Down and Dirty

by Crystal Green

  Lord knew how they were even going to get through one of those. . . .

  The Realtor, a sunny blonde named Cynthia who wore a smart purple suit while wielding a phone that she was constantly using to bring up statistics, stood with Liz and Anita in the vast, echoing Lake Las Vegas mansion. Eight bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, a wine cellar, and guest cottage, all for the bargain price of seven million dollars.

  “It’s a nice starter home for you and Mr. Hughes,” Cynthia said. “Celine Dion even lives in the area. Maybe you could talk her into having a barbecue!”

  The cost of these properties had floored Liz at first—how many showgirls could that feed for a year?—but she wasn’t about to overreact. Not the billionaire’s wife.

  “It really is very nice,” she said politely, even though she felt nothing for the home.

  Felt nothing since Ben had left.

  Anita was spinning around with her arms out like she was in The Sound of Music, and she laughed before she plunked onto the marble floor. Graceful for an ex-showgirl. “This is it, chica! The home of your dreams.”

  Maybe her friend’s dreams, but to Liz, everything was lifeless here, empty and sterile. “It’s pretty.”

  “‘Pretty’?” Cynthia spread out her arms. “It belonged to a blockbuster movie producer. He’s a motivated seller, by the way.”

  Liz glanced at the curving staircase, the fresco painted over the foyer. Would Ben like it? Or would it only be another one of his assets?

  God. Ben again.

  “Liz?” Anita asked from her spot on the floor. “It has a huge lagoon swimming pool. A personal movie theater. And many, many guest rooms.” She stuck a thumb at herself, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

  Cynthia’s phone rang, and Liz gestured for her to answer it.

  “I’ll be right back,” the Realtor said. “Take some time to enjoy, Liz. Call your husband, and if you want, I’ll send him some pictures and information.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cynthia headed for the French doors, with their spectacular view of the tropical pools and the artificial lake surrounded by palm trees. She went outside, her phone to her ear while Anita kept sitting on the floor, eagerly watching Liz.

  “So is this the one?” she asked.

  The One. Liz had thought that’d been Ben.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Maybe? Ay, Dios mio, Liz, are you kidding me? What’s wrong with you?”

  Liz’s secret was banging at her lungs, fighting to get out, but she couldn’t exactly say, My fake husband shut me down and I have no chance of ever getting his love, even though it’s all I want. Screw mansions.

  Instead, she could only tell Anita half of it, her chest feeling as if it was cracking like thin ice. “It’s just that I miss Ben, that’s all.”

  And she did. So badly. Ridiculously.

  “Of course you do.” Anita got up from the floor, coming over to cuddle her like Liz cuddled Poppy whenever they were at the house, the dog giving her an I-miss-him-too look as they sat in front of the outdated TV, not seeing a thing on the screen. “It’s shitty that he had to take that emergency business trip right now.”

  “It couldn’t wait.” She felt drained, without purpose, but she didn’t want to be a pathetic girl.

  A few more days, she thought. I’ll give myself that long to grieve and then move on from Ben, being the best fake wife possible until I don’t have to anymore.

  After that, she’d be set for life. But what kind of life without him?

  “Oh, hon,” Anita said, patting Liz’s back. “How do you think Ben will feel when you’re having meetings with your dinner-club designers? We’ll see who feels ignored then.”

  Yeah, like he was going to care.

  Twisting tears raged through her throat, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not here in the middle of a luxurious mansion built for American royalty. But her body wasn’t listening, and her eyes were suddenly blurry, a tear leaking out before she could stop it.

  Anita didn’t miss anything, and she scanned Liz, worry written all over her.

  “Lizzie, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

  Yet she couldn’t. Discretion was in the contract, and she was going to keep this secret, even from her best friend.

  Big girls didn’t . . .

  But they did, and a damned tear escaped her before she could catch it.

  “I’m just emotional,” she said, forcing herself to smile at Anita. “Me. Maddie Patterson, living in a mansion.”

