by Calista Fox
Rory had one seriously loyal following, she’d discovered, and it seemed a lot of those women thought of him as theirs.
This wasn’t a news flash for Bayli. And it didn’t undermine her confidence or throw her for a loop. It was to be expected, really. She was cutting in on their turf, these devotees who e-mailed Rory regularly, blogged, tweeted, and posted Facebook messages about and to him. It was only natural they’d be nonplussed to have Bayli suddenly appear on the scene.
Likely it wouldn’t have been such a big deal if the trio had just launched the cooking show with no up-front drama. But with her and Rory’s kiss going viral, feathers had been ruffled.
Bayli spent a lot of mental energy trying to figure how to mitigate the damage done. Meanwhile, she also studied up on locales Rory discarded because he felt they held no potential. Mostly, he was moody because he was in chef mode, thinking a million steps ahead to what he might prepare on the show. So she dug deeper when he got sidetracked or just plain frustrated.
Christian, she discovered, was about as unflappable as one could ever be, nimbly hurdling every obstacle that came their way. She admired his professionalism, his intelligence, his dry wit. Sometimes, she couldn’t even tell he was jesting. Until she caught the sparkle in his ice-blue eyes. Then her stomach would flip and she’d let out an unchecked laugh, even as he tried to remain serious.
Despite the stoicism he sometimes demonstrated, she could see he got a kick out of her vivaciousness. So she didn’t temper it, even when he was in serious business mode.
The same went for Rory. Because the more she didn’t cave to his angsty side, the flirtier he got. And that was downright lethal to a girl’s heart.
Honestly, both men had her wrapped up in a decadent bliss that created double the exhilaration, double the desire, double the emotions blooming within her. She couldn’t say which man entertained her, thrilled her, pleased her more. They were equals in every way, especially where she was concerned. And Bayli was surprised to find she not only more than held their interest, but she seemed to bring out different sides to each of them also.
Bayli paid close attention to the emerging personalities. The protectiveness. The tenderness. The intensity. Christian and Rory not only worked together to take Bayli to all-new heights of sexual ecstasy, but they also were both in tune emotionally with each other and her. It was uncanny. And so damn alluring.
The reason she studied them so closely as they all interacted was because Bayli felt a gnawing deep within her that hinted at the need to be just as forthcoming and evolving in this nontraditional relationship as the guys were. But there was always something holding her back. She wanted to dissect herself and fix her glitch in the system. Yet all she had time to fully concentrate on was the speeding train that was her career and new life.…
* * *
“What’s all this?” Rory asked on a rainy weekend. He stared over Bayli’s shoulder as she slid a silver-plated letter opener under the flap of an envelope. She was sitting on a high-backed upholstered barstool at the kitchen island, where he usually found her in the morning, waiting for him.
Rory’s latest fetish was breakfast with a creole flair. He was thinking the first few stops for the webcasts should be in the Deep South. New Orleans and Kentucky were both on his short list for future restaurants, and this might make a great immersion into the local flavor.
Bayli said, “I haven’t had time to stop by my apartment in a while. I just grabbed all my mail in one fell swoop yesterday afternoon. I’ve basically been living here.”
“Well, don’t think for a second that Christian minds.”
As Rory leaned in, she kissed him, then said, “You’ve basically been living here, too.”
“That’s because I know he can’t satisfy you the way I can, so I’m here as backup.” He winked.
“I’ll be sure and let him know you said so.”
Rory chuckled. He rounded the island and reached for a frying pan from the overhead rack.
Bayli’s new iPhone—a “signing bonus” from Rory and Christian—buzzed. She eyed the screen and yelped, “Holy shit! I have to take this! I think Scarlet has finally trapped her elusive wolf!”
Rory’s brow knitted. “Do I even want to know what that means?”
“She’s tracking a potential art thief. I’ll tell you about it later.” She slipped off the stool. “Back in ten!” She headed out to the terrace.
