by Scott, Kylie
“It was lit,” says Henry.
“And we were both extremely careful the whole time,” adds Beck.
“Glad you enjoyed yourselves.” The whole idea still kind of freaks me out, but oh well. “Have you talked to Ethan?”
Beck takes a swig of beer, nodding. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Had him in my ear all the way back home. Eventually managed to talk him around.”
“Good.”
“How was he when he stopped by earlier?” asks Beck.
“It was fine.” I shoot Matías a look in case he’s of a mind to contradict me. “He’s just worried, you know.”
Having already finished the bottle of juice, Henry slams it on the coffee table. “As if he cares. Ethan is a fucking—”
“Dude.” Beck scowls. “Language. We talked about this.”
Henry gestures toward me with a hand. “C’mon, she used to work in a bar. It’s not like she hasn’t heard it all before. Right, Alice? You don’t care, do you?”
I say nothing. This is between them.
Beck just stares at him, his gaze flat and unhappy.
“You know, you used to be okay.” Henry gets to his feet, heading for the office. His temporary bedroom. “But you’re turning into an even bigger hard-ass than Dad was.”
The door is slammed and Henry is gone. What is it about Elliot males feeling the need to abuse doors today?
Matías raises a brow. “I’m getting the feeling you’re no longer one of the cool kids.”
“I can live with that,” say Beck, voice dour. “He was perfectly happy for a couple of hours. Even talked to me a bit about school and stuff. Now we’re back to this.”
“Does he like his school?” I ask.
“Seems to. As much as anyone that age does. But mostly he just wants to get back to his friends.”
“Having a routine after all of this upset and change won’t hurt him either,” says Matías. “Anyway, congratulate Alice. She just got hired by The Crooked Company. She is now in charge of assisting with website content and I’m thinking I could train her up to do more. Like take over some of the initial basic research and assessment, maybe even handle some of the interviews.”
I cock my head. “Are you offering me a job?”
“Please don’t say no.” Matías puts his palms together like he’s praying. “The thought of having to find someone has been doing my head in. I’ll even come up with a cool title for you. It’ll be great. Of course, you’ll also be monetarily recompensed at a suitable rate for your time and expertise. What do you say, Alice?”
“If you want her going out doing interviews, she’ll need a company car,” says Beck.
“What? I don’t even have a company car!”
“Because Emma bought you a Lamborghini for your birthday last year, you fucking show pony.”
“Says the idiot that owns a Bugatti.”
“Alice is also going to require in-depth information on health and dental insurance, sick, vacation, and parental leave, and a pension plan, of course.” Beck scratches at the stubble on his chin. “I think a yearly bonus and or share in profits would be reasonable.”
Matías just gapes. “You’re not serious.”
“Think it over. Then make her an offer and she’ll get back to you.”
“For a silent partner, you sure do talk a lot. Some might say too much.”
“Just looking out for my girl.”
“Which is a clear conflict of interest. You have a duty to your shareholders.”
“What shareholders? It’s just you and me.”
“Exactly. Your loyal business partner needs to be protected from funding the egregious shows of affection that you like to shower upon your better half.”
It’s like watching a tennis match. My head just keeps moving back and forth between them. Much more of this and I’ll hurt my neck. “Are you two finished deciding my future?” I ask.
“For now,” says Beck. “Oh, Grandma has also submitted a request. Well, first she tried to brow beat me into handing over Henry. Then she had a go at me about stealing Smith. Apparently, there’s an old money tradition that you can’t purloin the help. I suggested she embrace the heady reality of twenty-first century capitalism, which went down really well as you can imagine. But then she asked me to ask you for a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“Seems she’s coming down with a cold. With Giada, Emma, and Rachel away, and Ethan and I busy with the delegation from Amari, she needs someone to represent the Elliot Family Foundation at a charity luncheon tomorrow.”
My brows go up. “She wants me to go? Me?”
“It’s an emergency. But apparently all you have to do is sit there, eat fancy food, sip fine wine, and make a little light conversation. What do you say?”
“Are you sure your grandma wasn’t under the influence?”
Beck thinks it over. “Reasonably so. Yeah. I mean, she wasn’t slurring her words or anything.”
“Chance to get on Catherine’s good side,” says Matías.
“But does she have one?” asks Beck. “This is the question.”
I just blink. “You’re not helping.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. All right.” All in all, this sounds reasonable and I have no cause to decline. Apart from my innate fear of being judged and/or having to partake in social situations (especially those involving rich people). But I can quash that and get the job done. “I’ll do it.”
Beck pulls out his cell and shoots off a text. “Great. Letting her assistant know and asking for the details. I’ll forward them. Smith can drive you.”
“But if I’m going to stay in Denver, I should learn my way around, right? If you wouldn’t mind lending me a vehicle that is…”
“I thought we discussed this,” he says.
“With both you and me busy, we’re going to need Smith to keep an eye on Henry.”
“You have a point.”
Matías gets to his feet. “I better get going.”
“Hey, how’d you go with the soup tureen?” asks Beck.
