Bachelor Heart

by Regina Morris

  She used the mouse to display more of the news, her hand trembling. According to the article, he was engaged to an Austrian heiress.

  She bit her lip and pondered that thought. She had only met Daniel’s flavor-of-the-month once, but had talked to her countless times on the phone and through text messages. The girl always came across as arrogant and self–righteous, which suggested she might come from wealth and feel entitled. Deborah just never thought of her as having any riches since the girl had a stereotypical personality of a trailer–park.

  But if she were rich, the engagement did make sense. A billionaire like Daniel would never marry a commoner. He deserved to be in love and to find a good wife. There was nothing wrong with that.

  After staring for a minute at her computer screen, and seeing the activity displayed on Tweet Dock race by, she grabbed her phone and texted Daniel to be on the lookout for the paparazzi in the lobby.

  She had just set the phone down when it chirped, signaling that a text had come in.

  It wasn’t from Daniel.

  “How was your birthday?”

  At least it wasn’t a nosy reporter. It was Caroline.

  Deborah thought about typing, “Lonely, depressing, and it ended with a bottle of wine and polishing off a fat–free cheesecake,” but settled on texting a simple, “Okay” back.

  Immediately, another text came from Caroline. This one asking for details.

  Details?

  Didn't the woman understand that it was a workday? Deborah was too busy to chat, and too upset to even think straight. She texted, “Talk later?” into the phone, but it buzzed again.

  “Do you or don't you want me to set you up? I have a fantastic guy for you.”

  The mail needed to be sorted, coffee needed to be made, and the day needed to be started, but her knees felt weak. She wasn’t sure she could even stand. Deborah stared at her phone and knew Caroline waited for a reply.

  After a few seconds, the words “You there?” came across the little screen.

  Before she could change her mind, Deborah took a deep breath and texted. “Fine. Set me up.” She then placed the phone in her pocket and told herself not to touch it again until lunchtime.

  There was so much that needed to be done. Soon, the arrangements for the wedding would begin—gift registries filled out, a guest list created… a honeymoon to plan.

  9

  Daniel inhaled deeply, smelling the sweetness of the woman lying beside him and inviting the warmth of her body to caress him. His hands scooped her up, and he drew her closer, needing to bury himself within her. He felt the smoothness of her skin as her pert nipples pressed against his bare chest.

  She giggled as she straddled his firm, bare form, opening herself up to him and the pleasure he would give her.

  The sheets were filled with the fragrances of her perfume mixed with their passion and her moistened arousal. She arched her naked body, moaning for more.

  He flipped her over, taking the more dominant position. He moved his hand up her inner thigh where the silkiness of her skin welcomed him. Her knees shifted upward, allowing him access to her most private parts.

  His fingers slid down to find her glistening folds to stroke. She was wet and ready for him. He pushed his throbbing member into her, causing her breathing to become labored and she encouraged him to continue.

  Her beautiful, brunette hair splayed across her face, only allowing her full, red lips to be visible to him as she panted. She bit down just as her hips bucked under him. He nearly brought her to the edge, but he paused.

  He wanted to see her face.

  He needed to know who lay in bed with him. He shifted his body to a better position where he could move her hair to see her face, but she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down, suggesting that she wasn't quite finished.

  He would claim her, but only after he had identified her. She moaned his name as he brushed her hair aside to finally reveal her face. He glanced down…

  And was abruptly woken by his alarm clock.

  His heart raced as he heard it play, “Away at the Races” loudly on the nightstand. He grabbed it in an attempt to silence it, but his dogs jumped on the bed and began licking his face, causing him to fumble with the snooze button.

  “Good boy, good girl,” he said, giving each one a pat on the head once he stopped his alarm. Oreo nudged his arm and whined. Ginger barked. They needed to go outside, which meant he should get up.

  He was up already. Firm and hard and making a tent out of the sheets.

  The vivid dream had left him filled with desire and frustration, and now, smelly dog breath covered him. He sat up and allowed the blankets to fall. His sweaty aroused body instantly cooled in the air–conditioned room.

  Dammit. That was the most erotic dream he had ever had. So life-like that he could swear his dream woman had been in bed right next to him. A curvy, beautiful… brunette.

  Odd that he wasn’t dreaming of Brandelynn, who was blonde.

  He had dreamt of this same brunette last week too. Some mystery woman. Sexy, tantalizing, beautiful, unknown.

  His heartbeats slowed as he took in more deep breaths. The magazine lay on the nightstand, and must have been the prompt for his subconscious mind to dream of such a fantasy woman. He had read the publication cover–to–cover and had to admit that some of the articles made a lot of sense. The second quiz alone was an eye–opener. According to the results, he wanted to find a mate who was trustworthy, independent, and caring.

  Overall, pretty generic descriptions of a significant other. The last question suggested the most important thing to Daniel was to have someone as an equal to share his life with.

  He was the richest man in Chicago, and he didn’t hire personal household staff because he valued his privacy too much. How the hell was he going to find his equal in this world?

  He stared at the empty spot in the bed next to him. The magazine said that everyone has a match; you just had to be willing to search and never settle. He had settled for less his entire life. Under his breath, he swore he'd fill his bed, and his life, with the perfect dream woman.

