Undeniable Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series Book 3) Page 4

  Brice gestures to the phone as if he’s challenging me to prove him wrong. Jerk. If I hadn’t already broken up with him in my imagination, it would definitely be over now.

  Thank God I know the number of the bar by heart. I dial, and bite at my lip.

  “Hello?” Murray shouts into the phone so I have to pull it away from my ear. He’s been tending bar there for forty-one years. My Ghost of Christmas Future if I don’t make some big changes.

  We threw a party for Murray last year. What does forty years at the same place get a person? A lopsided homemade cake. Some balloons and a card signed by all the regular customers who don’t have anywhere else to spend their nights. If they’re happy, I’m happy for them, but I feel like I was meant to do something more.

  My mother had the unfortunate fate of dying during childbirth. Never having held me. Never getting that rush of joy. I never let myself get down about not having a mom, because my dad was so amazing. For the first ten years of my life he was everything I needed. But when I lost him too, it left me with little to hold on to. The guys at the bar became my family.

  I love Murray. But I don’t want to be him.

  “Murray, it’s Savannah. I need to talk to Jimmy.” I try to keep my voice level. Any sign that I’m panicking, and I know exactly how they’ll react. Which is to overreact. I also don’t want Brice assuming he might be right. I don’t want to have to kiss that smug smile off his face. Smack—not kiss. Smack.

  “Hey Savannah. How’s the big city?” Murray clears his throat. I convinced him to stop smoking a few years ago, but he still has that rasp to his voice.

  “It’s great. I’m having a blast. Meeting the nicest people.” I glare at Brice and then roll my eyes so he knows I’m not referring to him. “Let me talk to Jimmy.”

  “He’s setting up karaoke right now. You know that. He can’t talk. He’s the only one who knows how to get those speakers working.” Murray’s voice is quickly drowned out by music. “Your favorite song is about to start. No one sings “Achy Breaky Heart” like Old Man Koy. Want me to hold the phone up so you can hear him?”

  “No, Murray. Don’t.” It’s already too late. The phone is held in the air, and I’ll have to wait out the song. I don’t look over at Brice. He wouldn’t understand any of this. I doubt he’s ever stepped foot in a bar like ours or even considered doing karaoke. When the screechy song ends, Murray says, “He’s getting better.”

  “He’s not.”

  Murray chuckles, and it breaks into a cough. He still looks tough on the outside, and probably hasn’t even seen a doctor, but I worry about him.

  “Have Jimmy call me back at this number. Did it come up on caller ID?”

  “Uh,” Murray pulls the phone away from his ear again, and I worry he’s about to forget what we’re doing. “Yeah I got it. He’ll call you.”

  “Thanks Murray. The sooner the better.” I consider for a second that maybe I should tell him it’s urgent. I open my mouth and fish for the right words, but he hangs up before I think of what to say. It’s for the best. I don’t want them worrying.

  When the line disconnects I feel my chest burn with frustration. I know exactly how busy the bar is on karaoke night. The whole town comes out. I’ve been just as quick to get people off the line, but right now I want to ring Murray’s neck.

  My eyes slowly rise to meet Brice’s gaze. “He’s going to call me back.”

  “After the next song?”

  “It’s a busy night there. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You don’t look like the type to hang in a bar.”

  He looks intrigued. “What type am I?”

  “Stiff.” The word sends my eyes to the bulge in his pants. I bet it’s impressive even at half-mast.

  Oh, shit. I’m doing it again. I stand and raise my eyes to his. In my imagination he winks and we have a moment.

  In reality, he looks as uncomfortable as I feel. “You must have work to do. Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just sit over there and wait for Jimmy to call back.” I cross the room to a chair in the corner of his office. The leather is full grain and firm. I run my hand over it, letting myself enjoy the luxury of it. It’s so comfortable and the rich mocha color matches the room perfectly. The whole office belongs in a magazine.

  Just as he does.

