We eat in silence as we make our way toward where we’d left the car. When I’m done and balling up the paper wrapper to toss in the next street can we come upon, I say, “You know that’s not enough to suffice for an actual dinner, right?”
“I figured as much,” she replies, having finished her hot dog. She nabs my wrapper from my hand, crumples it with her trash, and tosses it in a garbage can we stroll by. After, she takes my hand and laces her fingers through mine, and yeah… that’s something I could get used to as well.
Touch.
I never thought much of it before, yet now I’m analyzing exactly how her skin feels against mine and wondering why it makes me feel good.
“Where to next?” she asks.
“A mattress store,” I reply. “Then a good dinner somewhere.”
Her laugh drowns out the Old Town sounds around me. Blots out the bright lights, the street smells, and throngs of people. Places me in a vacuum that doesn’t feel isolated at all. On the contrary, it’s just her and me and a feeling of completeness.
My head spins with the realization that this thing I have going with Bailey is way more than just some step we’ve taken to spend more time with each other. She’s provoking more than just need and desire. She’s tapping into my emotions on a level I’d long thought was dead.
I’m not ashamed to admit—only to myself, of course—that it freaks me the fuck out.
It also excites me and makes me have a sense of… is that hope? For a different future? A better life?
I have no clue what the fuck any of this means. For now, though, I tighten my hand on hers and decide to go with it.
CHAPTER 22
Bailey
“Are you over your snit about me buying you a new mattress?” Declan asks.
The question surprises me. I put my Italian sub I’d been about to take a bite of down, then wipe my fingers on my napkin. We’re currently having a work lunch in his office. Like hot dogs, watching Declan eat something as mundane as a sub threatens to give me the giggles.
My chin lifts in challenge, and I know there’s a gleam in my eye. “I was not in a snit.”
Well, I was. I thought he was totally joking about it when we went Saturday after our time in Old Town, but no… he was dead serious. He bought a two-thousand-dollar mattress over much argument and consternation. I thought it was too extravagant for my home, and I didn’t want him to think his money was an attraction for me.
But he won. He just rolled right over me and got what he wanted, using charming smiles and touches while the sales associate rang up his purchase. He even paid a delivery premium to have it delivered on Sunday.
As we sit here on Monday in his office, I’ll never admit that I quickly got over my snit when we slept on it last night. I mean, we did lots of other things on it first, and, wow, was it heaven. And maybe it’s because Declan wore me out, or maybe it was the pillow top, but it was the best sleep I think I ever had in my life.
Declan doesn’t argue, merely watches me from across his desk. “Why do you ask if I’m over my snit?” I press.
“Well,” he drawls, setting his sub on the wrapper and mimicking my earlier actions by wiping his hands, then his mouth, with a napkin. “I want to update your wardrobe. You need more work outfits, and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in some more sexy lingerie.”
“No,” I exclaim firmly. I even wag my finger. “No, no, no.”
“Why not?” His question is calm in the face of my displeasure.
“Because,” I sputter, completely aghast he doesn’t get why I’d be against this. “I will not be a kept woman.”
Declan’s eyes go round. He blinks several times, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, he manages to ask on a bark of laughter. “A kept woman? Jesus… are you serious?”
“You’re rich,” I say the obvious, pointing across the desk. I throw my thumb back in my direction. “I’m not rich. We are at a vast disparity in income, but I am fully able to take care of myself. It’s… it’s… sexist for you to buy stuff for me.”
“You let me buy you clothes before,” he points out.
“That was when it was a condition of my employment,” I retort, leaning an arm on top of the desk. “That is not the case now.”
“You let me buy you a mattress,” he counters, his smirk telling me he’s enjoying this exchange.
“That was for your benefit, not mine,” I reply primly, grabbing my sub so I can finish my lunch. But I lift my eyes briefly to add, “And you can take it with you if we ever break up.”
“Plotting the demise of our new relationship so soon, Miss Robbins?” he asks in a mocking tone.
“Not at all,” I reply with a sly grin. “Just setting boundaries.”
“Fine,” he replies on a drawn-out exhale. “Can I at least buy you sexy lingerie?”
I stare at the ceiling with exaggerated contemplation before giving him my attention with a brilliant smile. “Yes. You may do that.”
Laughing, Declan picks his sub back up. He went with turkey on wheat, way healthier than mine, which is loaded with olive oil vinaigrette, plus mayonnaise. But my working theory is he works so many calories off me each night in our lovemaking, I can afford it.
We finish our lunches. I quickly clean up the wrappers, wiping the desk off with Lysol I keep at my cubicle, while Declan pulls out a binder from his back credenza.
He opens it just as I’m sitting down to take notes on my iPad using the sleek new Bluetooth keyboard that appeared on my desk this morning.
“I’ve decided on the next Blackwood project,” he says, scanning inside the binder.
“San Francisco,” I guess, because I’ve watched him hammer out the pros and cons with his executive staff during meetings over the past few weeks. I can tell which way he’s leaning.
“Yes,” he says, pinning me with an appreciative smile. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” I quip, pulling up a clean screen to start typing notes.
