Tightwad (Caldwell Brothers Book 2)

by Colleen Charles

  “Hey, Taryn – you busy right now?”

  I glance down at the array of colorful silk dresses and tops.

  “No,” I lie, hoping I can see him again to get my daily fix. “Why?”

  “Nixon wanted me to ask if you wouldn’t mind swinging by the Armónico in a few hours, there’s a meeting with the casino operators about some bands Nixon is trying to book for the benefit.”

  Shit. At this rate, I’ll be here all night.

  “Taryn?”

  “Oh, yeah, no problem. Who all is going to be there?”

  “No idea,” Reagan says. “Nixon asked me to sit in, and I know our favorite person is going to be there as well. That’s why Nixon wants you there – he wants to make sure Dante can’t steamroll you behind your back. It’s a bitch that he’s involved in the benefit at all, but if we locked him out at a charitable function, we’d be viewed as the bad people.”

  I sigh, knowing he’s right but not liking it one bit. A bully at a charity benefit just doesn’t pass the smell test. But all we can do now is make the best of it. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Great.”

  There’s a pause, and I wonder if Reagan is about to say something else. Something important. But then I realize that’s ridiculous. We’ve barely spent any time together, and he’s not the candid type. I feel like an idiot for even craving the words.

  “Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll see you later.”

  “Sounds good, Taryn.”

  I frown as I stare at the screen of my phone, so mad at myself for wanting something ridiculous that I have to tamp down the itch to tremble underneath the weight of the emotion. I feel compelled to do something since I’ve always been a woman of action – maybe show Reagan that I’m not a complete Type A control freak. As I think of the perfect prank, my lips curl into a smile. As quickly as I can, I dial the number of a local bakery.

  “Neon Lights, how may I help you?”

  “Hi,” I say, my mind racing with pleasure over what I’m about to do. “I know this is short notice, but could I get a sponge cake with the center hollowed out?”

  The guy on the other end of the phone laughs. “Lemme guess – you want to set up an exploding balloon cake? That’s our specialty. Do ‘em for bachelor parties all the time. What do you want in the center? Condoms or lube?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just the cake. And could you send it to the Doobie Brothers conference room at the Armónico?”

  “Holy shit, lady, you aren’t kidding around,” the guy says. “Sure thing. But I’ll have to charge you double for the rush order and the delivery.”

  “No problem.”

  I pass over my credit card information and give a fake name, then hang up and grin as my wicked plan sprints into motion. Let’s see how you like your own birthday prank, Reagan Caldwell.

  I bundle up the rest of the sample clothing, then rush home and take a quick shower. By the time I’m dressed in a flowing sundress with kitten heels, it’s time to leave for the Armónico. I can hardly keep myself from grinning the whole walk from the parking garage – this is the first time I’ll have ever played a prank on someone, and I have to resist the urge to rub my hands together in glee. I can see why he likes doing it now. The adrenaline rush is sublime. Maybe there really is something to being a jokester – if nothing else, I feel the least amount of stress I’ve felt in months.

  By the time I arrive at the Doobie Brothers room, the meeting has already begun. I slip inside and stand at the door, glaring at the back of Dante’s greasy head. His hair has been coifed into such a severe style he resembles one of those Duracell battery people. As usual, he’s a boorish asshole – trying to maneuver the whole meeting around to his benefit.

  “Dante,” Nixon says through gritted teeth. “The focus is on indie bands – I don’t want a big headliner taking attention away from the charity. It’s about raising money for a good cause and not about getting drunk and smoking weed.”

  Dante laughs in disgust as if Nixon’s a dipshit whose opinion matters not one whit. “Yeah, okay. You want some small band that nobody gives a rat’s ass about? Real smart, whelp. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you have. Why don’t you step aside and leave these plans to someone with more experience?”

  I can tell Nixon is seething, but somehow, he manages to keep his cool.

  “I was thinking someone like Lord Huron,” Nixon says. “He’s huge right now, and he’s got a handful of really solid songs. Maybe him, and have Beach House open.” Nixon turns to me. “Taryn, what do you think? You’re the demographic.”

