That Guy
Page 5
“It’s an alias! The name Miss Sims is an alias!” he shouts to the ceiling. “Mother of fuck, woman. You’re like a goddamn fungus!”
I smile. I can’t help it. “Because I’m growing on you?”
Jake’s eyes close. He’s trying to control his temper. Doing a damn good job of it too. The silence is intense. Cam’s laughter breaks it.
“Wait,” he says, in between bites of bacon and sexy chuckles. “She’s not Miss Sims?” He points at me and looks at Jake who just glares at him. He’s probably thinking what I’m thinking. You’re just now figuring that out, genius? “Well who is she? How do you know her?” His hand pauses halfway to his mouth and his eyes roam over me from head to toe.
“You’re fake Miss Sims.” His attention shifts to a silent, brooding Jake for confirmation. “She’s the one who faked everybody out? Who broke in here last night? This girl? This one? This is the one you claim is batshit crazy?” He wiggles his finger toward me again.
“Okay, now just hold on a damn minute.” I hold a palm up toward each of them. “Let me get this straight. You sent a car to pick up a woman whose name you don’t know and whose face you’ve never seen. Gave her full access to your penthouse apartment. Told your staff to cater to her every need. Was willing to bail her out of jail…cook her bacon, and you think I’m crazy?”
“That was Jake that called you crazy, babe. Not me.”
“Enough!” Jake snaps with enough malice in his tone to wipe the grin off my face and send a shiver of fear down my spine. “Get this woman out of my house, Cam. And find Miss Sims.” He tosses the spatula in the sink and with an eerie calm, walks out of the kitchen and into his office. I tense, waiting for the door to slam, but it simply clicks shut.
“Well that was anti-climactic,” I mutter, a little annoyed that he didn’t act a fool. Or hug me…
Cam’s low laugh draws my attention. I find him leaning against the counter. Shaking his head as he digs his phone from his pocket. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
I shrug because…I am a little nuts. “So now what?”
“Now, I find the real Miss Sims.” He moves across the floor to tower over me. “And you, Penelope Hart, get to walk away from this knowing that you are the only woman in history to breach Jake Swagger’s mighty fortress and leave unscathed.”
Unscathed.
Does that mean other woman who have been here before me have been tied to a spanking bench and tasted his leather belt, then fucked into another dimension? Did they leave here in an orgasm induced, foggy state with nothing but the stripes on their asses and the soreness between their legs to remember him by?
“Yo…crazy girl…You get that?”
“Huh?”
He rolls his eyes. “I have to make a few calls then we’ll figure out the fastest way to get you back home, okay?”
I nod.
His face sobers and his tone is no nonsense. “Don’t touch anything. Understood?”
“Fine. Can I at least use the bathroom?”
“Sure.” He points to the one off the kitchen. “Make it quick. I’ll be back shortly.”
“You’re leaving?”
“No…I’m stepping out of the room to make some calls.”
“Yeah. Uh. Okay. And what do I do when Jake comes out and kills me because I’m still in his apartment?”
“He’ll be in there a while.” Cam pats the top of my hat, pushing it down over my eyes. “He has more bark than bite. Don’t worry, he won’t kill you.”
I smile and lift my hat to look at him. “Because he secretly likes me?”
“No, babe. Because it won’t read well in the papers.”
Oh…
“Jeff? It’s Cam Favre. I need a favor…” Cam’s voice drifts as he walks out of the kitchen.
I snag the rest of the bacon and pour myself a glass of juice. I glance at the table then back at Jake’s office door. Breakfast in the bathroom seems like the safest option, so I lock myself inside and eat with my back against the door.
I try to figure out the deal behind this mysterious Miss Sims. Why would she use an alias? Who is she to Jake? Obviously nobody important. I mean he hasn’t even seen her damn face. Yet he’s gone to great lengths for her. Is she a client of his? What does he even do?
Stupid phone.
If it wasn’t dead, I could Google him.
