by Stacey Lynn
Silly. There wasn’t. There couldn’t.
I rubbed my forehead, the early thumping of a tension headache mounting. “Maybe it’s for the best he left.” As I said it, my throat clogged. “He’s leaving anyway. This is good. It’s good I take a step back. I’m not ready.”
I was more thinking out loud, almost forgetting Jordan was on the phone until his heavy sigh came through the phone.
“Come to the restaurant, Rebecca, or I’ll come pick you up myself.”
He wasn’t joking. “I don’t even know if Brooke or Kelly can make it.”
“Then call Christa. Hell, come alone and sit at the bar. Tank’s working, he’ll take care of you.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed despite myself. Tank’s real name was Tanner Johnston, but he got his nickname, Tank, when he was in seventh grade because he was suddenly six foot tall and over two hundred pounds. For two years, he had to play up a grade or two in sports until other guys caught up to him. He looked like a tank. By the time he was done growing, he was six-nine, almost three hundred pounds with a heart as big as an ox and a smile that had the ability to make everyone feel like his best friend within minutes.
Everyone in town called him Tank. I preferred to think of him as a gentle giant.
“He’s working there now?”
“Started bartending last week. Couldn’t handle breaking up fights at Jack’s anymore.”
“Well, who could blame him?” Jack’s bar was on the south side of town. At one time, before urban sprawl hit and our town started growing, it’d been one of the only places to go. Now, the rougher crowd went and cops pretty much stayed parked outside the lot all night long, knowing at some point, they’d be called to break up a fight. Tank was good at his job, but even someone as big as him had to get tired of throwing drunken idiots out of the bar, night after night. “I’ll come. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll have your favorite wine ready to go. Text me if your friends come and I’ll make sure they save you a table.”
“Oooh,” I teased. “Look at me, getting the VIP treatment.”
“You’re such a pain in my ass. I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up before I could say goodbye, but he’d already done his brotherly duty. I hung up smiling and no longer wallowing.
Yeah, my younger brother rocked.
* * *
Brooke set down her glass of Rosewood Riesling and pushed it to the side as I told the story. True to Jordan’s word, he’d had it waiting for us. It wasn’t just my favorite Riesling because it was delicious and local, but because it was employed by adults with special needs. Their work was amazing and gave those who had difficulty providing for themselves a place to thrive. Yeah, I was a fan.
“What I want to know,” she said in a stern voice entirely unlike her, “is why you didn’t call your girls when he left this morning so you could toss this in our laps and let us help you.”
“Because she’s as stubborn as my grandma’s donkey,” Kelly muttered, her wineglass not nearly as forgotten as Brooke’s.
“Because it’s not a big deal. He’s leaving anyway. I should have been prepared for this. It’s not that big of a deal.”
The acidic taste of the lies wasn’t washed away with a giant gulp of sweet wine.
Kelly smirked at me. “That was two, ‘it’s not that big of a deals,’ woman. Who exactly do you think you’re fooling?”
I fell back into the seat cushion. “No one.”
“Damn straight. Now, I don’t think any of this is funny, although I really want more detail on how he was, you know?”
“I told you, we didn’t have sex.”
“Yes, let’s imagine that for a moment.” Kelly closed her eyes and hummed. Brooke slid Kelly’s wineglass to the other side of the table.
“And, that’s enough wine for the married pervert.”
Kelly peered at her out of one eye. “It’s not nearly enough for this pervert.” She grabbed her wine back and took a healthy swallow.
Not enough for me either. More times than had to be healthy through the day I caught myself thinking about the thickness of him in my mouth. Perfectly sized in width and length. The man was muscled and sculpted to perfection everywhere. But it wasn’t the physical act that held my main attention throughout the day. It was his tenderness in taking care of me.
Cooper Hawke was a man who would sacrifice his life for a woman. He’d serve her, take care of her. He’d comfort her and protect her and help her and stand at her side when she needed a partner. He’d be at her back when she needed to handle business on her own, and he’d be at her front when she couldn’t. Everything he showed me since the day he arrived proved the kind of hard-working, decent man he was.
And it was possible I was falling for someone who would no doubt break my already pummeled heart.
“I do have to say you two look really cute together, and I really like the dopey look on your face.” Brooke was on her phone, finger swiping, lips curled up.
“What are you talking about?”
“The photo of you two at Down Home. It’s really good.”
I ripped the phone out of her hand. And oh my goodness, she was not entirely wrong. Sitting across from each other in the booth handmade from wood pallets, white icicle Christmas lights that hung from wood beams across the restaurant all season long cast a gentle glow over Cooper and I. I’d been munching on a taco salad, he was carving into his ribeye steak, but both of us weren’t looking at our food. Our eyes were locked on each other and both of us wore the barest hint of a smile, like we had a secret no one else in the world knew. I didn’t even remember what we talked about at dinner, but I guaranteed no secrets were shared. We talked about our day, our lives, the differences and similarities.
Turned out, Cooper thought living in L.A. and working with actors and actresses felt similar to trying to corral escaped chickens. An exercise that made you want to bash your head into the nearest shed wall whenever it happened.
