ARROGANT PLAYBOY (15 page)

ODESSA

Charity Falls is a sweet town.
The residents? Not so much. Beckham owes me. The locals threw pointed questions
and chucked false accusations at me like pitchers hurling curveballs. It wasn’t
just a PR quick-fix, it was a strategic game of chess.

I’m happy to report that I won
the match. An exit poll after the meeting showed a sixty-forty split on the
issue, whereas when I went in, we were at eighty-twenty.

We made progress. That’s all
that matters. And the baby picture helped. And all the flattering things I said
about Beckham, painting him as a hardworking family man. I guess he sort of is
now, even if it wasn’t his choice.

I smirk to myself, wheeling my
suitcase down my hall Friday afternoon. The faint scent of my favorite boutique
candles wafts from under my door. It smells good to be home.

“Hello?” I call out the second
my door swings open. A pair of Jeremiah’s shoes rest by the door. We’d talked
about spending time together when I got back. After six years together, I’d
think he’d remember how much I loathe surprises. Once in a while is fine. I
can’t handle every single week. “Jer?”

I wheel my suitcase to the
bedroom, flinging it on the bed and unzipping the monster. It weighs much more
coming home than it did leaving on Wednesday.

“Hey, babe.” Jeremiah stands in
the door, shirtless and smiling. He steps toward me, wrapping me in his arms
and kissing the top of my head. I hate to break it to him, but acting like
we’re back together doesn’t mean we’re back together. “Have a good trip?”

Flipping the lid of the
suitcase, a pale pink baby blanket rests on top of it all.

“What’s this?” He lifts it up,
stretching it out. “Princess?”

“That’s for Beckham’s
daughter,” I say, yanking it from his hands. “I saw it in a little boutique in
Charity Falls.”

He leans in and grabs a bag
from under a pile of pajamas. “And all this?”

Pulling out a silver rattle, a
squeaky giraffe, and a stuffed elephant, he dumps the rest of the contents on
the bed. Teething rings. Plastic rattles. Pacifiers.

“He doesn’t have anything.” I
grab it all and shove it back in the bag. “I’m helping him.”

Jeremiah’s blue eyes flash dark
for a moment, his jaw tensing and releasing over and over. I remember that look
from the Kappa Theta Phi house five years ago.

I harbor a breath, waiting for
him to explode. I knew the gallant Jeremiah from several days ago was nothing
but an act.

“You have baby fever or
something?” The dark expression on his face morphs into a smile as he reaches
for my belly. He palms my lower stomach, leaving it a minute too long. “’Cause
if that’s the case, you know we’re on the same page...”

I lean away, and his hand drags
off my stomach. “Stop. He’s a friend. These are necessities not gifts.”

“I thought he was just a guy
you met at a bar?” Jeremiah folds his arms tight across his chest, punching it
out as he rocks back on his heels. He peers down his nose at me like I’m under
investigation.

“You said you weren’t going to
judge me for what I did after you left me,” I remind him.

“I’m not, Sam. I just don’t
want to be taken for a ride.”

“I’m the last person who would
ever take you for a ride. You know that.” I sort my clothes, the dirty ones
going in the hamper and the clean ones going back into my closet. Only then do I
realize I packed a little black dress on my “work” trip.

Jeremiah is oblivious. He keeps
staring at the bag of baby things like he’s decoding some kind of cereal box
puzzle.

“You’re done there next week,
right?” he asks, raking his hand under his chin and gaze still transfixed.

“Yes. Next Friday. Why?”

“Just making sure.”

“Making sure of what?”

“That your focus will be on me,
on us, after this job.”

I love his mother, but
sometimes I silently curse the fact that she babied the hell out of her
youngest son. Part of me thinks she was so tired of raising a slew of
rambunctious boys that by the time she got to Jeremiah, her baby, she went soft
on him. The world revolved around him growing up. Apparently in his mind, it
still does.

“I can work
and
focus on us.” I fold a sweater and
shove it in a drawer before realizing it’s dirty. Yanking it out, I chuck it
into a hamper on the other side of the room. I can hardly concentrate on what
I’m doing and navigate this conversation at the same time.

