Since Last Time: A Bad Boy Second Chance Romance

by Sienna Ciles

  “Hey,” I said, when he took one of his breaks from his phone. He glanced at me and smiled slightly.

  “Need something, princess?”

  “Please don’t call me that,” I said quickly, cringing at the patronizing term of endearment.

  “Well, I don’t know your name and you’re certainly dressed the part, in those Jimmy Choos,” he countered.

  “I’m Bethany,” I said. I glanced down at my shoes. I hadn’t changed from when I’d left work--I’d run home and grabbed my bags and immediately headed out, so I was in one of my two really good pairs of boots, along with the outfit I’d worn into the office. I didn’t think I looked much like a princess, but he was right about the brand of the shoes--which surprised me. Good lord he’s probably gay...but that doesn’t mean he won’t go along with the plan. That might actually be even better. “What brings you into town?”

  “Oh, this and that. A little research,” the guy said. “What about you, Bethany?” The way he said my name sent a little shiver down my spine. Maybe he wasn’t gay.

  “I have a high school reunion this weekend.” My heart started beating faster in my chest as I thought about what I planned to work around to asking him

  The guy pushed his sleeves up and I saw that he had tattoos on both of his forearms: a compass rose on one and some kind of crest on the other. I had to wonder what he did for a living, with the kind of lean, muscled frame he had, the hairstyle--all of it. He looked tough and ruthless and somehow oddly sweet, all at the same time.

  “Odd time of year for that,” the guy observed.

  I shrugged. “It was supposed to be during the summer, but nobody could agree on a day or a venue,” I explained. “You never gave me your name, you know.”

  “Ransom,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes at that; it was so obviously fake.

  He grinned. “Don’t believe me?”

  “Either your parents were hippies or you’re lying,” I said.

  Ransom chuckled and reached into his pocket, taking out a wallet. “Here,” he said, rising from his seat and leaning over sideways. He handed me an ID card, and sure enough it read Ransom Jacobs, with an address from another state.

  “This could be fake,” I pointed out. It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he took the ID back from me and shoved it into his wallet, and the wallet back into his jeans pocket. Almost unwillingly, my gaze darted to the crotch of his jeans--there was a sizeable bulge there. It’s nice to look at...but not like anything’s ever going to happen.

  “You are such a cynic,” he said. “Not a pretty trait in a woman.”

  “You prefer women who are pretty and naive?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I prefer women who are ugly and cynical,” Ransom countered. “Usually the pretty ones don’t have very good reasons for their cynicism.”

  “What counts as a good reason?” I was intrigued in spite of myself, forgetting my goal for a moment.

  “Abandonment, betrayal, things like that,” Ransom replied. “In my experience, beautiful women don’t tend to experience those things--not really--until they’re over thirty-five.”

  “And what’s your experience?”

  “This and that,” he said with another grin. “A little private detective work, a little procurement, odd jobs.” He shrugged.

  “Are you terribly busy the next few days? I mean apart from whatever you’re doing in town,” I said.

  Ransom pressed his lips together and seemed to consider my question.

  “I can multi-task, if you’ve got the right job,” he said.

  I took a deep breath. The worst thing he can do is turn you down, and then you’re in the same position you were when you walked in—how bad is that really? I took a sip of my coffee, mulling the idea of what I was about to propose for a moment longer.

  “I might have a job you could help me with,” I said finally. “But I should know you a little better before I decide whether or not to offer it to you.”

  Chapter Two

  Ransom

  I’d been right about to make my goodbyes and take my exit when she’d come in, and after I’d scoped the thousand-dollar shoes on her feet--definitely out of the ordinary for a place like the Green Leaf Diner--I’d decided to stay a bit longer, just for the sake of curiosity. Of course, as cold as it was, I’d have taken any real reason to keep sitting at the counter, but I’d had plenty of coffee already, and I didn’t want to buy anything else to eat if I didn’t have to.

  “What do you want to know?” I resisted the urge to call her princess again--even if it was apt--and turned my chair to face her. She had brown hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. I thought about getting up and taking the seat next to hers, but she had the look of someone who was a bit jumpy. Just what’s your damage, princess?

  She scrunched her nose. “You’re not like...with the mob or anything, right?”

  I laughed at that question. For someone as cynical as Bethany acted, that was a naive question.

  “I’ve done a couple of things for a couple of families but I’m not in the mob,” I replied. “It’s always good to have powerful people owe you a solid or two.” I let that sink in for a moment. “What do you do for a living? I mean, it must be something important--considering the shoes.”

  She rolled her eyes but I could see her cheeks lighting up with a new blush.

  “I’m an executive at an adoption agency, a non-profit,” she said. “I know it probably looks like we’re one of those organizations that takes all the money--the shoes, like you said--but we really do work hard to get good placements for kids who wouldn’t otherwise have great chances in the system.” It’s a set piece, a routine, and I know she’s probably told at least a hundred people something along the same lines; of course, plenty of people have reasons to doubt the good intentions of adoption organizations.

  “Which one do you work for?” I reminded myself to keep my voice under control, to play it cool; there was almost no chance she worked for the company I was interested in, after all--there were dozens of nonprofits throughout the country.

