The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  “She’s not like that. You’re both worrying over nothing.” Beck slams his glass down on the table. “Now can you all please get your noses out of my fucking business?”

  I don’t know what to say. So I stand there like an idiot. They wanted me to sign a nondisclosure agreement? As if I would run off and sell my story to the local newspaper or something. Give me strength.

  Beck grimaces, raising his hand to me. “Alice…”

  “There you are!” Emma almost knocks me aside in her rush to get at the table. She reaches across, doing her best to smack Matías in the face by the look of things. Only he’s on the far side against the wall and she’s kind of short. Not that she’s giving up. Hell no. The woman basically winds up on her belly with her feet in the air, tipping over the bottles of scotch and several glasses, in her effort to beat the man. Never has haute couture been so badly treated. Ethan jumps to his feet as best he can when scotch pours into his lap and an exodus from the booth begins. But not fast enough.

  If people weren’t watching when Penny went off at Beck and then he banged his drink down on the table, they definitely are now. What a spectacle. When Emma’s hands prove insufficient to the task of killing her estranged husband, Emma proceeds to attack Matías with her purse. And I stand there stunned for a moment because holy shit.

  “You moron!” yells Emma.

  “What the fuck?” Matías roars in reply. Fair enough, really.

  “You got me pregnant!”

  Matías scrunches up his face in confusion. “I what?”

  Emma bursts into tears. “You got me pregnant!”

  Which breaks me out of my trance. There are benefits to being bigger. At least when it comes to hauling around small women. I grab her beneath the arms, dragging her back off the table as gently as possible. Before she breaks some glass and cuts herself or hurts herself in some other way. I can’t see her managing to fall off the table. But still…

  “Okay, enough,” I say. “C’mon, Emma.”

  Emma raises her purse, about to attack me, before she sees that it’s me and not the object of her violent affections. “Alice,” she sniffs, leaning into my bosom. Nice to know the little black dress and my awesome cleavage came in handy for something. Tears trail down Emma’s pale cheeks. “That asshole has ruined everything.”

  “He is an utter shithead; I don’t blame you for being furious.” I put my arms around her and give Matías an apologetic look. Because whatever calms down the crazy pregnant lady who was attempting to beat him to death with designer goods in public.

  Right now, the man’s eyes are as wide as can be.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” I say, shooting meaningful glances at Beck and Ethan.

  Beck at least gets with the program, patting Emma’s back. Next he motions to Ethan to take care of Matías. Aaron, Penny, and River do their best to block us from the view of the bar patrons and disperse those who’ve gathered to watch. Smith and the bar security people are soon here to help. They can also deal with the bastard at the next table who has his cell out and is filming everything. Jerk. Ethan hauls Matías out of the booth. He still seems to be in shock. Not helpful. Spilled scotch has left a wet patch on the front of Ethan’s no doubt expensive pants and one of the glasses is rolling around on the floor. What a night.

  “Bring the car around,” Beck orders Smith.

  Best damn idea I’ve ever heard.

  “Say something.”

  I sit with my legs curled up beneath me on the couch, the contracts in my lap. “I’m thinking.”

  “Then tell me what you’re thinking,” says Beck, pacing back and forth.

  With the fire on, the room is cozy, the night outside dark and silent. We’re on our own since once Emma had calmed down, she decided she’d rather go home. An eerily subdued Matías went with her. At least she’s not alone.

  “The NDA seems straightforward enough.” I take a deep breath, straighten the papers. “Only problem being me not discussing anything to do with you, our relationship, or your family with anyone is somewhat unreasonable. Given how you’re supposed to talk about your life with the people close to you and you’re a large part of my life right now.”

  “Right now?” He cocks his head. “Is that a threat?”

  Like hell he’s making this my fault. “Sit your ass down, Beck.”

  Frown in place, he sits on the couch opposite. His elbow rests on the arm of the couch, thumb and forefinger toying with his bottom lip. The boy is not happy. Neither am I. This paperwork is a wall between us.

  “Time to negotiate,” I say. “I’ll agree not to discuss your family with anyone.”

  He nods.

  “And to restrict any discussion about the two of us to an agreed upon list of friends and family who will be forewarned not to discuss it with anyone else.”

  “Forewarned, but not contractually obligated,” he says. “What are you going to tell them, exactly?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but I can do my best to keep things in general terms.” My head hurts. At least the buzz from the margaritas has worn off. The whole conversation would probably have been better to have tomorrow. Though I doubt either of us would have gotten any sleep with this hanging over us. “Beck, I don’t want this relationship to isolate me. I don’t want to agree to anything that runs the risk of me winding up resenting you one day.”

  An indentation appears between his brows.

