Your Alluring Love (The Bennett Family)

by Layla Hagen

  Nate: Talked to the head of the division yesterday, and I just received a questionnaire for you from the producing team. I’ll forward you the e-mail. They want more info, but they’re interested.

  I jump up and down with joy, which garners curious looks from the crew. He e-mails me the questionnaire seconds later.

  Alice: Got it, thank you. I really appreciate this, Nate.

  Nate: You’re welcome. Any plans tonight? Time for a drink?

  I stare at the screen, trying to read through the lines, and also to decide if a drink would be a good idea. Sure, we used to go for drinks and chat for hours whenever he was in town, but that was before.

  Alice: Working. It’s very busy for a Tuesday.

  Nate: Is this code for “Drinks aren’t a good idea”?

  Alice: Not at all.

  Nate: Immune to my charms already?

  Alice: I move fast. You snooze, you lose.

  The great part about written communication? No one can see my facial expression. Right now, I’m positively beaming.

  Nate: Drinks shouldn’t be a problem, then. When do you have time?

  Theoretically, owning my business means I can take time off whenever I want. Practically, I work nonstop. But Nate will leave in a few weeks, and who knows when I’ll see him again. Yes, things have changed, but I won’t allow that to overshadow the years of camaraderie and friendship.

  Alice: Thursday in the evening sound good? The kitchen closes at ten o’clock.

  Nate: Sure. I’ll pick you up.

  Alice: I can come by cab.

  Nate: You could, but then I’d go all caveman again convincing you. Bad idea.

  This man! What is he thinking?

  Alice: You’re a bad man, telling me things like this.

  Nate: Hey, my ego’s still recovering from finding out you’re immune to my charms already.

  Alice: Fine, pick me up. But you’re not allowed to overstep friendship boundaries the entire evening.

  Nate: Promise.

  As I tuck my phone away in my bag, focusing on helping Mark, I try hard not to acknowledge that the chances of Nate sticking to his word are zero. I try even harder not to admit I’m looking forward to him breaking his promise.

  Chapter Four

  Nate

  “Answer the phone, Mother.” I glance at the digital time display on my car’s dashboard: eight thirty in the morning, Thursday. I’ve messed up our call time on a few occasions while traveling—time zone differences are a pain in the ass. But I’m one hundred percent sure we scheduled a call for right now. Maybe she has a shift and forgot to tell me? Mom works as a nurse at the local hospital in the small town where she moved a few years ago. She lives three hours away from San Francisco and I rarely see her, though I’m determined to pay her a visit before moving to London.

  “Nate, hi!” she answers at long last, her voice echoing through the car’s speaker system. “Are you driving? It’s not safe to talk while you’re driving. You need both hands on the wheel.”

  “I’m using Bluetooth, Mother. Both hands are safely on the wheel.”

  “Hmm….” She sounds unconvinced. My mother is one of those who doesn’t trust technology too much. I’ve tried to talk her into using Skype, or to let me buy her a phone with a camera so we could see each other while talking, but I’ve yet to win that fight.

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Same old, same old. Heading to the pet shop to start my first shift.”

  It takes me a second to put two and two together. “Wait, you got a second job?”

  “Just part-time.”

  Worry nags at me. My mother’s sixty-seven. Yes, she’s full of energy, but a part-time job at a pet shop on top of her shifts as a nurse?

  “I get bored between shifts at the hospital.”

  I’m not buying this explanation. “Are you having problems with the mortgage again? You know I can help. I can pay your entire debt, Mom.”

  “We’re not having this conversation again,” she says sternly, but damn if I’m backing down, even if this conversation will put her on edge.

  During my childhood and teen years, she was always on edge. She and my father were constantly fighting. She remarried one year after divorcing my father, but she fought just as much with her new husband. She tried her best to be a good mother, but she was stretching herself thin. I chose to spend most of my time outside the house to avoid all the yelling. It’s how I ended up spending so much time with the Bennetts.

  Mom and I grew apart and never quite managed to repair that bridge, but we’ve both been trying, especially since she divorced her second husband five years ago. She’s been much calmer since too, except when talking about my father or her financial issues.

  “I’m not bringing in seven figures a year and letting you work two jobs just to afford your house. I can help. I want to help.”

  “It’s not a child’s duty to pay for their parents’ mistakes.”

  Oh man, oh man, here she goes again. I once got to the bottom of why she doesn’t want me buying her house. She said she wouldn’t be having this problem if she still had a husband because the mortgage would be split in two. She keeps punishing herself for having not one but two failed marriages, and I have no idea how to help her. It frustrates me to no end.

  “That’s not what it is. But we’re family. Family helps each other out.”

  “Do you give your father money?”

  I groan. If I tell her yes, she’ll just say Dad is a leper, which he’s not. My father remarried too, finding a good woman who had kids from her previous marriage. I never really fit in his new family, but we have a cordial relationship. He never asked me for money though.

  If I tell this to Mom, she’ll flat-out refuse to be the family member who can’t take care of herself. Even after all these years, my parents can’t be in the same room without starting a fight. Two years ago, I received an award and invited both my parents to the fancy dinner party. Dad came with his family, and one hour into the dinner, all hell broke loose. Before leaving, Dad said that when I get married, I’d better throw two weddings and invite them separately.

