James: A College Girl Romance (20 page)

Stretched out on the sofa along the wall, Blake was lying—shirtless—with his eyes closed. When Cass’s friend hurried into the kitchen with Cass following close behind her, I smirked.

“Good to know I’m paying you to sleep.”

“I never sleep, mate,” he said with his eyes still closed.

“I take it you had a visitor last night?”

“Quite. That bloke was an orangutan.”

“Did he give you any trouble?”

Blake opened his eyes and gave me the finger.

“McDevitt, it’s
me
, mate. You think
I
had trouble? I’m quite offended.”

“Where’d your shirt disappear to?”

“Someone got blood on it,” he grinned. “Vix is giving it a wash for me.”

“
Vix
?”

“Bloody mystery of the universe why the sweetest of birds always runs out and finds herself the biggest wanker possible. That lad last night was full-on potty.”

“
Potty
? Jesus, Blake. Do you Brits speak any English these days?”

“Potty. Or as you Yanks say,
one card short of a full deck
,” he said in an awful cowboy imitation.

Cass and Vicki came back from the kitchen with Vicki carrying a plate with a BLT, potato chips, and a brownie.

“You’re an angel from above, love,” Blake said as she set the plate on the coffee table.

The girl blushed and batted her big blue eyes at Blake. I gave him a look over her head, to which he shrugged and grinned.

“Are you ready?” I asked Cass.

She nodded and hurried over to her friend. They hugged.

“You reckon we should hug, too, mate?” Blake asked cheekily.

“Put a shirt on, you jackass.”

“I’ll call or text as soon as I’m back, okay?” Cass told her friend as we walked to the door.

She walked out ahead of me into the baking heat, and we had only made it a few steps before she gave me a piercing look.

“Your friend isn’t going to break Vicki’s heart, is he?”

“I’m sorry. You are talking about the young woman with the steroid-addled ape of an ex-boyfriend?”

She smirked.

“Vicki falls in love easily. Or at least she thinks it’s love. I don’t want her getting hurt again.”

“Blake is the perfect gentleman.”

At least while he’s on the job
, I added silently. Cass nodded, and I opened the car door for her. Neither of us spoke, and by the time I looked over at her again, she was fast asleep. As the scorched agricultural landscape slipped by, I looked forward to getting back to the city. I wanted to be as prepared as possible for going head-to-head with my father.

Cass had been right when she had called herself a complication. She was a weak flank, a way for my father to manipulate me. He didn’t care who or what he destroyed in his quest for power.

People who led
normal
lives didn’t think individuals like my father were real. They thought villains like him only existed in the movies. They didn’t understand that for some people, all that mattered was more money and more power. There was no such thing as
enough
in my father’s world.

I couldn’t let Cass become another pawn, one more victim of his ambition. I needed her protected from his reach, and little did my father know—I had the means to achieve this. It simply required outmaneuvering the bastard.

When I began playing Vivaldi’s
Concerto in A Minor for Two Violins
, I thought Cass would wake up, but she remained asleep for the entire concerto and the remainder of the drive. I reached over and touched her cheek when I pulled into the valet alcove. She looked around blearily.

“I slept the entire drive?” she mumbled.

“You also slept through some very energetic Vivaldi.”

The valet opened her door, and the doorman took the bags to the front desk. After checking in, I took Cass up to the suite. When the bellhop left, I pointed to the soaking tub overlooking the bay. She laughed.

“I
just
showered.”

“Your choice. I’m going to be busy most of the time we’re here.”

I took my laptop and walked over to the sofa while Cass walked around the hotel suite.

“Never thought I’d be back here,” she said softly.

I lost track of time as I pulled the numbers I needed from a spreadsheet and sent out queries to various contacts. When I looked up, Cass was sitting at the edge of the tub with the water running. She was wearing one of the hotel’s robes. At the sound of the door, she jumped and clutched the top of the robe. I rose from the sofa and walked to the door. As soon as the woman from room service was gone, I poured a glass of the sparkling water and set it on the ledge of the tub.

“I thought you might be thirsty.”

Cass smiled.

“Thanks.”

By the time I sat back on the sofa with my whisky, Cass was shedding her robe. I watched as she lowered herself into the water and let her hair fall loose behind the tub. Realizing that I could watch her for hours, I returned to the task at hand. I had a full slate over the next couple of days. I had to talk to Matt Irving. Then I needed to meet with the corporate lawyers, my estate attorney, and Chris.

If I did this right, I would be clear of my father. Better yet, I would have leverage over him. And Cass would be protected. She probably wouldn’t appreciate my methods. Hell, she would probably hate me for it.

But it needed to be done.

