Perfectly Bad: a bad boy romance (9 page)

“And why do you need all of those properties?”

“Still think you can trick the villain into spilling his dastardly plans?” He grinned and shook his head. “Calhoun, it’s been a long day. Book us into a decent hotel somewhere nearby. We’ll drive back tomorrow.”

The imposing Hotel Excelsior proclaimed itself the finest in the state. It was surely the oldest, all high rooms, Greek columns, and plaster details picked out in gilt. After Pierce freshened up in his room and made a few calls, he went down to the long, dark bar for a steak and a bourbon.

If Princess wanted to eat, she would probably order room service. He guessed that after a day like today, she wouldn’t have much of an appetite, but you couldn’t ever tell. Things take people in surprising ways.

The bar had no other customers. His steak was thick, juicy and tender, exactly as rare as he liked. After he ate, he moved up to sit at the long, heavy bar.

The bartender, Charlie, was a tall, stacked redhead in a starched white shirt, scooped vest, and well-cut black pants, nipped in at a high waist. When she talked, she shook her red curls, and when she laughed, which she did a lot, she tipped her chin up and let out a sparkling ripple. Her dancing green eyes held him and her tongue often parted her full, ruby lips.

Pierce hadn’t much else to do that evening, and Charlie was making it pretty clear that she’d like to get off when she got off. The thought depressed him.

Then he caught sight of Princess coming down the wide, formal stairs. Her hair was wet and she hadn’t put on any makeup. Her thin dress and boots were fabulously out of place in the grandness of the big hotel.

He felt an urge to run up to her, grab her, and take her out on the town. Find some little place to dance where they could do whatever they liked because neither of them would ever be there again.

What it was that drew him so powerfully to her was a mystery. The girls he usually dated—okay, he didn’t really date, he had to call it what it was—the girls he usually fucked once and never wanted to see again, they weren’t a bit like her.

She didn’t put on an act, she didn’t wear a mask of any kind. What you saw was what you got; she was who she was, and if you didn’t like it, too bad. That was enough for Pierce to respect her right there.

Maybe that was it. He was coming to respect her. Today must have been pretty hard for her, but the only times she made any kind of a complaints were on the drive in the morning, right at the beginning.

When there had been serious situations to face, Princess was cool. He certainly liked that about her.
 

When the whole deal with Hotsteppa’s was over and it served its purpose, he wondered if maybe there would be some kind of a way.
Probably not
, he thought
. She’s never going to forgive you. Shame. Nice idea
.

He took another pull of the bourbon while Charlie told him another outrageous thing that her sister did. Or maybe she did something that outraged her sister; he’d stopped listening a while back. His back lengthened as Princess turned toward the bar.

She saw him and he thought she was going to change her mind and not come. He watched her think about it. Not looking anything like a fashion model or a celebrity. Looking like a real woman.

She decided and approached the bar. “Have a drink,” he offered.

She came nearer. She smelled of soap and fresh strawberries in hay, and an elusive trace of a fragrance that he couldn’t place. When she said, “What?” he was going to say the next thing more quietly, to make her come closer still. He’d done it with a million girls before. But not Princess. He didn’t want to do any of that bullshit with her.

He didn’t think Princess was a girl he would ever get the chance to be himself with, but as he swirled his glass, he found he was wishing.

“Some champagne,” he offered her. “Or maybe a champagne cocktail. Charlie can fix one of those, can’t you, Charlie?”

Charlie pressed the tip of her tongue to the inside of her lip and said huskily, “Like you never tasted.”

Princess scowled. “I’ll have tequila, salt, and a slice of lemon.” Charlie nodded. Princess pointed to the table in the dark, far corner. “I’ll take it over there,” she added, and he watched the sway of her hips as she headed for the corner.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Charlie said briskly. “I’ll bring it to you.”

When Pierce told Princess, “I’ll join you,” Charlie’s face dimmed by about fifty watts.

Over her shoulder, Princess said, “In that case, bring a bottle. With a couple of lemons and a knife.”

They sat, she on the padded bench, in the corner like she had in the car. He took a chair and leaned on the table. “Did you eat?” he asked her. “Do you want something?”

Her head moved once:
no
. Charlie brought the tequila bottle on a tray with two shot glasses, slices of lemon, and a pile of salt on a plate. She poured two shots. Pierce’s eyes
 
didn’t leave Princess as he thanked Charlie.

As soon as Charlie left, Princess made a fist, licked the side with her thumb, dropped some salt on in a little pile, and licked it straight off. Then she bit into a slice of lemon and sunk the shot.

Without looking up, she poured another and did the same again.

Her voice was steady but thin. “Was he really… I mean, did he do those things?”

“You mean—”

“Don’t say his name, okay?”

Pierce paused. “Yes, he did. There was plenty of evidence for a conviction. There wasn’t any doubt. The police just never found him.”

“But you did.” She was still looking down.

“That was easy. I was looking in the other direction.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found him because I needed the rights on that property, so then I wanted to know who he was and where he came from. Any time I’m making a serious deal—any kind of a deal, really—I want to know everything there is to know about the guy on the other side of the table.”

“Like Dale Horner?”

“Pretty much.”

“You didn’t need to be so generous to him, though.”

“To Dale? I wasn’t generous at all. That’s what I mean about doing the research on the other party. Nothing less would have made him want to sell.”

“The school fees, I get that. You didn’t have to lease the land back to him though, did you?”

Pierce grinned. “You bet I did. He thinks he’s getting a great deal there, but I’m getting the land cared for and looked after for free.” He took his shot, with the salt and lemon.