  Dante swivels in his chair and turns to me with an expression of smug superiority.

  “Nixon, why are you asking a woman for an opinion?” Dante growls. “If they even have one, it’s never relevant.”

  My temper flares, and for a moment, I itch to go off on him. I fist my hand to keep from slapping the back of his helmet hair. Ignore him, and let your cooler head prevail.

  I force a smile. “I think Lord Huron and Beach House are solid choices. Very likely to attract a younger crowd, which is what we want.”

  “Exactly,” Nixon says. “Thanks, Taryn.”

  Dante glares. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he growls. “If you can’t get Mariah Carey, the whole event is going to turn into an epic failure.”

  Behind Dante’s back, Nixon rolls his eyes and mouths ignore him.

  Just as I’m about to reply, a knock rings out. Two men enter the room, wheeling a large cake. My heart races in anticipation.

  “We’ve got a delivery for a Reagan Caldwell,” one of them calls. “Reagan, you here?”

  I bite the inside of my mouth so I won’t smirk as Reagan gets up and strides across the room. He narrows his eyes, spears me with a flashing blue stare and holds my gaze for much longer than necessary. This is so much fun.

  “That’s me,” Reagan says. “But it’s not my birthday.”

  “Oh, how special,” Dante grunts. “Someone ordered a snack that looks far more appetizing than Caldwell’s catered swill. Bring it over here, won’t you, my friend.”

  Dante stabs a thumb in his direction and the serving staff wheel the cake toward the older man. Reagan lifts his eyebrows at me and smirks. Shitballs. I’m being sabotaged at my own game. Of course, Reagan doesn’t know that the cake is booby-trapped. I imagine Dante choking me with his evil fingers until I pass out and slink to the floor. My mind races in a blind panic. What the hell am I supposed to do now? This was such a dumb idea. I never should have tried to beat the master at his own game.

  “That’s mine,” Reagan says, rescuing me. I’ve never wanted him more than I do in this moment. “I’ll save it for later, Dante.”

  Dante rolls his eyes and reaches for the long knife that came alongside the cake, clearly telling Reagan to go fuck himself with his typical superior expression. He picks it up with his chubby fingers and before anyone can stop him, slices right into the cake.

  Pop!

  The cake explodes like an overactive volcano, covering Dante from head to toe in frosting, chunks of sponge cake, and what looks like chocolate syrup. For a moment, the room is silent. Then everyone starts choking with laughter just as Dante stands up and starts to yell.

  “What in the hell? Caldwell, what is wrong with your fucking worthless employees? This is custom Armani!” His face turns red with anger as he makes a fist and slams it down onto the table. The table bounces and more cake flies into the air, covering Dante’s double-breasted pinstriped suit.

  I throw a hand up over my mouth to hold in my giggles. Because if I don’t, I’m going to get blamed for this. Right now, he has no clue who’s responsible, and I have to keep my hilarious but epic fail on the down low. But I can’t resist just one tiny jab.

  “Dante,” I say, keeping my voice low and calm. His greasy head turns to look at me, all flaring nostrils and dripping frosting. Before I can go further, a large clump falls off his nose to
land on his lip. “Maybe this is a sign – bad things happen when you try to take things that don’t belong to you.”

  Dante glares at me, and I shiver from the obvious evil radiating from his eyes.

  “I need to visit the restroom,” Dante hisses. He turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, leaving a trail of chocolate syrup.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Reagan

  For a moment, I can hardly breathe. Taryn…played a trick on me? And a damn good one. The only thing wrong with it is that I didn’t think of it first. From across the room, I meet her eyes, and we both burst into laughter, sharing everything via silent communication just like a couple would do. And it feels so damn right. I grin as I push my way through Nixon’s executives.

  “I can’t believe it,” I say. “You got me. And even though it didn’t go as intended, I think the end result is even better.”

  “I tried,” she says, blushing and biting her lip.

  Hitting Dante with the exploding cake is the best thing that’s happened in a long time. He got a little taste of his own medicine, and no one has to suffer the consequences because he clearly did it to himself.

