by J. L. Leslie
“You’re whispering.”
“Yes,” I reply. “I just got home, and the kids are asleep.”
“How many do you have?” he asks, and I chuckle.
“None, but my sister has three.”
“You live with your sister,” he says, and it comes out as a statement, not a question. He obviously didn’t pick up on that when we spoke last time and after Rory answered my phone.
“After we turned my parents’ house into F&C’s headquarters, I moved in with her family. It’s only temporary.”
Even as I say it, I know it sounds lame. People who ask to come crash on your sofa for a few days always say it’s only temporary, and then three months later, they’re still there eating all your food and taking up your closet space.
“I am going to find a place of my own,” I assure him. “Rent in New York is astronomical, though, and the business is what’s important to us right now. We’re really working hard to grow it and solidify some steady high-end clients. We have a goal in mind, and once we reach it, we’ll be more financially stable and will pay ourselves a higher salary.”
“It’s not my business.”
“I’m definitely moving out.”
“If you say so,” he comments, his tone teasing.
“I do say so.”
“How was your date?” he asks, changing the subject.
I can sense the jealousy in his tone, and it may be childish of me, but I enjoy knowing that I elicit that sort of reaction out of him. His father has more money than he knows what to do with and I can barely make my portion of the rent. We are polar opposites, yet he’s jealous of my date.
“I had a nice time.”
“A nice time?”
“Yes. We went to dinner and, well, you know.”
A low growl emits through the phone and I hear a muffled curse before he composes himself.
“No, I don’t know.” I hesitate until he groans and says, “You’re fucking killing me here, Frankie.”
“He was a perfect gentleman and drove me home. Now, I’m talking to you. How was your evening?”
“Miserabile.”
I chuckle. “I think I actually know what that means, but what did you say to me before? You know, the whole bologna thing?”
Havoc bursts out laughing at this. “The bologna thing?”
“Yeah, the bologna thing.”
“Ho bisogno di sentirti urlare di nuovo li mio nome.”
“Okay, it was close to bologna,” I reply with a giggle.
“I want to see you again, and I’ll translate in person.”
I bite my lip, again, ignoring those warning signs. I want to turn off that siren, completely silence it. This man makes me smile, makes me feel sexy, and fuck it, I haven’t had that in a long time. “Okay.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Good night, Frankie.”
I’m grinning like a jackass chewing briars when I hang up the phone.
Fourteen
Havoc
I can hear Daysha’s heels clicking on the tile floor as she struggles to keep up with my pace. She has been my assistant for nearly four years. Honestly, I don’t know how she puts up with me. She’s a damn godsend.
“Mr. Havoc, your schedule, oh crap,” she mutters underneath her breath and checks her watch. “You have a meeting with Mr. Matteo in half an hour.”
“Reschedule it.”
I step into the elevator and turn to face her, her lips purse with frustration. She gives me a slight nod, not arguing with my demand. That is why she’s still employed as my assistant.
I have confidence she will handle rescheduling Michelini Matteo. I have more important matters to attend to besides listening to the man pitch me his idea on how we can save his failing restaurant. I give zero fucks about his business.
What I do give a fuck about is Frankie Conn. Why? I have no idea. She’s crawled under my skin and embedded herself there. I can attempt to claw her out, scratch at the surface until it bleeds and see if she seeps away as I bleed out, but I know, without a doubt, that she will remain there.
Her sister has warned me to stay away. My father has told me not to defy him. Yet, here I am, driving to see her because for some unknown reason, I have to. I cannot stay away. Engagement be damned.
It does occur to me as I walk into F&C’s Catering that her sister may be here too and will cockblock the hell out of me. If that’s the case, this trip will suck. I walk to the counter, and it’s only a few seconds before she emerges from the back, apron around her waist.
“You came,” she says, smiling.
“I told you I wanted to see you.”
Her smile brightens, and she places her hands on the counter, leaning forward. I keep my hands in my pockets but close the distance between us and press a kiss to her lips. I keep it soft, knowing if I deepen it, I’ll fuck her right here where anyone can walk inside and see.
“I believe you’re supposed to translate for me.”
I shake my head and lean in farther, wanting another taste. “Later.”
“Oh, fine then. Do you want me to tell you about my date?” she says, grinning, backing just out of reach. “His name was Ryan. Ooh, is your first name Ryan? You sort of look like a Ryan. Anyway, we had Italian and ―”
I silence her with a kiss, and she giggles against my mouth, grasping the front of my shirt to pull me closer. I remove my hands from my pockets and place them on the counter for balance, deepening the kiss. When she pulls back, she kisses the tip of my nose and then hops down from the counter. I was so caught up in the kiss that I didn’t even realize she was perched on it.
“Come on. You can help me cook.”
“Cook?”
“Yep!” she calls out and I walk around the counter and follow her back to the kitchen, shrugging out of my jacket.
I lay it on the counter and she hands me an apron. I’m shaking my head as she practically dances around me to tie it in the back. She has a tray of these small cream-colored balls placed on wax paper. I, of course, have no fucking clue what they are.