“Or a fine ass,” he teases.
I ignore it. “So what’s first on the agenda?”
For the next hour, Declan dictates the various phases that will occur, in a rough format, of course. He’s already got the property firmly in mind, and he’ll begin negotiations on that soon. Then it will be about getting our primary contractor committed, who will then slate out the subs with a potential construction start date in about six months.
“At what point in this process will you be moving there?” I inquire, trying to sound professional in my desire to have this knowledge, but knowing deep in my gut I want to know because it probably means we have a finite end to our relationship. I always knew he’d be leaving at some point, but I wasn’t quite prepared to think about it.
Declan’s attention stays within the binder, but he answers, “I usually like to be there when we break ground on the site.”
So six months, give or take. I’m not even sure if I should consider that a lot of time or not. Compared to a lifetime, it’s the blink of an eye.
Compared to what we had yesterday, it’s enough.
Maybe.
I clear my throat, putting on my most business-like expression. “Any idea where the next project will be after that?”
Declan shrugs, giving me a brief glance. “I guess wherever I decide to open the first boutique resort.”
I frown, not over the fact he’ll be opening the sex club-themed resort after the San Francisco Blackwood, but rather by his tone, which makes me wonder if that will happen.
“You don’t sound overly excited about it,” I say hesitantly.
His eyes snap to mine, his expression surprised. “What makes you say that?”
It takes a moment for me to put it into words. “You sound like you’ve lost your passion for the project.”
Declan tilts his head. He ponders it before giving a slow shake of his head. “I honestly don’t know now that you’ve brought it up. I’ve been focused on making the decision t
o move forward in San Francisco, so I haven’t been devoting much creative energy to it, but…”
His words trail off as he considers his feelings. I remain quiet, letting him come to his own conclusion.
Finally, he says with a bit of a helpless shrug, “I don’t know what I want to do with it. I still have to talk to my dad about it… let him know my idea. I had planned to do that when we were in Chicago, and that got pushed to the side by circumstances.”
Yeah, his family being unbelievably rude and unwelcoming, but I don’t belabor that point. “Would your dad try to stop you from doing that project?”
“He couldn’t,” Declan says with a hard bite. “I know he won’t like it… he wouldn’t possibly understand why I’d want to do this, nor would he care enough about me personally to try to. So it’s more of a formality—a courtesy you could say—on my part to tell him.”
“Still,” I muse. “I bet it won’t be a pleasant conversation.”
Declan chuckles. “You’ve seen enough to know the truth of that. And this will probably strain our already-tenuous relationship and make working with him more difficult, no doubt.”
“Is this project worth it?” I ask him. “Worth the trouble it will cause?”
Settling back in his chair, Declan steeples his hands and taps them against his chin as he considers this. “You know, if it were just the personal relationship I was putting at risk, I wouldn’t think twice about it because there’s so little there to salvage. But I’m a Blackwood. This is my legacy. One day, my father will be gone, and it will all fall on me. Until that time, I still take my work with this company very seriously. It’s far more important than opening a fad boutique.”
It’s at this moment I realize how much I admire Declan as a businessman. His dedication to this company is without question, his loyalty to his name is inspiring, especially since he doesn’t have much of a loving foundation within his family unit.
“You can put it on the back burner,” I suggest. “That project will always be there.”
His eyes bore into mine as he slowly smiles. “You’re right.”
A dinging sound from his laptop indicates a new email, and his eyes are drawn to the screen. Then the corners of his mouth shoot up with a deep grin. He leans forward, taps a few times on the keyboard, and eyes me slyly. “Our test results are in.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, then I realize… our STD tests. I already know my results will be fine, as the first thing I did after I found out Caleb was cheating on me was to get tested. Of course, he swore up and down he’d always practiced safe sex, but I couldn’t trust his word. Not when he’d violated my trust in him as a person.
“Want to knock off work early—take these test results out for a test spin?” Declan suggests with a waggle of his eyes.
Laughing, I push out of the chair, collecting my iPad. I give him a chastising smirk. “You have a four PM appointment with your department heads, so we are most certainly not knocking off work early. Plus, I need to run some groceries by my parents’ house after work.”
Declan chuckles even as he nods. “Keeping me straight.”
“Always,” I reply with a tart wink.
“Dinner tonight?” he suggests. “After you go see your parents?”
My belly flutters that he wants to see me tonight. “I’d love that.”
Yes, we’d agreed on being exclusive, and yes, we’ve been together every night since Chicago, but I never take that for granted. I never assume he wants to spend all his free time with me, but the fact that he does, well… it starts to chip away at the wall I’ve put up.
“And tomorrow… do you think you could join Leonie and me for dinner?” he asks.
And well… my stomach practically explodes with a case of the butterflies. He wants me to meet Leonie, someone he loves and respects. This is different from him bringing me to dinner at his family’s home in Chicago.
Way different.
“Count me in,” I quip back, light words so they don’t admit just how much I love that he asked.
CHAPTER 23
Declan
“My dear boy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous like this before,” Leonie teases, reaching her hand out to pat me on my arm.
