Tightwad (Caldwell Brothers Book 2)

by Colleen Charles

The man chuckles. “I understand. It’s joke.” To my irritation, he begins to push the cart into the center of the room, hitting my shin in the process. I lean down to rub it, and my heart sinks as Taryn stares at the cart with obvious interest. The man reaches for the dome.

  “No!” I yell. “Don’t do that!”

  The man turns to me and frowns. “But, sir…”

  “Enough,” I snap, slamming my hand down on top of the dome. “You’re not needed. Thanks but no thanks.”

  With both hands, I gently push the man toward the door. He glares at me before leaving. Fucker. I just gave you twenty bucks for nothing. That’s like, the biggest tip you’ll get all day. And you can’t even work with me a little?

  Taryn laughs and exhales. “Okay, I was wrong about the hooker, but did you get an apple pie? We haven’t been that long from dinner and birthday cake. Do you have some kind of closet sugar habit I should know about? If you do, I could easily bribe you to help me with Dante. I make a mean scratch blueberry pie, being from South Dakota and all.”

  What?” I squint at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Taryn chuckles, looking smug. “An apple pie. Like from American Pie. Remember?”

  I groan and roll my eyes. “No. I did not get a pie. I…got dessert, though. For later, I guess.”

  “Oh.” She perks up, standing, and walking closer to the cart. “Can I have some? I should’ve had that stupid cake back at the restaurant, but I was too full. Now I’m down for some sweet refreshment…anger always does that. I think the adrenaline flows straight to the stomach and empties it right out.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Um, I think they sent the wrong thing.”

  Taryn frowns. “Reagan…you haven’t even looked at it yet. What in the hell are you hiding?”

  “I know, but you saw the room service employee. English wasn’t his native language. How could he be expected to understand Bananas Foster?”

  She gives me a look and claps her hands together. “I love Bananas Foster. It’s my favorite. Let’s dig in before it gets cold.”

  “Taryn, he could barely understand me. I told him to send it back to the kitchen, but he wouldn’t.”

  “I just want a little,” she says. “Come on, don’t be selfish. You already paid for it, right? You might as well share. With me.”

  I sigh, the deep heaving breath of a man grasping at straws and fractured hope. A man ready to fall to his doom. “Let’s just go out, okay? Frozen yogurt sound good? Walking is good for reducing anger. I just read it in the Huffington.”

  “Yeah, but I still don’t understand why you won’t just eat what just got delivered. We’re right here. It’s late. I still need to talk to you about Dante.”

  I open the door and gesture for her to come with me. “I hate eating in my suite. They never come this late to take the dirty dishes back, and I hate shoving them out into the hallway.”

  Taryn gives me a smoldering look that sets my cock twitching. “Good to know you’re a little anal,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll have to remember that for the future.”

  As I follow her out of the room, it’s all I can do not to sigh in relief and give myself away.

  Catastrophe averted.

  Chapter Ten

  Taryn

  “Come on,” I groan, rolling my eyes and glaring. “You can’t possibly be serious!”

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m telling the truth.”

  Holding the phone away from my face, I give the plastic the middle finger salute. After a few seconds, I hear the woman asking, “Hello?” With a groan, I return the phone to my ear.

  “Look,” I say, trying to keep my cool. I didn’t get to where I am by going off on people. “I’m not sure whom I need to speak with, but I really need to make this right. This is an emergency!”

  “I’m not sure who you are,” the woman snips in a catty voice. “But Ms. Hadid is far too busy to attend your little benefit show, or whatever. Have you tried some up and coming girls? Have you called the agencies, like a normal client?”

  “I can’t have someone who’s up and coming,” I shoot back, hating her catty attitude, but raising her with one of my own. “I had Fernanda Maxwell booked, and she was stolen from right under my nose.”

  The woman sighs. “I’ll look through my young talent and see who’s available. Does that sound good?”

  “Fine,” I agree. “Whatever. It’s all fine. Just call me back, okay?”

  “Of course, Trina.”

  “It’s Taryn,” I say in exasperation. “And thanks for nothing.”

