Chasing Vivi

by A. M. Hargrove

  His unyielding stare is back. “What makes you think my years there were warm and fuzzy?”

  “Are you kidding me? You were the guy every girl wanted. Why wouldn’t they have been?”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So just because all the girls wanted me means I was happy?”

  “Well, you always looked happy.”

  His eyes narrow. “You never looked unhappy. And just so you know, I never saw those girls bully you. I wasn’t just ignoring it. I was unaware of it. If I had seen it, I would’ve done something about it.”

  Is he fucking kidding me?

  The whole school knew about it. Even the administration was aware of it, only they never did anything because of how much money those girls’ parents funneled into Crestview. My locker had shit covering it every day and on more than one occasion I saw the principal silently watch those girls do their elephant imitation of me.

  “I’m not going to get into a debate over this, but you must’ve been blind not to have seen their elephant imitation of me. And don’t tell me you don’t remember how fat I was.”

  “Come on, Vivi. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

  “Admit it, Prescott. If it hadn’t been for you needing my brain, you would’ve never spoken a word to me.”

  His eyes shift, as does his body. Ah, so I’ve made the big guy uncomfortable. Good. I’ve lived most of my life in a state of discomfort. Do I feel badly about it? A little. It’s not in my nature to be this way, but dammit, he’s pushing me.

  “I’m sorry. High school guys are idiots. And I fell into that category.”

  “Fell or fall?” I ask pointedly.

  I hear him blow out a heavy breath. Maybe I’ve hit a nerve. Who knows? I don’t even know why I care. It’s not like anything’s going to come of this. He’s not the kind of guy I want to get involved with. My heart could never handle a guy like Prescott Beckham. He’d take what he wants and casually discard me like a used up piece of trash. And I don’t play that game when it comes to my heart.

  “You seem to have an extremely low opinion of me.”

  I ponder his statement, but don’t speak.

  “What did I ever do to you, besides pay you, and rather nicely I might add, to do my homework? I wasn’t mean. I never joined in on the bullying, which, for the second time, I was not aware was happening. Now I’m honestly trying to help you, but you keep slapping me in the face.”

  Assessing the situation, I notice I’m still sitting here with my hands folded in my lap like a prim little miss. I unfold them and lean forward. “Let’s be honest here. You’re not helping me for altruistic reasons. There’s something you want from me and we both know what it is.”

  He slowly runs his tongue over his bottom lip. On any other man, it would look creepy. On Prescott, it looks downright delicious. And he fucking knows it. I clench my thighs together, because damn if it doesn’t get me wet.

  “Is there anything wrong with that, Vivi?” His hooded expression, coupled with his sinful lips, has me rethinking my stance for a moment. I straighten my spine.

  “Not if we’re both in, but I’m not in, Prescott.” Even if I’d like to be, just to ease the itch between my thighs. Like I’m going to mention that to him, though.

  Thankfully, the waiter shows up then with a tray covered in so many dishes I almost laugh out loud.

  “This is going to be a challenge,” I say, in reference to the food.

  “I’m up to any challenge you throw at me. And just so you know, I’m a tough competitor.” By the smirk on his face, he’s definitely not talking about the massive quantity of food that sits in front of us.

  Why does he have to exude such potent sexuality? And why does he have to be the best looking guy I’ve ever known?

  “Good to know. But I doubt I can eat as much as you can.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think with a little practice you could learn to take in quite a bit.”

  The fork in my hand clatters onto the table. Damn his innuendo. I swallow nervously, involuntarily picturing what he suggested. How would it feel to have him sliding in and out of me?

  I look up at him. His triumphant grin displays his arrogance, but leaves me floundering for a response. When nothing clever comes to mind, I snatch up my fork and dig in. His raspy chuckle sets my nerves on edge and raises goosebumps over my flesh, turning my nipples into rocks.

  “What’s the matter, Vivi? Do you have doubts about what I say? Because we can put it to the test if you’d like.”

  I glance up again, which is something I don’t want to do, and say, “No, I don’t want to put it to the test.”

  “Are you afraid you’ll like it?”

  “Do you ever take no for an answer?” Exasperation laces my tone.

  “I don’t get no for an answer very often. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever been turned down.”

  “Yes, you have. From me. Just now. Now stop pestering me about it.”

  He chuckles, low and deep. God help me. My traitorous nipples are about to pierce holes in my bra. It’s uncomfortable sitting here.

  Then he dips his head and in a quieter voice, he says, “Vivi, how would you like it if I ate out your pussy? Licked and sucked your clit till you screamed?”

  I gasp. Oh, God.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Prescott,” I practically pant out. My body is humming and I’m sweating. I want to fan myself, but that will only prove to him what he already knows. And no fucking way to that.

  “Truth or dare,” he says.

  “Not this again.”

  “Why not? I thought it was kind of fun the last time we played.”

