“You’d think.”
Why am I even talking to this guy about my life and hinting at my shitty family? I couldn’t tell you except to say that he makes me so comfortable I feel like we’ve been friends for years. Plus, I really like him. He’s hot, smart, and a man with a passion for downtrodden families and the elderly.
What I wouldn’t give to have met him before Brian got his hooks into me.
“Anyway, that is not at all important. You just single-handedly changed the lives of an entire neighborhood. I went to check out that community, and I have to tell you, I am more than impressed.”
His eyes go soft for a minute and he smiles.
“It was well worth the hassle of dealing with politicians and contractors, believe you me. And I cannot stand the dangers that woman have to face living in places rife with drugs and gangs. The city has a responsibility to keep people safe.”
Exactly! I’ve had this same argument with Brian and my parents for years because, yeah, I am one of those crazy people who labor under the notion that the police force should be as concerned about the poor as they are about who stole Mrs. So-and-so’s million-dollar diamonds.
“Wow. Okay. This is a first for me Mr. Marshall.”
“Chase, please,” he says, smiling at my grin.
“Chase. No one ever agrees with me about this kind sort of thing, so let me bask in my potato and glee for a minute here.”
He laughs at my exaggerated expression and pours me more wine, his own food going untouched as he keeps eyeing me intently.
“You believe in the Utopian ideals too?”
“I didn’t used to. I was the classic cheerleader, a brainless airhead who did what mom and dad said I should and drifted through life with a very secular view of the world.” I admit, cringing to remember that girl and her vacant life.
My parents are very upper-class types who wanted their children to fit the mold. My siblings had done just as I had, and played football and been on the cheerleading squad. I’d done it all and been so sure of my place as a popular jock’s girlfriend who didn’t have to make much effort but to look pretty and follow the status quo.
Shallow, and so blind to the needs of others, I’m ashamed to admit that I still feel guilty even now after I've changed my life.
“You don’t strike me as an airhead.”
I look up at his soft tone and smile ruefully, abandoning my food for the wine and the memories I haven’t explored in years.
“You’d be wrong. I totally was. I was such an idiot; I didn’t care about anything, including school till one of my teachers threatened to fail me. She gave me one chance to get my head outta my ass and actually work. I took it, not really thinking I’d put in much effort till I got to the debate team and found out what real work is about. God, I was so uninformed; I went home that very day and started cramming as much info as I could.” I laugh, remembering my feverish googling and the things I’d learned.
“So you picked yourself up.”
A statement, not a question, and boy do I wish I could live up to that amount of confidence. Unfortunately I can’t.
“Not exactly. After a night of reading and general learning, I gave up even trying really and just resigned myself to floating along for a while till the teachers stopped focusing on me. But a great thing happened a few days later. I met this great boy, I mean he was so smart and funny and he had this way of talking to me that didn’t make me feel like such a fool. I learned that I do want to be better and see people—really see them—and contribute to making the world a better place.”
One person at a time.
“One person at a time,” he says, finishing it before I can say another word.”
“Yeah! Exactly. So I buckled down and got to work. My parents and boyfriend flipped out—big time. I changed almost overnight from the bubbly idiot they liked so well to someone who cared about…everything.”
And they just kept going, pushing at me, yelling, sometimes even ordering me flat out to quit the team and the friendships I’d developed with those they considered unworthy. My new crew had been the dorky kids and the less privileged, though I never saw them as less because, in a lot of ways, they had more than I ever would.
Money is great, but it can’t make up for a mother who watched my diet and a father who bought me a car to try to get me to refocus on the squad and my old, backstabbing friends.
Brian had gone nuts and acted like a controlling dick till I very gently but firmly told him to get lost. And then the incident— I shiver, cutting off the thought and focus instead on the rest. I’d been hurt and afraid, needing some understanding.
And then my friend Alex had disappeared, and instead of staying strong and keeping my head down, I’d fallen apart and right back into Brian’s arms.
“What happened?” he finally asks, pulling me back to the present, and the sadness I always feel.
“Well.” I take a deep breath. “I, uh, my friend left, and I had a lot going on at that point. I managed to graduate, though just barely, and I made it to college. I decided to study something more than art history or literature, and chose social work instead. What a nightmare.”
We both laugh when I pull a dorky face and shudder.
“You made it though.”
“Yup.”
“You missed him? Your friend?” he asks, staring intently.
I nod and swallow a little, my face turning wistful.
“Every day.”
Chapter 5
Chase
I didn’t get everything I wanted out of that first dinner meeting, not by a long shot. What my irrational mind had been hoping for was that Remy would fall so madly in lust with me that she would throw herself at me and let me have my way with her.
All through dinner, I’d thought about sweeping the table clear and throwing her down, ripping her clothes off and finally seeing her body before I touched her delicate skin and tasted every last inch, one last place in particular.
