Boyfriend for Hire: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance (Escort Files Book 1) (21 page)

Amy argued with herself for the entire drive, changing her mind at least twenty times. Mike wasn’t overly prideful or weird about women, but this was his own private problem and she knew he felt strange about their different financial circumstances. If their positions were reversed, she would feel the same. And if she were in his position, she might be very angry if he interfered like this.

On the other hand, if Marion’s little tidbit of information was correct, she might be secretly overjoyed not to have to give up something she loved. And that was his home. True, her father’s house had been her home and she’d sold that in a heartbeat, but if there had been a lover she cared for who had been willing to help her, what would she have done?

She might be embarrassed and work to pay them back, but she would have accepted. No question. She would be living there now instead of looking at over-designed apartments and condos meant for the Research Triangle workers in Raleigh.

After another dozen changes of mind, she took the exit that led to Mike. Her phone buzzed exactly one minute past five and she looked around for cops before hitting the speaker button.

“Hey,” she said, absolutely frozen and not sure what to say.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, real concern in his voice. She could hear the sound of him walking, others talking around him, the slamming of a metal door.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine. I just have to talk to you and I’d rather do it in person.”

Mike was silent a moment, then he said, “That doesn’t sound fine at all. Are we in trouble?”

She smiled as she turned a corner. She loved the way he’d shifted to using we so easily. They were a we. “No, we’re not. We’re fine. This is something else.”

She could hear the confusion in his voice, but he was apparently willing to wait to hear her because he said, “Okay. I’ll hurry home then. Are you there?”

“I will be in five minutes.”

“Just go on in. Charlie will be home. Don’t let him wheedle you into cooking for him.”

She laughed, because Charlie would probably do exactly that within moments of her arrival. He played that whole bachelor-with-no-cooking-skills card on her without shame. Of course, he was a bachelor without attachments because he wanted to be, so it didn’t really work.

“I’ll defend myself with honor,” she declared, using one of those serious voices like the knights on Charlie’s current favorite video game.

She felt better when they hung up, but no less undecided. It all came down to not knowing what he really wanted to do. And what he really wanted, deep in his heart, was what she wanted for him.

She just needed to actually know what Mike wanted.

Traffic being what it was, it would take Mike at least forty-five minutes to drive home. Charlie answered the door with a grin and a hug. He clearly hadn’t showered after going to the gym and the whole room smelled of it.

She waved her hand in front of her face and said, “Charlie. You should bathe!”

Charlie really was a lot more like Marion than Amy had thought possible. She’d always assumed Marion was unique in her unabashed and entirely open behavior. Not so apparently, because Charlie lifted his arm and sniffed, then grinned and said, “Me Tarzan, you not Jane.”

“Oh god, you’re a dork,” she said and shut the door behind her. It was easy to be this way with Charlie, which was a good thing since Mike apparently loved the guy.

He shrugged and hopped over the back of the couch to pick up his controller. “Okay, me dork, you still not Jane.” Then he seemed to finally notice that Mike hadn’t come in with her and he asked, “What’s up?”

She hugged her purse at her waist and said, “I’m waiting for Mike. He knows I’ll get here first.”

“Cool,” he said, then added, “Does that mean you’re cooking? I’m such a loser in the kitchen and I’m sure pizza isn’t good for me every night.” He made big eyes at her and sucked in his cheeks. It was entirely ineffective. Like Mike, he had a physique that turned heads. It was part of the job.

She rolled her eyes and answered, “No. I am not cooking. That ploy is not going to work tonight.”

He patted the couch next to him and said, “Well, then we might as well starve together. Want to watch some housewives fight with each other?”

Without even waiting for an answer, he clicked the various remotes until the TV came up and he navigated to his recorded shows, which were suspiciously filled with reality TV shows of the most cringe-inducing sort. He loved that stuff.

Amy had never been into that sort of thing, but her evenings at Mike’s house meant she’d now seen quite a few episodes of his particular favorites. A sort of lurid fascination was growing and she was almost ashamed of herself.