There are three bowls on the counter, one with what appears to be flour, one with egg wash, and another with some sort of coating or crumbs. I ask her what it is.
“That is my secret recipe,” she answers with a wink. “It’s called cinnamon crunch cereal.”
I laugh. “Okay, what are we doing here?”
“We are making fried cinnamon cheesecake bites. We’re going to toss the cheesecake balls in the flour, then in the eggs, then the cereal, back in the egg and then the cereal one more time. Once we get all the balls coated, we’ll put them back in the freezer while we get our oil ready and then we’ll deep fry them.”
“Deep fry?”
“You do eat fried foods, don’t you?”
“I will eat anything you feed me, woman.”
“Well, then get to coating, man,” she replies with a smirk.
She demonstrates what I’m supposed to do with a few of the cream cheese mounds and I follow suit, the two of us getting flour, egg, and cereal batter all over our hands in the process.
Once we get cleaned up, we put the coated cream cheese balls in the freezer and turn on the oil in the fryer. I have to admit, I’m pretty damn curious to taste these deep-fried cheesecake balls, and I’m not a deep-fried type of guy.
“You know why I like to cook, so tell me why you do whatever it is that you do,” Frankie says, waving her hand over my attire.
I hop onto the counter, not caring if I get flour on my thousand-dollar pants, and pat the spot beside me. She joins me, both of us letting our feet dangle over the side.
“I am what you call a leverage buyout executive. My father’s business invests in other businesses who are either needing financial assistance, looking to sell, need to sell, or are about to hit bankruptcy. He buys those businesses, usually as assets, and either invests, flips them, or sells them. Either way it’s for financial gain.”
“So, you a
nd your father are both like Edward from Pretty Woman.”
“Who?”
“Do you ever invest in a business just as assistance?”
I frown a little. “Frankie, we’re not angel investors. It’s rare that we invest, and we always have contingencies in place for a buyout. If we’re after a business, it’s not a good thing.”
“But you make a lot of money?”
I laugh. “Yeah, we make a lot of money.”
“Exactly like Edward, then.”
She hops off the counter, holding her hand out for me. I’m not sure who this Edward guy is, but if he makes her smile like that, I want to be exactly like him.
Fifteen
Frankie
Havoc eyes me skeptically, even though I’ve assured him it’s going to be delicious. The cheesecake bites are all finished and the ones that are going to the client are boxed and wrapped. I always make extra because when you’re in the catering business, you never know.
When he still hasn’t picked up one of the bites, I walk over and grab one, taking a bite and moaning in delight. Then, I place the gooey goodness to his lips.
“Trust me,” I say, mouth half full.
He opens his mouth, and I push the rest of my piece inside. His tongue brushes against my fingertips and I’ll be damned if my nipples don’t stiffen to rock hard peaks in my bra.
I bring my fingers to my lips and lick off the cream, seeing his eyes darken at my gesture. In a matter of seconds, his hand is at the back of my neck and he jerks me to him, plundering my mouth, the sweet taste of the dessert we shared lingering on our tongues as they dance together.
He hoists me up and drops me onto the counter, nestling perfectly between my legs. Not once have I considered doing anything inappropriate at work, but I will strip myself bare and spread my legs right here on this counter where I bake goodies for the elementary school if Havoc tells me to.
“I need to hear you scream my name again.” He breaks the kiss, his words skating over my cheek and over to my ear before he sucks my earlobe between his teeth. “That’s what I said.”
“Was I screaming?” I tease, my fingers threading through his hair.
Unfortunately, fate is a fickle bitch and has other plans in mind for me. The door chime sounds, indicating someone has entered, and the frenzied kiss we’re sharing comes to a halt, his trembling lips a breath away from mine.
“Frankie, do you have the bites ready?” Claire asks, waltzing right into the kitchen and effectively killing the entire mood I had going.
Havoc clears his throat and takes a step back, untying the apron he’s still wearing. He removes it and puts it on the counter, picking up his jacket.
“Am I interrupting something?” my sister asks, crossing her arms as she glares at the two of us.
“Nope, just a cooking lesson,” I reply, scooting off the counter. “He filled in for Erin.”
“I have to get back to the office.” Havoc flashes me a smile over his shoulder as he walks out, and I go grab the box of bites out of the fridge. When I bring them to Claire, she’s still standing with her arms crossed.
“What is it? I know that look,” I say, assuming she’s giving me the stink eye because I was out with Ryan last night and here with Havoc today. “Listen, I know Ryan is friends with Kyle, and he really does seem like a great guy, but I don’t want to miss out on something incredible ―”
“He’s married,” she interrupts.
“Ryan is married? How could you set me up with a married guy?” I yell. “Especially after what happened with Elliott!”
“No!” she hisses. “The engagement party guy, as you like to call him! The one you were just trying to bump and grind on our counter! Where we prepare food for our customers!”
“No, he isn’t.” I frown. “And we weren’t bumping and grinding on the counter.”
