Bone Frog Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series)

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Clarence isn’t bothering you too much, I hope.”

  “Clarence is my problem. You don’t have to worry about that. If he comes on to me I know how to let him know, as I’ve continually done since I started. I don’t blame him, even though you know I don’t like him very much. He’s just wired up wrong. He’s like a dog you want to rescue but he keeps biting the hand that feeds him. He’s his own worst enemy and I honestly don’t think he’ll stop until he does something big.”

  “Very astute and mature of you, Shannon.”

  “He’s your problem, Jared.”

  “So, we aren’t going to have a drink, Clarence is minding himself for now. You aren’t looking for a job. Why are we talking here?”

  He was good at getting right down to things. That gave me courage.

  “You know I’ve always wanted to do more things related to the news, not just weather. And I have a couple of ideas about stories I’d like to do, with your permission. I don’t want to give up my weather duties, but I’d like to tackle a real news story.”

  I could see he was intrigued. His eyes sparkled as he studied my face. I found it difficult to look him straight in the eyes because I wanted this so bad. Finally, I looked up and decided to just go for it. All he could say was no, anyway.

  “I watched in the green room about Rebecca Gambini’s trip out here to assume duties related to the Navy SEAL housing project that was proposed at Bellaire Beach. I think I could do a kickass interview of the woman, her plans, and her position on this. It has a lot of human interest, not only because of the divorce, but the need for housing for these Navy heroes, plus the impact this project would have on the local economy. It has all the earmarks of a series of special reports. I’d like to help her champion it a little bit.”

  Jared rolled back on his heels. I could tell he’d never considered this coming from my mouth.

  “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

  “I have.”

  “Do you have any special insight?” His eyes looked unremarkably calm so I didn’t suspect anything Judie and I had discussed. I decided to deflect a bit.

  “I might need your introduction to her. I don’t know her. But I think she’d like another story. The last interviewer got several things wrong, and I can tell she perhaps offended the woman. I don’t think I would do that.”

  I hoped that my insides didn’t give me away. And I really had no ulterior motive with the interviews. I was just a moth to the flame, powerless to walk away from an opportunity, even though my better judgment was nudging me in the gut. I didn’t care. I had to try this, just like I had to meet Marco after all these years. I just couldn’t stay away, seeing as how she flew right into my neighborhood as if it had been predestined.

  “You might have something there, Shannon. I agree that there’s a story under all that drama. Made for someone with some considerable journalistic chops, though. Are you sure you want to step into the fire pit?”

  “Are you saying you don’t think I can handle it?”

  “Oh, I think you could handle the interview well enough. But I’m wondering how you’ll handle Clarence, or some of the other groupies trying to claw their way up the ladder. You could become part of the story, you know, if it doesn’t go well. Are you prepared to become part of the drama? Really?”

  I was shaking, brimming with excitement. He was at the edge of letting me do what I’d dreamt of doing.

  Was this really happening?

  “I’ll say you warned me. But one thing is for sure. If it goes badly, you’ll not only have a weather girl, you’d have somewhat of a celebrity. How bad would that be for ratings?”

  Jared chuckled, studying his shoes.

  “Shannon, I wish you’d let me buy you a drink…”

  “No.”

  “You’d give up this chance?”

  “I won’t do it for a drink with you. That’s not how I work. If it’s no, it’s no. If it’s yes, then it’s a solid, no-holds-barred yes.”

  I watched the softness in his eyes, the way he licked his lips and studied mine. He wanted me. I didn’t shirk from showing him I knew. But the answer was still no. Sure, I could cajole him, have a good time, make myself believe I could convince him with my sexual prowess, and he’d pretend he hadn’t lost all respect for me, just like he’d lost any respect for any other woman to take advantage that way. And he’d hate himself too. And me.

