Brand New Man

by Weston Parker

  “Fancy that,” Emily cooed.

  “That is how I’ll be leaving, too.”

  Emily blinked. I nearly laughed. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry, Em. I won’t tell anyone you made a pass at me.”

  She stammered. “I wasn’t—I wouldn’t—I think you misunderstood.”

  The bartender slid my drink over. Quickly, I plucked the straw out and tossed it in the trash can near my feet. Then I took a greedy drink and held Emily’s gaze as I did. I smacked my lips when I was done. “It was good to see you again. Beautiful dress, by the way.”

  Leaving her no time to pick up her jaw from the floor, I walked off into the crowd. I had just glanced toward the stage when someone cleared their throat into the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. If you would please take your seats. The evening is about to begin.” The loud chatter all around me died down as people split apart to make their way to their seats. I sifted through the crowd, smiling at people who waved at me, and worked my way back to my table.

  I lowered myself into my seat as the other guests at the table took up their spots around me. I knew who most of them were, but didn’t know them personally. The man sitting beside me was in the film industry, I knew that much. He owned a lot of private properties that were used as sets in some of the big budget films that had been filmed in LA over the last decade. He was raking in serious dough and had an income that might rival mine.

  Security and entertainment are the biggest opportunities for wealth, after all. Especially in this city.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me and nodded at my name embossed in silver on a white place card. “Miller?”

  I picked up the card and wiggled it. “You got me, Mr.—”

  “Beveridge.”

  I extended my hand and we shook. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Beveridge. The movie industry, right?”

  He nodded. Mr. Beveridge was a bald man, not from age but by choice. His dark brown beard was thick and he had a perfectly curled moustache. His suit was navy blue and he wore mismatching patterns in his socks, pocket square, and tie. A man like him could get away with such decisions. “I hear you’re in the security business, Mr. Miller.”

  “Yes. Software security, mostly. I design programs to protect personal information.”

  “And share it with certain organizations?”

  I tapped the side of my nose. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  His serious expression stretched into a grin. “What brings you here this evening? I wouldn’t expect a man with your qualifications to be interested in this sort of thing?”

  “And by this sort of thing do you mean charity?” I asked.

  He paused, pursed his lips, and then frowned. “When you say it that way it sounds like a terrible thing to say to a stranger.”

  I chuckled. “I’m not offended.”

  “Good. So, what does bring you here, then?”

  I liked him. He was forward. To the point. I’d bet money he rubbed people the wrong way in Hollywood every damn day. “Well, my assistant told me I should come, so here I am. She did the research. Said it was a good cause and, since I have the funds to help out, why not, right?”

  Mr. Beveridge shrugged. “I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.”

  I sipped my rum and coke. “And what about you? Why are you here?”

  He crossed his arms and shot me a devious grin. “For the wives.”

  Of course. I should have seen that coming a mile away. It explained the pocket square, the tie, the moustache, and, well, pretty much everything.

  Mr. Beveridge stroked his beard. “You disapprove?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He tapped his glass to the side of mine before taking a sip of his cranberry and pine cider. “Happy hunting then.”

  I didn’t drink from my glass. There was no way I was toasting to that. It occurred to me that just for shits and giggles I should tell him to go hit on Emily. Just then a hush fell over the crowd and all eyes were turned to the stage.

  Twisting in my chair, I draped my arm over the back of it and crossed one leg over the other as I peered up at the stage. Standing in front of the silver curtain was a beautiful young woman.

  She had cascading blonde curls that reached almost to the middle of her back, now in a sophisticated by gentle bun at the nape of her neck. If I was closer I’d be able to see that her eyes were brown and somehow wildly bright, and framed with thick black lashes. I’d also be able to see that her nose and cheeks were dusted in freckles. That she had a scar to the right of her bottom lip from when she fell into a glass coffee table at a friend’s house when she was eight. That she had a birthmark in the shape of a raindrop on her right hip.

  “Shit,” I breathed.

  “She’s a stunner, hey?” Mr. Beveridge said beside me, leaning back in his chair. “Truth be told, she’s part of the reason I come to this thing, too.”

  “Laura Wessex,” I said, shaking my head.

  “You know her?”

  “Better than she knows herself,” I said.

  Beveridge straightened in his chair and gave me a cool look before turning his attention back to Laura as she began to speak. Every word hit me right in the gut. It had been a long time since I had heard her voice. A long, long time.

  Since college.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. I am pleased to welcome you back to the fifth annual fundraiser for Laura’s Haven. Your attendance is greatly appreciated and I am grateful for your continued support, and your determination to make this foundation a success. It is my pleasure to welcome our new donors this year, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhubertussen, Mrs. Welling, Mr. Carrowall, and—last but not least—the person behind the generous donation from Nova Corp.”

  Chapter 8

  Laura

  I couldn’t see all the faces looking up at me as I finished up my speech. The bright lights illuminating me on stage made it impossible to see anything out there in the crowd. It was probably better that way. If I could see all the people watching me, I would most definitely get stage fright.

  I was thankful to be wrapping it up.

