The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  “The usual drunken nonsense. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Fine. I’ll get the details from Aaron, then.” There’s a knock at the door and Beck rises to go answer. “Or you could just tell me.”

  “It’s over and done with. Let it go.”

  “Why can’t you pander to me like everyone else does?”

  My eyes go wide. “Wow. No. I’m afraid you chose the wrong girlfriend for that.”

  “Not possible. I’ll have you know that as of a couple of weeks ago, my taste in women has been impeccable.” He opens the door. “Smith, come on in.”

  The big driver/bodyguard strides in. But really quietly. How does someone so big walk so softly? There must be a trick. “Miss Lawrence.”

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Smith works for us now,” announces Beck. “Mind taking a seat outside or in the office while I talk to Alice, please?”

  The man nods and slips outside, closing the door behind him. He’s in one of his usual black suits. No doubt carrying a weapon.

  “You stole your grandma’s driver?” I ask. “Have you told her yet? What did she say?”

  “Nothing. There was just this really long silence.” He sits back down on the couch beside me. “I think I’m getting cabbage again for Christmas. Anyway, I was always his favorite. And I doubled his salary. It wasn’t a hard sell.”

  “Good God, you work fast. I wasn’t even out of the room for that long.”

  “You’re frowning.” He licks his thumb and wipes it between my brows. “There you go, beloved. All better.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that. And I thought I’d made my feelings about bodyguards clear.”

  Beck winces. “Yeah, but…how do I put this? You’re wrong. You see, whatever we decided to do with Henry, we were going to need someone helping us keep a closer eye on him. At least for the next few days until he goes back to school.”

  “But you’re not talking about Smith being here only for a few days, are you?”

  “No. And he probably won’t be the only security person I bring in.” He loosens his tie, pulling it free. “Thing is, if you suddenly became rich, you’d realize quickly that you need to be more security conscious. You’d be a target in ways you never were before. That’s basically our reality now. I know you don’t like it. But I don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

  I think it over. “You’re right; I don’t like it. Though I don’t want to see you get hurt, or have some nut job try to kidnap you and cut you into little pieces and send you back in gift boxes to me, either.”

  “That’s very kind of you. And it’s quite the visual image.” He picks up my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Now, how do we keep a teenager occupied and out of trouble for the next few days?”

  “Good question. I used to go to the mall with my friends or to the library. Neither of those options really strike me as being Henry’s thing.”

  “Probably not.”

  “By the way,” I say. “We need to discuss that watch.”

  He arches a brow. “What watch? Do you need one?”

  “A diamond watch appeared in the closet this morning. It’s beautiful, but…excessive. I looked it up. It’s a Patek Philippe.”

  “Rachel must have sent it over.” He taps his lip with one finger. “Unless, and hear me out, the closet is in fact a magical portal.”

  “You think Narnia might be back there?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I have to admit, that hadn’t occurred to me.”

  “If a box of Turkish delight appears, we’ll know for sure,” he says. “To be honest, it’s more likely Rachel and Selah still trying to help you look the part of an Elliot consort.”

  I laugh. “Consort my ass. You, my friend, are a lot of things. But a king is not one of them.”

  “Couldn’t we pretend?”

  “No.”

  “But you’d look so pretty on your knees.”

  I give him good side-eye. “You know what you have to do to get that.”

  “The sex ban will lift in due time,” he says, tone solemn. But it doesn’t last. “It’s your call, dearest. If you like the watch, keep it. Though it might be nice to hang onto it for a while and appease Rachel a little. She seems to like you.”

  “She doesn’t know me. What she likes is you being back.”

  “That too.”

  Beck waves his hand and Smith comes back inside. While he appeared to be chilling and taking in the skyline, he apparently also had us in the corner of his eye the whole time. More bodyguard magic tricks. Henry comes out of the bathroom on a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around his waist and dark wet hair dripping in his eyes.

  “Your soap and shampoo smells of girly shit,” he grouches.

  “Good to know.” Beck crosses his arms, taking my hand with him. It’s not exactly comfortable, but oh well, whatever makes him happy. “Smith is going to take you over to Bertram Street to grab your stuff. Get anything you need for school too, okay?”

  Another chin jerk from Henry.

  “Get dressed. Closet’s through there.”

  “I’m putting on a suit. A Westmancott, maybe.”

  “You put on one of my suits, we’re going to have problems.” Beck looks to heaven. “You really want an ass kicking when you’re hungover? ’Cause I’m telling you now, been there, done that, and it does not feel good.”

  “You got into a fight?” I ask, curious. “When did this happen?”

  “There may have been a misunderstanding or two during my younger, wilder years.”

  Henry claps his hands together. “You mean she hasn’t heard about the time you—”

  “Rule number four, you will not tell Alice any stories,” orders Beck. “I mean it. And anyway, that was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

  At this, Smith snorts and Henry’s diabolical laughter echoes through the apartment. Thing is, he almost sounds happy. And Beck does one of his sneaky smiles, the kind he tries to hide for one reason or another. But it’s there and it’s beautiful like everything else about him. If the man was a book, I’d reread him a hundred times or more. Learning every nook and cranny of his mind and emotions until I knew him inside and out. Get to know his history, the things that helped to shape him, like the back of my hand. I don’t think I’ve ever been this curious about anyone before. So wholly taken up with another person. A corner of my mind seems to have been set up just to dwell on this man specifically. It’s crazy. This goes so far beyond a crush it’s not funny.

