The Hot Gamer (A Romance Love Story) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #3)

by Alexa Davis

  "I like this one," I said. "I think we have a winner."

  "I agree, it looks gorgeous on you, Liv," Bix smiled. "With your hair, the green looks amazing. But..."

  The saleswoman nodded at Bix as if they had communicated telepathically while I turned and looked at her confused. A few moments later, the saleswoman came back with a handful of garments in her hand and pulled me back to the dressing room. Once inside she unzipped the dress and handed me a strapless bra. I quickly snapped the hooks together, twisted it around, and pulled it up. The sales woman took one look at me and shook her head before she reached into the bra and scooped up a breast and situated it properly in the bra cup. And before I'd even uttered a word about how totally inappropriate this was, she'd done the same thing with the other breast and was pulling the bodice of the dress back up and zipping me in.

  This time when I walked out, I was rewarded with a gasp from Bix. I turned and stepped up onto the platform again, and when I looked at myself, I inhaled sharply. The bra had turned my breasts into two, perky globes whose tops just peeked out over the edge of the neckline. I felt like a Hollywood star, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I started believing that I could look good enough to attend the ball. Up to that point, I wasn't sure a reporter who, six months ago, had been trekking through the African wilderness and sleeping in a tent could be turned into a socialite for an evening. I should have trusted Bix's magical abilities.

  "I like it, Bix," I said quietly and she nodded as she grabbed the price tag and examined it. "Please do not tell me it's out of my price range. Please, please, please."

  "Nope, it's all good," she said as she palmed the tag and nodded to the saleswoman, adding, "And, she'll need the bra, too."

  "How much is it?" I asked as the woman went to get the new bra.

  "It's not important; what's important is that it looks fantastic and you feel great in it," she said cheerfully.

  "Bix," I warned. "How much?"

  "It's on me," she smiled. "Look, Doug and I have more money than we know what to do with and I don't want to leave it all to the kids. It'll spoil them and they'll end up rich brats."

  "Bix, I have money," I protested. "And Frank said the paper would cover the cost of my dress if it meant that I'd go to the gala."

  "I don't think the paper has this in its budget, darling," Bix said as she showed me the price tag.

  "Five thousand dollars for a dress I'm going to wear once?" I shouted. "I do not think so! Get your stuff, we're heading to the mall."

  "Olivia, listen to me," Bix said grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me lightly. "Listen to me. This dress isn't just about the dress. This dress is also about you finding your feet. You lost a lot in Africa, and your confidence has been shaken, but it's time for you to gather yourself together and start over. You can't live behind this wall you've built forever, you know."

  I stared at Bix as she spoke and I felt the tears begin to well up. She was right; I was guarded and defensive, and I was scared of moving forward, but I was also terrified of living in the past. The problem was that I couldn't find my footing long enough to begin to climb out of the hole I'd dug. I nodded almost imperceptibly and she hugged me.

  "Good, you need this, Liv. Let me do this for you, please?" she said softly. I nodded again and she kissed my cheek. Then, she pulled back and said, "But we still need shoes, hose, jewelry, and an appointment with a stylist. You have got to have your hair professionally done, Liv."

  "Fine, fine, fine," I grumbled with a smile. "Whatever you say, Bix. You're the boss. You know, always in charge."

  "As it should be." She grinned as she pulled out her tablet and tapped away at the screen. "All right, I know where we need to go for shoes."

  Once the dress was paid for and wrapped up in layers of tissue paper, the saleswoman said she'd have it delivered to Bix's house that afternoon. She handed Bix a swatch of fabric in the color of the dress and her business card saying, "Go to Heinemann’s, they'll have the perfect shoes. Tell Becky that I sent you."

