It didn’t add up.
Was it possible that this person had him mixed up with someone else? Or was it something more sinister?
Whatever the reason, it just proved that Bad Bachelors was as full of shit as he’d assumed. No better than a tabloid magazine. He’d have bet his last dollar that by the end of the week, everyone would have forgotten about this joke of a website. He wasn’t going to waste any more precious time on it.
A knock at his office door pulled him out of his thoughts and he closed the Bad Bachelors website. Good riddance. “Yes?”
Kerrie came into his office. “I know this probably isn’t the best time to ask a favor…”
“I’m willing to forget last week happened if you are.” He gave her a pointed look. One tiny mistake that wasn’t even a mistake was nothing compared to her years of hard work for the company and the fact that she’d had his back since the day she’d been assigned to him. “What do you need?”
“Well, the Pro Bono Drive is happening this week and I know you’ve gotten a ton of submissions.”
“But you’re coming to plead your case anyway?”
The Pro Bono Drive was one of Edward Weston’s initiatives. Every year, employees of Bath and Weston put forward suggestions for charities or companies in underprivileged areas to receive a free PR consultancy from a partner. Ed was a soft touch like that, always trying to help the underdogs of the world.
This was Reed’s first year participating. He was happy to be involved, since he’d been on the receiving end of Edward’s generosity a long time ago.
“I am.” Kerrie nodded. “My grandson’s library is in dire need of support.”
He had to fight back the automatic curl of his lip—of all the goddamn things, why did it have to be a library? It’d been a long time since he’d set foot in one. Over a decade.
“They’ve had funding cuts, and they tried to run a GoFundMe campaign recently, but it didn’t get much traction. I donated, of course. But they need more than what one person can provide.” She sucked in a breath. “I go there every week with Finn, because he loves to read. I even started him in a creative writing program for elementary school kids, and he was having so much fun. But they had to cut a lot of their programs.”
Kerrie’s eyes glistened behind her thick-rimmed, blue glasses. Her grandson was the light of her life, and her desk was dotted with photos of him. Her daughter-in-law had passed away two years ago with an unusually aggressive form of breast cancer. Since then, Kerrie had moved in with her son and Finn, playing the role of mother and grandmother as best she could. It always made Reed a little guilty when they had to work long hours, because he knew it meant he was stealing her time from Finn. He would have given anything to have a person like Kerrie in his life when he was a kid.
But a library… Fuck.
“I know you can’t pick favorites, but I’ve made a compelling argument in the submission. The people who run the library are always going above and beyond to help people.” She paused. “They do good things for the community. I was talking with one of the librarians there and I know they’re looking at running some kind of fundraising event. They could really use your help.”
“Where’s the library?”
“Flatbush.”
He nodded. “Ah, so you thought you’d appeal to my Brooklyn roots, did you?”
“You’re exactly what they need. Finn and I would be forever grateful.” She smiled.
“I have to look at all the submissions and give them equal consideration,” he said. “But I appreciate you giving me the personal explanation.”
“Of course, I understand.”
She retreated from his office and Reed rubbed his hands over his face. Kerrie wasn’t aware of his history with libraries. If she had been, she probably wouldn’t have asked. Which was why he knew that he’d end up choosing her entry.
Good people were hard to find in this city. He spent most of his time covering up the bad behavior and wrongdoings of his paying clients, so he owed it to her to help out the people who actually gave a shit about their community.
Even if it meant facing his past.
Chapter 4
“He’ll keep you on your toes and on your knees. I’m not sure which is worse.”
—LucyinLoubs
By Thursday, Annie had presented Darcy with a short list of suitable dating candidates. The list had been checked by Remi, who’d vetoed two guys based on reviews that they were nice but boring in bed. That left four men: an accountant who loved museums, an IT manager of some big bank who built furniture in his spare time (according to Remi, that indicated he was good with his hands), a journalist/Oxford-comma enthusiast, and an Italian chef.
All four men appeared to be good looking, successful, and, if the reviews could be believed, were decent human beings who would screw her but wouldn’t screw her over. Well, at least not immediately.
Yet Darcy didn’t experience a single spark of excitement when she thought about dating any of these men.
She leaned against the checkout counter of the Hawthorne Public Library and tapped her nails against the countertop. It wasn’t her style to get all swoony over celebrities or good-looking men on the street. And she knew better than anyone that one’s outside didn’t always reflect their inside.
After all, the conservative branch manager had deliberated about hiring her, thinking Darcy’s tattoos and piercings wouldn’t suit their library’s community-friendly vibe. But Darcy had proven herself, as she’d done many times over, to be hardworking, diligent, and passionate about her job—even with her ink.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to hang around tonight?”
Darcy turned toward the voice. Lily, one of the library assistants, hovered next to the counter.
