WickedTakeover

by Tina Donahue

  Lauren had pushed his hand away again. “I can’t accept it.”

  “You’d rather see your car repossessed or your condo foreclosed on? That’s smart.”

  None of this was. It wouldn’t last. Men like him didn’t fall for women like her. She was okay-looking, not a raving beauty. She was too big. Hadn’t all those kids in school reminded her of that on a daily basis? She and Dante were friends. That. Was. It. He’d move on eventually to someone as gorgeous, sweet and smart as Jasmina. When he did, Lauren didn’t want that to kill her. Shit. She hadn’t even made it through the last crap life had thrown her way and didn’t need more now on top of that.

  “It’s my decision,” she’d said. “Why won’t you respect it? Is it because I’m a woman?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “What does your damn sex have to do with anything? You’re in a bind financially. It happens to the best of us. I’m just trying to help.”

  “You’re not facing reality,” she snapped. “You never do.”

  Dante stared, his expression stunned by her outburst. “What?”

  Even though Lauren knew she was way out of line, she hadn’t shut up. “Life isn’t about going to parks and riding merry-go-rounds or pretending that being a tattoo artist and managing a parlor that’s barely surviving is actually a career. It’s not about having fun all the time. It’s making hard choices and sticking with them. That’s what being an adult is about.”

  She snatched the check and tore it to pieces, throwing them on the floor. “When I say no, I mean no.”

  They’d been in the backroom before hours when she’d said that. Finished with being a bitch, she’d stormed to her office, slammed the door and locked it. With her face in her hands, Lauren had cried as she hadn’t since her mom had passed. She’d wanted to apologize to him but couldn’t bring herself to do so.

  She was afraid to touch Dante again or have him touch her. Hell, she was terrified even to see him.

  Over the next days, she’d avoided being wherever he was, which was a challenge in such a small building. Dante wasn’t as foolish or as gutless. He went about his business as though nothing had happened. This afternoon, when they were finally in the backroom at the same moment, he’d smiled at her paisley skirt. Today was the first time since Lauren had hollered at him that she hadn’t worn jeans. She was also back to ditching her panties. Lauren figured she was sending him and herself mixed messages but couldn’t seem to stop.

  Nor could she run any longer, deciding to face him.

  “Hey,” he’d murmured easily.

  She was such a wreck from missing their great times together, it took her a moment to respond. “Hey. You doing okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  Hell, he was perfect. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I shouldn’t have said—”

  Lauren had stopped at Van Gogh shuffling into the room, looking as gloomy as he always did. He sank into a chair, obviously ready to take his afternoon break. Not wanting him as a spectator to her fucked-up feelings, she’d hurried to her office, terrified Dante would knock on the door and want to talk. When he hadn’t, her spirits sank even further.

  Sighing repeatedly, she finally forced herself to surf job boards, then got brave and checked her email. More than fifty messages stuffed her inbox, many from employment websites, big box stores having sales, horoscope sites with her daily reading and one from a K. Ivers.

  Lauren frowned at the vaguely familiar last name, trying to place it and couldn’t. The subject line was typical—Regarding your candidacy—and meant bad news was coming.

  On a noisy sigh, she opened the email.

  Good afternoon, Lauren, it began.

  In March, you interviewed for a human resources position with us at our West Palm Beach office. Although that job has been filled, we have a new opening we believe you’re quite suited for and would like…

  Lauren stopped reading, too floored to concentrate. The sentences kept swimming in front of her. Calm down, dammit. At last, she did and read the message repeatedly. She even checked the email address to make certain it was actually for her and hadn’t been misdirected from some other Lauren’s email, if that were even possible.

  The company wanted to interview her for a senior HR position this Friday. Three days from now. K—for Karen—wanted Lauren to call to confirm that she was still interested and would be able to make the interview. Her hands shook as she tapped in the number on her smartphone. When the call connected on the second ring and the receptionist answered with the name of the company, Lauren went blank.

  “How may I direct your call?” the young woman asked.

  God, say something, her mind screamed. Don’t blow this.

  Willing herself to get a grip, Lauren stated her name and the reason for her call.

  “I’ll put you on calendar for Friday,” the young woman said then gave Lauren the time. “Will that be okay?”

  It was perfect. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “We’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”

  Lauren said the same, killed the connection and reread Karen’s email several times to make certain she hadn’t misunderstood anything. At last, she replied stating that she’d just confirmed her Friday appointment—a precaution should the receptionist forget to tell Karen about it. Lauren’s inbox chimed almost immediately with Karen’s warm reply that stated how much she looked forward to their meeting.

  Lauren trembled with happiness then went numb with doubt, not knowing how to feel. She’d waited so long for this. It sounded so freaking good. Maybe too good. Don’t count on it, she warned herself. Could be it’d fall through like everything else had.

  She made herself apply to several other positions. After slogging through the online forms, Lauren checked her inbox again. This time there was an answer to one of her ads about the parlor. She’d gotten several in the last days, all of them worthless. Not expecting much, she opened the email and read it quickly.

