“Just spoke with Dane,” I say.
She nods. “And?”
“You’re okay with Salt Lake City on short notice?”
“If you’re asking if I’m okay spending four days with you on a work trip,” she says, “then yes. I think I’ll be able to handle it. I can even guarantee I’ll keep my hands to myself the entire time.”
“You didn’t need to take it there.” My lips twitch, but I refuse to smile. Smiling too much makes me look like a bumbling idiot, but I find Odessa thoroughly entertaining in the most confusing of ways. “Just wanted to make sure it was okay with your fiancé.”
She places her pen flat against her desk, locking eyes with me. “Do you want this trip to be as uncomfortable as possible for both of us or are you actually this socially awkward?”
I fight a smile. “No one has ever accused me of being socially awkward.”
“I’m sorry.” Her lips pull wide. “Poor choice of words. What I meant was socially moronic.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“You’re obsessed with me.” She stands up, plucking her phone and tossing it in her purse before flinging the bag over her shoulder.
“Where are you going?” I rise. “And I’m not obsessed with you.”
“I’m getting coffee. Taking a walk.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I can only imagine the lecture I’d get from Dane if legal were to get involved at any point during this consultancy. Then again, he has no room to talk, hiring women to do his sexual bidding during work hours.
And he thinks I haven’t seen the line item for his concierge…
She rushes to the door, stopping short with her hand against the frame. “No. I’m not uncomfortable. Just annoyed.”
“I’m not trying to annoy you, Odessa. If you pulled your head out of your ass for two seconds, you’d see I’m trying to figure you out. You’re an anomaly.”
“Why? Because I’m not drooling all over your obnoxious Gucci loafers?”
“For the record my personal shopper chose these. I couldn’t give two shits what brand they are.”
“Mm, hm.”
I smooth my palm against my left lapel and check the time on my wristwatch before brushing past her.
Something tells me Salt Lake’s going to be a fucking blast.
Chapter Ten
ODESSA
Hot coffee comforts me from the inside out. My feet ache. I walked eight blocks in pointy kitten heels to get this coffee. Of course I passed several other coffee shops on my way here, but for a moment, I’d forgotten where I was going so I kept trudging along aimlessly.
I’m not looking forward to four days by Beckham’s side, but the change of scenery will be nice. I hear Salt Lake City has mountain views. And Dane seems nice at least.
I stop at a nearby bench plastered with the likeness of some arrestingly attractive Realtor named Xavier Fox who claims to “sell New York.” His eyes remind me of Jeremiah’s. Bright blue framed with dark lashes. I’ve always had a soft spot for guys who naturally appear to be wearing eyeliner.
Another sip of coffee warms me from the inside. I tug the linen scarf from around my neck. The forecast was way off today. My skin breathes. I don’t want to go back. Today is the perfect day to pal around the city like a wandering tourist.
My phone dings from my jacket pocket, so I pull it out. A message from my best friend, Carly, flashes across the screen. She playfully berates me for being M.I.A. the last couple weeks. I owe her a call plus dinner and drinks. But it’s hard to be around her. She’s the one who set me up with Jeremiah. I can’t hang out with her and not be reminded of our history together. She was best friends with him long before I came into the picture.
Still is.
I’ll respond later. For now I want to soak in the refreshing spring air and be alone with my thoughts for a few more minutes.
A blonde in a plum jacket with a matching beret walks past, her eyes locked on me. Her face registers as familiar, and it hits me when I see the tiny quake in her fingertips as she shoves a leather-gloved hand into her front pocket.
It’s the girl who brought Beckham lunch last week.
“Hi.” I rise, intending to head back to the office. Now’s as good a time as any to head back. I give her a polite wave, only she takes it as an invitation, stopping and smiling like she’s bumping into an old friend.
“Oh, hi.” She adjusts her hat, swooping her long bangs across her forehead. Her nails are baby pink, almost color-matched to her baby soft voice, but the intense focus in her stare unsettles me.