Plopping down on the couch, she asked, “Did she hit her like we thought?”

Charlie grinned and said, “Just watch. I saved it for you.”

When Mike finally walked in the door, Amy was fully entrenched and high-fiving Charlie because the over-blown drama had, in fact, resulted in a serious slap attempt. Lack of actual contact meant Amy won their bet, but it was still entertaining to watch.

“I told you not to get her hooked on that crap,” Mike said, grinning at the pair of them.

Amy jumped up and scooted around the couch to hug him. He looked fantastic. Regular life was good for him. He was still built like a god, but not so preened and plucked. She’d been watching with fascination as a line of hair grew from just below his belly button that traveled downward. He’d told her that he sure didn’t mind forgoing waxing appointments and she’d giggled at the mental picture that developed.

Of course, she’d turned that around and told him she would also forgo certain types of grooming if he wanted to get all untended on her. He’d only grabbed her and asked if she would stop shaving her legs, then grunted like a caveman and carried her off to bed.

They kissed until Charlie made a rude noise and said, “Get a room!”

When they broke the kiss, Mike smoothed her hair back and looked at her with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Glancing at Charlie, Amy nodded toward Mike’s bedroom. He grinned, but she shook her head and whispered, “Privacy. Not that kind though.”

His face grew serious again and he led her into his bedroom by the hand. He was still wearing his work clothes—khaki pants and a golf shirt with the company logo on it—but he sat on the bed rather than change and said, “Okay, shoot.”

Sitting next to him, she took his hand and said, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Uh oh. Conversations that start like that are never good.”

Amy inclined her head at the truth of that, then brought a leg up on the bed so she could face him. Gripping his hand in both of hers, she asked, “Do you really, truly, absolutely, want to sell your groves?”

His brows drew together as if that was the last thing he expected to hear. “Why are you asking that now?”

She rested their hands on her knee and said, “I’m asking because I don’t want you to sell if it’s simply a matter of money.” There, she said it. Blunt—maybe too blunt—but it was out there.

He tensed a little and she thought he might pull his hand away so she gripped it tighter. He didn’t say anything at all for a moment, then he asked, “Are you that private interest my agent just called me about? The one who was asking about the sale?”

She winced and he didn’t need more than that. He withdrew his hand and scooted back a little on the bed. “Not cool,” he said.

Holding up her hands as if in surrender, she rushed on. “Let me explain!”

He shook his head and stood, kicking off his shoes and pulling out a pair of shorts and a tee from his dresser, not looking at her. She could tell simply by the way he held himself that he was irritated at the very least, possibly even angry.

“Please,” she said. “It’s important.”

The tone of her voice must have gotten through, because he tossed the clothes onto the bed and leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed. He was at least looking at her now. That was good, wasn’t it?

She took a deep breath and rubbed her palms down her pant legs. She had to say this right, make sure what she felt in her heart came out in her words. This was more important than a pitch to investors or even the sale of her company. This was Mike and he was her heart.

“You remember me telling you how I sold my dad’s house after he passed?”

He nodded, but nothing more.

“Cancer is expensive even with insurance, and I didn’t have a choice in the matter. But if I could have kept it, I would have. It was like flushing my entire childhood down the toilet. It was like erasing all the great things that happened in that house. It was full of
our
life.

“Now, I’m not saying that anyone else has to feel the same way I do, or that these things affect any two people the same way, but I do know that if there had been anyone who could have helped me, I would have taken that help. I would never have let that house go. Yes, it might have been hard and I might have been embarrassed, but I would have accepted help in a heartbeat. I don’t want you to suffer through that if you don’t have to, if you’re not absolutely sure that you want to let that place go.”

Tears had risen in her eyes while she spoke. It brought up all the feelings she’d had at the time. It made the grief and worry fresh and new and as terrible as they’d been right after her father had died. Mike was looking at her with his heart in his eyes, with so much compassion and the kind of understanding that comes only from knowing exactly what she felt like because he’d been there too.

