Beholden (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 2)

by Madison Michael

  Randall heard the steel in her voice, but he held his hands still and leaned his lips into her neck.

  “You smell so good.” He dropped kisses on her collarbone, left bare by her low cut gown and moved a hand toward the side of her breast.

  Shocked, twisting in his tight grasp, Deb pulled away before Randall could feel her up in public.

  “Don’t go, Deb. C’mon we are just having some fun, right? Just a little fun.” Randall’s hands were trying to touch her everywhere, his mouth sucking on her neck and shoulder.

  “Randall, let me go. This is not fun and you are drunk.” She twisted in his arms again and he returned his hands back to an appropriate dance position but held her too hard against his solid body.

  “Come on, it’s just a dance, Deb. No harm, no foul. Have a little fun with me.”

  “May I cut in?” a deep voice said imperiously, very close to Randall’s ear.

  Wyatt did not wait for an answer, physically removing Randall’s hands from Deb’s body and giving Randall a scathing look.

  “What the …”

  “You are pawing this poor woman. You’re drunk, Randall. Apologize to Debra this instant and pray that Sloane did not see what I just saw.”

  “And get the hell out of my sight,” Deb added.

  “My sincere apologies, Deb,” Randall mumbled under his breath, moving away from the pair quickly. Wyatt looked ready to hit him but Deb looked like she would throw the first punch.

  He moved toward where he thought he had left Sloane, but with all the moving on the dance floor, the size of the crowd and a few too many drinks, he was confused and unable to find her. He spotted Tyler moving toward him quickly and went to meet him.

  “What the hell have you done?” Tyler began without preamble.

  “What’s the big deal? It was just a dance, for God’s sake,” Randall answered belligerently. “We were just dancing.”

  “Randall, I love you like a brother, but if you had done to Regan what you just did to Deb, I would have decked you right there in the middle of floor. You are very lucky that Deb doesn’t have a date like me tonight, or that his manners are better than mine. I think it is time for us to get out of here.”

  “Okay, let me find Sloane. She’s ready to leave anyway.”

  “You stupid idiot. Sloane is gone. Sloane stormed out, Randall, and you will be lucky if she ever talks to you again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Randall was out of ideas. He had become well known to the florist already but clearly, a fortune in flowers was not going to soften Sloane’s anger. She was still not picking up the phone when he called. Finally, he had cut back the calls, fearing she might report him as a stalker. He still called a few times a day and sent four or five texts, all to no avail.

  He had sent flowers to Deb as well, with a note of apology for his shameful behavior and received a very nice email with her forgiveness. He was lucky there, and he knew it.

  Randall was aware that he had been a jerk. He knew it even before his head cleared. The evening had been so perfect. He was there with the most beautiful girl in the room and she had floated like an angel in that blue dress. She was a seductress yet totally above reproach, all business in the front, and all bedroom in the back. He could not stop touching her bare skin, skimming his hand down the entire length of her exposed back.

  The food was delicious, the company was great, people were chilly to Sloane at first, but had warmed to her as the evening progressed. The dancing had been a perfect form of foreplay and he could not wait to get her home, watch that dress puddle around her feet then take her naked body in his bed. He figured they would still be making love at dawn.

  But stupid, stupid me, I had to drink too much. Again.

  Randall wasn’t sure what it was about parties that made him drink too much. He got so uncomfortable for some reason. He was amongst friends, for the most part, or business associates with whom he felt totally at ease, so that was not it.

  He drank with his buddies pretty regularly, but usually stopped before making a complete fool out of himself. He had been to plenty of dinner parties in people’s homes or professional events where he knew exactly when to call it quits.

  There was just something about crowds. Big parties made him nervous. A misplaced word, an odd look - it took very little to make him feel out of sorts and not quite good enough. Once that feeling crept over him, he calmed his nerves with one or two extra drinks.

  Maybe two or three, but who is counting? Okay, three or four.

