by Aven Ellis
My phone vibrates on the table. I pick it up and see that Beckett has texted me.
Just parked. With Landy and Pierre. See you in a minute.
“Ah, he’s here,” I say excitedly. I text him where we are sitting, and then look up at Livy. “Pierre is with him. And so is Landy.”
Livy’s cheeks take on a pink color. “Oh, Landy, too?”
“Hmm, yes,” I say, cocking an eyebrow. “Do I need to text you toxic and danger emojis as a reminder?”
“Ugh, no,” Livy insists. Then she laughs. “Besides, that’s what Landy wants,” she says, inclining her head toward the mass of people now filling up the bar. “Girls like that.”
I glance at the women in the crowd. They’re dressed in short designer dresses and sky-high heels, despite the fact that it’s freezing outside.
And here I am in a vintage style, long-sleeved Chicago Buffaloes T-shirt, my AG skinny jeans—okay, not so skinny since I had to lay on my bed, hold my breath, and force the button closed in a maneuver that would make a ninja jealous—and my Vince black suede, over-the-knee boots.
Okay. So the boots are as cool as those girls’ stilettos.
The rest?
I chew on my lip. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Beckett is my boyfriend. He checked YES. So that includes this outfit as part of the “checked yes” deal.
Suddenly I hear a murmur over the loud music. And cell phones start shooting up in rapid pace and flashing toward the front door.
I turn my head and see Beckett, Landy, and Pierre have entered the bar.
My heart races as I take him in. Beckett is wearing his gray beanie over his chocolate-brown locks. He’s changed into a black V-necked sweater and has a black leather jacket thrown over the top.
And while I’m a woman of many words, “sexy as hell” is all I need right now to describe Beckett.
I see his eyes scanning the crowd. My pulse accelerates as he searches for me. Finally his eyes meet mine, and he flashes me a smile. But as he begins to make his way toward me, he’s surrounded by women.
Okay. I know he has female fans. But literally they are on him in less than ten seconds?
I watch uncomfortably as now there are more than ten women surrounding him.
Beckett is smiling and talking to his fans as he moves along, but he’s being mobbed with every step.
Mobbed by women who are gorgeous. Ones with perfect bodies shoved into tiny dresses. Ones with shiny tresses and designer bags hanging off perfectly toned arms from hours of Pilates at the hippest studios in town.
“Black truffle oil fries,” a server says, placing the basket in between me and Livy.
I stare at my fries, the scent of crispy sticks of potatoes dressed with truffle oil wafting up toward me. I should feel sorry for those girls. I bet they don’t know the joy of fries.
Then again, they aren’t jumping to fit into their jeans, so I should feel sorry for me.
I direct my gaze back to Beckett, who is now posing for selfies in the middle of the bar with sexy girls.
Okay, I know he has to do this. Beckett said he has used Harrison Flynn as a role model, and Harrison is known for being gracious with his fans.
But Beckett’s graciousness is starting to upset me. He could at least come to see me first, couldn’t he?
Finally they arrive at our table.
“Hey,” Beckett says, giving me that crooked smile I adore.
I shove aside the upset feeling and smile up at him. “Hey, yourself.”
Introductions are made, with Beckett calling me his “social media consultant” when he introduces me to Pierre.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand to him.
“Likewise,” Pierre says, his French accent very thick.
“And Pierre, this is my friend Livy,” I say, and they greet each other. “And Landy, you’ve already met Livy.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Landy says, smiling at her. “How are you?”
Livy is about to answer when a group of females approach Beckett.
“Are you really Becks?” a gorgeous brunette asks.
“Yeah, I am,” he says simply.
She lets out a squeal and turns to her friends standing behind her. “See! I told you it was him,” she says. “My friends didn’t believe me. But I’m your biggest fan. I’m so excited to meet you right now. I think you’re amazing.”
I feel uneasiness wash over me. Okay, Beckett needs to say thank you and say he’s going to spend time with his friends. That’s generous, right?
“Thank you,” Beckett says, smiling at her.
The brunette puts her hand on his arm. “You’re so muscular.”
Okay, screw uneasy. Now I’m pissed.
“Thank you,” Beckett says, turning pink.
Thank you? How about closing the conversation, Beckett?
Now another woman approaches, this one blond and with a tropical tan from a winter holiday somewhere chic. Like Fiji.
“Oh, Captain, can I get a selfie?” she coos.
Beckett smiles agreeably at her. “Sure.”
Now girls are swarming over Landy and Pierre, who have made their way to the bar to get beer. And Beckett is standing in front of me with an endless parade of girls waiting to assess his biceps with their salon manicures.
And Beckett shows no intention of saying no to any of them. I hear girls call him “hot” and “so amazing,” and I’m ready to scream that I’m his girlfriend, so they can fuck right off.
Frustrated, I pop a French fry into my mouth. Beckett finally slides into the seat next to me, but before he can say a word, a girl wearing a dress with cut outs bends down next to where he’s sitting, revealing an ample set of boobs barely contained by Lycra.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m your biggest fan . . .”