  “You wanted someone who wasn’t after you for your money,” I say. “And yet the money is such a big part of everything now.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can I have the NDA, please?” He reaches out, rising to his feet. I hand over the papers. Turns out he’s off to find a pen. The one he returns with gleams like polished metal in the firelight. Platinum probably. If you’re going to sign your name to million-dollar deals, I guess you may as well do it in style. He sits back down, and sets the paperwork on the coffee table. Several lines of text are crossed out with a swift series of authoritative strokes before he writes something at the bottom of the contract. “See if that’s agreeable.”

  “All right.”

  I reach for the papers, but for a moment he holds on to them, almost glaring at them. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. “Let me give you some context. About sixteen years back, when he was in college, Ethan started dating this girl. A journalism student. It got serious fast. He was planning on asking her to marry him once they graduated, but it was all fake. Turns out she was writing a book about the family and using him as a means of research. Dad managed to get the book shut down, but that’s when the background reports and the NDAs became mandatory for everyone.”

  I take the papers. “No wonder he’s bitter. That’s horrible.”

  Beck sits there, looking for all the world like a lost little boy. Just for a moment. Then his jaw firms, his gaze hardens. “Ethan and Penny are right; I need to protect both my interests and my family here.”

  “From me.”

  He says nothing. There is no denial.

  And that stings. In fact, this whole fucking conversation is misery. What to do when your boyfriend turns into a complicated and costly legal dispute. Someone needs to write that how-to book. I swallow hard, my throat dry. “While I basically understand where you’re coming from, this is a lot to take in.”

  “What did you think of the cohabitation agreement?”

  “It seems pretty straightforward. It’s also very generous. A little too generous.” I rub at my temples, trying to alleviate the ache starting up inside my brain. “The allowance is a definite no. I’m going to find more work. Sitting at home waiting for you to have time for me in your busy schedule does not appeal.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that.”

  “There’s also the self-respect side of things to be considered.”

  He presses his lips together for a moment. “All right.”

  I hand over the second lot of
papers and he peruses them, searching for the relevant subsection. This too is crossed out before he signs the contract.

  I clear my throat. “As for the dissolution part—”

  “That stays. You’ve upended your life and moved to Denver for me. The settlement should we terminate the relationship is fair and based on how long we’re together. I won’t negotiate that. You and your future must be protected too.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Have a lawyer look it over. But I’m not open to changing that part of the contract, Alice.”

  “The amount is exorbitant.”

  “Some of my exes would disagree,” he says, tone cynical. “At any rate, it stays.”

  “If I sign that, are you going to be able to trust that I’m here for you and not the money?” I ask. “Because if all this does is plant doubts in your head than what is even the point of going any further?”

  He just stares at me.

  “Well?”

  He jerks his chin. “Think of it this way. The more generous the dissolution settlement, the more financial incentive you have to leave me. If you stay—”

  “When I stay.”

  “Then it will be obvious to everyone that you’re here for me, for us, and not for the money.”

  I’m not entirely sure that signing a contract saying I win a jackpot if I walk out really provides evidence of my feelings towards him, but apparently this is the best I’m going to get. “All right. What’s next? Monogamy is just obvious. I see that written notice of dissolution of the relationship includes text messaging. That’s acceptable, though I’d hope we’d have the maturity to sit down and talk. As for any gifts given during the—”

  “They’re yours. You keep them. The car, the watch, all of it.”

  I sigh.

  “There’s a lot about the money that just complicates the fuck out of my life. But buying you things isn’t one of them,” he says, face set. “It makes me happy. Okay?”

  “Okay. The STD tests and contraception shot makes sense,” I say. “I’m fine with doing those as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll have my assistant make the appointment tomorrow. Get it out of the way.”

  “Okay. I suppose it would be only fair to ask you to have the tests too.”

  “Of course.”

  Silence.

  “Why didn’t Smith give me these on the plane?” I ask.

  His eyes are dark in the low lighting. “Because I told him not to. You barely knew what you were walking into as it was. If he’d given you those, you’d have made them turn the jet around and take you straight back to LA.”

  My heels sit abandoned on the floor. A pair of black leather Jimmy Choo pumps with a pointed toe. So much for my plans of seduction and hopes for drunken fumbling. This night has well and truly gone to shit. “You’re probably right. So when were you going to give them to me?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to think about it.” He rises, his movements tense, shoulders set. “If you’re happy with the documents as they stand, then perhaps we can leave them for your lawyer to look over tomorrow. I’ve got some work to do. Be in the office if you need me.”

  Neither of us are romantic or touchy-feely. What not a surprise. This feels more like a legally binding agreement than a relationship right now. I kind of want to scream. Loudly.

  Instead, I read the new addition at the bottom of the NDA. The thick blue ink of Beck’s writing streaming across hard black print. He accepts my discretion in deciding who and what I talk about to a few to be agreed upon close family and friends. I can live with that. Beck has already added his signature to both documents. After reading over them both twice—a task easier said than done—I add my own signature. Having a lawyer look it over would be the smart thing to do. But in this moment, I’m so fucking done.

  After a long shower, I crawl into bed. Still no sign of the moody complicated billionaire. Not that I care (a total lie).