Finished eating and tired of thinking, I peel off my soiled clothes and turn on the shower. Forever seems to pass before the hot water warms my cold bones. Only then do I wash my hair—having to add water to the shampoo bottle because it’s nearly empty—and scrub away the remaining stench of jail.
Clean and shiny and smelling like something wonderful, I wrap my body in a big fluffy towel and smear the steam on the mirror with my hand. I look rough—tired. My brown hair, a usual, curly tangled mess, is straight from the weight of the water and hangs halfway down my back. My olive complexion glows even darker against the white towel, making the gold flecks in my hazel eyes, shine even brighter.
I rummage through the drawers by the sink and find a brand new toothbrush and some toothpaste. Then I towel dry my hair and wipe the remaining water from my skin.
Dressed in nothing but a towel, I peek out of the bathroom and find that I’m alone. Jake must still be in his office. Cam must be doing whatever it is he does. And the fear that Jake might kill me if he found me in his apartment must have washed away in the shower. Because suddenly, the idea of watching T.V., wrapped in that warm blanket, curled up on his couch doesn’t scare me in the least.
Despite the scalding water from my shower and warmth of the living room, I still feel chilled. I have a stuffy nose. My head hurts. Bones are achy. I pray like hell I’m coming down with a cold. I’m a sucker for a damsel-in-distress, and though my That Guy has proven to be a pain in the ass on both our encounters, I’m positive he’ll take pity on me and nurse me back to health.
In between my fantasy thoughts of him exiting his office and gathering me in his arms, reality surfaces and I’m forced to think like an adult.
Today could’ve gone a lot differently. What if I hadn’t made that call to Jake’s office? What if I was stuck back in that cell with Big Bertha? What if Jake had called the police and had me arrested when he came home last night? Or when I showed up today? What if he does once he discovers I’m still here?
I need a phone charger. I need to call Emily. Upload my video. Reschedule my flight. Make Jake fall in love with me. Write a bestselling novel about me and my That Guy. Introduce Cam to Emily. Write another bestselling novel about the two of them. Find a shark to loan me money until I get my millions.
Someone knocks on the door. I mute Judge Judy and glance at Jake’s office, waiting for him to charge from it to see who is here. When the knock sounds again and no one moves to answer it, I take it upon myself to do it—because answering the door in a house that doesn’t belong to you is exactly what people with no sense do.
The man on the other side of the door is Jake Swagger—forty or so years from now. Other than the white hair and lines around his mouth and eyes, he looks just like him. Strong build. Hard jaw. Brooding expression. Oceanic eyes. He even glares at me in annoyance and distaste. Probably because I’m only dressed in a towel, but still…these damn mean-mugging stares are getting old.
“Hello, Mr. Swagger.” Something about knowing who he is without really knowing makes me feel less inferior to him.
“Let me guess…you’re Miss Sims.”
Here we go with this shit again…
Without waiting for my reply, he pushes past me. He makes some noise in the back of his throat as he does—disapproval? Disgust? Both?
“Actually, I’m Miss Hart. But you can call me Penelope.”
“Where is my grandson?”
I knew it! I want to smile. Fist pump the air because I was right. But I refrain from celebrating. I will not let my small victory interfere with my mission—to make a good impression on the future Jake Swagger.
I stand, willing myself not to fidget, as he pours a drink then turns to me. He studies me while he sips his whiskey. At eight in the morning. But hey, who am I to judge?
“Do you not have clothes?”
I flush and let out a nervous laugh. “It’s a funny story, really—“
“I doubt I’d find humor in anything pertaining to your line of work, Miss Sims. So please, spare me the details as to how you ended up answering a door that doesn’t belong to you, dressed in only a towel.”
It’s hard to hold your chin up and be proud when you’re dressed like I am, looking up at a man who carries himself with an air of authority. Not Steve Jobs-authority. Not Henry Frick-authority. Fucking Hitler authority. Good thing I’m not easily frightened.
“My name is Penelope.”