The fact that it would bind her to me—legally and financially—was an added benefit. I wasn’t going to bother denying what I wanted.

I wanted to possess her. I wanted to own her, dominate her, worship her. I never wanted another person to touch her, hurt her, or be with her. Right or wrong, I wanted to be the only one to be with her.

I wanted her to be mine.

Three years ago, I had watched Ryan Bennett try to escape the inevitable with Alex Reed—hell I had even played my role as the asshole trying to drive them apart. The difference was that the poor bastard had fallen for an eighteen-year-old freshman.

Unlike him, I didn’t have to run away from what I wanted.

“You’re out of your fucking mind, McDevitt.”

“While I appreciate the hyperbole, Chris—fuck off.”

For fuck’s sake
. My business partner could be such a whiny, dramatic bitch sometimes.

“Stop using big words, you dick.”

“Hanover, hyperbolic isn’t a big word, and it describes you perfectly.”

“Fuck you, dude! You just told me you want to sign over your shares of our company to a stripper you met less than a week ago. I told you—you’re fucking insane!”

Charles Gibson, my estate attorney, raised an eyebrow, and I sighed.

“First, she’s not a stripper. Second, I’m not signing over my shares; I’m inserting provisions to protect my shares and the company—”

“By listing a stripper as your beneficiary and proxy, you goddamn madman?” my partner ranted.

“Hanover, you may be a brilliant coder and technocrat, but listening skills are definitely not in your toolbox. Can you just sign the damn documents?”

I looked over at Gibson, who cleared his throat. The word
stripper
obviously had caught his attention.

“You know I have to ask—are you comfortable with this, James?”

I smiled at my attorney.

“I wouldn’t be doing it if I weren’t.”

“I would feel more comfortable if Ms. Flynn were here in person,” he said neutrally.

“Hell, yes!” Chris interjected, slapping his hand on the table. “Let’s meet the stripper.”

Gibson looked over at Chris and then back at me. His expression said it all.
How the hell can that punk be the wunderkind behind a multi-billion-dollar tech conglomerate?

“You can meet her after I get married.”

“
M-m-married
?” Chris choked as he looked wildly around the room. “All right—where the fuck are the cameras?”

“And, Hanover? There’s a confidentiality clause. You say one word about Cass’s former employment—and I
will
take you to court for breach of contract. Don’t doubt me on that.” I turned to my estate attorney. “Charles? I assume you can finish up here. If you have any questions, give me a call.”

I stood, shook hands with my lawyer, and took my jacket from the chair back. Then I walked over and slapped Hanover on the back.

“Not a word about any of this when you show up at my father’s event. The old man handles surprises about as well as you do—and you know what a bastard he is.”

I walked out of the boardroom. In a couple of hours, Cass and I would be on the company jet, flying down to Southern California, where I would meet Mr. and Mrs. Agnew. But first, I had to pick up the ring.

Round diamond. A little over seven carats. Ideal cut. Flawless clarity. Colorless. Excellent polish and symmetry. A perfectly proportioned center stone surrounded by a halo of pavé-set diamonds surrounded on either side by two more round diamonds.

Having it completed by my deadline had cost another half a million alone. It was worth it. The JA Certified Master Bench Jeweler I had commissioned was beaming when I walked in, despite the fact that he looked as though he hadn’t slept in the past twenty-four hours. He ushered me into the back of the store.

“A truly exquisite piece, Mr. McDevitt.”

He opened the small silver box. The diamonds glowed against the black silk.

“It’s perfect.”

The small, balding man looked like he was ready to faint in relief.

“I truly hope that the lady in question is pleased,” he said as he shook my hand.

My thoughts exactly
.

D
uring the past few days, I had been plucked, buffed, painted, zapped, trimmed, dressed up, and kneaded like dough. A woman had even shown up at the hotel room to run through fine dining etiquette with me. I assumed it was so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself at James’s father’s event.

In seventy-two hours, I had eaten enough expensive room service food to pay for another corner suite in this hotel. And I had barely seen James the entire time.

At first, when we had gotten back to San Francisco, a part of me had been wishing he would finish what he had started on Tuesday morning. The longer I had to think about, though, the more I knew he had been right—I would have regretted sleeping with him like that.

As silly as it was, it reminded me of the time my cousins and I had bought hair dye at the drugstore without telling our moms. About two seconds after pouring the black dye into my hair, I had freaked out and rinsed my hair.

The difference now was that I was nearly twenty-four, not twelve—and having sex for the first time wasn’t something I could take back or wash away.

The last few days had given me time to think things through, and I had finally come to a conclusion: it would be a mistake to have sex with James—but not for my original reasons.