“See?” Jeremiah chuckles.

“Not a valid comparison.”
Exiting my room, I head toward the kitchen and grab a bottled water from the
fridge. Flying always dehydrates me, and I feel a headache coming on. Jeremiah
follows, and only then do I realize all I want is some good, old-fashioned
space.

“I told Mama we were getting
back together,” he says.

Uncapping my drink, I turn to
face him. “Why would you say that?”

“She wouldn’t stop asking me
about you,” he says. “Every single day she calls.
‘Did Sam decide yet?’
She goes to church almost every night and
prays we’ll get back together.”

I glance at the calendar
hanging on the side of the fridge by two palm tree magnets we picked up last
year on vacation in San Diego. The date we picked is a little over five months
from now.

“The deposit is due next
month,” I say. “For the caterer.”

“Actually I thought some of my
interns could handle the catering. We’ve got a lot of talent there, and I think
you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I figured I could pick the menu. Surprise you?
Take the load off so you can focus on fun things?”

I choke down my frigid water
and roll my eyes. “What fun things? The seating chart?”

“Nah.” He steps toward me,
brushing the hair from my face before slinking his hands around my waist. “Like
gettin’ all dolled up.”

Words escape me. Is that all he
thinks of me as? Some vapid bride-to-be?

“We’re getting ahead of
ourselves.” My palm presses into his chest, and I back away. “
Way
ahead of ourselves.”

“God, Samantha. I’m trying
here. I’m trying to be the man you want, and all I get from you is resistance.
Where’s the girl who’s face used to light up when I came into the room?”

Maybe
you should get a puppy?

I shrug, shaking my head. My
eyes land on his feet. “I don’t have that answer for you.”

“What changed, Sam?”

I glance up when I hear the
sharp tinge of panic in his tone. For a moment, all I see is Jeremiah Crawford,
Celebrity Chef. And all I feel like is Samantha Russo, ex-fiancé of Jeremiah
Crawford, Celebrity Chef. Maybe somebody will write about me someday on his
Wikipedia page. The idea that Jeremiah’s role in my life might someday be a
bleep on my timeline is both terrifying and exhilarating.

For the first time, not knowing
what the future holds excites me. Half of my heart is running toward the altar,
bouquet of flowers clutched tight in my hands and wearing nothing but a white
dress and a smile. The other half of me is galloping away on a white horse a-la
Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride. No destination in mind. No goals besides pursuing
everything that makes me feel alive.

“I love you, Sam,” Jeremiah
says. My wrists are squeezed in his hands, his fingers digging into my bones.
“Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what you want.”

He wants me to tell him I still
want him. And part of me does. But I can’t say it. Not until I know for sure.

“Are you scared, babe?” His
tone is softer, comforting. “I was scared too. But imagining standing at that
altar watching you walk down the aisle makes all those worries go away.”

“It’s not that simple.” Making
decisions based on an idyllic daydream fantasy isn’t the brightest. “And let me
remind you that
you
wanted a break
from
me
. Kind of rattles my
confidence in us for the long-term. It’s forced me to look at things from a
different angle.”

“What about your father?”

My skin heats. I can’t believe
he’s going there.

My bottom lip trembles, my eyes
burning as they refuse to meet his gaze. Jeremiah releases my wrists and cups
my chin. He lifts my eyes to his.

“Not talking about it won’t
change anything.” His words slice open the scabbed wound I only pick at in my
darkest hours. “He’s in poor health, Sam. He’s not getting any better. He wants
to walk his youngest daughter down the aisle. He wants to make sure he leaves
you in good hands before he goes.”

“Don’t.” I don’t want to hear
what I already know. Inhaling a lungful of thick air, I push past Jeremiah and
grab my keys and bag. Stepping into my shoes and blinking away tears, I know if
I say another word it’ll come out as a string of nonsensical sobs.

“Sam, where’re you going?”

