Sexy Scoundrel: A Cocky Hero Club Novel

by Greywood, Raisa

  Antonio grimaced. “Like yucky spoiled?”

  “No, like Mrs. Dennison spoils Leonard and gives him treats. That kind of spoiled.”

  “So, it means… Spoiled dad?” He laughed, rocking in his seat. “We should make our own and call it Giorgio ghanoush. He’s very spoiled.”

  I burst out laughing, making Leonard lift his head at the noise. Catching my breath, I said, “That’s a perfect name, and we can experiment with the seasonings to make something unique.”

  Jeremy drove us to the store without being asked, and I took Antonio with me, letting him pick out his broccoli, along with other fruits and veggies that caught his eye. While I was filling a plastic container from the olive bar, Jeremy joined me.

  “Is Leonard still in the car?” I asked, dropping a generous spoonful of Castelvetrano olives into the container.

  “I left it running, and he’s listening to Pavarotti. I thought you might like some company.”

  “The translation is that you don’t think I can shop without getting into trouble.”

  “Just doing the job I’m paid for,” Jeremy replied. “I might be a thug, but I’m honest.”

  “You’re a bodyguard, not a thug.”

  He tossed a loaf of brioche into the cart. “The only difference between the two is that a bodyguard pays taxes on his protection money.”

  Laughing, I grabbed a lid from the stack at the end of the olive bar. “Thanks for that. I know Giorgio is paying you, but it means a lot that you’re sticking with me.”

  “About that,” he said, coughing uncomfortably. “I owe you an apology.”

  “What for?”

  His cheeks reddening, he looked down, then said, “I thought you were a grifter at first and were setting Giorgio up.”

  “For what? He doesn’t have anything I want.”

  That was a big fat lie. Giorgio had plenty I wanted, but I wasn’t about to share that with Jeremy.

  “I thought you were using Antonio to get money, but I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  Why did things always come down to money? “I get it,” I finally said. “Money makes people do stupid shit. Even though I didn’t like Giorgio, I agreed to work for him so I could pay my bills.”

  “Didn’t like him? Does that mean you like him now?”

  I could feel the blush moving from my chest to my forehead, but couldn’t stop it. “No. I mean, yes. But I—”

  Jeremy waggled his eyebrows and smirked. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Grabbing the olives, he put them in the cart, then wrapped a thick arm around my waist and spun me like we were waltzing. “Hunter and I both demand a dance with the bride at your wedding.”

  “You’re off your rock,” I retorted, extricating myself from his embrace. “I’m not marrying Giorgio. That’s crazy talk.”

  “I never said it would be Giorgio,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  “Ugh! Stop it, Jeremy. I’m not marrying anyone, much less Giorgio.”

  “Twenty dollars says you’re married to him within a year.”

  “You’re on.” That was one bet I definitely wasn’t going to lose.

  Giorgio

  “Gio, don’t forget you have the Chamber of Commerce ball tonight. Who’s your plus one?”

  “Cancel it. I’m not going to be able to make it.”

  “You can’t,” Linsey said, rolling her eyes. “You’re the keynote speaker, remember?”

  “Shit.” I rubbed my face, feeling particles of dust abrade my skin. “Okay, no plus one. I can do the speech but I won’t be staying.”

  “No. You’ve canceled on the last four events you agreed to attend. You can’t miss this one, and you need to bring a date.”

  As much as I hated to admit it, Linsey was right. There was a certain amount of showmanship involved with running a business, and I’d been slacking for months. Crossing my fingers, I said, “Carlina Pérez will be my plus one.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Gio. It hasn’t been that long since the fire.”

  “Unless you’re planning on putting on an evening gown, that’s all I got,” I snapped.

  “Ew. No, thank you.”

  “Gee, thanks for the support.”

  Her stern gaze softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’ll let the organizer know.”

  “Thanks. Shut the door behind you, please.”