After first meeting him, I had thought he was just an entitled, rich playboy with no soul, no conscience, and no capacity for real adult emotions. Then I had seen it on Tuesday. The rage. The vulnerability. The integrity he kept hidden behind a wall of apathy, black humor, and disregard for everything around him.

The other day, I had thought he had stopped before it was too late—but now I realized it was already too late. I was in love with him.

My heart skipped at my realization.
I’m in love with him
. I didn’t even know how it was possible or when the hell it had happened. I laughed as I stared down at my freshly manicured nails.

He had told me himself—I was nothing to him. A piece of ass for the summer. A challenge. A pathetic college drop-out he had found working in a strip club.

When I felt a tear track down my cheek, I viciously wiped it away and shook my head. I would make it through this. Then I would finish school, and I would figure out what I wanted to do instead mistaking someone else’s enthusiasm for my own.

Even as I told myself this, I could feel it—a strange sense of certainty that I would remember James McDevitt decades from now. A hole was forming in my chest, a cold sensation spreading through me that made it difficult to breathe. I was afraid—terrified—of never seeing him again.

Suddenly the door to the suite opened. When I looked up, he was standing there, somehow looking more devastatingly handsome than I remembered.

“Ready?” he smiled.

Shit
. Dinner with my mom and Michael. It was like a cruel joke. Taking him home to meet the parents. But that was my life. It wasn’t a fairy tale.

My father was in federal lockup for embezzlement.

My mom had forgotten about me after getting remarried.

And when I had finally fallen in love, it was with someone who couldn’t love me back.

There were two words for my situation:
fucked … up
.

“Yeah.” I looked around. “Let me just …”

My purse was sitting on the table in front of me. I grabbed it and headed for the bathroom. James caught my wrist as I tried to pass by him.

“Are you okay?”

I smiled and nodded, but James held me there, staring down at me like he could read my thoughts.

“I’m great,” I said as I pulled out of his grip.

I walked into the bathroom, checked my makeup, and took a few deep breaths.

“You can do this, Cass,” I told my reflection.

Nothing had changed, except in my mind. I walked over and picked up the gift bag with a bottle of wine for Michael’s birthday before joining James at the door. I smiled again, but I could feel my expression cracking at the edges.

When he glanced down at me as we walked toward the elevator, I commanded myself to act normal even when I knew acting normal was going to be a problem. My little epiphany was making it difficult to look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

“You weren’t kidding about being busy,” I said lightly. “I’ve barely seen you the last few days. I didn’t realize how quickly I had gotten used to …”
being with you
.

My eyes began to sting as I stepped onto the elevator ahead of him. Pain flooded through me. I couldn’t pretend like this for much longer—but I also couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing him again.

“Used to what?” he asked quietly as he leaned back against the wall.

I shook my head.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

I gave him a wry smile.

“Haven’t you learned never to ask a woman what she’s thinking? She might tell you.”

He nodded.

“Fair enough. Tell me something else then. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

Surprised that he hadn’t tried to charm—or tickle—an answer out of me, I shrugged.

“Europe. And somewhere tropical … with pretty water. One of those places you see in magazines that doesn’t exist in reality. You know, one of those places with crystal clear water and no people.”

“It exists. It’s called a private island in the Maldives.”

I shrugged.

“Traveling is a long way off for me. A real job and money come first. Well, finishing school comes first. What about you? Is there any place you really want to visit?” I looked down, feeling stupid. “You’ve probably—no, you’ve definitely been more places than I have. What’s your favorite?”

I looked up at him, morbidly curious about all the places he would go after I was just a dim memory.

“In Europe? Tuscany. I have a villa near the Tuscan seaside.”

I laughed.

“Of course you do.”

“Do you have your passport?” he asked.

“Yeah. Mom and Michael and I were supposed to go to Mexico the summer after my junior year. Didn’t happen. Actually, I think they went without me. Shit! I left my passport locked in the glove compartment of my car.”

The elevator doors opened, and when we reached the front of the hotel, James walked to the waiting car and opened the back door for me before sliding in next to me. As soon as the car began moving, I panicked.

“I totally forgot! Are they even going to let me carry this on the plane?” I asked, pointing to the bottle of wine that James had picked out for my stepdad.

“Don’t worry about it, lovely. It’s taken care of.”

Without thinking about it, I lunged across the seat and straddled him, grabbing his face in my hands and breathing in the perfect scent of his skin. I enjoyed the brush of his lips against mine before kissing him hungrily, like it was my last chance. His hands came up and gripped my hips as I dragged my fingers along his face, down his neck, to his chest.

