Undercover Lover (BWWM Romance Book 1)

by Theresa McGhee

  “Yeah. Right into the Chanel billboard on 7th and Broadway. Then she passed out.”

  “Yeah, good times.”

  “You drove her home, got her in bed without anyone seeing you,” recalled Smith, pushing himself up to rest against the headboard. “Had to pay off the butler so he didn’t say anything.”

  Dean nods and smiles “Remember how Milan was waiting outside, almost having a code brown moment in his pants?”

  Smith gave him a pinched look. “Milan Charles? He was a piece of work.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dude. Milan Charles.” Smith shook his head and gave Dean a sympathetic grin.

  “Shit, I don’t think I ever saw your dad as mad as he was that night.”

  Dean doffed his jacket and sat on the floor, back falling to rest against the side of the opposite bed. “No shit, huh?”

  A yawn cracked open the bottom of Smith’s face and his hand came up to stifle it.

  “Why are we talking about this?”

  “You know Dad kicked me out that night?”

  And then Smith was altogether awake. “What?”

  “Yeah. Kicked me out of the house. Told me to pack my stuff, get out, don’t come back.” Dean scratched a hand absently across his belly.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’d you do? You still came to school the next day.”

  Dean’s eyes drop to his knees. “Mom ensconced me in the pool house. I stayed in there for six weeks.”

  “What?”

  “Mom used to sneak me meals. I used the employee gate to get in and out; go to school; pretending everything was fine. I don’t know where my dad thought I was.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  Smith’s brows knit together. “How come you never told me this?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not exactly a time I’m proud of. The point is, I don’t know how I would have managed without my mom.”

  “You trying to say she wasn’t always an ogre?” Smith asked with a smirk.

  “She fed me and told me that my dad was just mad because he was scared. That I shouldn’t hold it against him, that he would come around.” Dean pulled in his legs to sit Indian-style. “I always wondered if he even knew where I was or looked for me. I guess my mom fed him some line about where I was.”

  Smith shook his head in disbelief. “Shit, Dean. What the hell?”

  “Yeah, I know. It was crazy.” Dean smiled self-consciously, face amazed at the memory still.

  “And you were just coming to school; acting like everything was normal…and that was the time Samantha was giving Meaghan shit right? God, no wonder you didn’t have the time for all that.”

  Dean brushed his hand over the top of his head. “I don’t think I ever hated my dad more than I did that night. He called me a complete fuck-up.”

  “Dean, man. He didn’t mean it.”

  “No, he did. He meant it right then. Maybe not later, but, I mean-- I know he regretted it later. That he said it ‘cause he was pissed and scared; worried about bringing the wrong kind of attention to the family. I get that, but…He meant it when he said it.”

  “What’s bringing this on, man?”

  Dean’s gaze was far away, scrolling back through a decade. “When he did that to me? Dude…I thought I was gonna be free. Man, it felt like freedom for that first week; no rules to follow, no disapproving eyes following me, breathing down my neck, I was disowned; there were no expectations of me for that time. I mean I knew it wasn’t forever but while it lasted... It was like paradise.”

  “Dreamland for every silver-spooned entitled, privileged, seventeen-year-old American male.”

  “Yeah. And then I realized at some point, I’d have to face Dad. And it all went up in a tower of flame.”

  “Reality’s a bitch,” said Smith, but it was more commiseration than chiding.

  “Damn straight. Man, I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared of seeing my dad again as I was scared then; before or since.”

  “Jeffery Wesson had his scary moments.”

  Dean’s hand scrubs across his chin. “More than one.”

  “So you came back? Or he found you?”

  “Mom talked him around. Arranged for a meeting. I promised to cut all ties with Milan and any other druggie type people. Get on the straight and narrow. He apologized for throwing me out of my home. He didn’t shout at me or anything-“

  “He didn’t have to.”

  “Man, one look from him…”

  “Yeah,” said Smith, from what seems like far away. “Yeah, I know that look.”

  “Yeah.”

