The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  I take a seat at the end of the bar and wait.

  “Miss Lawrence.” The waiter appears like magic. “What can I get for you?”

  “Coffee, please. But there’s no rush. I can see you’re busy.”

  He puts the order into the computer. “I’ll get that for you right away.”

  Sure enough, a couple of minutes later a coffee sits in front of me. I don’t even bother asking how he knew who I was. The man is either damn good at his job, or Beck has been thorough in ensuring I feel at home here, or gossip has been going around. A mix of all three perhaps? Whatever.

  “They called around. We can’t get anyone else in on such short notice,” says a voice nearby. A woman dressed in a black pantsuit. “It’s going to be a couple of hours at least.”

  The waiter’s face tightens.

  “I’m sorry, I have to get back.” She heads into the hotel restaurant next door. It’s busy in there as well.

  “Problem?” I ask.

  The waiter, his name tag says Isaac, gives me a wary look. “No, Miss Lawrence. Just some members of staff are off sick. It happens. Everything is fine. Is your coffee okay?”

  I climb off the stool. “You need help for a couple of hours? I’m a waitress. Tell me what to do.”

  His mouth just kind of hangs open.

  “Isaac, I can help,” I repeat.

  “Oh, no. Mr. Elliot—”

  “Won’t mind in the least. I promise.” I survey the room. “Tell you what, I’m going to start by clearing those tables and giving them a wipe down. You let me know what you’d like done after that.”

  And off I go. If I want to be part of this world then I need to be on the lookout for ways to contribute. This is a pretty straightforward way to help Beck.

  Of course, the only downside to getting a whole bunch of new shoes is having to break them in. My feet are going to be sore by the end of the day. Lucky I wore low wedge booties with my Oscar de la Renta black sleeveless midi dress. Both are black so I mostly blend in with the staff. They don’t seem to have a uniform in this area so much as just wear clothes that are black or white. Makes sense. Those colors tend to be easier to clean.

  I raise a few eyebrows back in the kitchen, but it’s easy enough to figure out where the dirty dishes go and where to find a cloth to clean off the tables. Isaac handles the computer for ordering and taking payment, while I deliver and do cleanup. We work well together and the time goes by quickly. It’s actually kind of nice to be doing something in my comfort zone. Not that waitressing is how I want to spend all of my days.

  By the time the extra person appears, we’re edging into happy hour, so I hang around a bit longer to help out with the larger crowd. In fact, everything is going great right up until a group of four men walk out of the restaurant. And at the front of the group is Ethan. Beck’s brother freezes in place at the sight of me carrying dirty dishes. The man has an impressive frown. I have never been quite so thoroughly disapproved of. Such condemnation. Like shame on me for existing in his general vicinity. These damn people.

  “Alice,” says Beck, stepping around his brother.

  “Hey. Some of your staff are out sick. I’m just helping.”

  “Thank you. Let me grab those for you.” He picks up the used glassware and follows me back into the kitchen. We both wash our hands before heading back out.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” says Ethan as we return.

  At least I look okay. The hairdresser and makeup artist gave me lessons yesterday. While he may not like what I’m doing, he can’t disapprove of my appearance. “Ethan. Nice to see you again.”

  “She can’t be doing this,” he says to his little brother. “What’ll people think?”

  “Do people think? That’s the real question.” Beck’s frown is not quite as fierce as his brother’s, but it’s not bad. “And as far as I’m concerned, she can do whatever she wants. Currently, she’s choosing to help run this business. A family business until the sale goes through. How can you possibly fault her for that?”

  “You want the board to take you seriously or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Having your new girlfriend join the kitchen staff is not the way to go about it,” growls Ethan. “I realize her employment options are limited, given her experience. But if you need to keep her busy then Emma can get her involved in some charities or something more suitable.”

  My fingers curl into fists. Confrontation sucks, but I’m not about to stand here and take this. “Could we not talk about me like I’m not here, please?”

  “You had Alice investigated?” asks Beck, his face still and voice cold.

  “Of course we did.” His brother doesn’t even hesitate. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Damn creep. “Most positive thing I can say about her is that I almost fell asleep reading the report. I know Dad setting you up with Selah pissed you off, but did you have to hit back by finding a woman who encapsulates average to quite this degree?”

  Beck’s jaw is rigid.

  “But then you’ve always had a weakness for unloved and neglected things. It’s how you first got your hands on this hotel.”

  Ouch.

  But he isn’t finished yet. “I suppose I should be relieved it’s not some coked-up pop princess on your arm like last time.”

  “That’s enough,” I say, teeth gritted. My parents raised me to be nice, to be polite. But I’m not into being a doormat. Some people are just never going to like you for whatever reason and that’s life. “You’ve said your piece, Ethan, and rest assured we’re all in awe at your level of dickery. It’s time, however, for you to think about leaving.”

  Ethan’s nostrils flare in anger.

  And the suit beside him makes a strangled sort of noise.

