Beck ran down the list. He hadn’t lied. Most were petty stunts, annoyances Beck could flick away like he would a gnat. Some were ridiculous, proof Camille’s outlook on the world belonged in the dark ages.
“I can’t believe she had her minions spread rumors about your sexuality. Who would care if you were gay?”
“You’d be surprised.” Beck shrugged. “In a way, your former mother-in-law did me a favor. The homophobes rose to the top pretty fast. I skimmed the crap off and moved on.”
Sawyer appreciated Beck’s attitude. However, he lost business because of her; exactly the reason she should have ended their friendship before it began. Just the idea of her life without Beck made her stomach clench. Damn Camille’s greedy black heart to hell.
“I thought she would give up after we married.”
“She stopped,” Beck said. “Almost immediately. The woman isn’t dumb. You’ll inherit in another nine months, but only if we stay together. Time for the waiting game. Once the money’s yours, she’ll undoubtedly start the big push to break us up.”
“In other words, we’ll never be finished with her.” Just the thought exhausted her.
“She can’t hurt us.”
Sawyer knew Beck was right. Unless… She suddenly remembered something in David’s will. A detail she’d pushed to the back of her mind because, like every other part, she couldn’t imagine a time when it would be relevant.
Now that she and Beck were married, she had to consider the ramifications, no matter how horrible.
“Hey.” Beck took her hand. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. At least, she would be.
Sawyer wasn’t about to share her thoughts with Beck. She had a plan and didn’t want him to stop her. She’d tell him everything—after the fact.
“You want to set up a charitable foundation in David’s name. Don’t wait.” Beck kissed her palm. “The time will go fast. Once you sign over the money, Camille will fade into a distant memory.”
“I began the process the day after we were married.”
“Of course, you did,” Beck chuckled. “Always two steps ahead. Which is a very sexy trait.”
“Think so?” Sawyer asked.
“Brainpower starts my motor running every time.”
“Okay.” Tilly tossed his apron on the counter. “I’m off to the grocery store. If you decided to have sex on my spotless counters, don’t tell me. And for God’s sake, clean up after yourselves.”
“Want to fool around on the granite-topped island,” Beck teased after Tilly slammed the back door.
“Are you crazy?” Sawyer asked, horrified at the thought. “After the way Tilly reacted? Not on your life.”
“Fair enough.” Beck swooped her into his arms. “Pick a room. One of the perks of owning a huge house is the choices are many and varied.”
“I don’t have time.”
Fooling around with Beck was tempting. Too tempting. But if she wanted to implement her plan today, she needed to get started immediately.
“Sure, you do.” He nibbled on her neck. “Give me five minutes.”
“Five? I don’t think so.”
“A challenge to my sexual prowess has been issued and accepted. Which room?”
Lord, he was sweet. And brave. And sexy. Sawyer wanted to make certain he stayed all those things, today and for many, many years to come. She looked at her watch. A short detour wouldn’t make a difference to her schedule.
“The library,” she declared.
“Love among the classics. Nice choice.” Beck exited the kitchen and took a hard right. “Prepare to be amazed.”
Five minutes later, Sawyer was amazed and swore to never doubt Beck again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
♫~♫~♫
SAWYER WAITED UNTIL Beck left for work before running to her room. On the way, she used her phone to make a reservation on the next flight from Las Vegas to Los Angeles and arrange for a car service to pick her up.
Hopefully, she would complete her impromptu trip and return before sunset. If not, Talia would cover for her with a text or two.
Beck wasn’t a fool and between his days on the road and the people he dealt with in the construction industry, he had a highly developed bullshit meter. He wouldn’t give her a lot of wiggle room before he came looking, but by then, Sawyer wouldn’t care. Any little white lie she told was to keep Beck safe. To accomplish her goal, she would gladly handle the fallout.