  Dean fell silent, and a few seconds passed.

  “So, then what happened?”

  His hands ran up and down his thighs, creating heat to guard against the chill of the memory. “It was ugly for a while. I had to attend AA sessions, he had me drug tested every three months for a year. The irony was, it wasn’t even my idea—“ Dean laughed bitterly, “It was all Samantha.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah; I mean I thought I was being a good boyfriend. You know how fragile she can be sometimes; so I protected her. And I got punished for it. The worst part is, I had to act like everything was normal and great when I was in school. But home was hell.”

  “Were you stoned, too?”

  “Not after that, I wasn’t.”

  Smith’s quick laugh was sharp and full of wonder. “So you got your shit together and no one knew…not even me.”

  “Fuckin’-A-right, I did. Cut Milan out; not that that was hard. Dad tracked his father down and threatened him; told him he’d have his son thrown in jail if he didn’t rein him in forthwith. It was the most son of a bitch I’ve ever seen my dad be.”

  “Damn,” Smith said, like a whistle.

  “The thing is; my mother was my saving grace during that time. She supported me; she fed me, had a roof over my head…without her I’d have been out in the cold in a potentially embarrassing situation at the least. We were as close as a mother and son could be.”

  “Dude. She was your mother. Of course she took care of you.”

  “I thought that we were unbreakable. That nothing and no one could come between us—“ Dean’s voice choked off with anger, bitterness and sadness.

  “Until this? Until Meaghan.”

  “Dude. You have no idea. I had no idea. She was my rock; my support. And now she’s tried to sabotage everything I hold dear. She didn’t even give Meaghan a chance. Just took one look and thought ‘not good enough’, and so she’s doing everything she can to tear us apart. And it looks like she succeeded. I don’t know who I’m more mad at; Mother, or Meaghan.”

  Smith reached for the bottled water on the night stand.

  Dean grabbed it for him before he could strain.

  “Thanks.” Smith screwed off the cap, took a long draw off the water. “So, I don’t remember you spazzing out or acting any different. I gotta say, you had us all fooled.”

  Dean drew his legs up to his chest, arms looping around knees and ankles crossed. “I might have been a stupid reckless teenager but there was a line. I knew not to cross it. You don’t go airing your family business in public. You just don’t. It wasn’t even a rule. It was a reflex. It’s what makes this thing so hard. That my mother would deliberately sell the tiara story to the tabloids. She went against rule number one. Without even blinking. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. I don’t know what message I’m supposed to get.”

  Smith shook his head in commiseration.

  “The thing is…dad, after rehab and everything…he took me aside; called me into his study—“ Dean’s voice strained as his throat pulled and tightened around the words. “He said, ‘Please, don’t ever do that again. Please, don’t ever make me wonder if you’re safe or not. You’re my son, Dean.’ And then, he…he leaned over and he grabbed me. Pulled me so close to him, and held me so tight, I think he was going to crush
me. You’re my son, Dean. That was my punishment.”

  Something deep inside of Dean hitched. It kicked his shoulders up around his ears.“God, Smith. What the hell happened to us?”

  Smith forced himself forward, turning, and his long legs tumbling over the side of the bed.

  “You know I still talk to Milan?”

  “Dean…”

  “You know what he’s doin’? He lives in Boston, married to some socialite he hates, has three kids, works for some guy doing God knows what; something in finance. Hasn’t talked to his old man in eight years.”

  “Dean.”

  “Usually calls me in the morning, when he’s sittin’ in traffic getting high before his first appointment of the day.” He barked out a laugh and wiped his face across his knees, snot and tears darkening the denim in a line. “That would have been me, you know? Married to Samantha, miserable out of my mind but toeing the line still because…just because.”

