Tailored for Trouble

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Owww…” she groaned.

  When she rolled over and opened her eyes, Bennett kneeled over her, cupping her cheek. “Taylor? Don’t move.”

  “Motherfucker, sonofabitch that hurts.”

  Bennett gave her a look. “Wow. You’ve been possessed by an angry sailor.”

  She slid her hand to the throbbing spot on the top of her head. “I have a dirty mouth,” she groaned. “It’s part of my charm.”

  “I don’t know. Your mouth tasted pretty clean to me.” He flashed a devilish smile.

  She grumbled in response.

  “Think you can get up?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to get out of your seat during takeoff? You could’ve been seriously injured.”

  She took his warm hand and tried to ignore how good it felt when he pulled her up.

  “Sorry. Wouldn’t want to do anything to get in the way of your deal.”

  He gave her a look. “That was a discussion with one of my attorneys who’s being difficult.”

  They stood face to face, and she stared up into his eyes. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and the other arm—large and well defined beneath his tailored white shirt—lifted as he reached out to cup her face again. His thumb traced along her bottom lip as he stared lustfully at it.

  Jellybean wants.

  Shut. Up.

  “Bennett, can I ask you something?”

  “I already told you. We had our little honesty session for the day. I’m not ready for more.”

  “Fine. But I need to know if you really want me to come with you and stay or if this is just one gig.” Because the ride on the Bennett roller coaster was giving her whiplash.

  He gave her a strange look.

  “I mean,” she clarified, “changing the way you do things will take time. Are you in this for the long haul, totally committed? Or am I just a quick fix to get you across the goal line?”

  He smiled at her. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  What sort of answer was that? But if that’s how he wanted to play, she could reciprocate with a non-answer, too. “You need to sleep and rest.”

  “What are you, my mother?”

  She laughed. “I’m afraid my balls are too small, so that would be a no.”

  He chuckled. “Right you are. So am I to take your lack of an answer as a yes for dinner?”

  Back to square one, are we?

  “Long haul or goal line?” she asked.

  “You’re difficult.”

  “Mmmm…Yes.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll have Robin change the reservation to four people.”

  “Wait. That wasn’t my reply; I was agreeing with you about me being difficult. And what do you mean four?”

  “The dinner is with Mary Rutherford and her son, Chip.”

  “Oh.” Of course it was. She’d helped him arrange it. Indirectly, anyway.

  She felt a tiny twitch of disappointment. A dinner alone in Paris with him had sounded romantic and far better than being fired, but she just couldn’t figure out what was going on with this man. Was he using her? Interested? Was this business or pleasure?

  “So you need a wingman, huh?” She obviously knew both Chip—dirty, dirty man whore—and his mother—a dictator in a pink suit—so it would make sense he’d want her to come along as buffer.

  He gently pinched her chin, tilting her head up toward him. She wondered if he might kiss her again. “Ms. Reed, I’m Bennett Wade. I don’t need a wingman. I’m asking you to be my date.”

  Her insides got all jittery and cancan-y. She liked the sound of being his date. She liked it too much. “And then what? I mean, what happens after?”

  “What would you like to have happen?” he asked suggestively.

  She would love it if he kissed her again. She would love it even more if he held her down naked and thrust his thick hard cock—Tay!

  She shrugged coolly, trying to mask her dirty thoughts. “Long term or goal line?” she repeated her question.

  “Are you asking for a relationship? Because I don’t do those—not anymore.”

  “What? No!” Ohmygod. He thinks I was begging him to be my boyfriend? And why “not anymore?” Was it because of that Kate woman?

  “I was referring,” she said, “to your commitment to the program—but what’s your issue with relationships?”

  “I thought you just said you weren’t talking about that.”

  “You brought it up. Now I want to know.”

  He shook his head. “Dinner. Yes or no.”

  She wanted to say no, just to see what he’d do, how far he’d go to make her say yes, but that would be childish.

