And Then He: A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel

by Kateri Collins

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Buzz. Buzz. The constant, annoying vibration of my phone on the nightstand wakes me. I glance over at the clock. It’s 3:00 am. My head still spins from the fourth margarita Jeb talked me into. Who in the world is calling me at 3:00 am?

  I reach for the phone. Drew’s name flashes across the screen. Ice reforms in my tequila soaked veins. I swallow back the distaste in my mouth, his comments from yesterday still raw in my gut. I stab at the answer key. “Yeah?”

  “Where the hell have you been?” He shouts so loud I pull the phone away. “You didn’t call me back. What the fuck?”

  Ah, that’s why he’s mad. I didn’t call him back. I always call him back.

  When all I hear is silence, I return the phone to my ear. “Are you done?”

  “What the hell’s a matter with you?”

  “What’s a matter with me? What’s the matter with you?” I jump off the bed. There’s not enough room in my diaphragm for all the yelling I have to do. “You forget our phone date again, and then you tell me we can move to New York and I can get, and I quote, ‘a real job.’ How dare you belittle my dream when all I’ve ever done is encourage you!”

  Fischer pushes his nose into my hip, but I’m in no mood for sympathy. “Everything’s so easy for you. You get whatever you want, whenever you want it, but what about me?” I choke back a sob.

  “Tiff, I…,” he says, but I cut him off. I can’t let him win. Not this time. “What about me all alone in a strange town with no friends and no money to go anywhere or do anything? I can’t count on you. I can’t count on my parents. I can’t count on anyone. I only have myself to rely on and it isn’t always easy.”

  I wipe my nose across my arm, leaving a trail of snot.

  “Tiff,” he says quietly, but I stop him.

  “I’m not finished yet. You never think about me and the sacrifices I make. The things I do for you. The things I’ve always done for you. You just don’t get it and you never will. Goodbye.” I gouge the screen with my fingernail to end the call.

  “AHHHHH!” I slam the heels of my palms into my face as I fall back on the bed. Fischer whimpers and shoves his muzzle into my cheek.

  “Not now, Fisch.”

  Drew and I have fought more in the last six months than we ever have in our entire seven-year relationship. I thought we were meant to be together forever, but I’m beginning to think that was a pipe dream he whispered to me in his parent’s basement long ago and now that he isn’t around all the time, it’s easier to see the truth: I’m not the person I was, and neither is he, and that’s the hardest truth of all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Knock. Knock. Knock. Silence. Knock. Knock. Knock. The steady triple beat reminds me of the Mariachi band from last night. I glance over at the clock. It’s 6:29 a.m., exactly one minute before my alarm is set to go off. My heart skips a beat. Maybe Drew drove home to surprise me. A small glimmer of hope grows within my chest, until I realize it can’t be him. He’s eight hours away and without a car. An early morning visit would also be completely out of character.

  But if it’s not Drew, who the hell’s knocking on my door this early morning? I don’t have to be to work until 7, and I doubt Walter would wake me for a waffle iron emergency.

  Knock. Knock. Knock. Clap. Clap. Clap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Fischer growls at the bedroom door.

  My phone whistles from the laundry pile. I dig through shorts, tank tops, and underwear for my phone.

  A text message flashes across the screen: Tiffani, it’s Jeb

  I stare at the phone.

  Next message: I’m knocking on your door

  Knock. Knock. Knock. Clap. Clap. Clap.

  Oh, Tiff-an-ee,” he sings from the hallway, “Wake uhhppp!”

  Jeb. Jeb at my apartment? My heart races into hyperdrive. “Ju, just a minute.” I scurry into the bathroom. Swollen, tear stained eyes. Ugly red blotches across my cheeks and forehead. Now is not the time for an early morning guest. I splash cold water across my face.

  When I check the mirror, I’m not so blotchy but still swollen. Unfortunately, there’s not enough time or makeup to remedy that disaster.

  Fischer’s nails click across the living room floor and stop in front of the door. A low, deep warning growl rumbles from his belly. I rush out after him and realize I’m wearing a camisole and a pair of boxers.