He makes that fucking noise again. I’m not as forgiving about it as I was a few minutes ago. He has about one more time to—
“I sure hope he pays you well. Although I can’t imagine there’s any sum of money that would be worth a person’s dignity.” He looks me up and down with a slow shake of his head. His lip curls into the same scowl Jake wore when he found out the bag on his bar was full of dog shit.
What in the hell?
I frown in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You should. I used small words.”
Why this old bastard…
“Are you insinuating that I’m stupid, Mr. Swagger?”
He says nothing. Just stares at me with this hard, stoic expression. His attempt to make me feel inferior awakens my pride. My pride fuels my anger. My anger charges my words. And my words spew from my mouth before I can stop them. “I asked you a question, Mr. Swagger. I’d appreciate an answer.”
His brow twitches a tiny bit. The movement is so miniscule, I might have missed it if I wasn’t studying his face so hard. “Your southern accent is genuine. As is your pride.” He takes a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs—crossing his legs like a lady might, yet he makes it look so masculine. “That couldn’t have come cheap, but I’m sure you’re worth every penny.” He lifts his glass to me as if he just gave me a compliment or some shit.
“He’s not paying me.”
“Did he pay you to say that, too?”
Something is going on here. There are a number of reasons as to why I haven’t quite figured it out—exhaustion. Dehydration. Flu-like symptoms. Shitty day. But I’m collecting pieces of the puzzle. And I’m pretty sure the mysterious, missing Miss Sims is a—
“If you’re not here because Jake hired you, then why are you here?”
Because I broke into his house. Got kicked out. Set a bag of dog shit on fire. Went to jail. Called Jake’s office. He thought I was Miss Sims using my given name. Sent someone to get me. Discovered the truth. And now I’m waiting on Cam to finish finding his hired help to take me home before Jake kills me.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who wants to hear all of that. Besides, he’s kind of a judgmental asshole, and I’m not sure how many more of his insults I can take. “How long do you have?” I ask, stalling until I can think up a believable lie.
“Long enough, Penelope.”
I wither under his stern gaze. And melt a little because he remembered my name. Which is kind of sweet. Already I start to forgive him for being such a butthole.
The door to Jake’s office opens and I’m saved from the truth. And graced with another view of his naked torso.
“Grandfather.” Jake gives him a quick nod before drinking me in. His perusal slow. Real slow. Like cream rising on clabber, slow. Pouring peanut butter, slow. In a nutshell, Jake Swagger—the young, hot one—is looking at my naked arms, legs and the top part of my bare chest like his grandfather isn’t even in the room and he has all the time in the world.
Did I mention that his slow gaze is hot, too? Like fire hot. Lava hot. Throw-me-on-an-open-flame-until-I-disintegrate-to-ashes hot. His look suggests he wants to eat me. It’s all I can do not to rip this towel from my body and spread myself open on his pristine white couch like a Sunday morning Shoney’s buffet.
“So this is the girl, hmm?” Grandfather asks, a hint of something I can’t decipher in his tone. “She’s a far cry from the women I’m used to seeing you with.” I flush at his…compliment? Maybe? “I’m impressed. She’s charming. Polite. Genuine…”
Jake straightens a little and that glint of slow fire fades from his eyes. “And you discovered all of this in less than five minutes?”
Grandfather stands and pulls at the cuffs of his jacket. “I don’t believe it’s been that long. Which is why I’m impressed. In the same given time I’ve spent with the women you usually surround yourself with, I come to much different conclusions. They’re entitled. Selfish. Rude. They’re...overpriced whores, Jake. And everyone knows it.”
Another puzzle piece slides into place.
Jake pads across the room—barefoot—to the decanter and pours himself a drink. Do these people not know it’s only eight in the morning? “I’ve never been one to care about what anyone thinks. You should know that by now.”
“Nevertheless, the gesture is appreciated.”
“Yeah? And what gesture is that?”
“That you would be so kind as to go to such extreme lengths to hire someone who could actually pass as a lady.”