“No, that’s fine. I’m meeting with the consultant who’s going to help us with the fundraiser. That shouldn’t require both of us to stay.” Truthfully, she thought having a PR consultant for a library fundraiser was over the top. But apparently the services of some corporate bigwig were being offered for free.
Hopefully this wouldn’t mean Darcy’s idea for a nice, family-friendly event was twisted into some fancy, bigger than Ben-Hur gala. Because that was so not her style. In fact, she would have been perfectly happy to organize the fundraiser herself.
You’re such an introvert.
“I’m hoping this means we can start the after-school creative writing program back up,” Lily said. “I was really sad to see it go.”
“Me too. But I think equipment upgrades will be first on the list.” Darcy looked at the row of chunky computer monitors that had seen better days. “At this point, they’re practically a museum exhibition.”
“Maybe we should pitch it as a ‘vintage experience’ and then the hipsters will flock to us. We’ll call our coffee ‘small batch’ and charge five bucks a pop.” Lily laughed. “All right. I’ll round up the stragglers and get going.”
The library was still occupied by a few people—students, a grandmother with two young children, and a woman carrying some rather precariously stacked romance novels. They teetered as she placed them on the counter.
“I’m a fast reader,” the woman said with a sheepish smile.
“You’re a regular here, aren’t you?” Darcy asked. “I’m sure I’ve seen your face before.”
“I am.” She dug into her expensive-looking purse, pulled her library card out, and handed it over. “You guys have a really great romance collection.”
“Do you read a lot of romance?” Darcy dragged the books over the scanning plate.
“I devour them. Guess I’m addicted to the happy ending.” She grinned. “That’s all any of us want, right? Or maybe that’s me being a hopeless romantic.”
I’d be happy to go on a date without feeling like I’m going to have a panic attack, happy ending or not.
/> “You should come along to our book club,” Darcy said, shoving aside the negative thoughts and grabbing a brochure for the Literature Loving Ladies. “We try to switch up our genres, but we do have a romance novel every couple of months. It’s a small group and everyone is really friendly.”
“That sounds great.” The woman tucked the brochure into her bag. “Thanks.”
The book club had been Darcy’s idea. She’d hoped it would be a way to get more people coming into the library—they put out a spread of cakes that Remi helped her bake each month and offered coffee and good company. The club ran on next to nothing, other than a little electricity to keep the library open for an extra few hours. But book clubs weren’t enough, and they certainly didn’t make up for dwindling community support and cuts to government funding.
Which was precisely why Darcy had brought up the idea of the fundraising event to her boss. Parties weren’t normally her thing—she was a paperbacks-and-wine rather than a canapés-and-conversation kind of gal—but the library was her second home. Her happy place.
And desperate times called for desperate party planning.
Lily rounded up the remaining patrons of the library and gave them a five-minute warning. Thankfully, Darcy had done the closing procedure so many times she could practically do it blindfolded. That meant her mind was free to wander through all the bits of information she’d gathered through the week.
At first she’d felt a little strange, researching these guys who had no idea she was looking into them, like she was invading their privacy. But it wasn’t any different from her helping a student with a school project, right? The information was already there; all she did was search and gather.
The last few patrons cleared out and Lily waved, leaving Darcy alone. The air-conditioning hummed, its noise amplified in the quiet space. The second this meeting was over, Darcy would be heading back to her Park Slope apartment. And, since Remi had a date tonight, Darcy would round off the week in peace and quiet, with a new book.
“I’m hoping the library is usually more populated than this.”
Darcy snapped her head up at the masculine voice shattering her concentration.
“I take it you’re…” The words died on her lips as she stuck her hand out and found herself staring at a man with a sharp jaw and deep brown eyes. A man that looked entirely familiar, though she knew for a fact they’d never met. “Reed McMahon,” she finished.
Bad bachelor numero uno. Notorious womanizer. Top dog of the New York dating food chain, according to the Bad Bachelors blog.
They’d done a piece on him yesterday, which Darcy had gobbled up with an unusual amount of interest. She’d never been into gossip rags or reading the society pages, but for some reason, she’d been unable to turn her attention away from Reed’s picture. He hadn’t been smiling—there was just a slight lift of his full lips, a cross between a smirk and a grimace. She supposed men as good looking as him didn’t need to bother with niceties such as smiles.
“The one and only,” he quipped, accepting her proffered hand. The second a tingle of awareness sped through her body she wished she could take the polite gesture back. “I’m sorry, my assistant didn’t pass on your name.”
Darcy was certain Reed’s name had also been left off the email from her boss detailing this meeting, because she would definitely have noticed it.
“It’s Darcy.” She drew her hand back and tried to ignore the buzz setting off butterflies in her stomach.
“Darcy.” The smooth way he said her name sent a tremor through her.
Which annoyed her to no end. He was a coldhearted rake. No thought spared for anyone but himself, if the reviews could be trusted. But when it came to guys like him, better safe than sorry in her book. That meant his irritatingly charming personality was most likely a front and she’d do well to remember that.
