by KB Winters
It wasn’t that I was some kind of rich bum who did nothing all day. I’d gone to college, tried my hand at a couple of start-up companies, tried getting into investing, but none of it was the right fit.
For the last two years, I’d been traveling globally and stashing away money in hopes of opening my own restaurant. I knew it was something my mother would never approve of, so I’d have to do it without her help.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, changing tactics. She wasn’t going to leave till she said her piece. It wasn’t her style. And I couldn’t have my own mother taken out by security.
Although…the thought did warm me slightly.
She harrumphed like I was pestering her. “It’s about your new special friend. JJ told me you were seeing her last night and I am not leaving until you tell me that you’re not going to pursue her anymore.”
“Why does it matter?” My last drops of patience spilled out in an effort to keep my voice calm.
“I’ve already explained the implications,” she sighed, as if I exhausted her or something.
“You said it yourself the other night. I have a reputation among your circle of high-society friends, so what does it matter I mean, really, this isn’t the fucking Titanic or something. She’s not second class or some crazy shit like that.”
“Remington, you will do well to watch your vulgar language and your tone.” She set her purse down on the kitchen counter and I had to bite my tongue. The last thing I wanted was her to settle in—and for her to set her purse down was the same gesture as unpacking a weekend suitcase. “Your, shall we call them, escapades, are well documented, that’s not even a question. You’ll remember at the dinner, I told you that you are too old for such games to continue any longer. Perhaps I’m to blame, for coddling you like I do.” She paused and flicked a piece of invisible dirt from her fingertips that had traced a line on the granite counter top.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I felt the need for a cotton swab to clean my ears. Had my mother really just accused herself of coddling me?
I was too stunned to speak. A rare problem.
“I’ve made some adjustments to the terms of your trust,” she continued.
Fuck.
There it was. The two-ton hammer. The reason she’d been edgy for weeks and explained her intensified level of snipping.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. “What hoops have you arranged for me this time, Mother? If I remember, last time you cut the trust, you required me to trade in my Ducati. You said it wasn’t civilized and that it made me look like a hoodlum.”
She pursued her lips. “It’s time you settled down. End of story.”
My heart ratcheted up another twenty beats per minute. My palms were coated in sweat. The idea of marriage, or even a serious relationship, was prone to make me break out in hives. Having it set as a condition—no, a barrier—between my seemingly endless trust fund and my bank account was nauseating.
“Let me get this straight. You’re blackmailing me into getting married?” I said, my voice pinched and tight.
“No, of course not. But, I am giving you a firm kick in that direction. That means no more hookers, strippers, call girls, trampy club girls, or preying on society girls for a cheap, one-night thrill ride.”
“I’ve never hired a prostitute,” I said, keeping the part to myself that I’d never needed to pay for a good fuck.
She dismissed my protest with a wave of her hand. “Regardless, you need to stop playing around. You need to select an appropriate match—if there are any left that won’t be turned off by your filthy reputation, that is—and enter into an adult relationship. What happens after that is up to you. But I trust you to make the right decision.”
My blood boiled. It wasn’t a simmer, with light bubbles rising lazily to the surface. It was a full-on boil, rumbling up from the pit of my stomach and spreading like molten lava to every fiber of my body.
“I want you to leave. Now.”
Madge’s eyes opened a fraction of a centimeter wider than normal, but she quickly shifted back to her passive, detached posture and retrieved her purse from the counter. She spun on her heel again and marched to the door to let herself out.
The fact that she had left so easily should have been a huge warning sign of problems to come, but I was so distracted with her terms and the entire fucking conversation that I didn’t care. I let out a groan of frustration as soon as the door was closed—only remembering that Livvie was still in the penthouse.
Shit.
When I went back into the kitchen, I saw Livvie, back turned to me as she teetered to get back into her sky-high heels. She was completely dressed and was acting like she had just been shot out of a cannon.
I cleared my throat and she whipped around so fast I feared she might permanently injure herself.
“Oh, shit. I mean—uh—good morning. I have to go,” she stuttered.
“I guess that answers that question,” I mumbled.
She arched an eyebrow at me, not understanding my reply.
“I was about to ask how much of that you had heard,” I explained.
She stopped wiggling as she firmly got her second shoe on. I followed the long line of her legs up over her gorgeous curves, and stopped when my eyes locked on her wide, sapphire eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking and I didn’t know if I should interrupt or announce myself, or just…” The words trailed off and she looked away from me while she toyed with a loose strand of hair.
“That was my mother.”
She nodded, but refused to make eye contact. When she did look back at me, her eyes were different somehow, almost clouded.
“Well, like I said, I’m sorry. I really do need to get going, though. Lots of work to do,” she said.
“On a Saturday?”
I didn’t know why I was stalling her. I should have been happy for her to leave. Then I could try to figure out the ridiculous rules in my mother’s ever-changing game.