“Well, not yet, but that’s where that whole make out session was heading. And he’s engaged, Frankie.”
I shake my head, not wanting to believe her. After everything I’ve been through, after finally putting myself out there again, I don’t want to believe he would do that to me. Damn it, that he would do that to his fiancée.
“You don’t even know who he is. You’re mistaken. You have to be mistaken.”
My voice cracks on the last word. I can’t process the information she’s revealed. I want it to be a mistake, a misunderstanding. Havoc is a good guy. Cheating isn’t something he would do, is it?
She marches over to her purse and grabs her phone and I watch as her fingers click on the screen, typing away. She holds it out to me and the face of the beautiful man I spent the night with, the one I was just willing to let butter my buns, fills the screen, a blonde at his side. Not just any blonde. The blonde I fed ruined shrimp to stands beside him, her smile perfect, with the caption that the wealthy bachelor, Julian Havoc, has been taken off the market by model heiress, Anneliese Deviline.
I gag, the dessert I ate rising in my throat. I rush over to the sink and retch, spilling the contents violently. My sister comes over to me, holding my hair and stroking my back.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, handing me a dishtowel so I can wipe my mouth. “This fucking sucks.”
I rinse my face off and turn to her, tears already streaming down my face. She hugs me, letting me cry on her shoulder.
“You can cry this once,” she says. “Because I know it hurts, Frankie. He was exciting and new, and it hurts, but you deserve better than anything that asshole was going to give you. So, you cry this once and then you forget about him because any man who will treat you like that, like you don’t deserve to be number one, doesn’t deserve any more tears.”
I let myself cry a good five minutes, making sure I get out every last drop, because Claire is right. He doesn’t deserve any more of my tears. He doesn’t deserve me.
At least, I know the asshole’s first name now.
Sixteen
Havoc
I skim over the file in front of me, reviewing the valuation and deciding it isn’t right for HLS before closing it and moving onto the next. It’s nearly three o’clock and Daysha informed me Anneliese’s flight is due in at four. Apparently, she expects me to pick her up from the airport.
“Mr. Havoc,” Daysha calls me on the intercom. “There is a Ms. Conn here to see you. She does not have a scheduled appointment.”
“Send her in.”
I rise from my desk as she walks in, anxious to finish what we started earlier. What I don’t expect is the fucking southpaw she delivers. Pain explodes through my jaw and the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” Frankie says. “I suppose I should’ve told you that the night I served your party!”
“It’s not what you think,” I say, wiping the blood from my lip.
“It isn’t? You mean, you didn’t fuck me the night of your engagement party?”
Obviously, she’s pissed. She has every damn right to be. I thought…I don’t know what I thought…but I didn’t expect to have to answer for my sins so quickly.
I need more time. More time to figure out how to explain my predicament. To tell her about Anneliese and me. To convince her that five years isn’t that long. Christ, who am I kidding? Can I get any more selfish?
“Frankie, my engagement is bullshit! Cazzate!”
“Are you getting married or not?” she demands.
“No!” I answer and then cringe. “Yes! But it’s not real.”
“How could you do that? How could you tell me those stories, let me get close to you like that, make me…how can you be that person?”
I want to break down and tell her how completely unexpected she was. That I had it all worked out, my fucking plan, the next five years. Then, I met her and now all I can think about is flushing that plan down the toilet. Fuck the hotel chains. Fuck HLS. Fuck Anneliese. Most importantly, fuck my father.
But I cannot do that. I have been born and bred for HLS a
nd to always do what is best for the company. As fucked as it is, what’s best for the company is obtaining ownership over Deviline Hotels and going global.
“This isn’t my choice.” Damn it, even my response is weak and probably reveals too much.
If it gets out that my engagement is all a sham, a business deal, it will ruin the reputation of HLS along with the Deviline name and fuck up any future business deals we may have.
“It is your choice! You’re a grown man!” she screams, her chest heaving, and the thought that she would run and splash this news all over social media leaves my mind. She isn’t cruel like that. Like me.
I let her have her moment of anger, pacing my office with her hands on her hips. She’s fucking glorious in her fit of rage, her cheeks flushed, knuckles bruised, eyes blazing. Then, she stops and stares at me and asks me a question I’m not prepared to answer.
“Would you give it all up for me?”
“It isn’t that simple.”
She turns to leave, and I rush over to her, pushing her against my door and pinning her there. Her eyes are blazing with anger, but most of all with pain. I fucking hurt her, and if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t give a damn about bringing havoc into their life. But with Frankie, I deeply regret it.
“It’s a business transaction, a contract for five years, and then I’m out, Frankie,” I confess. “This is bigger than me, but once I’ve completed my part of the deal, I’m out. I swear it. It isn’t real, but this, this is real, la mia fiamma.”
I press my forehead to hers, praying she’ll understand. Praying she will give me a chance. That she won’t walk away from me, but instead she’ll weather this storm with me. We’re in the middle of a damn hurricane, but I know if we hold onto each other, we’ll come out of this safely. Everything else around us may be destroyed, but we’ll survive it. We have to.
