Under Parr

by Blair Babylon

  But finally, about halfway through her meal—they must have used real cream, no, double cream in the potatoes’ sauce—she couldn’t stand the feeling that her silence was being bought anymore. She started formulating a line of attack in her head while Jericho talked about what it was like to play Saint Andrews Golf Course.

  Oh yeah, he’d also mentioned that he wanted to take her to Great Britain to play Saint Andrews and Royal St. George’s.

  And he’d offered to take her to the Narragansett Country Club to golf the following weekend.

  Dang, if Jericho was trying to bribe her so he could run roughshod over the Newcastle Golf Club, he was doing an excellent job.

  He insisted she order dessert, especially because she hadn’t had any of the wine. The triple chocolate mousses were good, he said, and they were every bit as decadent as the name. The top layer was silky white chocolate, the middle layer was light milk chocolate, and the bottom of the parfait glass was filled with hedonistic dark chocolate mousse like the inside of a dark truffle.

  Tiffany could get used to being bribed.

  But no, she had integrity, and she felt that her very soul was at risk if she allowed herself to be swayed by all the material things that Jericho was laying at her feet, if only she would give up defending NGC.

  Well, it had been nice while it lasted. At least she got to eat the prime rib, those potatoes, and these chocolate mousses. “Jericho, this is an amazing supper, and I really appreciate you bringing me here tonight, but we really should talk about your plans for the Newcastle Golf Club.”

  He looked up from his crème brûlée. “I thought we did.”

  “I said some things, but you didn’t say anything.”

  “I said you were brilliant, and you were right. We can’t change Newcastle Golf Club so much that we lose the current members who are profitable. The current members are pure profit. Retaining them should be our first priority. It would cost too much to replace them with new members. So improvements and alterations that I make to NGC will be done while keeping retention of current members in mind.”

  Oh.

  Tiffany sat with that new knowledge and ate more of the chocolate mousses because she certainly wasn’t going to leave any dessert on the table. “Okay, then. I’m glad that’s settled.”

  Jericho nodded and cracked the sugar shell on top of his dessert with his spoon again.

  That seemed too easy. Nothing should be that easy.

  Tiffany observed Jericho while he relished the rest of his crème brûlée, but there didn’t seem to be anything more to it.

  She’d have to keep an eye on him because surely she hadn’t just wholly convinced him. Jericho Parr didn’t seem like a pushover in anything.

  And if he wasn’t using platinum-level health insurance and access to exclusive golf clubs to bribe Tiffany into giving up NGC, then why was he doing it?

  Jericho dabbed his face with his napkin and folded it beside his plate. When he looked up at her, a twinkle lit his star-blue eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He didn’t have to bribe her for that, but if he wanted to, she would let him.

  Tiffany folded her napkin. “Good idea.”

  “Come back to my hotel for a nightcap?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’m staying at the Newcastle—”

  “I know where you’re staying.”

  Jericho asked, “How do you know where I’m staying?”

  “You are not the only one who can find things out, Jericho Parr.”

  Miss May

  Jericho

  Jericho drove back to his hotel through the chilly spring night, not feeling any of the effects of the champagne. He did, as he’d noted, have the approximate bodyweight of a horse, and living in dorms from the age of six through his first few years of college had afforded ample opportunities for his liver to train like a champ.

  He’d only had two slim glasses of wine over three hours and a large meal. He was fine.

  Tiffany drove behind him, and he kept watching her headlights in the dark through his rearview mirror, even though she’d programmed her GPS app while they were standing on the steps at the Westerly House and probably knew these streets better than he knew anywhere in the world.

  Every time he started speeding a little bit, even going forty-five on the long, dark, country highway that had a speed limit of only forty miles per hour with miles between intersections, her headlights dropped back.

  So Jericho drove the speed limit, which was probably a new experience for his Jaguar.

  At one point, even though he was driving at that sedate pace, he noticed that her car had dropped back again, so he slowed further. As Tiffany’s car slowly approached his, another set of headlights separated from hers, tailing her.

  After another mile or two, the lanes of the country highway split into a passing lane, and Jericho steered into the right lane to give the car tailgating Tiffany a chance to pass both of them.

  The sedan roared past them, and a small-town police department's black and white paint job flashed in Jericho’s headlights. The officer peered at him through their car windows and then turned his head and looked forward as he accelerated.

  As the police vehicle darted in front of Jericho and sped away, the red and blue roller bar on the top of the car reflected in the silvery beams of his headlights.

  No wonder Tiffany had slowed down. Jericho wouldn’t have wanted to be pulled over on this remote country road, either. The shoulders were nonexistent. They might get hit by passing traffic.

  Ten minutes later, they parked in the parking lot at the Newcastle Inn and Spa. Tiffany pulled her car into the parking spot right beside his, and he glanced over as he was retrieving his phone and wallet from the center console.

  She gripped the steering wheel like she was hanging off the side of a building, sacrificing the skin on her palms to the knife-edged bricks. As she turned to look at him, her eyes were glazed like she’d seen the tortures of Hell.

