Bargaining with the Boss

by Gatta, Allison

  It was possible tonight had been a dream. A premonition, even. Any minute now, she could wake up in Brooks' bed, the roll over and let him know things would never work between them.

  Her stomach twisted at the idea, but she knew it had to be done.

  God only knew it would be a better—cleaner—breakup than this nightmare.

  When Franco started driving, she didn't bother asking him where he was going to go. She just laid there, feeling the potholes from the snowy winter they'd had and hoping against hope that if she just ignored it, this would all be over soon.

  "We're here." Franco parked, so she adjusted the seat to sitting, and then took in the building in front of them.

  "The police station? Did you take me here to straighten things out with Brooks?"

  "No, what you do with Brooks is your business. What you do with Dominic is mine."

  "What I do with Dominic?" She choked on his name. It still burned in her mouth, leaving a salty, bitter after taste.

  "Yes. You have to tell the police. Everything."

  "We've been over this—"

  "No, you've been over this. You ignored me, and now look where we are. He threatened you, and if Brooks hadn't been there, it might have been even worse."

  "You're asking too much." She swallowed hard.

  How many times had she imagined marching into the police station and telling them everything? Showing them her journal and her hospital records?

  Probably, she guessed, as many times as she'd imagined herself on the witness stand, testifying to a courtroom full of cameramen everything that Dominic had done to her.

  What would they think of her?

  Weak.

  They'd think she was weak for staying and cowardly for not saying a word. They'd blame her for leaving him out there—or worse, they'd blame her for the things he'd done.

  But it hadn't been her fault. He was damaged, broken.

  Franco had been in his life, too, and he wasn't like that. Had never raised a hand to a woman.

  "Natalie." Franco broke through her thoughts again, but she shook her head slowly.

  Instead of headlines about Franco or Brooks, they'd all be about her.

  Billionaire Ex Testifies!

  Gold digger or Vengeful Ex?

  Vegas Cocktail Waitress Turned Billionaire Plaything!

  She couldn't do that. Couldn't handle the spotlight or the judgment. And she couldn't do that to Brooks, either.

  What would happen to him if she spoke up?

  "What would happen to your mother? And to the family?"

  "Who cares? What else could they possibly need? They have everything, and you're willing to give up your safety for them? I understand love, but you need to be reasonable." Franco insisted.

  "I'm being reasonable. It was so long ago, nobody would believe me. They'd think I wanted money. They'd think—"

  "Who cares? Who cares what they think? Think about yourself."

  "I am!" The cry broke from her lips before she could suppress it, and then she was babbling, trying to explain herself through a rush of tears she didn't know she'd been holding back. "I can't talk about it. The things that happened to me...I told Brooks some, but not all, and even now I feel empty. Like someone tore a hole in the middle of my body and it burns whether air fills my lungs. I can't put myself through it again. I can't be around him for a trial. I can't--I won't—I—" She hiccupped, then fell into a puddle in the seat.

  There was no explaining to him what it felt like. A man couldn't understand what it was to be a woman in that situation—frightened and alone and helpless. Not by her own making, and not with her consent.

  It was like the carpet hadn't been yanked out from under her, but had been gently pulled away, and when the cement beneath it was exposed, she made herself believe there never had been carpet in the first place.

  Franco drove her home, soothing her occasionally, but leaving her with her thoughts for the majority of the trip. When they pulled into her driveway, he asked, "What are you going to do about Brooks?"

  A good question.

  And one she now had no choice in.

  "I have to leave here. I can't take him with me."

  Franco's mouth was a firm line, but he gave her a single nod. "You're making a mistake, Nattie."

  "Maybe."

  But if she was, she could live with that.

  Maybe.

  Chapter Twelve

  "It seems like these Del Rossi's just can't keep themselves out of the spotlight, Kim." A nasally brunette tipped her morning glass of wine to her co-anchor as if she was passing the Del Rossi-bashing torch.