I didn’t do that though, and not because I’d have felt guilty but because she would've and I couldn’t have that. So despite my desire—God help me, I’d been hard since opening the door and all the way through dinner as she licked, moaned and totally devoured her food—I’ve sworn to slowly seduce her so that by the time she signs on the dotted line, she’ll be as ravenous for me as I am for her.
As planned, I’d kept the conversation light for the rest of the evening, amusing her with stories about restoring my first house singlehandedly and shooting a nail through the webbing on one hand.
She’d laughed her ass off and then some when I talked about Gabe and his absolute brilliance at making deals but his hopelessness with a hammer. For such a brilliant man, the guy is definitely all thumbs.
And when it was time for her to go, her eyes looked as sad as I felt when the car rolled up. For some reason, I’d had the urge to spill it all as she stopped and turned at the car door, a rueful smile on her face.
“You know we never got around to discussing anything important tonight.”
I’d smiled and cocked my head, holding my tongue, and just stopping myself from telling her that I am Alex, her best friend and the man who’s wanted her for years.
“Oh, but I think your life is very important, Miss Harrow.” I’d drawled, enjoying the fact that she never corrected me. Loving that despite years of marriage she doesn’t think of herself as Mrs. Carson.
“Thank you. I had a wonderful time. You kind of rescued me from my worst nightmare tonight. You’ll call me to set up meetings so we can get started on those programs?”
And then she left, taking the joy and light with her as the car pulled away, taking her back to a man who doesn’t deserve her…and won’t have her for very long if I have my say.
The best part of last night had been that I got to look at her, the real her, and not some photograph for hours. Gone are the highlights that she’d once confessed her mother made her get. Now she was crowned with a caramel-colored swathe o
f thick tresses that look softer than satin or silk. And her eyes, my God, so dark aqua they look bottomless.
They were warm though, definitely warm as we’d discussed everything from my college years to her confession that college almost killed her socially and mentally.
So, yeah, I’m high on success right now and trying to figure the best way to maneuver Remy into getting that divorce I so desperately need her to get, when the phone rings and I get the best news on earth.
“Neil.”
“Hey boss. Thought you should know, I followed your girl all the way to her lawyer’s office this morning.”
“Why?”
“Well, seems she went ahead and filed those papers without his signature. She’s going for irreconcilable differences, which I don’t think will get the job done, so I went on ahead and anonymously dropped those photos of Carson and the cousin in the lawyer’s in-box. She went racing back about an hour later and came out with a glory of a smile on her face.” He finishes, chuckling darkly. “My guess is that woman ain’t gonna let her family stop her this time.”
The smile that lights my face is a toothy grin, and I lean back with a burst of joy that reaches clear to my toes.
“It’s about bloody time.”
“Yup. Told ya you shoulda sent her those pictures a long time ago boss. She’d already be divorced by now.”
“I was hoping she’d make that decision by herself.”
So I could avoid more guilt, which I honestly wouldn’t have felt, but still, it’s the principle…
“Well, she went and did that boss. Her lawyer filed a couple weeks ago apparently, but she went in to give him that last push to speed up the court dates. Looks like your girl’s been planning this for a while and whatever’s happened recently gave her that last nudge.”
Me. I want to yell that it was seeing me that pushed her, that she’s attracted to me and likes me and that for once I’m being chosen over the popular guy.
I restrain my fifth-grade impulses and end the call on a high note before dialing her number and starting my battle plan full scale. I’ll get a judge friend of mine to speed up that divorce, and fucking quick because I’m banking on having Remy Harrow in my bed and under me in no more than six weeks, tops.
And I get what I want.
Always.
***
Remy
“You may not do this, Remington. Think of the scandal!” my mother yells into the phone, her voice hard and shrill and so nasty I feel a momentary need to obey before I harden my resolve and keep moving my stuff from the master bedroom into a guest room.
I can’t afford to move out yet, so I’ll have to use the guestroom or hope that Brian gets the hint and gets packing. Somehow I doubt that will happen, but hell, a girl can hope.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but like I said, I will not stay in a marriage where my husband messes around on me constantly.”
I ignore her lecture and huff as I drop the last armload of clothes on the bed, wincing when I hoist them back up, hangers and all and attempt to get the whole enchilada into the closet in one go. It’s just as I hook the last hanger and release the load, my arms screaming, that she drops her last bomb.
“A woman stands by her husband through thick and thin, Remington. A few indiscretions must be tolerated. Why, I think it’s selfish to expect a virile man such as Brian to settle, especially when you haven’t made any effort with yourself whatsoever.”
That cuts deep, amazingly deep, and for a moment I’m shocked to realize that it hurts even more than the last time I’d needed her and she’d rejected me and blamed me instead of giving me the comfort a mother should lavish on her child.
For years I’ve wondered if she would ever live up to my expectations and be the mother I needed. It looks like that’s a big fat no now that she’s decided to take Brian’s side once again, despite the fact that my suspicions of his philandering are confirmed.
So I drop my next bomb, not caring one iota about her delicate sensibilities and really quite relishing the opportunity to upset her a little.