  I could rock the cover of Maine Ice Fishing Guide. My backpack, weathered by years of cramming it full of school books and later novels I’d borrow from the library, looks like a heap of trash in this perfectly decorated room. Right now, it’s literally all I have so I hug it to me. There’s only a change of clothes and a few toiletries in it. I hadn’t anticipated needing much since this limbo wasn’t supposed to last longer than the bus ride. I feel something in the front pocket of my bag. A tiny piece of joy.

  Brice can have his fancy office with the supple leather. I have something better.

  The foil wrapper is cold on my fingertips as I slip it out of my bag and feel a rush of calm. A bit of home. I’m nosier than I mean to be, but suddenly I’m starving. The adrenaline of this adventure is wearing off and reality is setting in. The rustling of the foil draws his eye.

  “What are you doing?” Brice frowns as he stares at the wrapper in my hand.

  I wave it at him, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s seated at his desk, and I wonder if it’s his job that keeps that sour look on his face.

  “I’m eating a Pop-Tart.”

  Nothing. No response at all. Not even a nod.

  “Strawberry filling. Frosting. Tiny colorful sprinkles.”

  He looks confused. Or annoyed. “Are you hungry? I can order something up. There’s sushi. Italian. Whatever you want.”

  “I’m fine.” My smile doesn’t seem to convince him. “You’ve had Pop-Tarts before, right?”

  “No.” He shakes his head and leans back in his chair. The way he tosses his pen to the desk I can tell he’s decided working while I’m here is futile. “That’s not food.”

  “You know what?” I take a big bite, chew it, and let the familiar sweet taste ground me even further to my resolve. I am going to make this work and this little snack is just the bit of cheer I needed. “You’re right. It’s not food. It’s a piece of heaven. Here, it’s a two-pack. You can have my other one.”

  “No.” He waves me off like I’m a stray cat trying to offer him the garden snake I’d just hunted. I expect him to return to working on whatever it is he does, but he just sits there looking at me.

  “Don’t be a foodie snob. You have to try this. Consider it my way of saying thank you for letting me use your phone and computer.” I’m walking the second Pop-Tart to his desk, expecting his face to soften. It doesn’t. “Come on, it’s like ninety-nine percent sugar. What’s not to love about that?”

  “This is crazy. You need money for a hotel room. Plus a cab. Real food.” He reaches to his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. His jaw is set and determined.

  “No! I’m not taking your money.”

  He sighs. “You have no idea if your friend will call back, and I’m clearly not going to get any work done until you go. Anything I give you is a business investment at this point. I’ll write it off.”

  “I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I promise I’ll leave as soon as Jimmy calls. Sugar always makes me feel better. Maybe you should try it.” I lay the Pop-Tart on his desk.

  He looks down at the pastry like I’m trying to talk him into huffing some illegal substance for a high.

  The phone rings and I jump. “That’s Jimmy,” I say with confidence.

  “Or since it’s my work line, it could actually be for me.” He lifts the phone off the cradle.

  “Yes, you’ve the right number, hang on.” Brice passes me the phone.

  I try to look like I’m not also shocked that my luck is turning around. “Jimmy?”

  “Hey, girlie. You didn’t tell us you knew someone out there. Is that what you didn’t want to say? That this is about a man?”

  “It’s n
ot like that, TRUST ME. He’s nobody.”

  “Then what is it like? Murray said you sounded upset. Don’t tell me you already went and got yourself in a bind. What do you need?”

  The accusation, as correct as it is, fills me with defensive pride. Even without knowing what brought me to Boston, they expect me to fail. They care about me, and that’s what makes their low opinion of me sting more. They’re wrong, though. I won’t fail. I shoot back, “No I’m not in a bind. I’m perfectly fine. Enjoying the city.”

  I see Brice’s head snap up, but I turn my back a little to avoid the look that is full of very fair questions.

  “So why are you calling me? Home sick?” I am a little. Jimmy’s voice is a comfort. After my transformation, I’ll make time to go back and visit. Right now I have more immediate concerns. Still, there has to be a solution that doesn’t involve taking a hit to what little pride I have left.

  “You know I hate missing karaoke night.”