  If she was, the other woman picked it up with zeal. "My god, I don't think there's been a family this obsessed with bad publicity since the days of MTV's Osbournes."

  "Right?" The woman beside her laughed and guzzled her wine.

  "I mean, first you had the whole fiasco with Franco and his apparent hatred for children."

  "Though, with a body like that--" The woman sat down her now-empty glass. "We won't go there." She chuckled.

  "At least not yet. Anyway, he's not even the center of the action anymore. His brother, long time recluse gazillionaire Dominic Del Rossi was arrested at the American Red Cross Charity Gala on Saturday. Can you believe it?"

  "I certainly can not. And for violating a restraining order of all things." The brunette shook her head. "Their mother must be so proud."

  Natalie winced, imagining Mrs. Del Rossi watching Dominic's face on the screen. The press hadn't caught on to everything that had happened that night, and as far as she could tell, no detail about her former marriage had leaked out. But that hadn't stopped her cell phone from ringing off the hook. Nor had it stop them from—

  "Let's talk about this woman, shall we?"

  "Yes, the very mysterious Natalie Gains." The brunette grabbed a new bottle of wine from beside her and tipped half its contents into her glass.

  Since when was it okay to drink at ten in the morning on live television?

  And, come to think of it, why hadn't Natalie started drinking yet?

  If she was going to watch the train wreck of her life on talk TV, she might as well have a bottle or two to share it with...

  "Now, we haven't been able to catch a word about this woman from anyone."

  "No, we haven't, and you know, you'd think she'd want to clear the air. Maybe even explain that whole business with a restraining order against a billionaire."

  The blonde woman guffawed. "As far as I'm concerned, she's the envy of us all. We all know who was arrested with Dominic Del Rossi."

  Did the brunette lick her lips? She had. She’d licked her lips, and then said, "Our long-time favorite millionaire bad boy, Brooks Adams."

  "Now, you've got Dominic Del Rossi and Brooks Adams openly brawling over you. That's a life. Whoever Natalie Gains is, I applaud her."

  "Or I at least want to know if her current boyfriend has any brothers." Both women cackled, but then a picture of Brooks snuggled up to that blonde flashed on the screen and Natalie clicked off the TV.

  That was quite enough entertainment television for one lifetime, and yet every time she saw Brooks' picture on the television she sit and watch, like rubbernecking the car accident of that night over and over again.

  That wine might really not be such a bad idea.

  She lay back on the couch, listening to the vibration of her cell phone as it skittered across the coffee table. Just like every time it had rung since the gala, she didn't answer.

  Friend, foe, or reporter--it didn't matter. She wasn't in the mood to talk.

  She only wanted to lay here on her couch and thank heaven that she and Brooks hadn't gotten drunkenly married one night.

  If anything, that was the big take away. At least she wasn't thrice divorced.

  Yet.

  She shoved a pillow over her face and tried to convince her body to sleep again. Maybe by the time she woke up, one of the Kardashians would have gotten surgery or a sex
change and she'd be free and clear.

  A girl could hope.

  The doorbell rang and she ignored it. That didn't help, though. In an instant, she heard the jangling of the knob and then soft footsteps down her entry hall. She sat up, but didn't bother to get to her feet.

  It could only be one person. Only one person had ever been to her apartment, and she'd just have to tell him to leave. That she didn't want to see him. That—

  Eliza stepped into the living room with a lot less hesitation than Natalie would have expected, then nearly tripped over the boxes stacked in the hallway. After straightening, she held out a paper clip that had been twisted in a strange jagged line, and then grinned.

  "I learned to pick locks in Tahiti," she said by way of hello.

  "Looks useful." Natalie nodded.

  "In a bind." Eliza didn't bother to be invited to sit. Instead, she plopped onto the couch only a few inches from Natalie, criss-crossed her legs, and turned to face her.

  "I like the robe." Eliza nodded the pink fuzzy thing.

  "Thanks."

  "You haven't been to work." It wasn't a question, or even a pitying statement. It was just a fact and Natalie nodded, following her lead.

