Betty’s head snapped up and she sucked in a huge breath of air.
Un-fucking-real.
Her emotions, those damn inconvenient feelings she kept buried, were all over the place and she swore everyone could hear how hard her heart beat. How the hell was she supposed to function like this?
She couldn’t function like this. God, she needed a drink. No, she needed a hell of a lot more than a drink. She needed a hit of something strong enough to take the edge off. Something strong enough to make him go away.
What the hell was he doing here?
Her grandfather stood in the garden near the back door, his eyes filled with sorrow, his shoulders weighed down by the impossible position they all found themselves in.
And beside him was the one person she didn’t want to see right now. The one person who didn’t have a right to know the real Betty Jo. To see what really went on in the Barker home.
Beau.
Chapter Ten
TO SAY THAT Beau was shocked by what he’d just witnessed was an understatement.
He was shocked. He was uncomfortable. He was disturbed.
And he was more affected than he’d like to admit.
“Why are you here,” Betty snapped.
Trent Barker lifted his head and shrugged away from Betty. He glared at Beau, his hands fisted, once more everything inside Beau tightened. He’d stop the man if necessary because there was no way in hell he was going to let him hit his daughter again.
“Who the hell are you?” Trent said aggressively.
Beau had a feeling that if he opened his mouth he would only make the situation worse. He remained where he was, but stayed silent as he watched the inner workings of a family in trouble.
“You come sniffing around for her?” Trent pointed to Betty. “You’re welcome to her. Lost cause is what she is.”
Betty’s grandfather made a clucking sound and spoke, his voice cajoling, as if he was talking to a child.
“Trent, this here is Beau Simon. He used to play for the Giants. Remember?”
“I don’t give a shit about the San Francisco Giants. Baseball is for pussies. Hockey. Now that’s a real sport.”
Beau watched Betty as her grandfather moved toward Trent. She took a step back, out of the way, and something about the set of her shoulders tugged at him. It spelled defeat.
She looked up then—caught his eye—and straightened her shoulders and just like that her face was neutral. No emotion. She was cardboard. Ceramic. She was nothing.
She could have been at the bus stop waiting for a ride, or in line at the market.
That was when he got it.
She was acting. Playing a part. The part of a woman who didn’t care about anything, especially the family that was crumbling around her. But Beau knew better. He’d seen it.
Herschel spoke calmly. “Well, son, he’s here to see Betty and I’ve invited him for dinner.”
“What?” The strangled retort came from Betty. “No. No way.”
“Betty!” Herschel said sharply. “Manners.”
Trent Barker took the opportunity to slide past everyone and he disappeared into the house.
“I’ll deal with him, Gramps. You’ve had enough.” Betty threw Beau a look that spoke volumes—she wanted him gone—and then followed her father into the house.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Herschel said quietly after a few moments.
The old man looked lost, eyes averted as he absently ran his hands through the thick wiry hair beneath his white ball cap.
“It must be hard,” Beau said. “Dealing with all of this.”
“The hardest thing ever.” Herschel tugged on the brim of his cap. “I want you to know he’s a good man. A good son. A good father. This,” he motioned in the air. “What you just saw, a man who would strike his own child? That isn’t Trent.” The old man’s voice shook. “That isn’t my boy.”
“I understand.”
“He’s always been hard on the girls, you know? Losing Chantal at such a young age was tough. Those girls were barely five, but already a handful.”
Herschel sighed. “Maybe he was too hard on them.” He shrugged. “Maybe he did spend too much time with Billie. But he did the best he could and God, he loves those girls. No one can ever take that away from him.”
“Are you sure that she’s alright with him?” Beau had to ask the question because he was a little uncomfortable after what he’d seen.
Herschel cleared his throat and motioned to the house. “He wouldn’t…they’ll be fine.” He finished gruffly. “Now you come with me son, and I’ll get you a nice cold beer. We’ve got chicken for dinner and you can chat with Betty about whatever it is you wanted to talk to her about while I get things ready.”
Beau shook his head. “Sir, you don’t have to go to any trouble. I can come back when she’s…when things are settled.”
But Herschel moved past him without another word and Beau had no choice but to follow him back into the house.
He let the old man grab him a beer and watched him fuss about the kitchen. He offered to barbecue the chicken but the elder Barker wouldn’t hear of it. Herschel had no qualms however, about letting Beau wash the lettuce and prepare the salad.
Beau took a long swig from his beer and set about making the best damn salad that he could muster while Herschel went out back to barbecue up the chicken.
The Barker home was comfy. It was old and lived in, and it reminded Beau a lot of his grandparent’s place in the south. He liked it.
He washed the lettuce, just like his mama taught him, patted it up dry and then set to work on cutting up some onion, tomato and peppers. He found a hunk of feta and had just finished sprinkling a good amount overtop the salad, when he felt her presence.
“Wow. Who knew there was a domestic side to Beau Simon.”
The old sass was back in her voice.
