The Boyfriend Collector, Two

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Frank adds, “You both need to come by my office in a few days to sign some additional paperwork required by the banks and county recorder, but other than that, we’re done.”

  Done. Done? Done! I want to squeal and dance and scream at the top of my lungs. The mansion, which I plan to turn into a home for girls, is mine. My mother’s books are mine, and I will make sure they’re never forgotten. Her company, which manages everything from movie rights to merchandising, is mine. The cash in the bank is officially mine. I will never get back the nearly twenty-one years of my life that were stolen or my yearly allowances that my grandparents squandered away on parties, expensive trips, beach villas, and yachts, but I have my future, and I plan to do good things with it.

  I vigorously shake Frank’s hand and then turn to Bex. He made this possible. He saved me. I want to kiss him so badly that I start leaning in but stop myself.

  “Congratulations, Rose.” Bex smiles at me for the second time today, and all I can think is, If only he loved me. Because I could really grow accustomed to that smile. But today is not a day for regrets or looking to the past. Today is a day for being grateful. It’s over. I can finally…finally…

  A heavy boulder drops into my stomach. Wait. No one came. Not even my aunt, who’d been in on everything. Not one of my grandparents’ lawyers. No Hail Marys to try to maintain control of Lana Hale Enterprises.

  Something doesn’t feel right. They would never just let me walk away with the home they lived in for the last twenty-something years and the money they’ve been after just as long.

  Fuck. They’re distancing themselves. They want everyone to think they’ve given up, but this isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

  Stop it, Rose. Bex already said they can’t make contact with the outside. They’re locked up. And as of right now, their assets are frozen pending the investigation of embezzlement and fraud. Of course, those aren’t as damning as solicitation of murder. So while it might not be over in their minds, the cat’s been declawed. The snake is no longer venomous. Right?

  “You okay?” Bex looks down at me.

  I nod. “Sure. Never better. Can I keep the bodyguards for a while?” I add.

  “Let’s go home and celebrate first, sweetheart. We can discuss all that later.”

  I know he called me sweetheart for public appearances’ sake, so I try not to make anything of it, but hearing him say it and not mean it pricks a little.

  “Sure, babe. But don’t forget, I have that thing tonight.” Meaning, I have a date with Markus. We were supposed to go to New York, but I plan to make it up to him.

  Bex gives me a strange look. Disapproval maybe? But I’m not sure why. The rules between us are clear.

  “Then we’ll make sure the bodyguards stay on for a few more days,” he replies.

  For me or for Bex’s benefit? I don’t know, but it’s time to get out of here and start figuring out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I mean, while I try to stay alive.

  The drive back to my apartment is fairly quiet, and Bex has a stern look on his face the entire time. I want to call him out, but I don’t want to get into it with him right now. This moment marks a new chapter in my life, and I want to live each second to its fullest, not fight with Bexley Hughes. He deserves my respect. He deserves my gratitude. It’s not his fault he can’t reciprocate my feelings.

  He parks along the curb in front of my place, and the bodyguards pull in behind us.

  “Take this card,” Bex says. “It’s for the personal security company. There’s an emergency cell phone number at the bottom in case you’re separated from them and need to call. Otherwise, just text the number before you go anywhere and wait for a confirmation before leaving. Okay?”

  I take the card and slip it into my pocket. I still don’t own a real wallet. I need to buy one now that I have actual credit cards and a debit card. I can’t believe it. Soon, I might even get my driver’s license. Oh. And a car! My own car. I’ve always wanted something big, like one of those Suburbans or Tahoes. I think because every time I see one, it’s filled with kids. Lots of bouncy, crazy kids, and their mom’s behind the wheel, taking them to soccer practice or a baseball game. When I was little, I wanted to be one of those kids. Now I think I’d like to be that mom. Someday. When I’m ready and find Mr. Right.

  “Thanks, Bex. I mean it.”

  He nods. “When will I see you?”

