We tackle the buffet line together and return to the table with plates piled high with quiche, bacon, fruit, sausage, and French toast. Dad slices off a chunk of sausage, spears it with his fork, and begins his friendly interrogation of my man.
“So, Bayne, Caroline tells me you run your own security firm. That’s impressive for someone your age.” He pops the sausage into his mouth and chews slowly.
“Once I moved into the private sector, I realized I’d much prefer working for myself to working for anyone else. I don’t mind putting in the hard work or taking the risks; to me it’s worth it when I’m the one who reaps the rewards.”
“And it seems you’ve done quite well for yourself.”
“I didn’t necessarily set out to make a lot of money, but it does provide a level of comfort and security that was previously missing in my life. And it’s nice to be able to spoil Caroline.”
“He took me to his cottage on Silver Lake a few weeks ago so we could watch the fireworks from his boat.”
“You managed to get my little girl out on a boat? I’m impressed. She’s scared of the water. Has been since she was a little girl.”
“And heights. And snakes.” Bayne starts ticking off items on his fingers with an amused smile. My father joins in.
“Don’t forget bugs, tight spaces, and clowns. Her fifth birthday party was a disaster.” They both laugh at the thought.
“I’m glad I amuse you two.” I pretend to be offended, but I’m secretly thrilled they’re getting along as well as they are. “You forgot some of the other big ones: spiders, mice, death, public speaking, corn mazes, mannequins, and sharks.”
“See,” my father says, “that’s why she needs a good man to look out for her. You’ve got your work cut out for you, son.”
Bayne meets my gaze across the table and winks. He relaxes back into his chair, and he and my father proceed to talk sports, cars, and the armed forces for the next few hours.
They battle over the check when it arrives and I’m floating somewhere on cloud nine when my dear old dad leans over, lowers his voice, and shares our dirty little secret with the man I love.
“You don’t know how relieved I am, Bayne, to know that Caroline has found a good man who can take care of her in the manner she is accustomed to.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Our financial circumstances have had me lying awake at night for months now. I don’t care what happens to me, but I want my little girl to be taken care of.”
Bayne looks confused. And rightfully so. I’ve kept him totally in the dark. I put my hand on his. “Dad, we’ve talked about this a million times. I can take care of myself financially. I don’t need anyone to support me.”
My father waves his hand dismissively and continues on. “I’m sure she told you all about it. It’s awkward to talk about, I know. I’m so ashamed of how things worked out. I thought I was more savvy when it came to money, but really I was just a rube willing to hand over everything I worked so hard for to the first snake oil salesman who came along.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
My father pats Bayne on the shoulder. “It’s kind of you to pretend you don’t know, to spare and old man’s feelings. I’m just happy she’s found someone to make a life with. Someone who will look out for her better than I did.”
I avoid all eye contact with Bayne, hastily rise to my feet, and grab my handbag.
“I’m going to go powder my nose.” The click of my high heels against the hardwood floor sounds in time with the pounding of my heart. I make it to the restroom, close and lock the door behind me, and close my eyes as I lean back against it.
I know my father will tell him everything, but I can’t be there to listen to it. It was hard enough when my father told me he’d lost everything. We’re officially broke. I don’t care about the money, and I realize I never really did. He has to sell the house and downsize and start working again, but it’s not like either of us will be going hungry, or going without anything else that really matters. We’re still luckier than most. And, despite what Bayne thinks, I’d always planned on building a career and working for a living.
It’s just hard to see my father struggle. To see his shame at being swindled. To watch him list the dream house he shared with my mother and raised me in. Job hunting at 60 won’t be fun; I imagine it will crush a little part of his dignity every time he has to reach out to an old acquaintance and beg for a position.
I should have told Bayne a long time ago. I know that now. But the right time never seemed to present itself. He worships my father and I just couldn’t be the one who tarnished his image.
I walk to the sink and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m as white as a ghost. I pinch my cheeks for color and reapply my lip gloss. I run my fingers through my hair and steel myself for the walk back to the table. Bayne will be upset; it’s like waiting for the storm to arrive after the weather advisory sounds.
The ride back to my place is going to be a real bitch.
I approach the table quietly and they’re so intent on what they’re discussing that they don’t even notice me.
“Son, I can’t let you do that.” My father is shaking his head.
“I can’t let you sell the house where Caroline grew up. Where she has so many memories of her mother.”
I slide into my empty chair.
“I won’t be able to pay you back, not until I start working again.” My father’s resistance is losing some steam.
“I would never expect you to. I just want you to be able to stay there, for Caroline. So that we can visit you there.”
My father, for perhaps the first time in his life, is speechless. And Bayne isn’t done yet. He pulls out a business card and hands it across the table.
“And I’d be honored to have you come work with me. I’m still growing the firm and getting advice from someone with your experience would be invaluable. I’d think of it as a personal favor if you would consider helping me out for a while.”
My father stares quietly at the business card, before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Son, that’s an extremely generous offer. But, from what I’ve seen, I’m not sure you need any help.”
