightmare. He’s a total nightmare.”

  “He?”

  “She, sorry, stressed.”

  “So order your drink.” Nikki folded her walking stick and tucked it next to her purse. “And tell me all about it.”

  He was quiet. Too quiet.

  “Cole?”

  “Well…” He was fidgeting so much she almost reached across the table to hold his hands still. The constant blurry movements were giving her a headache. “He, uh, sorry, she was…hungover.”

  “So?”

  “So, she looked hungover.”

  “And that’s stressful because…?”

  “No reason.” He cut loose with another curse. “I had to change her entire itinerary in a span of five minutes while warning every single employee to be on their best behavior while simultaneously begging them to—”

  She waited, and then when he didn’t continue she prompted, “To…?”

  “Keep an eye on her.” He reached for Nikki’s hands and squeezed. “Because the last thing we need is for anyone to get hurt.” His voice softened. “Right?”

  “Cole,” she whispered, and he leaned in. “Why would an eighty-nine-year-old woman who likes skydiving hurt anyone?”

  “I think…” Cole cupped her cheek and his large hand engulfed half her face. “You’d be surprised what some people are capable of and what some people are willing to do for those they love.”

  His hand dropped.

  “Hey, Cole.” A man stopped at their table. “Nikki, good to see you. What can I get you guys?”

  “Fuck.”

  “Uh, I think you’re at the wrong restaurant for that, Cole,” Nikki teased. He didn’t say anything for a good two minutes while his arms shot into the air in front of the waiter, who shook his head and then stood directly in front of her.

  The waiter completely blocked her view, not that she’d be able to see anything but shots of color and blurry movements.

  “Stay!” Cole barked at her. “Just don’t… Stay right here, I have to take care of something really quick.”

  “Staying.” Nikki lifted her hands. “But don’t get mad when your drink’s empty!”

  “Ha!” His laugh was forced as he bolted away from her like she was diseased. If she didn’t know him better
, she’d be insulted.

  She shrugged and looked in the general direction of the waiter. “Put his drink in my hand and nobody gets hurt.”

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t wait for Cole and—”

  “—And?”

  A cold drink was pressed against her palm. “Nothing, never mind, Cole’s probably just having a rough time dealing with Nadine Titus. Two employees got written up this morning already.”

  “Two?”

  She cringed. Good thing she was stuck in the spa or she would have been nervous. That didn’t sound at all like Nadine. Then again, the woman had forced Nikki to do something that wasn’t only painful but embarrassing. And Nadine was above all else a businesswoman.

  “Did you want anything else?” he asked.

  For some reason she felt embarrassed, again, and Brant wasn’t even there. How was it fair that even from miles away, he made her feel angry, resentful, and still hopeful that one day she’d be rid of him and all the memories that came with him?

  Chapter Seven

  Brant’s itinerary was specific.

  Sushi bar by the pool at eight thirty, followed by dessert in his room at ten, with turn-down service at ten thirty.

  Cole had thought of everything.

  He was surprised the man didn’t add in bathroom breaks. On one hand, his attention to detail was impressive. On the other, Brant was never good at following directions. Besides, how the hell was he supposed to assess the resort if every staff member knew where he was at all times?

  The food in the main lobby restaurant had smelled incredible. His stomach growled when a waiter passed with a tray bearing filet mignon and the biggest bread basket he’d ever seen, so he made a small detour.

  And nearly ran into a passing waiter.

  It didn’t matter that it was most likely Brant’s fault—the waiter didn’t even apologize. He wrote the guy up immediately, threatened him, and then asked to be seated at the best table.

  Once seated, he cracked his neck. Guilt gnawed, the same guilt that told him it was unfair to take out his anger and frustration on the staff. Hell, he was just doing his job, making them better. At this rate he’d need another massage in order to deal with the stress.

  But not with the same masseuse.

  Although his muscles did feel looser, even if his pants felt tight. Damn it.

  “Brant.” Cole approached the table, fists clenched, face grim. “What are you doing here?”

  Cole bothered him. Maybe it was the cocky stance he seemed to always take in front of Brant, as if they were part of a pissing match he never even asked to participate in. And Cole seemed constantly…angry. Nothing like calling the kettle black.

  “Eating.” Brant stared him down then returned his attention to the menu. “What’s the special?”

  “I’ll send the waiter right over.”

  “I’m asking you.” He was being a jackass, but Cole needed a reminder that regardless of whatever problem he had with him, Brant was still his boss, and he deserved his respect.

  “I believe the special is a pan-seared rib eye with pineapple glaze set over a bed of asparagus and scallops…” He paused then added, “Sir.” Though that sounded more of an insult than anything.

  Brant snapped his menu shut and handed it to Brant. “You’ll let my waiter know?”

  Cole’s eye twitched, his teeth clenched, and then he nodded once as he took the menu. “Did you need anything else, Brant?”

  “The massage was great.” He changed the subject. “She was very…thorough.”

  Cole exhaled, his face softened. “Good, she’s…the best we have.”

  “Really?”

  Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, why?”

  Brant smiled politely. “Her room was a mess. I wrote her up, and if she doesn’t start taking care of her work area I’ll be asking her to leave. In fact I’ve found a few areas where you’ve been”—he shrugged—“lenient. I’ll be sure to give you my notes later.”