  Anita bought the explanation, and when the French doors opened and shut, they both looked over to find Cynthia strutting toward them, no doubt with visions of a major commission dancing in her head.

  Liz blew out a breath, drawing away from Anita, smiling even brighter for the Realtor. The show must go on.

  “I’ll take it,” Liz said.

  She’d take anything that came her way when it came to the promise she’d made to Ben, even if her heart crumbled a little more every day.

  ***

  The Hughes Corporation main headquarters wasn’t any more hospitable than it had been when Ben had first seen it as a child.

  The wide, expansive windows that overlooked Broadway from the corner office he’d never, ever used only showed him a city he hadn’t warmed up to since he’d been back. The chrome-and-glass desk that held his office gadgets seemed endless and unfriendly, like a sci-fi desert. The modern art on his walls was even colorless, chosen by his personal assistant, the grandmotherly Mrs. Altman, who sat outside this room, reminding him every so often that she was here to help, even though Ben was very used to getting most things done on his own.

  But most uncongenial of all? That would be Jameson, who was standing stiffly in front of Ben’s desk, all Armani-ed up and with an iPad in hand.

  “Mr. Fujimoto and his team are safely back in Japan,” he said, using a swish of his fingers to switch pages on his screen. “I didn’t think you could pull off bringing him on board with the Orlando resort deal, but congratulations on that. Did you have Mrs. Altman arrange your schedule to visit him? You should, simply out of courtesy, since he invited you to check out his estate.”

  “I’m not an infant, Jameson, and I’m sure he’s not expecting me to hop on a plane tonight to see him again.” Also, Ben hadn’t been so busy wining and dining and catching up on rules of the office to forget to inform his assistant of a damned business trip that was going to keep him away from Rough & Tumble even longer.

  Not that this was a bad thing. He wasn’t certain Liz wanted him there.

  Loneliness scratched through him, as it always did when he thought of her. A piercing isolation and regret that he couldn’t smother with fancy dinners or business deals or drinks with his father as Dad told Ben how he needed to dress or who he needed to book meetings with.

  “You’re not an infant?” Jameson laughed, still not bothering to look at Ben. “Let’s just say you can dress a boy in Dolce and Gabbana but the suit doesn’t always fit.”

  “Thanks for the kind words.”

  “Hey,” his brother added, “I’m not the one on shopping sprees, buying dog toys for your pet back home. I’m sure you get a bigger kick out of playing with them than Pappy will.”

  “Poppy.”

  Done with this meeting, Ben opened his desk drawer, intent on finding something to do that would give him an excuse to get Jameson out of there.

  Among the pens and paperclips, all artfully arranged in a tray by Mrs. Altman, he found the Bettie Page lighter. Had he tossed it in here when he’d settled into the office? Because he hadn’t seen it since.

  A faint smile pulled at his mouth. Bettie, with her sassy bangs and sexy S&M getup. He’d used Bettie and the lighter to attract Liz’s attention at that pool when they’d met.

  He took the lighter out, clasping it, a reminder of how he’d been so wildly and fatally attracted to Liz. But dammit, he’d been trying to put her out of mind. Yet every night—hell, every day—he thought about his wife, with he
r bobbed red hair and big violet eyes. Liz, who’d told him she’d loved him just before he’d let her walk out the general store door.

  She hadn’t been at Boomer’s when he’d gotten there to pack for this seemingly endless trip, and maybe that was fine. He might not have been able to leave if she’d been there because . . . God help him, when she’d confessed her love, he’d nearly lost it—his composure, as well as the walls he’d always kept around him. But she’d already taken down a few of those barricades—enough to make his defenses weak.

  So why did he feel stronger every time he thought of her saying, I love you? Why couldn’t he go back to his hotel for a good night’s sleep without her haunting his dreams?

  During those sleepless nights, he’d put together an answer, piece by anguished piece: as his father had said at their dinner in the suite, all Ben had needed was something or someone to give a shit about, and Liz had been it.

  And he’d blown it in a way only Bennett Hughes could.