I shake my head, my shoulders
shaking as I turn to face him. “Do not use my father’s health to guilt trip me
into marrying you, Jeremiah.”

My eyes close and in that
moment, I’m transported to the top of the stairs of my parents’ house. An
assortment of photos in every size and frame available covers the wall in
perfect harmony. My sisters and brothers are all married off, all of their
wedding photos hanging happily side by side. The spot on the end is saved for
me, I’ve been told. But the possibility of my wedding photo not including my
father is as real as it’s ever been. The man can hardly breathe thanks to his
emphysema. The doctor’s keep threatening to amputate his feet if he doesn’t get
his diabetes under control. He’s a good man with heart of gold. All he ever did
was live his life to the fullest.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

Jeremiah comes toward me, but I
place my hand up to stop him. “I’m going for a walk.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.” I slip out the
door, craving the cool night air on my face.

When I return two hours later,
Jeremiah’s gone.

BECKHAM

“These are for you.” Odessa
enters my office Monday morning with a pale pink bag and a sly smile on her
face. She drops it on my desk and stands back.

“What’s all this?”

“A few things I picked up in
Vermont.”

Reaching into the bag, I
retrieve a pale pink blanket. It’s the softest thing I’ve felt in my life, and
the word “princess” is embroidered along one side with cream thread.

“I thought it was fitting,” she
says. “Your name being King and all.”

Great
minds.

“I call her Sadie,” I announce.
“It means princess.”

“Seriously?” Odessa laughs, her
face lighting up.

I pull out a myriad of other
baby items, most of which I can’t even identify.

“Thank you,” I say, folding up
the blanket and putting everything back into the bag. “You didn’t have to do
all of this.”

“Don’t worry, it all went on
the company card.”

I glance up, my hand freezing
with an expensive-looking and completely frivolous silver rattle in it.

“I kid.” Her green eyes flash
as she fights a smile. She’s extra happy to see me today. Dare I assume she
missed me? She pulls up a chair and sinks down. “Charity Falls went well. They
warmed up to you the second I said you were at home with your newborn baby on
paternity leave. They like that you’re a family man.”

“But I’m not.”

“It’s called PR, Beckham.” Her
legs cross as she leans in. “And you’re a family man now, whether or not you
want to be.”

“She cried all night last
night,” I lean back in my chair, shaking my head. “I don’t know if I’m cut out
for this. Part of me thinks she’d be better off with a foster family. Maybe I
can’t give her what she needs?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Odessa sits
up, hands splayed across the edge of my desk. “What are you talking about? I
know you’re short on sleep, but you’re making no sense. Newborns are hard,
Beckham. You don’t just throw in the towel because you’re not getting any sleep
and the baby cries too much.”

“She might not be mine.” My
thumb slicks across my brow.

“What? Then why are you doing
all this? Taking care of her? Being involved?”

“Her mother isn’t well.”

Odessa falls back, examining me
as if we’re two strangers meeting for the first time.

“So you’re taking care of a
baby for some woman you used to sleep with out of the kindness of your little
black heart?” Odessa’s eyes flash, and she bites away an amused grin. “Do I
know you right now? Who
are
you? Who
the hell is Beckham King because apparently I had you all wrong.”

“I’m glad you find this
entertaining.” I don’t return her smart-mouthed smile.

“I’m sorry.” She still smiles.
“It’s just that, I’m having trouble understanding what this is all about.”

“It’s not for you to
understand.”

“You’re right. You’re right.
I’m sorry.” She stands, slipping a strand of hair over her shoulder as her
smile fades. “My weekend drained me emotionally I think. That or I’m still
jet-lagged. Everything is funny to me. And your situation isn’t funny. I know
it’s real life. I shouldn’t make fun. You’re doing something most other men
don’t have the balls to do, and I respect you for it.”

She slips out from between the
chair and desk and shuffles toward the door.

“I better get to work. Five
more days…”

“Are you counting down?” I call
after her, following after her before I have a chance to stop myself.

Odessa halts, turning on her
heel until we’re face to face in my doorway. A single brow lifts. “As opposed
to counting up?”

