Chasing Vivi

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Prescott, did you treat her badly when you were in school?”

  “Not that I recall. I sort of liked her, as friends, you know?”

  And that’s the truth. Vivi was shy, kept to herself, but there was something about her that appealed to me, other than the homework deal we had. She was kind. Maybe that was it. She always listened to what I had to say, even if it was stupid bullshit.

  “And?”

  “I ran into her, oh, I don’t know, a while ago. She’s fallen on hard times lately. It’s a long story.”

  Grand pats my leg. “Do you see me running off anywhere?”

  I can see by the look Grand gives me, she is in for the long haul, so I tell her what I know about Vivi and how her mom passed.

  “Oh, dear, how tragic. How isolated she must’ve felt afterward. You should invite her out here sometime.”

  “I’d love to if she’d give me the time of day.”

  “You haven’t charmed her with that handsome smile of yours?”

  “I’ve tried everything, even sent her gifts.”

  She scrutinizes me and asks suspiciously, “What types of gifts?”

  “A winter coat for one. She moved here from Virginia and didn’t have a decent one. I also tried to get her to move into one of my rentals. You should see where she was living. There were prostitutes and drug dealers hanging out everywhere.”

  “Scotty, you were trying to buy her, like a mistress,” she accuses.

  “No, Grand, I was just—”

  “Let me finish. She’s an independent woman who’s used to caring for herself. You show up and want to take over her life. You have a very strong personality. I can only imagine what you said to her.” She sits there shaking her head.

  How does she know all this?

  “I was only trying to help.” I sound like a petulant child.

  “Sweetheart, you don’t have to explain that to me. I’m only showing you how it must’ve looked from her point of view. Women see things differently from men. You roar into her life like a March wind and in your mind, send her lavish gifts. She would have probably liked it better had you sent her a Starbucks Gift Certificate.”

  Chuckling, I say, “Um, probably not. She worked at a competing coffee shop.”

  “Hush. You get my meaning. You can’t give women extravagant gifts, especially someone like her. Start small. Send dinner to her home. Or maybe even something smaller such as a box of chocolates. Women do love their chocolate.”

  “But that’s so mundane.”

  Grand scowls. “You’re missing the point. This woman needs a few raindrops and you’re deluging her with a flood. And for the love of God, Scotty, don’t offer to set her up in an apartment. That only tells her you’re interested in one thing. Women know men only think with that appendage in their pants at first. Set yourself apart from the rest, if you truly want to impress her, that is.”

  And that’s the real question, isn’t it? Do I want to impress Vivi, or do I want her only for her pussy? With the way things are going, she’s not giving that up very easily, so it looks like I have my work cut out for me. And the more she holds out, the more I want it.

  Throughout dinner, I think of ways to win her back, using my grandmother’s approach. Delivering dinner, sending chocolates and flowers, all those simple things that seem so boring to me, but maybe to her they don’t.

  I’ll know soon because starting Monday, I’m going to find out where she lives. That’s step number one. After she moved out of that shithole in Brooklyn, I pulled my security team off of her since she’d be safe living with Eric. Once I locate her again, I’ll move on to getting to know her roommate. If he’s a loser, I’ll do my best to like the guy, even if I have to suck it up every day. I have an edge, which is getting Eric’s foot in the door of his interior design career. We have an entire decorating division at Whitworth. I could bring him in for interviews, but only if he agrees to help me win Vivi over. If he does, and is hired, he could gain invaluable experience with us and later move on to open up his own business. This could help him launch a very successful company and he’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

  The larger piece of this, I realize, is I’d be a bigger fool to let Vivi slip through my fingers.

  Chapter 15

  Vivi

  A few weeks later, and I’m in full bartending motion at The Meeting Place. It’s actually a blast mixing drinks and my chaotic brain is pretty damn good at it. Even Lucas is impressed with my mad skills. After the third day of training, he’d asked me for the hundredth time if I hadn’t bartended before.

  “Never,” I told him.

  “Not even at weddings or for a catering company?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re damn good at this.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” I joked.

  Lucas and I make a pretty good team behind the bar. So good that Lucas has me to work on Saturday nights, the busiest of the week. The first time he asked I was shocked. I double-checked with him to make sure I heard right and he only laughed.

  When I got home that night and told Eric, he was excited. “I smell money for you. You should pull in some big tips. Guys love girl bartenders.”

  “I hope.”

  “You’ll see.”

  I discover Eric was right. I make a shit-ton of money at this. Well, a shit-ton compared to just waiting tables. Lucas and I split the take because we cross over so much and that’s the fairest way to do it. As we’re cleaning up one Saturday, and doing the tally, Lucas says he’d like me in there every weekend just for the money.

  “Yeah, it’s a lot, right?”

  “More than usual, for sure. Hey, why don’t you call it a night? You worked your ass off, Vivi. Thanks.”

  “Oh, it was fun, actually.” And it was. I enjoyed being around all the people who were having a great time. “Enjoy your Sunday,” I say on my way to the door.

  “Hey! Don’t walk home alone. One of the guys can take you. Someone should be heading out in a minute or two.”

