Pretty Boy Problems

by Michele Grant

  Pretty girls in their early twenties, they shared Belle’s smile and skin tone, but both of them wore their hair long. They were dressed in similar sweatsuits. “Twins?”

  “No,” they said at the exact same time.

  “Apologies.”

  One walked over and gave me a hug. “I’m Loren.” She stepped back, placed her hands on her hips and took her time looking me up and down.

  “Loren. Really?” Belle murmured.

  The other sister was far more reserved and just nodded at me from where she stood. “Tina.”

  I nodded at them both.

  “This is my Aunt Nita, Uncle Lon, and we’ll get into all the cousins another time.” Belle waited for all the greetings to quiet down and then asked, “Dalton, tell me what happened with Daddy.”

  He shook his head. “Made no sense. He’d been having a great day. We were just sitting around talking when he slumped forward. Loren put an aspirin under his tongue and we called 911.”

  “How long has his heart been acting up?” Belle asked.

  “Far as we knew, never,” Loren said. “It’s only because of these medical prep classes I’m in that I recognized the signs.”

  “What medical prep classes?”

  “Did she ever tell you, she’s decided to go to medical school?” Davis asked.

  Belle put her hand on her hip. “No. And we talk every week.”

  Loren said, “We decided not to tell you yet.”

  Her mouth fell open and a deep frown appeared on that pretty face. “Wait a minute. What? You all decided not to tell me? Why? What’s going on?”

  Tina stepped forward. “Mirabella, you’ve taken care of all of us for long enough. You have a business that is taking off. A new venture that you’re excited about. It’s time.”

  “Time for what?” Belle looked genuinely confused.

  “For you, Sis,” Dalton said, coming over to put an arm around her. “Daddy told us where all the money for the schools and the house down payments and the cars and the little extras come from. It’s been you. You’ve helped us through all of the crises; with all our major decisions, you’ve been our rock. All these years, taking care of us since Mom passed. If we told you Loren was prepping for the MCAT, you would have started researching schools and put money aside for her tuition. We love you, Big Sis, but it’s time to cut the apron strings. Live your life and don’t worry about whether we’ll make it. We will. You saw to that. You done good by us, Belle. Now let us return the favor.”

  I could see from the play of emotions across her face that she had not been expecting this and wasn’t sure what to make of it. Before she could formulate any of those thoughts, the door opened and a short man in navy scrubs walked in.

  “Richards family?”

  Belle stepped forward. “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Eisenberg, the cardiologist assigned to Mr. Richards’ case. Dr. Jeffers, the cardiac surgeon, did a great job. Your father came through very well. They performed a triple bypass today.”

  I asked, “Why did you do a bypass instead of angioplasty?” Everyone in the room turned to look at me. I wasn’t about to admit that I used to date a woman who played a heart surgeon on a daytime soap opera. I recalled rehearsing a scene with her that talked about different ways to open blockages in coronary arteries. An angioplasty was a less rigorous procedure for a sixty-four-year-old man like Belle’s father.

  Dr. Eisenberg nodded. “Great question. There was too much blockage in the left main, so they opted for the bypasses. Looks like they got all the blockage and, barring any complications, the prognosis looks good.”

  The Richards family took a collective deep breath and sigh of relief. They were thanking the doctor when Belle asked, “So what’s next?”

  “He’s in recovery now. The breathing tube will come out this evening. If all goes well for the next twenty-four hours, he’ll be moved off the ICU floor tomorrow. Your father’s health is good overall, so unless there are setbacks, he’ll be back at home by week’s end.”

  “What’s the long-term care plan, Doctor?” I asked. Belle came and stood beside me.

  “Lifestyle change, medications, and follow-up office visits. He’ll be placed on an aspirin regimen and beta-blockers. He’ll need to cut back on the fatty, salty foods. He’ll need to exercise and keep an eye on his blood pressure. He’ll need to see me in four weeks.”