  The worst was how inappropriate he got after too much alcohol. His hands went everywhere. He became the kind of man he normally abhorred. He honestly had no idea where it came from, especially when he cared so much about Sloane. Why would he even look at another woman?

  So here he was, almost two weeks after the benefit, waiting for Alex to meet him for coffee. No meeting for drinks for this conversation. He had learned one lesson at least. Alex was one of his oldest friends, but he was as jittery waiting for him as he would be waiting for a blind date.

  “Hey man, hope you haven’t been waiting long?” Alex strode across the almost empty Starbucks, hand outstretched, broad smile cracking his thin face, a lock of his light hair falling roguishly over his forehead. Randall took the hand for a firm handshake and returned the smile along with a friendly slap on the back.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Alex. I appreciate it.”

  “Sure, of course. But what the hell are we doing at a Starbucks?”

  “Alex, am I a drunk?” Randall queried without preamble.

  “Wow, let’s just dive right in, why don’t we?”

  Randall could see that he had caught Alex off guard, but his friend pivoted on his feet quickly, took the seat across from Randall and wiped the grin from his face.

  “No, my friend, you are not a drunk. Do you drink every day? Drink until you pass out? Find yourself needing a drink all the time? Need more and more booze to feel a buzz?”

  Randall had repeatedly shaken his head no, as Alex asked the rapid-fire questions.

  “But, the night of the gala?” Randall could not say more, however Alex immediately knew what he meant. Both Tyler and Wyatt had repeated the story to him and it was ugly.

  “Yeah, you were mighty fucking stupid. You are lucky that Deb didn’t punch your lights out, or Wyatt for that matter. I understand he was the one who finally rescued the poor girl.”

  Randall dropped his head into his hands in shame.

  “What do you think happened, Rand?” Alex sat quietly, waiting for his friend to respond before offering any opinions or advice. This was why Randall called Alex and not Tyler. Tyler would have berated him and blown a gasket before calming down for the more serious, and necessary, conversation.

  “I don’t know, man. I really don’t know. Sloane was a goddess that night. Everything I wanted, so I don’t know why I ever left her side at all.”

  “My, my. A goddess? How poetic.”

  Randall shook a fist at Alex in annoyance, feigning a slug to his jaw.

  “Okay, so it wasn’t desire for Deb. We can establish that much.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, she is a babe. However, she is old history and she is no Sloane. Yeah, we can establish that it was not because I wanted Deb over Sloane.”

  “Interesting choice of words, Bro. Notice you did not say you did not want Deb at all.”

  “Shit, I didn’t, did I? But I don’t. Sloane is more than enough woman for me. I swear.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll come back to that in a minute. When do you get drunk Randall? Think about the last five or ten times you went on a bender. Can you name them?”

  “Well…there was the Hospital benefit obviously, and the wedding. I was really drunk at Wyatt’s wedding. I was still hung over the next night. Hmm. The last time we went out after hockey I got pretty wasted, but we won. I was celebrating. A couple months ago, I double dated with Keeli, Wyatt and that museum curator he fixed me up with. She was hot,
but I got drunk that night, made an ass of myself and she wouldn’t go out with me again.”

  “Seeing a pattern here yet?” Alex was prodding less than gently.

  “Not really.

  “C’mon man, you are not stupid. You get drunk around Wyatt. You always get drunk around Wyatt. If Wyatt is within 100 yards, Randall, you get drunk.”

  “That is not true.”

  “It is completely true, Man. I have known it for a long, long time. I told the guys the reason you did so well at Duke was that Wyatt wasn’t there. Otherwise, you would have been drunk your whole way through college.”

  “Well, I was sometimes, but I didn’t party as much as I did in grad school.”

  “So, Randall, see the pattern? You, my friend, have a problem with Wyatt and it might just be time to come to terms with it and move on.”