Biggest fan count? I’m sure we are up to 29 by now.
And he’s been here a grand total of ten minutes.
I take a swig of my beer and feel anger swirling in me. I’m frustrated because nobody knows I’m his girlfriend, but that’s my choice. But part of me wonders if it would matter. I think these girls would still be all over him regardless of his status.
And Beckett isn’t exactly pushing them away.
Fear instantly shoots through me. Is tonight a turning point on another level? The night Beckett realizes he can have women such as the one talking to him right now? Is that why he’s been so accessible tonight? Harrison freaking Flynn even talked about how great he is. This will make the girls even crazier.
And will Beckett still want me now that he realizes all of this?
I have to get out of here before I say something that will not only get me fired, but be recorded on one of the million cell phones taking video of Beckett right now.
I grab my purse and my coat.
“Livy, I’m leaving,” I say. “You can stay if you want, but I need to go.”
Livy’s eyes lock on mine. I can see she knows what this is about.
“I’ll come with you,” she says, nodding.
Beckett stops mid-sentence and whips his head toward me. “What?”
“Gotta run. I have loads to do tonight,” I say with a fake smile.
“Becks? A picture?” another woman asks.
“Um, in a moment, please,” Beckett says politely. Then he turns to me, his eyes intense. “I think you need to stay,” he says, his voice neutral.
I shoot him a fake smile. “Oh, I need to go.”
Beckett doesn’t move.
Livy gets up, so I scoot all the way around to the other side of the booth so I can escape him.
He springs up from his seat, ignoring his fans.
“Hey, Livy, I’m going to talk to Aubrey for a mome
nt,” he says, going into captain mode.
Landy comes back with beer and hands one to Livy. “Got you a refill so you don’t have to flag anyone down later. Wait,” he says, noticing that I have my coat and purse, “are we going to a different bar?”
“I’m leaving.”
“She’s not,” Beckett says at the same time.
Livy plops back down in the booth. “I’ve been through this before. We’ll be staying. So I’ll accept that beer, Landy, only if I get the next one for you.”
Landy laughs. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“Oh, I know you’ve got it,” Livy says, smiling, “but being that I’m high rolling from selling jewelry on Etsy, I’m getting the next round.”
Okay, I should be panicked about this but I can’t be right now.
“Livy, you’re wrong. Be careful,” I say firmly. “And I’m going now. For real.”
Then I walk right past Beckett and toward the front door.
I don’t get far before I feel Beckett’s hand on my elbow.
“You’re not doing this again,” he says into my ear.
“Watch me,” I say, exiting the bar.
“Becks!”
“It’s Beckett Riley!”
People in line start screaming and taking pictures the second he walks outside.
But Beckett won’t let go of my elbow and tugs me around the corner of the building, next to a Dumpster.
“Why are so pissed off at me?” Beckett asks.
The snow has picked up and is falling furiously between us.
“Don’t you think I see what is happening?” I cry. “All these perfect women approaching you. They want you, Beckett. And you ignored me the whole time this was happening! How am I supposed to feel?”
“I ignored you? Are you kidding? I was mobbed in there. What was I supposed to do? You’re the one telling me to be nice and sociable with fans. I was doing what you wanted.”
I’m too upset to acknowledge any logic in his words. I know I should, but I’m so wound up and upset I can’t.
“You know you could have those girls,” I say, taking my frustration out on him.
“I don’t want those girls,” he says firmly.
“Look at me! Did you know I had to fucking pry myself into my jeans this morning? I don’t have a perfect size-two frame. I have to do ninja moves to get into my clothing, Beckett! I have this crazy wild red hair and I don’t work out enough and I talk too fast and I talk too much a—”
“Would you listen to me? I think you’re perfect. I love your body. I love your curves. You’re the one who is insecure about it, and you shouldn’t be. I want you, exactly the way you are. But I’m not sure you can say the same about me. Because you’re the one who won’t tell anyone I’m your boyfriend,” Beckett interrupts. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”
I blink. His words slap across my face.
“What?”
“Are you embarrassed about me? Is work an excuse?”
“Me? Embarrassed of you? That’s crazy!”
“The real me,” Beckett challenges. “The guy who likes to stay home instead of dealing with this shit in a bar. The way too serious guy. The one who is awkward in social settings. The real me, not surface me that all those girls in there have scripted to be their own fantasy dream guy. And maybe you think you can do better than that, and that’s why you won’t tell anyone about us.”
I’m stunned into silence. Does he actually believe that? It’s insane.
Just as insane as me worrying about him wanting the perfect girls in the bar.
Guilt floods me. Beckett was trying to be the celebrity I’ve coached him to be. And my own insecurity and jealousy drove me to be an idiot.
I draw a breath of the frozen air between us. I need to prove to him that I love him, the real Beckett. And I have no doubts about us or where we are going.