  “Will he need to be monitored in those four weeks?” Dalton asked.

  “No, he’ll need to stay away from anything strenuous; but once he’s released, he should be okay. Now, he will tire more easily while his circulation gets back to normal. He may have some pain from the incisions. But overall, we’re optimistic for a full recovery.” He handed his card to me. “Feel free to call me if you have any additional questions. Misty will let you know when he wakes up and is moved to the ICU. It will be a little while, if anyone wants to run home, grab a shower, or get something to eat.” With a nod and a few handshakes, he left.

  I handed the card to Belle. “Brunch, nap, shower—or stay here?”

  Belle said, “First things first: Beauregard, when did you date the heart specialist?”

  She knew me too well. “Oh chérie, you wound me. Maybe I read it in a magazine?”

  “Could’ve happened, but I like my theory better.” She crossed her arms and waited.

  “Fine. She wasn’t a doctor . . . but she played one on TV.”

  She chuckled. “I knew it. Well, for once, your shady history with women came in handy. Thank you for asking the extra questions.”

  “De rien. So what’s it to be?”

  “A shower and then some food and then back here. I guess I’ll stay with you, Dalton?”

  Dalton looked questioningly from me to Belle and back again. “Sure, Sis. If you want. But that full-size bed is gonna be a little short for Stretch, dontcha think?”

  “Stretch?” she said and then looked at me. “Oh. Uh-hmmm .”

  Clearly, she hadn’t given sleeping accommodations or arrangements a thought. I had. I always did. “I have a room at the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead, Belle. You do what you need to do, don’t worry about me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tina piped up. “Dela-Bella? You’re going to let this yummy caramel treat sleep alone at the Ritz-Carlton while you opt for Dalton’s lumpy-assed guest bed? What’s really going on?”

  Prudently, I stayed closemouthed. Belle could try and explain that we weren’t “there yet” in the relationship that she wasn’t calling a relationship, or she could come with me.

  “Not like you’re saving it for marriage,” Loren added with a twinkle in her eye.

  Belle gasped and threw up her hands. “Oh my God, y’all are so trifling and wrong! Beau, I’ll go with you.”

  “If you like,” I responded lightly, holding myself back from letting a smug smile stretch across my face.

  Dalton came over and leaned in to say under his breath, “You might want to at least try and dim the twinkle in your eye there, bruh.”

  “What can I say? Your sister’s an amazing woman.”

  “That she is. And you’ve been all right in the few hours that I’ve known you. Know this: you hurt her, and I’ll hunt your pretty ass down and make you regret it the rest of this life and the next. Tu comprends?”

  I understood. “Ça se comprend.” We shook hands and I turned to see Belle watching us with an irritated look on her face. My little control freak hated not knowing every single thing that was going on around her. “You ready?”

  Belle nodded. “I’ll be back in a few hours. My cell phone is on. Call me if anything changes. Does anyone need anything?”

  Davis walked over and gave her a hug. Then Dalton joined in, then Loren and Tina. They rocked together in a tight circle, and I was delighted for her. It was good to see that she had this strong base of family behind her.

  “Dad’s gonna be fine, Belle. We’re fine. We’ve all eaten. We’ve slept. We’re good. Go,” Davis said. They patted each other o
n the back and broke apart.

  Belle stepped back and beamed in a way I hadn’t seen before. It was dazzling, like everything in her world in that moment was where she wanted it to be. The sight of that smile shifted something in my chest. I knew in that instant I wanted to see that smile again. I wanted to be the one who put it there and kept it there. I what? All this emotion, family, lack of sleep, no food, deep thought shit had me tripping. Just keep it simple, Beau.

  I wanted Belle, I wanted a bed, and I wanted a burger. In whatever order they came to me. I held my hand out to her as she neared, clasping her hand in mine. Not sure when that became natural. We headed for the door with all eyes on us again.

  She called out over her shoulder, “We’ll be back!”