  Don’t neglect your inner child.

  Okay. Compromise.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  Agitation flickered in his eyes. “I’m going to get some sleep. When I wake, you can give me your answer, and we can go through your training. I have some questions about the material and want to make sure I handle Mary correctly.”

  Taylor scratched her head. His comment made her feel uncomfortable, like she was helping him deceive Mary.

  “She’s not an animal, Bennett. You can’t ‘handle’ her.”

  “No. She’s not. She’s a woman—complex, stubborn, and intelligent. Just like you. Which is why you are the perfect person to help convince her to sell fifty-one percent of her company to me.”

  Anything to win. Anything.

  Taylor sighed. She needed to get off this mental roller coaster before she lost her damned mind. One minute, she swam in Bennett’s ocean, wanting him. The next she was angry because she felt like he was using her for this deal. One second, he flirted with her, the next, pushed her away or acted like it was all business. Being around Bennett felt like being in a crazy bipolar-flea rodeo.

  Tay, you’re letting him wag you. Stand firm. She understood there was more going on with him than he wanted to share, but she needed to put her foot down.

  She stared up into his eyes. “I’ll go to dinner with you. But after that, Bennett, you’ll either have to tell me what’s going on—really going on—or I can’t stay.”

  He placed his hand on his hip, jaw pulsing, and looked toward the tiny window.

  Now she felt bad. Dammit! Fucking flea rodeo! “I’m not trying to be mean or ungrateful, but within the space of a few hours, I’ve been snubbed, rescued, yelled at, kissed, flirted with, asked to work on your deal, tickled, pushed away, and then pulled closer. Not to mention, you still haven’t explained why you participated in that a-hole-category bet with your friends that has absolutely reduced my self-confidence down to the size of a shriveled raisin, which is smaller than an actual raisin. And all you can say is ‘trust me.’ And that you have panic attacks when you can’t reach people. Are you beginning to see how you might be asking a little too much?”

  Bennett’s strong jaw clenched hard, and his dark brown brows furrowed with deep emotion.

  “Look at me, dammit,” she said.

  He did, and then she wished he hadn’t. The anger in his eyes was palpable.

  “I’m doing the best a man like me can be expected to do. Given the circumstances,” he added.

  What circumstances?

  “But you’re right,” he nodded. “This isn’t fair to you. I’ll make sure you get home after we land in Paris. Just forget the dinner.”

  So that was his answer. Pushing her away. Yes, his mother warned this would happen and that she should hang on, but why? For what? Linda assumed Bennett and Taylor were meant to be because they’d both eaten a Happy Pants Café cookie. As cute as that sounded, Taylor needed to deal with reality and some very real, very confusing emotions, not to mention some serious career issues in her life. She no longer had the mental stamina or time to be playing around, and Bennett was turning her into a mess.

  “Okay,” she accepted his offer, not wanting to, but feeling like she had
to try to rein herself in before she became so entangled in his addictive, masculine vibe that she’d never be able to climb that cliff back to sanity.

  “But you’re keeping the money,” he added.

  “No, I don’t want it. You didn’t get anything from me.”

  “I did, actually. Like I said, I emailed myself a copy of your program. It’s not what I expected at all, but I think it’s got potential.”

  “Please. Don’t remind me that you violated my privacy. But it’s yours to keep. No charge.”

  “Let me at least put in a good word for you with a few fr—”

  She shot him a look. “You mean your friends who all think I’m some fuck-trophy?”

  Something flashed in his eyes. “I’m sorry I said that. And I can see how you might think everyone is laughing behind your back, but if anything, the bet was a tribute to your moral fiber.”

  Taylor’s mouth sagged open. “Did you just try to spin the bet into a good thing?” Her reputation was ruined.