  “Hello?” Jameson was saying, waving in front of Ben’s gaze.

  He stood and shoved the lighter into his jacket’s lined inner pocket.

  “Must be nice to have a moment to daydream,” his brother said. “Then again, you were always good at that.”

  Before Ben could tell him to get out of his office—he only tolerated his brother these days because he had to—Jameson walked toward the door.

  “I’m leaving for Hong Kong in the morning,” he said. “No daydreaming while I’m away, Bennett.”

  As his brother was on his way out, someone else was on his way in, and it was as if he hadn’t heard anything Jameson had muttered.

  “Ah, brothers working together,” his father said, grinning as Jameson nodded at him and rushed out. Then Dad turned to Ben. “Lincoln’s coming back next month from Tuscany. It’ll be a Hughes reunion. He’ll want to touch base about the Orlando deal.”

  Over paperwork, no doubt. Sounded heartwarming—and all too typical, even if Ben was finally in with the family business. Even if the atmosphere wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d thought it’d be, with all the Hugheses coming together, like peas in a disgustingly rich pod.

  What would Lincoln say if Ben asked him out for a brother’s dinner, though? Maybe Ben should do that, just to see if his oldest sibling would accept. Maybe it was his turn to get to know his family better rather than faking them out with a marriage. . . .

  But they’d never trust him again if they knew about that. Besides, he was beginning to think that the only reason Dad, at least, had welcomed Ben back was to arrange his life for him.

  Ben gestured toward the chair in front of his desk, and Dad made his way to it, dropping down into the plush leather.

  “Any chance that wife of yours will be able to visit us soon?” he asked, his cheeks ruddy from the exertion . . . or maybe too much interest in Liz.

  Yet instead of being dismayed by that, Ben felt . . . yeah, sorry for Dad. Maybe his own marriage to Liz wasn’t perfect, but neither were his father’s nuptials.

  Suddenly, right before Ben’s eyes, he saw himself twenty-five years from now, more alone than he had ever thought possible. The spitting image of Harrison Hughes.

  Ben’s pulse raced. Liz and Poppy were already his family, and here he was, chasing the one he didn’t really belong to, throwing what he already had away.

  Dad was shaking his head, resting his hand on his belly. “It’s not healthy for a man to be separated from his wife this early on in a marriage, you know.”

  Ben could barely speak. “I’ll be going back to Nevada soon.”

  “No. You get her out here now, son. A woman needs constant watching.”

  Was his father ordering him around? Creeping on his wife again? Ben remembered keenly why he’d left the family’s clutches in the first place: his father didn’t see him as an adult or a businessman. Maybe he and the rest of his family never would. Would he always be the black sheep they could toy with?

  When his cell rang, he didn’t hesitate to answer it, and he walked toward the door. “I need to get this, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Probably for more commands.

  Resentment bubbled in Ben, especially when he thought about the home he’d left behind for this office and these people who still didn’t respect him.

  Rough & Tumble. Poppy.

  Liz.

  His stride quickened as he walked out the door, past Mrs. Altman’s desk, his phone still ringing.

  He didn’t belong here. But where was his place in this world? With a woman he’d rejected?

  “Bennett?” Mrs. Altman asked. “Where are you going . . . ?”

  He hadn’t been sure until now, and he kept walking, toward the elevator, a smile growing on his face, a prayer in his heart that Liz had been thinking about him as much as he’d been thinking about her.

  “I’m going home,” he said, not caring what Jameson or Dad would think. Just getting in the elevator and taking out that lighter, holding tight to it as the doors closed.

  22

  Liz pulled up in the driveway of Boomer’s house, steering the Maserati in to the garage, next to Ben’s Audi. Just like every day, her blood gave a jump, as if his parked car meant that he’d be home.

  But he’d taken a limo to the airport over a week ago, Liz thought, getting out of the convertible, shutting the door, making a valiant attempt not to look at his vehicle because all it did was tease her mercilessly.