  It would be easy with him, because he was attractive and he wasn’t begging, just leaving the door open. But I wanted more than that. I wanted the chance to earn something I knew I could earn. I wanted to prove to myself, to the part of Em that still lingered all around me, that I was ready to step into the real world. I could sing at the top of my lungs, a full-on opera singer who had hidden her talent.

  It was time to take the gloves off.

  “Then it’s a yes. God help me, Shannon, but I believe in you. If it doesn’t work out, then can we have that drink?” He winked at me, standing a little too close.

  “Ask me when it’s over, Jared. Don’t ask me now.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll make some calls and see if I can get you an interview. Go make me be the discoverer of brilliant talent, Shannon. Make me proud. Take that brass ring all the way to the bank. I’ll cover where I can, if I’m needed.”

  “Thank you.” I could have kissed him easily.

  I gave him a flirtatious smile instead, and slipped out of his office and back into the bullpen where I could breathe at last.

  All the way home, my body was buzzing. I listened to country music, then switched it to New Age, then classical. I held my head high and imagined the “To Do” list I’d stay up half the night to complete. I wanted to list all the questions I’d ask her. I wouldn’t mention Marco. I’d wait for her to do it, and then I’d ask for more information.

  By the time I reached my bungalow, a worry had slipped into my head. What would I do if Marco saw the interview, and remembered me? What would he think about me stalking him in Boston and inserting myself in his affairs in Tampa? If he sought me out, would I even be able to answer that question?

  “I don’t know,” I said out loud.

  But then storm clouds began to lift. I was standing on the beach all of a sudden, long after sunset, feeling the glow of what once was. The sky began to clear and all that was left was the heat generating from a full moon at my back. I didn’t even remember locking my car, unlocking my house, slipping on my sweats and flip flops and making it outside to the fresh air and the beach. It was almost like I’d floated here.

  It felt like a crossroads, a point of no return.

  Was Em behind all this, weaving a tale and cinching me down with those golden cords of hers? Was this her way of living inside my body somehow while he pleasured me? It was ridiculous for me to consider.

  It was even more ridiculous to doubt that there wasn’t some sentient being out there making it all happen.

  Maybe I better start going back to church.

  Chapter 7

  Marco

  My administrative team was readied for the big meeting in D.C. that was to come in just two days. I informed who would be accompanying me to the Pink Pasha, the sultan’s palace on his private island, and we discussed logistics and security issues. Ryan would travel over to inspect the Sikorsky, which hadn’t been flown in thirty days, and would need to be re-checked. He’d remain there until our mission details were finalized.

  Our online call, which began at 4 AM due to where my team was stationed all over the world, was productive and we covered a lot of ground. I managed to cross nearly everything off my agenda list, which always brightened my day.

  I created a flurry of phone calls, mostly leaving voicemails that would be answered when people arrived at their desks in the US, setting into motion new restructuring plans and reviewing contracts coming up, procedures and strategies for the next several months. I needed a breather, so took a break and went for a run.

  I always thi
nk best while moving, so used this thinking time to get acquainted with the downtown and Harbor areas in Boston. My run through the city was still in the early morning hours before the commute started—my favorite time of day. I returned to my suite, took a shower and dug into more paperwork and answered phone calls.

  Later, I took a late lunch and frequented a couple of favorite haunts I’d been told about and swept through several modern art galleries on my way back to the Towers. I found stimulation in the colorful abstract artwork, my favorite being Italian fusion art glass.

  I wanted to plunk down my platinum card, prepared to purchase every piece in that little gallery, since my bare walls at the Towers were driving me crazy, but I hesitated, purchasing just one large abstract instead. It reminded me of a woman’s nude torso, a sensuous view from the rear. I had a perfect spot for it—right over my bed.

  It was everything I could do to stop from having the gallery concierge throw in half a dozen other matching pieces and a bronze I liked to fondle. Being sensitive about my funding dilemma was pissing me off, but I stuffed it, planned to use it as fuel for the bonfire I was planning on building under Rebecca’s reputation and comfortable lifestyle.