A notification slid down and her phone chimed. I didn’t mean to look but Cooper’s name scrolled across the screen.
“What’s this?” I asked, already swiping to see what Brooke had on her phone.
“Oh, I set up Google Alerts for him.”
I raised my eyes to her. “You what?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “No bigs. I have it for a lot of celebrities I like. I just sign up for Google Alerts and whenever they hit the news, that news hits my phone.”
“You are so weird,” I muttered, my attention diverted to her phone.
Where Cooper was sitting across from his wife. Smiling almost that exact same grin he had in the photo with us.
The sting of betrayal whipped through me and I dropped the phone. I’d known from the beginning he wouldn’t be mine, not forever, but it didn’t diminish the pain I currently felt. It was such a minor thing, he was out to eat with his wife after all.
That made it even worse because while he assured me his marriage was over, he was still a married man. A man I’d practically slept with.
And no one, not even my best friends sitting across from me, their silence palpable while I stared at that photo, knew, was that the night Joseph died, we’d been arguing because I’d just found out he cheated on me.
Twenty-Seven
Cooper
This was ridiculous. I was a puppet and Camilla held the strings, and never in my life did I want her holding onto anything of mine, ever again.
When my plane landed, I was surprised there weren’t cameras flashing, a host of paparazzo shouting at me asking me about Rebecca or Camilla.
It seemed like the kind of publicity Camilla would manufacture.
Instead, I was whisked into the back of a waiting Town Car where Max was already sitting and we headed off to Paul’s office. Once there, we sat for hours, Paul calling Camilla’s lawyer repeatedly, trying to get a damn answer on why they were running so late.
I was so damn irritated the entire day I didn’t
even want to pick up the phone to call Rebecca. When I talked to her, I wanted to be able to tell her what I was thinking, what I’d mentioned that morning. I didn’t want Camilla’s bullshit clouding anything between us.
I wanted Camilla gone. Then I wanted Rebecca. Even a text was out of the question. The first thing Rebecca would ask would be, “How are you? Everything okay?” and there was no way in hell I was lying to her. Not ever.
Eventually, her lawyer, Stefan Gotkowski, called Paul. “She wants dinner at the Five-Seven Club. She’ll meet Cooper alone there.”
“No way in hell,” Max said through the speaker. He didn’t even give Paul a chance to talk. “I got him here and we agreed. Hell Stefan, this was her idea.”
“Her idea has changed. She meets him there or she doesn’t sign anything.”
I dug my hands into my hair, desperately needing a haircut and a bucket of valium. This freaking woman. How had I missed her psychotic side?
And that team of decent men I had on my side, honorable men who had my back and knew how I wanted to do business? Stefan wasn’t the kind of man to be on that team. I heard more shit about him not only coercing female clients to sleep with him in order to take them on as clients, but he wasn’t all that particular with genders. He was the worst of the worst, and he made millions living that way.
I found him deplorable. And I was also pretty sure I now knew how Camilla snagged him as her lawyer, and why she always refused to leave him. The man not only screwed his potential clients—literally—he was also rumored to videotape them. If she left and that got out, Camilla would be ruined.
I planned on ruining her my own way.
Jesus. How was I blind for so long? I wanted the white picket fence and a wife and two kids and instead, I saddled myself with a Joan Crawford clone from Mommy Dearest.
“I’ll do it,” I said, leaning forward so Stefan could hear me clearly. “I’m on my way in five.” A quick check of my watch told me traffic would be brutal. Not that it wasn’t always, but at this time of the evening I-5 would move slower than snails. “It’ll take a while. Tell her I’ll get us a table for seven-thirty.”
I’d get the best one. If Camilla wanted an audience for our dinner, I’d give her a show to remember for the rest of her life.
“Cooper—” Max’s voice held a warning.
I didn’t listen. “Tell her Stefan. And after tonight this is done.”
“Sure Cooper, whatever you say.”
He doubted me. Camilla could play her games for the rest of her life and never grow weary. Fortunately for me, she didn’t realize I held the game winning hand.
Max pressed the disconnect button and ended the call, turning to me. His black brows speckled with gray that matched the hair at his temples and in his trimmed beard, furrowed. “This isn’t smart. This is a PR stunt of disastrous proportions.”
“It’ll be fine. And when I’m done, or tomorrow, you and I have to talk.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“I’ll tell you then.” I needed the night to finalize what I wanted. “I’ll call you. And thanks, Max, for everything.”
I shoved off the chair. My overnight duffle was on the floor and I was still wearing the jeans and T-Shirt I put on this morning. For a moment, I debated changing. The Five-Seven Club wasn’t exactly shirt and tie required, but it was a hot spot, the place to see and be seen. Who gave a shit about all of that.
A month away and I realized I didn’t anymore. The thrill of the hunt was fading to the serenity of pastures and goats and cow manure.
Words I never thought I’d think.
“Take care. I’ll call you.” I grabbed the manila folder filled with documents Camilla would be signing by the end of the dinner and shook Max’s hand.
Slinging the strap of my duffel over my shoulder, I sauntered to the door. If I hurried, and the driver I knew Max would have waiting for me drove like a bat out of hell, I’d make it there before Camilla flaunted her entrance. At least then I’d be seated inside while paparazzo fawned over her outside.