  "Neither has Brooks," Eliza said.

  "Okay."

  "So...I feel like you owe me something."

  Natalie raised her eyebrows. "Sorry?"

  "You know, I've been calling this whole sexual tension thing since my first day on the job, and then when it happens, you don't even tell me? What kind of thing is that to do to a person?"

  Natalie stared, trying to find the joke behind her speech, but Eliza's expression was too earnest. "I'm sorry, I was inconsiderate. Don't worry, though, the romance is over."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Haven't you seen the news?"

  "About your ex-husband?"

  "My—what?" Had the story leaked? She felt as though she'd swallowed a fist and she gulped, trying to settle her nerves, but the feeling only grew stronger.

  "Relax, I just put two and two together. I've been working on getting Franco Del Rossi's file sorted out."

  "How could you—?"

  Eliza shrugged. "I have a talent for reading people. Plus, I stole a peek at one of your cards before you threw it out."

  "Right." She sighed and relaxed back onto her sofa. "At least those will stop coming."

  "Unless Brooks starts sending them."

  "That won't be happening." Oh god. The office. The entire office must have seen the news.

  But that wasn't even the worst part of it.

  "I have to quit," Natalie mumbled.

  "No, you don't. You just have to stop being a baby."

  "What? Did you not see the picture with the blonde? I saw him there with my own eyes. She was practically--"

  "Mauling him, yeah. But I wasn't looking at her. I was looking at him. You know when Brooks is happy and when he's interested. He's not the kind to get close and whisper sweet nothings. He would have been leering at her, teasing her. That whole display? That wasn't anything."

  "I'm glad you're so sure."

  "You would be too if you weren't such a chicken."

  "I'm not a chicken."

  "Oh, yes, you are. You've got this big tough exterior that makes people think nobody can hurt you, but the shell is so thin that it's like an egg. One little ding and your guts come oozing out. You're scared he's going to hurt you. You know just as much as I do that he wasn't interested in that woman. You just saw your ex-husband afterward and—"

  "What makes you think you know me like that? Brooks has a reputation—"

  "He did, yeah. And so did you."

  "Maybe. But that doesn't make me a coward."

  "No, but you're not as strong as you think you are. Not yet, anyway."

  "Oh no?"

  "Nope." Eliza set the paper clip on the coffee table, and then rubbed her thighs and stood. "Now, if you feel the need to talk to me again, use your damned cell phone. I've been trying to reach you for days. Also, the fax machine is broken and nobody knows how to fix it except for you. In truth, that was mainly why I came over here."

  "Thanks, Eliza."

  "Anytime." She nodded and headed for the door, then stopped and turned. "Hey, let me know if you decide not to go for Brooks. I have this friend who—"

  Natalie threw a couch pillow at her, and then Eliza was gone.

  In ten minutes, Eliza thought she could come in here and tell her everything that was wrong with her life? Wouldn't that be nice? If everything was that easy?

  What did a girl like that know?

  She’d flitted around the world for most of her life while Natalie had devoted hers to one man after another. First, taking care of her father only to have him turn her away. Then Jimmy.

  Jimmy and his slew of girls who "understood" him. Just like Brooks.

  Then Dominic with his power and his charm. Just like Brooks.

  But was he like them, really? Brooks was powerful, yes, but she couldn’t imagine him bossing anyone in the office around or making his secretaries cry the way Dominic used to do. And, okay, Brooks had been around the block a time or two, but he’d never made any pretense about loving the women he’d been with.

  Even with her, he’d been clear. He didn’t want a girlfriend.

  Or, at least that’s what he’d said. In action, it was another matter all together.

  She should have stuck with her gut. She didn't need a man in her life, least of all a man who famously couldn't commit. If he had a problem with Franco, he should have asked.

  Though, really, he had asked.

  And she'd refused to tell him.

  But he should have respected that. Should have been okay with granting her privacy. It was important and he should have understood that. Just like with Dominic. Just like with...