  “Not the point. I just want you to have a good life.”

  “I do. You take good care of me. The hose you bought me for Christmas is perfect. My flowers have never looked better.”

  Yeah, because a functioning hose improved her quality of life so much. It pisses me off that I can’t reason with my own mother. I can’t find the arguments to make her understand.

  In an obvious attempt to switch topics, she starts talking about her friends at the book club and their antics, and I let the issue slide for now. I won’t lie, I phase out sometime during her monologues, but despite the borderline ridiculous things her friends are up to (apparently holding pageant competitions among dogs is all the rage, because why not?), I’m glad she has a circle of people she can trust. For a long time after her second divorce, she was very lonely.

  “So I’m going to get a dog,” she finishes. “A pug!”

  “You won’t win any pageants with pugs, Mother. They look more like rats than dogs.”

  “Nate!”

  “You already got your dog, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and she’s lovely. Found her in a shelter. I’m not too sure what her name is. The shelter owner said it’s Becky, but she doesn’t answer to that. I’m trying to get her to answer to Felicia. Isn’t it a beautiful name?”

  “It is.”

  “Now I’m fighting to get Clarissa Lawson to include her in the upcoming pageant. She says pugs aren’t among the races admitted to the pageantry. I swear the woman’s out to get me.”

  Or she agrees with me that pugs look a lot like rats, but volunteering this fact out loud would put me squarely in the enemy camp.

  “Do you want me to pull some strings?”

  “Really?” she asks hopefully.

  “The network has a minor segment for canines. I can ask them to contact Clarissa and tell her they’d
be interested in highlighting the competition, but only if she accepts pugs.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

  Yep, that’s my mother. She won’t let me lift a finger for her mortgage, but pulling strings for her pug? It’s all fair game.

  We chitchat until I arrive at the studio, focusing on me. All the while I rack my brain for any argument I could use so she’d let me take care of her mortgage. Right before we end the conversation, she asks me not to forget about Felicia. It takes me a few seconds to remember it’s the pug’s name.

  “I’ll see to it first thing today,” I assure her, considering this a step in the right direction. A baby step, but it’s better than nothing.

  ***

  At ten sharp that evening, I’m in front of Alice’s restaurant, but the woman in question is nowhere to be seen. Since she’s not answering her phone, I head inside. The restaurant is chock-full, and servers are running around with plates. The kitchen might close at ten, but the restaurant remains open until twelve.

  After explaining to one of the waiters that I’m here for Alice, he brings me to her. She’s in one corner of the kitchen, placing lids on plastic containers with such force I’m surprised they don’t break. The waiter scurries away, as if afraid Alice might see him.

  The rest of her staff is at a considerable distance from her, tiptoeing around. Ah, I know what this means. Alice is mad, and her staff is trying not to cross her.

  “Blowing me off already, Alice?”

  She spins around, a plastic lid in her hand.

  “It’s ten already? I’m so sorry, Nate. I… lost track of time.” She looks at the plastic containers on the counter with guilt.

  “Need help finishing?”

  She nods. “It’ll be quicker. I should have started earlier, but I got caught up with… other things.”

  We work side by side for the next few minutes, and I can practically feel the anger radiating off her. She’s wearing a cream-colored dress, and her skin is flushed. She only flushes when she’s pissed, or embarrassed. Briefly, I wonder if her skin turns the same color when she’s aroused. I think it would. The temptation to test my theory is stronger than ever. But she’s off-limits, damn it.

  “Tell me!”

  “What?”

  “Whatever has you so mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  Her head is bent as she focuses on the last container, so she doesn’t see me lean in.

  “Don’t lie to me, Alice.” Unable to keep my hands off her, I drag my knuckles down her cheek. Her dress is snug around her waist, with three buttons leading up to her breasts. “Or I’ll have to make you tell me the truth.”

  She snaps her head in my direction, licking her lips. “You said you’d be on your best behavior.”

  “When we’re out for drinks, yes. Right now we’re filling plastic containers with food. We’re off the clock.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “And you’re mad, and I want to know why. If you don’t tell me, I’ll flirt the panties off you.”

  She pulls away quickly. “Damn, you’re good with threats. Much better than keeping your promises, anyway.” With a sigh, she adds, “I had to fight off a reporter earlier on the phone.”

  “Why? Press is good.”

  “Yeah, except this one was telling me about how he’ll do an exclusive feature for my restaurants if I could get him a one-on-one interview with Sebastian.”

  “I had no idea that still happened.”

  “Not as often as it used to, but often enough to piss me off. I really don’t want to keep talking about it.”

  Alice was in college when Bennett Enterprises became a star in America. As the CEO, Sebastian was sought after for interviews, but he rarely gave any. So reporters tried to get to him via alternative methods, such as pestering Alice. Knowing she still must fend off idiots has me seeing red. I’m about to ask her who the guy is because I can make sure he doesn’t ever bother her again with a few phone calls, but I stop myself just in time. What she needs right now is for me to take her mind off the whole incident.