  “No. There’s no excuse for the way everyone behaved, and I will make sure that you receive a public apology from each and every man involved; however, I’m merely pointing out that the cause of the bet was their immature egos. And their inability to accept the fact that they can’t have any woman they like merely because they’re wealthy.” He reached out and gently grabbed her chin, beaming at her. “You, Taylor Reed, cannot be bought.”

  Her heart made a jump. His blatant admiration felt far too similar to deep affection—the kind that might start with the letter “L.”

  But then…“But why did you do it, Bennett?” she pleaded quietly.

  He dropped his hand from her chin.

  “Let me guess,” she said, sensing his discomfort, “you’re not ready to talk about it.”

  “I will make things right. That’s all you need to know. Even if I have to break every one of their noses. Or in the case of Charles, I’ll rebreak it. Asshole deserves it anyway—the way he talks about women is vile.”

  Was that why he’d gotten into a brawl at his own charity event? She’d bet it was.

  God, I so want to dry hump you. Without any clothes on. With your penis inside me.

  Okay. Not dry humping at all.

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you’ll make things right.” It might not help her land any clients, but at least she wouldn’t be seen as a joke. “And it’s payment enough.”

  He nodded solemnly. “It’s the least I could do for your trouble.”

  “No trouble, Bennett.” She wanted to say more, but she felt like they both had had enough. The man was looking pale again. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

  She moved to the front of the plane and sat down. Candy appeared a moment later with a bag of ice for her head.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Taylor nodded.

  “He’s not a bad man, Taylor. He’s just had a bumpy road. Don’t hold it against him.”

  Taylor smiled shallowly, feeling like she was on the outside of an exclusive club that knew the inner workings of this man. What bumpy road could he have possibly endured? Hot, rich, and powerful all sounded pretty nice. “I won’t.”

  “I saw the way he looked at you. He must’ve been blowing off steam when he said he wanted to let you go. I’ve known that man for eight years, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he wants to strangle you and then kiss the hell out of you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s into you.” Her mouth then popped open, and she snapped her fingers. “Oh! I bet that’s why he wanted to fire—” she made little air quotes with her fingers, “the hell out of you.” She chuckled.

  “Meaning?”

  “He won’t date employees. But that doesn’t mean he can’t fire you and then date ‘the hell’ out of you.”

  Taylor took the bag of ice and plopped it on her aching head. “You’re mistaken, Candy. He just needs help closing the deal.”

  She shook her head, grinning. “Sure, honey. Whatever you say.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Taylor awoke to yet another gentle nudge after having passed out from exhaustion. With the time difference, constant lack of sleep, and drama, she’d just…gone away. Candy gave her another quick push. “Honey, here’s your ticket to San Francisco. I made sure to get you a pass to the Admiral’s Lounge so you can shower, change, and eat, but the flight leaves at 7:30 P.M. That’s in three hours.”

  Disoriented, Taylor took the ticket. “Uh. Thanks.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the empty plane.

  Candy caught on. “He’s gone. Off to his hotel and then the meeting with Mrs. Rutherford. Told me to give you his regards and the number for his ear, nose, and throat specialist. Honey, have you ever had that snoring looked at? Dear baby Jesus, you’re loud.”

  Taylor grimaced. “No. I didn’t really know.” Of course, she hadn’t really been with anyone in a while and her last boyfriend never spent the night—had to get home to his schnauzer. Not that she’d complained because the guy wasn’t a natural-born spooner like Bennett, and a guy who didn’t know how to cuddle or keep her feet warm at night didn’t make for a good bed bud. Bennett, on the other hand, knew how to keep every part of her warm.

  Taylor stood slowly and collected her things. She felt so torn up, as though she’d been inside a crazy blender for the last few days and it had finally spit her out.

  “Your suitcase has been sent ahead, Taylor. But if you need anything, anything at all, just call me.”

  “Thank you, Candy. I really mean that.”

  Candy flashed a consoling smile. “That’s what I’m here for darlin’. It’s been my pleasure.”

