Ayron eyes the rows of clothing, then the shoes and accessories stationed on an island in the middle.
“You are one neat man, and you truly do not own a single pair of jeans,” she says, still perusing my things.
I had never given a woman full access to my life, but something about Ayron makes this seem all right. I currently have a suite on standby at the Indigo Hotel, a boutique hotel downtown. That’s as far as any woman has ever made it.
“I do not own jeans. We wore uniforms in school and I’ve worn a suit everywhere since I left.”
She shook her head.
“When do you have fun?” she questions.
There was that question again. Fun? Why is that so important? What does fun bring but regrets?
“Like getting sloppy drunk, or watching sports? No time. Time is money and I don’t waste money,” I school her and lean against the accessory island.
“What’s the point of all this money if you don’t do anything with it? Why are you working so hard? Who are you going to leave it to?”
Now it’s my time to stutter, to think.
“I mean, I guess that someday I will have a family. I don’t—I just need some everyday clothes right now. Okay?” I finally spit out.
“I’m driving then,” she says. “I got places to be today, unlike someone.”
“Hit me where it hurts,” I joke. Then it hit me. “See, I’m joking. Fun.”
“We need to work on your definition of fun,” she assesses, slapping my shoulder.
This is going to be a good day.
Chapter 13-Ayron
The sterile hospital room is full of life despite Ms. Agnes’s failing health. Monique and I had filled her temporary home with balloons, flowers, and pictures, but nothing could replace the zeal that she provided.
Laughing, I plop down on the firm hospital bed next to the woman who had been much more than just an assistant.
“You don’t believe me? Just look.” I whip out my phone and scroll through the selfies and pictures that Denise Baraide took of me before I attended the gala with Devlin.
Agnes’s eyes pop open and she repositions her bed so she can get a better look.
The gala had been a week ago, but today is the first day that Agnes seems like herself.
“This reminds me of a Lena Horne number. Classic and sexy, but not slutty,” Agnes reviews my wardrobe. “And look at that smile.”
“That’s what I said, Ms. Agnes,” Monique pipes in. “She was cheesing so hard over the phone that I could hear her dimples grow.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I had a good time,” I dismiss, but my grin won’t be denied. It creeps up without warning.
“Did you know she was dirty dancing with him before he became her client?” Monique adds. “She can lie to herself all she wants, but he’s more than just a client.”
“It’s strictly all for the betterment of him. Devlin is really a great guy, just a bit too impulsive,” I explain. “Once he has his review hearing, I won’t ever see him again.”
Opting to discuss happier news, I change the subject.
“On a different note, I spoke with the realtor about the office space and filled out the application to get the ball rolling.”
This is the scary part, starting something new. I have to remember that this is for the better, even though I want to storm down to city hall and demand that they leave what is left of the community center just the way it is.
“Don’t forget about the Rhonda Raven Show, the taping is in two weeks.”
Other than the show, I have to keep Devlin out of trouble for fourteen more days, and move my entire practice to a new location.
“I forwarded the office calls to my cell phone,” I tell the ever-worried Ms. Agnes. “Between Monique and me, things are being handled.”
“Yep,” Monique chimes in. “I’m keeping her straight. You just focus on getting better.”
Monique works as a freelance computer programmer and analyst. The girl is smart, even though she sometimes feels like it is better to hide it from the world.
A polite knock on the door interrupts our conversation.
“Good morning,” he says, entering the room with a familiar smile.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of Lance wearing his white coat.
Monique groans.
I had not seen him since he left me years ago. I had been a mess after my grandmother’s passing, still working odd hours at the hospital with no focus or drive. He didn’t care to comprehend my pain, he just wanted me to get over it, be the girl I was when granny gave me hope.
“Ayron?” His eyes fill with recognition. “What—how—it’s nice to see you,” he finally says before walking over and hugging me.
“Ms. Agnes works at my practice and I—”
“Dr. Tirash told me that you finally got your practice going,” he interrupts. “I really want to see you again, Ayron. We have to catch up. Over dinner maybe?” he inquires.
I can tell that Monique has something to say about this from the twisted look on her face.
“Sure,” I speak too easily. “It would be nice to catch up.” There is no truth to those words. I don’t want to see him again, but I was taught to say nice things to people.
“Great.” His face brightens and he takes my hand into his. “I really want to talk to you.”
“As soon as you get me fixed up, doctor, I’ll try to make that possible,” Agnes chimes in. “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“I know that you are,” he adds. “Thankfully, with the surgery, you should be able to go home soon,” Lance assures Agnes.
Lance had always been a good bull-shitter. He’d led me to believe that he actually wanted to marry me and have a family. But the way his left eye twitches and he runs a hand along the back of his neck lets me know all I need to about Agnes’s condition.
His spindly arms are nothing like Devlin’s bulging biceps, and his smile is a disproportionate mix of constipation and surprise.