  That was it. Daniel had hit his limit, and he planned to build a virtual wall around himself. No one would get in.

  “They were even at my house this morning.” The anger of the blatant disregard of his privacy bubbled up from low in Daniel's bowel to settle in his throat. The valve of his temperament exploded, but instead of screaming, he slammed his fist on his office desk, tipping the coffee in his mug and causing a drop to spill.

  Ms. Baxter pulled a tissue from a Kleenex box and quickly wiped up the liquid.

  As he took his seat, the plush leather, high–back chair let out a slight squeak. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, now realizing how hot and stifling the room felt. “Do you know how annoying it is to wake up to journalists camped outside your front gate?”

  Deborah straightened the mail and miscellaneous paperwork on the desk into a neat pile. "My house doesn't have a front gate, but I can imagine."

  Her tone wasn't exactly sarcastic, more chastising in a humbling way. And it grounded him once again to reality.

  Taking a deep breath, he told himself that his first–world problems were not the end of the world, and that he was fine. He raked his hand through his hair and reminded himself that with power and prestige came status and stress.

  "Now, aren't you glad you bought a home on the outskirts of the city, one with a security fence and a long, private driveway, instead of the condo downtown? Out of all the places I scouted out for you, I knew this house suited you the best and met all your security needs.”

  Ms. Baxter knew him so well.

  She was the only person—other than his psychologist—that he had told the story of his abduction to. He had been six years old and at a crowded mall with his mother. His father had just landed a successful business deal and had come into a substantial sum of money—enough for a newspaper to write up an article about them that included
a family picture. His mother had taken Daniel shopping for some nice clothes when a woman—one with crazy eyes—had come out of the shadows and grabbed him.

  The mall had gone on immediate lockdown, and security caught her before she could exit the building with him, but not before she drugged him, changed his clothes, and cut his hair. He remembered none of it. Immediately after she’d grabbed him, his whole world had gone dark. It wasn’t until he woke up later in the hospital and people told him stories that he even knew what had happened. But it still left a mark.

  It was dangerous to be at the center of the public eye.

  Anonymity was important, with only a few trusted people close to you.

  Deborah’s hand supportively touched the back of his. Her knowing smile reassuring and strong.

  She could stay within his virtual security wall. Everyone else could go to hell.

  He removed his jacket, and she took it from him and hung it on the hanger of the standing valet.

  “Don't let these idiots ruin your day, Mr. Ellington. Perhaps, you may want to leave early and disrupt your routine. You can pick up your current lady friend and arrive home before the next group of people camp out.”

  He hadn't thought of Brandelynn since last night, and a pang of guilt ran through him. Whether or not she was his ‘the one’, he should have confirmed she got home. Made sure she was okay. He was certain that Evan was a stand-up guy though, and did his job.

  Daniel had swung by the car after he’d left the restaurant to let Evan know about the change of plans. He also told him he was right in his assessment of Brandelynn. She was all wrong for him.

  Ms. Baxter’s hand brushed the back of the jacket, shaking any lint from it. “If you get home early enough, the press may not even get a picture of the two of you together.”

  Her voice was controlled and flat, not exactly the way she normally sounded. “A picture of Brandelynn and me? Whatever for?”

  Ms. Baxter's hand smoothed the creases from the jacket and then buttoned the top button. “Your big evening last night, of course. You got engaged to Brandi… Brandelynn.” Her voice cracked as she stumbled upon the name. She fiddled more with the jacket and smiled at him. “Congratulations.”

  He was never sure how rumors like this got started. He absolutely did not want to hitch his wagon to such a mess like Brandelynn. His hand waved dismissively toward her. “I'm not engaged to that woman. We broke up last night.”

  She staggered to the chair and sat. “If you're not marrying Brandelynn, whom are you marrying?”

  Again her voice sounded distant, and this time her face had paled. It seemed like such an incredible lie at the time—one to keep all to himself—but with the puzzled look Ms. Baxter gave him, he had to tell her. “I made the engagement up.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “But, why would you do that?”

  His muscles relaxed and his body gave into the plush leather of the chair. This was exactly what he didn’t want. The night should have ended with him leaving the restaurant. Him unentangled from Brandelynn, him off the list, him back to his private sanctuary with Deborah just concentrating on more important matters.

  He shared with her his concern about the Top 10 Bachelor list, how Brandelynn wasn't the woman for him, and how making up a fake fiancée seemed like a clear solution to both problems.

  “Let me get this straight,” Deborah said. “You don't want to be engaged, so you made up a fake engagement.”

  God, it sounded so stupid when she said it. Last night, with a few scotches in him, the lie had made perfect sense. He had to admit now though, it did seem a bit farfetched. Sharing the details felt a bit embarrassing, but he said, “I made up a woman named Didi and said she was a wealthy heiress.”

  “Your imaginary fiancée is named Didi?” Her voice rose—almost accusatory in tone—when she said the name

  “Didi Offutt.” When Ms. Baxter's face paled, he asked, “What?”