  “I’m trying to eat the exorbitant amount of food you ordered, which you don’t seem to have the slightest interest in.”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “What can I say? I came here for the company. Back to our little game. Truth or dare?”

  Deciding to be brave for a change, I say, “Dare.”

  His eyes widen and he gets a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Fuck me upside down. I take that back. Fuck me in circles. I’m so screwed.

  “I dare you to spend one night with me.”

  “Not gonna happen. Not ever.”

  “That’s not how the game is played,” he says as he sits there wearing a smug expression.

  My fork swings through the space between us. “I have the option of not taking the dare.”

  “No, you had the option of choosing truth over dare. You chose dare and you know what my dare is.”

  “I can’t possibly spend the night with you.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Vivi, because I won’t allow you to return to that slum you call a home.”

  The set of his jaw and the tiny muscle twitching on his cheek tells me I’m at the business end of this declaration.

  Leaning back, I make my own announcement. “You don’t own me and have no right to decide that.”

  “I’m making it my right,” he says, his tone clipped. “Until you understand that I won’t let you put yourself at risk for nothing more than pride—and don’t try to fool yourself into believing that place is safe—you won’t be going back there.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. He thinks he can order me around like one of his employees. Well, he can’t.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “I can and will, even if I have to carry you out of here kicking and screaming.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  The stony glare clues me in to his answer. He absolutely will. This is a man who always gets what he wants. Then a weird thing happens. His eyes soften around the edges and the hard set of his mouth eases.

  “Let me help you. Please.” This time it’s more of a plea than a demand.

  “I … I can’t.”

  The meal is forgotten and all I know is I need to get the hell away from this man. He does things to me, things I don’t even want to contemplate. I have too much crap on my plate to add Prescott
Beckham to the heap.

  “I have to go.”

  “No, Vivi, don’t—”

  Before he has a chance to say anything more, I leap to my feet and shoot for the door.

  Chapter 10

  Prescott

  Vivi is every bit as stubborn as me, but there’s one thing she hasn’t considered. I have more connections than she does. I grab my phone and hit a number. “She’s out the door.” That’s all I have to say. My driver will intercept her.

  The waiter stops by and I ask him to box up our dinner. He brings it to me along with the check. I leave him a sizable tip for his trouble.

  When I get outside, the car—and Vivi—are waiting. She’s acting like a pouty ten-year-old. I can’t blame her. I’d be pissed off, too.

  “Take me home,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “We’re going home.”

  “My home, not yours.”

  “Answer me something. Be truthful, please. Do you like living there?”

  “No!”

  “All I needed to hear.”

  We drive the rest of the way in silence. When we arrive at my place, she stubbornly refuses to get out of the car.

  “You can either get out on your own, or I’ll carry you. You choose. But dammit, Vivi, I’m not playing games.”

  With a growl, she gets out and stomps toward the door. I want to laugh at her because she has no idea where she’s going. I grab the large bag filled with our food boxes and follow her. The doormen wave at me and call me by name. I briefly introduce them to Vivi, explaining to them she is to be allowed up whenever she wants. Her angry expression makes me want to laugh, but I don’t.

  Then I usher her toward the elevator and up to the top floor. The building only has eight stories, and I have the entire eighth one and the level above it. It’s really too much for me, but it was a great buy when they were redoing it, so I grabbed it.

  When the doors open, we walk out into a small foyer, and I unlock my door with an electronic keypad.

  “I can create a code for you, if you’d like.”

  “Don’t bother. I won’t be coming back,” she says sourly.

  “We’ll see.”

  When we enter, I can hear her intake of breath. She doesn’t speak, but her expression tells me more than words. Her eyes widen into circles and lines form on her forehead. She’s impressed.

  “Walk around. Check it out. The stairway leads to all the guest rooms, of which you’re more than welcome to stake your claim. My room is on the main level. You can check that out, too.”

  I head to the kitchen to put away the food. “I’m not sure if you ate enough. I can keep this out if you want,” I call out.

  “That’s okay.” She walks around slowly until I lose sight of her. I let her explore where she wants. If she feels comfortable here, maybe she’ll want to stay. Grabbing a bottle of merlot, I uncork it to allow it to breathe. Then I wait.

  A few minutes pass and she returns. “You live here alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  She eyes me skeptically. “Why do you have such a large place?”

  “I found it during the pre-construction phase and it was a great deal.”

  “I’m pretty sure your idea of a great deal and mine are radically different.”

  I won’t gratify her with an answer.

  “Besides fucking me, what is it you really want, Prescott?”

  “I want to help you. I don’t want you living in that slum. It’s highly unsafe.” Vivi’s not stupid, though. She’ll see through any excuse I offer. So I decide to be straightforward. “And I do want to fuck you.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “I don’t think it was a difficult question. Why do you want to fuck me when you can have any woman in Manhattan? Let’s be honest. I don’t have a penny to my name, which doesn’t exactly put me on your level. So why me?”