  Taylor moved toward the open doorway. “Hey, why don’t you give me a call when you’re back in S.F.? We can catch a drink.” She quickly dug a card from her purse and handed it over.

  “I’d just love that, Taylor.” Candy snapped up the card and gave her one last hug. “You’re a survivor, girl. Keep that chin up.”

  An hour later, Taylor was clean, in her gray sweat pants and tee—the spares she carried in her laptop case for emergency travel lounging or for doing exercise—and she’d found food. The spa-like facilities in the Admiral’s Lounge were probably better than anything she’d ever experienced even at a real spa—steam room, massaging shower head, fru-fru shampoo—but the soothing atmosphere did little to get Bennett out of her spinning head. She really, really hated leaving things between them so unresolved.

  Finding a quiet spot in the lounge next to the window, she got out her laptop and began writing Bennett an email:

  Dear Bennett—

  No. Stupid. Erase.

  Hi Bennett!—

  No, too enthusiastic.

  Hey, Bennett. I know you’re busy and probably don’t want to hear from me—

  No. Too pathetic.

  Bennett: I know you’re busy, but I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye and I feel like there are some things I need to get off my chest. First, you need to know that I like you. A lot. And I don’t mean in the way a person likes a movie or a new pair of socks. I mean that when I’m in a room with you, I get lost. In your smell, your voice, and the way you touch me. I know there’s so much more going on with you than you let on and that I can’t understand it, but I’m willing to trust you. I’m willing to give you time. Your mother told me that you think all women are after your money, and that’s just crazy. It also means that whomever you’ve shared your life with thus far has caused you to form that opinion, an injustice I’d like to help you overcome. What I mean to say is that I like you. Not because you’re good looking or wealthy, but in spite of those things. I’m also a stupid lame ass for writing this email and should be shot because we both know I don’t have the balls to send such a sappy piece of rat turds. I suck. Kill me now.

  Taylor highlighted the entire thing and hit Delete.

  Bennett: I need to talk to you. Call me. Taylor.

 
; She was about to hit Send when she realized she didn’t actually have his email address.

  Her first thought was to call Robin, but then she remembered that Bennett had been digging around on her laptop, and that he had emailed the training module to himself.

  She clicked open her sent mail. Ha! There you are. She did a CTRL + C on his address—and then her eyes caught the contents of the email. It was empty save for the attachment: Leadership_BWade_v2.

  “What!” She stood from her chair, nearly dumping her laptop on the floor. “No! No!” He’d sent himself the wrong module. How the hell was that possible when he’d said he thought it was surprisingly good! Anyone in their right mind would at least question the modified sections, especially without having her serve it to them with a heaping helping of bullshit anecdotes about Mary Rutherford’s personality and why the methods would work.

  Taylor looked at her watch. Bennett’s meeting was probably over, but they’d be going to dinner, so maybe she still had time to keep him from completely ruining his deal.

  She dialed Bennett’s cellphone and paced back and forth in front of the window overlooking the airstrip. Voicemail? “Fucking shit!”

  Just then, an elderly woman passed by and shot her a look. What was with her screaming inappropriate things in front of elderly women?

  “Oops! Sorry! Sailor mouth over here.” Taylor pointed to herself and then heard Bennett’s voicemail beep.

  Oh no. Do I leave a message? Do I hang up? Ahh! Message!

  “Bennett! It’s me, Taylor. Please, you have to call me back the moment you get this. Please…just don’t speak to Mary or say anything. I need to talk to you!”

  She hung up and stared at the phone.

  She could turn off the Bennett cell. It would probably make him come running. No, he won’t—he’s expecting you to get on a plane and have to turn it off, silly.

  Ugh! Okay…As she continued to pace, she did some quick time zone math—it was eight in the morning California time, so Robin might be at work and would probably know how to get ahold of him. She dialed quickly, but it too went to voicemail. Fucking dammit! Dammit! Dammit! At least this time she kept the sailor-talk to herself.