Beau turned around and leaned against the counter. Betty still wore those damn come-fuck-me heels along with the halter-top that didn’t quit, and the short, shorts that should never be paired with those damn come-fuck-me heels.
Christ, a guy didn’t stand a chance with her.
He made sure to keep his eyes above the neck. He didn’t want to fuck this up by getting on her prickly side, and the truth of it was, he had no idea where the prickly side began and where it ended—that’s if she had anything other than a prickly side where he was concerned.
“I have many hidden talents.”
“I’ll bet,” she said, hands shoved into the back pockets of her shorts, which only served to enhance the breasts he wasn’t looking at.
She held his gaze for a few seconds and then glanced at the floor, scuffing her shoe along the worn linoleum. Long strands of hair fell over her face and the silence became heavy—the kind that presses in and gets uncomfortable.
Except Beau wasn’t uncomfortable. He was far from uncomfortable.
He crossed the room before he could stop himself, pausing an inch or so away. He was close enough to catch that summer scent. To see the sheen of her hair as it slid over her cheek, and the way her bottom lip trembled.
Hell, her entire body seemed to be trembling as if she was coming down from an adrenaline high.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you alright?”
She nodded but kept her head down.
“Why are you here, Beau?”
She sounded sad. Done. As if there was nothing else inside her to give.
“I have that script I want you to read.”
She shook her head again, her eyes on the floor as if the tip of her shoe was the most interesting thing in the room.
“Why are you really here? What’s your angle? You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you want me to act in one of your movies. Not after…”
His gut clenched.
“Not after the last time.” She shuddered. “Not after what you did. What you said.”
Something hard and heavy unfurled inside Beau as he
stared down at Betty. How could he make this right? Make her understand that before was a mistake? He saw that now.
“Hey,” he said gruffly, reaching for her, not giving up when she averted her face. He found her chin and slowly forced her to look up at him.
She winced as his fingers slid along her jaw and that something heavy inside him, twisted even more when he saw the damage on her lip. Carefully he wiped away the blood that was smeared in the corner of her mouth.
And suddenly, this moment wasn’t about the movie anymore. Or the script or even her father.
Beau wasn’t exactly sure what it was about, but her eyes darkened and when her tongue darted out to lick at the corner he’d just cleaned, he had the overwhelming urge to kiss her. To run his tongue over what was definitely going to be a bruise on her jaw.
To kiss away the pain that sat in her eyes.
He bent forward, not really sure what the hell he was going to do…but feeling the need to do something. Anything to wipe away the darkness in her eyes.
“Okay, kids, the chicken is ready.” The door slammed behind Herschel as he came in from outside.
Just like that, the moment was broken and Betty pushed past Beau, crossing the kitchen and taking the platter of chicken from her grandfather. She set it on the table and grabbed four plates. Quickly, she filled one and would have left the room but Herschel shook his head, and grabbed it from her.
“I’ll take this up to Trent and stay with him.”
“Gramps, I can do it. I’m fine.”
“Bets, let me deal with my son tonight. You and Mr. Simon have something to discuss and this old man doesn’t want to be in the way.”
“Gramps, you’re not in the way.”
But he was already out of the room, leaving Beau alone with Betty.
“Well, I’m not making your plate.”
Beau hid a smile. Good. They were back to where they should be. Not exactly friends, but not exactly enemies either.
He quietly fixed his plate and then sat across from Betty at the kitchen table. He wasn’t particularly hungry and judging from the way Betty moved her food around without eating much, he was guessing she wasn’t either.
“So, where the hell is your posse anyway?”
Beau set his fork down and leaned back in the chair. “Posse?”
“Your bodyguards. Goons. Those big Neanderthals who follow you around like you’re the second coming.”
Beau made a face. The only time he used protection was when he was at a premiere or public event. Otherwise, he played it low key. In his experience, the flashier the celebrity, the more crap that came their way.
Beau wasn’t about that—celebrity—and being in the spotlight. Though in this day and age, it was damn hard to avoid it when the public was mad for it. Still, he’d learned that most of the time if he asked fans nicely to give him space, they obliged.
“I left them behind in LA.”
“Really,” she said dryly.
“You seem surprised.”
She shrugged. “Most big time celebs that I know don’t go anywhere without at least a couple of tag-a-longs.”
“I guess I’m not like most big time celebs.”
Her eyes were on him, so dark and stormy, he could feel the frost from across the table.
“Did you order your bike from Logan because of me?”
“No.”
She arched an eyebrow, and pushed her plate away. “I don’t believe you.”
“Your ego is pretty impressive.”
For a second she said nothing, but he noticed the barest hint of a smile. It was tiny—a lift in the corner of her mouth—but damn, it made Beau feel good to know he’d been the one to put it there.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said cheekily.
“Okay. I will.”
She looked up in surprise.
It was crunch time and Beau knew he was running out of it. He needed to snag her now. Dangle the bait and get the hell out so she could digest. Betty was the kind of woman who reacted quickly, and usually adversely, because she didn’t take the time to think things through.