  At Heinemann’s, Bix handed over the woman's card and were quickly whisked off into the back room where we were offered wine and refreshments. I gave Bix a confused look, but she just shrugged and smiled as Becky brought out box after box of pumps with impossibly high heels. I knew there was no way I would survive the night in a pair of five-inch stilettos, and I asked for something a little more manageable. Becky waved me off, saying, "Oh, just give them a try! They're really easy to walk in once you get used to them, and they make your legs and butt look great!"

  "Oh right, is that so no one will notice that I've fallen and broken my leg?" I quipped as I tried on a pair of silver, open-toed heels that, while too high, were perfect for the dress. "Do you have these in a lower heel?"

  "Actually, that's one style that I do have in a lower heel!" Becky cried as she tore off to retrieve the shoes. She came back holding the box triumphantly and then sat down and slipped them on my feet. They fit perfectly, and when I stood up and walked, I felt like I might actually have a shot at keeping my balance.

  "Those look great, Liv," Bix said. "How do they feel?"

  "Like heels," I said dryly before smiling and adding, “But at least I don't feel like I'm going to go falling ass over elbows!"

  "All right, then we'll take the shoes," Bix nodded at Becky. I took them off and Becky whisked them up to the front to be rung up and added to our booty.

  "Is that it?" I asked Bix. "Please let that be it."

  "No, ma'am," Bix replied as she tapped away at the ever-present tablet. "One more stop for jewelry. I've got a surprise for you."

  "I'm going to wear the Hope Diamond?"

  "No, smart ass, but I've got someone who is going to loan you some things that will make that dress look even more amazing," she said with a raised eyebrow. "Unless you want to just pull out the old Claire's paste jewels and put those on."

  "Fine," I grumbled. "I'll wear the darn jewels like the freakin' Queen of England."

  For the first time that day, Bix burst into laughter, and when I turned and looked at her confused as to why that was the thing that made her laugh, she replied, "It's the image of you dressed in the Coronation Gown, wearing a crown, and holding the scepter that cracked me up."

  "You are a nerd, Elizabeth Margaret Wentworth-Trent Northrup," I scolded. Bix stopped laughing and shot me a dirty look that rivaled any teenager. I shrugged and said, "Serves you right, torturing me this way for a whole five hours."

  We both burst out laughing and then headed to the register to collect the shoes. Thirty minutes later, we were being buzzed into Tullio, one of the most exclusive jewelry stores in Washington D.C. The entire store was done in deep shades of rust and gold. The carpeting was so thick that our feet made no sound and the layers of fabric on the walls muffled our whispers.

  "Are you sure about this?" I whispered to Bix as a young man came toward us holding out his hand.

  "Elizabeth Northrup, it's so good to see you again!" he smiled as he shook Bix's hand.

  "Phillip, it's so good to see you again, as well," she smiled as she shook the man's hand. "How are Nelia and the girls?"

  "They're down in Florida visiting their grandparents this week, but will be back for the holiday," he smiled. "How are your little ones?"

  "Terrors," she laughed. "My parents are on a Christmas cruise this year, so there's no escape."

  "Ah yes, the middle years, I remember them well," he smiled as he turned and held out his hand to me. "And, you must be Olivia. I'm Phillip Tullio."

  "It's so nice to meet you, Phillip," I said shaking his hand and trying not to be too intimidated by my surroundings. "Thank you for inviting me here."

  "It's my pleasure," he said as he turned and motioned us toward a small seating area where he had an assortment of necklaces and matching earrings on display. "I've chosen a variety of pieces that would compliment an emerald green dress and your red hair."

  "Oh my," I whispered. "These are beautiful."
<
br />   "Which do you think would go best with this?" Bix asked as she pulled out the fabric swatch and handed it to Phillip. He looked at it for a moment and said, "I have the perfect piece. One moment."

  After he'd disappeared into the back, I turned to Bix and whispered, "I can't wear these things! They're a million dollars! I'll lose an earring or someone will kidnap me."

  "First of all, they'll assign you a security detail, so you can't be kidnapped," she reassured me. "And second, there is no way on earth you could possibly lose one of these earrings. I've worn these pieces before and they fix them on pretty tight."

