Sinful Rewards 9

by Cynthia Sax

  “Inside.” Ellen hovers behind me. “We have to get this right, short-stack.” She bumps against me. “Or Hawke will have my ass.”

  This beautiful strong woman, a woman who belongs in Hawke’s universe, cares what my former marine thinks about her. It wouldn’t take much, one lopsided smile, one brush of his rough fingers, to grow that caring into love.

  I search the dresses, looking for the ideal outfit, some of my enthusiasm for the task fading. The bitch in me is tempted to clothe my rival in something baggy, older, ugly, but my inner fashionista won’t allow this. I’m compelled to find the right dress for her.

  Tomorrow, she’ll look gorgeous, wow Hawke. I should step aside, allow her to have him. He can’t afford to help my mom or Cyndi. I don’t know if I can handle the constant risk of him dying, of my nightmares becoming reality.

  But the thought of another woman touching my military man makes me want to pummel someone.

  “Is there a specific color you want?” I ask, hoping her answer isn’t pale blue.

  AN HOUR AND twenty minutes later, I’ve constructed the perfect look for Ellen. She’ll be wearing a knee-length black Oscar de la Renta silk-chiffon dress with a Kotur clutch large enough to carry her gun and black-and-white Roland Mouret slingbacks sporting heels she can more easily run in. Her hair will be upswept, her makeup minimal, with attention brought to her red lips.

  I put Dawg in charge of the macaroni and cheese, which was a mistake. He devoured an entire pan while I was teaching Ellen about shoes.

  She now sits at the counter, twirling cheese around her fork, determined to outeat the small, scrawny man.

  I make more noodles, foreseeing an entire security team hell-bent on beating Dawg’s stealth macaroni and cheese consumption. My gaze flicks to the clock on the oven. Hawke should return home soon.

  As though beckoned by my thoughts, the doorknob rattles. I square my shoulders, bracing myself for his arrival, not wishing to see him with my stunning new friend. Dawg and Ellen stand protectively in front of me as the door opens.

  “I’m here,” Cyndi calls out, my best friend also given access to Hawke’s condo. “With my entourage.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s about time.” I push past my self-appointed bodyguards and we hug, my best friend squeezing me hard. “I was worried about you,” I confess. “Did you get past the TV cameras without any trouble?”

  “Cole dropped us off and created a distraction, simply by being his fine self.” Cyndi beams. My best friend and business partner is stylishly dressed in a white silk organza and cotton top from Chloe, Emilio Pucci printed turquoise shorts, and white strappy Rupert Sanderson sandals. She grasps three shopping bags in each hand. Oversized sunglasses perch on her blonde head.

  “I’m glad he’s not our fuckin’ assignment,” Mack, one of Hawke’s men, adds. Prick stands beside him, the two men forming a wall of black behind my small friend, their clothes as hideous as their boss’s. They carry more bags and my stomach sinks. Cyndi has been shopping, spending money neither of us have.

  “It’s mac and cheese day!” She drops the bags and rushes toward the kitchen. “Yay!” She jumps in place, fist-pumping the air, her blonde curls and generous breasts bouncing.

  Ellen watches her with a mixture of fascination and horror, as though Cyndi is a species of girl she hasn’t yet encountered.

  “I have to bring Cole back some mac and cheese,” my best friend informs me, “or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “We’ll need more pasta.” I hurry back to my post, enlisting Ellen and Dawg’s help. While we prepare the trays, Cyndi chatters about our business, detailing how, once the media onslaught becomes manageable, we’ll turn it to our advantage, attracting more customers than we can service.

  I’m concerned about paying our bills today. More members of Hawke’s security team drop by. I charge Mack and Prick with delivering macaroni and cheese to Jacob and Isaac, instructing Nicolas’s driver to relay half of the meal to my hardworking billionaire.

  Cyndi adopts Ellen as a project, fixing her hair, doing her makeup, making the woman even more beautiful than she already is. The men tease Ellen and she cusses them out, giving them the finger. She’s gruff, yet nice, and her devotion to Hawke is heart-wrenchingly obvious.