  “To express my sincerest gratitude for all of your generosity this year, I would like to take this moment to simply say, Merry Christmas,” I finished, lifting my eyes and giving the room my best smile.

  They all clapped. It was a ‘we’re all wearing very expensive rings’ sort of clap, in that the sound was softer than the applause at a music concert for example, but I didn’t mind.

  I reached for the microphone and cleared my throat as the people down below started talking among themselves. “I apologize, but I would like to steal one more moment of your time to thank someone very generous tonight.” The room gave me their attention. Voices faded into whispers which gave way to silence, save for the occasional rustle of someone’s gown or the clink of a glass hitting the edge of a plate. I stood a little taller and lifted my chin. “I would never discuss donation details in this setting, of course, but I will say that this person, on behalf of their company, made the single largest donation our foundation has ever received. So, without further ado, I’d like to invite whoever donated the check from the Nova Corp to please join me on stage so that we can thank them properly.”

  The audible squeak of chair legs on the hardwood floors echoed throughout the room as a man close to the front of the room stood up. The lights made it impossible for me to make out his face. He was wearing part of his suit—it looked like he’d taken off the jacket. He moved with careless ease, slipping between the tables and making his way to the stairs on the side of the stage. I could see that he was young and trim before he moved into shadow and out of my sight to ascend the stairs along the side of the stage. I could hear his shoes striking each step.

  I waited with a pleasant smile plastered on my lips.

  And waited.

  Until he stepped into the light with me. Then my mind came to a grinding halt.

  Max fu
cking Miller.

  The look he gave me was pure menace. His lips—lips that I could remember kissing like it was yesterday—were curled in a devious smile as he walked toward me with ease. Being in front of a crowd didn’t seem to ruffle his feathers in the slightest. Then again, I couldn’t remember anything ruffling his feathers. Not even my father pulling him into the study to have a talk about his intentions. I was speechless, at least I hoped I was, since the entire room would have heard anything I said since I was still hovering over the microphone.

  Max, all long legs, broad shoulders, dark stubble covered jaw and eyes as green as spring grass was right there on stage with me. He chuckled as he slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. Stopping about two feet from me, he rocked back on his heels. “You gonna give me the microphone, Miss?”

  Miss?

  “Uh—”

  Max stepped toward me. I retreated four paces to the side and he assumed the position behind the microphone. Those green eyes of his lingered on me for a moment longer before he turned and squinted into the bright house lights. Murmurs spread down below. I tried to pretend I didn’t know what they were saying. I tried to pretend that my heart wasn’t about to thump its way straight out of my ribcage.

  The voices belonged to the women in the room. Each and every one of them whispered of how good looking he was. How mysterious he was. How wealthy he was.

  Damn him.

  Max feathered his fingers on the microphone and smiled at the crowd. The whispers spread like wildfire. “Well, I didn’t come here this evening prepared to make a speech. And most of you know I’m not the best with words. Programs and computers? Sure. People? Not so much.”

  The crowd rippled with laughter and I clenched my fists at my sides.

  “I suppose the thing to say in a position like this is a simple, you’re welcome,” Max said, looking to me with an innocent expression.

  The crowd was already cheering.

  I gave him a terse smile and tried to speak—tried to say anything. Even a simple phrase about helping a lot of children would have done the trick. But I just stood there like a deer in the headlights, with my lips parted and my fists clenched.

  He chuckled into the microphone and the sound vibrated right through me and brought me back to those days at the college where I’d sneak down the hall to his dorm room. I could feel the heat start below my belly. The quiet storm of need that I’d never been able to calm when he was in the room with me.

  “It’s alright, Miss Wessex. I’m used to this reaction from women all the time,” he said, gesturing at me.

  Jackass.

  The crowd laughed again. This time without reservation. My cheeks burned as Max gave me an informal little bow. “This is an impressive cause and I am very happy to have been able to help. You can count on my attendance next year, and an equal donation. Thank you for the evening. I have enjoyed myself and those I’ve had the chance to speak with tonight seem to have enjoyed themselves as well.”

  So now he was kissing my ass to make up for making me look like an idiot in front of all these people. The crowd was talking again, and I knew it was best to let them go on with their evening rather than try to say anything else, since I would only humiliate myself further.

  Max stepped back from the microphone. “Laura Wessex,” he clicked his tongue. “How do you look exactly the same as you did ten years ago?”

  “Exercise. And lots of water. And kale.”

  He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. My heart puttered like a dying car engine in my chest and I resisted clutching my hands to my breast like a damsel from the eighteen hundreds. He smiled. “It’s good to see you, Laura.”

  I lifted my nose. “Can’t say the same about you.”

  Then I turned, tugged the silver curtain open, and slipped backstage. Ella was standing there with two shot glasses in her hands. Her eyes were as wide as her mouth as she gaped at me. “Is that—is that Max Miller out there?”

  I nodded, plucked one of the tequila shots out of her hand, and threw it down the hatch. She hurried to follow suit as I grimaced and said, “Literally the polar opposite of Romeo in each and every way.”

