His Every Need

by Terri L. Austin

  “Very amusing, Miss Campbell, but I made my expectations perfectly plain from the beginning. You’re welshing.”

  Allie looked up from her plate of fried goodness. “I am not welshing. I have a responsibility to my coworkers. Besides, you’re always busy in the afternoons—buying and selling and ruling over your little domain—far too busy for an afternoon shag.” She ate a bite of tomato, egg, and toast. “This is good.”

  Trevor gazed at her plate, his lip curled in disgust. “It’s coronary inducing.” He stroked his smooth jaw with one hand. “Mmm, maybe I should let my father request it. In fact, I think I’ll encourage it.”

  Allie laid down her fork. “That’s not funny.”

  “What’s not funny?” Mags sashayed into the breakfast room. She wore a royal blue peignoir with matching marabou feathers at the collar and wrists. She looked fabulous, her face perfectly made up, her hair tousled like she’d just rolled out of bed after a very satisfying tryst.

  Trevor rose from his seat and held a chair out for his mother. “Father’s demise. I would find it very amusing.”

  Arnold walked to the sideboard.

  “Just coffee and dry toast, Arnold.” She turned to Trevor. “You have a treasure in that man, darling.”

  Arnold set the coffee and toast before Mags as she examined Allie. “Why are you wearing that very ugly clothing, dearest?”

  “This is my work uniform.”

  Mags’s eyes shifted from Allie to Trevor. “I thought she was your mistress. Isn’t that enough to keep her occupied?”

  Trevor tapped on his phone. “One would think so.”

  “Apparently you’re doing something wrong, darling, otherwise, she’d be in bed until noon.”

  Allie pushed away from the table and stood. “Please quit talking about me like I’m not here. It’s annoying.” Irritated, she strode through the maze of hallways and left the house. As she walked toward the garage, she jerked to a stop.

  “Good morning, Miss Campbell,” Simmons said, waiting for her. “Mr. Blake said you have to take the limo.”

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.”

  She had Simmons drive her home first. Letting herself in with a key, she walked into the living room. “Hello,” she called.

  “Al?” Her dad stepped out of the kitchen. “What are you doing here? And why are you wearing your uniform?”

  Damn, she’d forgotten about being Trevor’s assistant. She was having a hard time keeping track of all the lies. “It’s a part-time thing. I wanted to see Brynn before she went to school. What time did Monica come home last night?”

  “She didn’t, and no phone call either.” He sighed and turned back toward the kitchen.

  Allie followed. “What are you going to do, Dad? Are you going to let this go on?” She wanted him to take the lead for once. Make a stand. Be a parent.

  Leaning his hands on the counter, he sighed. “I wish I knew what the right answer was. What’s your take on it?”

  She gazed out the window. She was used to this, making decisions that affected her sisters. But she didn’t like it. She never knew if she was doing the right thing.

  It started when her dad worked crazy hours and her mom lay in bed, sick from chemo. Allie would decide where the girls could go, coordinated schedules, and checked their homework. Taking care of her mom on top of it had been exhausting. Some days, the responsibilities were almost too much.

  “Maybe you could invite Brad over for dinner or something? Talk to him. If he cares about her—”

  “I already suggested that.” Brian pushed off the counter and crossed his arms. “She won’t introduce us. She comes and goes at all hours. She has no consideration.”

  Allie nibbled her lip. “You could always give Monica an ultimatum.”

  Brian laughed. “Yeah, ’cause that always works so well. If I paint her into a corner, I’m going to lose her.”

  Allie had a sinking feeling they’d already lost Monica. What would her mom do in this situation? Allie didn’t have a clue.

  Her father remained silent for a few minutes, then nodded. “You’re right. If she can’t follow the rules, she can’t stay.” He stared at the floor, shaking his head. “But I can’t tell her. Will you talk to her?”

  Mutely, Allie nodded. Looked like she was going to have to play bad cop. Again.