  And got her second surprise today.

  Unlike the other replies she’d received, this one provided detailed information about the potential buyer, including several website links. Lauren checked them out. The guy already had numerous tattoo parlors across the state and was looking to expand. She went back to his email, reading the rest of it.

  I’d like to see a prospectus of Wicked Brand.

  Please send one at your earliest convenience.

  His request impressed Lauren the most. Weeks ago, she’d slaved over a PowerPoint presentation and her video of the parlor, figuring she was wasting her time since no one would ask for them. Hell, the others who had responded to her ads wouldn’t have known what the word prospectus meant. Given their poor grammar and crude language, she suspected they were more into porn sites than finance.

  She rechecked the figures in the presentation, bringing them up to date. For the last several weeks, the parlor had been doing all right. Not making a fortune, but it was in the black, thanks to the business Jasmina was bringing in with those young women telling their friends about Dante. Every day more of those babes strolled in to get themselves inked or pierced and to drool over him.

  Lauren’s palms got sweaty. She recalled the evening she’d told Dante that he couldn’t date or flirt with the customers. It seemed a lifetime ago. Even though Lauren knew they’d never be more than friends, she hadn’t worried about him screwing around with the clients while he was involved with her. Dante wasn’t that kind of man.

  She wiped her palms on her skirt and considered telling him about Friday’s interview and this guy’s interest in Wicked Brand. If anything, she should have been pulling a Tom Cruise, jumping on the sofas in the front of the parlor, shouting at the top of her lungs that things were finally turning around.

  Her shoulders tensed, her earlier excitement turning to dread that she didn’t want to explore. Chewing her lower lip, she attached the prospectus to her reply email, along with several newer photos of Van Gogh’s incredible work. In the body of her email, she
praised him and Jasmina for their outstanding contributions to the parlor. At last, she mentioned Dante, gushing about him the most. How his business smarts and local contacts made the operation run smoothly. She would have added more but knew very little about his past. What had brought him here.

  Although Lauren was tempted to Google his name, she didn’t. It seemed so sneaky. As though she didn’t trust him.

  Finished, she sent the message on its way and brooded. A sharp rap on the door made her jump. Pushing the door open, Dante came inside and went to her desk.

  Lauren panicked, thinking he knew about her emails and told herself that was nuts. She hoped he’d haul her into his arms and kiss her. Maybe spank her. Hell, whatever. She wanted some action and him badly.

  Despite noise from the clients and a Spanish singer belting her guts out on the sound system, he spoke softly. “Are you busy tonight?”

  With what? A guy? Surely, he didn’t think that. Prior to her having been so stupid and mean, he would have come in here, taken what he wanted then told her they’d be doing something wicked after work while refusing to offer any details. Damn, how she missed that. “No. I’m free. Why?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  She spoke without thinking, “Another level? There’s more?”

  He laughed quietly. “You’ll see. After we finish here, all right?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, taking his hand. “I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. Forgive me, please.” She kissed the blunt tips of his fingers.

  Dante cradled her face with his free hand. “I already have.”

  He was too good of a man. She’d acted like such a jerk and was keeping stuff from him. Lauren wanted to tell Dante about her interview and the potential buyer but couldn’t bring herself to do so. It was too tentative, not to mention sad if it worked out. She wouldn’t be able to see him whenever she wanted as she could now. They might meet infrequently for coffee or dinner, but that would probably be it. Their friendship would drift away. He’d move on. She’d have to.

  “Thanks,” Lauren said, appreciating his forgiveness. “Should I wear clothes?”

  Dante grinned as he had before she’d made a fool of herself. “At least until we get there.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips over hers then left the office and closed her door without saying more.

  Trying to work after that was impossible. Lauren watched several episodes of Gray’s Anatomy using her free Hulu account. She got into an original series called The Next Step about teenage dancers at a studio in Canada. Both of the lead girls were blonde and beautiful. One was a total bitch, the other as sweet as could be. The writing and acting were awful, but the drama sucked her in, reminding Lauren of her high school days and the snotty girls there.

  A silly-sweet teenage romance was brewing between one of the girls and one of the dancer boys when there were rapid-fire knocks on her door. Lauren jumped. “What?”

  Jasmina shouted, “I’m leaving now. Have a good night.”

  Lauren wasn’t certain how it could be better than the park and carousel. That had been epic. “Thanks. You too.”

  Van Gogh moved down the hall next, his listless footfalls unmistakable. “Night,” he called out in the general direction of her office.

  “Night,” she shouted.

  A few minutes later, Dante opened her door. “Ready?”

  For anything, except not hearing him say that again. Sad, Lauren knew. They both had real lives to get back to that she didn’t want to think about now. “Absolutely.”

  She drove, since Dante had walked to work. He didn’t rest his hand on her thigh or play with her pussy as he had when they’d been in his pickup. Lauren figured he didn’t trust her to stay on the road if he aroused her too much.

  “See that light?” he asked, pointing.

  It was red. “Don’t worry. I’ll stop.”