She’s lucky I don’t punish that
smart mouth of hers.

“My question wasn’t meant to be
taken literally,” I say, tracing her jaw with the tip of my index finger. My
palm cups her chin a second later, my thumb grazing her lower lip. Her tongue
rakes across her pout, following the invisible line.

For a second, we’re just
Beckham and Odessa.

And then real life smacks me
across the face.

Or maybe it’s her hand.

Her face hardens as she backs
away. Warmth stings my left cheek.

“You shouldn’t have done that,”
she says.

“Done what?”

“Made me want to kiss you when we
both know all we’re ever going to be is friends.”

She’s right. I don’t want to
date her. I just want to fuck her. I want to fucking lose myself in her. Bury
my cock deep inside that pristine pussy of hers and smash her mouth until the
rest of the world fades away. Odessa has a way with making all the bullshit
temporarily disappear when she’s around.

Flirting with recklessness is
grossly irresponsible of me. I know better.

I let the sting of the slap
burn into me, feeling it all before it’s gone. “Fair enough.”

“Believe it or not, I was
starting to like being friends with you.” Her words soothe and insult all at
once. Her green eyes radiate against the sunlight trickling in from behind.
Odessa’s auburn hair is particularly shiny today, straight and draped down her
shoulders like she spent extra time getting ready this morning.

“What are you doing after
this?” I ask. “After Friday? Do you have any other jobs lined up?”

She shrugs. “I’m a free agent.
I can make some calls. Find some work, I’m sure. The city’s full of places
needing people like me. Not everyone can spin straw into gold.”

“Work here,” I say. “We’re
hiring a VP of Public Affairs and Marketing. You’d be perfect.”

Her rosy lips pull up halfway.
“Wow…I don’t know what to say.”

“You can start by accepting and
finish by naming your salary. The job is yours if you want it.”

“Can I think about it? Let you
know by the end of the week?”

“What’s there to think about?”

Her gaze falls to the side as
she worries her lip.

“It’s Jeremiah.”
Fucking Jeremiah
. “He doesn’t want you
working here anymore.”

“I’d never allow a man to
dictate where I work.” Her hands cross at her heart. “It’s just that something
about me working with you makes him uncomfortable, and I’m trying to figure out
why that would be.”

“He’s insecure.”

“It’s more than that,” she
says. “I spent the weekend asking myself some pretty tough questions. Didn’t
come up with a single answer. I hardly recognize half the things my heart tells
me to do anymore. Maybe I’ll go back home for a bit. Spend time with family.
Take some freelance jobs I can do remotely.”

“Walking away isn’t going to
solve your problems.” I speak from experience. “It tends to make them worse.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.” She
playfully punches my arm. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

Once again, I’m back in the
friend zone. She shut me down. The distance between us widens, but maybe it’s
for the best. Getting attached to anyone right now is irresponsible.

“Did you get the nursery put
together this weekend?” I’m almost relieved for the change in subject. “Or is
she still sleeping in a bassinet in your room?”

I’m in survival mode. Cribs and
butterfly nursery art are the least of my concerns. “Not yet.”

“What?” Odessa’s brows furrow.
“Why not?”

“I’m a little preoccupied. Still
getting a handle on this whole dad thing.”

“Do you want help? I planned my
niece, Aubrey’s, nursery when my sister in law was on bed rest and my brother
was in Afghanistan.”

“I was going to hire this
company to handle it, but yeah, I guess so?” I scratch my temple. A second ago
she was slapping me and now she’s planning Sadie’s room.

“Give me your credit card.” Her
palm extends toward my face. “I’ll have everything shipped to your place. We
can put it together later this week. Sadie needs a room of her own.”

My lips separate as I debate
telling her I’m terrified of not hearing Sadie in the middle of the night. My
place is huge. The walls are thick and soundproof. If she needs me, if she
needs anything, I want to be right there.

“And don’t worry about not
hearing her.” Odessa reads my mind. “That’s what video monitors are for. You’ll
be able to see and hear everything from anywhere in your home.”