  When he catches me watching, he gives me a wink. Then his gaze lingers on my face, just staring at me. And the feeling that I’m not alone in all of my wanting means everything.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The loud banging on the door the next day almost makes me wish I hadn’t sent Smith away. Someone out there is angry.

  “Beck,” a familiar voice yells. “Dammit, I know you’re in there.”

  I open the door despite my current aesthetic being messy bun, no makeup, and sweats. With no plans to go out, today is all about low key. Fancy can kiss my ass. I’m having a day off. I already caught up on my long-distance socializing by texting Natasha and Hanae and calling my mother and brother. I even listened to my niece gurgle and say something that sounded like “cat” followed by a screeched meow. Too cute.

  As for the jerk on the other side of the door, he can take me as I am. “Hi, Ethan. He’s not actually here.”

  But the dude has already stormed past me, searching for his brother. And he’s definitely doing the Elliot rigid jaw thing. I wonder if he does the furrowed brow as well. The Elliot genes are strong. Ethan’s coloring is a faded kind of gold. Like someone who once had a tan, however, it’s been a while now since he’d seen the sun.

  Matías enters somewhat more sedately. “Hey, Alice.”

  “Hi. Is something wrong?”

  “Where the fuck is Henry?” Ethan jerks at his usually perfect tie, pulling it aske
w. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. He and Beck went for a drive up to Boulder. They should be back soon.”

  “Calm down, Ethan. You’re being a dick,” says Matías, making himself comfortable on one of the couches. “Sorry about this, Alice. Emma sent me over to find out what’s going on.”

  “Right.”

  “You’d think I’d have more self-respect than to let her treat me as her gofer, but here we are.” The man just shrugs. He really is handsome. “She’s with her mom in New York for some girl time. That’s code for shopping. Seeing a show or two. Maybe buying a couple of penthouses or the Yankees, maybe.”

  “Emma’s into baseball?” I ask.

  “Not really. She just likes the way their butts look in those tight pants.”

  “I can respect that.”

  Meanwhile, Ethan paces. And then he paces and yells, proving men really can multitask. “What the hell happened downstairs, yesterday? Beck leaves me a half-assed message about Henry staying here and that’s all I get? And what’s this about stealing Grandma’s staff? She just about chewed my damn ear off this morning!”

  “Considering your father just died of a heart attack,” says Matías. “Maybe you should take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.”

  Ethan ignores him, pulling his cell out of his coat pocket. “Are you going to answer my questions?”

  Guess he means me. “No. I think this is family business and should be a conversation between you and Beck. But I’ll be happy to ask him to give you a call as soon as he gets back.”

  The man just stares at me. Part stunned, part pissed.

  “If you’d like me to ask, that is,” I offer. Because manners. “Henry really is okay. I promise.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” And Ethan is heading for the door, opening it, and stalking through it, before slamming it shut. It’s quite the dramatic exit.

  Matías sighs.

  “Feel free to wait if you want.” I retake my seat on the couch. My hands are a little shaky for some reason. “They shouldn’t be long.”

  “Thanks. I think I will.”

  “Can I get you a drink or anything?”

  “No. It’s fine.” His fingers tap out a beat on the arm of the couch. “You’ll have to forgive Ethan. He’s an Elliot. They’re not used to hearing the word no.”

  “I noticed. He’s obviously worried about Henry, though, which is nice.”

  He just watches me.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “Though I appreciate your subtle brand of ball busting, you’re not still upset about Ethan having you investigated, are you? Or has he been a douche to you in some other way?” he asks. “Apart from yelling in your face just now, of course.”

  “He’s your friend, huh?”

  “As much as he allows anyone to be a friend.”

  “No, I’m not really upset about the report. I understand they need to protect themselves against gold diggers or corporate spies or whatever. Even if it was a gross invasion of my privacy,” I say, my voice gaining volume with each word. “And total bullshit in general to attempt to reduce people down to a series of dry facts. Like your credit rating or GPA actually says what kind of person you are. If you’re kind or funny or moral or…I don’t know.”

  Matías just waits.

  “There actually may be a bit of resentment lingering, now that I think about it.”

  “It’s not easy being the new kid. I was there myself once, you know, and I got the full Elliot treatment too.” He gives me a glum smile. “Not the best time to be meeting them, either. Grief is hard. Between you and me, Emma and Rachel are in New York because they need some time away from here. A chance to get their heads around everything and deal with the loss. Jack was Emma’s dad, but he and Rachel were also together for a long time. I think it’s hitting them both.”

  “Understandably. So you’re suggesting Ethan isn’t usually quite this bad?”

  He laughs. “Well, he’s not usually quite this stressed. Taking over as CEO is big, having however many tens of thousands of people’s livelihoods resting on his shoulders, proving himself to the board and shareholders and so on. It’s a lot of power, no doubt, but a lot of opportunity to really screw things up as well.”