  “You know,” Randall started, thinking aloud, ”I was fine for weeks. But Tyler said something at the benefit that really pissed me off. I was a goner after that.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It’s so crude I really shouldn’t repeat it, but he was commenting on my being with Sloane and that I was settling for sloppy…”

  “Never mind,” Alex cut him off. “Tyler needs to watch his mouth. But he hit your Wyatt nerve. You are really oversensitive about the man.”

  “But that makes no sense, Alex. Wyatt and I have been friends since grade school. We all have. We do everything together.”

  “Yeah, but, sorry to be so blunt here, he does everything just that little bit better and I think you have a problem with it. The rest of us have just come to accept it, but Randall, I think since that science test in fifth or sixth grade, you have been in an unhealthy competition with Wyatt.”

  “Oh come on. That is nonsense. That was fifth grade - a million years ago, Alex.”

  “But you remember it, right?”

  “Yeah.” Randall’s shoulders sagged suddenly. “I remember it like it was yesterday but I am surprised that you can still recall it.”

  “And it still hurts,” Alex asked a bit more gently. “Doesn’t it?”

  Randall could not believe that at the age of 36, with a hugely successful business and accomplishments from his education to athletics to his stature in the community, he and Alex were discussing the results of a year-end science test from fifth grade. Their private, Lake Forest school had promoted confidence and creative thinking in children, as well as offering an excellent overall education, but it was competitive. For some reason, all the way through his school, Randall had found himself right behind Wyatt on every test, in every subject, at every science fair, on every sports field, and with every girl. Wyatt usually excelled, coming in first on almost everything while Randall was always just one step behind.

  In fifth grade, Randall complained about it until his father decided that things needed to change. They worked together on his science projects and on his science homework. They walked in the woods or along the beach discussing the bushes, the bugs and everything they saw for a big assignment about nature. His father helped him study then quizzed him for that last exam. After all that preparation, Randall had bragged to everyone in class that this time he would beat Wyatt.

  Meanwhile Wyatt did his usual prep, enough but nothing out of the ordinary. He was smart and very capable and he knew it. Things just came easily to him. He still studied. He took nothing for granted. His father insisted he do well, really well, and the pressure to bring home A’s and A+’s was constant. But for this particular exam, Wyatt did nothing special.

  The test was hard, as Randall remembered it now, challenging and comprehensive. Still, when he left the classroom he was confident that he had done well. Wyatt had been a bit uncertain about two or three questions so Randall continued to brag about his imminent success.

  Then, that Friday afternoon, the results were posted on the hallway bulletin board. There was Wyatt, just ahead of Randall, as always. Randall remembered the frustration and the anger, the uncontrollable jealousy that had welled up in him. Even now, sitting there in the Starbucks all those years later, he felt his fists clench and he had to consciously release them.

  Alex watched the emotions fly across the face of his friend, saw the fists clench and unclench and knew Randall was reliving that moment.

  “Why was that test so important, anyway?” Alex asked now.

  “I have no idea, but it was. My father had raised the stakes on me for that one and gotten personally involved. You know, he never treated me the same after I came in second. Second. It was not like I flunked. Now, thinking back on it, he had lower expectations for me from that moment on. Still high, mind you, but just that little bit lower than before. In everything – sports and every school subject. He never helped me again, no science walks, no catch in the yard. Nothing, until I went to work for him. He mentored me the same way when I came to PPHP as he did before that exam. But of course, Wyatt was not a member of the firm, so it was different.”

  “But you weren’t. You were still competing. You have wanted every position Wyatt ever played, in field hockey, soccer, ice hockey, even lacrosse. Randall, you hated lacrosse! You took every course he took, volunteered for everything he volunteered for. You tried dressing like him, wore your hair like his, ate where he ate, shopped where he shopped, dated everyone he dated, drank when he drank. You have been like a little brother chasing his elusive big brother.”

  “Jeez, I sound pitiful, don’t I?”