  I care not. “Look around you; you’re causing a scene. People are watching and listening and soon this’ll be talked about all over town. Of course, no one expects any better from the likes of me. But you…that’s not very Elliot behavior now, is it?”

  Beck bites back a smile.

  “I need you at that meeting tomorrow, Beck.” Ethan’s face is tense. “Don’t be late.”

  “I’ll be there,” says Beck.

  With a final glare thrown in my direction, his brother strides away with dude number three hot on his heels. The fourth member of the group, however, gives me a warm smile. “Nice to see you again, Alice.”

  “Matías. Hi.”

  A new waitress emerges from out back and Isaac gives me a smile. Guess I’m done waitressing for the day.

  Without saying a word, Beck takes my hand and leads me toward the elevators. I didn’t tell any lies. People are indeed watching. Matías follows a couple of steps behind us. But it isn’t until we’re in an elevator heading up to the apartment that the scene is discussed.

  “Is dickery even a word?” asks Beck.

  Matías cocks his head. “If it isn’t, it should be. And your older brother’s behavior certainly encapsulates the very essence of it.”

  “I hope you’re not angry at me,” I say. “But I’d kind of had enough. There’s constructive feedback and then there’s character assassination and his little speech was closer to the latter. For both of us.”

  “You were absolutely perfect.” Beck raises my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a girlfriend who’d been willing to protect me from Ethan before. I like it.”

  Phew. “What do you think is in the file on me?”

  “Try not to let it worry you,” says Matías. “They have files on everyone.”

  Beck smiles and says a whole lot of nothing.

  “Coked-up pop princess?” I ask.

  The smile falls from his face. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Months,” agrees Matías.

  “Years.”

  “Years is plural.”

  “Fine. More than a year ago, then.” Beck frowns. “Don’t make me look bad in front of my girl, you
asshole.”

  Matías just laughs.

  “Speaking of dubious things best not mentioned, what are you and Emma fighting over this week?”

  “A soup tureen.”

  The elevator doors slide open and we head for home. Or at least, home for now. Who knows, once Ethan reports back about my latest disgrace I might be run out of town by Olson company employees carrying pitchforks. And Grandma & Co. will certainly not be impressed. God, this situation is complicated. Usually if someone’s family doesn’t like you there’s little risk of it leading to all out corporate war.

  How and when did my life get this interesting?

  Beck opens the apartment’s front door, holding it for us to go ahead. The view with the sun setting over LoDo is spectacular. Maybe tonight we’ll get to use the hot tub. I head straight for the couch and take off my shoes and the little sock things. I arch my feet and stretch my toes. Oh, heaven is having bare feet after a long day. If such behavior is uncouth and Elliots aren’t supposed to be seen barefoot in their own damn apartments then I definitely don’t want to be one. Beck and I can just live in sin forever and ever amen.

  “Matías, and I ask this respectfully as a friend, why in the ever-loving fuck would you want a soup tureen?” asks Beck, grabbing craft beers out of the fridge and passing them around.

  “It’s antique, silver, worth quite a bit.”

  “And yet it is still a soup tureen.”

  Matías makes himself at home, man-spreading on the opposite couch. “Told Emma I might use it for ice and beer at barbecues or just put it in the laundry for all those single socks you can never find a match for. She almost went into apoplexy. It was hilarious.”

  “How large are your legal bills, just out of curiosity?”

  “We don’t use the divorce lawyers for this sort of small stuff anymore,” says Matías. “Having to send messages through them about every little thing sucked all of the fun out of it. We both prefer the direct approach.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but are divorces meant to be fun?” I ask.

  “He and Emma are having the time of their lives, apparently.” Beck sits beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders. His fingers play with my ponytail. “Don’t feel bad. No one understands.”

  “You only get to divorce someone once,” says Matías with all due seriousness. “We want to make sure we do it right.”

  I nod as if I understand. “Okay.”

  “Someday, if you two decide to get married, you’ll understand.”

  “Of course, you could always go back to couples counseling,” suggests Beck.

  Matías screws up his face in disbelief. “Our divorce negotiations just hit their second year. You can hardly expect us to start acting like adults now.”

  Beck takes a swig of beer. “It’s good, by the way.”

  “Told you,” says Matías. “They’re a great little microbrewery, but they need money to expand. Add some new lines, move into ciders as well, maybe.”

  “And they’re solid?”

  “The numbers add up. It’s a bit bigger than we normally go, but I like them.”

  “You mentioned being business partners the other day?” I ask because, curiosity. The beer is more hoppy than I like, but it’s not bad.

  “When I got access to my trust fund at twenty-five, Matías and I started The Crooked Company,” says Beck. “We do seed funding, specialize in helping small businesses. It’s our way of counteracting the damage large companies like Elliot Corp. do.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “It is.” The pride in Matías’s gaze is unmistakable. “We work with small-batch distilleries and ice-cream makers, a rare book shop, vintage record store, electric bikes, a lipstick company, organic butchers, slow fashion, artisan donuts, food trucks, a service to help you set up your own edible garden, several different apps, and all sorts of things.”