  He smiled. “Turn left there.”

  After she did, he directed her up several more streets. Lauren was so busy following what he said, it took her a moment to notice that they were in a residential area with spectacular homes, most of them probably worth a million or more even in the depressed market. She slowed her car to a crawl and craned her neck to see as much as she could. “What is this place?”

  “A housing development. Go up two more blocks. After the stop sign turn right then pull into the first driveway.”

  She stared at the house or rather mansion he’d directed her to. Spanish style, it was probably five thousand square feet with white walls and a red tile roof. Lush vegetation hugged it, the palm fronds, flowers and bushes wiggling in the breeze. Its arched front door had lacy ironwork embedded in the glass. There were two double garages for four vehicles.

  Dante exited her car. Lauren got out on her side before he could come around to her door. It was incredibly quiet here, even more so than the park had been. The wealth obvious. With her hand in his, Dante led her to the front door. She expected him to ring the bell. Maybe they were going to a party that was taking place in back. The front of the house was dark except for the porch and landscaping lights.

  She looked around for other cars parked nearby. There were none except hers.

  He pulled out his ring of keys.

  Lauren gaped. “You have a key to this place?”

  “Yep.” After he opened the door, Dante punched in a code on the alarm and turned on the lights.

  Her mouth sagged open at the foyer, its tan marble floor streaked with white, the walls ecru, the massive chandelier made of sparkling crystal with dozens of bulbs that he hadn’t flicked on. To the left was a spacious living room. It boasted a milky marble fireplace, beige leather sofas and chairs, a wrought-iron-and-glass cocktail table, windows draped in raw silk curtains, the glass stretching from the floor to the ceiling, sumptuous wall hangings. God, it was spectacular.

  “Are you a real estate agent in your spare time?” she asked. “Are you selling this place?”

  He flicked another switch. A zillion points of light rained down from the chandelier. “I’ve already sold it.”

  Lauren turned a slow circle to take everything in. Her first impression had been a sea of tan and white. Now she saw splashes of rose and gold. The interior design was impeccable, as though it were the setting for a television show. Possibly a reality series about millionaires. “Your commission must have been un-freaking-believable.”

  “I didn’t get one.” He laced his fingers through hers again.

  “You’re still waiting for it? The broker stiffed you?”

  Dante regarded the house with indifference. “This used to be my place. Owned it free and clear. Had more money than I knew what to do with.”

  Stunned, Lauren squeezed his hand. “What happened? Did you lose it in the recession? Your stocks tanked? You lost your job?”

  He shook his head and turned to her. “I decided to face reality.”

  Lauren’s face flushed with his reminder of what she’d said to him days ago. Dante hadn’t meant to be mean, simply honest. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

  “I did though.”

  Oh yeah. Even though she’d been dead wrong about him, her words had still stung. He’d tried to let it pass. With anyone else, Dante would have, not caring what that person thought.

  He couldn’t with Lauren. Not only did he want her respect, he couldn’t deny her importance to him. This last week had been god-awful. He’d kept wondering if what they’d found in each other was already over. All because she couldn’t see past meaningless stuff to who he really was. He could have argued his case to her, he was fucking good at that, but Dante hadn’t wanted to convince. He needed her to accept him as is, as he had with her.

  His hope for that had continued to fade until she’d decided to wear a skirt again. It was nuts for him to put any credence in a woman’s fashion choice, but Lauren’s small gesture mean
t more to him than an apology ever could.

  “You didn’t know about me,” he said at last then glanced at the house, a reminder of his old life. “You didn’t know about this.”

  “I still don’t. Will you tell me? I want to know.”

  He heard her concern for him. It stirred something deep within Dante that he couldn’t fight. He nodded then asked, “Are you hungry?”

  His change in subject clearly caught her off guard. “Ah…”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He locked the front door and captured her hand to lead her to the kitchen.

  Lauren held back. “If you don’t own this place anymore, how come you have a key?”

  “I sold it to Scott, a friend of mine. He travels at times for his job. Lets me use the place whenever he’s gone.”

  That didn’t get her to move. “You come here often?”

  “Are you asking do I miss it?”

  “Yeah.” She took in what she could, clearly dazzled. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “It’s not what I want anymore. The last time I was here was almost a year ago. Scott’s girlfriend threw him a surprise birthday party. Damnedest thing, they broke up that night.”

  “Wow, bummer. Did you guys work together at one time?”

  It had been so long since Dante had talked about himself and what had happened, he felt the old reluctance creeping back. “No.” He pulled Lauren down the hall toward the kitchen. “He was an attorney on the other side.”

  She stared at the TV room they passed, its monstrous flat-screen, the Intracoastal Waterway visible from the wall of windows. “Other side of what?”

  “He was opposing counsel during my last case.”

  She stopped again. Dante pulled her forward. At this pace, they’d never reach the food. “There should be steaks in the freezer. Probably a lot of other stuff in the fridge. Scott likes to eat. Don’t worry, he won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re an attorney?” she asked.

  “Was.”

  She gasped. “You were disbarred?”