  “The Hannah Wells Organization,” she said, as if she’d read my mind. I made myself take a breath. Whatever job she had in mind, I was definitely interested in finding a way to do it.

  “So, were you some good girl in school, and you’re making your triumphant Homecoming Queen Makes Good return to the old alma mater?” I crossed my arms over my chest, looking at her steadily. “And where do I figure into this?”

  “I was never the homecoming queen, first of all,” she told me tartly. “But you’re sort of right. I’m going to the reunion to kind of...I guess show off,” she admitted.

  “The only reason to go to a reunion, unless you’re one of the saps who’s still friends with your student government, prom planning buddies,” I pointed out.

  “That was about the way I figured it--even if I wouldn’t have called them saps,” Bethany said.

  “So where do I figure in your plans?”

  She looked at me a moment longer and I thought she’d chicken out. “I want a date to the event,” she said quickly. “I don’t really have much of a social life--I work too much for that--but I want to have the perfect life to show off to my former classmates.”

  I barely managed to bite back a laugh. “Being an executive for one of the world’s worthy causes isn’t enough of a win?”

  “All these people...they’re going on vacations to the Bahamas, and getting married, and all that,” Bethany explained. “I just...I guess I don’t want anyone to have any reason to feel bad for me.”

  “How are they going to know for sure that you’re a sad lonely-heart if you don’t tell them?” Why the hell should she care? She should find the captain of the football team and if he’s still halfway in decent shape she should fuck his brains out--he’d be crazy to turn her down. Bethany was unquestionably hot: medium-brown hair and big, hazel eyes, clear skin without any sign of wrinkles, and in spite of the office-appropriate attire, it was pretty
easy to estimate her at a generous cup size, with excellent curves--as one of the rappers once put it: a winning hand. She could probably get the entire football team, if she wanted them.

  “It’d be better to have proof, and I’m willing to pay well for it,” she said.

  I whistled lowly at that. “You’re going to pay someone to be your boyfriend for a weekend?”

  “My longtime boyfriend,” she corrected me. “The idea would be to act like we’ve been dating a good long while.”

  “Easy enough,” I said, shrugging. “What’s the price you’re willing to pay?”

  “Fifteen thousand,” she said, without hesitation.

  I let out another whistle. “They’re paying you well at that nonprofit.”

  “I make enough...and I don’t have a social life, like I said, so I’ve been able to save money,” she pointed out.

  “Fifteen thousand to pretend to be your boyfriend.” I took a bite of my pie and sipped my water.

  “Will you do it?”

  I pretended to think about it for a few moments. The money wasn’t really an issue; I could always make money.

  “Eh--I’ve got my own business to take care of in town this weekend,” I said, just to tease her a bit.

  “Twenty thousand?” That was more money than I’d taken to run a few--very odd--jobs for Jimmy Linetti. But this was obviously a one-time deal, not repeat work, so twenty thousand was solid.

  “Five thousand wouldn’t make that much of a difference, not at the end of the day,” I pointed out. “Actually, you might be able to get a good deal on this--if you’re willing to trade in a little ethics instead of cold cash.”

  “What do you mean?” Bethany frowned at me and I licked my lips, hoping against hope she’d go along with me.

  “One of the pots I’ve got on the back burner has to do with the very agency you work for,” I explained. “If you’d be willing to give me some secure access to files, I’d be happy to pretend to be your boyfriend--hell, I’d pretend to be your husband--for the weekend.” Bethany’s frown deepened at that and I thought idly to myself that no woman that cute had a reason to have such a pronounced frown, like she was used to being disappointed.

  “What do you want secure access for?”

  “That’s my business,” I replied. “If you give me access to the files, I’ll be your loving, devoted boyfriend and swear up and down that you’re the only girl for me.”

  “You’re sure you wouldn’t just take the money instead?”

  I shook my head. “I’d have to declare it on my taxes--I don’t need that kind of headache,” I said. “The information is good enough for me.”

  “You’re not going to use it for criminal purposes?”

  I laughed at that. “Not really,” I said. “Nobody’s going to get hurt as a result. I just need some information.” Of course, that wasn’t entirely true, but I couldn’t give up on the best chance at a break I’d gotten in years.

  “You’re completely sure I can’t convince you to take the money?”

  I laughed again. “I am completely sure that the only thing I want is information, which I can only get with secure access to files you should be able to open,” I said. “Take it or leave it, Bethany.” I turned away from her then, pretending to be interested in my pie and my phone, giving her a chance to think it over. She hadn’t eaten much of her own dinner, and a woman like that didn’t need to skip meals.

  She turned back to her food, I saw in the corner of my eye. I was willing to wait. I was pretty sure she’d go along with my plan; I’d done the song and dance before, negotiating terms with people a lot tougher than her. At the end of the day, we each had something we wanted that the other person could help us with--that was all that mattered.

  Chapter Three

  Bethany

  I thought about Ransom’s offer as I ate. Ethically, it wasn’t exactly sound. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone--anyone--without clearance have access to secure files, and I still didn’t know why he wanted to look in the agency’s databases. Try and offer him more money, see if he’ll take that instead, I thought.