Playing it back, I realized how pathetic I’d sounded. I hadn’t mentioned anything about my business plans or the money I’d stashed away in my personal savings, out of my mother’s reach. Livvie probably thought I was some kind of pussified mama’s boy who didn’t have a dime to his name without her.
Fuck. I raked my hands through my hair, trying to figure out where to start, what to say to explain in the most condensed way possible.
Livvie didn’t care, though. Or, at least, she wasn’t willing to wait for further explanation. She was sweeping in my direction and stopped only briefly to look up and give me a look of deep disappointment that hit me right in the balls.
She pitied me.
“Listen, about the business stuff. It sounds like you have a lot going on, so don’t worry about it—let’s just forget the whole thing. Thanks anyways, though,” she said. She popped up on her toes, and pressed a kiss to my cheek and then brushed past me.
“Shit! Livvie, wait!” I followed her. “I have the money, it’s not an issue. I still want to help you.” I placed my palm on the door over her shoulder, stopping her from leaving my penthouse.
She stilled, her hand frozen on the doorknob. “No, really, Remy. This is too complicated and I need simplicity right now. Okay?”
Her eyes were pleading with me, silently begging me to let her off the hook. To let her walk away. “Remy, please.”
I wasn’t a genius businessman—not yet anyways—but I knew when a deal had hit the point where things were beyond salvaging.
And we’d hit that moment about ten minutes ago.
It physically pained me, but I pried my hand off the door and let her leave. Only when she was gone did I release the tension and anger rolling through my body. “Fuck!” My hand flew through the air and landed on the wall, leaving a fist-sized dent in the drywall.
Chapter Nine — Livvie
“Where have you been all freaking weekend?” Tessa asked, am
bushing me as soon as I stepped through the door of our shared apartment.
I sighed. I’d been ignoring her frantic texts, calls and social media posts, choosing instead to spend the rest of the weekend at a hotel so I could get some peace and quiet. I told myself it was a business retreat, to strategize and plan now that I had three bands ready to sign up with me to promote.
This was going to be a helluva lot harder now that I’d run hard and fast away from the pile of money Remy had basically thrown at my feet.
That was, if he even had it.
I shook my head. Man, he really had me going. Fancy, rooftop dinner, town car and driver, ridiculous penthouse. How was I supposed to know it was all handed to him by his mommy?
I forced myself to trudge forward into the living room where Tessa was coiled up on the couch, like a snake ready to strike. She was glaring and throwing daggers at me that seared through from across the room. “Still ignoring me?” she asked with an arch to her brow.
“No, Tess, listen. I spent the weekend downtown so I could get some work done. I went to the club opening Friday—which, for the record, I invited you to—and three bands want me to work with them. So, I needed some time to come up with a plan.”
Tessa’s toxicity bumped down a notch, but her lips were still pursed and I knew talking her down would take some more work.
“I’m sorry. I should have called to let you know I wouldn’t be back until today,” I said, sinking into the plush chair across from her.
“You’ve been avoiding me ever since the fiasco at the charity dinner last weekend,” she said.
“Well, come on, you practically ripped my head off when I quote, unquote, got you kicked out on your butt.”
“You still expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with it?” she asked.
I didn’t want to have this argument again, but she was pushing my buttons. After I’d stormed out, one of the security people had approached Tessa—just as she was getting cozy with her new special friend—and asked her to leave the event. She had called me and screamed into my voicemail asking what I’d done, and did I know that I’d just cost her one of the city’s most desirable bachelors, blah, blah. I’d been so upset with Remy already that Tessa’s seemingly absurd accusations were the last thing I’d needed.
At the time, I was baffled by how she could have thought I had something to do with her getting kicked out, but now that I’d seen Remy’s crazy, manipulative monster of a mother at work, I was willing to admit there was a chance she’d requested that Tessa leave the event.
Not that it mattered. Tessa would find a new man to chase after within a few days, Remy was out of my life and I’d never have to see that vile woman ever again.
“I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know. The guy I was with, Remington Maddox…”
“Oh, my God! I knew he looked familiar. Holy crapballs! Liv, do you have any idea who he is?”
“I’m starting to understand,” I answered. I pressed my eyes closed—trying to stop the flood of memories that rushed in every time I heard his name. “If I had something to do with it, I’m sorry. That was never my intention.”
Tessa considered me for a moment, and then she released a breath and her smile returned. “It’s all right. Stephen called, actually. He’s taking me out next weekend!” She squealed and bounced up and down in her seat.
“Oh, wow, that’s great,” I said, trying—and failing—to add enthusiasm to my reply.
“Yeah. He felt really bad about what had happened and wanted to make it up to me.”
I nodded, halfway listening.
“I really think he could be the one. I mean, he checks all the boxes. Rich, comes from a good family, hasn’t been married, no kids, involved in causes I could easily be a part of, loves to travel, good bone structure, no family history of cancer—at least, not that I could gather…”
“Tessa, really? You asked him if anyone in his family had cancer? Over a cocktail?” I marveled at her.