He slowly pulled me forward until I was flush against the intimidating bulge in his pants. He rocked me gently, his hands digging into my hips as I closed my eyes. A tiny sound of need bubbled up in my chest, and suddenly I remembered we weren’t alone. I quickly scrambled off his lap into my seat and fastened my seatbelt.

I opened my purse and dug around until I found a compact and lip gloss for a quick touch-up. Eventually I looked over at James. As his eyes burned into mine, it felt like he could see what I was trying to hide from him. Stupidly afraid he really could read my mind, I turned and stared out the window.

San Francisco. If I had never worked at
Fantasy Land
and if I had never met James, there was no way in hell I would be leaving a luxury hotel and driving across the city to catch a flight home only to return a few hours later. I was seeing the world through the lens of someone else.

I had been seeing a world that I didn’t belong to.

James’s finger brushed mine, and I felt it like a jolt of electricity. I risked another glance at him as he stared out the window, and suddenly it was so clear. He had been doing the same thing, only in reverse.

Me.
Fantasy Land
. The little house in the Podunk college town. The sweaty dance club in the capital. James McDevitt had spent the past week slumming it—and I was part of the package. A lifestyle tour of how the other half—or the other ninety-nine percent—lived.

A villa in Tuscany?

A father whose wealth, power, and infamy had gotten his son’s finger chopped off?

“Cass?”

I jumped and looked over at him.

“We’re here.”

I looked out the window, expecting to see an airport terminal. Instead, there was a plane waiting several yards away. Not a commercial jetliner. A private jet with two men standing outside. The kind of jet that celebrities were always pictured in front of while wearing dark sunglasses. James opened the car door for me, and I realized he had gotten out while I was gawking. I took his hand and stepped out.

“Just please don’t tell me
you’re
flying,” I laughed.

He smiled.

“I’m licensed—but I leave the flying to the professionals. I just like knowing I can land the plane in the worst-case scenario.”

“I don’t want to hear about worst-case scenarios,” I mumbled as he led me over to the plane, where the two men nodded at him.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. McDevitt,” the older man said.

“You, too, George,” James said, patting him on the shoulder.

James held my hand while I mounted the stairs. When I ducked into the plane, I felt the color drain from my face. No ratty pleather coach seats here. Four leather seats, a sofa at the very back, a lot of wood grain, and a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes waiting on a table.

“Oh my god,” I gasped under my breath.

“I told you bringing the wine wouldn’t be a problem,” James said from behind me.

I turned and watched as the pilots stepped into the cockpit.

“You could have told me,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks turn red.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He gestured toward the seats nearest to the champagne. I took a seat, and within a few seconds he had popped the cork and poured two flutes. He held out one glass to me and raised his.

“To meeting the parents.”

After he touched his glass to mine, I took a small sip.

“You didn’t have to come with, you know,” I said, still looking at my glass. “I could have just taken my original flight.

He leaned forward and put his thumb under my chin. I raised my eyes and offered a weak smile.

“Lovely, I very rarely do anything I don’t want to do, and meeting your parents is most definitely something I want to do.”

“Why?”

One of the pilots came over the intercom, rattling off flight information and instructing us to fasten our seatbelts. I sat back, not sure whether to be angry or grateful that James had been honest with me about what he felt—or didn’t feel—for me.

“Because they’re your family,” he said.

That still didn’t explain
why
he wanted to meet them, but I couldn’t demand the truth—because it would hurt too much to hear him say the words.
You mean nothing to me
. I understood that there was no emotional involvement on his part, but that didn’t mean I could survive hearing him say it again. Because it felt like rubbing a giant wound with salt. I held my breath as the plane began taxiing, grateful to have something else to worry about. James touched my knee.

“George has flown me hundreds of times. There’s nothing to worry about.”

I released my grip on the armrest.

“That’s really creepy. You know that, right? The whole mind reading thing.” I smirked at him. “I know it sounds stupid, but when I first saw you in the club, I was pretty sure you were a vampire.”

“And now?”

“I’m still not decided, but you definitely would have been incinerated by now, if I were going by traditional lore.”

“If I were a vampire, wouldn’t I be able to control your thoughts?”

“Maybe,” I smiled. “Speaking of blood-sucking villains, should I be worried about tomorrow night?”

James frowned and set his glass on the table.

“I have everything under control. You’ll be fine. Do you trust me?”

In the movies, this was always the question the hero asked some poor hysterical woman right before jumping off a damn building. I sat up straighter and leaned forward, feeling defensive and edgy.

“I just spent six weeks getting my ass pinched in a strip club. I think I can handle being in the same room as your father. Let’s hope
you
can survive a dinner with my mother.”

He smiled.

“I’ve recently had some practice sparring with a strong-willed woman. I think I can take it.”