  “Come on, man. You never would have settled for—“

  “Dad and his fucking obsession with legacy, you know? And mom! Christ. How many times did I just want to go? Just take off and leave it…leave everything behind…”

  Smith leaned farther forward, resting a hand on Dean’s knee. “Dean…”

  “Every time we talk. Milan brings it back to those times. He said high school was the best time of his life. But they were the worst of mine. Worrying about whether or not I was living up to my father’s standards. Knowing I’d disappointed him. Thinking he hated me. Thinking I probably cost him a crucial bit of trust that I would never get back…needing him but not knowing why or how to communicate that…being angry and resentful all the time…”

  Smith slid off the mattress, falling in beside him, his long arms circling and pulling Dean close.

  He hugged back; clung desperately to his friend, feeling like Smith was the only thing he had left.

  "I don’t know how I’m supposed to proceed," Dean whispered.

  “Well…I don’t think the alcohol is really helping,” his friend said.

  Dean huffed a laugh, “No. I don’t think it is either. I’m thinking harder drugs.”

  “Oh ha ha.”

  “I need to get her back Smith,” Dean said leaning away.

  “I know you do; and I wish I had answers for you.”

  Dean buried his head in his hands, shaking it with despair.

  *****

  Poppy Wesson got tired of waiting for Dean to get in touch. He had been distant and distracted during the board meeting; completely ignoring her like she wasn’t even there. He blamed her for his break up. She could see that. She just didn’t know how he’d arrived at the conclusion that she was responsible for it. She had been so careful to stay in the background.

  Her car stopped in front of his apartment and she alighted, going to knock on imperiously at the door. The cleaning lady let her in and she climbed the stairs wondering how Dean could stand to live in this cramped space.

  Dean was sprawled on the couch in the living room, eyes vacantly staring at the TV screen as if it held the secrets to his life. He looked unwashed, lips dry and eyes shadowed like he hadn’t so much as shifted from the couch in days; let alone ate or slept.

  “Dean,” she said with a sigh. He ignored her, eyes staying on the screen. Poppy stepped forward and Dean’s eyes found hers. He was glaring.

  “What do you want Poppy?” he asked. His mother started in shock. Dean did not call her by her given name. Ever.

  “You can’t go on like this Dean.”

  “Oh, I can’t? Why not?” he asked nastily.

  Poppy was at a loss for words. She was never at a loss but she had also never dealt with this version of Dean. So…hostile; distant; hateful.

  “Why do you blame me for the demise of your relationship? I had nothing to do with-“ she tried.

  “Save it, mother. I ain’t buying what you’re selling.” He snapped.

  Poppy actually jumped.

  “You have lost your mind,” she said coldly.

  Dean snorted, “I wish.”

  *****

  Meaghan was hunched down on the chair, head buried in a book; she’d done Mr. Henley’s books and now she was catching up on the Hunger Games; Mocking Jay. She wanted to finish before the movie came out. Bain was reading with her and so was Danny. She and Bain had exchanged smiles when Danny had offered to join their little book club. It was sweet of him to want to help distract her by reading the Hunger Games trilogy with them. They’d both been surprised and abashed at his insights though. It made them realize how much they had him stereotyped as pretty but dumb. Clearly, there was a lot more to Danny than met the eye. Meaghan smiled as she remembered their session just last evening when Danny had delivered a passionate commentary on the similarities between Katniss Everdean and Harry Potter. Meaghan was still intrigued.

  It was definitely something better to think about than her perpetual misery. The fact that she was this miserable over Dean Wesson was embarrassing in some ways. Bain had restrained himself from the ‘I told you so’s’ Meaghan was pretty sure were at the tip of his tongue and her mother had maintained a tight lipped solidarity with her decision. It made her uncomfortable though and she’d been escaping here to Mr. Henley’s garage; where her memories were still good and Dean did not permeate everything. She refrained vigorously from thinking about him waiting for her in the very chair she was sitting in; for no other reason than he wanted to see her.

  “Did I make a mistake?” she whispered into her book.

