Sweet Talker

by Robin Bielman

  I’m impressed. He’s incredibly good for a kid his age. Ethan is good, too, but the first person to ring the bell at the top is Hunter. He’s beaming when his feet return to the floor. “Good try,” he tells Ethan.

  “Thanks, Champ.” Ethan casts a quick glance at me. We both know he let Hunter win.

  “Hunter! Over here!” A girl waves him over to a shorter wall.

  “Go ahead and join your friends,” Ethan says. “I’ll race Pascale.”

  “Take it easy on him,” Hunter says to me. “He’s probably tired.”

  I laugh. Ethan gives him a nudge toward his pals. “Get out of here.”

  “He’s too much,” I say.

  “Wise beyond his ears. His mom took off and no one can track her down. Dad was never in the picture.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Very. When I come here I’m reminded of how incredibly lucky I was to grow up the way I did. And I’m not talking about the privilege. My mom and dad gave us love that had nothing to do with status or material things.” He gives a chin-up to a boy passing by. “Okay, Nichols, you ready to do this?”

  I tighten my harness and thank my belayer for the help. “How about a wager?” I throw out.

  “You think you can take me?”

  “I know I can.”

  “Ten bucks?” he suggests.

  “Are you trying to insult me?”

  He makes some sort of throaty sound and stretches one arm across his body then the other, his biceps nicely defined through the cotton of his shirt. “Name your price, sweetheart.”

  “Are you trying to distract me?” I say, rolling my shoulders back. Slowly.

  His eyes dip to my chest. I may be wearing a sports bra, but it pushes my boobs together and shows off a hint of cleavage beneath my thin V-neck.

  “Not at all. You?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, winner gets…?”

  “You pick.”

  “Okay.” He moves into position in front of the wall. There are several kids waiting their turn and antsy for us to be done already. “You win and I’ll do the scheduling for a week.”

  “Love that. And if you win?”

  “You’re my date Saturday night.”

  Chapter Five

  The Secret’s Out

  Ethan

  Without a doubt, Callie is the most beautiful bodyguard in attendance here tonight.

  That’s right. I said bodyguard. (Through clenched teeth in case you were wondering.) Are there other bodyguards here? Not that I’m aware of, but then my family has been making sneaky decisions behind my back so anything is possible.

  I’d told my parents, grandmother, and brothers I had this. I don’t need a babysitter to keep tabs on me. Whoever this person is interested in me, she’s keeping herself at a distance, and if—not when—she gets too close, I’ll handle it. I honestly feel that whatever is going on is child’s play, but apparently my family thinks otherwise and my refusal for protection fell on deaf ears.

  My first clue something was amiss was at the restaurant when Callie faltered at mention of my family and then took the photo and snake note I’d received in the mail right from under my nose. Why, I wondered, would she do that if I’d inadvertently reminded her of something painful from her past? It didn’t matter to me that she’d said she was okay, she didn’t look it. And fuck if that didn’t twist my stomach and my heart into knots. The second she’d vanished from my sight, I needed to know more about what had happened. I needed to know more about her. I hated guessing at what the past ten years were like for her.

  A security friend of mine who shall remain nameless, did some digging into her background. When he told me that Callie was actually a badass bodyguard, I’d laughed in his face. He had to have the wrong girl. But, no. Pascale is my very own version of Lara Croft with looks and a physical prowess that puts her in the top of her field. She’s protected celebrities, high-ranking officials, and athletes. “Nine times out of ten,” my friend had said, “people hiring a bodyguard want someone who can blend in, not stand out and draw attention like the big guys you see guarding clients like Britney Spears.” I hadn’t realized this, but reading Callie’s unofficial résumé, my respect grew for her tenfold.

  Her last client was Ireland Wilton, a famous chef with a popular cooking show, bestselling cookbooks, and lifestyle line. The stint lasted eight months or so. My buddy couldn’t tell me why it ended, but a few weeks later she was my new restaurant manager.