  “One more minute,” I shout as I grab one of Drew’s shirts from the bedroom closet. On my way back, I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror and it stops me cold.

  Drew thinks you’re sexy when you wear his shirts. You can’t wear one of Drew’s shirts to see Jeb.

  My stomach wrenches in guilt.

  Who gives a shit what Drew says? You look hot.

  But in my heart of hearts, I know what’s the right thing to do. I tiptoe over to the door. “Jeb, it’s really not a good time. I’ll stop by the shop later.”

  “Is everything okay? You sound upset.”

  How does he know? How does he always know?

  I wipe my nose. I wish Drew knew. Tears stream down my cheeks.

  “Tiffani,” he says, “did you and Drew have another fight?”

  Another fight. There never used to be any fights.

  “Tiffani, just let me in.”

  “It’s really not a good time,” I whisper, afraid my voice will betray me.

  “Tiffani, I don’t care what you look like. We’re friends. Let me in, and we can talk about it. Besides, I have a special treat for you.”

  Special treat certainly piques my interest.

  “A gooey, carb loaded white enriched flour treasure with gobs of white icing on top just like the ones from Camelot. I also have a french vanilla coffee with extra sugar.”

  My mouth waters. Saturday mornings when Drew left for practice, I’d hit the gym for two hours then treat myself to the two-dollar, plate sized cinnamon bun, or as I called it, Heaven on a platter.

  I reach for the doorknob, and Fischer snarls and slams against the door. “Fischer, calm down,” I order him. He whines at me but starts right back up again. “Jeb, hold on a second.”

  I grab Fischer’s collar but he refuses to budge. “Come on,” I grunt. I’m in no mood to fight with my eighty-five-pound bruiser. His nails scratch across the wood floor as I drag him into the bedroom. He shakes his head back and forth trying to jerk out of his collar. After about five minutes of struggling, I finally get him in the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  His claws peek out of the bottom as he tries to dig his way out. He shifts between whimpering to growling.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins. After my fight with Fischer, I’m no longer crying, but my nerves are shot. Guilt and desire and loneliness have left me tired and unsure of myself. I drag my fingers through the train wreck on top of my head in hopes of wrangling any stray tendrils into submission.

  Tiffani Beth, don’t open that door!

  I hesitate as I grip the cold, hard doorknob.

  Bitch, he’s got sugar!

  “Open the door Tiffani,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

  I swing the door open, but keep my eyes lowered.

  He dips a white grease spotted paper bag under my nose. The sweet scent of fresh baked goods wafts into the air. “Guess what’s in here?”

  My stomach grumbles in reply, but I feel too shy and awkward to acknowledge his presence.

  His never-ending tattoo wrist reaches under my chin. He lifts my head, but I refuse to meet his gaze. My eyes shift all around the room.

  “Tiffani,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

  My eyes rise to meet his amber ones. His gold and green flecks orbit in a steady even rhythm. We stare at each other. Jeb in my apartment. Tension builds between us. Two magnets pulling in the same direction with nothing but a crazy barking dog to stop us.

  He removes his hand from my chin. “I don’t think your dog likes me very much.”

  I furrow my brow in apology, not trus
ting myself to speak.

  “But that’s okay,” his lips pull into a half smile. “I didn’t come for Fischer.”

  He reaches up and pushes a long brown curl behind my ear. He doesn’t touch a single part of my earlobe, but electricity shoots through my body. I hold back a sigh. He walks over to the small kitchenette table and makes himself at home. “Since you normally deliver me breakfast, I figured I’d return the favor.”

  “It’s my job to serve you breakfast. I don’t have a choice.”

  He looks at me. “Tiffani, there’s always a choice.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “We have just enough time to eat before you have to get changed and go to work, because there’s no way I’m letting you out of this apartment dressed like that.”

  I glance down at myself. Half the buttons on my shirt are undone, exposing the hot pink camisole and an unimpressive bust line. With shaky fingers, I fasten the buttons, keeping my eyes lowered so I can neither confirm nor deny he’s watching me.