  “I need to get ready for work.” He patted her shoulder as he walked by. “At least you’re doing okay for yourself, Al.”

  But Allie wasn’t doing okay. She was floundering. She regretted having to make the hard choices. She had virtually abandoned Brynn. And now she was stuck with Trevor. Her life was a disaster and every time she tried to do the right thing, it got worse.

  She couldn’t think about that now. No time to wallow. Focus. First, Monica. Then make breakfast for Brynn, pack her lunch, load of laundry, and clean up.

  With a sigh, Allie set down her mug and dug her phone out of her pocket. She left a message for Monica before grabbing a skillet and a couple of eggs. She’d finished slathering butter on the toast when Brynn walked into the room.

  “What are you doing here, Al?”

  “You know Dad always overcooks the eggs.”

  Brynn sat at the table. She glanced at Allie’s uniform. “I thought you quit your job?”

  Allie was tired of hearing about that damn job. She set a glass of juice and the plate in front of her sister. “It’s part-time.”

  Brynn poked at her food. “So what’s it like, living with that guy?”

  Allie sat across from Brynn. “I’m not really living with him.” Liar. “I just stay in the same house. His parents came into town last night, and they’re a little nuts, but interesting.”

  Wide-eyed, Brynn forked a bite of egg into her mouth. “What do you mean nuts?”

  “They’re not crazy. I don’t think.” She glanced at the rooster clock. “More eccentric than loony. Mags is over-the-top glamorous, and Nigel is…” She shrugged. “I’m not sure what he is, exactly. But apparently they’re getting remarried. Oh, and I had baked beans for breakfast.”

  “Gross.” Brynn pinched off a piece of toast and crumbled it on her plate. “So, they’re divorced?”

  “Yeah.” Allie wondered how old Trevor was when his parents split and how he’d gotten along with all of those stepfathers. Had Nigel remarried too? She felt a little sorry for Trevor. That kind of background had to be rough. Poor little rich boy. She blinked at Brynn’s messy plate and put the arrogant English ass from her mind. He wouldn’t want her sympathy, in fact, he’d punish her for it, like he had last night. Dismissing her and lashing out when she’d shown an ounce of compassion. And anyway, Trevor wasn’t her concern. Brynn was. “How’s your government class? Did you finish your project?”

  She asked Brynn questions about school and her few friends. It seemed normal and almost comforting.

  As Brynn finished getting ready for school, Allie finished her list of chores and walked into the living room. Her dad stood by the door, keys in hand.

  “Did you remember to take out the trash?” she asked.

  His shoulders slumped. “Damn, I knew I’d forgotten something.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Al. Let me know when you hear from Monica.”

  “Sure.”

  ***

  Nigel walked into the breakfast room and gave Mags a kiss on the cheek. “I saw your bird from the window upstairs, Trev. I’d give that little totty a right seeing to if I were you, my boy.”

  “But did you see her clothes, darling?” Mags asked.

  “Hideous,” Nigel said with a little shudder as he walked to the sideboard and grabbed a plate. “Ah, a full English.”

  Trevor ground his
back teeth and forced himself to remain seated. He’d made a bad move last night, letting his parents see how they affected him. Allie had tried to pull him out of his dark mood. She’d succeeded. In fact, he couldn’t get the memories of her naked body out of his head. But at the diner, he’d acted like a beast to her. She was right, he was a bit of an asshole.

  Nigel grabbed the seat Allie had vacated a few moments before.

  Trevor ignored them both. He sipped his coffee and continued to read his email.

  “Now, Trevor,” Mags said, “we’d like to talk about the wedding.”

  He didn’t bother looking up. “I can’t stop you, Mother.”

  “What about being my best man, Trev?” Nigel asked.

  Mags heaved a dramatic sigh. “We shouldn’t have sprung the news on you like that last night. I know you were upset, my poor lamb.” She reached out and stroked a finger down his cheek.

  Trevor wrenched his head to the side. “Hardly.”