She looked surprised by my question. Like it should be so obvious that would be an appropriate first meeting question. “Of course I didn’t just ask flat out, but I made a few pointed questions, comments, and I have a ninety-nine percent record on these things.”
I shook my head. I’d known her for what seemed like forever, and yet she could still shock the hell out of me. I secretly wanted to follow her on their first date, maybe hide behind a ficus or something, and see what else she could get out of him before the end of the date. She was like a human background check or something.
“Enough about all that, though. Tell me about Remington!”
“There really isn’t anything to say. He was interested, I wasn’t. End of story.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What? End of story? Hoooold on! No one says no to Remington Maddox! He’s like a legend or something. What on earth were you thinking?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe I was thinking that I’m not a cheap piece of ass, spending my days waiting for some billionaire playboy to scoop me up for a night or two of fun. Come on, Tessa. You know how those kinds of guys are. They just want to fuck you and—yeah, it will probably be the best fuck of your life, the kind that carries you through on a lonely night when your vibrator is broken and your hand alone just isn’t getting the job done, but really, what else can they do for you? He’s like a one-trick pony.”
Tessa looked impressed by my tirade, but I just felt shittier than before I’d walked in the door. I knew the words I was saying weren’t true even as they flew out of my mouth. Remy had proved to be much more than some fling. In the day and a half we’d spent together, he’d shared more than just his bed, and I somehow had the sense that I’d still only been shown the top layer.
But it wasn’t meant to be. I’d never get the chance to dig deeper and figure out what really made him passionate. Sure, he liked women and sex. That was easy, too obvious. There were other things there, other passions and dreams to see. Maybe that we could even share one day.
But, no. There would be no we.
I shook my head. “It was a fling, Tess, that’s all. It’s over now and that’s a good thing, because I now have clients who actually need me.”
She nodded but looked decidedly unconvinced. “All right. Well let me know if I can help.”
“Will do. Thanks, and again, sorry about this weekend.”
She waved me off and I left the living room to go barricade myself in my room.
***
My eyes were bleary from staring at my chicken-scratch scribbles and jumbled figures all over the teal pages of my favorite legal pad. It had been the only paper available when I’d checked myself into the hotel for the weekend after fleeing Remy’s apartment. I’d spent nearly six hours in the hotel lobby writing notes and trying to crunch the numbers. It was a hopeless mess and I’m sure there were more than a few raised eyebrows of other hotel guests as they walked by me, dressed in a rumpled outfit, bent over a table in the corner, frantically jabbing a paper with a pen, and mumbling to myself at the horror of it all.
Yeah. It had probably made quite the picture.
I shoved the papers aside and ran two hands through my hair.
After putting in another couple of hours, I’d circled back to the same conclusion that I’d reached Sunday morning.
I was fucked. Royally.
My only hope was that the banks might take me more seriously now that I officially had three groups willing to sign with me. However, if I were to show a bank manager the info—let alone pictures—of the bands that were now under my wing, I was pretty sure I’d get laughed out of the bank, onto the sidewalk with my tail between my legs.
None of the bands had done more than a few gigs here and there at local clubs. I couldn’t ask them for money, and without money in the bank to pay my bills, I couldn’t devote any time to them. Things were crazy enough with trying to balance my part-time office job and starting the business.
Remy’s self-indulgent smile floated behind my c
losed eyes and I popped them open again, trying to shake his memory away.
It was bad enough that he had invaded every one of my thoughts since I met him. He was the repeat guest star in all of my recent—and increasingly naughty—dreams. At first, I’d written it off to fantasy…but after actually having slept with him…I was both delighted and frustrated to find that the reality was so, so much better than the teases my relatively inexperienced mind had cooked up in dreamland.
I threw my pen down on the desk and stood up. I stretched and let my mind spin through the possibilities. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if there was a way I could work with Remy, and keep things professional. He had to have some money and definitely had the connections to get my dream off the ground. And although things had ended on a somewhat awkward note, I had a gut feeling that if I were to go to him, he’d make me some kind of deal in exchange for his help.
I shivered at the idea of what the deal would entail. The man was pure perfection—minus some crippling character flaws I was pretty certain were hiding just under the surface. Not to mention his mother…ugh. And yet…my entire body suddenly tingled with anticipation at just the faintest thoughts that were slipping out from the corners of my mind. Our night together had been incredible and somehow, I feared it was only a teeny taste of what the great Remington Maddox had to offer.
I just had to make up my mind and decide if I wanted to go back for seconds.
Livvie, jeez, focus. This is a business deal. Right?
It was an interesting crossroads. Like coming to a fork in the road and taking a moment to study the signs. One arrow had me heading back into the job hunt for a full-time gig to hold down my bills and keep debt collectors from nipping at my heels, never really knowing if there would ever be an end to the rat race. The other, into the arms of a gorgeous, well-connected, well-hung billionaire.
I nearly laughed at my mental picture. In that context, it seemed like a no-brainer. So then, why did it seem like one way would have me selling my soul to the devil himself before the deal was done?