  I bite my lower lip and look down at my lap. “I don’t want to see you anymore.” My words are a shock even to myself. But today’s made me realize how much it hurts to be near him, especially now that he’s my husband and a part of me wants it to be real. It’s all I could think about when we left the estate lawyer’s offices. Every second Bex and I spend together draws me deeper and deeper. I can’t allow that. He has the power to make me settle for whatever scraps of affection he’s willing to give—therapy, probing questions, a wall to mask his physical attraction—and I don’t want that. I want love. I want a partner. I can’t torture myself like this.

  “But we had a deal.” His tone is even, but I know he’s pissed. It’s in the eyes.

  “Yes, but the only reason you want to continue these sessions is because you feel obligated to help me.”

  “And?”

  I speak with as much gratitude as I can muster. “You’ve already done so much for me, Bex. Don’t you know that? I mean,” I run a hand over the top of my head and push out a slow breath, “you’ve changed my life.”

  “Yes, and you still need—”

  “You said I didn’t have to do the sessions if I didn’t want to. You said they were a request and you would help me no matter what.”

  “And I stand behind our agreement. You don’t answer to me. I’m not your husband in the traditional sense and have no rights or expectations of you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I want to see you happy and ready for everything good that’s out there waiting for you.”

  He is so good, so sweet, and so honorable. He just doesn’t get it though. Even right now, everything he’s saying is only sucking me in, and it’s killing me. “I have to go. But I promise, if I feel overwhelmed or…whatever, I will find a good therapist.”

  He turns away and looks straight ahead. His jaw is pulsing with tension.

  Man, he’s angry. But I can’t do this. The mere act of sitting in the same car, seeing the way his bicep flexes beneath the soft fabric of his dress shirt, makes my heart race. And those soft sensual lips, I can’t stop staring at them, wanting to kiss him again. It’s only happened once, when I stole it from him, but I’ll never forget the way my stomach exploded with flutters.

  “Bex, you really, really need to believe me when I tell you that I can’t accept more help from you. It’s not good for me.”

  “You have no idea what’s good for you, Rose,” he snaps.

  “Oh, and you do?”

  He finally looks at me with angry eyes. “What do you think?”

  My pride urges me to tell him off, but I remind myself of everything he’s done for me, which is part of the problem.

  I sigh. “The truth is, Bex, you’ve become my hero. And now I’m not so sure I can survive without you. But I have to try. Don’t I?”

  His anger instantly defuses, and there’s a softness in his blue eyes. “Yes. You do.”

  “Then you understand.”

  He nods solemnly. “I’m here for you, regardless. Anytime. Day or night. Whatever you need.”

  What I need is to let go, starting tonight. I’m going to see Markus. I’m going to lose my virginity. I’m going to stick to my plan and never look back. “Goodbye, Bex.”

  “Best of luck.”

  I leave the car, and he drives away. I can’t help feeling like this, too, isn’t over. At least, not for me.

  Time. Give yourself time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  That evening I’m expecting a knock at my door around eight thirty, but instead I get a phone call. It’s Markus.

  �
��Hey. You running late?” I say.

  “No,” he says curtly. “I’m in the hall a few doors down from your apartment. There are two men here who won’t let me get past. What the hell is this, Rose?”

  Ohcrap. I forgot.

  I rush to my door and jerk it open. I pop my head out into the hallway, and sure enough, my personal security detail has Markus backed against the wall.

  “He’s a friend!” I rush toward them.

  The two men release Markus, and the taller one with dark hair gives me a look. “Ms. Hale, you’re supposed to text or call if you intend on having visitors.”

  “Oops. I’m not used to the diplomat lifestyle just yet, but I’ll try to remember next time.” It doesn’t slip past me that Bex also forgot to say anything about alerting the guards to visitors. He only mentioned texting them if I go somewhere. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.

  Markus gives both men the stink eye and pushes past, only to turn his irritation toward me. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s talk inside.”

  I follow Markus, who is tall and clean cut with dark eyes and hair. He’s a good-looking guy for sure. No. Not like Bex. Bex is breathtaking. Markus is handsome, nice to look at, and nice to be around. There’s no spark when he kisses me, not like the one time I kissed Bex and liquified from the inside out, but Markus is the sort of guy you could grow to love. I think?