  “I’m only a few blocks from here. It’s fine.”

  “You sure? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “It’s SoHo. This is a safe area.”

  “Yeah, but you never know.”

  “I’ll run. Promise.” I leave before he can stop me. The streets are empty save for a car or taxi here or there, but I make it home without incident. Eric is in bed, so I creep around like a burglar. Then my phone beeps. It’s probably Lucas, checking on me. But when I see the text, I nearly drop my phone.

  You shouldn’t be out walking alone at this hour. It’s dangerous.

  It’s from Prescott. Is he still stalking me after I’ve made it perfectly clear I want nothing to do with him? And how does he know where I live? I never told him.

  Oh, right. He’s the mighty Prescott Beckham with all kinds of information at his disposal. He probably hired a private investigator and had me followed. Well, that’s just too bad. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of answering his text.

  Unfortunately, the doucheface has now planted his mug into my mind and by the time I crawl into bed, he’s all I can see. I want to punch the shit out of my pillows because of him. Why does he have to be so damn sexy and why did he have to tell me there’s more to him than I’m aware? Why do I believe him now about his daddy issues?

  I was better off thinking he was an ass for the sake of being an ass. Now that I think he has some sort of a troubled past, I have this ridiculous urge to fix him, which is the stupidest thing ever. I’m the one who needs fixing, not him. I’m the one who’s at bankruptcy’s door. All he has to do is snap his fingers and everyone, including their mothers, come running. Even Eric mentioned him the other day. I almost choked on my chicken noodle soup. He thinks I should reconsider seeing him.

  Everyone that touches or gets close to Prescott Beckham must go slap-ass-crazy as fuck. He was rude as hell to Eric and now Eric feels sorry for the man.

  “He might
need your help, Viv. Maybe something went wrong in his past. People don’t act like that without a good reason.”

  “What are you? Dear Abby or whatever the hell her name is?”

  “Oh, come on. When you told me your story I nearly cried. You don’t open up to every single person you meet. Maybe he’s the same. Do you know what his home life was like? Maybe he was abused. It happens all the time.”

  Oh, God. I hadn’t thought of that. “Shit, Eric. Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No. I’m just saying. Think about it.”

  “Not until he learns some manners.”

  And that was the end of that conversation.

  But the truth is I can’t stop thinking about him. And why? There are a gazillion sexy guys out there. Take Lucas for example, but I don’t think about him. Groaning, I roll over for the tenth time and slam my fists on the bed. Why am I such a sucker? You know why, Vivi. You’ve always had a mad crush on the man. Why did he have to be such an ass just because I moved in with Eric? Why can’t I just move on and forget him? You know the answer to that, too. Because he wants you.

  When my room gets a little less dark and a lot more gray, I drag my tired-as-hell body out of bed. What’s the use in lying here when sleep is as evasive as my chance at winning the lottery? I sneak into the tiny kitchen and put a pot of coffee on to brew. While I wait, I stare out our window that overlooks East Third. Ironically, Prescott only lives a couple of blocks away. I’m sure he’s found out I work at The Meeting Place already.

  After I grab a mug of coffee, I open my laptop and, for the third time, start searching for everything I can find on Prescott Beckham. There’s a ton of information about Whitworth Enterprises, his grandparents, cousin, and father, but again, nothing comes up on his mother. This is so weird. Not even a first name pops up, though obviously her maiden name would have been Whitworth. I could pay to have her searched for, but I can’t afford to spend the money and am I really that nosy?

  The sun is glaring. I’m still staring at my laptop, which has long since gone to sleep, when Eric pads into the room. “How long have you been up?”

  “Since dawn.”

  “Why?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. You know who texted me when I got home last night? Told me I shouldn’t walk home alone that late.”

  “He’s right, you know.”

  “Not you, too? I didn’t want to bother anyone or wait for them to finish up. And really? It’s not but a few blocks.”

  Eric shrugs. “All I’m saying is he was worried, maybe. And he was right. Don’t get angry with me.”

  Then my eyes zero on him and I smirk. “So, what did you end up doing last night?”

  “I went out to a club. Why?”

  “Looks like someone had a good time.”

  “What … why do you say that?”

  “You need to look in the mirror and maybe put a shirt on.” Then I spit out a hearty laugh. Eric is covered in purple love bites, from his neck to the waistband of his pajamas. “Someone must’ve been trashed last night.”

  He looks down and actually turns bright pink. “Oh, God. This is awful. You must think I’m—”

  “A guy who had a great time last night. No need to be embarrassed about that. Was he cute?”

  “Shut up, bitch,” he says over his shoulder. He returns wearing a shirt, along with a sheepish grin. “Yes, he was. Very.”

  I clap my hands and ask, “Oooh, are you going to see him again?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to dinner tonight.”

  “That’s awesome.” We fist bump.

  “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you and Mr. Fancy Pants.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m making breakfast. Want some?”

  “As long as you make pancakes.”

  I whip up a huge batch, because even though Eric is tall and lean, he’s a bottomless pit.

  He cleans his plate, mopping up the last bit of syrup and asks, “What’re you up to today?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s go for a run after the pancakes settle.”