Rory whistled under his breath. “She’s a zany one.”
“Who?” Christian asked as he came from his study, stuffing his phone in his pocket. His gaze darted around the room, not seeing any signs of Bayli so clearly wondering to whom Rory referred.
Rory jested back, “Our Beauty, Beastly.”
“Oh, yeah, right. I’m the beast.”
Rory snorted. “Just because I have a temper I’m the beast?”
“If the roar fits…”
“Ha-ha.” Rory recalled Bayli saying something similar to him when they’d first met. So maybe he did have an unruly side. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Anyway,” Christian said, “the good news is that we have our traveling production crew in place. Of course, we have no idea where we’re traveling to at present, but—”
“Climb off my back, dude. I’m still investigating.”
“Well, maybe you could speed it up a little, so that we don’t lose our crew to some other project.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”
Christian slid onto the stool Bayli had just vacated and sifted through the paperwork laid out. “Doing your taxes while whipping up breakfast? Impressive skill set you possess.”
“It’s Bayli’s stuff.”
Christian eyed one slip of paper, then another. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Rory tore his attention from the stove and joined Christian, snatching a sheet from his hand. Rory’s gaze homed in on a very lofty figure—boldly denoted as a balance—and his jaw clenched. “What the fuck?” he amended.
“She said she had medical expenses—her mother’s.”
“So why hasn’t she paid this off? For God’s sake, we gave her a check to get the ball rolling with research and so that she could leave her other jobs to work full-time on the development of the show.”
Christian scanned a few more sheets and let out a sharp grunt. “Because that’s not the only astronomical bill to pay off. She owes cardiothoracic surgeons, anesthesiologists, hospitals … fuck. She has credit card debt, too. For basic living expenses and medical supplies. Pills … lots of pills.” He sighed.
Rory did quick mental calculations and said, “It doesn’t make sense that she’s still living under this dark cloud. Damn it, Christian. I could just pay all of this off and—”
“And what, Rory?” he challenged with a stern look. “Tell her all of her problems are solved? There’s a reason she’s still making minimum payments on her bills when she’s deposited a sufficient enough amount in her checking account to make a bigger dent in these balances.”
Rory stared at him, perplexed. But not for long. “Ah, shit.” He tossed the papers back on the countertop.
Christian said, “Right. You know the story. It was the same way I felt when I cashed my first big check after Bristol’s took off. It’s one check. It’s a well that can easily dry up. So you hoard the money. Keep making the minimum payments so you feel as though you have a safety net in the bank in the event there’s no second, or third, or fourth check. You can still survive if everything goes to hell for you.”
“But she wouldn’t be stressing over any of that if the bills were all taken care of.”
“True. But she’d never find any personal pride in one or the two of us paying off these expenses. They’re Bayli’s to deal with. And she will deal with them. She’s going to make more than enough money to cover her mother’s surgeries and still have plenty left in the bank. It’s just going to take some time. And you’re going to have to let it all unfold at the pace that keeps Bayli on her even keel. F
rom what I’ve learned, she’s been opening these envelopes for many, many years. She knows what she owes every month. Eventually, she’ll take a look at her bank statement and realize she can pay this all off and comfortably exist.”
Rory tried to rationalize all this. But his surly disposition reared its head and he quietly demanded, “What’s so wrong with letting someone help you? This is like pocket change to us, Christian. Why wouldn’t we do this for her?”
Christian stared at him for several moments, then grinned. “You want to rescue her. I get that. Don’t think for a second that I don’t want to as well. But we’re talking about a woman who, when physically stranded in Upstate New York, still lied to me about where she lived because she didn’t want to be embarrassed about her struggles, nor did she want anyone to feel bad for her or pity her. She’s a strong, independent woman, Rory. She wants to stay that way. We want her to stay that way—it’s one of the things that makes her so attractive to us. If we have the opportunity to help her, then hell, yes, we’ll both jump on it. But Bayli has to come to us. She has to ask us. We can’t just circumvent her in trying to solve all of her problems.”