  13

  Yes, There Is That

  Belle—11:36 AM that morning

  I was so wiped out, I really couldn’t do more than raise a brow when Beau flashed his grin and gave his credit card to the front desk clerk and announced that one room would be fine. It wasn’t fine. But I was tired and hungry and in need of coffee, so I let it slide. I’d deal with him when we got upstairs.

  He requested two room keys and asked that two burgers be sent up. One well-done with cheddar and fries and the other cooked medium-well with Swiss cheese, bacon, avocado, and a side salad. He asked for a large pot of coffee and some bottled water.

  We strolled in silence to the elevator. We rode up eight floors and exited. Turning left we walked to the end of the corridor where he opened the door to the corner room. It was a suite. I dropped my purse and tote bag on the coffee table and walked into the bedroom. There were two queen beds. When I walked back in the living room, he stood there looking at me.

  “You think you know me so well, don’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?” He crossed his arms across his chest and fixed me a look. He was clearly wondering what my problem was now.

  “The burger order, the two beds, the pot of coffee?”

  “I’m observant, and I’m polite. Would you prefer that I wasn’t?”

  “I don’t know what I’d prefer right now. I’m going to take a shower.” I snatched up my suitcase and headed back toward the bedroom.

  “Fine.” He threw up his hands in surrender.

  “I know it’s fine. I wasn’t asking your permission, Beau!”

  He said nothing, just stood with his hands on his hips and watched me with those eyes that saw entirely too much. It irritated me. He irritated me today. But I didn’t say anything because I recognized that my mood was all over the place. Too much going on to process and I hadn’t even checked in with the offices yet.

  I felt off-kilter. Thrown off my routine and tossed about by circumstances beyond my control. Shutting the door behind me, I unzipped the bag and pulled out some dark wash skinny jeans, a flowered orange and pink peasant shirt, and a pair of silver and pink peep-toe flats. And then I got irritated all over again. Jeans, shirt, shoes that he had picked out for me. He was taking over every area of my life, and I didn’t like it.

  I stomped into the bathroom with the travel kit and hopped into the shower. The heated water hitting my skin calmed me down for a moment, and I stopped to just enjoy the feeling. One of the great things about cutting my hair so short was that I could just wash it, throw a little product in it, and wear it wavy, or I could slick it back or blow it straight all in less than fifteen minutes. I massaged some conditioner into my scalp and used some scrub on my face. I reached for the razor and then paused.

  What was I shaving my legs for? Oh Belle, stop overthinking every damn thing. The man is here trying to be helpful, and you’re being a total bitch. It was like I had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, and they were arguing heatedly.

  C’mon, he’s here for the sex.

  He’s had sex. Recently, remember? You’re the one going without. You think he flew you to Atlanta and met your family because he wants to get laid? Really?

  I guess not. Why’s he being so nice?

  Why don’t you quit being so mean and ask him?

  Maybe I will.

  Shave your legs already; you’re a designer, a former model. You can’t be running around looking like Chewbacca. And get out of the shower; we have stuff to do!

  We?

  Me, myself, and I. Let’s go!

  Am I really standing in the shower arguing with myself?

  You really are. Shake it off. We’re hungry and sleepy, too.

  I shaved quickly and rinsed everything off, laughing at myself. Climbing out of the shower, I decided that I was either more tired than I thought or losing it altogether. I smoothed rose-scented almond oil into my damp skin as a knock sounded at the door. It was déjà vu to the night we met in Katrina’s apartment.

  “What?” I snarled ungraciously.

  “Food’s here.”

  I decided to get one thing straight. “I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

  “I don’t recall asking.” He had the nerve to sound amused.

  I wrapped the towel around myself and swung the door open. “Are you deliberately being dumb or is this coy?” I threw his words from last (this!) morning back at him.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to sleep with you. You know I do. I’ve made that obvious from Day One. But I’m not without some principles, Belle. You’ve had less than two hours of sleep, your father is just out of heart surgery and—”

  “And you slept with someone else less than twelve hours ago . . .” I couldn’t resist tacking on that little unavoidable fact. Let’s not forget that.