  “Won’t say another word about it. By the way, the Delicious Dining team e-mailed me today. They’re going to decide next week if they go forward with you and Blake. My bet is they will.” A smile instantly lights up her face, which is what I was going for. “What’s with all these plastic containers?”

  “They’re for a nearby senior center. I bring them treats twice a week for their evening meetings. Someone from my staff will deliver them tonight for a party they’re having.” She looks with guilt at the boxes.

  “We can bring them by, if you want, and then go for drinks.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thank you so much. Let me tell my staff I’m doing this myself, and then we can go.”

  “I’ll wait. And Alice? Until we’re having those drinks, we’re still off the clock.”

  I relish the way her lips part slightly in surprise and the skin on her arms turns to goose bumps. When she dashes away, I tell myself I’m playing a dangerous game. I know there can’t be anything between us, but this doesn’t seem to keep me from breaking my promise over and over again. Being near Alice while being on my best behavior might be my definition of hell.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, we enter the famed senior center. Call me clueless, but I imagined a senior center to be boring and quiet. I couldn’t be more wrong. The distant sound of bad retro music assaults my ears the second we step inside. Alice leads the way, walking in the direction the lousy music is coming from.

  We enter a room clearly decorated for a vintage disco, complete with a silver globe hanging from the ceiling. The place is absolutely buzzing with people.

  “Alice, you made it after all, dear.” An elderly woman with violet hair and a godawful pink lipstick hugs Alice. When she pulls back, she eyes me from head to foot. “And you brought a hunk with you.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. What the hell?

  “Ms. Williams, this is Nate. He’s a dear friend of mine. He’s in town for a couple more days, so we’re grabbing drinks after we leave.”

  Ms. Williams claps her hands. “But you must toast with us before you leave. I only turn eighty once.”

  “Happy birthday,” I tell her, still stunned that an eighty-year-old is checking me out.

  “Thank you, honey. Now let me relieve you both of those bags of goodies.”

  After Ms. Williams heads to the large buffet lining one wall, Alice pulls me to one side. “Could we stay for a drink? It would mean a lot to her.”

  “Depends. Will she give me more dubious looks if she drinks?”

  Alice giggles. “Ms. Williams is harmless. She just likes to talk. Now Ms. Hannigan, she’s a feisty one.” She points to a white-haired, bubbly woman across the room, probably the same age as Ms. Williams.

  “Define feisty.”

  “Don’t let her rope you into playing poker. She’ll beat you to a pulp and try to get you to agree to naked poker. Or she’ll pretend she needs mouth-to-mouth.”

  “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

  “Nah. Trust me, they might not have all their teeth intact, but their libido certainly is. Especially with eye candy such as yourself.”

  Ah, now this is an opportunity I just can’t pass up.

  “What’s this eye candy doing for you, Alice?”

  I enjoy immensely the way she drags her lower lip between her teeth. Her physical response is always strong when I speak her name. It makes me want to say it over and over until she succumbs to me.

  “Don’t do this. It’s not fair and you know it.” Her low voice is almost a whisper, but it slays me. She’s right. I’m an ass. My lack of control around her is my problem, not hers, and it’s my duty not to make it her problem.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  She smiles. “Even if we’re still off the clock?”

  “Technically we’re abou
t to have the first drink.”

  Before Alice can respond, one of the seniors whisks her away, and I’m left watching her from a distance. That’s when I see someone from the staff—judging by the uniform and name tag—approaching me.

  “Who are you?” she asks sharply. “Where’s your visitor badge?”

  “I’m Nate Becker. I came with Alice.”

  That seems to instantly win her over. “How do you know her?”

  “Old family friend. The seniors really seem to dig her treats.”

  They’re all at the buffet, surrounding Alice.

  “Yeah, they love her. She’s been a blessing for this place. We would have been closed down if not for her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a state-funded center. A couple of years ago, officials said there weren’t enough funds. Alice made a generous donation. This place has survived off her donations ever since.”

  Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I knew Alice well, but she just keeps surprising me.

  ***

  Alice

  One drink turns into… I’ve lost count. The seniors have mastered two arts: gossiping and living vicariously through others. Since most of them have alcohol restrictions due to their medication, they drink nonalcoholic cocktails. My drink definitely has alcohol in it. I’m hot and sweaty from it, and I tried going outside to cool off, but it’s a terrible evening. It’s not raining, but there is a thick and humid fog, and breathing in deeply feels like diving underwater.

  So here I am between Ms. Williams and Ms. Hannigan, always with a glass in my hand. It doesn’t seem to get empty, no matter how much I drink. I only realize it’s more than I intended when my limbs relax. I was still wound up because of the reporter. I’ve been fighting this war for a long time, ever since college reporters would try to get information about my older brothers from me. But they were usually the least dangerous because they went straight for the kill. What really hurt were the people who approached me under the guise of friendship, while all they wanted was to get an internship or an interview, or were just looking for an introduction to my siblings. I used to be a trusting person, probably the effect of growing up in a large family where I could always count on someone to join me in any shenanigans, but also to have my back.