  Cole grit his teeth together.

  Brant had to give him credit—he was angry but he wasn’t lashing out.

  Brant smiled politely and handed the menu to Cole. “You know, a few times I thought she was going to kill me.”

  A smug grin flashed across Cole’s features. “Oh, I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Well, I made it out alive.”

  “Yup.” Was it Brant’s imagination or did Cole look disappointed? “If that’s all?” He started to walk away.

  Brant waited until Cole was a few feet from the table before he called out to him. “Actually, there was one more thing.”

  Fact: Being an asshole was way more fun sober.

  “Yes?” Cole clenched the menu so hard his knuckles turned white.

  Brant unfolded his itinerary for the day. “Twenty-four-seven service, right?”

  “Right.” Cole’s eyes narrowed.

  “I noticed that guests can request an in-room massage with turn-down service?”

  “If we have enough time to plan for it, yes.”

  “Great. I’d like that.”

  “Okay.” Cole pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll just take a look at the schedule.”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Cole’s fingers paused over the phone. “Actually, you’ll notice that the masquerade-themed cocktail party is tomorrow night. We’ll have every staff member working there.”

  Brant shrugged. “So you’re saying you can’t make it happen?”

  Cole’s jaw clenched until a muscle flexed and popped on the right side of his face. “I’ll make it happen.”

  “Thank you, Cole.”

  “Will that be everything?”

  “Yup.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.”

  “Positive?”

  “You can go now. It’s not like I need you to fluff my pillows.”

  Cole nodded once and walked off.

  With a shaky hand, Brant motioned for a waiter. Any waiter. Somehow the minute Cole had left, the scent of Nikki had returned.

  Son of a bitch.

  He needed to either get drunk or get laid.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Whiskey.” All of it. “Two fingers, splash of water.”

  “Any preference for—”

  “Fast. I want it fast,” Brant said in a condescending tone, all the while feeling trapped, angry, that even though he was still running, the pain refused to go away.

  Numb. He needed to be numb again.

  Because even though he had a job to do, he was pretty sure if he kept smelling her everywhere he went in this damn hotel, he was going to do something stupid.

  Chapter Eight

  I lost my appetite,” Cole mumbled once he came back to the table. Nikki had already eaten two pieces of buttery bread and downed his entire drink. Maybe it was the alcohol or the carbs, but suddenly she was so exhausted, it was hard to keep her eyes open.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you turn down food.”

  “Yeah, well…” His voice was hoarse. He sounded as exhausted as she felt.

  “That’s okay.” She waved him off and started to slide out of the booth. “Let’s just get things to go, and you can walk me to my apartment.”

  “Done.” He sounded pissed but relieved.

  “Unless you want to stay? Sorry, I can’t exactly read your expression, but you sound angry.”

  His sigh was long and hard. “Sometimes I hate my job—the forced kindness when people are complete assholes and deserve to be punched in the dick.”

  “Whoa.”

  He stood and offered his arm. “I’ll grab our food and meet you in the lobby, all right?”

  “I can wait here—”

  “I know you can,” Cole interrupted. “Just…please?”

  “Wow, Cole Masters just said please…” she teased. “I guess I’ll go wait in the lobby.”

  “And to think, all it took was good manners,” he said.

  “Good manners still won�
�t get you a yes on that marriage proposal.”

  He whispered a quiet “We’ll see” before kissing her forehead and pointing her toward the lobby.

  Why couldn’t she love a man like Cole?

  Other than the fact that he was her best friend.

  And a complete manwhore.

  And held her job in the palm of his hand.

  Groaning, she tapped her way to the main lobby and plopped down on one of the plush leather chairs. When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t the vision of Cole that filled them, or at least what she thought he looked like.

  It was Brant.

  Always Brant.

  Maybe that was because they’d never had any real closure. Just fighting, yelling, and then silence.

  God, she’d hated the silence so much more than the yelling.

  The silence crackled with tension—it was always filled with more meaning than when words were actually spoken.

  It wasn’t the yelling that had killed their relationship.

  It was the silence that had followed. When he had every opportunity to fix it—and didn’t.

  Why was it so hard to move on? Probably because she hadn’t tried.

  Instead, she’d worked. Tried to stay positive. And hoped.

  Damn hope. Stupid hope.

  Hope flickered away the minute he sent back the check the first time. And every single time after that, hope died a bit more until all she was left with was darkness.

  “He’s not coming back for me,” she whispered, knowing that if she finally admitted he wasn’t coming, she would have to take her part of the blame as to why. Because it wasn’t just on him to come running back. A small part of her knew that it was her job to meet him halfway. Instead, she’d ignored the need in his eyes, the desperate plea in his voice, and allowed grief to swallow her whole. Because at the time she’d needed someone to blame, and it was easier blaming him than herself. “It’s over, he’s gone,” she said under her breath. Great, now she was talking to herself in the hotel lobby like a depressed psycho.

  “Who?” Cole’s voice interrupted her emotional breakdown.

  Well, it was now or never.

  And what better way to try to forget about Brant than with her best friend, the one who had been there to help pick up all the pieces all those years ago when she’d begged for a job? When she’d needed someone to listen to her? At least he wouldn’t hurt her—he needed her heart to do that—and she’d never gotten it back from the man who took it first.