  When she walked out, I sent a quick text to Jeremy. He could be the messenger Carlina shot. I sent a little prayer skyward that she’d agree to come with me. If she didn’t, I’d go by myself. Nobody else would do.

  I pulled up Aubrey’s number and tapped to connect the call. This was too important for a speakerphone conversation, and I didn’t want anyone overhearing me.

  As much as I wanted to replay what I’d shared with Carlina, I needed to have my head on straight and get to work if I had any hope of making this happen before she got tired of me and left. God, she was gorgeous when she came.

  When Aubrey answered, I pulled my shit together and got to work. “I have two hundred acres of undeveloped land adjacent to Carlina’s farm. I’m prepared to donate the property as an adjunct to Park Street for use as a large animal sanctuary. I also want it to be a facility for special-needs children and adults. I want a doctor and therapists, along with teachers and caregivers, and—”

  “Giorgio,” she interrupted. “Do you have any idea what a facility like that will cost?”

  “I’ve been in this business for a long time. I know exactly what it will cost. I want the land donation under Carlina’s name. You’ll draw up the legal documents to make it a charitable organization and I want ground broken no later than six weeks from today. You’re also going to contact all your friends to attend a charity ball to fund it, but I’ll cover the construction myself. Hit up Graham Morgan and Dexter Truitt and ask if they’ll serve with you on the board of directors.”

  “You’re not wasting time throwing me under the bus.” Aubrey paused for a few seconds. “Are you sure about this? You’re committing to a massive project, and you won’t be able to push it off on someone else when you get bored. It would be a PR nightmare.”

  I gritted my teeth at her assessment of me. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have argued with her, but things had changed. I wanted to make a difference for people like Antonio and Carlina’s sister and I didn’t give a damn about the PR or how much it would cost.

  “Make it happen. I’m building this for my brother, and for every other special-needs person who’s looking for a purpose. I’m not going to give up, nor am I willing to take no for an answer.”

  “I—”

  “Can you do this, Aubrey? If you can’t, say so now and I’ll find someone else.”

  She let out a breath, sighing into the phone. “If you’re committed and serious, this is huge. I can’t even tell you what it will mean for this community.”

  I hid a sigh of relief. With Aubrey on board, things would fall together. She had the experience and contacts I desperately needed to get things going.

  “One more thing. I don’t want this announced until everything is in place. Schedule a press conference for six weeks from today at the property and find someone you trust to stay quiet to write up a press release. I’ll have a scale model of the facility by then as well.”

  “Why all the secrecy?” Aubrey asked. “And what are you calling it?”

  I smiled and looked at the picture of Carlina and Antonio on my desk. “It’s a surprise for someone. I’ll give you the name when the contracts are ready.”

  “I’ll have to bring in the Park Street board, but I think we can make it happen. We’ll schedule a meeting for this coming Friday at the shelter.”

  “Thank you. I need to get my team started on the design, so I’ll let you get to work.”

  I ended the call, and raced from the office to call my designers together. When they assembled in the conference room, Sandy Whitman, my lead commercial architect, wrinkled her nose.

 
“What on earth are you wearing?” she asked.

  I looked down, realizing I still had barn dirt on my shirt and under my nails. Looking up, I grinned and said, “Looks like mud to me. It might be horse poop. I’m not sure.”

  “Other people have normal bosses,” she muttered. “I get the crazy Italian.”

  “What’s up, Giorgio?” Brian Reynolds, a structural engineer with heavy tortoiseshell glasses, asked. “It must be important if you rushed in here without, you know, bathing.”

  “It is.” I grinned and leaned forward. “Unless we have rush projects already in process, I want you to drop everything and give me a design.”

  “For what?” they chorused.

  “I want a large animal sanctuary, combined with a school and therapy center for special-needs adults and children on the two-hundred-acre parcel north of town. It should have facilities for exotics along with livestock and wheelchair accessible walking trails. We’ll be working in conjunction with Park Street Animal Shelter, so I’d like the look to be similar to what we did for them, but I also want to add more green energy capability.”