He was a prize, or so I thought, someone I was supposed to consider myself lucky to have. Every time I talked about Lance becoming a physician, there was a gleam in my grandmother’s eye. Two doctors in the family, she would say, beaming. He is going to take good care of you. Looking at the scrawny man who left me crying on a bathroom floor after my grandmother’s funeral, I now find him reprehensible. For once, my grandmother had been wrong about a person. He didn’t take care of me. He wasn’t there for me. Money isn’t everything.
Ms. Agnes and Monique, who have relatively less, were there to support me, and are still here to support me. He doesn’t even deserve an eye roll.
My rolling eyes delight Devlin and have become a game between the two of us.
I smile at the thought of Dev and the time we had spent together over the last week. A carnival, an aquarium, a museum, he had taken me some place different every night. I hadn’t had this much fun since, never. I feel like I’ve known him longer than a couple of days. We’ve talked every night and seen each other every morning. I drive out to his place for breakfast.
“This procedure will allow for at least seventy-percent function,” Lance rattles on to Agnes, but I wish there was a different doctor explaining this than Lance.
He looks over to me and winks.
My ringing phone interrupts Lance’s lingering gaze on my breasts. Agnes is speaking to him, but he is so selfish that he can’t even bother to give her his full attention.
“Excuse me,” I say, looking at the phone that Devlin had provided before stepping into the hallway.
“Don’t head too far, Ayron,” Lance calls after me.
“Truth or Dare?” Devlin propositions when I answer.
I laugh at his non-greeting. Hearing the smooth, velvet tone of his voice has become a need. A craving that circles through me whenever I’m not speaking with him.
“Neither,” I answer. Playing a game with Devlin could be dangerous for the both of us. Telling the truth
may mean losing him forever.
“Truth or Dare?” he insists. “You know I can be persistent.”
“Dare,” I answer. My rule may be able to prevent issues with whatever task he concocts.
“I’m glad you said that. Tell me where you are, and I’ll send a car.” His suave words slide around me, sparking every place on my body that his lips had been.
“How do you know that I’m not busy today?” I tease. “Maybe I can’t just join you at the drop of a hat.”
“I know because you told me that you were having a late lunch with a friend today, which you never identified as male or female, and didn’t have any clients for the evening,” he responds.
“You listen well, Mr. Masters,” I congratulate, recalling the hours we spent on the phone last night.
I had woken up to the hum of his breathing, since we both had reverted to teenagers and didn’t want to hang up the phone.
Lance had never known what was going on in my life. Ever. The only time he became interested was when he was ready to show me off to someone. My life only mattered when it made his look better.
I survey the bright white hospital hall and decide not to tell Devlin about what is going on currently.
Dragging Agnes into this will only make my departure harder. In a few weeks, this charade will be over.
“I’m with Monique still, but there’s a bookstore on Elm Street,” I tell him, and look at my watch.
“Be there in an hour,” he says.
“Are you asking or telling?” I respond with a smile.
“Daring,” he replies. “See you soon.”
He is a man that gets what he wants and I find it exciting that he happens to want me.
“Ayron,” Lance calls as he enters the hall. “I know this is kind of awkward, but it has to be more than a coincidence that we bumped into each other now.”
He takes my hand in his, but it feels flat, cold. No tingles, just his clammy flesh.
I snatch my hand away.
“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t act like you left things pleasantly. Like we decided to just end things as friends.”
“I really want to see you tonight,” he says.
“Out of respect for Ms. Agnes, I didn’t curse your ass out while we were in her room.” I point a finger at his nose.
“Does your man already have you booked?” he questions.
"I don't have man,” I answer, but a twinge of guilt shoots through me. How would Devlin feel about me saying that?
"You don't have to lie,” he says, stepping forward. “I saw a social media post of you and the billionaire guy Devlin Masters."
“So is that what this is about? You see that somebody else wants me, and now you remember me?”
"It's not like that,” he implores, stepping forward. “You look different. You are different. Just the way you stand has changed. I almost didn't recognize you in the picture because of how bright your eyes were and the ear-to-ear smile.”
“Did it occur to you that you never gave me a reason to smile?” I ask with more attitude than I expected.
“Ha.” Lance releases a guttural scoff as he unnecessarily straightens his white coat. The sincerity and sweetness drain in seconds. “Let’s get this straight, Ayron. You were the cause of your own unhappiness. All the moping and the tears. People die. It’s life, but as soon as your grandmother’s life ended, the entire spark in yours died as well.”
“You can’t speak on that since you didn’t stick around long enough for me to even move through the grieving process,” I snap, moving closer to him. “And FYI, you killed whatever joy I had inside a long time before my granny passed, with all of your fucking snide remarks and condescending looks.”
It was always about keeping up appearances for him. Back straight, hair neat, clothes conservative. Shake hands, fake smile, be a good little girl for his pinch-nosed mother and rod-stiff father. The pedigreed and multi-degreed Rodgers were always socially upward and upwardly mobile.