Jake snorts at that.
I want to flip him the finger. And remind Grandfather, again, that I’m not being paid. But he speaks before I can.
“You may not care about what anyone thinks, Jake, but your actions reflect on all of us.”
“You mean you.”
“Precisely.” Grandfather glances over at me with a hint of a smile on his face. But his eyes are still hard. Still cold. I bet he has some evil in him. And his look along with the standoff between these two powerful men, has my writer brain going crazy.
Jake probably works for his Grandfather’s company. Grandfather is retiring. Wants Jake to take over the company. Do things his way. Jake has other plans. But he can’t act on those plans until he’s President. Which means he has to do whatever his Grandfather says until he’s released from his metaphorical hold. Even if that means being someone he isn’t. Which is probably why Jake is an asshole. Why he’s hardened himself against his true feelings. He’s really a nice guy, but he has to be a dick to appease his Grandfather so he doesn’t look weak.
This book is going to be so fucking good…
I tune back into the conversation that is somewhat lighter, but still tense. Grandfather pulls something from his pocket. I can’t see exactly what it is, but it looks like a business card. I move closer.
“I know you have a soft spot for small-time entrepreneurs.” Grandfather passes Jake the confirmed business card.
“Canton said he’d never sell.”
“He has no choice. Put all his capital into another idea and lost it to an established patent from the late nineties. His company isn’t of much interest to me. But with a little help from you, it could go places. Still, he’ll be a hard sell. He has a lot of pride.” At that, his eyes move to me. I drop my head and study my nails.
“I’ll give him a call next week.”
“You’ll talk to him at the party tonight.” Grandfather’s tone leaves no room for negotiation. Jake’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t say anything. “Until then.” He nods to Jake then to me, turns on his heel and walks to the door in long, purposeful strides.
The instant he leaves, I whirl around and face Jake. “Miss Sims is a whore, isn’t she?”
“You ask that question like you expect me to answer it.”
I throw my hands up. “Of course I expect you to answer it, considering he thought I was her. You know what he asked me when I told him you weren’t pay
ing me? He asked me if you paid me to say that, too.”
Jake’s not listening to me. He’s looking at my chest. I look too. And my tits are just about to bulge out of the towel. I cross my arms and take a seat on the couch. Then pull at the end of the towel to try and cover more of my naked legs.
Where the hell is that blanket?
“So is she? A whore?”
“Penelope…please,” Cam says, striding into the room. “Whore is so 1996. Jake prefers the term escort.” He drops down on the ottoman, never looking up from his phone.
Jake shakes his head. “Do you ever shut up?”
“What? You do.”
“How about we discuss what’s really important. Like what the fuck she’s still doing here. I told you I wanted her gone.”
Cam shrugs. “You said to find Miss Sims, too. I believe that takes precedence. So take a seat. Calm the fuck down. Let me do my job, then I’ll get rid of her.”
Get rid of her…
Shit.
What is he going to do? Get me out of town or feed me to the fishes?
Cam’s speech mellows Jake. At least a little bit. He runs his hands through those beautiful, black locks and takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch.
One cushion separates us.
We’re that close.
So close, I bet I could smell him.
While his focus is on Cam, I pull in a deep breath through my nose. My left nostril makes this weird, snotty noise before it clogs up and cuts off my air. It’s the most disgusting thing ever.
Maybe Jake didn’t hear it…
He heard it.
I get his usual glare. Not really repulsive, just his signature anger. Or more like raw, undulated hatred.
He says nothing as he stands and swaggers to his office. I wait for the door to slam, but he returns carrying a suit jacket. He pulls something from the inside pocket, tosses the jacket across a chair and reclaims his seat.
Then, to my horror and amusement, he offers me a handkerchief.
A real one.
Like, a cloth one.
I take it, wondering if it’s the first time he’s had the opportunity to use it. I bet he carries one every day in hopes some woman with a runny nose will come along and make all the trouble of remembering to put it in his pocket worth it.