"What? No." She paused. "Well, we might've had a little fight, but we worked it out. So see. You're worried for nothing."
I wasn't worried. I was tired of her games. As far as my stuff, I decided to think about that later. After all, it's not like I knew where I'd be moving it. I said, "I've gotta go."
"Wait," she said. "You haven't heard my advice."
"Fine," I snapped. "What is it?"
"When I told you not to leave, I meant don't leave his place."
I blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"You're with Jax Bishop, right?"
For a whole host of reasons, I didn't want to answer. In a carefully neutral tone, I said, "What makes you say that?"
"Because I saw the way he was looking at you."
At this, my heart gave an embarrassing little flutter. "He was?"
"Oh sure," she said. "But it won't last, you know."
Well, that took care of that ol' fluttering problem. "Good to know."
"Oh, stop being a snot," she said. "You know what I mean."
Sadly, I did. My mom had a long history of transient relationships. As far as I could tell, it was usually the guys who ended it – well, unless she was trading up, that is.
She was still talking. "So like I said, whatever you do, don't go anywhere."
"What does that even mean?"
"Oh, you know," she said. "Make yourself at home, like you live there. And then, if he asks you to leave, act all surprised and kind of insulted." Her voice picked up steam. "And don't be afraid to cry. That's your ace in the hole, you know."
With my free hand, I reached up to rub my forehead. And this was why I never took her advice.
She wasn't even done. "And if he tells you to leave anyway, don't do it – at least, not without first getting a check."
My head was pounding now. "A check?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "And make sure it's a cashier's check, not a regular check."
Against my better judgment, I asked, "Why?"
"Because with a cashier's check, it's a lot harder for them to stop payment." She made a sound of disgust. "I won't be making that mistake again."
I rolled my eyes. "Good to know."
Now, she sounded insulted. "You're not even taking this seriously."
"You're right," I told her. "I'm not."
"See?" she said. "This is why you won't get anywhere. You never think big."
My mom had been "thinking big" for as long as I could remember. But me? I wasn't like that. Oh sure, I liked nice things as much as the next person, but I wasn't willing to sell my soul – or anything else – to get them.
And now, my mom was on a roll. "I mean, he's got loads of money, so he might as well spend it on you, right?"
Already, I'd heard more than enough. "Just stop, okay?"
"No," she said. "I won't stop. You're my daughter, and I’m trying to look out for you."
If so, that would be a first. More likely, she was looking out for herself. I said, "Sure you are."
"I am," she insisted. "I mean, if I can't have him, you might as well give it a shot, right?"
"Wrong."
It wasn't just wrong. It was so very wrong.
She continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And you're so lucky he's hot. A guy like that? If I had the money, I'd pay him." She gave a husky laugh. "I bet he fucks like a rock star."
Good Lord.
What on Earth could I say to that?
When it came to fucking rock stars, my mom was an expert, which sadly, was the only reason I'd been born.
But that was a topic for another day. Right now, I was dealing with a different kind of trauma.
It was the mental image of Jax and my mom. Inexplicably, he was holding an electric guitar. Damn it. I squeezed my eyes shut and made a mental order for a bucket of eye bleach, industrial strength.
She said, "Are you listening?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to hear it."
I didn't want to see it either. And yet, she went on painting the picture, making sly innuendos about the size of his feet and the fullness of his lips.
I was debating simply hanging up when she abruptly switched gears. "And you know how he made his money, don't you?"
I paused. "No." But suddenly, I was curious. "Do you?"
"Sure," she said. "I knew last night. I recognized him right away, you know."
Now that surprised me. "Really?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "And I mean right there on the street. You really didn't know who he was?"
"Why would I?" I asked. "I'm not even from around here."
"God, you're so provincial," she said. "He's national, worldwide even. It shouldn’t matter where you live. He's major bigtime."
I made a sound of impatience. "So, who is he?"
"Well, you know he has that brother, right?"
"Right."
"I wouldn’t mind taking him for a spin."
Oh, God. Just shut up. But I didn’t say it, because for once, I was dying to hear what she'd tell me. Correction – I was dying to hear what she'd tell me after she verbally molested Jax's brother.
Finally, when I felt like I couldn’t stand it another minute, she announced, "They're the Bishop Brothers."
"Huh?" This, I already knew. I tried to think. His last name was Bishop. He had a brother whose last name was probably Bishop, too. So of course, they were the Bishop Brothers. What was I missing?
"Oh, come on," she said. "You work in a sports bar. This isn't ringing a bell?"
I didn't bother pointing out that I didn't work there anymore – thanks to her, no less. Instead, I tried to think. What would the bar have to do with it?
And then, it hit me. "Wait a minute. You're not talking about that brand of beer, are you?"
"That's exactly what I’m talking about."
I felt my eyebrows furrow. "Oh."
"Oh?" she repeated. "Is that all you have to say?"
It was all I could say, because for once, my mom was right. He was bigtime, even bigger than I might've guessed – and that was saying something.