Such a necessary pain in my ass.
“Hey Cooper?” Max called as I reached the door. “How’s Rebecca doing?”
Fan-freaking-tastic. I was smart enough not to say it. Still, who knew what my expression gave away when I turned to him. “She’s good, Max. Real good.”
“Yeah. She’s a good girl. Take care of her when you get back there, yeah?”
His smile was knowing, his statement odd. Still, he knew I was going back because I’d told him as soon as I slid into the car next to him. “Will do.”
“Good. We’ll talk soon.”
We would, definitely. I had shit he needed to get working on.
But as the Town Car stalled on the I-5 and his words were still replaying in my mind, I found myself smiling out the window.
“That fucker. He totally planned this.”
* * *
Fortunately it was a Sunday night and the crowd at Five-Seven was less than crammed making it possible for me to easily get a table where everyone could see us. I wasn’t taking this to a private table where Camilla could instigate some romantic moment between us to get caught on film.
I was done with her games, and I was done with her.
She must have called the paparazzi, or Stefan had, so I’d pushed past blinding, flashing lights on my way inside. I didn’t bother keeping my head down, instead I held it high, not hiding the folders in my hand. Questions were shouted at me, some about the contents of the folders, most about where I’d been and how life in Kansas was treating me.
It was that question that forced my jaw to clench. The last thing I wanted, or Rebecca needed, were people digging into her life, or her place in Kansas.
The world was full of creepers and I’d just planted a bullseye on Rebecca’s back.
I was at the table considering all of that, if the risk to her was worth the trouble I could bring to her door, when flashing lights went haywire outside.
From my spot, Camilla’s entrance flared as high as her ego. She waltzed past the photographers, smiling and waving, like she held the victory cup to a sporting event and had battled for hours without a hair out of place.
I rolled my eyes at her dramatics and stayed where I was as she swept into the restaurant, her eyes immediately finding mine.
She smiled, that cat got the cream smile of hers. Only I knew it was as calculated as her pretending it was sincere.
“Hello, husband,” she all but purred as she reached the table.
“Camilla.” I nodded, hands clasped together on the folders on the table and didn’t stand to greet her. If she noticed, she didn’t falter in her performance.
She swung to my side of the table, bent low and pressed her lips to my cheek. “So wonderful to see you, Cooper.”
My gaze stayed fixed straight ahead and I fought the urge to flinch at her unwelcome touch and the sweetness in her voice. Years ago, I fell for this woman but now it was all tarnished. No wonder why my parents never truly liked her. Mom probably saw this moment happening from a mile away.
Which added a few more phone calls to my list later. If they saw the photo of Rebecca and me, they’d be in a tizzy wondering what the hell I was doing now. I’d called them before I left L.A., told them I was taking off for awhile to clear my head, and while they’d shown concern at the end of my marriage and the fiasco that followed, they hadn’t asked too many questions.
Knowing my parents and sister now, they’d be full of them.
* * *
But a smile formed on my lips as I thought about them, ignoring Camilla as she took a seat across from me and ordered a glass of champagne when the waiter appeared. My parents would love Rebecca and her down-home, Midwestern goodness.
“Pleased to see me, I see?” Camilla asked and my grin faded.
“Pleased only because it means once we get this dinner out of the way I’ll never have to again.”
“Now Cooper, you don’t mean that, honey. Haven’t y
ou heard how much I miss you? How sorry I am?”
Her blue eyes, eyes I used to get lost in, now made my scalp prickle. I slide the first envelope her way. “I heard you loud and clear. I also vividly remember hearing you moaning and crying out for more when it was the dog walker’s dick inside you, and everything you said afterward.”
“It was a mistake—”
“Your champagne, Mrs. Hawke,” the waiter says, sliding her sparkling glass to the table. Waiters in establishments like this were primed to know their guests. Hearing Camilla called Mrs. Hawke made me cringe.
“Rinaldi,” I said. “Miss Rinaldi.”
“Yes sir.” The waiter nodded at me. “Have you had time to peruse the menu? May I recommend the salmon—”
“We won’t be eating dinner,” I said, as Camilla reached for her menu.
“Cooper—”
“Her champagne is all, thank you. We won’t be eating,” I repeated, more sternly for Camilla’s benefit as her gaze turned calculating.
“Anything else for you to drink, sir?”
“Just the water.” I handed him my menu and waited until Camilla followed suit. She moved slowly, eyes never leaving mine. Her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernails finally handed the menu to the waiter. “Thank you.”
“I understand you’re upset, Cooper,” Camilla said as soon as the waiter walked away. Outside, the sidewalks were still crammed with photographers. Some smoked, others spoke, a handful of others lurked in the windows, their faces glued to us. I had no doubt all of them paying attention were taking mental notes, if not written ones, of everything they could see. “But you agreed to dinner.”
“I agreed to meet you here.” I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “But I will not be played and I will not allow you to orchestrate anything that could possibly appear as a romantic reunion between us. Cut the crap, tell me what your game is and what you want, and then, sign the papers.”