  “I’m going to get us more shots,” Ella said, as her eyes moved past my shoulder to look behind me.

  I didn’t have to turn to know that Max had followed me behind the curtain. Ella hurried away, presumably back to the bar, and I marched ahead, scurrying down the stairs and trying to escape to the same room I’d rehearsed my speech in. Max followed me all the way.

  “Can’t we talk for a moment, at least?” He asked the question when he stepped through the doorway behind me.

  I rounded on him. “No. No, we cannot talk for a moment. You just made me look like a fool up there!”

  “I did not.”

  “You did too! What was that you said? Something about being used to getting this reaction from women. I’m not one of your lap girlfriends, Max.”

  “What the hell is a lap girlfriend?”

  I threw my arms up in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “You said it,” he said, pulling out a chair from one of the tables and sinking down into it. He peered up at me with cool curiosity. The way his hair was hanging slightly over his brow coupled with the loose collar of his shirt and the way he tugged at his tie had me coming undone. “What’s a lap girlfriend? Come on, I’m dying to know.”

  “A girlfriend that is more like having a small dog. You know, like a lap dog.”

  He snorted. “That sounds like way too much work. I don’t do girlfriends.”

  I crossed my arms causing the little jewels on my gown to dig into my bare skin. “That’s funny. The last time we saw each other you had three girlfriends at once.”

  He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “Ten years changes a guy.”

  “Nobody can change that much, Max. I’m not buying it.”

  “I’m not trying to get you to buy anything, Laura. I just wanted to catch up. You’re the one who’s being defensive. Look, if I’d known ahead of time this was your fundraiser, I never would have come, okay?”

  “Oh, because you wouldn’t want to donate to my cause?”

  He frowned. “Now you’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “Fine. Why wouldn’t you have come?”

  “I’m not stupid, Laura. You don’t want me here. Had I known, I would have avoided it and we both could have carried on blissfully, neither of us having to endure this, awkward reunion scene,” he said, gesturing back and forth between us.

  I uncrossed my arms, planted a hand on my hip, and glared at him. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Never said I wasn’t.” He clasped his hands behind his head and winked at me. He actually winked at me.

  And my skin crawled—but not in the uncomfortable, seedy way. It crawled with lust. Max Miller was a sight for sore eyes, and just like in college, his cool attitude and devilish charm were getting to me. He’d been bad news for me then and he was bad news now.

  There was no doubt about that.

  Chapter 9

  Max

  Laura Wessex.

  She was the only girl I’d ever been with who’d broken up with me rather than the other way around. We’d met when we were both studying at the University of California. She was immersed in the world of philanthropy, which had clearly been the right choice for her since here she was hosting this fundraiser and working with homeless kids. I had been studying criminology.

  At the time I’d been sure I was going to be a cop, and then a detective.

  She was in her first year and only nineteen when we bumped into each other in the dorm room hallway. She was wearing a red dress with little white flowers all over it, and I knew the first time I saw her that I needed to know her. I needed to know everything about her.

  Having her standing in front of me ten years later in a sapphire blue sparkling evening gown was a bit of a shock. But a shock of the very best kind.

  Her eyes were so
dark they nearly looked black and were lined with black wings on her upper lids, which were also swept with sparkling silver and charcoal. Her lips were a deep shade of red, almost a purple color, and her hair was drawn up in a soft, loose bun at the nape of her neck.

  I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my life—despite her anger.

  She had her hands on her hips and was glaring at me like she wanted to set me on fire right here in my chair.

  I tugged the collar of my shirt. “Tough crowd.”

  “Oh shut up, Max.”

  “I didn’t intend to ruin your evening. Like I said, I didn’t even know it was your evening.”

  “Well it is.”

  “I can see that now.”

  Laura looked up at the ceiling and I took advantage of the moment and studied the long line of her neck. She used to love it when I’d kiss and nibble my way up, from her collarbone to her jaw and up to her ear. She’d melt in my arms, and sigh the softest sweetest little sounds.

  “What are you doing?” Narrowing her eyes at me, she spoke crossly.

  Shit. She’d caught me staring. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Max. I mean it. You and I? Not happening. Go back out to the banquet room and find a girl with low standards and an even lower neckline.”

  “I could.”

  “Please do.”

  “I’d like to sit and have a drink with you first.”

  Her eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “No thank you.”

  “Please?”

  She shook her head. “No, Max. Not interested.”

  I stood up and moved around the room. She watched me undo the buttons on the cuffs of my white shirt, and then roll them up to my elbows. “Come on Laura. Is that how you’re going to treat the guy who just gave you ten million dollars?”

  She blinked. Her eyes darted from my forearms to my eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. One drink. Just one. Then we can go our separate ways.”

  Laura looked around the room, like she was searching for something she could use to get out of having to sit down and spend time with me. But, when her eyes only fell upon empty chairs, a mini fridge, and a sink full of coffee mugs, she let out a deep sigh and her shoulders slumped. “Alright. Fine. One drink. But only one.” She held up the index finger on her right hand to drive the point home. “One.”