Magnificent Bastard (8 page)

The line is quiet for a moment and I expect to hear her hang up, but instead she suddenly blurts out in a rush—

“And I’m so sorry about getting a little enthusiastic with the kissing practice. I’m mortified that I did the thing. With the leg.
My
leg.” She clears her throat. “And I’ve been sitting here thinking about it and wondering if you think I’m a crazy person who can’t follow the rules. But I am well aware of the rules and I am all about following them. It’s just been a while and the physical contact went to my head.”

She sucks in a breath. “But my head is in the game now and it will stay there. I hope we’re good and nothing will be weird. Because even though we just met in person, you’re a big part of my life and I don’t want to lose your friendship. Or my job. But probably your friendship even more. Because I don’t have many friends and you’re a good one. The end.”

She hangs up, leaving me standing holding the phone, feeling terrible for being a filthy minded fucker who barely put up a fight before giving in to the temptation to jerk off to fantasies of a fragile, vulnerable woman who is in no place to be fending off the inappropriate advances of her boss.

Yes, Penny is funny and sharp and one of those high energy people who makes you feel a little bit more alive just by being around her. But she’s also been suffering through some seriously heartbreaking drama with her mom and her ex, been deprived the company of the little sisters she loves, and from the sound of it, been living like an agoraphobic spinster instead of a gorgeous young woman who should be taking the angsty hipster men of Brooklyn by storm.

She needs friendship and support, not more drama. It doesn’t matter that she isn’t paying me. I’ve done pro bono work before and those women received the same high quality, professional treatment that the women who can afford to pay my retainer receive. Penny deserves no less.

Feeling properly ashamed of myself, I type in a quick text—

Just got your message. I was in the shower. Don’t worry about anything that happened tonight. We were both tired and weird things happen when you’re tired. Everything is going to be fine.

Get some rest and I’ll see you at ten a.m. tomorrow.

Oh, and bring some heels to try on with the dresses.

And just so you know, my friendship and this job are yours for as long as you want them. No matter what.

Sleep tight.

I wait for a response, keeping my phone close as I change into my softest pair of pajama pants and make a BLT with a side of carrot sticks and call it dinner. But my phone remains silent.

I finish my meal and settle down to watch Sports Center with a container of Salted Caramel Crack ice cream, but my team is already out of the playoffs, and as I watch the clock tick closer to ten, all I can think about is how much I want to hear Penny’s voice. But I don’t pick up the phone. I need to show her that I can honor her boundaries. And my own.

So when I slip into bed a few hours later, I don’t let my hand anywhere near my dick or my thoughts anywhere near Penny.

Both things are hard, way harder than they should be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I arrive at the Chelsea Market's Good Bakery a few minutes after ten, but Penny is nowhere to be seen. I do a lap of the repurposed industrial complex, once home to bakeries churning out Oreo cookies, but now housing dozens of gourmet shops and restaurants. I’m concerned that Penny might be waiting at one of the other bakeries, which are also good, though not with a capital G, but she’s nowhere to be found.

I’m about to text her and ask if she needs directions when my phone hums against my thigh. I glance down at the screen, expecting a message from Penny, saying she’s on her way, but see Sheila’s name instead.

Just met your assistant!

My brows snap together. What the fuck?

Oh my God, Bash, she’s divine! So sweet and funny, with the most darling figure. And those eyes!

Gah! I swear they could melt panties at fifty paces. Right?

An emoji of a smiley face with hearts where its eyes should be pops up, making me frown harder even before the rest of Sheila’s message filters through.

We got her all set up with four AMAZING outfits and I gave her your usual discount so no worries. She’s going to knock everyone’s socks off at that wedding.

And just in case I totally misread her and she is actually into other women and not in a serious relationship could you please, please, please give her my number? I would never ask if she were one of your clients, but since she’s just a friend and employee you’re helping out as a favor…

Tell me if I’m crossing a line because your business is always my number one priority but damn, Bash, that girl is something else.

An emoji of another smiley face, this time with its tongue hanging out, pops up, inspiring a confusing mixture of irritation and…jealousy.

Surprised, I take a closer look at the greenish tinged, sulfurous-smelling emotion swirling through my chest.

Yep. It’s jealousy, an emotion that has no place in my relationship with Penny or Sheila, especially since I have no idea if Penny swings in that particular direction.

Sure, she seemed pretty into kissing me last night, but that was just practice for deceiving her smarmy ex-boyfriend and she admitted in her message that her reaction was a result of being deprived of human contact, not meaningful attraction. And even if she does enjoy men in the bedroom, that doesn’t automatically mean she might not enjoy women, too. For a lot of women, sexuality can be a fluid thing and Penny might very well be among them, especially when a woman like Sheila is the potential partner in question.

Sheila is five feet nine inches of elegant redhead, with alabaster skin, sky blue eyes and an infectious smile, who always smells like she’s been walking through an herb garden instead of shuffling around a filthy city. She also happens to be as lovely on the inside as she is on the outside, and until this very moment, I would have insisted it was impossible for her to inspire a negative emotion in anyone, especially me.

But it takes a surprising amount of will power for me to thumb in a civil—

No worries, no lines have been crossed. Thanks for helping her out.

I’m not sure where she stands on other women, but if she asks for your number, I’ll make sure she gets it.

I hit send with gritted teeth. My jaw is still clenched when my phone begins to ring. This time, it’s Penny.

“So I hear you went shopping without me,” I say by way of greeting, not surprised that I sound grouchy.