Chapter 24
Over the next ten minutes, I listened as my mom gave me a full rundown on Jax and his brother. I had to admit, their story was pretty incredible, assuming all of it was true.
A few years earlier – at least according to my mom – they'd picked up a regional brewing company that had seen better days. Within a year, they'd completely rebranded it, fine-tuned the operation, and then kept on expanding until they'd gotten a foothold in nearly every market across the globe.
And they hadn't stopped with beer. By now, they owned a whole slew of brands including several that I'd that served personally. In fact, when my mom rattled off a few of their top names, I'd been completely blown away.
And yet, I still couldn’t quite believe it.
I was twenty-two years old. Jax was definitely older, but not that much older. If I had to guess, I'd put his age at thirty, give or take a couple of years. And his brother might be even younger.
For guys so relatively young, their level of success was hard to fathom.
My mom finished by saying, "So anyway, he's worth at least a billion."
I almost swallowed my tongue. "A billion? With a 'b'?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "So when you get that check, make sure it's a nice big one."
Good grief. "I already told you, I'm not getting a check."
"Well, don't count on getting cash," she warned, "because he might not have that much on-hand. That's another mistake I won't be making twice."
If this weren't so sad, I might've laughed.
Seriously, who even thought that way?
She did.
That's who.
Did I need to repeat it? I wasn't my mom.
And, I didn't plan on becoming her any time soon.
When our call ended, I remained under the covers for a long silent moment, trying to process everything she'd just told me.
In sea
rch of more reliable information, I pulled up the browser on my phone and did a quick Web search. For once, all of the details checked out.
One of the news articles actually had a photo of the mansion, his mansion, where I was currently staying. More accurately, it was their mansion, because the two brothers apparently owned it together.
Jax and Jaden.
The Bishop Brothers.
Who knew?
Not me, that's for sure.
But now that I had the information, what was I supposed to do with it? The answer came almost immediately.
Nothing.
As impressed as I was, it didn't change anything. Probably, it just put him that much further out of my league.
But who was I kidding? I'd never been in his league in the first place. I was a college drop-out with no clear plans for the future. In contrast, he was beyond rich and apparently famous, too.
I felt a wistful smile tug at my lips. At least I'd gotten to dance with him. That was pretty amazing, right?
I stayed in the room for several more hours, not because I was taking my mom's advice, but rather because from somewhere downstairs, I could hear the sounds of voices and vacuuming, and I didn't want to get in anyone's way.
Plus, it seemed rude to wander around by myself.
But I couldn’t hide away forever, so just before noon, I ventured out of the guest room, only to stop dead in my tracks.
Jax was there, waiting.
For me?
It sure looked that way.
Chapter 25
Before I could catch myself, I'd already asked, "What are you doing?"
He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. If my bluntness startled him, he didn't show it. "Thinking," he said.
I felt my eyebrows furrow. He was sitting in a sturdy wooden chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him.
I tried to recall. Had the chair been there last night?
I didn't think so.
In fact, I was almost sure of it.
Weird.
I gave a nervous laugh. "Thinking, huh? About what?"
"Right now? Breakfast."
Probably, he shouldn't've said that. I hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch. Oh, sure, there'd been plenty of finger foods at last night's party, but I'd been far too unsettled to eat a single thing.
And now, I was utterly famished.
He stood. "In case you're wondering, that's an invitation."
Funny, it didn't sound like an invitation. It sounded more like a summons.
I glanced down at my clothes, or rather somebody's clothes. Who they belonged to, I still didn't know.
After splurging on a long shower, I'd dressed in the black yoga pants and a pale pink T-shirt, along with fresh underwear – just because it seemed grubby not to.
Still, I couldn’t help but tally up the cost. I'd deliberately picked out the cheapest stuff, but it wasn't cheap to me, and I couldn't help but wonder if I owed some unseen person more than I could afford.
He looked to my feet. "You need shoes? We'll grab some on the way out."
Out? So he was inviting me out to breakfast?
I looked down. I was wearing somebody's socks, but no shoes at all. All I had were the silver pumps, which would've look utterly ridiculous with what I was now wearing.
Still, I hesitated. "Won't someone be mad? I mean, I've borrowed a lot already."
"Trust me, it's not a problem. You like pancakes?"
I loved pancakes. In fact, I was pretty sure I'd kill for a pancake right about now. And today was Sunday, my favorite day for a big breakfast.
Still, I was curious. I glanced toward the chair. "How long were you waiting?"
"Not long."
I considered the time. It had been hours since his argument with Morgan. Surely, he hadn't been sitting there the whole time?
No. Definitely not. From what I'd overheard earlier, he'd hustled Morgan off to some sort of meeting, which meant that he'd been away for at least some portion of the morning.
He flicked his head toward the stairway. "You ready?"
I was too distracted to be ready. And why? Because he looked so darn appealing.
Last night, he'd looked amazing in his tux, but now I realized that its formal lines had been hiding a physique that was even more impressive than I'd imagined.