“Because then she’ll resent us.” Rory tossed aside the towel he’d used to dry his hands.
“Exactly. And she’ll feel inferior, and she’ll likely pull away. Let her breathe, Rory. Let her be who she’s always been.”
“Yeah, but, Christian. Even you took on a partner when you knew it was the only way to get what you wanted.”
“And she signed on with this show to get what she wanted, Rory.” Christian pinned him with a serious look. “I’m thrilled that you want to help her so desperately. That she means that much to you. She means that much to me, too. Therefore, we can’t suffocate her or take over her life. It’d be incredibly easy to do. That’s not the kind of woman we’re involved with, though. We could crush her with our need to help her. She’s done so much for herself … that proves she’ll be okay without us force-feeding her. Let her be Bayli, man. If she needs us, she’ll tell us.”
“Right.”
Rory didn’t like that answer. Nor could he deny it as fact.
So he went back to cooking.
* * *
Several days later, Bayli strolled into the apartment from the terrace and smiled at Christian, who was sitting at the kitchen island, chatting with Rory.
“Hey, look who’s off his cell phone,” she mused.
“Funny,” Christian said with a smirk. “Do you want a job or not?”
She flattened her palms on his thighs, wedged herself into the vee his parted legs created, and kissed him. Then she said, “Of course I do.”
Her attention turned to Rory. “Whatever the hell you’re cooking smells absolutely to die for.”
“Cantonese this time.”
“Huh,” she said. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“What has you in such a good mood?” Christian asked. “On a really dreary day?”
She took a quick peek at the gray weather and said, “We’re in Manhattan. There is no such thing as a dreary day.”
“Fine,” Christian said. “Your optimism trumps all.”
“Yes, it does.” She kissed him again. “And damn it, Rory, I’m suddenly starving. Your food is as irresistible as the both of you, and I’m putting in more time on Christian’s elliptical machine than he is. There’s some bizarre irony in all of this.”
Rory said, “Well, I did once read that having sex burns about two hundred calories, so if you’re having sex with two men at the same time wouldn’t that double the burn and up you to four hundred?”
“I like that logic,” she told him with a nod. “I really do. I’m just not sure—”
Christian’s cell phone rang with the specific jingle that alerted him to the doorman contacting him about the arrival of a visitor or a delivery. It turned out to be a delivery that Christian told him to bring up.
Bayli shoved away from Christian and headed across the apartment.
“Miranda can get the door!” Rory called out.
“She’s upstairs making the bed and cleaning.”
“You will never get used to having staff, will you?” he quipped.
“She’s not my staff. And I’m perfectly capable of answering the door.”
Bayli trotted up the short set of steps to the entryway. She made it to the foyer just as the bell chimed.
Pulling open the double doors, she gave the Building Manager a bright smile. Tom was the one who typically made special deliveries directly to Christian’s floor and the four-story penthouse above him.
“This just came for you, Miss Styles.”
Her eyes fixated on the long, narrow gold box with a red ribbon and bow. “Roses. So old-school Hollywood.” Christian all the way. She accepted the box and Tom closed the doors for her. Feeling a little like Hollywood royalty—though she clearly wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination, but perhaps someday—Bayli tugged at the bow. The velvety ribbon unraveled and she whisked off the lid.
A million tiny spiders suddenly raced over hands and up her arms.
Bayli screamed bloody murder.
À la Phillip and Colin style.
* * *
Rory dropped a bowl of rice, ignored the shattering of the glass, and rushed through the apartment, Christian by his side. They both took the steps to the foyer two at a time.
“Get them off of me!” Bayli screeched.
“Son of a bitch!” Rory exploded as he stomped on the spiders scattering about while Christian lunged forward and brushed the arachnids from Bayli’s body.