  “It’s not the same without you.” I can picture him, white rag slung over his shoulder. Salt-and-pepper hair at his temples. He’s definitely chewing a toothpick. His overcrowded smile is genuine and beautiful in its own way.

  “I was just calling to remind you that the kegs are getting dropped off tomorrow. I won’t be there to meet them so someone has to come in early.” I fidget with a loose string on my shirt and avoid eye contact with Brice. I can feel him looking at me. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.

  “Sure. I remembered.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Totally forgot,” Jimmy admits with a hardy laugh. “All the regulars are asking about you. They’re worried you’re not coming back.”

  “Tell them I say hello. And don’t forget you told Mitchell he could have next Wednesday off. You’ll need to cover his shift.”

  “See I don’t know how I’d get by without you. I’d like to tell everyone around here they’re wrong. Of course you’re coming back. But you’ve been so secretive about this thing in Boston. Now you’ve got this guy answering the phone. Where’s your cell phone?”

  “Battery died on it. I’ll charge it tonight. You’ve got nothing to be worried about. I’ll check in again in case you forget about the electric bill you need to pay by the end of next week.”

  “You could just be back by the end of next week. That would be easier.”

  “It’s good talking to you, Jimmy. Sing a song for me tonight, will you?”

  He clears his throat and begins a painful rendition of some old love song. It’s so loud I pull the phone away from my ear and hand it back to Brice to hang up.

  Brice looks like he’s trying to figure me out. Good luck with that one. None of this was part of my plan.

  Brice hangs the phone up and cuts the loud song short. “You didn’t ask him to wire you money.”

  “I don’t need him to. I’ll be fine.” I shrug, wishing I’d kept the other Pop-Tart.

  “You don’t think he would have sent it to you?”

  “Of course he would. If I’d asked him to, he would have driven to Boston to pick me up.” Jimmy isn’t the problem. I am.

  “Then why didn’t you ask him to?”

  That’s a tough one. I could lie, but I’m getting tired. A little honesty is easier. “Because I’m here for a reason.”

  “In my office?”

  I can’t tell if he’s joking or being an ass, but really, does it matter? More for my benefit than his, I say, “In Boston. I left Maine because I had to. If I run back, even figuratively, I’m no longer moving forward. Today has been rough, but nothing that’s worthwhile is easy, is it? Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You will be fine,” he asserts. “You’ll take the money I’m offering for a hotel and cab.” He opens his wallet. It’s a decree not an offer.

  Nice try.

  “I’d rather sleep in the street.” I prop a hand up on my hip and tip my chin up proudly.

  “People say that only when they know there is no risk they will have to.”

  “You don’t know me. What do I need besides a warm coat?” I pull my coat closed.

  “Not happening. So sit your ass back down or take the money. Your choice.”

  “No to both kind offers.” I bite the words out angrily.

  “You’re infuriatingly stubborn. Why do you have to make this difficult?”

  “Me? I’m difficult?”

  “Yes.” He stands, his sexy chest and dominating height stealing my breath for a second. “I need to get back to work and you need a place to sleep.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.” He cracks his knuckles, and I imagine it’s a tick that only comes out when he’s thoroughly annoyed. “But I also don’t want to be the last person you talked to before they find you dead and floating in the harbor. I don’t have time to be investigated for murder.”

  “You’re a real charmer.” I shrug, and like that, it seems to annoy him. There’s tightness in his jaw that has me once again imagining how differently this could be going. If this were a movie, this would be where he angrily sweeps me into his arms and kisses me in that love-hate kind of way. All this anger? Sexual tension.

  And the scowl on his face? Foreplay.

  Oh, crap, did he say something while I was picturing him naked again?

  “Then where will you sleep tonight?”

  I look at him for a long moment before answering. There’s definitely something going on between us. An angry tension with something else mixed in. Desire? Anticipation? Every time I think this is all one-sided, I see a fire in his eyes that not even a virgin could read wrong.

  I probably should leave. The old me would.