  Before the woman can reply, I hang up and shove my phone in my back pocket.

  “God,” I say to Bailey, turning and putting my hands on my hips. “We are so screwed. I can’t find anyone this late in the game. It’s a total clusterfuck.”

  Bailey gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. Want me to try for Melody Seymour? Maybe if we mention the Ivory Clause exclusive? That has to count for something.”

  “I already mentioned it,” I say, making my best sourpuss face. “It’s not doing any good.”

  “Taryn, you can’t be picky right now,” Bailey says. She steps closer, making her way across the store until she’s right in front of the fridge loaded with complimentary drinks. I watch as she yanks the door open and pulls out two small miniature bottles of champagne. Keeping one eye on me, Bailey opens the drinks and hands me a bottle.

  “We really shouldn’t be day drinking,” I groan. “But I’m just so frustrated.”

  Bailey holds her bottle out to mine, and we clink glasses. “I know. But I promise this will all be over soon.”

  “The benefit’s already been delayed. Nixon can’t be patient forever.”

  “He’s been so good about it.” Bailey looks around. “He totally understands Dante’s antics. He’s told you how many times the asshat’s snatched big-name bands right out from underneath his nose to play the Mona Lisa. Even when said bands are in clear breach of contract? Didn’t you ask Reagan if he could do anything lawyerly?”

  “No.” I slump, letting my arms hang down to my sides. The cold bottle of champagne is slipping in my hand. I’ve been working all morning, and I can’t stop the moisture from lacing my skin.

  “Velvet is a perfectly good location,” Bailey says, her melodic voice full of promise. “Taryn, Nixon didn’t do this to punish you. He’s a brilliant businessman and just realized that his club would be better for the show than our store. Especially now that other casinos are taking part in it. The more participating, the more money for Helping Hands & Hearts.”

  “Then why does it feel so much like punishment?” I groan the question, taking a long pull on my tiny bottle of champagne. It’s already almost empty, and I finish it before tossing it in the recycling and grabbing another bottle from the fridge.

  Bailey eyes me with caution. “I don’t know, Taryn. I think Nixon just wanted to take some of the stress off your back. Anyone could see what this is doing to you. Throw the Dante sauce on top, and it’s a recipe for disaster.”

  I roll my eyes at her visual imagery. “Don’t you dare tell me I need Botox. Besides, we spent two whole days decorating this place,” I say, gesturing around Strict Nécessaire. “And now we have to take everything down just because that fucker stole our model? It’s not fair.”

  “Taryn,” Bailey says in a warning tone. “Life isn’t fair,” she adds. “I know you’re mad – hell, I would be, too. But you’re a big girl. Time to put on your big girl panties and suck it up.”

  “I hate you,” I moan, burying my face in my hands and hunching over the marble counter. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  Bailey steps closer and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Look. You’ve really made it, okay? You’ve done all of this by yourself.” I look up and see her gesture around the store, smiling in admiration. “And sometimes, as adults, we have to take hits and act like they don’t matter. You’ll come out even stronger on the other side. I
promise.”

  “I know you’re right,” I say, nodding. Maybe there’s a pot of gold at the end of this black rainbow. “I just…dammit…this whole stupid benefit show is ruined. I can’t believe Dante always gets his way. Why does the universe do things like that to us? Karma’s a vicious bitch so why isn’t she going after the true perpetrator?”

  Bailey sighs, the long-suffering moan of a bestie at the end of her friendship rope. “Taryn, everything is going to be fine. Nixon loves working with you. I swear, he was just trying to help.”

  “I know,” I mutter. “Trust me, I know. I just–”

  “You just what?”

  Just as I’m about to start a whole new spiel of complaints, the door chimes and someone strides in. Tossing my empty champagne bottle into the recycling, I whirl around and plaster a smile on my face.

  “We’re not open,” I say with what I hope is a charming smile. “Please come back…” My voice falters when I see that it’s Reagan. “Oh, I thought you were a customer.”