  You’d think falling for a man so quickly would mean falling out of love with him just as fast, but Liz had no such luck. Yet she was tired of constantly thinking about him. And even more tired from not only meeting with the restaurateur Ben’s personal assistant, Mrs. Altman, had set up as a mentor, but she’d gone back and forth with Cynthia the Realtor today, too, and it looked like the mansion at Lake Las Vegas was on the fast track to being theirs.

  Hurrah, right? Still, all Liz wanted to do was collapse on the couch with Poppy tonight, letting sleep cushion all the aches and pains of Ben’s impersonal texts as he continued to check in with her from New York, thousands of heartbreaks away.

  As she came into the house through the garage, she heard Poppy barking in the family room. Huh. Hadn’t she left the dog outside in her new little house before leaving?

  Maybe she was just losing her mind. Wasn’t that normal for someone who’d been dumped? Ben this, Ben that—her head was filled with that kind of shredded debris. But she was sure she could train herself to be out of love with him, just as she’d been training Poppy to go outside when called. And whenever Ben finally showed up here again for appearance’s sake, she’d be able to handle seeing him. All she would do was think of her dinner club, of the grand opportunity for her and her friends, a new life where she would depend only on herself and them.

  She took off her fashionable shawl sweater, tossing it in the dry cleaning pile by the ancient washer and dryer in the hallway, then walked on, her boots tapping on the linoleum as she smoothed down her cashmere dress.

  “Poppy?” Why hadn’t the dog bowled her over in a greeting yet? And why were the family room lights on?

  She froze in the hallway, listening for the sound of an intruder, but she only heard her puppy chuffing and playing.

  Then she heard a low, affectionate voice that made her heartbeat pop and sputter.

  “That’s a girl,” Ben was saying. “My sweet Poppy.”

  He was . . . here?

  Even though she’d thought she’d be ready for this, she wasn’t. And the worst thing was that her skin was flushed and hot, her pulse tripping. Nothing had changed between them. A week hadn’t cooled her feelings, and neither had the way he’d all but dumped her.

  Yet . . . business. This was all business, and she took a deep breath, exhaling before she walked forward.

  The moment she saw him kneeling on the floor, dressed in one of his fine linen button-downs, jeans, and Italian leather shoes, it was like he’d never left. Poppy seem
ed to think so, too, as she batted her paw at him, dodging and weaving until she saw Liz.

  She dashed over, and Liz bent to catch the puppy in her arms and lift her, holding her close. The heavy curtains had been drawn in the room, dampening the atmosphere, right along with her greeting.

  “You’re here,” she said as Ben rose to a stand.

  Great. Leave it to him to be just as tall and breath-stealing as always, a sun god in the shade of the room. Her tummy flipped, and she held Poppy even closer.

  “You knew I’d be back,” Ben said.

  He was looking at her like . . .

  No. No way. This man didn’t feel, so she couldn’t be seeing what she thought she saw in his eyes. But there it was—yearning, devotion.

  Love?

  Don’t set yourself up again, Liz . . .

  He shoved his hands into his front pockets, then seemed to think better of it, taking them out until he fisted them.

  “Remember when we had dinner with my family?” he asked. “My dad said something that stuck with me, even though I misinterpreted it at the time. He said he knew that someday, I would apply myself to something, and all I could think about then was my immediate goal—getting respect from the world. But he was right in another way, and it took being away from you to realize what it was.”

  Had she fallen asleep at the wheel and this was a dream? She didn’t think so, because as Ben walked closer, her body reacted, pounding for him, making her feel more awake than ever.

  He stopped a foot away, forcing her to slightly look up at him.

  “I didn’t need something to give a shit about in order to get my life in order,” he said. “I needed someone, and it’s you, Liz.”

  Damn him. “Don’t mess with me,” she said, shaking her head and battling tears. She thought she’d never have go through this again, but here they were, repeating that roller-coaster ride she’d been on ever since meeting him. “You can’t come in here and work me over like you did after you found yourself married to me, then after I told you my feelings for you.”