  I remain at my post behind the kitchen island, cooking and answering questions, the impromptu celebration’s hostess. When I was young, I would have traded my soul for the ability to throw a party. Inviting friends to the rodent-infested apartments my mom and I stayed in wasn’t a possibility.

  Hawke’s place isn’t glamorous. It isn’t as luxurious as Nicolas’s penthouse suite. The furnishings are spare and the space is tight, but his team members don’t seem to notice, eating, chatting, mixing. They all know each other, exchanging inside jokes and stories I don’t understand but I laugh along with, wanting to belong.

  Ellen’s husky laugh is genuine. She’s included, part of the team.

  A big, burly man with one arm arrives with folding chairs. A group of less muscular men crowd around the electronics, sniggering to themselves.

  My phone buzzes against my hip, the device tucked into one of my sundress’s hidden pockets. Is the caller Hawke, explaining why he’s late? I remove my phone, glance down at the small screen, and recognize Nicolas’s number. He’s taking time out of his busy day to call me.

  “Belinda Carter,” I answer, moving toward the privacy of Hawke’s bedroom, my pace slowed by my damaged toe.

  “This is Nicolas Rainer,” he announces, his voice curt.

  “Is that Hawke?” Mack yells. “Tell him I’m eating his macaroni and cheese.” Men laugh, adding their own wise-ass comments.

  Ellen looks down at her phone. “It’s not Hawke, you jackasses,” she hollers back at them. “It’s Mr. Rainer.”

  Heads turn and smiles fade. The room grows silent, disapproval and judgment reflecting in their weathered faces. They think I’m cheating on their friend.

  Cyndi must have seen my distress because she rushes toward me. “Bee.”

  “I’m fine.” I hold out my free hand, lying because I’m not fine.

  A part of me anticipated this, expecting to be bounced from their tight-knit group, and I shouldn’t say anything, as nothing will change their opinion.

  But I have to try, wanting desperately to belong, to fit into Hawke’s world.

  “Yes, I’m speaking to Nicolas Rainer,” I address the room. “And before you ask, no, Hawke won’t mind, because he knows Nicolas is a good friend of mine.” My gaze settles on Ellen. “Hawke will mind that my caller’s identity was shared with others.” Her beautiful face turns a stunning shade of crimson. “The Organization doesn’t divulge information about clients.” I quote my former marine.

  “Someone is in trouble,” Mack sings, his eyes sparkling.

  Ellen narrows her eyes and his grin fades.

  Cyndi stares at me, her lips rounded into an o of amazement. She’s never seen this not-so-nice side of me. I’ve always tried to be the good girl, the nice girl. This façade has now been blown to bits, and I don’t know if I ever want to restore it.

  “I’m taking this call in the bedroom.” I raise my voice. “Listen to my conversation if you’re concerned about my loyalty. I have nothing to hide.” I stomp toward Hawke’s bedroom, certain I’ve made everything worse.

  “I love you, Belinda Carter,” Mack calls, and the predominantly male crowd laughs.

  “Will you marry me?” another man yells.

  They don’t hate me. I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “There’s only one man big enough to handle this woman.” I toss my hair over my shoulders, my cockiness an act. “And he’s not here.”

  I shut the door behind me and slump against the wood, light-headed with relief. I’m still one of them. They haven’t bounced me from their group, not yet.

  “Why did you lie to them?” Nicolas asks, purring into the phone. “I’m a terrible friend.”

  He h
eard my rant. My humiliation increases. “You are a terrible friend, but I couldn’t tell them that. They wouldn’t understand why I take your calls.”

  “True.” Nicolas treats me to one of his rare laughs. “Do you need ice cream? I could send my driver to buy a tub of Heavenly Hash.”

  “Your driver’s name is Isaac,” I huff, flopping on the bed I shared with Hawke. “Why don’t you address your employees by their names?”

  There’s a long stretch of silence. He won’t answer. The billionaire never tackles the uncomfortable topics.

  “One day, I might have to fire Isaac.” Nicolas proves me wrong. “Firing anyone is difficult. Firing friends is harder.” Judging by his tortured tone, it’s heart-shattering, soul-destroying, world-ending.

  I can’t imagine firing one of my friends. “Not addressing your driver by his name reminds you he’s not your friend.”