  “True.” I relax back against the sofa. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you and Emma meet? Were you Denver high society too?”

  “No. Not me,” he says. “I’m from Florida, originally. Was on a soccer scholarship and blew my knee. Finished my marketing degree and got an intern position. Did some modeling on the side to pay the rent. Emma and I met at a party in Miami and it all kind of went from there. Jack was less than impressed when she bought me home.”

  “What was he like?”

  He frowns, thinking it over. “About what you’d imagine. If you have a cynical, brutal imagination, that is. A workaholic mega-rich asshole with an eye for the ladies who expected his children to do as told and follow in his footsteps. I think he loved them in his own way; he just couldn’t tolerate the thought that they might have their own thoughts and ideas about life, you know?”

  “Sounds charming.”

  “Sure. When he wanted something. The man knew how to close a deal. But he could be a mean son of a bitch too. And while he was flexible with moral concepts such as right and wrong, his idea of success and how important it should be in someone’s life was set in stone. Didn’t leave the people around him with much room to maneuver.” His smile is somewhat twisted. “Anyway, I worked for Elliot Corp. for a while. Then I decided I needed to do my own thing. Beck was looking for different ways to invest his trust fund and The Crooked Company was formed.”

  “I love that name.”

  “It came about after a particularly long brainstorming session one night involving many beers.”

  Matías’s gaze drops to the gleaming laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of me. It just arrived this morning, and the box and all the other paraphernalia with it are strewn in an untidy heap beside it. “New toy?”

  “I made the mistake of asking Beck if I could borrow his laptop for an hour or two one evening.” Mrs. Flores’s cat knocked mine off a table a few months back and I’d been saving up to get another ever since. “Normally when a guy seems a bit shocked at the prospect of handing over his devices, it’s because he’s worried about being busted with porn or something, but I think for Beck it was just that he forgets that not everyone owns the latest toys. Anyway, within an hour a delivery guy turns up with this shiny tech. The guy offered to set it up for me, but I figured that if I didn’t do it myself, I’d never know how to fix anything when it goes wrong.”

  Matías nods. “What’s your purpose with it? Business or pleasure?”

  “The first option.”

  “Yeah?” He sits up. “What are you working on?”

  “My résumé,” I answer. “If I’m staying, I’m going to need a job. The trick is making a half a dozen different waitressing jobs sound like it’s prepared me for great things. Slinging coffee or beer won’t go down well with the fam so it’s time to use the degree.”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Sure.” I scan my thumbprint and pass the computer. “Any and all constructive feedback gratefully accepted.”

  He’s quiet for several minutes, reading what I’ve written so far. Which deep down inside I can admit is probably a whole lot of nonsense. But you have to start somewhere. At least if I do get any interviews, I can turn up in a fancy suit and look the part.

  “You have a way with words.”

  I laugh. “Potential employers might not care much about my degree in English Lit. But at least it gifted me the ability to spin beautiful sentences about my lack of useful qualifications.”

  “Let me show you something.” His fingers tap oh so quietly against the keys. He hands the laptop back over to me with a site for a local microbrewery on screen.

  “Is this the business you guys were talking about the other day?�
�� I ask. “The beer we sampled?”

  “That’s right. Tell me what you think.”

  Taking my time, I scroll through the information. “It looks good, but the content is a little clunky.”

  “Agreed. Rewrite it for me. Give me something better.”

  I just look at him.

  And the man is serious. Very much so. “The Crooked Company is growing and some of these businesses need a little mentoring. Fact is, I can’t keep handling everything on my own and Beck is busy doing his own thing. These are exactly the kinds of jobs I should be handing over to someone else. Someone qualified. So give it a go.”

  “All right,” I say, and get to work rereading the content before beginning. If nothing else, it’ll be good practice. Maybe I’ll even get a job. Worst case scenario is I’ll ask Matías for five bucks for my work and put in a new entry on my résumé as professional internet consultant. Or whatever fancy title I can invent.

  An hour or so later, I’ve got a solid first draft for the content for the microbrewery, and Beck and Henry stroll in all smiles. Thing is, they’re not wearing the clothes they left in. Both of them are now in sports type T-shirts, shorts, and weird looking sneakers. Not that any of this actually matters. Because my gaze fixes on Beck, all of the happy hormones are released, and oh boy…the high from simply seeing him again is breathtaking. My whole body wakes up, my defenses crumble, and my plans (if I had any) disappear.

  Also, there’s a nasty scratch on his cheek.

  “Detour to do some climbing, huh?” asks Matías. “Where’d you go?”

  “Boulder Canyon.” Henry collapses into the chair next to him. “Can I’ve a beer?”

  “No. But I can. Anybody else want anything?” Beck grabs a beer for himself and a bottle of juice for his brother out of the fridge. After passing Henry his drink, he joins me on the couch. “Hello, dearest. How was your day?”

  “Did you get hurt because you were hanging off a mountain with little to no safety equipment?” I ask.

  He reflects upon the question for a moment. “No, it was more like a really big rock.”