I give her a side look that tells her she’s being obnoxious in a way only she can get away with, and she smirks.
“She must be something special,” she murmurs.
“She’s something,” I agree as my gaze moves across the restaurant entrance. Bailey had texted she was running about five minutes late.
I had intended for us to pick Leonie up together, but Bailey didn’t want to spring herself on Leonie that way. So we decided I’d pick Leonie up for our planned dinner this evening, and I would tell her about Bailey on the way.
As expected, Leonie was over the moon when I told her I was seeing a woman and I wanted her to meet her. Knowing me better than probably anyone, she understood what a big deal this was.
She peppered me with questions the entire way to the restaurant. Laughing, she clapped with delight when I told her how we met and how I offered Bailey the job because she impressed me. I, of course, glossed over anything about The Wicked Horse.
I did tell Leonie about what happened in Chicago with my family. She’s the one person in this world who knows how dysfunctional my family is, and the only person I’ve ever complained about them to. As a young boy, she was a soft shoulder to cry on when I was overwhelmed or emotional. As I got older, she set my boundaries and helped mold me into a reasonably decent human being, although she couldn’t quite get rid of my arrogance. Mostly, she was the one I could vent to when I was angry at my parents for my perceived lack of authentic parenting they offered.
And over the years, despite what she’s witnessed and what she’s heard directly from my own mouth, Leonie never once bad-mouthed my parents. She may have had a pinched frown when she was angry on my behalf, or her eyes might have shone with sympathy when I was hurt, but the Blackwoods were her employers and she kept herself from censuring them to me.
Even to this day, despite the way they cut her loose so callously and then completely ignored her even though she was a member of our family for so many years, she never speaks ill of them.
Until now.
“Your mother said what?” Leonie had seethed on the way to the restaurant. Then she simpered with worry over Bailey. “That poor girl. She didn’t deserve that. Your mother always had a sharp tongue, and your sister could be very rude. I had the hardest time controlling her when she was growing up, but, then again, your mother had more of a hand in raising her than she did with you.”
That was true enough. My mom actually attempted some form of parenting with Marissa, but I expect that was more of a status thing. She loved to dress Marissa up in pretty things and show her off to the other trophy wives. As she got older, she treated Marissa like a younger sister and let her run practically wild.
I had to laugh at Leonie as we drove to the restaurant. For the first time I can remember, she went off on my parents because of their poor treatment of Bailey, a woman Leonie had never met. But no matter, Leonie already liked Bailey as much as I did, because I did. It was as simple as that.
“I’m glad to see you a bit nervous,” Leonie continues on, and I drag my gaze from the front of the restaurant back to the woman who is like my mom in all ways except giving actual birth to me.
“That’s your evil sense of humor, woman,” I say with a mock growl.
“You deserve it after the gray hairs you’ve given me over the years,” she retorts with a mischievous grin. Then her expression softens, and she murmurs, “Whatever this is with the woman I’ll meet tonight, I will say it’s long overdue. You deserve to have love.”
“Funny,” I drawl, giving her a pointed look. “Never seemed to be important to you.”
I’ve asked Leonie over the years why she never got married, and her answer was always simple. “I’ve never met the right person.”
/>
I can’t ever remember her meeting anyone to be honest. At least not while I was growing up. She was just always around, seven days a week. She lived in a servants’ wing of our mansion, and she never seemed to have a personal life.
In more recent years, she’s had some male “friends” she’s met through the retirement communities she’s lived in while following me around, but nothing romantic.
At least not that she ever admitted to me.
“Oh my,” Leonie murmurs, and I see her looking past me toward the front of the restaurant. “Is that her?”
My head turns, and yeah… that’s Bailey walking our way.
Leonie swats my arm, whispering, “She’s stunning. Well done, young man. Well done.”
“Knock it off,” I mutter affectionately, then rise from my chair to greet Bailey as she approaches. She looks fantastic in a charcoal-gray wrap-around dress and matching knee-high boots. Hair pulled back in a low-hanging ponytail, she looks quite sophisticated, even though I know her to be a jeans and t-shirt kind of woman.
Which, frankly, I have gotten a whole new appreciation of that side of her.
Bailey looks as nervous as I feel, also knowing it’s a big deal I want her to meet Leonie. Her eyes lock onto mine with sort of a plea to not let her flub anything up. I give her an encouraging smile, putting my hands on her upper arms as I lean in to give her a quick kiss.
“You look amazing,” I murmur. Granted, she wore the same outfit at work today, but still… I haven’t seen her in two hours, and, well, she deserves to know I think she looks great.
Bailey smiles, then turns her attention to Leonie, who has also stood from her chair.
I make the introductions, and it is not a surprise to me when Leonie shuffles around the table to give Bailey a hug. Bailey is a warm-natured human being, and it’s no surprise either that she returns the hug with exuberance.
When they break apart, I move around the table to hold Leonie’s chair until she can settle back in. Bailey sits on her other side, so Leonie is in between us, and we’re facing each other.
Wicked Billionaire Page 16