“No last name?” He raised a brow. “That puts you in good company.”
“Yeah. Me and Sophocles,” she said dryly. “We’re quite the pair.”
“I was going to say Madonna, but I guess that’s why you’re the librarian and I’m not.” On the surface it appeared to be a compliment, but something in his tone told her it wasn’t.
Not that she should have been surprised—guys like him probably didn’t place much value on literature.
Darcy stepped out from behind the counter, motioning for him to follow her to one of the activity rooms. “Right. And you’re the person who’s going to help us drum up interest in the library.”
“I’m going to help you improve the library’s reputation,” he corrected.
The man exuded confidence. It wasn’t simply the way he dressed in a suit that fitted like a dream, or the way his crisp, white shirt contrasted with his lightly tanned skin. It wasn’t even the imposing height or the masculine breadth of his shoulders. It was the way he looked at her—direct without being confrontational, as though he knew he didn’t need to intimidate to get what he wanted. One glance and the other person would hand their soul over without protest.
No doubt that glance made women melt into a puddle at his feet.
As much as her insides were reacting to his magnetic energy on some basic level, she was determined not to be one of those puddles. “Improve our reputation?”
“Yes. People in the community don’t see libraries being worthy of taxpayer dollars. They think they’re old fashioned and a waste of money.”
While part of her knew he must be right—why else would they be struggling for funding and donations?—she couldn’t help bristling at the statement. It sounded a hell of a lot like he thought they were a waste of money.
“Libraries aren’t old fashioned.”
“Yes, they are. With the internet, who needs books?”
“I have one on etiquette and manners that you might benefit from,” she said archly.
A sly smile quirked his mouth, making her blood boil—fast. “Manners are overrated and etiquette…well, you’re not exactly convincing me this place isn’t old fashioned.”
Who did he think he was, insulting her passion? “Tell me then: If our reputation is so bad, how are you the right person to help us?”
She’d been hoping for some reaction—a tensing of his jaw, a blaze in those bottomless, brown eyes. Something to show she’d hit her mark. Instead, he looked at her with utter nothingness.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice as neutral as his expression.
“Well, from everything I’ve read, you haven’t been able to keep your own reputation in check. Why should I trust you with ours?”
* * *
Frustration ripped through him like a freight train. Did every single person in New York think he was a social delinquent?
Somehow, by not offering women anything more than sex—which they readily agreed to at the time—he was a horrible human being. And now this prickly little librarian was giving him attitude. As if coming to this blasted place for a meeting wasn’t bad enough.
Darcy cocked her head, as if challenging him to bite back. Over his dead body. Reed McMahon was not a loose cannon; everything he did was calculated, strategic—purposeful.
“And how do you know about that?” he asked.
Her hands knotted in front of her. Each finger was long and slender, graceful. She wore no rings, no nail polish. No adornments—anywhere. Her face was bare of makeup and she wore no other jewelry. And despite that spare styling, there was something unabashedly feminine about her long, dark lashes and full, pillowy lips.
“I’ve been following the articles about you,” she said.
“You and every other woman in New York. And they’re blog posts, big difference.”
She shrugged a shoulder.
“Everyone in this city knows my name. They may not appreciate how I go about my life, but, if you haven’t noticed, I draw attention,” h
e said smoothly. He resisted a smile when dots of pink colored her cheeks. “You need that attention.”
“We need money.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Attention won’t pay for our programs or new computers.”
“Money won’t come without attention.”
“So I guess you’re of the belief that all publicity is good publicity then?”
That wasn’t necessarily true, especially given his current situation. He’d have much preferred to get on with his job without the constant ribbing from his colleagues. The little trophy wasn’t the only surprise he’d found in his office. He’d walked in after lunch one day to find a vibrator hidden under a stack of papers with a bow tied around it. No doubt Aaron or one of his cronies had snuck in the second Kerrie had stepped away from her desk.
Reed wasn’t the kind of guy to go running to HR over a practical joke, but he was over being the center of attention.
“People won’t support what doesn’t interest them.” He looked around at the walls decorated with colored-paper shapes and posters illustrated crudely with markers, and had to force himself not to shudder.
God, he hated libraries. All that false cheer and insincere kindness felt like an overdose of candy—it made him jittery, uncomfortable.
“We need to make this place interesting,” he added.
“I have to say ‘interesting’ hasn’t really been at the top of our priority list, what with all the focus being on education and community enrichment,” she said sharply. The girl had an acid tongue and a defensive shield that would be harder to scale than a forty-story building. Not that he was the kind of guy to back down from a challenge, mind you.
“No matter. That’s why I’m here.” He fought back a laugh as she rolled her eyes.
“Glad we’ve got someone to show us where the real priorities are.” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and he caught a flash of silver. A tongue piercing.
Bad Bachelor Page 4