  But then she remembered how peaceful life was without Dean. No unpleasantness, no one trying to frame her for whatever…Just work and friends and home…she squashed down the thought of something missing from that equation. Dean had told Bain who had told her that Judy was indeed running some kind of con game. They didn’t have proof but the tiara had been ‘found’ by one of the ushers whose previous job was in a boutique that Judy was manager of at the time. It was all very coincidental and Judy had up and moved to LA all of a sudden; a windfall she’d obtained from an unspecified source had apparently given her the impetus. That and the fact that Crowley was trying to prove that she deliberately sold her story to the tabloids.

  Meaghan was over it. She just wanted it to be behind her. She was almost through with her internship and if nothing else happened, she might get a permanent job at Mt. Sinai, continue to work at the Brooklyn clinic and help some people.

  There were footsteps coming up the stairs. They were slow, reluctant, someone in heels. Meaghan was guessing it wasn’t Mr. Henley. She looked up, waiting. Perhaps Mr. Henley finally had a lady friend.

  The door opened and Poppy Wesson stood in the doorway, body ramrod straight; with a stiff upper lip. She nodded her head as if it pained her to do so.

  “Meaghan,” she said.

  “What are you doing here?” Meaghan asked, feeling her heartbeat jack hammering in her chest.

  “I went to your trailer house and your mother told me I’d find you here.”

  “What do you want?”

  Poppy sighed, looking around the room with trepidation, “May I sit?”

  Meaghan shrugged, “Sure.”

  Poppy moved into the room, taking the one other chair on the other side of the table. She took a deep breath and looked up at Meaghan, meeting her eyes square on.

  “I have come to apologize,” she said accent thickening to the mid western drawl that was her origins. It tended to do that in moments of extreme stress.

  “Excuse me?” Meaghan said sitting up straight. Poppy’s face was red.

  “I was wrong about you. I see that now. I have come to apologize,” she said stiffly.

  Meaghan stared at Poppy, wondering if someone had put ‘shrooms in her sandwich and this was some wild acid trip she was on. First of all, Poppy Wesson condescending to come to Brooklyn? And then climbing Mr. Henley’s rickety stairs to see her? To apologize? It had to be an acid trip. There was no way this was real.

  “
Dean needs you,” the hallucination continued. “You cannot punish him for something I did.”

  The hallucination was admitting to trying to sabotage her and Dean? This was definitely not happening. No fucking way.

  “Look. I don’t know which game you’re playing now, but in case you were unaware; you won. So leave me alone why don’t you?” Meaghan said.

  Poppy’s face fell, “My son won’t talk to me. Hell, he won’t even look at me. I think if anyone ‘won’ here, it's you.” She said bitterly.

  Meaghan stared, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Are you?” Poppy asked angrily.

  “Yes. I really am. I left so as to stop these rifts between you and him. I was tired of fighting. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

  It was Poppy’s turn to stare, “You…mean it?”

  “Of course I do. I never wanted all this drama.”

  “I did not want any drama either. It's not good for business,” Poppy replied.

  Meaghan spread out her arms, “Yet, here we are.”

  “But that is beside the point right now. My son is wasting away in front of me. He doesn’t seem to have any will to go on with you out of his life.”

  Meaghan smiled, “That’s a bit melodramatic don’t you think?”

  Poppy inclined her head to the side, “I wish I was being melodramatic. It's nothing less than the truth.”

  Meaghan narrowed her eyes, looking for the lie in Poppy’s words. Nothing rang false and she became concerned.

  “I need to see him,” she said.

  Poppy nodded, “Yes. My car is waiting. We’ll take you to him.”

  Meaghan’s brow rose, “It’s a bit late right now.”

  Poppy stood, “Exactly. It is a bit late. No need to delay any longer.”

  Meaghan watched her for a bit and then stood up. “I’ll get my coat,” she said moving out from behind the desk and heading for the door. She ran to her mother’s, picked up a heavy coat and informed her that she was going off with the devil incarnate and she’d call her in the morning.

  “Be careful Megs,” her mother said with concern. Meaghan smiled.

  “I will,” she said.

  Two minutes later she was in Poppy Wesson’s Bentley, speeding out of Brooklyn and heading to Manhattan.