  “You know, as much as I’d like to make a splash at my high school reunion, I don’t think I want to give up my job for it,” I said, turning back to look at him once more.

  “I can promise you that nothing I get out of the files is anything you’d ever get fired for,” Ransom said, turning to face me completely, arms crossed over his chest.

  “How can you know that for sure? I could offer you...let’s say twenty-five,” I countered. Ransom shook his head.

  “I’m not interested in your money--besides, if you got fired, wouldn’t you need it?”

  I couldn’t really argue against that logic. “You swear to me that you’re not going to use access to the files for anything that could be traced back to me? And that you’re not going to...I don’t know. Do anything extremely illegal? Nothing that would hurt people?”

  Ransom looked at me for a long moment with something that was almost like pity in his eyes. “It’s a database of people who put their children up for adoption and the kids they put up, right?”

  “Amongst other details like donors and how much they gave us, tax information, things of that nature,” I agreed.

  “What on earth would I do with information like that, that could get you in anything like real trouble? And what the hell is ‘extremely illegal,’ anyway?”

  I had to laugh. “I don’t know! I meant...you’re not trying to get information that you could use to hold someone ransom or anything, are you? I mean, your name is Ransom, after all.” My heart pounded hard in my chest at the thought, accompanied by a series of mental images of what would happen if someone found out that the murder or kidnapping of a donor--or someone else--had happened because I’d granted someone access to key files.

  “No, nothing like that. I won’t tell you what it is that I need the information for, but I can promise you that it’s nothing that you’d object to. Probably.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the ‘probably’ and picked at my meal for a moment. It was a better deal than I would have thought possible, in a certain way: I didn’t really have to spend any money at all, at least not unless I got fired for giving someone access to confidential files. But if Ransom held up his end of the deal, and if he didn’t do anything that could be traced back to me, I was a solid twenty thousand dollars ahead. I could go on an actual vacation for once, I thought. I certainly had enough time accrued.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Fine?”

  I glanced at Ransom and took a deep breath. “If you’ll pretend to be my boyfriend, and if you actually succeed, and convince the people at my school, I’ll give you access to confidential agency files.”

  Ransom held out his hand, leaning across the counter toward me.

  I shook his hand and he smiled, and I could completely see why the two waitresses had been falling all over themselves to flirt with him. His grip was strong but not crushing, his hand was dry, his fingers had a kind of firmness to them that told me that he could do a lot with them--not that he could do anything for me, not really. The smile, though. The smile was amazing, breaking across his face like a burst of sunshine from behind heavy thunderheads.

  “We have a deal,” he said.

  He took his hand back and I realized my mouth was dry. I took a sip of my coffee and tried to think of what should come next.

  Ransom spoke first, though. “Where’s the event going to be? From what I know about this kind of thing, it’s usually at a hotel or something.”

  “Oh, it’s a whole, long thing,” I said. “There are a bunch of events over the course of a few days, and a dance at the end of it.” Ransom pressed his lips together at that and I wondered if he was going to ask for the money in addition to the access.

  “Okay, that works for me,” he said instead. “How do you want to do this? I assume you want to show up from the beginning together--and we should probably have a cover story of some
kind, at least.”

  “Do you already have a hotel set up in town? Or somewhere near here?” I thought about it for a moment; the idea I’d started to form felt a little crazy, but I couldn’t think of a better way to manage it.

  “I was going to find a motel or something when I got into town,” Ransom said.

  Lucy, our waitress, had started to get annoyed at his lack of attention to her, and I saw her give me a quick, slightly sour look as she put the check for his meal down next to his plate.

  “Here--let me pay for your meal,” I said, sitting up and finding my wallet.

  “I can afford my meal or I wouldn’t have come in,” Ransom countered.

  “What? Are you afraid I’m not going to leave a generous enough tip or something?” I glanced at Lucy, who probably was afraid of just that.

  “Of course not,” Ransom said. “I just think it’s silly for you to pay for my meal when I’m the one who chose to come here and order what I wanted.”

  “Let it be part of my payment to you for you helping me with this reunion,” I said.

  Ransom held my gaze for a long moment and then chuckled, shaking his head.

  “If you insist, I’ll let you pay,” he said finally.

  “And about where you’re staying. If you’re not staying at the same place as me--well, that will just bring up a lot of questions,” I said. I got up and picked up the little folder with his tab in it. I could feel the blood starting to rush to my face and ducked my head, opening the folder to look at the bill for Ransom’s order.

  “I can get a room at your hotel,” Ransom suggested.

  “That would open up a bunch of questions, too,” I countered. The idea I had still seemed crazy to me, but I thought it was the only way I could make the whole ruse work.

  “What do you have in mind? I could share your hotel room, but that might get a little crowded, since I’m not actually your boyfriend.” His voice turned playful. “Unless you want the full ‘boyfriend experience.’”

  The blush flooding my face deepened and my cheeks burned. I took out my card and slipped it into the little pocket, trying to regain my composure.