  “Add in programming and resources for at-risk kids, and everyone will throw money at it,” Sandy replied, never looking up from her notepad. “Timeframe?”

  “We break ground in six weeks.”

  She looked up from her pad and dropped her pen. “That’s a lot of work for six weeks. What’s in it for us?”

  Sandy was one of my best architects. With over twenty years in the business, she knew the score and her own value. I had a great deal of respect for her and I was certain she could do what I was asking.

  “If you complete the initial design within six weeks, two weeks additional paid vacation, plus a thousand dollars for anyone who comes up with a good idea like the one you just had.”

  “Two additional weeks every year?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling with humor.

  “Nice try, but no.” I returned her smile. “Use it to take your grandkids to Disneyland.”

  “Slave driver.” She picked up her pen. “I have some contacts with other facilities and zoos I’ve worked with in the past. I don’t want to start the design process until we know what we’ll need in terms of space and facilities, but we should be able to get the appearance down in the next few days.”

  “Good. You’re taking point on this project, Sandy, and I want you to pick a second for yourself. I’ll expect preliminary sketches Wednesday of next week. Aubrey Bateman is your contact at Park Street, but details on this project go no further than this room. I don’t want it leaked until groundbreaking.”

  “Any particular reason?” she asked.

  “It’s a surprise for a very special lady.”

  “Why don’t you just buy her jewelry like all the others get?” Brian asked.

  “Those women weren’t special. This one deserves more than a stupid necklace and she’s going to get it.”

  Sandy and Brian looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. Aside from the fact that I’d never had a relationship last more than a month, six weeks for a project of this scope was unheard of. I honestly wasn’t sure I could wait any longer to show Carlina that I wasn’t just a loser playboy.

  It wasn’t only for Carlina, though. I envisioned a place like her farm where people could learn to live productive lives, regardless of ability. Sandy’s idea was a perfect addition, and I considered adding resources for elder care as well. It would be part community center and part rehab facility for both animals and people. The chance to be involved would be worth every penny I spent on it, and for the first time in years, something excited me.

  “What are you calling it?” Brian asked.

  I grinned and pulled a piece of hay from my hair. “The Katie Project.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carlina

  Antonio put groceries away while I washed veggies. Instead of focusing on my work, I kept thinking back to what Jeremy had said. Looking at it from a distance, I could understand his trepidation. I wasn’t exactly destitute, but I lived frugally. It wasn’t any stretch of the imagination to think I’d do sketchy shit to have access to Giorgio’s money. People did it all the time.

  I set the tomato aside with the broccoli, then turned to Antonio. “I’m going to heat up the grill. You can bring the eggplant.”

  “Do I have to slice them?”

  “Nope, just poke them a few times with a fork. They’ll take about twenty minutes, then we can scoop out the insides and make our baba… Giorgio ghanoush.” I held up a garlic bulb, and added, “We’ll roast this at the same time and mix some into the dip.”

  “Garlic comes in a jar. You don’t roast it, silly!”

  “Trust me. Roasted garlic is fantastic. Remind me and I’ll make forty-clove chicken next week.”

  Leonard followed us outside, in the way as usual. He was like a furry vacuum cleaner. I’d had dogs that weren’t as efficient at cleaning up kitchen spills as that lion was. In the time I’d had him, he’d put on about fifty pounds of healthy muscle and looked amazing. His mane had even started growing.

  I wondered if the television show had run out of money to purchase the special zoo grade frozen food he needed. Lack of quality nutrition would explain his vision loss and poor body condition when he’d gotten to the shelter. Since most of his teeth were gone, he couldn’t eat carcasses very well, and we had to add in vitamin supplements to make up for it. Vitamin deficiencies had also caused Pixy’s blindness. Pixy and Leonard had a lot in common.

  He sniffed at the eggplant, wrinkling his nose. When I laughed and shooed him away, he chuffed and hopped up on one of the deck loungers, then stretched out to bask in the sun.