  “Sounds good.” I watch him clean up and think about what a hot catch he’ll be for whomever gets him. Dark hair with dark eyes to match, Eric is as kind as he’s good-looking.

  “What are you staring at?” he asks, catching me.

  “You. Too bad you bat for the other team.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re crushing on me.”

  Snorting, I say, “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just thinking you’re one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever met, and you’re pretty damn fine, too.”

  “Well, I’ll take the compliment. Just so you know, the feeling is mutual.”

  “It’s great to have a true friend here. I’m glad we met, Eric.”

  “Aw. Come give old Eric a hug.”

  As we’re hugging I ask him when he got so old.

  “I was born old, darling.”

  And I suppose that’s true about some. Eric seems to be an old soul. He sees inside of people and doesn’t judge, which is what I love about him. As we’re hugging, my phone buzzes with a text.

  “Hmm, who could that be?” I ask.

  “Won’t know until you check your phone.”

  I look and see it’s Vince. I tell Eric how I know Vince, and that he wants to meet for lunch today.

  “You should go. You haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Yeah, and he lives so close.”

  I text him back and we make plans. Later that morning, Eric and I go for our run, and I swear I see Prescott.

  “Hey, is that Prescott over there?”

  “Where?”

  “On the other side of the street.”

  “I don’t see him,” Eric says.

  “I must be getting paranoid.” Maybe I’m the one who needs help if I’m seeing things.

  “Eh, it was probably someone who looked like him.”

  Except Prescott is unmistakable. Tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome, he’s a standout in any crowd. That’s why women fall at his feet, no questions asked. His eyes are unforgettable. Once you stare into them, there’s never going back. Deep golden, they’re compelling, nearly hypnotic, and one of a kind. And his mouth … I have to get my mind off him or I could trip and break an ankle.

  Eric is a few feet ahead of me and we turn the corner when I crash into a solid object and bounce backward, falling flat on my ass. Damn, it hurts like hell because I fell squarely on my tailbone. I’m sitting, collecting myself, when two hands lift me up.

  “Thanks, Eric, I don’t know—”

  “Not Eric. Are you okay?”

  I’m staring into the object of my earlier daydreams. “Prescott? Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “Running. Same as you. Are you okay, Vivi? You crashed into me pretty hard.”

  “Uh.” I rub my throbbing ass. “I’ll be fine.”

  He drops to a knee and ties one of my shoes that became undone somehow.

  “I can call my driver to take you home, if necessary.”

  “No, I’ll shake it off. Come on, Eric.” I start to run, but my tailbone really hurts. I must’ve bruised it pretty good. There’s not a thing in the world that can be done for it, though, so no sense in stopping.

  “Mind if I join you?” Prescott asks.

  What the hell can I say to that? It’s not like we own the damn sidewalks. “Sure, come on, though I’ll probably slow you down, especially now.”

  “It’s fine. I was going long and slow this morning.”

  “Oh, how many miles?” I ask.

  “Around fifteen,” he says.

  “Crap. You training for something?” Eric asks.

  “No, I just like to run.”

  “Holy shitballs. That’s a lot of running,” I say.

  “I run daily, but Sundays are my long runs.”

  “How long are your daily runs?” Eric asks.

  “It depends on my time, but usually six to eight miles.”


  “You’re a beast,” I say.

  Prescott laughs. “So I’ve been told. And an asshole. And often a jerk.”

  He’s using the names I’ve called him.

  “That I will agree with.”

  He stops and for some reason so do I.

  “What?”

  Out of the blue, he asks, “Can we be friends? I know I was a major ass to you and Eric. For that I apologize. But can we try, Vivi? I’ll behave. I promise.” He stands much taller than me and the sun is shining directly in his eyes. His hand comes up to shade them as he squints.

  “I know, I just know I’m going to regret this, but okay. Only I’m warning you. This is your last chance.”

  What the hell have I just done?

  Jesus, God, help me. He smiles and if it weren’t bright enough already, the light just intensified. Prescott Beckham has hands down the most perfect smile God ever bestowed on a human being. My hand covers my chest to still the out of control pumping of my heart. If the stupid thing doesn’t slow down, it might jump right out my ribcage and land in his hand.

  “You won’t regret it. I swear.” Then he picks up his running pace again, and I join in. Only this time I lag behind so I can enjoy the view of his lovely butt. “Get up here, Renard, and stop checking out my ass.”

  What the hell? Does he have eyes in the back of his head? “I wasn’t checking out your ass.”

  I’m still eyeballing it when he turns and catches me.

  “Uh-huh. Just as I suspected. Get a move on or you’ll never finish at that pace.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter.

  “I heard that. I have very acute hearing.”

  “Along with three hundred and sixty degree vision, too. For your information, I was admiring your shoes. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?”

  “I can’t discuss them with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I promised to behave. That’s why.”

  “Oh.” That shuts me up, but I kind of like our banter. Eric is up ahead, by almost a block. “Should we catch up with Eric?”

  “He’s a big boy. I think he can handle it on his own. Are you a fan of chocolate?”

  “Yeah, who isn’t?”