  Reagan walks closer, looming over me while staring at the empty champagne bottles. Shit. I just told him I rarely indulged in drinking on the job and here I am, making a liar out of myself. “I hear that a lot. How are things?”

  I let my smile fade as I shrug and shake my head. “Not good. I still haven’t found a replacement model.”

  To my surprise, Reagan beams. He puts his thumb through the loops of his slacks and rocks back and forth. He’s up to something. “Good. Looks like I’ve made myself useful after all. How does Eva Blake sound?”

  “Seriously?” My jaw drops. “Why the hell do you think she’d be willing to do this?”

  “Because it’s not what you know, it’s who you know,” he answers. “Because I just spoke with her, and she’s on board. She’ll be flying out immediately for the benefit.”

  All I can do is stare. Why has this man – this gorgeous, sexy, arrogant asshole of a man – deigned to help me?

  Then I remember. I bet Nixon put him up to this. Still, not bad. Eva Blake is still hot right now. I bet she’ll really pull in a huge crowd for my portion of the show. Maybe this benefit will really put me on the Vegas map which will only lead to more and more exclusive contracts. Maybe even Victoria.

  “Well?” Reagan asks, stepping closer. “What do you think?”

  “Taryn!” Bailey gives me an admonishing look, pulling me out of my own head. “Come on, he’s just booked Eva Blake! For us!”

  “That’s incredible,” I manage to say after a few seconds of silence. “I…I can’t believe that. Thank you.”

  Reagan smiles and raises an eyebrow. I can’t tell if it’s a cocky smile or a happy smile, but at the moment, I don’t even care. All I can do is sigh with relief.

  “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Bailey says, striding over to the tiny refrigerator and pulling three bottles of champagne from inside. “Reagan, Taryn, come here.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Reagan. “How do you even know Eva Blake? She’s still with Ivory’s Secret, right?”

  Reagan shrugs and gives me a modest look. “You’re forgetting how many high-profile clients I have in New York. One of my partners helped her out back when she and Ripp Nash got divorced. She was a real mess. But she agreed to do the show for nothing, so I figured she’d be a good pick.”

  “For nothing?” My jaw drops. “You really are pulling my leg.”

  Reagan takes the bottles of champagne from Bailey and screws them open before passing them around. The three of us clink bottles.

  “To Eva Blake,” I say.

  “What about me?” Reagan gives me a faux-wounded look. “After all, I’m the one who got shit done.”

  My cheeks burn bright red, and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from grinning like an idiot. “You’re right. To Eva Blake and Reagan Caldwell.”

  “Wow,” Bailey says, shaking her head. “This is such a relief.” She eyes me, and I glare at her, hoping that she won’t say anything embarrassing. “Taryn was really going nuts. I thought she might lose it and do something she’d regret. Something evil and illegal that involves Dante Giovanetti.”

  My blush deepens as Reagan cocks his head to the side and gives me a strange look.

  “Really?” Reagan asks, sipping his champagne. “I can’t tell. She seems fine to me.”

  “I was just a little stressed,” I say, unwilling to admit to my Defcon Five panic attack before Reagan showed up with his perfect news and saved the day. “But everything’s going to be fine.”

  Bailey smiles triumphantly. “See? I told you so.” I feel a hot flare of irritation toward her, something I’ve never felt before.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I say to my friend.

  “Sure.” She gives me a confused look but picks up her bottle of champagne and saunters off. “I’ll tidy up the back room,” she calls over her shoulder. “Last time I checked, it was a mess.”

  As soon as we’re alone, I gulp the rest of my champagne. The alcohol kicks in, and I can feel my skin warming. But it’s not just because of the booze. I glance at Reagan, trying to be discreet. It’s because he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and I can’t believe he rushed in to make everything okay again. I’m so damn used to only depending on myself, it’s hard to process the assist. And it’s implications.

  “What?” Reagan says. “You need to tell me something you can’t say in front of Bailey?”

  I blush and bite my lip. “It’s not that,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I just…thank you. This is really incredible. I was really, really scared. I hope that doesn’t make me look weak in your eyes.”