  Did that make me a dangerous man?

  I hoped so.

  One of my Manhattan bankers asked me to stop in at a local Eastern Bank & Trust to review and sign papers, authorizing a transfer of funds which usually happened later in the month. I decided to set it up so that in the future these could happen automatically up to certain limits, but I did wonder why this was coming so soon in the month.

  The Bank & Trust office was sterile just like I found most banks. I remembered the first time I went in to get a loan as a newbie frog. They turned me down, and not nicely, either. Funny thing how banks don’t like a lax attitude toward making car payments. That first red Mustang I bought had burned a hole in my credit as fast as it gobbled gas driving up the California coastline in those days.

  The next time, a year later, I walked in with Rebecca on my arm. Maybe she was the magic sauce that made it all happen but that day we walked out with the promise of being able to buy something in Coronado. It was to be our forever house, until kids.

  And that never happened either.

  I still owned that house—paid it off in record time, and oddly enough was something she left behind in the divorce settlement, almost as if she’d forgotten about it. Since most of my operations were on the East Coast, I didn’t use it very often, and instead had someone run a VRBO, which made some cash that I had stashed in a savings account for a rainy day. Selling that house would net me a cool several million, as If that would solve all my financial problems. Otherwise, I’d liquidate it in a heartbeat since the place meant nothing to me.

  It was a lush little corner lot with a beach access trail, but no water views. I’d expunged all my memories of how it made me feel to own my first home—to plant palm trees and things in the yard I could go back to in fifty years as an old man and see them standing tall and invincible—just like how I felt at the time.

  A little tweak of regret stabbed my stomach as I thought about those days of being drunk on sex and running around being a Boy Scout with my buddies on the Teams, when the whole world was my theater, doing things no one would ever believe, having more fun than I had a right to and having a woman to come home to who liked to screw hard and was just as intense as I was. I was a God then, a force for good.

  But I still am. Just on a larger scale. With more at stake. And solo. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be all along. God sure kicked my butt to remind me I was just a dumb frog at heart. Being a billionaire was just a trapping, an extra piece of equipment to strap on and enjoy for a few moments of my life.

  Because that’s how it turned out to be. And it would be that way again.

  Today I sort of felt just the same as I did 15+ years ago when I first walked into a bank and got turned down. No one had to remind me I wasn’t in a position of strength and these new “clothes” I was wearing somehow didn’t fit to my liking. But I told myself it was only temporary.

  Story of my life.

  Serena Bolton was the Vice President’s secretary. She wore a brightly colored yellow and fuchsia dress which belied this time of year in Boston. Her dreadlocks were pulled up on top of her head, woven with yellow satin ribbons, making a striking pattern of rows and zigzags. Occasionally, a tiny pink flower would poke through. Her skin was as dark as the macadam roads I traveled on by taxi, deliciously highlighted with her bright pink lipstick and purple eyeshadow. She resembled one of my Italian fusion glass pieces and was just as lovely to look at.

  “Mr. Cullen is waiting for you inside, Mr. Gambini. If you’ll just follow me, please.”

  I sauntered under a large second story balcony with glass partitioned offices above. She tapped on the Vice President’s door and I watched my intended target push back his wire rimmed glasses, straighten his jacket, stand and come to the door. He held out a beefy hand, stubby fingers splayed.

  “Mr. Gambini, nice to meet you. Welcome to Boston.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied.

  He waddled to his seat while motioning to his secretary to return to the lobby area from which we came. He sat down with an audible crunch, directing me to sit across the desk in the single, wooden and very Spartan-looking chair. I noted that most of his meetings were intended to be short and uncomfortable. I girded my loins.