And I'd been imagining plenty.
Now, with him wearing a basic black T-shirt, I could see his bulging biceps and perfectly defined pecs. His stomach was flat, and even through the dark cotton of his shirt, I could see the vague outlines of the tight ab muscles underneath.
He gave the stairway another glance. "Ladies first."
I hadn't said yes to his invitation, but who was I kidding? This might be my last decent meal for a while, and I'd be stupid to refuse.
Plus, breakfast with Jax? I couldn’t say no to that even I were stuffed, which I definitely wasn't.
And yet, an hour later, I was wondering if I'd made a huge mistake – not because the pancakes hadn't been wonderful, but rather because it became glaringly obvious that he'd invited me out for a reason.
And what was that reason?
To grill me like a slab of bacon.
Chapter 26
The waitress had just cleared away our dirty dishes when he said, "So, what was your plan?"
I wasn't following. "What do you mean?"
"Last night," he said, "were you waiting for someone?"
My cheeks grew warm as I considered where he'd found me – stranded outside like some sort of vagrant. I glanced away. "Well, I did call my roommate."
"Yeah? And where was she?"
I really didn't want to say, so I gave a half-hearted shrug. "I had some trouble reaching her, that's all."
"But why didn't you wait inside?"
Hadn't we been through this already? "Because, the party was over."
"And…?"
"And nothing." I made a sound of frustration. "Actually, I'm not sure what you're getting at. I didn't know it was your house, okay? And I didn't want to intrude."
"On who?"
"Whoever."
His gaze locked on mine. "Were you asked to leave?"
I bit my lip, but made no reply.
His mouth tightened. "So you were."
Funny, he hadn't phrased it as a question. Speaking very clearly now, he said, "Who asked you to leave?"
I stifled a shiver. His voice, normally so rich and warm, had grown ice-cold.
Suddenly, I didn't want to tell him. Or at least, the nice part of me didn't want to. The nastier part wanted to give him a blow-by-blow of the redhead's rudeness. But that really wasn't my style.
When the silence stretched out, he said, "You can tell me now or tell me later."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means," he said, "I'm gonna find out. If not from you, then from someone." His voice grew a few degrees colder. "And then, we're gonna have a talk."
I hesitated. "Who? You and me? Or you and the person who kicked me out?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On who did it." Almost to himself, he added, "If it's a guy, the conversation's gonna be a short one."
Listening, I recalled the stains on his tuxedo shirt. Had those been the result of a "short conversation?" I was almost afraid to speculate.
But I did know one thing for certain. I didn't want any violence on my behalf. I said, "It wasn't a guy."
Slowly, he leaned back in the booth. "Right. It was Morgan."
I felt my brow wrinkle. "Actually, she never told me her name."
"It doesn't matter. I know who it is."
"You do? Then why'd you ask?"
He smiled. "Better safe than sorry."
The smile caught me off guard. A moment ago, he looked ready to murder someone. And now, he was fine?
I just had to ask, "Why are you smiling?"
"Because I got what I wanted."
"Which is…?"
"A job va
cancy."
"Sorry, but…" I gave a little shake of my head. "What?"
"You want a job?"
The question surprised me. "What kind of job?"
"A personal assistant job."
For who? Him? It sure sounded that way. Probably, I should've been happy. But I saw this for what it was. It was a pity job – or worse, something to keep me from walking the streets or something.
Before I could catch myself, I'd already announced, "I'm not a hooker."
He frowned. "I never said you were."
"I know."
And I did. Just last night, I'd heard him telling his brother pretty much the same thing. But sometimes, what people thought and what they said were two very different things.
Obviously, he thought something was going on, or he wouldn't be making such an offer.
His voice, deadly serious, interrupted my thoughts. "In case it wasn't clear, that's not part of the job description."
"Sorry, what?"
His jaw tightened. "I'm not hiring you for a good time."
Now, I couldn't help but cringe. Apparently, my statement had come out all wrong. But how to explain? Everything was so complicated, and my thoughts were a jumbled mess.
His gaze bored to mine. "And, as long as we're tossing our cards on the table, I don't pay for it."
It.
Meaning sex of course.
No doubt, he didn't pay for it. A guy like that? I recalled what my mom had said just this morning. She'd be willing to pay him. And she never paid for anything.
But there was no way on Earth I'd be sharing that little nugget.
Looking to make a point, I repeated something he'd said to me. "I never said you did."
When his only response was a long silent look, I felt compelled to explain. "I mean, look at you. I bet you've got girls lined up. Probably they'd pay you, I mean, like if you actually needed the money."
Damn it. I hadn't meant to say any of that. Going for a recovery, I added, "Not that I think you're some kind of gigolo."
The corners of his mouth lifted. "Good to know."
I sighed. "Look, I know I'm making an idiot of myself. It's just that your offer caught me off guard. I mean, you don't even know my last name, much less my qualifications. So, I've gotta ask, why would you want to hire me?"
"I've got my reasons."
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