  “I was going to buy a bottle of wine,” I shut the front door behind me, “but I thought it would be more fun to go out instead since I’m officially twenty-one. There’s a cool-looking bar down the street—”

  “I’m not staying.” Markus sits on the only thing I’ve got. That white couch. Still don’t know why I had to buy it.

  “Oh?”

  He laces his fingers together and leans forward. “I can’t see you anymore.”

  “Errr… Okay. Why not?”

  He looks up at me, visibly upset—flat lips, narrowed eyes. “What kind of game are you playing with me, Rose? Or should I say Mrs. Hughes?”

  “Oh shit.” I release a sigh of remorse. “I was going to tell you about that, but there hasn’t been time. I had to deal with the lawyers and paperwork, and it’s not exactly the type of conversation I wanted to have over the phone.” I didn’t know the media would be buzzing the news all over God’s green earth within a few hours.

  “So you are married, then?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Is he really your therapist, the man who was supposed to be helping you?”

  Ugh… That sounds just as bad as I imagined it would, like Bex is some unscrupulous doctor who took advantage of me.

  “Yes, but it’s complicated.” Something in my gut stops me from saying more. It isn’t that I don’t trust Markus or that he’s unaware of the whole inheritance-marriage thing, but I don’t actually know him. I only know how he makes me feel, and that can be defined by one word: comfortable. That’s not enough.

  “Since you kept our date, I’m guessing that you’re not in love with the guy, but I’m not about to run around with a married woman. I’m a goddamned high school English teacher.” Markus stands and looks down at me, since he’s pretty tall. “I’m sorry, Rose. Call me if things change.”

  He’s wrong about the love part, but he’s right about the optics. It won’t look good if people find out we’re dating and he’s seen as the “other man.”

  “I understand, Markus. And I’m really, really sorry you were blindsided by all this.”

  “Well,” he takes a breath, “I’m disappointed, but I knew about your complicated life when I asked you out. I just have to draw the line at this.”

  “I get it. I do.” I’m disappointed because out of all the men I’ve met, besides you-know-who, Markus seemed good for me. Solid. Trustworthy. Not materialistic.

  He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Good luck, Rose. And happy birthday.”

  “Thanks, Markus.” I show him out and lean against my closed front door. Two guys gone in one day. Both were important to me. One more important than the other, of course, but I’m hurting.

  Dammit. What am I doing? Today is my birthday. My twenty-first birthday. I refuse to sit around sulking. I should go out and celebrate and drink champagne, or…one of those fancy cocktails I always see on TV, and dance and just be…twenty-one!

  I shake my head at myself. What I should do is call it quits. Today has been a rough day.

  But it’s my twenty-first birthday. I get to start my life, and there’s no moment like the present.

  I go for my phone—it’s a refurb, but it’s new to me, and I love it. “Let’s see…” Do not look at Bex’s profile. I skip right over the Bs and stop. “Chad.”

  Chad is a super nice guy, studying to be a vegan chef. His parents own a chain of high-end steak houses and aren’t supportive of his choices, so he’s been left to make his own way. I don’t know what they think he does to pay his tuition, but he works as a stripper. Yes. A stripper.

  So far, we’ve only spent one night together—dancing, laughing, and drinking a little too much—though we never kissed. We did get naked, however. He showed me his moves. I showed him mine. But he never touched me. He’s a respectable gentleman stripper, I guess. He’s also incredibly cute, but not husband material. Not at this point in his life yet, anyway.

  Well, now I’m married, and I’m definitely not looking for a husband. Another one, I mean.

  After the dust settles, and I’ve taken care of some major items on my bucket list—traveling, going back to college, and getting the hang of managing my mother’s legacy—Bex and I will divorce so I can find a real partner, a man who wants me and cherishes my heart when I offer it.

  In the meantime, Chad is just the guy to celebrate my twenty-first birthday with. Fun. Single. Attractive.