  Suddenly, his opinion of me means more than I ever thought it would. It feels like it means everything. Reagan looks embarrassed under the weight of my words, and it strikes me that he’s probably not used to such naked praise. Somehow, that idea just endears him to me even further. Maybe he’s not the cocky asshole I think he is. Maybe he’s just hiding behind this façade, this mask of what he thinks a successful man should act like.

  “You’re welcome,” Reagan says. His voice is polite, like a ten-year-old kid thanking his grandmother for a butterscotch candy. “I just thought this might make things easier for you.”

  “You have no idea,” is all I can say. Thanks just doesn’t seem like enough.

  Just as Reagan opens his mouth to speak, the door chimes again. Why in the world do people keep ignoring the closed sign on the front door?

  “We’re not open at the moment,” I say, fighting to keep the irritation from my tone. I wanted this opportunity to be alone with Reagan. If Dante’s come to threaten me, he’ll be sorely disappointed when he sees I have male reinforcement. My heart thumps in my chest. Worse yet, what if it’s Nixon coming to tell me that, even with Eva Blake, Strict Nécessaire is out of the fashion show?

  My eyes widen at the sight before me. I blink a few times, thinking the strange anomaly will disappear if I just pretend it’s not there. How can this even be possible? Huddled in front of my stained-glass front door is a group of four men, dressed in black pants, red and white striped vests, bow ties, and straw hats. They’re all tiny, and it takes me a moment to realize they’re little people. They stride closer in unison, swinging their matching canes high in the air.

  Frowning, I put my hands on my hips. “Can I help you?”

  The lead man winks at me. “Are you Taryn?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say, putting my bottle of champagne down on the counter. “Are you lost?”

  The men smile these wide shit-eating grins and break into a song and dance.

  “It’s the happy day that always comes!

  Just once a year to make you smile!

  It’s a very, very happy day!

  Your birthday!”

  Beside me, Reagan bursts out laughing. I squint at the troupe of dancing men.

  One of them pulls a harmonica from his suit jacket and begins playing, dancing to the rhythm of the beat. The men form a circl
e around me, swaying and singing loudly in perfect four part acapella harmonies. If I wasn’t so flabbergasted, I’d enjoy it more.

  “What the hell is going on,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

  The commotion brings Bailey rushing out of the back room. She looks panicked until she sees the men, then she too bursts out laughing as she taps her foot and lip syncs. But no sound comes out of her mouth. Bailey’s not a very talented singer.

  “Taryn, what is this?” she asks, gasping for breath in between guffaws. “What’s going on?”

  “I have no idea,” I say in a flat voice. The men still dance and sing, unable or unwilling to cut their number short, and one of them pulls a huge bunch of balloons from behind his back and hands them to me proudly. I don’t move, and after a few seconds, he jiggles them.

  “Hey, lady, these are for you,” the man snaps. “It’s your birthday, ain’t it?”

  Swallowing, I reach down and pluck the balloons from his grasp. “Not exactly,” I say, shaking my head. “But thanks, I guess. You did a really great job. Excellent performance.”

  The other men wrap it up into a grand finale, getting down on their knees as they make sweeping gestures with their hands and arms. Bailey and Reagan can hardly stand from laughing so hard, and I’m starting to feel stranger and stranger by the second. Bailey’s doubled over, and tears stream down her face.

  After the men finish, they linger in the shop.

  “They’re waiting for a tip,” Bailey hisses. “Geez, Taryn. I know you’re from South Dakota, but it’s Vegas. Were you born in a barn?”

  I narrow my eyes at her, not appreciating the censure. “I didn’t hire them, and it’s not my birthday. Why the hell would someone do this? Right after the cake thing, too. If Dante’s behind this, I’m going to–”

  Reagan chuckles and steps forward. “Allow me,” he says, pulling a Mont Blanc wallet from his back pocket, and unfolding a few crisp bills. He hands them to the leader of the quartet, then stands back and crosses his arms. He gives the men a satisfying smile as they troop out of Strict Nécessaire, still humming that stupid birthday song under their collective breath.