  “Trust me, I think it was even funnier,” I say, soothing her. “I mean, I understand Dante wasn’t the intended recipient…but the look on his face! I thought he was going to explode, just like the cake.”

  “Yeah,” she says, releasing a girlish giggle. A spectacular look crosses her face, and I want to kiss her so much I have to clamp my lips shut. I’ve never seen her look so happy. All it does is make me want to keep putting that expression on her beautiful features over and over. And I could be just the man for the job. We fit together like a glove. Each one of us complementing the other. “It was pretty great.”

  “Pretty great?” I throw my arms around her and pull her into a close hug. “It was epic.”

  Taryn pulls away, and I wonder if she’ll ever get used to leaning into my compliments and admiration instead of always deflecting.

  Her cheeks turn from pink to bright tomato red. “I’ve been acting kind of out of character since we re-connected, and I’m not sure what to think about it.”

  I stare at her – really look at her. The way her silky hair falls to her shoulders, the way her eyes sparkle and flash from laughing so hard. Suddenly, it hits me – Taryn wants to impress me. She’s trying to get in my head and think the same way I do.

  A shiver runs down my back. Taryn isn’t the aloof goddess I thought she was before – she’s an actual flesh and blood woman, with a mischievous streak.

  And somehow, that makes me like her even more. Want her even more. Life with her would never, ever be boring.

  “I hope you’re not mad,” Taryn says. “I know I probably ruined the meeting.”

  “Take it up with Nixon. I’m sure he’s fine, though. I thought he might pop a cork laughing. And anyway, you killed two birds with one stone. You pissed off Dante and got him to leave. I’m sure after he wipes off most of the fallout, he’ll slink back to the Mona Lisa to shower and change. He’s so arrogant, he’d never walk around town where someone could see him looking less than perfect.”

  Taryn looks at me with an expectant expression. “You sure you’re not angry?”

  God, how could I be angry with you? I stare at her in disbelief. You’re perfect, and I’m falling head over heels for you. You’re obviously perfect for me…exploding birthday cakes, exploding orgasms, exploding emotions.

  “Reagan?” Taryn asks. “Are you mad?”

  “Hell no,” I say. “But I am starving…feel like having dinner out?”

  She glances at her watch. “I should really get back to the shop. I have a lot to do to finish planning my runway looks.”

  “All the clothes will be there when you get back. Sometimes it’s best to come back to a task with fresh eyes.”

  Taryn chews on her lip, clearly waffling. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on,” I say, being selfish. “You owe it to yourself.” Stepping forward, I pick up a chunk of ruined cake from the bright pink box. “And I don’t think this is very nutritious.” I take a nibble of the cake and moan. “Mmm, angel food. That was always my favorite when I was a kid. My mom made a strawberry version to die for.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she agrees. “I skipped lunch, so I am pretty famished.”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. “Thanks for being so funny,” I say. “And trust me – I’m a pro so I would know.” Taryn’s hair smells like vanilla and oranges, and I want to bury my face in it and drink her in. It’s so hard to stay away from her, even in a room full of people I still feel like she and I are the only ones here. All of the chatter fades away when we’re interacting.

  “Oh, I know,” Taryn says, giving me a sly look. “I’ve had some time to learn your tricks. I’m glad you approve. I might surprise you yet, Reagan Caldwell.”

  As I guide her out of the room, I catch Nixon’s eye. He looks at us with obvious confusion on his face, and I can practically read his mind: Bro, tell her the truth. Anything worth having is worth going after, remember?

  I know I should care about being forthright. But now, the only thing I care about is spending as much time with Taryn as humanly possible before I go back to NYC and my old life. It’s like I just started living again and I don’t want to think about closing the door to my own happiness.

  Chapter Twenty

  Taryn

  “It was seriously epic.” I waggle my eyebrows at Bailey. The image of the balloon-disguised-as-a-cake still floats at the front of my mind, and I can’t even think about Dante covered in cake and frosting without giggling like a pigtailed schoolgirl.