“I never did catch your name.” If she dodges my question this time, I’ll know for sure something’s up.
“Annelise,” she breathes, her lips pulling wide at the corners.
“I’m…” I pause, debating if I should introduce myself as Sam or not. I’m Odessa in Beckham’s world, and this woman is clearly from Beckham’s world. No sense in making anything more confusing than it needs to be. “Odessa.”
“Yes. You are.”
I pretend not to notice as she casually sizes me up from head to toe.
“Is Beckham your boyfriend?” I cut to the chase. I hope she says no, if only for her sake since he blatantly denied the fact that he had a girlfriend.
She hesitates before saying, “It’s complicated.”
“I could definitely see that.”
“Beckham is…well, you know how he is.”
I nod, but not too vigorously. I don’t want her knowing exactly how well I know him.
“I’m doing some PR consulting for his company. I don’t really know him that well, but let’s just say I’ve noticed he’s a man living by his own rules.”
Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes glossing.
“Are you okay?” I reach for her arm, running my hand along her beautiful plum jacket. A glistening platinum and diamond brooch in the shape of a lotus flower anchors her lapel.
She smiles through tears, blinking them away and wiping the ones that slide down her cheeks with a gloved finger.
“Is this about Beckham?” I ask.
“Isn’t everything about Beckham?” She pulls in a long breath, her shoulders rising and sinking. And then she laughs. “I’m sorry. This is so not like me.”
The sidewalk fills with men in suits and silver-haired ladies walking teacup Yorkies. They’re all going about their days and here poor Annelise is falling apart at the seams in front of a woman she’s only met once.
She needs a friend.
“Do you want to sit down?” I motion to the bench behind me. Annelise pauses, but I take her by the elbow and pull her to the seat anyway. It’s an empty park bench on a busy Manhattan street. We have to grab it while we still can.
I pull a tiny pack of tissues out of my bag and hand one off.
“Thank you.” She dabs the corners of her wide-set eyes. She’s beautiful, even when she cries. Even with all her insecurities. My heart aches for her.
“He’s not worth the tears.” I rub her back. “You love him, don’t you?”
Her gloved hand splays across her heart. She doesn’t speak. She can’t.
“There are millions of men in this city, and he’s your run-of-the-mill, rich asshole looking for his next lay.” I shrug. “He’s not the settling kind, Annelise. He’s not the kind you’re supposed to fall in love with.”
“You slept with him.” Her eyes close gently.
I don’t know if she’s asking or making a statement, and I don’t know if now’s the best time to come forward with that information. Besides, it’s not policy for me to run around sharing details about my sex life with virtual strangers.
“It’s okay.” The defeat in her voice is palpable. “I want to know. I won’t be upset with you.”
A response fails to find my lips, sentences mentally stringing together in nonsensical patterns.
“I work with him, Annelise.”
“You did.” She opens her mascara-stained eyes and stares at t
he pavement ahead, her tone flatter than her expression. “If you didn’t, you’d have said no. It’s okay. I get it. He has a way with women. He’s convincing.”
I wouldn’t quite label my experience with him like that, but…
“He’s a charmer,” she continues. “Makes you feel like you’re the only one. And you believe him too. And the second the newness wears off and things get real, he’s gone. Just like that. Everyone deserves a chance, don’t you think? A chance to make things work? A chance to try harder?”
“I think he just likes casual sex.” I cannot believe I’m defending Beckham King. “Sometimes women go around putting labels and expectations on people and in places they don’t belong.”
“It was different for us.” She sniffles, dabbing her eyes once more. “We were in love once.”
I can’t imagine Beckham keeping anyone around long enough to fall in love but stranger things have happened.
“Maybe the two of you should sit down and have a talk? Get some closure? Find some common ground?”