  "Great, so I'll be in pain from the torture devices I'm wearing to make me look beautiful," I said sarcastically. "Aren't heels enough for you?"

  "Shhh," Bix smiled as she patted my arm. "You'll look lovely in them."

  Phillip returned a few minutes later holding a black velvet tray on which rested a necklace that looked like hundreds of tiny snowflakes connected by hundreds of tiny diamonds. He lifted the necklace from the tray and moved around behind me. I shrugged out of my jacket and lifted my hair up so that it was out of the way, and Phillip secured it around my neck.

  "This is the Snowflake necklace by Van Cleef and Arpels," he explained. "It is made up of three hundred and sixty-seven stones totaling more than thirty carats."

  I swallowed hard as I gingerly touched the jewels resting on my neck. "Dare I ask how much it costs?" I tentatively asked.

  "It's worth approximately three hundred and ninety-thousand dollars," he said casually. "It's one of our more expensive pieces, but it's quite popular."

  "I can imagine," I said, looking at Bix with a panicked expression on my face.

  "It looks lovely, Liv," she said. "I think it would compliment your gown quite nicely."

  "You think so, do you?" I muttered as I stood up and crossed over to where the full-length mirror stood. I looked at myself in my thermal shirt and jeans and wondered how in the world I was going be transformed into someone elegant enough to wear something like that.

  "I think that one's the one, Phillip," Bix said. "Are there earrings to go with it?"

  "Oh, of course," he replied, bringing the tray over to where I stood and affixing each earring to my lobe before standing back to appraise the overall effect. "Yes, I think with the dress, this will look stunning."

  "And, you'll lend it to me for the evening, will you? Like the jewelry library or something," I said.

  "We will, Olivia," he laughed. "We do this rather frequently for all kinds of clients. Especially during the holiday season."

  "Why is that?" I asked genuinely curious as to why this world-renowned store would lend out close to a million dollars worth of jewelry to someone who so obviously couldn't afford to buy even one diamond.

  "It's good advertising when we loan it to beautiful women who wear it elegantly," he smiled. "It's likely that after seeing this on you tomorrow night, a number of men will be buying one for wives who saw you wearing it. That way you look spectacular for your event and we benefit from it!"

  I burst out laughing for the first time since entering the store and said, "In other words, I'm a walking billboard!"

  Phillip and Bix chuckled with me and then Phillip explained the loan process and security detail that would be assigned to me the next night. Tullio would be my last stop before the gala and my first stop on the way home, and in between, I would be like Cinderella at the ball. We said our goodbyes and Bix and I headed out to the waiting cab.

  On the ride home, I reached out and grabbed my best friend's hand and squeezed it tightly. I looked at her and smiled trying to express my undying gratitude for all she had done for me.

  "I love you, too, Liv," Bix said as she squeezed back. "It's going to be an amazing evening. You'll see."

  I hoped Bix's confidence could override my nerves about whether Lincoln Redding would behave at the gala. There was a part of me that hoped I'd never have to see the man again, but a small flicker of something like hope made me wish the opposite.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Linc

  After I left Mo, I had Mick drive me home to my apartment at the Watergate Complex. This apartment was what I considered command central, but it wasn't home. After my childhood home had been sold, I had decided that I wasn't ever going to put that much emotion into any physical place again. So, as I built up my fortune, I purchased apartments all over the world and had them outfitted with exactly the same things in every location. The walls were all painted the same colors and the linear, modern furniture was all situated the same general layout. I slept on the same mattress covered in the same sheets and made my morning coffee with the same espresso maker in every apartment. No matter where I went, the apartment would always be the exact same from my computer to my clothes. It worked well because I never had to pack when I traveled, but it also felt oddly impersonal because there were no mementos or little personal items in any of the places. I had pictures of my parents and Mo in each place, but beyond that, there was nothing that would indicate where I actually lived. It was a nomadic existence, but it was one that suited me.