Standing in front of her closet, the rebellious, thumb her nose at convention part of Sawyer was tempted not to change her clothes. Blue jeans and a t-shirt with a Hale’s Nursery logo on the front seemed a good way to say, I’m proud of who I am and how I live my life.
Or, to be more succinct? Fuck you, Camille.
Sawyer shook off the temptation. Today wasn’t about her. To make her point, she needed to look like she belonged in the world she once inhabited as Mrs. David Hale.
Of course, she never belonged. However, Sawyer remembered how to dress the part. Tucked away in the back of the closet was the last physical remnant of the life she ran from but could never quite shake. She held onto the Chanel suit as a reminder of who and what she didn’t want to be
As she zipped up the skirt, Sawyer wasn’t surprised to find the fit a bit tight. A gift from her mother-in-law, Camille deliberately purchased the garment two sizes too small. An incentive to lose a few pounds. After all, a woman could never be too rich or too thin.
Sawyer always wondered why only half of the ridiculous saying applied to men. Naturally, Camille had an equally frustrating answer. Because money turns any fat toad into a handsome prince and to attract her prince, women need to be thin.
The philosophy was crazy and outdated, but her mother-in-law was a true believer.
Determined to keep the peace for David’s sake, Sawyer didn’t argue. She followed Camille’s personally prescribed meal plan, which contained a minimum of flavor and fewer calories. After, she would excuse herself from the table, retire to her room, and proceed to gorge herself on the food stashed away from disapproving eyes.
Camille caught on fast, and the game was on.
No part of Sawyer’s room was off limits to the servants, who under strict orders, became the junk food patrol. Under her bed, on the top shelf of the closet. Even the cubbyhole under the loose floorboard she discovered near the door to her private bathroom.
Each day, Sawyer would use a different hiding place, and the servants would seek. Meanwhile, she stowed the real sugary, fat-laced booty in a place Camille would never think to look—inside the trunk of a seldom-used Cadillac which was stored in the Hale’s massive five-car garage.
As a result, instead of slimming down, Sawyer gained weight. By the time she ran for New York, she carried an extra twenty-five pounds.
Once on her own, without the pressure to be perfect, she found a healthy balance where she ate what she wanted, whenever she wanted. Food became a pleasure again, not a weapon in a war of wills.
Sawyer refused to look at a scale and exercised for her health, not so she could pour herself into a designer size zero. Without someone’s brittle reminder of what society expected of her, she embraced her curves and adopted the philosophy that carbs were her friend, not a dreaded enemy.
Moving to the mirror, Sawyer gave herself and the skirt a once-over. The fit was good, flattering. Armed with a bit of perspective, she realized Chanel was considered classic for a reason. The pale yellow complemented her skin tone and the slim skirt—once so tight she couldn’t get it over her hips—presented the illusion of extra inches to her five-foot-five-inch frame.
Yes, to the skirt. The matching jacket was another matter. Sawyer was blessed with nice, round, above-average-sized breasts, a fact Camille chose to ignore when picking out her daughter-in-law's wardrobe.
“Lose thirty pounds, and everything will hang like a dream,” Camille would say.
Sawyer
knew better. She was proud to say the assets Mother Nature blessed her with weren’t going anywhere, no matter how much weight she lost.
As she tried to no avail to slip the gold-toned buttons through their assigned holes, Sawyer met her gaze in the mirror and laughed. Some things weren’t meant to be.
Tossing the jacket onto the bed, she decided a silk blouse and killer heels were all she needed. And first thing tomorrow, she would donate the suit to a local charity.
Old Sawyer was officially history.
As she filled a sunshine-yellow tote with the essentials she would need for the day, Sawyer hummed a happy tune, thinking of the fun she would have alongside Beck as they designed the perfect space for her prized possessions.
When he offered to build her a closet for her extensive wardrobe, Sawyer forgot to mention her purse collection. Satchels, clutches, crossbody bags, hobos. They were a bit of an obsession.