Bayne finally breaks into a smile. “I’ve fumbled my way through things plenty of times. It’s been a bit of a case of two steps forward, one step back. With you on board and think we could make a run for the finish line.”
He extends his hand across the table. My father grasps it tightly in his own, and my eyes tear up.
“We’ve been seeing each other for weeks. How could you not tell me?” Bayne has just slammed the car door shut and we’re already into it. I can tell he’s angry by the way he jams the car into reverse and tears out of the parking lot. People on the sidewalk stare and I give them an apologetic wave.
“Well, now you know the family fortune went down the crapper. I don’t think there’s much more I need to explain at this point.”
“How about explaining that palace you live in? How did you swing that?” He’s clenching his jaw and slowly shaking his head.
“I don’t own it. I’m house-sitting for friends of the family. There’s no way I could afford anything on my own, much less a mansion like that.”
“What about your job? You must make pretty good money?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, believe it or not, the going salary for a museum party planner is about $30,000 a year.” I know Bayne makes that much in a week. Even someone who grew up poor knows it would be hard to stretch that into a livable wage in this city. “I do just fine on what I make. I don’t need you to worry about me. I just wish I could help my father.” My voice shakes and I break into tears as I think of humiliation the General is dealing with.
Bayne softens. “There has to be something left.”
“It’s gone. All of it. Every last cent.”
We ride in stunned silence for a few blocks. He takes his hand off the gearshift and engulfs my tiny hand in his own. He gives it a squeeze.
/> “Don’t feel sorry for me,” I say. “I have a good education and I’m able bodied. I’ll make my own way. I just feel bad for my father. He has nothing left. He’s putting the house on the market next month. I don’t know where he’ll go after that.”
“You heard us talking; I’ll take care of the house and I’d love to have him come help me build up the firm. The same things I would have done weeks ago if I would have know.” He sounds genuinely hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That the spoiled rich girl isn’t so rich anymore? You would have loved to hear that.”
“I don’t care about the money.” He slaps his hand against the steering wheel. “I seriously could not give two shits about the fact that it’s gone. I care that you never trusted me enough to tell me.”
“I would have.” He purses his lips and I know he’s not buying it. “Bayne! I seriously would have. It’s just not the sort of thing that’s easy to put out there. It’s personal and it embarrasses my father. Do you really think I should have blurted something out the first night you took me home? Seriously?”
“No.” He says it so quietly I can barely hear. We ride in silence until he pulls to the curb in front of my house.
“I guess you’re not coming inside?” He leans over, snakes his giant hand into my long hair and pulls me close for kiss. It’s cramped in the front seat, but I don’t care. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight until he breaks off our kiss.
“You make me so crazy, Caroline. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”
“So come inside and prove it.” I gently nibble his earlobe.
“I’m not coming inside.” I start to protest and he places a finger against my lips. “Not because I’m angry. I understand why you did what you did. I just have an early day tomorrow. Meeting with a new client and all that sort of boring stuff. And I still have to run a few errands this afternoon.”
“I understand,” I say. “I’m just really disappointed. How are you ever going to make it up to me?”
“I’ll cook you dinner tomorrow night, my place?” He rubs my back as he nuzzles against my neck.
“That sounds perfect.” I open the car door and lean back in for one more kiss. “I’ll bring dessert.”
“I never would have guessed you could cook. No offense.” I tip back my wine glass and drain the pinot noir before holding it out for a refill. He grabs the bottle off the countertop and obliges.
“Well, I’m single and I like to eat. That meant somewhere along the way I had to figure out the basics.” He’s being modest. I don’t know a lot about cooking, but I can tell he’s no novice from the way he effortlessly stuffs, rolls, and ties the beef tenderloin. My mouth is watering; I can’t wait to eat.
“I’m jealous,” I say. “I eat a lot of sandwiches and salads. I can microwave a frozen dinner in a pinch. But I haven’t used my pots or pans in a long time.”
“I’m not saying I don’t use the microwave.” He puts the tenderloin in the pan to sear it off and a loud sizzle fills the room. “There are a lot of nights I’m just too tired to do anything but reheat some leftovers. But I like to put my skills on display for special occasions.”
“Well, I appreciate all your skills. And I’m glad to hear I’m a special occasion.” I swirl my wine in the glass.
“How could you think you’re anything but?” He grabs a bunch of asparagus from the fridge and heads for the sink. “Besides, you can pretty much learn how to do anything these days just by watching videos online. YouTube is my friend.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t know what people did before the internet.”
He reaches for the stove and turns the browning beef.
I set down my wine glass. “Can I help with anything?
“Sure. You want to wash the asparagus and trim the ends? You can put it on the cookie sheet sitting next to the sink when you’re done.”