She shakes her head. I’m not sure what that means. If she felt comfortable enough to bring him lunch last week, I don’t see how a conversation would be off the table.
“How’d you meet him?” she asks. She might be all sweet and breathy on the outside, but I’d be foolish to think she isn’t still a woman on a mission.
I check the time on my phone.
“I really need to get back to the office. I’m expecting a phone call later this morning.”
Her delicate brows rise, her mouth dropping. She rises the second I do, following me with swift steps. Not only is she a woman on a mission, she’s desperate as hell not to let me walk away without giving her the answers she needs. If I didn’t know better, I might think she went seeking me out this morning.
Great. Now Beckham’s stalkers are becoming my problem too.
“Wait,” she calls after me.
I stop, only because it’s the right thing to do.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this today.” Her pale cheeks redden, even against the cool breeze. “This is entirely out of character for me. I’m quite embarrassed.” Her hand covers the top of mine, her eyes silently pleading.
“I won’t say anything to him.”
“Thank you.” Her hand drags from mine, and the corner of her mouth lifts.
“No more crying over him, okay?” I inject a wink into my uplifted tone, opting to leave this exchange on a better note. “You deserve better than him. We all do.”
She doesn’t smile. Her lips tighten; a silent sign that she politely disagrees.
If she were a one-night stand who turned into a crazy stalker girl, I guess I could see why Beckham might be concerned with women Googling him and obsessing. On my walk back, I decide to keep my word to Annelise and not bring her up. Beckham would only use it to further prove his point anyway, and I don’t feel like discussing his past conquests.
God forbid he thinks I’m trying to get involved in his personal life. I can’t have him thinking we’re friends now.
***
I’m not sure how much sense it makes for the partial-owner of an alternative energy corporation to fly across the country on a private jet, but I don’t ask. I simply climb on board Wednesday morning and find a plush leather seat next to a freshly polished window and try to keep my opinions private.
Beckham arrives ten minutes after me, taking the seat directly across from me. Ten other empty seats and he choses that one. I pretend not to notice, grabbing my tablet from my bag and pulling up a gripping psychological thriller. The estimated time to read it matches the flight length.
He watches me.
“Yes, Beckham?” My eyes are fixed on my screen, scanning the words but not processing them. It’s hard to concentrate when crazy over there won’t stop staring.
The flight attendant secures the cabin, gently reminding us to buckle up when she walks past.
“You’re that desperate to avoid conversation that you pull out a book before we’ve left the tarmac?”
I rest the tablet across my lap, turning to him and flashing him an executive smile. “What would you like to talk about? I’m all ears.”
He checks his diamond-encrusted timepiece. “We land in five hours. If I have to spend the next five hours in complete silence, I’m going to go insane.”
Beckham rests his strong jaw in the palm of his hand, his elbow planted into his armrest. His blue eyes flicker, and I’m convinced he’s in a constant state of up-to-no-good. I’ve never met another man who wears mischief like a second skin.
“I got an email from the mayor of Charity Falls this morning.” I sit up, crossing my legs and turning his way. “They want to schedule the town hall meeting for next week. He said he’d coordinate an interview with the Charity Falls Register while you’re in town.”
“Next week?” He blows a heavy breath through his full mouth.
“I’ve already checked with Julie. Your schedule is clear. She’s booking the trip while we’re gone, and yes, I’m coming with.”
Much to my dismay.
“Lucky you.” His hand hides a hint of a smirk.
“Lucky me,” I say under my breath.
“Am I really that bad?” His eyes glimmer again. I amuse him. Perhaps I’m going about this all wrong. I want him to find me abhorrent and disinteresting not mildly fascinating. Ironically, I’m sure if I were to throw myself at him, he’d run in the opposite direction as fast as his Gucci loafers would carry him.
I’m certain this is nothing more than a game to him. A guy like Beckham’s not used to women playing hard to get. The funny part is, I’m not even playing hard to get. I’m playing leave-me-alone-and-don’t-remotely-consider-me-because-I’m-not-an-option-for-you.