  Fake restaurant manager. I think. I don’t the hell know. Either way, she’s fantastic at the job. It’s clear she enjoys being at Royal. Is a natural with the staff and customers. I could watch her in motion all day.

  I guess that’s what makes her so good at her real job. She does blend in without a hitch. Which makes holding any resentment toward my family much more difficult. They have my best interests at heart. I think back to the morning I told my brothers about me and Callie and their weird vibe makes sense now. Several past interactions with my family make sense now, too. I should probably come clean and tell everyone I know the truth.

  But.

  What fun would that be? There’s no harm in me playing along. In fact, getting closer to Callie so she can guard my body 24/7 is a hardship I guess I’ll endure to help the cause. If I can make her job easier with full access, far be it from me to deny her.

  As soon as she lost our race up the rock-climbing wall the other day, the Ethan Unlimited Access Pass went into effect. First up, bringing her as my date tonight.

  This evening’s party is in honor of Finn and Chloe. Since they eloped to Vegas, my parents are hosting a reception at their Bel Air home for seventy-five or so close friends and extended family. My brother isn’t big on attention, and Chloe’s circle is small so this is exactly what they wanted. Something low-key and casual with food stations, an open bar, a DJ, and a couple of activities here and there. The dress code is cocktail attire so I’m wearing my black Armani trousers and a white button-down shirt.

  I spy my date across the room talking to my grandmother. That’s a dangerous combination so I make my way over.

  “How are the two prettiest women here doing?” I ask.

  “What do you want?” my grandmother says teasingly. She saw me coming before I even opened my mouth. She’s ridiculously in tune to those around her, and she’s especially got my number.

  “Pascale,” I respond easily. I want her in more ways than one, but right now I’d like to take a walk with her. When she meets my gaze with mortification, I know she knows what I really meant, but I also don’t want to embarrass her so I quickly add, “You up for a walk?”

  Grandmother coughs into her hand. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  “Oh no, no, no,” Pascale rushes out. “It’s not like that.”

  I tug the collar on my shirt. I should know better than to allude to anything in front of my grandmother. She’s too sharp. “I think Finn and Chloe want you for an Instagram photo,” I fib. Chloe is grandmother’s social media manager. It’s a long story, but I’ve no doubt there is a photo op waiting to happen sometime tonight, and I’ve just spoken the magic words to Rosemary Auprince. She’s racking up the followers left and right and loves it.

  “Oh, excellent. See you two later.” She waves over her shoulder without a glance back.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi,” Callie says.

  “Shall we?” I give her my arm. She takes it and I’m immediately flooded with memories of the two of us together. Her touch triggers recognition and happiness on so many levels it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the pull.

  “This isn’t a date-date, you know,” she tells me as we weave through the party.

  “Is a date-date different from a date?”

  “No, not exactly. It comes down to how you say it.”

  “How am I supposed to say it?”

  “Like we’re colleagues.” News flash: the more she keeps me in the co-worker zone, the
more I want out of it.

  “Let me hear it in a sentence.”

  “Pascale, thanks for being my date tonight,” she says with patent disinterest.

  “Pascale, thanks for being my date tonight,” I mimic.

  “No!”

  Okay, so I said it like I want to see her naked. I see her point, but I’m not going to change my tone. I’m a patient man. I can wait until she changes hers.

  “That wasn’t right?”

  She shakes her head at me before we stop to say hello to a few close friends of my family. A couple of Finn’s teammates snag us next, then Chloe herself grabs Pascale’s hand and says, “Come meet Sammy before she heads home.”

  Sammy is in the backyard running around on the grass with the two youngest party guests, Jesse and Josh. Finn and the boys’ mom and dad are standing nearby.

  “Sammy!” Chloe shouts to the seven-month-old puppy, a gift from Finn to the boys.

  The dog lopes over to the edge of the patio. Pascale kneels down to rub Sammy behind the ears. “Hi, Sammy. You are so cute.” Sammy, wearing a black bow tie around her neck, appreciates the attention for all of five seconds before turning tail back to Josh.