“I’ve agreed to surrender the butt-ugly tureen on the basis that she hands over the fertility idol given to us as a wedding present from Lise.”
“My mother gave you a fertility idol?” Beck blinks several times. “I mean, of course she did. Please continue.”
“Apparently it’s meant to manifest abundance or, I presume, a couple of kids. Emma’s already filthy rich and isn’t sure about children. So she doesn’t need it.”
“And you do?”
“Eh. Dunno about the kids,” says Matías. “But abundance, man!”
“Good luck with that.”
“See you at drinks, right?”
Beck pauses. “Right. Yeah.”
“Alice, I’ll call you.”
The door is barely shut before Beck’s hands are at my waist, lifting me onto his lap. The man is strong. Hands cup my face and he presses his lips against mine. We kiss like we’ve been apart for years. Or at least a solid seven or so hours. My tongue in his mouth, mating with his. My fingers in his hair holding on tight. It’s all good and right and necessary. And when his hands wander, slipping under the back of my sweatshirt to meet bare skin…a shiver runs through me from top to toe.
We should never not be kissing, never be out of each other’s reach. What a waste of time normal life is in comparison to being with him. It’s too big to be happiness, yet it’s not just lust, but joy too. Bigger and better words are required to describe how he makes me feel.
But not love. Not yet. Just quietly, that word terrifies the crap out of me.
“I’d like to take a moment to thank you on behalf of my libido for wearing baggy unattractive clothing,” he murmurs.
“Fuck you,” I murmur back. “I’m comfortable.”
“Trouble is, it doesn’t work. I still want to do you.”
“That’s sweet.”
He pulls me in even closer, wrapping his arms around me good and tight. �
��And I’m glad you’re comfortable. This is our place and I want you to be comfortable enough to stay with me for a good long time.”
I smile.
Henry’s temporary bedroom door stays closed. He’s probably playing Halo or something. When he returned with Smith from the Bertram Street mansion yesterday, the first thing he did was set up a gaming console in the office. And thank God. Beck and I could do with some alone time. Sometimes it feels like I’ve known him for years. But other times it feels like minutes. Fragile and flimsy and in need of constant attention. Both the relationship and me. Being emotionally vulnerable is such a pain in the ass.
I inspect the scratch on his cheek with a frown. “Did you put antiseptic cream on this?”
“Yes, beloved. Got a first aid kit in the car. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Obstinate, headstrong girl,” he says, pressing a kiss to my chin.
“And what was all of that arguing with Matías about the job?”
“I was just trying to be helpful,” he says with the worst attempt at an innocent expression ever. “You interested in the position?”
“I think so. Creating content is fine so long as I can get my hands on the right information. As for the rest, we’ll see. And I can handle any negotiations myself, thank you.”
“Understood.”
I pull back from him, searching his face.
“What?”
“Did you put him up to this? Offering me the job?”
Lines appear on Beck’s forehead. “No. Absolutely not. Today is the first I’ve heard of the idea. I mean, I guess it’s convenient because he’d already met you, gets along with you, and knows that you’re trustworthy. But believe me when I say that he cares a lot about our little business venture. There’s no way he would have let you anywhere near website content unless he honestly thinks you’d be good at it.”
“Okay.” I relax further against him, my smile coming more easily. “How did things go at the hotel?”
“Good, actually. I think it has real potential. We’ll move on to the next stage and take a closer look at the situation, make sure everything’s solid. Work out how much it will cost to renovate and so on. But I’m hopeful.”
“That’s great.”
“About the drinks night after next,” he says, fingers tracing the ridges of my spine. Higher and higher he goes. It’s more than a little thrilling.
“The bra is sensible boring cotton. I wouldn’t bother if I was you.”
“Ooh, sensible boring cotton. Tell me more. What color is it?”
I laugh. “Black.”
“Fuck that’s hot.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, arms around his neck. “Now tell me about your drinks night, Beck.”
“Once a week a group of us get together, have a few, decompress, that sort of thing. If there was anyone you’d like to invite, they’d be very welcome.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It is.”
“You can do stuff with your friends without me, though.”
“I know, but I think you’d like it,” he says. “It’s not like it’s a dudes-only night or anything. And I’d like you to get to know my friends.”
I nod. “In that case, I’d love to.”
His fingers toy with the clasp on my bra. Dangerous territory to be sure. I’m like fifty-one percent sure he won’t undo the thing. But the forty-nine-percent chance of him taking this further has me breathing faster. Someone needs to write a list of exactly what going slow entails. Because there’s nothing slow about my pulse rate right now. The anticipation is killing me.
Which of course is when there’s a knock on the door. Because the universe hates me.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask.
“No. We could ignore it,” he says in a low voice. “Keep making out…”
“Your brother’s in the next room, remember?” I climb off his lap, heading for the door. And the person waiting is not particularly someone I need to see. At least, not again today. “Ethan.”
His gaze is almost apologetic. Almost. Also, he has a bag of takeout food in each hand. “Alice, hi. I picked up some tacos. Okay if I come in?”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t pick up tacos, your assistant did,” says Beck, up and knocking on the office door. “Henry, come and eat.”