She couldn’t blame anyone else for her vice; Sawyer brought her love for nice things with her when she married David. The difference was, everything she owned, save the soon to be donated Chanel suit, she purchased with money earned without anyone’s assistance. Nothing came with an added price attached.
Sawyer pictured the finished closet and smiled. Naturally, she would invite her husband to help christen the room with a little sexy-time fun.
Her husband. The idea of a man in her life still seemed strange. Beck wasn’t a replacement for David. He was unique, as was their relationship. How and why, she wasn’t ready to explore. For now, she was happy. Why tempt fate by looking deeper?
Sawyer checked her phone as she descended the stairs. The car service promised to have a driver out front in one hour. With ten minutes to spare, she could check in with Talia one more time to make certain the flowers were ready for Saturday’s wedding and Monday’s birthday party. Then she—
“You look beautiful. As always.”
“Beck?” Sawyer stopped. Certain the man in front of her couldn’t be real, she poked him in the arm and found nothing but solid muscle, covered by a perfectly tailored suit. “You should be at work.”
“You, too.” He took her hand, helping her down the last few steps. “Yet, here we are, all spiffed up with nowhere to go.”
“Don’t be cute,” Sawyer said. “How did you find out? Did Tilly’s ex-Army friend bug my phone?”
“No need. I read David’s will, remember. Every word.”
“You remembered?”
“I never forgot,” he told her. “A little thing like death tends to stick in a person’s mind.”
The last part of the will stated that Sawyer would only inherit if she stayed married a year. Unless something unforeseen happened to her husband.
“In other words, if I die, you keep the money.”
“I forgot,” Sawyer said.
“Or didn’t want to remember.” Cool as a cucumber, all things considered, Beck opened the front door. “Earlier in the kitchen, when I asked if something was wrong? You went white as a sheet. Didn’t take a genius to realize you planned to confront Camille.”
Beck was smart. He figured out the who, but how did he know when?
“Why did you guess I’d make the trip today and not tomorrow, or the next?”
“I came back to the house to talk things through.”
“Talk me out of going, you mean.”
Beck didn’t bother to deny her accusation.
“When I overheard you make a plane reservation, I thought, maybe you’re right. Better we head to Beverly Hills and put all the cards on the table.”
A car pulled to a stop a few feet away, fancier than the one Sawyer ordered. On top of everything else, Beck upgraded her ride without asking. Since she had bigger fish to fry, she decided not to raise a fuss. This time.
“Camille isn’t your problem.”
“I would agree except for one looming reason. If you think she’s capable of murder, as your husband, I’m the one with the target on my back. Seems the threat of imminent death gives me the right to ride shotgun.” He grimaced. “Bad choice of words.”
“Agreed.” Sawyer shuddered.
The driver, smartly attired in a uniform and matching hat, held the door for them.
“Shall we go?” the man asked.
“Give us a second, please?” Sawyer addressed the driver before turning to Beck. “If I agree to let you accompany me, I need you to understand a few things.”
“If? Trust me, I’m going.”
“Whether I want you or not?”
Beck cleared his throat. “I keep the Neanderthal in me under control most of the time. Occasionally, he rears his ugly head.”
Sawyer was in no position to criticize. She could go a little cavewoman; today was a perfect example. Her first instinct had been to protect her man and arbitrarily decided to leave him out of a decision that had a direct impact on his life.
Sawyer wouldn’t let Beck get away with such a lame argument like my mess, my responsibility; how could she expect him to sit back and watch from the sidelines?
“Rule number one—”
“Just a reminder?” Beck interrupted. “The last time you set the rules, we spent the next six months trapped in abstinence hell.”
Sawyer glanced at the driver. Beck needed to stop discussing their private business in front of people. Tilly was bad enough. Now a stranger knew more about their sex life than he should.
Again, Sawyer decided to let Beck’s faux pas pass. They didn’t have time. But soon, very soon, they needed to have a long talk.
“Let’s get in the car.”