I stave off an amused grin
before pulling my wallet out. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“Here you go.”

Odessa disappears into her
office, and I return to my desk to answer the ringing phone. My chest pounds
for a second as I assume the worst. Something’s happened to Sadie. Eva’s out of
the hospital. Nothing worse than scooping my broken little world up into my arms
only to have it all fall apart again.

Dane’s number flashes across
the caller ID.

“What’s going on?” I cradle my
desk phone on my shoulder, simultaneously texting Elizabeth to check on Sadie
before I get too busy and forget.

“It’s Uncle Leo.” Dane’s voice
is flat. Blood whooshes in my ears and my mouth dries. I can’t swallow, and I
can hardly breathe. I’ve never lost anyone I loved before, not through death.

Oh,
God.

Last weekend, Dane texted me to
let me know he’d gotten sick shortly after we left Utah. He was admitted to the
hospital while I was still figuring everything out with Eva and the baby.

I should’ve called.

I should’ve fucking called.

“He’s in hospice.” Dane is a
mastermind at hiding emotion in his voice, but I know deep down, he’s taking
this harder than I am.

“He’s still alive?”

“Yeah, but the doctors say it’s
going to be any day now. You need to come home.”

“Fuck.” I slink back in my
chair. “He was fine two weeks ago?”

“That’s the problem with
pancreatic cancer. They tend to find it when it’s too late. He’s stage four,
Beck. The doctor’s say this is how it usually happens. They’re fine one day,
sick the next. You don’t always get a warning sign.”

It’s not enough that the old
bastard spent years battling lung cancer and coming out on top like a goddamn
beast, but to have his legs knocked out from under him with this? He doesn’t
deserve it.

“I’ll be on the first flight
out tomorrow.”

“Hey, what do you think of
this?” I glance up to find Odessa strutting toward me, her iPad in her hand
with a picture of a round crib on the screen. “I wanted to get your permission
before I order this. It isn’t cheap. And I wanted to know if you wanted white
or espresso.”

Dane rattles off in my
earpiece. I’m caught between two worlds: one where Odessa’s picking out baby
furniture and the other where the man who made me who I am today is lying on
his deathbed.

“Dane, I’ll call you back.” I
hang up.

“I can come later if you want,”
she says.

I can’t speak. I can only
picture my uncle.

Odessa chuckles. “What’s wrong?
You look like someone told you you’re going to be a father again.”

“Uncle Leo is in hospice.” I
rise though I’m not sure why. I need to go somewhere. The jet should be in the
New York hangar. I could call the flight service and book a pilot immediately.
“Sadie.”

“What?”

“Who’s going to stay with
Sadie? I have to go to Salt Lake City.”

“Can you bring her with you?”

“Do people do that? Do they
travel with twelve day old babies?”

She shrugs. “I’m sure it
happens all the time. You could always ask her doctor.”

Right.
If I knew who that was.

I toss a pen across my desk and
lean back.

“Take her with you. Bring the
nanny. People do
that
all the time.
You’re flying private. I assume you’ll be staying with Dane again. She won’t be
exposed to too many germs. I’d do it.”

I wish I had her carefree
attitude. Mine abandoned me the day that baby was placed in my arms. Now I care
about everything, all the fucking time.

“I’ll come with you,” she
offers. “If you’re busy with your uncle and the nanny needs a break, at least
you know she’ll be with someone you trust. Assuming you trust me.”

Recalling Dr. Brentwood’s speech
about friends and family, I blurt, “I trust you.”

“Okay. Let me run home and
pack. Send a car for me, and I’ll meet the three of you there.”

Gone are the days of hopping
onto a jet and flying anywhere in the world on a moment’s notice.

“Tell Elizabeth to pack for
Sadie,” she reminds me as she turns to leave. “No offense, but you’re kind of
new at this and the last thing we need is to show up in Salt Lake City with two
bottles, three diapers, and one change of clothes.”

Her eyes widen and her posture
lifts. She wears the look of a sexy, confident woman taking charge, and in this
moment, she’s everything I need.