  Jericho snatched up his phone and wallet and ran around the end of his car to get to her door. He tapped on her window with his fingertips. “Tiffany! Are you okay? What happened?”

  She unclamped one hand from the steering wheel and, with shaking fingers, unlocked her doors with a thump.

  He yanked her door open and reached inside, touching her shoulder and trying to figure out what the hell went wrong. “Tiffany? Baby, talk to me. I didn’t see anything. Did somebody cut you off or something?”

  She waved her fingers in the air like she might be batting away a fluttering moth, but he didn’t see anything there, either. She said, “That cop trailed me for four miles. His bumper was two inches from mine. I was concentrating on driving steadily, staying rock-steady in my lane, but he just stayed there and wouldn’t move. I did everything my momma and daddy taught me to do, going a few miles under the speed limit, making sure I signaled every time we turned, and not making any sudden moves. That stoplight turned yellow while I was in the intersection, and I thought he going to pull me over for it.”

  Jericho crouched in the narrow space where her car door was open and held her hand. He might be stupid about a lot of things, but he knew better than to argue with her about this. “I’m sorry. Let’s go inside. I can get you a glass of wine or a cup of tea, whatever you want, and we’ll just sit for a while, okay?”

  Tiffany nodded, and she slowly swung one foot and then the other out of the car.

  Jericho backed up to give her room to get out and held out his hand. “That’s good. Come on. I’ve got you.”

  She took his hand as she stood. Her fingers trembled in his grip, and it broke his heart. “Come on inside. We can sit in the lobby or go to the café. I’ll bet they’re still open.”

  Tiffany paused, and her eyes widened with terror. “Not the café.”

  “My room, then?”

  She nodded and then took a deep breath. “Um, just a minute.”

  “Yeah?”

  She squeezed pa
st him to get to her trunk, which she popped open to retrieve a backpack.

  He wanted to chuckle or at least grin, but maybe later.

  Jericho led her over to the side door of the inn and up to his suite on the top floor, where he sat her down on his couch and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re okay now.”

  Her arms went around his waist and clasped him.

  “Look,” he said. “Just stay here tonight. I can sleep on the couch if you want, or we can watch television or something, but don’t venture back out there tonight, okay?”

  She nodded against his chest. She didn’t seem to be crying, so he rubbed her shoulder. “Do you want something to drink? I don’t want to push it on you. If there’s a reason why you don’t drink beyond driving, that’s cool. But if you want anything, I can order room service.”

  She nodded against his chest and then straightened. She wiped her cheeks up and back, and dark streaks extended from the outer corners of her eyes. “Yeah, I would like a glass of wine right now.”

  Jericho picked up the landline phone from the desk right behind him and called down to room service to ask for a bottle of champagne. “Okay, it’s on its way.”

  “It just kind of hit me, you know? We were in North Puddlington, not Newcastle, so there was no chance that I would’ve known the officer from high school or that they would know my dad or anything. They were just going to be a random cop, and they were going to pull over a Black person they didn’t know. I have my routine that my parents taught me when I was eight. ‘My name is Tiffany Jones, and I have no weapons of any kind in my possession or in the car. I am no threat to you.’ But it still was definitely going to be someone I didn’t know. I just never know if this is going to be the cop who’s been all riled up by ‘training’ videos and is going to start shouting contradictory commands at me until I don’t know what to do, and then it’s going to end badly.”

  Jericho didn’t have a response for that, so he just wrapped his arms around her and rocked her back and forth until there was a knock at the door. A woman’s voice called out, “Room service!”

  Tiffany got an odd look on her face, and she whispered to him, “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.” She bolted into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  He was left sitting on the couch alone, so he answered the door even though he looked like an alcoholic ready to down a magnum of champagne alone. At least he was a posh addict.

  A Black woman rolled a catering cart inside his suite. “Good evening, Mr. Parr. Did you want one glass or two with this bottle of champagne?”

  Jericho glanced at his bedroom door, but it was still shut tightly. “Two glasses, I think.” And now he really sounded like he was covering up for an alcohol problem. He signed the room service bill and added a tip, noting the server’s name. “Thank you, Asia.”

  Asia smiled brilliantly at him. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Parr.”

  After the room service waitress had left, Jericho walked over and knocked on the door. “The coast is clear.”

  The door cracked open, and Tiffany peered out with one eye. “She’s gone?”

  “Yeah, she’s gone. Someone you know?”

  “She’s my cousin, and that girl had better watch herself.” Tiffany sighed as she let the door swing open. “But if she saw me here, I would never hear the end of it.”

  Maybe this would distract Tiffany from the problem on the road. Seeing her so distraught had made him want to tear the world apart. Intensity like that was new for Jericho, and he didn’t know why he felt that way and wasn’t sure he liked it. “How come?”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Because if my family knows anything about my love life, I will never hear the end of it. To be fair, if anyone knows anything about anyone’s love life, they never hear the end of it.”

  “So I’m a secret.” Jericho grinned at her.

  A slight smile played around the edges of her mouth. “Heck, yeah, you’re a secret.”

  And he was a part of her love life. Wasn’t that word supposed to send him running for the hills? He didn’t feel the need to run for the hills.