Sawyer fastened her seatbelt, made certain the driver knew their destination, then hit the button to raise the privacy screen.
“I get the point,” Beck chuckled. “Don’t overshare in public.”
Pleased, Sawyer mentally crossed one thing off the list as she met his gaze and felt a familiar melting sensation. What was she doing? They didn’t need lists or rules. Respect and communication were the keys to finding their way. Plus, a big dose of patience.
“I’m sorry.” She rested her hand on Beck’s leg and her head on his shoulder. “I left you out of the loop. Big mistake.”
“Mistakes are inevitable, Sawyer. Don’t stop talking, don’t be afraid to argue.” Beck kissed her forehead. “You can hate me—once every three years for half a second. I’ll try to do the same.”
“You’ll try to hate me?” she teased.
“Smartass.” He slid an arm around her.
“I do have one more question.”
“Hey, I’m an open book.”
Right, Sawyer smiled. Beck Kramer was the most complicated, uncomplicated man she’d ever met. Luckily, he was also one of the most honest.
“Are we booked on the same flight to Los Angeles? If so, how? I bought the last open seat.”
“A ticket is always available if you know the right strings to pull.”
“Define these strings.” Sawyer’s curiosity was piqued.
“They vary from situation to situation,” Beck said.
“Makes sense.”
“Right now, they don’t apply. We aren’t flying commercial.”
“You chartered a plane for such a short flight?”
“Nope.”
“Good,” Sawyer relaxed. “Doesn’t matter if we’re on separate flights. I’ll wait—”
“I borrowed Dalton Shaw’s private jet.”
“Excuse me?” Feeling a bit like Alice after she fell down the rabbit hole, Sawyer sat up straight. “Why would Dalton Shaw loan you his plane? More important, why would you ask?”
“Technically, the plane belongs to The Ryder Hart Band. Not the big one they take on tour. We’ll be in the twenty-seater, used for vacations and whatnot,” he said as if everyone had a variety of jets at their disposal.
“Size matters?”
“Never had any complaints,” Beck smirked
“Size in terms
of private planes,” Sawyer qualified her question, giving him and his one-track mind a dirty look.
“I didn’t know what flight you were on,” he explained. “Rather than add to your stress level—and mine—I called Dalton on the off chance his plane was available.”
“Must be nice to have mega-rich friends.”
“Nice to have friends, period.”
Sawyer couldn’t argue. Truthfully, she didn’t want to. He opened his arms, she snuggled close and sighed. When Beck held her, the world automatically felt like a better place.
“When Dalton was a young man, before The Ryder Hart Band hit it big, he was burned, badly. He carries some deep scars from the betrayal and learned a valuable lesson about trust and friendship—two things he doesn’t give easily.”
“You managed to break into his inner circle.”
“We bonded over a shared passion for the drums.”
Dalton Shaw recognized a kindred spirit. Sawyer understood completely.
“When Razor’s Edge broke up, Dalton reached out. He let me vent my frustration and anger, up to a point. After my third or fourth poor me rant, he gave me a long-distance kick in the ass,” Beck snorted. “Told me to get over myself and move on.”
“And you did. With a great deal of success,” Sawyer said, proud of the way Beck bounced back.
“Dalton’s definition of move on meant I should find another band. Or, try a solo career.”
“Why didn’t you?” She wanted to ask since they met but never found the right time until now. “You didn’t lose your passion for music.”
“At first, I did. By the time my love for music returned, I’d found something else.” Beck raised her hand to his lips, kissing the finger circled by a plain platinum band. “I found a new passion, one that mattered—matters—more than anything before or since.”
Did Beck mean her? Sawyer thought she knew the answer. However, if she asked, he might inquire about her feelings, a subject she wasn’t ready to discuss because she didn’t have an answer.
Sawyer wanted him in her life and in her bed. Their future seemed wide open, and she could picture them exploring every path and possibility together. But her emotions weren’t as clear cut.
ALMOST BLUE Page 18