I feel grouchy. Sure, I was a little anxious about how a shopping trip with Penny would play out after the awkwardness of last night, but I still don’t enjoy being cut out of the loop.

More than that, I just wanted to see her, damn it.

“Don’t be mad,” she says. “I knew if you went with me you would try to pay the way you did for the last pro bono case and I didn’t want to get into an argument. I promised I was going to be the easiest client ever, remember?”

I step into an alcove beneath a brick archway, staying out of the way as the traffic through the market increases. “I don’t consider it easy to be heading into this having no idea what you’re going to be wearing. I understand that you find the concept of armor silly, but it’s an important part of what I do.”

“I don’t find it silly. I know it’s important. But I know you trust Sheila, so I made sure she approved every outfit. I was in there for over an hour.”

I grunt. “I would have made you try on skirts for an hour. We wouldn’t have even gotten to the dresses, not to mention shoes and accessories.”

“Oh, well,” she says, falling silent for a moment. “Well, I wasn’t quite
that
thorough, but I tried on everything in the store that was in my size. And Sheila picked out the accessories and shoes. She was so sweet and helpful.”

“I bet she was,” I grumble beneath my breath, imagining Sheila gushing over Penny’s “darling figure” and not enjoying the fantasy one little bit. “Did you, at least, take pictures? So I can see what color palette I need to work with when I pack?”

She laughs. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” I say, bristling. “It’s important that we match, but not match too much. There’s a science to this, Penelope.”

“I’m starting to get that,” she says, her tone still entirely too glib for my liking.

“I could write you a paper on the psychological impacts of enclothed cognition and the effect it has on power dynamics,” I say, coolly. “But until I get around to that you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that I need to know what you’re wearing so I can pack accordingly.”

“I’ll text pictures as soon as I get home,” she says, before adding in a softer voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause friction. I was just trying to help.”

I run a hand through my hair, silently cursing myself for making things awkward again. “No, I’m sorry. I’m a control freak.”

“I know, and that’s part of why you’re so good at what you do,” she says. “I should have realized that you wouldn’t like me messing with your pre-game routine. I promise it won’t happen again. From here on out, you’re calling the shots. I was going to jump online and book a train ticket so you wouldn’t have to drive me all the way out to the Hamptons and back, just in case you decide you want to stay longer, but I’ll—”

“That’s actually a great idea,” I cut in, my wheels already churning. “If we take the train, I’ll be able to concentrate on quizzing you on our romantic backstory instead of fighting traffic.”

“Oh.” She sounds surprised and maybe a little nervous. “Well, great. Then I’ll book two tickets when I get home.”

“No, I’ll book them.” I step out of the alcove, a spring in my step now that a plan is beginning to form. “You’ll need the rest of the afternoon to study. Expect notes to arrive in your inbox in an hour or two. It shouldn’t take me long to whip up the story of how we fell in love. Assuming you trust me to come up with believable material on my own.”

“Of course,” she says. “I haven’t been home since the summer it all happened. And I haven’t been in contact with my mom much beyond scheduling times for Edna and Francis to visit. All the people in Southampton know is that I’ve been living in the city so they won’t be in possession of any details that might conflict with your story.” She laughs, the sound momentarily eclipsed by the drumming of a jackhammer drilling pavement. She raises her voice to be heard over the din, “I could have been dating the entire Trenton Thunder for all they know.”

“The Trenton Thunder?” I step out into the crisp spring air in time to hear the same hammering sound on my end of the phone before it abruptly cuts off. I scan the street in both directions, wondering if I might run into Penny after all.

“Feeder team for the Yankees,” she says. “I had a college boyfriend who was recruited there.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, beautiful. You’re much too fine for the minor leagues,” I say, spotting Penny’s floppy bun bouncing atop her head on the other side of the street. She’s wearing leggings and a bright red tank top and toting a garment bag, an oversized purse, and three Swanky Boutique bags.

I’m on my way across the street to offer to help carry the spoils of her shopping trip when she laughs and I freeze.

“Thank you, Bash.” A sweet, vulnerable, heart-stopping grin lights up her face. “But I’m warning you, if you keep saying things like that, I might just start to believe them.”

“You should believe them,” I say softly, no longer wanting to be seen. I don’t want her to know I’m here. It feels like a violation of her privacy to observe her without her knowledge, but I can’t seem to look away. There’s something about that smile, something that makes me want to do whatever it takes to keep it on her face. “Get home safe, buttercup, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Talk soon.” She ends the call and drops her phone back into her purse, her grin growing wider as she leans her head back to look up at the sky.

She looks excited, hopeful, like a dream she’s had for a long time is coming true.

The expression sets my stomach to cramping for reasons that have nothing to do with the fact that I’ve yet to have second breakfast.

I’ve never failed a client before and never really stressed about it too much—I’ve always been confident in my ability to deliver—but suddenly I’m worried. What if something goes wrong? What if our lack of preparation time comes back to bite us in the ass?

Normally, I would refund her fee—Magnificent Bastard Consulting’s policy has always been satisfaction guaranteed or your money back—but Penny hasn’t paid me a dime. And this is about something much more important than money. This is about bringing a warm, funny woman back to the land of the living, about assuring Penny that there is no reason for her to spend another day cooped up in her apartment hiding from the world.

If I fail to deliver the closure she needs to make that happen, I’m going to regret it for a long, long time.

As Penny walks away, I stand in the shadows of the entrance to Chelsea Market, watching until she turns the corner and disappears from sight, my infamous confidence shaken by a smile.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

From the e-mail and text archives of Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Penny Pickett