  “With the added benefit that it annoyed the absolute crap out of Dad,” says Beck.

  I smile. “I can’t imagine why with a name like The Crooked Company.”

  Beck winks at me.

  Matías sets his ankle on the opposite knee, crossing his legs in the way dudes do. There’s certainly no shortage of pretty men in bespoke suits in this part of town. If Emma did marry him for his looks, I can’t fault her taste. His dark eyes are nothing less than entrancing. “For a waste of time and money it sure is earning nice dividends.”

  And they’re all such high achievers. Then there’s me, still not knowing what I’m doing with my life. Ethan might have had a point about my averageness. These people all have such purpose and drive. You can only float through life without a clue for so long. Right now, I’m not even earning an income and the idea of living off Beck does not appeal.

  He clears his throat. “Beloved, did you happen by any chance to buy that chunk of rock sitting on the coffee table?”

  “No.”

  “Ah.”

  “It’s clear crystal, quartz or something, isn’t it?” I ask.

  Matías frowns at the thing. “Whatever it is, it’s bigger than my head.”

  “Mother must have stopped by,” says Beck. “It’s probably to help protect us from bad vibes or something.”

  I set my bottle down on the coffee table. “This is good, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself a vodka and soda. Not really in the mood for beer.”

  “This is your home now too.” Beck downs another mouthful. “You don’t need to ask me permission.”

  “More than just a holiday, then?” asks the other man.

  “Permanent, as far as I’m concerned,” says Beck. “But perhaps she needs persuading.”

  “I’ve only been here for like forty-eight hours,” I intercede.

  Beck’s silence speaks volumes. Underneath the hot and humorous exterior, he’s a man used to getting what he wants. Guess it comes with the money. And perhaps his disguised alpha dog tendencies. However, I have yet to meet an Elliot who doesn’t like control.

  “Have a chance to look around yet, Alice?” asks Matías.

  “I walked over to Larimer Square today. It was nice.”

  Beck cocks his head. “You went out?”

  “For a little while,” I answer.

  “And Smith didn’t take you?”

  “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  Matías stares out at the view in silence.

  “But what?” I asked.

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  This smile of Beck’s is one of the lesser seen ones. And it’s not the least bit genuine so it’s just as well. “Well, I like to know what you’re up to and I left instructions with the concierge. They were supposed to call Smith if you needed to go anywhere.”

  “They asked if I wanted a car and I said no.”

  Nothing from him.

  “Is that a problem?”

  It takes him a moment to answer. “I just want you to be safe and happy.”

  “And I was both, thank you. You’re busy. You don’t need me checking in hourly.”

  “No, but a message now and then to let me know how you’re going and what you’re doing would be nice.”

  Guess that’s fair enough. Within reason. “All right. I’ll consider that in the future.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I’m not comfortable taking up Smith’s time. Nor do I need a bodyguard. That kind of thing might be normal for your family, but it’s not for me.”

  “Yes, but you’re new in town and you’re my girlfriend. So I’d feel better if—”

  The doorbell chimes, cutting him off. Since I’m already on my feet I answer it.

  “We’re not finished talking about this,” says Beck.

  “Sure we are. You’re just in denial.”

  In the hallway is a stranger carrying various bags, and Selah. A sure sign that the crystal isn’t protecting us from shit. She flinches at the sight of me openin
g the door to Beck’s apartment. Then she just stands there, looking at me expectantly. Why exactly, I have no idea. And again, I can’t help but note all of the differences between us. She’s just so damn perfect in so many ways. Except for the ones that matter, apparently. I square my shoulders. The girl will just have to get used to me standing in what was once her space, because I have no plans on going anywhere anytime soon.

  “Damn.” Beck appears behind me, placing his hand against the small of my back. “I forgot.”

  “Of course you did,” says Selah, barging into the room.

  “There’s a charity gala tonight. They’ll be including a memoriam for my father.” Beck winces. “We’re required to attend. Or I am.”

  I take a deep breath. “Right.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” he says.

  “Of course she does,” scoffs Selah. “It’s part of the job. Alice, this is Tex, your hair and makeup artist. He’ll set up in the bedroom. We’re on a tight schedule so let’s get moving.”

  And Beck is pissed. Guess I wouldn’t want my ex in my home either. But the chill in his gaze is verging on arctic. “I’m certain Alice can handle this. Your presence is not required.”

  “Your grandmother called Rachel, who sent me,” says Selah, dark hair immaculately drawn back in a bun. “Do you really want to take on those two?”

  In response, he pulls out his cell, ready to make the call.

  “It’s fine.” I place my hand on his forearm, giving it a squeeze. “Really.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let’s just get this done.” Then I remember Natasha’s words. “Who knows? I might even enjoy it.”

  Through all of this, Matías says nothing. Now he salutes me with his beer, one Elliot outsider to another. Makes me wonder how much of this sort of thing he’s had to deal with over the years. If the pressure and interference helped push Emma and him toward their separation. Not a happy thought.