As much as she wanted people to believe she was made of steel with nothing remotely human about her, the truth of it was the girl ran on emotion.
“I’ve seen your audition, the one you made for Bentley.”
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. The steel mask was back as she stared at him. “Really. I would have thought Bentley would have destroyed it right after he walked in on us fucking.”
Beau shifted in his chair. He sure as hell didn’t like the direction this conversation was going, but more than that, he didn’t like Betty’s crass words. There was so much about that night that was wrong, and a hell of a lot that he’d never been able to forget. The entire evening may have started out as a way for him to prove a point—that she didn’t belong on set, that she wasn’t an actress—but Beau hadn’t been prepared for the spark between them. And as much as she would never believe him, he hadn’t intended to get her into his bed.
“He was pretty pissed,” she continued, eyes never wavering.
“I suppose he had a reason to be,” Beau answered carefully. “You guys were involved.”
Pissed was an understatement. Bentley had made the entire shoot a living hell for Beau. And it was the main reason he’d tested the waters and started to direct small projects himself. He hated not having control, and he sure as hell was done working with arrogant assholes.
Betty exhaled and tossed her napkin on the plate. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. Several tense seconds passed and when she finally did speak, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Bentley was pissed because he’d been trying to get into my pants for months. Contrary to what everyone believed, including you, I wasn’t sleeping with him. That movie was important to me. It was my shot at something good and different and…well, like always I managed to screw things up.”
“I’m sorry,” Beau said carefully.
Betty’s eyes flashed. “Sorry for what? For screwing me over? Or for literally screwing me?”
“I’m sorry for all of it. At the time I just thought—“
“I know what you thought. I know what everyone else thought, from Bentley to the other actors, to the goddamn caterers on the set.” Her cheeks flushed and her chest heaved. “I know what everyone still thinks about me. I’m used to it. Doesn’t bother me at all.”
Except he knew that it did, and suddenly Beau wanted to do whatever he could to make things right. She needed this project as much as he wanted her for it. And he was going to stop at nothing to get her onboard.
“I want you for this movie, Betty. I don’t have a second or third choice. There is no one else. Not after I saw that audition tape.” He leaned forward. “You’re it. So I want you to read the script, which is on the table in your foyer. I want you to read it, learn it. I want you to be that character because we’re making this movie.”
“That’s not going to happen.” There went that chin again.
Beau tossed his napkin onto his plate and got to his feet. He shoved his hands into his pockets, took in the flush that filled her cheeks. Her eyes glistened—oh they were still dark and stormy and pissed off—but they were alive.
He had her.
“It will,” he said, before he turned around.
“It must be exhausting,” she snapped. “Carrying around that massive fucking ego.”
He paused near the door and glanced over his shoulder. Betty was now standing. His eyes rested on the purpling bruise that ran along her jaw before he lifted his eyes to hers. To say he was surprised at the zing that ran through him would be an understatement.
Suddenly he was fighting the urge to march across the room and shut her mouth up with the boldest, hardest kiss he could muster. The thought alone was enough to get his blood flowing and he flexed his hands, a muscle working along the side of his jaw as he took a moment and collected himse
lf.
“I’ll be back in time for the tournament on Saturday. Read the script Betty and we’ll talk then.”
He headed out of the Barker home, his long legs eating up the distance to his bike in no time. Beau settled onto the machine and twenty minutes later he was cruising along the Interstate.
His taillights glowed red in the gathering dusk as he sped toward the Canadian border. Damn, he was looking forward to spending a few days relaxing with his brother, Tucker. Getting out on the water and cruising Lake Muskoka. It had been too long.
The funny thing was? He was already looking forward to coming back.
Chapter Eleven
“WHAT’S THIS?”
Great.
Betty glanced up at her sister Bobbi and scowled.
It was Wednesday afternoon and Betty had just finished a shift at The Grill where she’d had to listen to the entire Ladies Ball League committee go on and on about Beau Simon appearing in the mixed tournament.
They’d come in for lunch, ten ladies, who were obviously rabid Beau Simon fans.
Oh my God, he’s so hot.
I want to have his babies.
Can that man’s eyes get any bluer?
And his hair! I just want to run my fingers through all that long blond hair.
And her favorite?
Do you think he’ll play shirtless?
Betty had thought her shift would never end, and had practically run from the place when it was over at two. Now she just wanted to relax. She’d grabbed a bottle of water and had thrown herself into one of the chairs on the porch. You know, so she could, enjoy the quiet.
Be alone.
She glared at Bobbi.
Relax.
Apparently her scowl did nothing to deter her sister because Bobbi plunked her butt into the other chair and reached for the script on the table between them. Betty had tossed it there the day before and still hadn’t opened it.
Bobbi picked it up and froze.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Betty’s tongue darted out and she licked the corner of her mouth. It was still split but the cut wasn’t all that noticeable. Her lip wasn’t what had Bobbi’s attention.
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