  Nigel snorted. “Threw quite a wobbler, you did. You always were a sensitive lad. But that’s neither here nor there. I think we should wear kilts. What say you, Mags?”

  Trevor didn’t know how much more he could take. His mother’s pseudo concern made his eye twitch, and his father’s blithe attitude made him want to punch something. Nigel’s nose might do, for starters.

  Mags closed her eyes and purred. “I love a man in a kilt. Of course, I love a man out of a kilt.”

  “You naughty minx,” Nigel said. “Perhaps we should go upstairs, and I’ll show you exactly what one wears under a kilt.”

  Trevor savagely stabbed at his phone while his breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.

  “So, Son, what about it? Kilts?”

  “I don’t give a damn what you do, old man. I will not be attending the wedding, so whatever your plans”—he tossed his napkin on the plate—“make them without me.” He pushed back from the table and walked out of the room.

  Arnold hovered in the hallway, and with a sigh, Trevor stopped in front of him. “Find out how long they’ll be here. And please, do whatever is within your power to make them hasten their leave, yes?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Trevor started walking on but stopped and turned around. “Oh, and Arnold?”

  “Sir?”

  “You really are a treasure.” His stoic butler’s cheeks actually turned pink. Allie’s little blushing problem was catching. He smiled as he walked to his office.

  ***

  “What do you mean I’m fired?” Allie had worked at The Lucky Shamrock Hotel and Casino for four years. She’d never been late, never been rude to a customer. “I don’t understand.” Sure she was quitting anyway, but fired? Now she’d have that on her resume. Trevor.

  Her manager, Rick—or as everyone called him behind his back, Rick the Dick, which was not terribly original, but perfectly accurate—shifted his eyes to the maroon-colored carpet. He took a deep breath, straining the already burdened buttons of his bright green vest. “I don’t know what to tell you, Allie. You’ve been a great employee, but we’re letting you go. Sorry.”

  He scuttled away from her, but she hopped in front of him, blocking his exit. “He got to you, didn’t he?”

  Rick hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean,” he muttered as he brushed by her and hightailed it to his office.

  Trevor’s arrogant fingerprints were all over this. She’d come in this morning, like she had almost every weekday morning for the past four years, only to find Rick waiting for her with a pink slip.

  Shelly walked over and put her arm around Allie, pulling her into a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t know, or I’d have given you a heads up.”

  In her late forties, Shelly’s choppy, white-blond hair and gamine features made her look a dozen years younger than she actually was. Allie was going to miss her.

  “I know you would have.”

  Shelly pulled back, a puzzled frown on her face. “What do you mean he got to Rick? Who’s he?”

  “Hang on,” Allie said. She glanced at the man standing at the front counter, waiting to be checked in. Although she was royally pissed at both Rick and Trevor, this guy didn’t deserve to take the brunt of it. Besides, he was staying at The Lucky Shamrock, so his day was about to get worse. This place wasn’t exactly a five-star luxury experience. She put on her best customer service smile and attended him. After she was through, she walked back to Shelly.

  “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She waited for Shelly to nod. “It’s a really long story, but my dad owed this guy some money. He agreed to forgive the debt if I went to work for him.”

  “Doing what, breaking kneecaps?”

  Allie laughed. “No, but he doesn’t want me working here anymore. He wants my undivided attention.”

  Shelly’s brown eyes bulged. “Allie, does this creep want you to sleep with him?”

  Allie opened her mouth to lie, but nothing came out. She was so damn tired of lying. She wanted to pour out her troubles to someone else for a change.

  “Oh my God.” With her hands on her hips, Shelly’s lips thinned into a frown. “You are so not doing this.”

  “He hasn’t actually forced me do anything. But I’ve moved into his house and—”

  “Well, you can just move out.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Allie said. “I owe him.”

  Shelly lowered her voice and leaned her head toward Allie’s. “You are not going to sleep with some creepy old man.”