  “She’s got one love,” Chloe says, watching Sammy settle at Josh’s feet.

  “Just like I do,” Finn says, catching his wife around the waist. Chloe tilts her head up and they kiss.

  I’m still a little surprised Finn was the first of us to get married. I always thought it would be Drew. Goes to show you never know.

  I sneak a glance at Callie and catch her sneaking one at me. We look away at warp speed, like it never happened.

  “Finn? Chloe? Can I steal you for a minute?” the hired photographer asks.

  “Sure,” Finn tells her then turns to me and Pascale and with a huge grin says, “Bride and groom duty calls.” The guy is so whipped he doesn’t mind being asked to do anything.

  “Let’s go see the calligrapher,” Pascale says once we’re alone.

  The calligrapher is set up at a table near the outdoor fireplace and we’ve timed it right. No one else is there. “Hello,” she says. “What can I write for you?”

  “How about ‘wishing you joy, love and happiness today and always, Pascale,’” Callie says.

  It takes a minute for the note to be written on beige cardstock and then it’s placed inside a box for Finn and Chloe to open on their one-year anniversary.

  “And for you?” the woman says to me.

  I rub my hand over my jaw in deep thought. When the sentiment comes to me, I actually feel my dimples dig into my cheeks in approval. “Please write: ‘Like Bill and Ted said, Be excellent to each other. Love you both, Ethan.’”

  As the calligrapher writes my note, Callie turns to me. “Favorite movie?”

  “Yeah, you could definitely say the three of us watched it too many times to count. Come on.” All of a sudden, I want to show her more of the house, more of where I grew up. More of me. The party is confined to the first floor so the sounds of conversation, eating and drinking, music, and cheer, fade as we climb the left side of the grand staircase.

  “Ethan. What are we doing?”

  “I’m giving you the VIP tour.”

  “VIP because…” She trails off, stopping at the top of the stairs.

  “Are you afraid to be alone with me near a bed?” I tease.

  She scoffs. “Not at all. Besides, if memory serves, it doesn’t matter if we have a bed nearby.”

  “Callie Nic, are you flirting with me?” I step closer, close enough to breathe in her scent, close enough to trap her in my arms against the iron railing on the landing if she gives me even the slightest indication she wants to be caught.

  I’ve dreamt about putting my mouth on hers again, sucking her bottom lip between my teeth, licking inside to intertwine our tongues.

  It’s been a long time since I was an expert on Callie, but at the yearning I see reflected back at me, I’d say the use of my special nickname for her had the desired effect. She knows I want her mouth on mine, our hands exploring, our bodies aching for more.

  “No,” she whispers, rather unconvincingly, but it’s still ‘no.’

  I take a step back. “So, my brothers and I watched all sorts of movies up here.” I turn toward the left “wing.” “We had free rein on this side of the house.”

  She follows me down the hallway.

  “See that there?” I stop and point to a patch in the wall. “Finn and I were wrestling. He got pissed at me for hiding his baseball bag and accidentally pushed me headfirst through the wall.”

  “Ow. How old were you?”

  “Twelve. What hurt worse was my mom telling us we had to pay for and repair the damage ourselves. We read a how-to book and then she took us to the store to buy everything we needed.”

  “If I didn’t know it was there, I don’t think I’d necessarily notice it.”

  “Thanks for saying that. My parents had the house painted a few years ago, so the new paint job hides the mend better.”

  Callie stares at the spot. “This wall says a lot about your mom.”

  “It does.” I resume walking. “This is the room where we hung out the most.” I open the door to the home theater.

  Pascale scoots by me and plops down on one of the oversized couches. There are three tiers of couches with steps up the middle, making a total of six places to lounge. That way my brothers and I could each have a friend over and our own space to sit or lie. Everything in the room is padded or cushioned.

  “This is fantastic,” she says, adjusting the knee-length skirt of her champagne floral and lace backless dress.