  He tightened his lips and a hurt look passed across his face so quickly that if I hadn’t been paying attention, I would have missed it. He blinked twice. “Yes, well, there is that. Food’s ready when you are.” He turned sharply and went back into the living room.

  Ah damn. I hated when he showed flashes of vulnerability just when I was feeling snarky. With a sigh, I closed the door and started pulling on clothes. I put my watch on and glanced at the time. It was almost noon already. I still needed to check in with the office, eat, and grab a half-hour nap before going back to the hospital. Glancing into the full-length mirror, I could only shake my head. Damn if he hadn’t picked out a cute outfit, too.

  I strolled out to the living room to find him on the phone. “Have her e-mail it to Belle. I would go with the lighter thread color, but it’s her line. We’re going to grab a bite, and then she’ll call you right back. Okay, thanks.”

  I frowned. “What was that?”

  “Katrina called. The thread we picked for the contrast stitching on the French cuff doesn’t look right, according to the head seamstress.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He leaned his phone toward me and pulled up the picture. I took a look and understood the issue immediately. “Oh, I see. It kinda—”

  “—blends in too much,” he finished.

  I nodded. “Why didn’t you tell them to go ahead and make the change?”

  Both of his brows shot up. “And risk over-stepping? No, thank you. I’m Backseat Beau from now on.” He set the phone down and started salting his French fries.

  I plunked down in the chair next to him and took the top off the platter. The hamburger looked delicious. Perfect and made to my exact preferences. I reached for the ketchup and began putting the burger together.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out as I layered my bacon and avocado just so on top of the cheese.

  He paused with his burger in midair. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me,” I scolded.

  “I must not have.”

  So we weren’t going to do this the easy way. “I said I’m sorry.”

  He delved deeper. “For what exactly?”

  “I know I’m flashing hot and cold with you.” I cut my burger in half and reached for the salad dressing.

  He snorted. “More like frigid and lukewarm.”

  “Whatever. The truth is—”

  “Do tell.�
��

  “So this is snark?”

  “Apologies. Pray, continue.”

  “The truth is that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Not just today but with the company and everything. You’ve been nothing short of amazing. But, Beau—”

  He gave a wry smile. “There’s always a but, Beau.”

  “But, Beau, you and I would be a mess, relationshipwise.”

  “You think?” He took a large bite of his burger.

  “I know, sugar. You’re too spoiled, too smooth, too sexy, and too used to getting your own way.” It was a rough combination.

  “And you’re smart and smoking-hot but totally anal and way too used to being in charge of everything and everybody around you.”

  I speared some of the mixed green salad on my fork and lifted it toward my mouth. “So why even bother?”

  Beau set down the burger and looked at me, willing me to meet his eyes. He’d never looked at me like that before. His eyes were the color of antiqued bronze and they were locked on mine. There was no teasing, no humor, no professional distance; it was just unvarnished interest layered with heat and hunger. I shivered under the intensity of that gaze. That searing glance was like a tactile caress. I felt it all the way to my soul. It took my breath away.

  When Beau broke the charged silence, his voice was low, smoky, and urgent. “I haven’t really even touched you yet, and you already know how it would be between us. It’s not just sex. We have quelque chose between us. A certain something. A connection. You don’t want to define it—that’s fine, but let’s stop acting like it isn’t there, okay?”

  I swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

  “You want to ignore it? You want to be business associates?”

  I appreciated that he gave me the out. But I had to be honest with him and myself. “Even I don’t think that’s truly possible.”

  He picked up his burger and went back to eating as if he hadn’t just incinerated my nerve endings.

  I picked mine up. “Let’s just see where it goes.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he acquiesced.

  “Still not sleeping with you tonight,” I felt compelled to add.