  Bailey shakes her head, scoffing at my dramatics. “Girl, you are seriously crazy,” she says, but I notice that she’s grinning her approval. “I’m just glad Dante didn’t pop a cork. I can imagine him ordering a hit on you and demanding that you sleep with the fishes. What did Reagan think of your first practical joke attempt?”

  “He liked it. I think he really appreciated the effort that I put into the whole thing.”

  “He totally loves you,” she says, smirking. “Like it’s written in the stars or something. And somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that you’re falling for him, too. In spite of all your lame protests.”

  I toss my hair and blow her a kiss. “Try again, chica,” I hedge. “But, I…I think I was wrong about him.”

  “Told ya.” She claps her hands, clearly thrilled at that little bit of news. “Hey, is that the new Ivory Clause?”

  I nod proudly, glancing over at the almost-empty rack of silk dresses and blouses. “It’s selling like hotcakes,” I say, making a ka-ching sound and throwing a fist pump in the air above her head. “I knew it would, but this feels good all the same.”

  “Should be enough to keep that Dante piece of work at bay, at least for a while,” she says hopefully, catching my eye, and smiling.

  The only thing that can knock the wind out of my Reagan-obsessed sails is the mention of Dante. He hasn’t been back to darken my doorway, but I can guess that the little cake stunt will cause someone to pay the piper. Hopefully, not me. Sure, he doesn’t know I did it – but Dante’s explosive temper and greed are a bad combination. I have a feeling that he’s not done yet, not by a long shot.

  “I hope so,” I say. “It’s just frustrating.”

  “What?”

  “This feeling of anticipation,” I say after a long pause. “Not knowing whether Strict Nécessaire will be here next year, or even in the next six months. What if Dante wins, Bailey? What if he’s strong enough to push all of us out on our asses?”

  “I seriously doubt Reagan and Nixon would let that happen,” she says, shaking her head. “They’re going to fight back with everything they’ve got. They’re tough, and they’re good people. Let them lead the way for once.”

  “I know. I just don’t know if that’s enough. Dante’s evil, Bailey, he doesn’t give a shit about anyone but
himself. I feel so out of control, and I don’t like it.”

  “And? Why does that even matter? It’s always easier to defeat selfish bastards, anyway,” Bailey says, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance that’s very unlike her.

  “It matters because literally nothing is off limits to him. He’s the kind of guy who would cut off his own nose to spite his face.”

  Bailey wrinkles her nose and rubs it as if someone tried to slice it off with a dull butter knife. “Ouch. You know, I never thought he could get uglier…but thinking about him without a nose is kind of funny.” She laughs, but when she sees the dark look cross my face, she gives me a guilty smile. “Just kidding.”

  “It’s not funny. He could totally ruin me. He could ruin all of us, Bailey. I’d be financial and social dead meat. I’d probably have to slink back to South Dakota with my tail between my legs. I can just hear my mom now. Ugh!”

  Bailey looks at her feet. “I was just trying to make you laugh, Taryn. Chill out.”

  Before I can reply, the door chimes. I plaster a smile on my face and whirl around, ready to sell my last Ivory Clause. Before I can even utter my standard welcome greeting, I see Reagan’s handsome face, and suddenly, my fake grin turns genuine. I’m really happy to see him.

  Too happy.

  “Hey,” Reagan says. He makes a show of pressing a hand to his forehead and fanning himself. “It’s so hot outside, I almost melted. I was going to see my brother, but I thought I’d check in on you first. How are things going with the fashion show looks?”

  “A-okay. Thanks for asking.”

  “She’s not okay,” Bailey interrupts. I glare at her, and she doesn’t even pause. “She’s worried about Dante.”

  “Bailey, do you mind going in the back and checking for the delivery from Zac Posen?”

  Bailey glares at me, thwarted, as she taps her foot on the marble floor.

  “Please, Bailey?” I smile at her and bat my eyelashes. After a huge, heaving sigh, she wanders back to the stock room, but I keep my voice low because I know she’ll be eavesdropping.