  Instead I head back to where I left my bag. “This chair is pretty comfortable. It reclines. Nice.” On the outside I might look the same, but I’m already becoming more confident. Boston has thrown its worst at me. A weaker person would turn tail and run home.

  Look at me, Boston. Still here.

  Take that.

  “What are you smiling about?” His face twists in confusion. I get it. To him my situation looks desperate.

  I settle back into the chair without answering his question. He doesn’t see how making it this far is a triumph in itself. Unfriendly as he appears, the truth is he’d played a role in this small victory. “Thank you for not throwing me out.”

  With a shake of his head he returns to his desk. Does he normally work straight through to the morning? Will he ask me to leave when he finishes his work?

  I don’t know, but what I do know is I’m not going back to Maine.

  So, bring it on, Boston. You don’t scare me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Brice

  Savannah is testing my nerves as she settles into the chair in the corner of my office as if it’s a hotel suite. I can tell her to get out, but I can’t let her go again until I know she’s safe. I don’t allow myself to acknowledge that part of me would be left wondering if I’d see her again. Her sexy body and sparkling eyes would fade to a memory.

  “You won’t hear a peep out of me.” She throws her hands up as though that gesture is some kind of binding contract. I highly doubt that’s a promise she can keep.

  “I have calls to make.” I look for the number to dial and vow to keep my eyes off her.

  A promise I quickly break. With a rapid and easy motion, she sweeps her hair into a ponytail. Seeing more of her features, I’m struck by her beauty. Her dainty heart-shaped face and high cheekbones are fully exposed, and I lose my train of thought for a moment. I could kiss my way down that jawline. Every time she changes anything even remotely, it’s like a slow burn. An unveiling of her beauty in parts rather than an in your face overdone woman who tries too hard.

  She runs her fingers over her lips as though she’s zipping them shut and turns a pretend key to lock them. Her eyes flutter with hopefulness, and I answer with only a sigh.

  When I don’t protest any further, she knows I’m granting permission. Her hands cla
p together as she already falls short on her promise. Noise.

  She can’t be quiet. I barely know her, but I am already certain of this. Quiet is not her thing. She will make many peeps.

  “Thank you! I swear by tomorrow you can forget all about me and this terrible night.”

  I doubt it. The thought skitters across my mind before I can stop it. Savannah doesn’t seem easy to forget, and that’s half the problem. All the more reason I need her gone.

  “Plus,” she continues excitedly, “staying here means I can also meet with Jana Monroe early tomorrow and get down to work.” She meets my gaze. “Oh right, I forgot.” She zips her lips again.

  I nearly ask what kind of work she and this Jana woman will be doing. A prickly heat crawls up my back as I imagine the endless trouble she could get herself into. Luckily before I break and inquire, she pulls out a tattered novel with a bright pink bookmark in it. It’s clearly a romance of some kind. I can tell by the loopy scrawling print and the muscular man on the cover. Something my sister would read and we’d ruthlessly tease her about. There is hardly any real romance in the world. Anyone practical knows that. By now, I know Savannah is far from practical.

  I try to catch the title and mentally slap myself. I don’t care what she’s reading. I don’t care why she’s meeting with Jana. I can’t care right now. I won’t.

  She lets out a happy sigh as she reads. One minute I swear she’s trying to seduce me and the next I think she wouldn’t have the first clue how to. She’s completely enthralled in the story, and I watch as she slides her feet out of her sneakers and pulls her legs up onto the chair with her, curling in comfortably. She stares with unwavering focus at the words in her thick book. Smiling a little when she gets to various parts. Frowning at others.

  Fuck. It’s mesmerizing, like watching huge snowflakes fall lazily toward the ground. Hypnotic, but I break the trance.

  I pick up my phone and dial in to the investor call. I’m terribly late but it’s not an interactive call, just a dump of information I need from the CEO and board of a company I’m interested in. I press the phone between my shoulder and my ear and lean forward as I jot notes about the latest quarterly results and forecast for the rest of the year. I force myself to stop looking at the smooth skin of her ankle as her jeans pull up.