  Everything.

  She'd kept everything from him, and he'd never judged. He let her have her secrets. Stared at those stupid freaking flowers everyday. It had been fine.

  And she still hadn't trusted him.

  She lay back on the couch. "I can't let Eliza be right. I can't--"

  Her cell phone skittered across the coffee table and onto the floor. But this time...

  This time? She knew she had to answer.

  * * *

  Garret's house was not the easiest of places to unwind.

  Between the sound of his pug struggling for breath and the photos and Eliza festooning the mantel, it was more a shine to unrest than anything else. Still, Brooks had been avoiding his brother--any everyone else--for an entire week and he knew as well as Garret did that something had to be done.

  With the company. With the press.

  And with Eliza, too.

  Garret flicked the channel from one baseball game to another, then out a deep, exaggerated sigh.

  "What?" Brooks asked. Not that he knew why he bothered. They both knew why he was here, and it certainly wasn't to watch the Red Socks get trounced.

  "What are you going to do?" Garret asked.

  "What is it you want me to do? The company has been press now--"

  "You've been giving the company bad press for years. We both know that's not the problem here."

  Brooks cracked open a beer and slugged from the top. "Wasn't it you who wanted me in the papers?"

  "Reverse psychology. You always do the opposite of what I want anyway. Rachael and I thought we'd—"

  "You and Rachael thought? You set this up?"

  "Not set it up so much as encouraged."

  "Me and Natalie? I thought--"

  "Reverse psychology, my friend. It works wonders." Garret stroked the pug in his lap and the dog snorted his appreciation.

  "Well, it's not working out so great from where I'm sitting." Brooks sighed. "I've called Natalie seven times and Debbie has called me twice as many as that. Why is it that things you want never come to you, but the things you don't want barrel at you with all their might?"

  "Maybe the problem is tha
t you see them as 'things.'" Garret grabbed his own beer from the coffee table in front of them, then tipped it toward his brother.

  "I don't see them that way. I mean, I might have once. But Natalie isn't a thing. She's smart and funny and..."

  "And loyal." Garret added. "You should have trusted her."

  "How am I supposed to trust—"

  "You don't have to know how. You just do."

  "She wasn't even my girlfriend. We didn't have any arrangement or--"

  Garret raised his eyebrows. "You sound like dad."

  "What? No I—"

  "Honey, it wasn't anything serious. It was just this one time. It'll never happen again."

  "That's not fair." Brooks swallowed. He might have had the same devil-may-care attitude with his love life as his father had had, but he'd kept his promise to himself.

  He'd never been unfaithful. He'd always been clear. He'd never lied about loving someone.

  Which, as a side effect, meant he'd never told a woman he loved her.

  But if that was the truth, then where was the harm?

  He'd done good. If he and Natalie had had a deal, he never would have looked twice at Debbie.

  Even though they hadn't had a deal, he didn't want to look twice at Debbie. He just couldn't sit there and have another man drag his woman out from under him. He couldn't—

  "So, let me get this straight. You were angry because you were under the impression that the loving relationship between Natalie and her former brother in law was a sexual one, and your way of solving that problem was to do the same thing to her?"

  "You're oversimplifying." Brooks glanced at the pug. Was it his imagination, or had the tiny beast howled a laugh?

  "Maybe," Garret said, "but I think you'll have trouble making it sound any less stupid."

  "If it hadn't been for Franco--"

  "If it hadn't been for Franco, you'd be in hand cuffs."

  Brooks glanced at the picture of Natalie and Rachael on the mantel. The two women looked so happy together. The smile on Natalie's face reminded him of the one she'd worn on the beach the day he'd skipped the auction.

  Free and content.

  Self-assured.

  He closed his eyes.

  Where Franco was concerned, Garret was right. He'd stepped up to the plate, explaining to the police that Brooks had gotten involved to defend Natalie. Luckily, Dominic hadn't gotten off so easy.