“While I would agree—cause, gosh darn, you’ve taught me so well, haven’t you?—Brian, my dear virile husband, has been fucking Helena for the last seven months, Mother, so please excuse me if I’m feeling a little put out by that fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really don’t have time for this since I have an hour to get to a dinner meeting.”
I slam the phone down on her shriek of outrage, a grin lining my face before it slips beneath the weight of other more pressing matters—the first being that I absolutely hate having to live here with Brian.
I told him about the divorce papers and the measures my lawyer has taken since he point-blank refuses to sign the papers, and I’d had to listen to two hours of his ranting, pleading, and then threats if I didn’t call it off.
Apparently he knows some people and my job could be in jeopardy. Bastard.
I can’t think about that though because I’m afraid that I may snap. Yeah, I don’t love Brian anymore, and he sure doesn’t love me, but come on! He’s doing my younger cousin and threatening my job! I’m afraid that elastic band will give and I’ll come to, standing over his very bloody corpse to see a hammer or equally deadly tool in my white-knuckled grasp.
And then there’s my other problem.
Chase Marshall.
Instead of being swamped with fear and sadness by my divorce, I’ve found myself thinking of him constantly. Those eyes, gosh golly, I don’t think I can ever forget the way his eyes held mine and promised something I can’t even describe.
And I’m not even going to allow myself to think of his lips because if I do I’m going to need to change underwear before I leave.
That’s the problem I’m having, because sure as hell it’s not saying anything good about me that I’m fantasizing about a man who is basically my boss at the moment, while waiting for my divorce to go through.
And now I have to sit through another dinner with him and attempt not to flirt, though I want to so bad I can almost taste those soft lips that I can’t stop thinking about.
Part of me revels in the thought that I can be attracted to a man so quickly after Brian—at all, really—if I consider what happened back in high school.
But as great as it feels to know that I have no residual fear left, I am not impressed by my lack of boundaries.
For instance, just two days ago I’d run out and used my meager funds to buy a new off-the-shoulder little black dress in case I should end up seeing him again—a dress I’m now wearing—and I know that has nothing to do with my wanting to look professional and everything to do with looking hot.
Why, I don’t know, since I will never have sex with another man while I’m still legally married to Brian, but there you have it. I’ve turned into a hussy and I so want to look good for Chase that I’m willing to ignore my inner voice.
With one last look in the hall mirror, I go to my car and start the hour long drive to the inner city, my nerves as ecstatically excited as they are jumpy.
I’m going to have to start building a few walls and insert some professionalism into these meetings of ours, or I am very afraid I’ll do something I’ll regret.
But, God, just once I wish I had it in me not to care.
Chapter 6
“So I think that setting up the park first will definitely be a better step than tabling it and constructing the Rec first. The little kids will have somewhere besides their own back yards to play together and I think it’ll be a positive step toward building community ties. The young people and their moms can get to know the retirees. Maybe we can promote a buddy program to provide company for the elderly.”
I’ve kept up a steady stream of purely work talk since I’d arrived at Chase—no, Mr. Marshall’s—house thirty minutes ago. He's prepared the same spread as the one we’d had that first night. Only this time the fire pit is blazing and we’ve been lounging against the cushions, sipping wine and talking.
I can’t
deny the effort it’s taking to keep from looking at him and delving deeper, getting to know the man, but—
“Is everything okay, Remy?” he cuts in, his body turning into mine as he frowns down at me, his multi-colored eyes holding mine captive.
God, I shouldn’t have come tonight; I should have rescheduled and insisted on meeting for lunch or at his office, anything to keep from being in this intimate setting and alone with a man I find completely irresistible.
Sure, fine, my lawyer had called today and told me that Judge Clark has fast tracked proceedings and that it’s a possibility that instead of waiting another few months, my divorce could be through in a matter of weeks. Next week to be exact, but that doesn’t give me the green light to start an affair with this man, even one that’s just in my head.
“Yeah, fine. I’m just eager to get things done,” I say, swallowing and shifting back an inch when I realize his knee is directly beside my own and that his heat is seeping into me at that point, doing things to me I can’t allow.
Not yet—if ever.
“Eager to get done or get done with me?” he asks, leaning closer, his eyes holding me firmly in place.
Now, see, how am I supposed to answer that? The thought of blowing my way through these projects and leaving him behind when everything is done leaves a physical ache that I can’t deny.
We’ve been at this for just over a month now, and every time I see him I fall a little deeper under the spell. He’s so…unexpected; I can’t think past wanting to see him again.
We talk on the phone at least once a day, sometimes not even getting to the issues at hand, sometimes debating the best way to do things and sometimes just shooting the breeze because we can.
That’s all that’s kept me going since I told Brian about our divorce and slowly started moving things around and packing others.
And then there are these dinners…
We’ve met for dinner only four times now, once for every week of this last month, and it’s driving me crazy wanting him to the point of madness, to the point that by the time I slide into my car to drive home I’m wet and needy.
DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) Page 33