  “You sound like an only child with a stellar friend who impressed you. Hell, if I am honest, Wyatt impressed us all. The rest of us had families to help us keep a better perspective, I think. I am no psychologist. I haven’t the faintest idea why it affected you like this and not me.”

  “But it did,” Randall said softly, below his breath.

  “But it did,” Alex reiterated. “So you are jealous and competitive, no biggy. At least you are not an alcoholic.” Alex grinned boyishly at his friend. “I think you take it out on women because you compete better with Wyatt when it comes to women. They pay the price, but this issue is completely about Wyatt, not them. So, Rand, you might clear the air with Wyatt and get your feet back under you. I think maybe then you won’t feel the need to drink so much when he is around.”

  “I think you are right but I will have to figure out what to say.”

  “Yeah, but do it soon, man. Sloane won’t be available forever. Thanks to you, she is back in circulation again.”

  “What?” Randall bellowed in shock. He continued more quietly, trying to be calm, “What do you mean? Is she already seeing someone else?”

  “No, sorry. Not what I meant. Just that you have rubbed the tarnish off by going out with her and now she is interesting to the right men again.”

  “Shit, how the hell am I going to fix that problem? I can’t lock her up and keep her away from everyone else. But I will kill anyone who touches her.”

  “Seems you have a mess on your hands, Rand.”

  But Randall wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was just mumbling to himself, “I can’t lock her up. Or can I?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  To begin with, there had been the flowers. Sloane had to admit they were beautiful. The first day it was a large mixed bouquet; the second day it was roses – four-dozen gorgeous, fragrant white roses. She had run out of vases by day three when five dozen roses arrived and the doorman began assessing her when she went to the lobby to pick them up. The long white boxes and tissue filled the recycling room. The apartment smelled like a hothouse.

  Next the phone calls, none of which she answered. The first day there had been silence. She guessed he was giving her time to cool off, or perhaps himself a day to sober up. Initially, the phone messages were all the same: ‘I was an idiot’, ‘I am sorry’, ‘I was drunk’. He was leaving upwards of ten each day. Then, of course, there were the texts too, dozens of them.

  She wanted to forgive him. She did. It was just not in her nature to do so. She was too
proud, and it had been too public. He had humiliated her in front of the few people she could still call friends as well as a room full of people just waiting to judge her harshly. He had embarrassed his friends and offended a perfectly respectable woman.

  How could he?

  She had cried all the way home in the taxi, thinking of how the night should have ended, wondering why he wanted someone else and not her, wallowing in embarrassment and fury. She raged toward him for his actions, and then she was angry with herself. She had known Randall for nearly ten years. She knew he was a pig when he drank too much and she knew he generally liked to drink too much.

  How could I have trusted him to behave? What on earth made me think he would be different this time? He pawed me enough times when I was engaged to Wyatt, for heaven’s sake. I was a fool not to see this coming, especially if he is only using me to get fees from a deal for his buddies.

  Two weeks had passed since the event. At least in terms of fundraising, it was a great success. That was one good thing. At the recap event Tuesday evening Sloane had been pleased with the results and the way she was treated at the meeting. It appeared she was no longer persona non grata. What a relief that was. She suspected she owed much of it to Randall and the team he had surrounded her with on Saturday night. It was not enough to get her to forgive him, although it did soften her heart a tiny bit.

  Otherwise, she had not left the house except to attend exercise classes or go for a run. She had been in contact with the office, even touched base with a few clients, thanking them for their business, although most preferred not to deal with her directly since her father’s trial. She had spoken with Maria almost daily. The deal with Steel Franks had progressed, and the final signatures and money transfers had been completed. Now, she did not even have an office to go to. She just didn’t have the energy to follow up with Ethan on a new space she could rent.

  And there was the chance she would never get to use it.

  So far, there was no word on the streets regarding the potential renewal of the scandal and accusations in the Huyler family. Sloane was just praying that the silence continued. And, in general, Sloane was not a woman who prayed.