“That sounds like something I can handle.” I walk across the marble floor to his cavernous kitchen. His home looked like a castle when I first approached up the long, winding driveway. Inside, it was just as I had expected. Sparsely furnished with no clutter, everything as neat as a pin. I was tempted to open the cupboards to see if all the soup labels were facing the same direction. He must have been cringing the entire time he was at my place, with books and magazines strewn everywhere, along with dirty clothes.
“Is your place always this clean?” I snap the woody ends off the asparagus as I run each vibrant green stalk under the water. “I’ve seen model homes that look more lived in.”
“I’m a little anal when it comes to keeping things tidied up. Is it really that bad?” He pops the tenderloin in the oven and comes to help me with the veggies.
“Not at all. It’s refreshing to walk into a grown man’s home and find the bathroom in better shape than your average rest stop toilet. And I doubt I’ll find dirty underwear on your bedroom floor.”
“I’m going to go ahead and tell you that’s correct, since there’s no way I’m letting you into my bedroom tonight.”
“I can keep my hands to myself,” I tease as I palm his perfectly muscular ass cheek. He grasps my wrist and moves my hand away.
“The evidence proves otherwise, my dear.” He takes my sheet pan of asparagus and drizzles it with olive oil, sea salt, and pepper. He hands it to me. “Put that in the oven on the rack below the beef.”
I do as instructed, bending slowly and enticingly at the waist. I peek over my shoulder and discover, to my dismay, he hasn’t even noticed. He’s studying the recipe on his phone. I’m worried, until I see him fight back a grin. I reach back and give him a playful slap.
“You can’t resist me forever.”
“I don’t plan on it. Just for three more days.” The kitchen timer beeps, and he shoos me to the table while he puts the finishing touches on everything.
“Why do you hate mess so much? Is it from being in the service? Because I don’t remember the General ever having an aversion to clutter. I remember my mother complaining about everything he hoarded: military memorabilia, photos, back issues of magazines, model plane sets. The list goes on and on.”
He brings our plates to the table and slides mine in front of me. “It’s ironic you used the word ‘hoarded.’ My mother was never much of a housekeeper. She was a packrat, and we lived in this tiny apartment that was always jammed with stuff.”
I take my first bite and it’s delicious, but I like that he’s opening up to me, so I put my compliment on hold until he’s finished sharing.
“So . . . were things a little messy, or did you pretty much grow up in an episode of reality television?”
“It was pretty bad. I could never really have other kids over. I felt like I had to put on a show all the time so that people never knew anything was wrong. So that they would think we were normal. I always tried to be the best at everything, the most impressive and proper, to compensate.”
I rest my fork on my plate. “I’m glad you told me. That had to be really hard.”
“Everyone struggles with something, right? I’m sure your childhood wasn’t a fairy tale either.”
“It was hard losing my mom. But I’m not going to complain after what you went through.”
“Everyone’s pain is real to them, right? So tell me, what was growing up like for you?”
“I was a lonely only child, and we moved around a lot. You know how it is for military brats. Kids knew I would be gone within a year, so nobody wanted to waste time being my friend. I was quiet when I was young, believe it or not.”
He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at me, and I laugh.
“It’s true! This feisty woman before you is a product of her environment. Nobody wanted to befriend the girl with her nose buried in a book. But everyone loves the class clown. I just had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t and they all liked me just fine.” I reach for the serving spoon and pile more asparagus on my plate.
“Instead of waiting for them to invit
e you to the party, you became the party.”
“Exactly. I became so wild and fun, it was impossible to ignore me.”
“It seems we both made it out okay.” He raises his wine glass across the table. I extend my own toward him until a clear clink rings out.
“Minimal damage all around. A true cause for celebration.” I return my glass to the table and rest my fork and knife on my empty plate. “This was the most delicious meal I’ve had in ages. I hope the dessert I brought isn’t a letdown.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious. I’ll grab some plates.” He pushes back his chair and starts to stand, but I stop him.
“Actually, we need to go into the other room to enjoy this.” I sashay into the living room. I don’t have to look over my shoulder; I know he’s following.
“Well, I admire your determination. I’ll say that.”
“You’re going to be admiring a hell of a lot more than that in a few seconds,” she says as she shrugs out of her dress and kicks off her heels. Her tiny lace underthings don’t leave much to the imagination. She puts her hands on her hips and faces me in all her glory.
My temperature starts to rise, and my cock twitches in my pants.
“You’re hot as hell, Caroline, but it’s not going to work. We only have to wait three more days according to our deal. We’ve made it this long, we’ll make it until the end.”
“I didn’t say we had to have sex. I was thinking we could just roll around on the sofa, grind on each other, and talk about all the naughty things we’re going to do in 72 hours. I’ll leave my thong on and you can leave you boxers on.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Really? Because that bulge in your pants says otherwise.” She moves closer and puts her hand on my throbbing hard-on. “Things have been going so well between us, I just want to be wrapped in your arms.”
I’m tempted. God knows I am. I want her underneath me; I want to thrust into her tight pussy until we both get what we need.
“Or . . .” She says with a naughty little smile.
Body Image (Body Heat Series Book 2) Page 7