  Isn’t that the same thing I’ve been asking myself lately?

  “You intrigue me.”

  “So you want to fuck every woman who intrigues you?”

  “No. I only want to fuck you.”

  She steps into my space, which actually shocks me. “Guess what? You’re not going to get the chance.” Then she walks over to one of the sofas and sits down, crossing her legs and arms. That tells me something. She’s not game for letting me in.

  “Would you care for some wine?”

  “No, thanks. I have to work tomorrow, and I need to get going.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “This is the way I see it. Either you let me go tonight, or I leave tomorrow when I go to work. One way or another, I’m gone. You don’t own me, Prescott. I realize you have money, and from the looks of this place, you must have a lot. But you can’t kidnap me and keep me prisoner.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Her eyes dart about the room as her face pales. I didn’t mean to frighten her. I wouldn’t force her into anything, even the silly dare I proposed.

  “No, Vivi, don’t be afraid. I was only joking.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She stands and heads to the door. “I’m leaving now and don’t try to stop me, because I’ll scream.”

  “Look, I swear to you I’d never keep you here against your will. I just hate to see you go back to that awful apartment. Let me put you up in a hotel if you’re not comfortable staying here.”

  “I can’t accept that from you. My debt is—”

  “I don’t give a goddamn shit about your debt!” I yell. “It’s your safety I care about. If you go back there and something happens, I’ll feel responsible. Just one night, that’s all, until we can make other arrangements. I promise not to do anything inappropriate.”

  “This is awkward,” she says.

  “Only because you’re making it that way.”

  “I don’t want your charity.”

  I’m about to strangle her. “It’s not charity. It’s one fucking night, Vivi. We’ll find you an alternative place to live. I own rental property. It won’t be charity, because I’ll charge you rent. I’ll fucking charge you what your current rent is. Then when you get a job, I’ll raise it. Does that satisfy you?”

  Her lips purse as she thinks. This is a damn good offer and I’m not sure how she can refuse it. She’d be crazy to.

  Then I add, “Why don’t we do this. Let me check you into a hotel and that way you can sleep on it.”

  “Yeah. Okay. No pressure, though?”

  “No pressure.” At least not until she’s moved in and things have settled down a bit. Then I’ll try again. Maybe she’ll be softened up toward me by then.

  Then I stop and think. Since when did I become Mr. Considerate?

  Chapter 11

  Vivi

  Prescott takes me to The James. It’s not very far from his place. I’ve never stayed in such a luxurious hotel. He books me a room for three nights. When I try to object, he says it may take me that long to make a decision.

  “Vivi, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I don’t have any clothes.”

  “Give me the key to your apartment. I’ll send my driver over and he can pack a bag for you.”

  “No, that’s too much.”

  “Vivi.” He uses that warning tone of his. Then somehow, I’m rummaging through my bag and handing him the key.

  He smiles then and suddenly I’m grateful for what he’s doing. I have that check for the bracelet tucked inside my bag and it’s a relief to know I don’t have to go back to that horrid place tonight.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And order room service or whatever you want. Charge it to the room. Money is no object, Vivi.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. When you dig through the bottom of your handbag, searching for loose change so you can buy a meal, it goes against the grain to live like this.

  He must read my mind because he says, “I can’t begin to understand what it’s like to be poor.
I won’t pretend either. But I’ve never thought less of people who didn’t have money, if that’s what’s running through your mind.”

  “No. That’s not it at all. I was just thinking how … oh, forget it. Promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever take having all that money for granted.”

  He gives me a quick smile in response and leaves.

  The desk clerk asks if I’d like assistance in checking into my room. Since I have no luggage, I decline and take hesitant steps toward the elevator, observing the clean lines of the decor on the way. It’s modern but inviting.

  Although no one gives me a second glance, I still feel uncomfortable in my casual clothes here. I know it’s my imagination, because there are other people hanging out in jeans and not dressed up at all.

  I walk into the elevator and then notice my room is one of only two rooms on the top floor, or a penthouse. He’s booked me the best in the house. When I enter, I can’t keep the smile off my face. I’ve never stayed in anything so grand. There are magnificent views of Manhattan from both the bedroom and living room. The bathroom is amazing, with every amenity imaginable. The shower is decadent, having two rainfall showerheads and two handhelds. There’s also a gigantic bathtub on top of that. I’m in heaven and never want to leave.

  There are robes in the bathroom and I contemplate taking a shower, but decide against it in case the man shows up with my clothes. I may as well enjoy this place, though, so I flop out on the couch and turn the TV on. I’m just getting into an episode of one of my favorite shows when there’s a knock on the door. I open it to find Prescott standing there.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  He’s carrying a duffle bag from my closet. “Here.” He hands it to me.

  “Thanks. That was fast.”

  “Mason doesn’t waste time.”

  “Mason?”

  “He’s my driver.”

  I peek inside the bag to see an array of things. Not that I own much but this will get me by for the next couple of days.