  Things are getting complicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I half drag, half pull Cassie out of my bathroom. “Come on,” I cry, “we’re going to be late for the show.”

  Cassie knows I’m taking her to the new martini bar and there’s a band. She has no idea Jeb is the lead singer. She has no idea Jeb now lives in Wellsboro. I need a hell of a lot more alcohol than half a bottle of wine in my system before I cross that bridge.

  “Tiff, slow down,” she says, stopping in front of the hallway mirror. She purses her lips a few times. “I’d hate to give interested parties the wrong impression.”

  Her boobs bulge out of her bra like it’s two sizes too small—which it probably is. “And what impression might that be?”

  “That I’m a prude,” she says. “And by the way, you’re calves look freakin’ amazing in those heels.”

  I dance around in the black and white zebra print stilettos she bought for me. “With all the miles I run, they ought to, but if I had more of a chest, you wouldn’t list my calves as my best attribute.” I twirl around a few more times in the mirror. The wine relaxed me enough for me to appreciate my appearance. “I still can’t believe you talked me into wearing this dress. I look like a street walker.”

  Cassie steps back and takes a hard, calculating look at me. I swallow. I know what’s coming and it doesn’t end well. She grabs the bottom of my dress and yanks it down to an invisible height only she knows. When she’s satisfied, she smoothes out her handiwork and stands back up. Her mischievous dimple pops out. “That’s better.”

  I stare down at my chest, and then at her. “Better? My nipples almost pop out.”

  “Yes, but at least you’re not showing as much thigh,” she laughs on her way out the door.

  I bring my hands to the straps. I look in the mirror. I mean really look at myself. My cheeks are flushed, giving them a healthy glow. I have to admit my exposed neckline does look sexy. I adjust the white scarf over my shoulders to cover a little of my chest.

  “Tiffani, come on already!”

  Jeb sings about waiting for me as he plucks on the banjo. The folksy bluegrass music doesn’t match the monochromatic interior of the martini bar, but somehow Jeb makes it work. Somehow, he always makes it work.

  Cassie knocks into me as she jumps down off her seat. “I’ll get us another round of drinks, because I plan to get drunk and dance my ass off, but I can’t dance to this shit, at least not sober.”

  “Sober? The bottle, the shots, the drinks… I am far from sober,” I giggle.

  “Trust me. You need another drink,” she says, “and I need to flirt with the bartender.” She grabs her silver clutch and stumbles to the bar. I watch her blue sequin dress disappear through the crowd before I turn back to the stage.

  A lone spotlight silhouettes Jeb. A few loose golden brown curls frame his face. Chiseled cheek bones and strong jawline speak to Ancient Greece and the God-given attributes of Perseus, himself, but I’m a far cry from Andromeda. Am I delusional to think we could actually have a relationship? Could I really leave Drew for someone I’ve just met, a stranger really? But I know Jeb. He’s like a book I’ve already read and keep going back to.

  As he plucks the final cord, he winks at me. My heart skips a beat, and I wonder if he really will wait for me. Will he wait for me to figure out if I’m ready to leave everything familiar and safe for the exotic and unknown?

  He replaces his banjo for a guitar and starts strumming “Hey There Delilah” by the Plain White T’s.

  I remember the day Drew and I moved to Wellsboro. We left our apartment at the Rock with all our belongings packed into his old Hyundai. It was the third hour of the four hour drive along a long, lonely stretch of Interstate 80. The song came on the radio and I sang along until Drew leaned over and changed the station, even though he knew, he knew, it was one of my favorite songs. When I mentioned it, he didn’t apologize. He just said, “I can’t believe you like that crap.”

  But I do, I really do.

  Jeb’s eyes capture mine. He asks me to close them and picture the two of us together even if it’s only through the words to the song. He makes me wonder what my life might be like if Drew and I weren’t together. Would I still be in Wellsboro or would I be off exploring the world, experiencing my own adventures? Would I take a chance on a life I’ve always dreamed about but never imagined as my own?