  Brant had sent over a file with all the information I'd requested about the shooting and the shooter. It had been almost a week since the shooting and there was still no information available on the guy who'd carried a gun to Capitol Hill and shot five senators. In an age when all information was only a finger-click away, this didn't seem plausible. How could the police not know who the shooter was? As I read over the file, I realized Russo's fingerprints were all over this mess, or at the very least, those of the AWN. The guy had been shot by police, transported to Washington General, and died on the operating table. There was no identification on the body and the police still had no idea who he was. Witnesses at the scene had heard him repeating, "You can't have my gun! You can't have my freedom!" before he'd opened fire on the senators, but other than that, he hadn't said anything else. The police were currently running a DNA sample to see if it matched with anyone in the system, but they were no closer to identifying the man than they had been on the day he'd died.

  "This makes no sense," I said as I re-read the file for the third time. "How can they not know who the guy is?"

  I thought about calling Brant to get his take on it, but it was late and I knew that all we'd end up doing was rehashing the information we already had. What needed were new data points, so I made a call and set up an early morning meeting with someone I thought might have some answers.

  #

  Friday morning, Mick drove me over to the private office of Senator Larry Bangor. He maintained a separate office away from Capitol Hill specifically for the purposes of meeting with people who wanted to remain apolitical. When I arrived, I was ushered into the inner sanctum and was not at all surprised to see it decorated to vaguely resemble Bangor's favorite hunting haunt. There were deer and elk heads mounted and hung in corners of the room, and all the furniture was covered in tartan plaid. I was just wondering what it had cost to create this nightmare when Larry entered the room.

  "Linc!" he cried as he crossed the room holding out his hand. "It's so good of you to come!"

  "Senator," I said, taking his hand and pumping it a few times before stepping back and gesturing around the room. "This is quite an office you've got here."

  "Yeah, my wife did this for me a few years ago," he laughed. "She wanted me to feel at home, but I always feel like I'm being watched when I'm in here. I guess she might have wanted that, too."

  "Ah, yes," I nodded, knowing that the senator's wife was known to have stepped out a time or two with younger political aides. It was a strange world these people lived in, but I reminded myself I wasn't there to pass judgment; I was there to get information.

  "Coffee, Linc?" offered asked as he sat down in a large wingback chair and prepared to pour.

  "That would be great, thank you." I took a seat in the chair across from him and waited to see what his first move would be.

  "I've got four vot
es that I think I can safely deliver," he said as he handed me a steaming hot cup of coffee. "But I'm not entirely sure if I can bring in the rest."

  "And why is that?" I asked as I sipped. The coffee was rich and quite delicious, and I was surprised by its quality.

  "I've been talking with my colleagues and they think that it's better to let the bill die and then start from scratch next session," he said as he watched me closely.

  "And why is that?" I repeated calmly. Inside, I was seething and ready to let loose on the man. He was reneging on our deal and that was unacceptable, but I knew that hearing his rationale for letting the bill die would give me insight into what was going on in the Senate and possibly give me the upper hand.

  "Those of us who are in power right now think that it's better if we draw up a bill that reflects our interests more closely rather than vote to approve a bill that was brought to the floor by the Democrats," he said plainly.

  "So, you want to waste time killing this bill and waiting until next year to write the exact same bill?" I asked raising my eyebrow.

  "Well, there would be some differences," Bangor said as he nervously shifted in his seat.

  "Such as?" I was thoroughly enjoying how he was beginning to sweat.

  "We would eliminate the assault rifle ban and we would grandfather in those guns already in circulation," he said quickly looking away.

  "Wait, you're going to allow more people to buy assault rifles and you're not going to enforce the smart grip technology on all guns no matter when they were brought?" I said. "That seems like a very foolish thing to do, Senator."

  "Linc, we don't have a choice!" he protested.