  “Of all the names in the world, you used my childhood nickname and the city I grew up in as your pretend bride–to–be?”

  It was like a veil lifted and he could think straight. Daniel took in a deep breath, thankful that he’d figured out the Didi name mystery. Why on earth would that name have occurred to him?

  Of course. He had taken that stupid magazine quiz and it had asked about your partner’s childhood. It had subconsciously been on the top of his mind the whole night. “It was the first name that popped into my head. I’m sorry.”

  “I told you that name years ago. I'm surprised you even remembered it.” Her face hardened. She didn’t look angry, just a bit hurt. “I'm glad my personal stories serve you so well.”

  He didn't need Ms. Baxter upset with him; he always did better when she stood by his side. Plus, it pained him to see her hurt. The look on her face right now tore into him. “I don't know why your name popped into my head,” he said, not wanting to explain that he read such a silly magazine cover-to-cover. “But don't worry. I figured this would all blow over after the fifteen minutes of fame the reporters are giving it.”

  “Blow over?” She walked to her office and brought back her phone. She punched in a few buttons. “Watch this.”

  His gaze went to the top left of the screen, and he saw the words Tweet Dock. He didn't like social media, but he understood the power of it.

  The middle column kept refreshing, with new tweets coming in containing his name with a hashtag. His knees turned to rubber, and he knew his whole world had changed. The lie hadn’t even begun twenty-four hours ago and it looked like Armageddon. “Shit.” He looked at Ms. Baxter. “Are you telling me I'm trending?”

  “Of course, sir. Big news like this and you're the talk of the town.” She slid the phone into her pocket. “They won't be satisfied until they have all the details.”

  “Details?” Details meant personal information. The release of which left you vulnerable. A queasiness grew in his belly, enough to make him sick. “There are no details. I’m engaged so I’m off the list.”

  “Doubtful unless there’s follow-up data to support the engagement. Plus, you just invited every reporter in town who would want to cover your engagement and marriage to come hunt you down.” She counted off on her fingers. “The press will want a confirmed wedding date, a picture of the expensive ring, a confirmation of venue options. They’ll want to know her background, and, of course, they'll want a picture of the two of you together.”

  Shit.

  His chest tightened and he loosened his tie. He had always been good tying up loose ends, but not made up ones. They weren’t tangible enough for him to see, not that he even cared to be on the lookout for them.

  Plus, he didn’t want this type of exposure. He was too busy for this. His company's newest release was due out, he was in the middle of negotiations for a new business venture, the merger… “I'll say the engagement was called off.”

  “You could. But then the press could find out about the truth and write that you're a liar, or worse, they may believe you and want to dig into the reason the wedding was canceled.”

  And then, he'd still be on that damn bachelor list. This entire nightmare needed to go away, but he knew it'd exist until the list was printed. Scott said the official list would be out a couple of weeks from Valentine’s Day.

  Damn it. That meant at least two solid weeks of sheer torture.

  The room felt as if it were growing smaller. Press would be everywhere. There’d be crowds of people everywhere Daniel went. People who didn’t just want the latest news but may also want to hurt him.

  God. Should he hire a bodyguard? He’d have to get recommendations, conduct interviews,…by the time he hired the right, trustworthy person the list would already be out.

  He glanced at Ms. Baxter. She always took care of the mundane details. Maybe things wouldn’t escalate so quickly if they were handled properly, and if he could trust anybody it’d be her. “Perhaps you can smooth things over with the press.”

  A pause settled in
between them, as though neither one knew what ‘smooth things’ over could really entail. “Maybe just run interference. Have me always in meetings or conferences whenever someone calls.”

  “Of course, sir. I don’t know what I can do, but I'll help any way I can.” She looked at her watch. “Your ten o'clock appointment will be here shortly.” She stood and crossed the floor. “I'll escort him to the conference room once he arrives.”

  There wasn't much time, and Daniel's head spun with possibilities of how Deborah could solve all his fake engagement problems. One solution stuck in his head, but to accomplish it, he needed his lawyer. Picking up the phone, he called Scott.

  10

  Deborah’s phone buzzed. Once again, it was a number she didn’t recognize so she ignored it. That made five calls today so far, and it was only lunchtime.

  She didn't have time for foolish fantasies of pretend engagements. Talking to the press? This was no doubt the weirdest thing she had ever been asked to do. The press calling her company phone was already a problem. She never liked lying to people, but this felt different. All of the lies she tells to the press would be printed.

  Yikes.

  She’d have to be careful.

  Maybe she could just say ‘no comment’ all the time, not answer her phone, or…maybe it was time to take a short holiday away from the office.

  She chuckled inside. A vacation right now would really mess up Daniel’s plans. No, she couldn’t do that to him, not when he needed her now more than ever. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do to ‘run interference’, but she’d have to worry about that later.

  She checked her to–do list while she dashed from one errand to the next during her lunch break, thankful she now wore sneakers and not the high heel monstrosities. Her toes ached and reminded her that she needed to no longer buy pointy-toed shoes, even if they look fantastic and posh.

  She studied the to-do list. Car repairs. Dry Cleaning. Buying deck furniture.