Huge difference.
I almost tell him he’s not my cup of tea. Someone told me that once. A guy. Right before Jeremiah came into my life. It hurt worse than I thought it would, especially once I stewed on his words for a few days.
Funny how a polite insult can hurt just as much as a nasty one.
“You know, Beckham. It doesn’t matter what I think of you. We’re both professionals here to do a job.”
The jet taxies to the runway, bouncing us in our seats with mild force.
“Can you at least try and dial your contempt down a notch?” Beckham turns forward in his chair, pulling his phone out to shut it off. His playful half-smile vanishes.
I don’t enjoy being a cold-hearted bitch. It’s as comfortable as squeezing into a pair of jeans that are too tight around the middle and four inches too long.
“At least turn it off while we’re in Salt Lake City,” he sighs. “For my brother’s sake. The last thing we need is Dane digging around in our personal business and wondering why we can’t get along.”
“Turn what off?”
“Your contempt.”
“Already planned on it.” I go back to my book, flipping the page with the flick of a finger.
Chapter Eleven
BECKHAM
“We’re staying at Golden Oak,” I announce as Odessa climbs into the black Town Car my brother sent to pick us up from the airport. Bronson loads our luggage before shutting our door and climbing up front. A few minutes later, we’re speeding down the freeway toward his expansive country estate. I was always the city mouse. He was always meant to be a country mouse of the rich, reclusive variety.
“I thought we had a hotel reservation?”
“We did. Dane cancelled it. He wants to host us at his place.” I turn my phone on, my screen blowing up with missed emails and messages. Another topless selfie from my latest admirer mixes somewhere between all those. I delete it, but not before taking a peek. I’ve never claimed to have the self-control of a saint.
“That’s nice of him.”
“He likes to control everything.”
“And you don’t?” She chuckles.
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re obsessed with control
ling what people think of you,” she says. “You want everyone to like you but only on your terms. That’s controlling.”
I glance up from my phone, two seconds from reminding her that she agreed to be kind during this trip. She wears a smile that lights up her emerald eyes, and it’s nearly identical to the one she wore the first night we met. For a second my heart hammers, and I forget we’re on completely different pages.
“Insulting someone while smiling,” I say, “isn’t the same as being cordial.”
Her chin tucks, dragging a curtain of shiny auburn hair over her shoulder as she sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I struggle to decide whether her apology is genuine, sarcastic, or a combination of the two. She looks at me from the corner of her eye before shifting her entire body my way.
Her slanted hand juts out a second later.
“Truce,” she says. “Let’s call a truce. At least for the next four days. I’ll stop making snide comments and you stop trying to get under my skin. We’ll play the roles of two cordial associates who’ve never slept together.”
I chuckle. Interacting with her while attempting to forget how fucking sexy she looked straddling my cock last week is going to be a challenge.
Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. It’s almost as if she has to psyche herself up to be nice. All it does is make me want that upper hand even more. She still fucking has it. She’s a goddamn dog refusing to let go of a stolen bone.
I meet her hand, my thumb grazing the delicate bone in her wrist. Her hands are softer than I remember.
The Town Car pulls into the private gate of Golden Oak. The driver presses the call button and within seconds the gate opens. We’re deposited under a majestic porte-cochere built with two stories of honed Brazilian granite Dane flew south of the equator to personally select. Every inch of this estate has Dane’s stamp of approval. Visiting here, as much as I loathe Utah and what it represents to me, always serves as a solemn reminder of what we’ve achieved in the last decade.
“Bienvenue!” Mathilde, my brother’s house manager greets us along with a tuxedoed butler. It always amuses me how my reclusive brother prefers to have a staff of eight at his beck and call while preferring to remain alone in his spare time. I can hardly spend an hour without some kind of social interaction yet I prefer to keep my penthouse employee-free.
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