  But he did feel the need to goad her a little, like she did to him when they were golfing.

  Okay, this could be fun. Jericho tapped his chin and looked up to the ornate crown molding running around the high ceiling. “Should I order something else from room service?”

  “No!” Tiffany said, but she was starting to laugh.

  “Where do your other cousins work so we can order something from them? Or do you have other cousins? Yes, you must, because you dyed the rams red and black with them, and you said there were five of you that night. Do any of them deliver pizzas by any chance?”

  “Oh, Lord, don’t call out for a pizza! I’m so full of that prime rib that I’m going to explode. I should not have ordered that shrimp scampi.”

  “It was delicious. I’m glad you shared it with me. Come on, let’s have a glass of champagne.”

  He led her over to the couch again, opened the champagne by twisting out the cork, and poured them each a flute of wine.

  Tiffany took hers and sipped. “So, what are we celebrating?”

  “Whatever we want to,” Jericho said, feeling quite suave as he sipped his champagne.

  “Are we celebrating that you think I’m going to be Miss May?”

  Champagne bubbles popped in his throat and shot up his nose, burning his sinuses. He coughed and grabbed a napkin for the champagne leaking out his nostril.

  Tiffany pounded him on the back, and he finally managed to stammer out, “Oh, so you heard that?”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Tiffany said, but her pounding on his back had turned to strokes as he coughed and inwardly cursed those three jerks at the driving range. Seriously, why was he even friends with them?

  Jericho managed to recover. “Morrissey is an asshole. Just ask anybody.”

  “How long’s this string of women-of-the-month been going on?”

  Jericho considered the last five years of this life and the parade of just about one woman per month waltzing through his calendar. There was a long line of women who hadn’t stuck around. “I don’t know. Couple of months. Maybe almost a year.”

  “Uh-huh. Who was Miss April?”

  Tiffany must be feeling better if she was dragging him this much, so his mortification was worth it. “Her name is Rose. We met at Weaver Biotech, the previous company that Last Chance, Inc. took over a few months ago. She’s an accountant.”

  “Now I’m worried about why you have a new girlfriend every month.”

  Come to think of it, so was he. “According to my friends, it’s because I’m a workaholic, fixated on business success, and spend all my spare time golfing.”

  Tiffany raised an eyebrow at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Oh, this girl. “Right? I’m not a bad guy. I’m just not boyfriend material.”

  She blinked and shook her head like he’d said something crazy. “That’s quite a statement.”

  Yeah, it was, and it had been lingering in the back of his head for a while. “You should know what you’re getting into. I’m fun for a couple of weeks, but then my work schedule and constant tee times get old.”

  “If I were a member of the Narragansett Club and could waltz onto St. Andrews or Royal St. George’s whenever I wanted, I’d golf all the time, too.”

  “It would almost be a crime not to.”

  “Exactly.” And then Tiffany asked, “Did Miss April golf?”

  Jericho pondered, and then he looked back through his life. “None of them golfed, now that I think about it.”

  “What did you have in common with Miss April? And was there a Miss March?”

  Jericho winced. “There was a Miss March. They were nice girls, but I didn’t know what to do with them. We went to restaurants, but they didn’t eat much. We went to theater and music performances, and I did my best to sit still for three hours. Miss February caught me standing in the lobby during the second act of Ham
ilton, watching a golf tournament from California on my phone.”

  Tiffany mused, “Was that the five-hole playoff at Pebble Beach a few months ago?”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “Well, I can see how you wouldn’t want to miss that. I was out with girlfriends that night and watched it in a bar’s bathroom.”

  “Exactly. Did any of your exes ever catch you watching golf when you were supposed to be paying attention to something else?”

  Tiffany shook her head. “Nope. Never been caught.”

  Jericho laughed.

  She mused, “I’ve only had one real ex-boyfriend, and it was amicable. He graduated the year before I did and went to graduate school in Atlanta. After a couple of months, the long-distance thing wasn’t working for us and there was no way he was going to move to Connecticut when I graduated, so we called it quits. I’ve never even had a big blowup fight with a guy.”

  “What a coincidence,” Jericho said. “I hate big blowup fights. I haven’t had many because I can usually joke my way out of them. But the few unavoidable ones, I did not like.”

  Her glance at him was a quick dart of her laughing eyes in his general direction, and then she sighed while she stared at the coffee table. “So, if I’m going to be Miss May, are we going to be able to work together, come June?”

  Jericho shrugged. “I’ve never had a problem with anyone. Even the few blowups settled down within a few days. I may not be good boyfriend material, but I’m excellent ex-boyfriend material.”

  Tiffany was chuckling by the time he was finished explaining. She pressed, “So, why did you even date those other girls if they didn’t like golf?”

  Jericho thought about it for a minute, staring at the crown molding around the edge of the room again. “Because otherwise, my parents would’ve been on my back about getting married at some point. If I’m dating someone, they don’t ask. Also, the women of the month did seem to like sex. So we had that in common.”

  Tiffany had been sipping her champagne, and the bubbles must’ve gotten stuck in her throat, too, because she started coughing.