  He takes my breath away with every chord he strums, with every lyric he sings. Happiness. Sadness. Guilt. Pleasure. I feel them all. I am a feather falling with a giant boulder tethered to it.

  The words he sings drip truth and conviction. He communicates more in a few chords than a lifetime of conversations with Drew. He puts his hand to his heart and gives it to me. He tells me we belong together. I’m beginning to believe him.

  He winks at me before he sings the next line—a plea to get rid of the boyfriend and try something new. I lift my eyebrow and smirk. Our very private conversation in a very public space makes me think everything will be all right.

  His words. His song. His voice in my head. I bite my lip and turn away. Where the hell’s Cassie?

  I jump off the high back bar stool, just as she hands me a glass of wine. Red droplets fly through the air in slow motion. “Oh shit!” She yells as merlot splashes all over my white scarf.

  I grab a wad of napkins and blot, but it’s no use—the scarf’s beyond saving. I pull it off my neck and drape it across my chair. Cassie plops down next me. “I didn’t like that thing anyway, and look on the bright side, you get to show off your dress.”

  Only Cassie can wreck my favorite scarf and get away with it. She pushes a shot over to me. “To friendship!”

  I raise mine to meet her. “To friendship.”

  As I return the empty shot glass to the table, the always beginning, never ending black mark grazes my hand. My insides, already warm from wine and alcohol and secret communications, tighten at the sight of those incredibly nimble fingers. Then, like a movie in slow motion, I follow the tip of his pointer finger frame by frame to his sexy tattoo to his bulging muscular forearm to the even more muscular bicep to his wicked full lips.

  “Are we celebrating an event I don’t know about?”

  His gravelly voice stirs me. I moan so only he can hear. He turns to me and raises an eyebrow. I lick my lips, the alcohol loosening my inhibitions far more than they should with him so near. Margaritas are safer.

  Cassie clears her throat. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Interrupting our private moment.

  I smile at him, before I turn to my friend. “Cassie, you remember Jeb from the reunion?”

  Her eyes bulge from their sockets. Cassie never did languish in subtle. “Tiffani hasn’t mentioned one word about you. I didn’t realize you would be here tonight.”

  He shifts toward me, my personal space collapsing with each breath. I catch a hint of cedar and virile man. The heady combination is far more intoxicating than all the alcohol in the plac
e. “You didn’t notice me on stage?”

  She takes a huge sip of her Malibu Bay Breeze, more of a slurp actually. When she’s done, she slams her glass on the table. His lips curl down and his shoulders tighten. “Naw,” she says, “I hate that hippie peace love shit. If you really want to impress me, play something I can dance my fucking ass off to.”

  I glare at her, painfully aware Jeb shifted closer. My eyes skirt his, as his heat blankets my bare chest and tension radiates between us. The scarf provided a layer of defense against all things hot and horny.

  “Would you like me to speed it up a bit?” He murmurs in my ear, sending tingles down my neck and shockwaves to my hormones.

  I swallow hard. I’ve never been asked what I’ve wanted my entire life. I’m not sure how to answer. Cassie bounces up and down, clapping her hands. “YES, yes, she does.”

  He takes my hand. His thumb and his pointer finger grazing where Drew’s promise ring used to me. He lifts it to his mouth and kisses it. His lips feel seductive and decisive and wonderful on my skin. I imagine them taking possession of me. “Your wish is my command.”

  The ability to breathe vanishes. Thinking is out of the question.

  He winks at me and disappears into the crowd. I stare after him already feeling the void of his absence. A hunger grows within me.

  Cassie snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Tiffani! Earth to Tiffani!”

  My eyes refocus on her. “We need to have a serious conversation in the morning, but for now, finish your drink!”

  We click glasses for the sake of friendship and secret bonds. The wonderful magic potion seeps into my veins, and the burdens I’ve carried for days, months, years disappear.

  Jeb pulls the microphone close to his lips. I still feel the imprint of them on my hand. A shudder runs through me. “A friend of mine likes it hard and fast.”