He crossed the room and sat close to her again. His arm went around her shoulder and he pulled her to him, her head tucked against his chest and his hand on her cheek.

The tears finally fell and Amy wiped her suddenly runny nose—why did her nose immediately produce snot when she cried? He made soft noises of comfort and rocked them both a little on the bed. Mike really was a nurturer at heart and it made more tears fill her eyes.

After a moment, she asked, “Do you understand?” Her voice was thick from crying and she sniffed so she wouldn’t drip snot on him.

“I do. I really do. I’m sorry that happened to you like that. I’m just trying to think,” he said.

She waited, letting the tears end and only moving so she could pull the end of her shirt up to wipe her nose, which was disgusting but unavoidable. After a while, he said, “I’m not sure how I feel, to be honest. I’ve just never been able to settle my mind on what to do, so I avoided it.”

She raised her head so she could look at him. “But you’re doing it now.”

He nodded, then squeezed her for a second. “Yes.”

Pushing herself away from him was hard, but she wanted them to talk face to face and she wanted to see his answers in his expression. “Is it because of the money? Because you can’t pay for it anymore? Truth.”

He leaned back on the bed, his arms bracing him. He looked her in the eye and said, “Fifty percent, yes.”

“And what’s the other fifty percent?”

“I want to stay here with you.”

“Oh.” Well, that was great. Falling for her had now totally ruined his life. Such a bonus! Amy felt like crap.

“You wanted the truth. That’s it. It’s not a blame thing, it’s a reality thing. The reality is that I’m in love with you and I have absolutely no idea how that happened or why it happened, but there it is. I’m greedy and I’m not giving you up.”

He sat up straight again and took her hand, pressing the palm to his heart. “This isn’t at all how I planned to say it, but now I have. I love you, love every weird, quirky, shy, awesome, and sexy bit of you. I even love your crazy crooked pinky toes. I’m staying where you are and that means no California. It isn’t even just that I can’t afford to keep the grove, but that I know I’d rather be with you than there.”

Her heart was probably going to jump out of her chest and do some really bad disco moves across the floor. He meant it and she could tell he did. It was fast, so fast it was hard to trust it, but she felt it too.

“I love you too,” she said, squeaking at the final word. Not since her high school boyfriend had she said those words to a man other than her father. Not once. But she meant it and she wanted to jump up and down on the bed now that she had said it.

His hand squeezed hers where it rested on his chest. “You do? You’re not just saying that because I said it?”

She shook her head, smiling at him. “I totally mean it. Absolutely mean it.” Then she did lose all composure and squeal like a girl, freeing her hand from his so she could grab his face and mash her lips to his in a way that was not at all sexy. “I love you and that’s just pretty much that.”

He grinned and hugged her, pressing the back of her head so that she was squashed against his chest and in danger of suffocation. Wriggling to get her nose free, she sucked in a breath and said, “Don’t murder me for it.”

He laughed and let her go, then ran a finger down her cheek. “Wow. I didn’t expect that tonight.”

“Me neither. But, you know, nice strategy for changing the topic.”

He rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and said, “Okay. You win. We’ll talk about it, but my feelings about the matter haven’t changed.”

“Granted, but if you could keep it…”

He pulled in a long breath and nodded slowly, as if trying to figure out the truth of it himself. “I probably would keep it. Probably. I’ve had a very hard time going back there, so I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live there again, but I would probably keep it. That’s with all other considerations aside. But, and this is important, I’m not asking for help. I’m not. This is a problem that I know how to solve and then it will be done. And I’m still not sure whether or not I’m mad at you for interfering.”

She looked down at the bed, knowing she deserved that. He had every right to be angry. That didn’t mean she wasn’t also right about what she would say next. Plus, you know, he loved her and she loved him and that changed absolutely everything.

“Then keep it.”

“No.”

“Why? If it’s because of money then screw that. I have so much and I have absolutely nothing to do with my life right now. Nothing. I’d much rather do something with you than nothing with you.”