  “It puts distance between us,” Nicolas explains. “Some, not a lot.”

  “I understand.” I lie back on the bed, elevating my damaged foot, and I stare up at the ceiling, trying to picture my billionaire’s handsome face, his black hair, tanned skin, soulful brown eyes.

  Instead, I see pale blue eyes, blunt features, a lopsided smile. Hawke calls his team by their biker names, rides with them, drinks with them. If any of them should die, he’d be devastated, adding that name to the long list of people he couldn’t safeguard.

  Yet he’s risking that pain, their lives, to protect me.

  “If you knew you weren’t good for someone, someone you cared about, would you walk away from that person?” I ask, not expecting a reply. Nicolas must know I’m talking about Hawke, his rival, the man I chose over him.

  “I walked away from you, didn’t I?” my billionaire answers, his words weighted with emotion. “You’re good for him.” He sighs, the sound pulling at my heart. “The asshole in me doesn’t want to say this, to give you more reasons to be with him, but he needs you. He’s more settled now, not as reckless.”

  “Did Hawke take more risks before he met me?” I frown. Is that possible?

  “Yes,” Nicolas replies without hesitation. In the background, a door opens and a woman calls him by his last name.

  “You have to go,” I guess.

  “I do.” My billionaire sounds exhausted. He works too hard. “Thank you for lunch. Is there anything you need from me?”

  I’m not accustomed to people doing nice things for me without wanting something in return. This is what Nicolas told me when we first met, and this is why he assumes I need something from him.

  “I want you to take better care of yourself.” I give him a task to complete. “And to apologize to Hawke. He’s a good friend and he misses you.”

  “You’re a good friend too, Bee.” There’s a click, followed by silence. Nicolas has hung up on me yet again.

  I put my phone in my pocket and continue to gaze at the ceiling, unwilling to return to the main room and face Hawke’s men. They thought I was screwing around on my former marine. I understand why they made that assumption. They’ve been monitoring my activities for days, know I take Nicolas’s calls and meet with the dashing billionaire. What else would they think?

  Hawke must have known what his team believed and been embarrassed by these rumors, by me. I exhale raggedly. He didn’t say anything, suffering this blow to his pride in silence.

  He’s a good man, a better man than I deserve.

  The door swings open and bangs against the stopper. “Oh, Bee.” Cyndi sprints across the room and throws herself on the bed. I grunt, flattened, pinned to the mattress by my best friend.

  “You’re such a badass,” she declares. “The men are all scared shitless of Ellen and they were awed that you stood up to her. After you left, the marriage declarations continued, becoming more and more outrageous. Then the puppy dog guy told everyone how you attacked her, defending your birdman, and I swear a couple of the men came in their pants.”

  This graphic image pulls a smile from my lips. “You’re an idiot.”

  Cyndi rolls off me, gazes up at the ceiling. “Come to LA with me.”

  “You’re going to LA?” Am I losing my best friend too?

  “Yep, I’m flying out tonight with Cole.” Cyndi nods. “We can’t work on the business while the nasty paparazzi blockade is out there, stopping potential customers from contacting us. The bastards.” She karate chops the air, looking as fierce as a newborn kitten.

  “That blockade is my fault,” I mumble, feeling bad about messing up our world-domination plans.

  “Shit happens. Get over yourself.” Cyndi punches my arm hard enough to leave a bruise. “You need some fun and you won’t find it locked up here. Come to LA with us. Distance worked wonders for Cole and me. It might do the same for your relationship with the birdman.”

  “What relationship?” I ask. “We’re temporary.”

  “Then you really have to leave.” Cyndi sighs. “Because you’re not a temporary type of person.”

  Why does everyone say that? I press my lips together.

  “We’ll shop on Rodeo Drive.” My best friend tries to entice me with my love of fashion. “You’ve always wanted to do that.”

  Shopping on that famous street is one of my dreams, browsing in the gorgeous stores, trying on the designer fashions. My mood lightens a smidgeon. “It will have to be window-shopping. We don’t have enough money to buy a coffee on that street.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cyndi mock-salutes me. “Cole paid for the shopping spree this morning, so don’t get your granny panties in a bunch about that. I can’t return the clothes for cash because he paid by credit card, but we can resell them.”