  “It’s been brought to my attention that we have some cross-collateralization issues, Mr. Gambini, most of this coming from your recent unfortunate separation.” He frowned into the paperwork in front of him in one very neatly piled file about a half inch thick. It wasn’t lost on me that “unfortunate” wouldn’t be the proper word for this and could cut two ways. Did he mean unfortunate to be divorced, because I felt freed? Or, did he mean unfortunate because of what it had gutted from me and my businesses? I decided to ask.

  “Unfortunate is a relative term, Mr. Cullen. I assure you, the best is yet to come. This was just a matter of pruning and tidying up.” I tried to sound confident.

  He wasn’t buying it.

  “I’d say it rather looked like having to give up one of your children, Mr. Gambini.”

  “Which, luckily, I don’t have.”

  “Lucky for them as well, wouldn’t you say?”

  He’d just smacked me and I was resisting the urge to see how flabby that belly of his actually was.

  “I’d call it a haircut with a dull blade, Mr. Cullen. She was a bitch.”

  I decided to see what kind of metal he was made out of. His single eyebrow-raising gesture told me he didn’t approve of my disparaging a woman. I normally didn’t either, unless she deserved it. Rebecca certainly did.

  “As you say, she could be, but she has a smart lawyer. I’d be careful who you go expounding your feelings to, Mr. Gambini.”

  He was a poser and I salivated to dig my teeth into him.

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Cullen? While we’re being so helpful to one another can I suggest you not say things like that to me? I could easily do business with someone else.”

  And then I felt brilliant as I saw the fear cross his face.

  I stood up. “Don’t answer that,” I said to him, holding out my palm to his seated form. “I’ve just made my twentieth executive decision of the day. You can call Mr. Halliday in my accounting department and tell them you’ve gotten your bank fired.”

  He hadn’t been prepared, and started to stutter.

  “With me, it only takes once. I don’t give second chances and I don’t like threats. In case you didn’t know, you just gave me one.”

  I left.

  It took me thirty seconds to catch a taxi. I’d just gotten seated when Frank dialed me.

  “Not here, I’m in a cab,” I barked.

  “Marco, have him wait. Step outside so I can have a conversation with you.” He sounded serious.

  “Just tell me, dammit.”

  As we sped towa
rd the Towers, I learned that there had been a call on one of my loans and cash was needed to keep the bank from foreclosing on me. My commercial dealings in Florida had been compromised by the recent filing of an injunction against the housing project on the beach for old frogs. Calling around, my CFO had only located one bank that was willing to extend me a line of credit, based on my reputation and personal guarantee.

  And I’d just pissed off that one bank who had been willing to help me out.

  “Just go back in there and tell him you made a mistake. It was a misunderstanding,” Frank told me. I could tell he was pissed.

  “Not on your life. Bankers get rich not by saying yes but by saying no as much as they can to cover all the bad yesses they make. I’m not going to give that sonofabitch the satisfaction.”

  “Marco, you have to face the facts.”

  “Fact is, Frank, I’m swimming with alligators, but I don’t have to become a fuckin’ yellow-finned tuna in the middle of the swamp.”

  “Yellow-finned tuna don’t live in the swamp.”

  “My point exactly. I wouldn’t make him that lucky and bestow on him such a miracle. Let him live on worms and rodents. There has to be another way.”

  “Marco, there is no other way.”

  “There always is another way!” I yelled. “Now don’t call me back until you figure that out!”

  I hung up. I felt the cabbie’s eyes on me while I fussed. I wasn’t proud of my anger or that I’d yelled at him and I had been abusive. I dialed him right back.

  Before I could say anything, he blurted out, “I’ve taken another job and I’ll be leaving on Monday. Maybe one of the sultan’s daughters needs a good husband. You’re that lucky, Marco, and way more good looking than I am so I think you could pull it off. But then, he’ll own you. Have a nice life, Marco.”

  Chapter 8

  Shannon

  Jared was as good as his word. He nailed the location of Rebecca’s hotel in Clearwater by nine PM. I called the hotel and got through to her right away, which surprised me.