  “He’s not old. Or creepy. He’s…he’s kind of amazing in that department.” She felt the rising tide of heat fill her cheeks. The whole experience had been a wakeup call. Allie discovered she loved sex. At least Trevor sex. Then he’d turned defensive and cold at the diner and ruined it.

  Speculation dawned in Shelly’s eyes. “You like him,” she accused, wagging her finger under Allie’s nose.

  “Maybe. Except when he pulls crap like this.” She hiked her thumb toward Rick the Dick’s office.

  “Oh, honey, I’m telling you, this will end in heartbreak. Some guy is trying to buy your affection. It’s not right. You deserve a man who will love and respect you. You’re a beautiful person, Allie, inside and out.”

  She had no doubt this whole thing with Trevor would end in disaster. And heartache? Probably. Allie shook her head. “I’d better go before security tosses me out. And you’d better get to work before he fires you too.”

  “He wouldn’t dare. I know where the bodies are buried. Screw work. Let Rick the Dick handle the front desk for a change. We’re going to have ourselves a three-martini breakfast.” Shelly grabbed her purse and tugged Allie toward the door.

  Allie dug her heels into the carpet. “It’s not even ten o’clock.”

  “It’s always happy hour in Vegas, honey.”

  Chapter 9

  Allie was a little drunk. Okay, maybe more than a little. She’d had two and half cosmos with her lunch—lunch being a bowl of communal pretzels sitting on top of the bar.

  Simmons had told her to call when she needed a ride, but she was tired of being told what to do. On the sidewalk, she gave Shelly a sloppy hug good-bye before climbing into a taxi.

  “Take care of yourself, kid,” Shelly said.

  Outside of the mansion, Allie tossed a twenty to the driver before stumbling into the house. Inside was cool and dark. She leaned against the front door for a moment, wishing she had another drink. Her mouth was so dry.

  She had decided at the bar that she was going to have a little talk with the British bastard. He had some splainin’ to do, Lucy. He couldn’t just pick up a phone and get her fired like that.

  As she looked around the foyer, Allie wondered briefly where his parents were, but the thought flew out of her head as quickly as it formed. Arnold
and Frances must be busy too. That was good. She didn’t want to be interrupted.

  She weaved her way down the corridor, slapping her hand on a glass case to steady herself. This one held elaborate antique brass finials. Trevor collected the weirdest shit. Pretty but weird. Carefully, putting one foot in front of the other, she made her way to his office without faltering too much. She dispensed with knocking and flung open the door, slamming it behind her.

  Trevor sat behind his desk, sans jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his tie…hell, she didn’t know where his tie was. He held the phone to his ear and gave her a dirty look as she staggered into the room.

  Allie didn’t care who he was talking to. Whoever it was could wait. Right now, she wanted all of his attention, and she was just soused enough to not care if it pissed him off.

  She walked over to the desk and jerked the phone from his hand. “This is Mr. Blake’s assistant. He’ll have to call you back.” She hit the end button and tossed the phone down on the desk.

  Slowly, Trevor stood. His nostrils were a little white around the edges, and his gray eyes narrowed as they pinned her like one of the butterflies on display in the upstairs hallway. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Miss Campbell?”

  “You”—she shook a finger at him—“are an ash.”

  His brows lifted. “You’re drunk.”

  “You bet your ash I’m drunk. I’m drunk as a skunk.” She unbuttoned her vest, pulled it off, and threw it at his head.

  He calmly plucked it from his face and placed it on the desk. “Do you always make it a habit to drink before”—he glanced at his watch—“two in the afternoon?”

  “Maybe.” She started unbuttoning her long-sleeved white blouse. “Or maybe I’m just mad you had Rick the Dick fire me.” She pulled the blouse off and tossed that at him too.

  His gaze got stuck on her breasts. She glanced down at her sheer white bra, the one with cups shaped like sea shells. Everything was on display. She shrugged. He’d seen it all anyway.