  Antonio set the eggplant and foil-wrapped garlic on the grill and closed the cover. With a sigh, he grabbed a brush from the bin of grooming supplies and got to work on Leonard’s gleaming coat. Nobody brushed him inside. It took days to clean up the hair. I swear, that cat had projectile fur.

  “Leonard is my best friend, next to you.”

  Leaning over, I kissed his cheek. “I’m honored to be your best friend. I think you’re mine, too.”

  “Do you think Katie would have liked me? She was pretty, like you are.”

  “I know she would have.” I stood, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m going to wash my hands and turn those eggplants so they don’t burn.”

  Instead of using the bar sink across from the grill, I went inside to pull myself together. Tears threatened to fall and I wiped them away before Antonio caught me crying. His words had been so sweet, and maybe I’d needed to hear them, but what he said was poignant, too.

  Katie might have grown up to be just as wonderful as Antonio and I missed her. Sniffing back my tears, I pasted a smile on my face and washed my hands.

  When the eggplants were done, I helped him mix up the dip. It would be better after resting for a few hours, but we were both too hungry to wait. As I dipped a carrot into the creamy concoction, Jeremy sauntered into the kitchen, followed by Hunter.

  “Hey, Antonio.” Snagging a pita chip, Jeremy swiped it through the dip and crammed the whole thing into his mouth. “This is delicious.”

  “I made it,” Antonio said. “Carli helped with the seasonings.”

  Jeremy grabbed a broccoli floret and swirled it through the dip. Holding it up, he fed it to Hunter, his gaze softening. “Good, right?”

  “Delicious.” Hunter grinned, then said, “I’d say Antonio is the best cook in California.”

  “Have a seat,” I said, grabbing the container of olives and more vegetables from the fridge. “There’s plenty.”

  “Thanks. After lunch, you have a date with someone in Dutch Village.”

  Frowning, I checked my phone, wondering if I’d forgotten an appointment. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, you really do. You’re meeting Eduardo Mendez at The Glass Slipper for a makeover. You’re going to the Chamber of Commerce ball tonight with Giorgio.”

  I barked out a laugh. Eduardo Men
dez was one of the best designers in California. I’d even heard of him, and for someone who bought clothes off discount store sale racks, that was saying something. “Please. Eduardo Mendez isn’t going to dress somebody like me. You’re nuts. Besides, I doubt Giorgio wants to be seen in public with me.”

  “He just texted me. He wants you to go with him.”

  “No. I can’t. It would be weird.”

  Eyes sparkling with mischief, he asked, “Are you chicken? Badass Carli Pérez who threatened to strangle me with an IV line is a big old chicken!” He made clucking noises and flapped his arms. Hunter laughed and joined him, and I scowled.

  “You are both assholes and I am not chicken!”

  Jeremy spun me into his arms, then dipped me. “Prove it, sweetheart.”

  I sulked all the way into Dutch Village, but I had to admit to a little excitement. The one formal dress I’d worn had been to my senior prom, and had come from the thrift shop, mostly because I hadn’t been willing to spend money on a dress I’d wear once. Going into The Glass Slipper was a bucket list thing. Eduardo Mendez dressed movie stars and rich people, and to have one of his iconic labels sewn into the back of a dress was something a farm girl like me couldn’t imagine.

  The door was absolutely silent when I opened it. This place was too posh for a merchant’s bell. I inhaled, smelling white ginger. I definitely wasn’t in a discount chain store. There were no overstuffed racks. Instead, sumptuous dresses hung on mannequins tastefully posed around the shop.

  Hands clapped and I turned at the noise. Wearing black skinny jeans and a pale ochre sweater, Eduardo strode toward me, pulled me close, and kissed my cheeks. His dark hair was slicked back into a French braid, and diamond studs decorated both ears. He had a thin, neatly trimmed goatee under a surprisingly full mouth.

  “You must be the lovely Carlina Pérez,” he murmured, leading me to an elegant leather couch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat and we’ll talk about what you think your style is.”