“Obviously, you’re the same little gutter girl that you’ve always been. I thought that maybe the billionaire cleaned you up a little, taught you how to speak as a lady. But I was mistaken.”
His words cut deep. For a good portion of my life I traveled in worlds that I could never have access to, only watch and sometimes serve. No matter how friendly they had been, there was always the presumption that because I had less money, I was less than.
“You’re even more mistaken if you think that your opinion matters to me.”
With that, I turned on my heels and walked down the hall away from him. I turned for a brief moment, only to see him standing there, with his mouth open, staring back.
Having the last word with Lance empowers me, so my entire drive to the bookstore I have Beyoncé blaring and my neck rolling.
“I used to want you so bad. I’m so through with that,” I sing at the top of my lungs with the windows down. My hair flows in the wind along with my words. “Best thing you never had.”
Freedom feels good.
As I amp up for verse two, my cell phone rings.
I use my hands-free device to answer the call and fumble for the knob to turn down the music.
“I hear things have been going well with Devlin,” the elder Masters says.
I bite back a smile.
“Yes. He is listening to advice, rethinking some of his decisions, and trying methods of relaxation,” I report.
“Good. I am trying to get the evaluation moved up to next Monday, before the wedding, so that Dev can be in position when Trevor becomes my son-in-law.” He says the last words as though they feel sour in his mouth. This makes me wonder.
“I don’t want to overstep, sir.” I add a sign of respect to frame my disrespectful question. “Why put Trevor in place if you didn’t really want him to run the company?”
I brace myself for blowback. I don’t know David Masters very well, and technically, he is my employer, but I also want to understand.
“You care about Dev?” he counters.
“Devlin is a hardworking and genuine person.”
“And with people like you in his life, he’ll make a great president of the company, and an even greater man,” he concludes.
He had answered my question, and told me nothing at all.
One thing still worries me, though. David Masters is right about one thing. I do like his son entirely more than I should.
“I was wondering if you planned on telling Devlin who I am, or how I could give a statement without giving my identity?” I question tentatively.
It shouldn’t matter. Our relationship isn’t real. But the idea of Devlin knowing that I haven’t been completely honest with him fills me with dread.
“You will be able to complete a notarized written statement for review that will be sealed. Only the executive review board will look at the statement and have access to your identity. He will never know,” he assures me.
“Thank you.”
“Have a good day, Miss Winters.”
When I pull into the parking lot, I notice a black Porsche Panamera and my heart thumps.
He’s already here.
Before I can put my small, sputtering car into park, he is out of his. Dressed in the casual Polo shirt and jeans that we purchased the other day, Devlin’s long, muscular frame shadows my door as he opens it.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he says, helping me up from my seat and planting a kiss on my cheek. “You really should just let me know where you live so we can stop leaving your car in random places unattended.”
“And give away all of my mystery?” I say. “Besides, if anyone decided to take this car, they’d bring it right back.”
“Really?” he asks.
“Certain,” I reply. “I’ve had the alternator changed twice. The engine was rebuilt last year. The air conditioner only blows from the floor, and about twelve other different things. It’s paid for, though, and it’s mine.”
“Is it safe?” His f
ace scrunches.
“What are we doing today? What is this dare that required my near-immediate attention?” I change the subject. My car-care routine is not his worry.
Devlin takes another look at my car as he ushers me into a seat in his well-built, expensive piece of machinery.
“I dare you to spend the night with me,” he says, lifting his head to look right at me. His words are deliberate and strong, and the intensity from his gaze hardens my nipples. It’s getting so that I can’t be near the man without water dripping with want from in between my legs.
I swallow as thoughts of his hardness pressed inside me flash across my mind, similar to the dream I touched myself to last night. In the dream, Devlin had pushed me up against the wall and slid between my thighs, similar to the night at the Gala, but instead of stopping him, I had allowed him to continue.
“I can’t. You know that,” I protest, tension squeezing through my body and gripping me.
He places a solid finger against my lips, interrupting my words before replacing his finger with his full lips.
“I will follow all of your rules. A lot of truth and no sex. No problem,” he says, releasing my mouth but not my mind. All at once, I am relieved.
Feeling floaty, I look deeply into the caramel pools of his eyes.
“Trust me,” he adds. “I promise not to touch you until you touch me. Cross my heart.”
He makes a line vertically first and then horizontally over his heart.
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t do that,” he smirks. “They’ll get stuck like that.”
He moves his face closer to mine and the smell of his cologne nearly renders me brainless.
“I didn’t bring anything to sleep in. I haven’t let anyone know where I am. I have clients. I have responsibilities,” I protest, but stop when his hand slides across my cheek.
“Let me take care of you,” he says softly before pressing sweet suckles down my jaw line.
“I thought you said no touching,” I remind him breathlessly as the world around us slides away.
“After you agree,” he breathes before sliding his wide hand in a line between my thighs. “If you choose not to accept my challenge, I plan to touch you every moment that you are in my sight.”
Fast and Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 21