  I call his number, and he answers right away. “Jesus! Is that you, Rose?” he yells. There’s loud music in the background.

  “Let me take a wild guess. You’re at work!”

  “Yeah. Where have you been hiding? Wait. Don’t tell me! I hear you had a wedding today.”

  I wince. “It’s…uh…compli­cated!” I bellow back.

  “Knowing your crazy family, Princess Peachtree, it doesn’t surprise me.”

  Yes, Chad was also on “the list” and attended my coming-out party. He heard all the dirt about my mother’s will when I confronted my grandparents.

  “Hey, so what time do you get off—I mean, from work?” Har. Har. Look at me being flirty. I high-five myself.

  “Not until one,” Chad replies.

  “Oh. I kinda hoped you might want to hang out.”

  “Absolutely. Why don’t you come down to the club?” Chad offers.

  “To watch you dance?” I’m not sure that’s my thing.

  “It’s one of our busiest nights of the week. You’ll love it! And we can hang out in between my sets.”

  “I don’t know, Chad. I sort of had something else in mind.”

  “Like?” he asks.

  Cake. A fancy cocktail. Maybe a private dance lesson to get my brain back on track? “Never mind. Maybe we can do something next wee—”

  “Rose, you’re still in the doghouse for flaking on me a few weeks ago, so don’t even think about blowing me off.”

  I did leave him hanging. He invited me to some big cooking competition in Napa over the weekend. I said yes, but then changed my mind. Mostly because I knew I would never be able to marry a man who gets groped by other women all day long.

  Now I’m not worried about getting married. I’m just looking to have new experiences and figure out who I am. I don’t have to like everything I try, but I should be putting myself out there. And I’ve never been to a strip club.

  “Okay. I’ll go,” I say. “But I want cake at some point in the evening.”

  “What was that?” he yells.

  “Nothing! Just text me the address.” I’m going to have to share it with my two bodyguards.

  �
�You got it. See you soon. And don’t flake on me again, Rose.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  About an hour and twenty minutes later, just before ten at night, my Uber pulls up to a really shiny building about thirty minutes from where I live, near downtown. The place is painted pink on the outside, and I can hear the bass vibrating against the walls.

  A group of six women stumble in ahead of me, and one is wearing a tiara and pink sash. The others are wearing elf hats. A holiday bachelorette party maybe? Christmas is right around the corner.

  “I’m really, really sorry about this, guys. Are you sure this is okay? I mean, I understand if you want to go home to be with family,” I say to the two men in suits behind me. I don’t even know their names, but I get the impression they don’t get friendly with anyone. They just stand there quietly, following me around like shadows.

  “No problem, Ms. Hale,” the taller man says, his voice deep as the ocean. “It’s our job to go where you go, and not to judge.”

  Thank God for that. Because the moment we enter the club, I know this is the exact place I need to be. A hundred or so rowdy screaming women are going apeshit over the nearly naked guy on stage. He has a perfect tan, endless baby-oiled abs, and the hardest ass on the planet. He also has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen and tattoos on his arms, one of them his grandmother’s cookie recipe.

  Chad. I smile and slide off my long red coat just as a server walks up to ask if I’d like a drink. He doesn’t bother checking my ID, which I’m going to assume has something to do with my very manly entourage. Kind of disappointing. I was looking forward to showing it off. Just one more thing my a-hole grandparents screwed up for me. I wouldn’t need bodyguards if it weren’t for Mel and Gertie.

  Ugh. I let it go. I can rethink the whole security thing tomorrow.

  “How about a table?” I point to an empty one toward the stage that has a Reserved sign on it.

  “It’s for bottle service only,” the server replies.

  “Then I’ll take a bottle of…champagne. A good one.”

  The server’s eyes light up, which really worries me. What did I just order, and how much is it going to set me back? Stop it, Rose. It’s your birthday. Besides, how expensive can champagne get? It’s not that I don’t have money now, but I can’t bring myself to waste it on things I don’t need.