  She’d resell her gifts from Cole. My heart sinks, any hope of saving my Salvatore Ferragamo purse evaporating with her offer. “If you keep the tags on, you could wear them once or twice.”

  Her eyes light up.

  “Wear them gently,” I caution. Donning the clothes once isn’t much different from trying them on, I rationalize.

  “I’ll be careful with them.” Cyndi grins, my out-of-control best friend not knowing the definition of the word careful. “So you’ll come to LA with us?”

  My soul screams no. My mind recognizes that this is the ideal solution.

  The move would be permanent. Cyndi won’t return to Chicago. Why would she? There’s nothing for her here—no job, no home. Her family disowned her and her wealthy friends abandoned her. Our business can operate in any big city.

  Operating the business in two big cities is doable but it will be much more difficult. It makes sense for both of us to be situated in LA. The stalkers and more scary hostiles won’t look for me there. I could find a temporary job, help my mom and Cyndi.

  My departure will draw the dangerous hostiles away from Hawke. He’ll no longer risk his people, protecting us, and he’ll find consolation in Ellen’s capable arms. She’ll use her finely honed skills to keep him safe. Her love and devotion will tame his reckless ways. Hawke will forget about me as my dad did.

  “I’ll think about it,” I hedge, aching all over.

  Chapter Four

  “BEE, GET YOUR ass out here,” Ellen yells. “Your food is burning.”

  “Shit.” I bounce off the bed, ignoring the pain in my toe. This batch is meant for Hawke. I don’t want the last meal I make for him to taste like charcoal. “Take it out of the oven,” I holler back.

  Cyndi follows me as I hobble toward the kitchen nook. My progress is tracked by admiring gazes. My best friend is right. I stand taller. I’m their hero.

  “I said I’d take care of it,” Dawg grumbles, glaring at Ellen. The pan of perfectly cooked macaroni and cheese has been set on the counter.

  “Thank you, Dawg.” I pat his arm, aware that everyone else in the room is watching us. “I’ll call Hawke.” I scroll through my phone.

  “Before you do that, I’d like to apologize.” Ellen stands before me, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  Conversati
ons fade. The men inch closer, their attention focused on us.

  “I shouldn’t have revealed who was calling you,” she admits. “That was wrong. I’d forgotten that you’re a client, not one of us.”

  She considered me one of them, and I shouldn’t say anything, should simply accept this rare gift, this belonging. Shit. I have to say something. “I have no military training.”

  “Neither does Prick, and we tolerate him.” Ellen grins.

  Prick mutters a reply I’m glad I can’t hear. The rest of the men laugh. Mack nudges him with his elbow and he shakes his head.

  “You can’t fight worth a damn, but you’re brave and loyal and Hawke trusts you,” she says. “That makes you part of our team.”

  “Plus, you can cook,” Mack adds, moving to my side.

  “Hell, yeah,” the men agree, nodding, and my chest warms.

  I’m one of them. I’ve finally become part of a group, am an unofficial member of Hawke’s tightly knit team. They know all of my secrets and they accept me, consider me worthy. Unshed tears sting my eyes. This is where I belong. Mack hugs me.

  “If you make my girl cry, I’ll kill you all.” Hawke looms over the threshold to the condo, his form tall and broad and imposing. He’s dressed similarly to his men, in his hideous black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, yet there’s no mistaking he’s in charge.

  Mack drops his arm and takes one step away from me. Everyone, including Ellen, straightens. “Sir.” They salute him.

  “Nicolas called,” I say, wishing to tell him before anyone else does.

  A flicker of fierce emotion flashes in Hawke’s pale blue eyes. “He called me also, warned me that someone was threatening to eat my macaroni and cheese.” He scans the room and Mack swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “I wouldn’t allow anyone to do that.” I draw Hawke’s attention back to me. “I defended your lunch, sir.” I jauntily salute him.

  His lips twitch. “I appreciate that, love.” Hawke’s voice softens around the endearment. “The party’s over,” he informs our guests. “If your shift’s done, you don’t have to return to work, but you can’t stay here.”