  It’s when I’m on the verge of sleep, my mind all floaty and finally relaxed (so hours later), that the mattress dips. His chest is against my back, nice and tight. It’s comforting.

  “You signed the contracts,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Mm.”

  “I didn’t know if you were going to.” He slips an arm beneath my neck, the other going over my middle. If anything, he sounds relieved. I know the feeling.

  “Me neither.”

  He sighs, rubbing his mouth against the side of my neck. Given his stubble, it tickles and scratches in even amounts. Being surrounded by him, by his skin and warmth and scent, makes everything infinitely better.

  I put my hand over his, holding on tight. “I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to stop being weird about the money and you’re going to stop keeping secrets. The ground rules have been set. If something is important then we need to communicate and figure things out together in the future.”

  “Agreed.” There’s a smile in his voice. Though it’s gone when he says, “What are you going to do about your apartment back in LA?”

  “I think it’s time to let it go. I’ll ask Mom and Dad if they wouldn’t mind packing it up for me. It’s not like there’s that much there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod and the tension of the night dissipates. All of the anger and confusion and everything. And thank God for that.

  “Question,” I say. “Why did you stop calling me wife after I arrived in Denver?”

  “Answer. I don’t know exactly.” He pauses for a moment. “Guess I got superstitious or something, worried I was jinxing us. I decided I should wait to call you that until you are actually that.”

  “I think we need to get this dating and living together thing down before we attempt getting married. Though that’s a pretty good answer,” I mumble, tiredness creeping into my voice.

  “It is?” He sounds surprised. “Phew. Glad I got something right tonight. Of course, I was tempted to keep going with it, just to see what shade of purple Grandma would turn.”

  I just grunt. It’s the most I can manage.

  “Hey, one last thing before you go to sleep,” he says, rubbing his face in my hair and sniffing at me like a pervert. An adorable one, but still. “I L you.”

  “You L me?”

  “It could be like. It could be love. I honestly can’t tell anymore.” His teeth bite softly into the tender flesh of my neck. Just enough to get my full and utter attention. As if his selection of a letter hadn’t done it already. “There’s just this whole mass of feelings inside me about you so I figured I’d put it out there. Full and frank disclosure and all that.”

  “Beck…”

  “‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’”

  Despite the tight hold he has on me, I wriggle around, turning over to face him. There’s going to come a day when I look at him and instead of the rush of giddy hormones I’ll see the face of my best friend. Of my longtime beloved. Maybe I wasn’t certain we’d get there an hour ago. But I am now. Also, in the meantime, the hormones sure are fun. “Nice use of Austen. I L you too.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “We’re starting over.”

  Beck leans against the refrigerator, clad in only a pair of loose gray sleep pants. His bare chest is a thing of beauty. He’s all hard body and perfect skin apart from a few small white scars. From climbing, probably. Or his childhood hobby of skateboarding. Visually the man is a work of art. Not that I don’t respect him for his mind and all. Though there’s no hiding suddenly hard nipples beneath my thin T-shirt.

  “Why are we starting over?” he asks, shoving a hand through his messy hair. “I didn’t think we’d been doing that badly. Is that bacon and eggs you’re cooking?”

  “Yes. Take a seat.” I wave the spatula in the vague direction of the stools on the other side of the kitchen island. “And we’re starting over, despite already having been cohabitating, because I’m no lon
ger being weird about the money and you’re no longer keeping secrets.”

  He takes a seat. “Right. Got it. I think.”

  “Here. Drink some coffee.” I hand him the cup I just made for myself before prepping the espresso machine for another. “Your brain will work better.”

  “Thanks.” His gaze stays glued to where his T-shirt, the one I’m currently wearing, brushes against the top of my thighs (thick thighs save lives). It’s like his hand is on automatic, lifting the cup of coffee and bringing it to his lips. “I know you’re not wearing a bra, beloved, but I’m also pretending you’re not wearing any panties.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  “I don’t know about happy,” he mumbles. “But it makes me hard.”

  Previous to this morning, he’s always been up before me. Off to the gym and work to build his empire. Even on the weekends. Guess he’s still catching up on the time he was away. But eventually he’s going need to slow down some. Still, it’s interesting to see him in those first few moments when he’s just woken. Beck all rumpled and sleepy with stubble on his cheeks is a delight.

  Well worth missing out on the extra sleep. Five stars. Would recommend.

  “How is our timeline going on taking it slow with the sexing?” I ask as the espresso machine hisses and spits. The scent of fresh coffee is perfection. “I noticed there was no explicit mention regarding our sex life in the contracts. Of course, the stipulated STD tests are suggestive that some activity will eventually take place. Because when it comes to saying ‘let’s fuck,’ nothing conveys it like sterile needles and blood tests. But even so, there was no mention of when this event shall commence or how often it must be partaken of thereafter.”

  “Would you have smothered me with a pillow in my sleep if such details had been covered in legalese?”