Having no great luck, Christian dragged her into the hallway bathroom and Rory heard the instant spray of the shower while Bayli still wailed.
Tom barreled back into the apartment, apparently having heard Bayli’s screams. “Jesus Christ!” he bellowed.
“Just stomp,” Rory demanded in a tight voice.
Tom did just that but also grabbed his cell and contacted the Facilities Manager to alert him to the situation. Then told Rory, “An exterminator will be here ASAP.”
“Who the hell delivered this box?”
“A courier with a business card. Martin at the front desk accepted it.”
“Then you and Martin need to figure out who would bring a box of spiders to Christian Davila’s guest, at his apartment.”
“Yes, sir. Of course. Right away.”
Rory tried to dial down his fury. “I know this isn’t your fault. But it scared the hell out of the woman who opened the box.”
“Whatever we can do to find out who made that delivery, Mr. St. James, we’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” Rory tried to get his temper under control. “We appreciate your assistance.”
The Facilities Manager appeared minutes later with the in-house emergency exterminating canister and he sprayed the box, then the entryway, though Rory was pretty certain he and Tom had squashed every spider in sight at that point. Miranda had heard the commotion and hastily cleaned up, not even batting a lash. Making Rory wonder just how much Christian paid the housekeeper.
When the entryway was back to normal, the building management departed, as did Miranda. Christian and Bayli emerged from the bathroom, him soaking wet in his clothes, her wrapped in a towel that she hugged tight to her chest, though she was still dripping from head to toe. Shaking, too.
And, goddamn it, Rory thought, it wasn’t the good kind of shaking that she did after he and Christian had just made her come.
No, this was shaking of the terrified kind.
But she wore a brave face, tried to appear natural. Rory didn’t buy it, and from the look on Christian’s face that basically said he was ready to throttle someone, Christian wasn’t buying it, either. He had his arm around her shoulders and she was tucked close to him.
Christian said, “They were all over her. Even in her hair.”
“Yeah, they had scampering down pat.” Rory’s fists clenched at his sides.
“Someone did
a very nice job of freaking the hell out of her,” Christian said, not the least bit successful at masking his fury.
Bayli told them, “It wasn’t a female fan. No woman would ever send a box of spiders to another woman, no matter how pissed off she was. The mere thought would make her skin crawl as much as the recipient’s. Trust me on this one.”
“So your stalker from Japan…?” Christian ventured.
“Best guess,” she said with a nod. “All he has to do is set a Google Alert and whenever my name pops up he’s privy to everything mentioned or written about me. Easy enough for him to track me down since I’m now associated with Davila–St. James Enterprises.”
“Fuck,” Rory raged. “All because of that kiss. I never should have—”
“Rory.” Bayli placed a hand on his forearm. “You don’t know it’s about that kiss. My name was linked to the show recently, ahead of official press releases. Anyone can be annoyed with me at this point.”
“Your name wasn’t out there when the video went viral and comments got nasty,” he reminded her.
Christian said, “He’s right. This isn’t about the show. It’s about someone—male or female, your fan or Rory’s—not happy to see the two of you together.”
Rory could spit nails. He needed air—and answers. He marched past them and grabbed his leather jacket from the coatrack, then stormed out, with Bayli calling after him.
He took the elevator downstairs and grilled Martin himself. The courier had indeed provided a business card, but it was a flimsy, poorly designed one that had clearly come out of a desktop printer, not professionally generated.
“Whoever sent that box,” Rory said to the front deskman and Tom, “could have easily hired someone off the street to bring it in and provide the business card, knowing you’d need credentials before you’d deliver. There’s no way we’re going to figure out who the ‘courier’ or the sender is. Damn it.”
Rory strode past the two men on his way out. Another building employee pulled open one of the tall doors for him and a gust of wind blew in. And sent a small white envelope skittering across the marble floor, from under the edge of one decorative tree planter to another. Rory scooped it up.