“Same thing.” Ethan sets the bags on the kitchen bench. “Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I told her to order a bit of everything.”
I start fetching plates and utensils and so on. “It smells amazing.”
“I heard what you did down in the bar. The way you looked after Henry,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Yep.”
“Thank you.”
Beck just watches us with interest.
“You sure you don’t mind that I’m here?” asks Ethan.
“No,” says Beck, banging on the door some more. “You’re welcome anytime, brother.”
Henry slouches on out as per his usual. Only when he sees Ethan does he pause and frown. Guess they don’t spend much time together. Both of them seem suddenly even more on edge, shoulders stiff and expressions tight. This family is so damn complicated. My heart hurts for them. Mom would make everyone sit down and talk it out. I don’t know if that would work here, given how much bad history they have, but eating tacos together seems like a good start.
“Hungry?” I ask.
Henry’s gaze shifts to the bags of food and he’s in motion again. “Did you get Enrico’s?”
“Yeah,” says Ethan. “Carne asada still your favorite?”
A reluctant nod from Henry.
Beck just stands back, watching his brothers with wary eyes. When he catches me looking, he winks at me. “Why don’t we put a movie on?” he asks. “If you’ve got time, Ethan?”
“Sure. That’d be good.”
“Henry?” asks Beck. “Hang out with us for a while?”
The boy just shrugs, the smell of food luring him ever closer. “What movie?”
“Whatever you want,” I answer.
Henry grins.
“You’re going to regret that,” says Beck.
CHAPTER TEN
“This vehicle?” I ask. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Miss Lawrence. Mr. Elliot was most specific.”
Holy shit. I can’t keep the smile off my face. The valet hands me a key fob with a red bow attached. Another gift from Beck. At least, it better be just from Beck. Because if Matías had to chip in for this as a “company car” there’s every chance he’d go into conniptions.
It’s big, black, and boxy looking. Kind of like a tank crossed with an SUV with a dash of cool thrown in for good measure. I have no doubt it could climb any mountain and contain any shopping trip. The interior is all soft gray leather with plenty of room and all the latest gadgets. Top of the line, obviously. As if Beck would buy anything else.
“Mercedes Benz G-Class,” says Aaron, appearing behind me. “It’s basically indestructible and has a great safety rating. A good choice.”
“I’m not that bad a driver,” I joke.
The valet watching us hides a smile. “Good for someone with maybe limited experience in the snow, miss.”
“That does make sense. Thank you for bringing it around,” I say, handing him a tip. He made a fair enough comment about a Cali girl, assuming I’ll still be here come winter. I hope I will be. No one has mentioned what the deal is when you live in the hotel, but I’ll just keep tipping hardworking people until I’m told otherwise. Another reason to get a job and have some cash flowing in instead of out.
I wait until Aaron and I are alone before speaking. “Smith is keeping an eye on Henry. I don’t think there’ll be any problems, but feel free to call me if there is. Beck is in meetings for most of the day so I’m not sure about his availability. But you shouldn’t have to deal with their family crap.”
“Are you sure?” asks Aaron.
“Absolutely.�
�� My cell buzzes inside my black Birkin handbag. I rummage through the makeup, tissues, chocolate bar, book, and other highly necessary items.
“Excuse me,” I murmur to Aaron.
He nods. “I’ll leave you to it. Have a nice day, Alice.”
“You too.” The text is from Beck. My stomach does the swooping thing at the mere sight of his name. Even though I only saw him three hours ago. Even though I’ll see him again tonight.
Beck: Like it?
Me: It’s incredible. Thank you.
Beck: You can pay me back in kisses if you’re so inclined.
Me: You’re on.
Beck: Paperwork to transfer it into your name is on the passenger seat. Happy third birthday.
Me: ?
Beck: The clothes etc cover your first. The watch can be for your second. So this is for your third.
Me: I would have happily accepted the dick pic for all twenty-two, you know.
Beck: This is why I like you.
Beck: You’re going to do great at the luncheon. Try to relax and enjoy yourself.
Me: xx
Beck: Let me know how it goes.
Me: Will do. Good luck with your meetings.
I type the address into the GPS and get moving. Sure enough, the vehicle handles like a dream. A far cry from my old sedan back home. It even has the new-car smell, which kind of gets me high. The ethical implications of accepting all of these gifts is an ongoing concern. But on the other hand, who am I to tell a billionaire how to spend his money? Maybe I am being seduced by the lifestyle. Mostly, however, it’s just Beck.
Being uncertain as to what people wear to charity luncheons, I went with a Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress and the black knee-high boots. Doubt that I’ll ever make Instagram Fashionista status, but I feel good. Especially after using eye masks and half a tube of concealer. My shitty night’s sleep has two causes: The first being performance anxiety over today. The second being nightmares from Henry’s ridiculously gory horror film. “It’s by the guy who did The Lord of the Rings,” he’d said, getting my hopes up but pointedly not mentioning that the name of the film was literally Bad Taste. Last time Henry ever gets to pick. Ever.