I retrieve my cell phone. I manage to start typing, even though my fingers are going numb from the cold.
“You’re seriously texting someone right now?” Beckett snaps, annoyed with me.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m texting Tom.”
“What?”
I turn the phone around and show him my message.
Tom, Beckett Riley and I are dating. I know you might feel this is a conflict of interest, so you can remove me from the account if need be, but I wanted you to know as a professional courtesy.
Then I hit ‘send’ before Beckett can protest.
“Done,” I say, dropping my phone into my purse. “I like the real Beckett. You’re more important to me than my job at ChicagoConnect.”
Beckett is silent for a moment.
I bite my lip, willing him to see the love in my eyes.
Then he does something he’s never done before. He reaches for my hand in public and laces his fingers through mine.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Beckett says, stepping closer.
“I know I didn’t,” I say, gazing up at him. “I wanted to.”
“You’re the one I want, Aubrey,” Beckett says, cupping my face in his hands. “You’re beautiful and sexy and nobody compares to you. You’re the only one I want.”
Then he presses his lips against mine in a slow, sweet kiss that tells me his words are true.
I break the kiss and stare up at him. “I’m sorry I was a jealous idiot.”
“Sorry I was an insecure idiot.”
I put my hands on his leather jacket and draw him closer. “You’re my idiot, don’t ever forget that.”
“Not a chance,” he says, kissing me again. “I checked yes, remember?”
I break the kiss again. “So can we go back inside and celebrate your big win? Because I really want to do that. I’m so proud of you, Beckett. You deserve to celebrate tonight.”
Beckett cocks an eyebrow at me. “What if I want to celebrate a different way?”
“Oh?”
“Privately.”
“Details, please.”
“My celebration involves you moving like a ninja to get out of your jeans to show me your Lucky Charms panties.”
I stop walking. My face burns hot and Beckett flashes me a smile.
“My ninja moves to get out of my jeans are awful,” I declare.
“They’ll be hot. I need to see it.”
I shriek with laughter. “No, you don’t!”
Beckett draws me to him and we’re both laughing as we make our way out of the alley. I’m aware of fans calling his name as we get up to the valet stand, and cell phones taking pictures, but I don’t care.
I know where I stand with my captain.
And nothing else matters.
Chapter 27
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #27: When you have a meeting with someone important, confidence is the key. You stride into the meeting, not walk. You maintain eye contact. You speak with authority. You win this meeting.
**Note** Okay, obviously I was high when I wrote this rule. How can I be confident when I’m about to talk to my boss about dating a client?
**Note #2** My palms are sweaty.
**Note #3** I freaking hope I can find the ON button for my mental filter, or I might throw myself at Tom’s feet and yell “Forgive me because I LOVE HIM” and sob in melodramatic form like an actress in an epic romance movie.
**Note #4** Speaking of movies, I still have to make Beckett watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s with me.
**Note #5** That can be payback for watching sharks eat chum the other night with him. Gross. And now I don’t want to go in open water this summer.
**Note #6** SHIT. SECOND REMINDER TO SELF. BIKINI SEASON IS MONTHS AWAY AND NOW I HAVE BECKETT I MUST START THAT 21-DAY FIX PROGRAM I SAW ON TV THE OTHER
NIGHT.
**Note #7** Fries could go in that carb container, right?
**Note #8** FOCUS. NOW YOU HAVE TO GO TELL YOUR BOSS YOU LOVE HIS CLIENT AND THIS WILL BE HIDEOUS.
I head down the long hallway to Tom’s corner office with complete dread. While I have no doubts about blowing up my rule about falling for Beckett, and I have zero regret about my text to Tom last night, I’m queasy about having this conversation.
Tom texted me back and said we’d discuss the situation in the morning when I got in to the office. Ugh. I don’t want him to think any less of me as a professional because I fell for Beckett, but if he does, I can’t control that.
But I can assure him that while working any event on the behalf of ChicagoConnect I’ll be a complete professional and behave as I would representing any other client.
It’s going to be up to Tom as to whether he wants to believe me or not.
Neilson is at her desk outside of Tom’s office when I get there. I wonder if she knows.
Oh, shit, I’m sure she does. She handles all of Tom’s confidential information, and Lord knows he probably sent emails about it last night to his direct reports and flagged me as a potential problem.
I wonder if Mallory knows.
Ugh, a wave of nausea rips through me from the mere idea of her knowing about Beckett. She’s been waiting for me to slip up for weeks now, and this is the ammo she needs to further make my life hell. And she’ll go straight to Tom and say, “I told her not to get involved and I saw it coming” and blah, bla—”
Neilson smiles at me. “Good morning, Aubrey,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “Tom is expecting you.”
Oy.
She gets up from her seat and leads me to Tom’s office. Neilson raps on the doorframe to announce her presence.
“Tom? I have Aubrey here to see you,” she says.
“Send her in,” Tom says. “And shut the door behind you on the way out.”