  “Besides watching movies, we’d do homework in here. Talk through shit in here.” I settle in on a different couch. Her scent and that dress are a killer combo and if I’m going to be a good boy I need her out of touching distance.

  “Bring girls in here,” she says.

  “Sometimes.”

  She toes off her heels and rolls onto her stomach, puts her pretty face in her hands. “Best hookup you had in here?”

  “Oh, we’re going there, are we?”

  “Why not?” She shrugs. “Unless you’re worried my stories will be better than yours.”

  A funny feeling slides through my chest. I’m not sure I want to hear her stories. I’m the best hookup she ever had. I’m the guy she remembers best. I’m the guy she regrets letting go.

  “Autumn Hunt, senior year. It was my eighteenth birthday and her gift blew the others out of the water.” She wasn’t half as good as you, though.

  Callie chuckles. “Got it.”

  “Your turn. Best high school hookup.” I steel myself for her reply.

  She gets a faraway look in her eyes and I mentally prepare myself further. I know she’s been with other guys. I knew it the summer we were together. But for some reason knowing other men have had her bothers me more now. This sudden proprietary air is a goddamn thorn in my side. Especially given I don’t trust her not to break my heart again. I mean, she’s been hired to be here with me. And when the minor threat to my safety ends, so does our relationship, doesn’t it? She’ll be off to protect someone else.

  The best thing to do right now is walk away and keep things strictly superficial and work-related. Hell, maybe I should hire my friend to find this woman bothering me and then see what Callie does when her services are no longer required.

  I can think this all day long, though, and it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do anything different because I don’t want to see her go.

  “Easton Maxwell,” she says dreamily, and I want to punch Easton Maxwell in the face. “We made out in the hot tub in his backyard. We kissed for like two hours. His hands ventured to my sides and my neck, and toyed with the edge of my bikini top, but otherwise he remained a gentleman.”

  Callie does love to kiss. I vividly remember the way she kissed me after her shifts at the restaurant. Greedy passion coupled with fiery patience.

  “Not what you thoug
ht I’d say, is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sometimes basic, preliminary intimacy can be a bigger turn-on than going further.”

  Agreed. I’m eight feet away from her and I’ve had to subtly adjust my pants twice already. The two of us alone, getting to know each other better, is definite foreplay. “What happened with Easton after that?” I ask.

  “Nothing. He moved away the next day.”

  Selfishly, I’m happy to hear that. “I can’t think of a better goodbye gift than time with you.”

  She smiles softly before sitting up. “Did you ever take that drive across the country?”

  “Now who’s showing off her good memory?” I turn to lay my arm across the back of the couch. “I didn’t, no. I’ve flown to many different places, but the only state border I’ve driven across is Nevada.” Hanging on the wall behind Pascale is a picture of me, Finn and Drew on Drew’s twenty-first birthday. Our trip to Vegas flashes through my memory.

  She looks over her shoulder to see what’s snagged my attention. “Nice picture.”

  The three of us are standing shoulder to shoulder with big smiles on our faces in front of the fountain at the Bellagio. “Thanks. That was taken before Drew puked his guts out all over the strip.”

  “Really?” She scrunches up her nose.

  “It was his twenty-first birthday so Finn and I made it our mission to initiate him. He was a trouper, drinking anything we gave him. He was also down a few hundred bucks and wanted to drown his sorrows.”

  “How nice of you guys.”

  “Hey, it’s what older brothers are for. We made it up to him the next day by taking him to a racetrack where he got to drive a Ferrari.”

  “Paige is turning twenty-one in a couple of months and has decided I’m chaperoning her and her best friend to Vegas.”

  “That’s if you can get time off from your busy work schedule,” I tease. Do bodyguards get days off? I don’t think so.

  “True. My boss can be kind of difficult.”

  “Oh yeah?” I undo the second button on my shirt, making myself more comfortable for this. I’m a great boss and she knows it. The thing that bothers me the most about the unwanted attention I’m receiving is that it might affect my staff.