So, she had followed all of that through. Even after the events of the morning, she kept all of that straight in her head. She was sharp, no doubt about it.

“Well,” he said, pouring shots in both glasses, “I’m glad you came down. I was wondering if you might be in need of a little distraction. Something in the way of recreation.”

Now she looked up. Her eyes were dark and liquid and her voice was absolutely level. She put her hand over his. “If you’re thinking about entertainment, Mr. Agostini, I suggest you get back to Charlie. She’s so hot for you that if she got out of her pants too fast, it would give her the bends.”

Pierce Agostini had never wanted a woman so much in all of his life as he wanted Princess right then.

Princess awoke in the fluffy clouds of the hotel bed. The light slid unwelcome into her sleepy eyes from the too-bright window, through the empty champagne bottle on the bedside table and the two stained glasses.

Drowsy, she reached out, her arms stretched to the far pillow. Nobody there?

Princess sat bolt upright. What happened last night? She jumped out of the bed, looking frantically around the room. It was a mess.

They drank tequila, then what…? Oh, no. No, please, no. Half her mind was wide awake and wired. The other half wanted to duck back into the soft, dark mist.

A picture formed in her foggy recollection. Of him. Pierce. Looking down at her. His lips were curled in a leer and he was breathing hard. His eyes ablaze. No,
no
, it can't be true.
 

What the hell had she done last night?

She remembered going down to the hotel bar. Finding Agostini there and drinking tequila. Then they moved on to slammers.

No, no, no, they must be fragments of some godawful dream leaking into her hungover head. They
must
be. She rushed into the bathroom, leaned on the sink and looked into the bathroom mirror. As she peered, searching her own eyes, with a start she imagined his face behind her, over her shoulder.

A gleam in his eyes and that leer on his face. His hair wet. His top lip curled.
 

She turned the shower on full, trying to fill her head with the noise. Stepped in. It was freezing. “Oh.” She stepped back out and remembered a sound.

Everywhere she looked, everything she did brought up another memory, another fragment.

She slumped into the chair with his jacket draped over the back.
His jacket!
She leapt up like she’d been scalded.

~

The cold shower cleared Princess’ head some, but the pictures in her head stayed with her like phantoms. Unable to face going down to breakfast, she called down to room service.

It felt like hours that she had to wait without coffee. More than once, she wished she could just go down and face whoever was in the dining room, but still she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Finally, there was a knock at the door, and she sprang to open it. Immaculate in his suit, Calhoun filled the doorway. She said, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Well, I can’t help but sense your disappointment, but I’ll try not to take it too hard.”

“I’m sorry, Calhoun. I’m just waiting for my coffee and I thought you were the waiter.”

“No need to rub it in.” There was no trace of a smile on his face, but his eyes twinkled. “Anyway, would you not just go downstairs? There’s any amount of fresh coffee. Pots and pots of it.”

“You want to come in?”

“It’s kind of you to ask, but that’s all right. No, I’ve come just to tell you that we’ll be driving back, just the two of us. Mr. Agostini has taken off with Callaghan and they’re taking a plane back out of the local airport.”

Her heart felt like it sprang a leak and it must have shown on her face. He said, “I’m sorry to be bringing you such glum news.”

He was turning to leave when she caught sight of a handsome waiter pushing a trolley draped with a linen tablecloth. Calhoun said, “You can find me in the lobby whenever you’re ready.”

“Calhoun, wait. You don’t understand. Come in and have a cup of coffee.”

“I’ve had me coffee. Thanks, all the same.”

But she said, “Please. Come and sit with me while I have mine.”

He followed the waiter into her room. Princess still thought Calhoun’s suit made him look like he worked in a restaurant. He sat on the couch. “It’s all right, Princess. I’m not offended.

The waiter took the covers off her waffles and bacon and poured her a cup of coffee. He said, “Would you like another cup for your guest?”

“No,” Calhoun said. “Really. You take the coffee. You need it.”

“Do I look that bad?”

Calhoun stood. Princess held up her hand. “Wait…”

“I’m just taking care of your man here.” Calhoun fished out a wallet from inside his coat and handed the waiter a bill. The waiter made a bow and left.

Princess sipped at her coffee. It was too hot and too bitter, but she needed it.

“Mr. Agostini said that you might need some shopping. Change of clothes and whatnot. Since we stayed over unexpectedly. I’m to take you to the shops in town, if you’d like.”

Princess was confused. Was this some horrible way of Agostini’s to pay her for last night, offering “some shopping?” He surely couldn’t be as crass as that. Or perhaps Agostini was genuinely being considerate.

It felt dangerous to even let herself think that way. If she imagined tender feelings from him, she might open up similar emotions of her own, and that would be too dangerous. She needed to stay focused.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t totally focused last night. All the more reason to get back on track now and keep her thoughts straight.

“And what if I try to escape?”

“You don’t want to be doing that. You know that you don’t.”

“Do you know how long Agostini intends to keep me hostage like this?”

Calhoun looked around the rumpled hotel suite and at the silver breakfast tray. “There’s a lot of people might get in line to be held hostage in conditions like this.”

Her cheeks prickled. “Doesn’t matter what the circumstances are, how nice a room I might be in—I’m being held against my will. I don’t have a choice. I’m not a free agent.”

“Well, you mostly are, you know. So long as you don’t try to leave my care, there isn’t all that much that I’d have to stop you from doing.”

“What about going home?”

“We maybe could stop by there on the way back. I’d have to ask Mr. Agostini.”

“But I couldn’t stay.”

“Well, if you made a point of it, I’d have to ask Mr. Agostini, but I wouldn’t expect so. You’re being ‘held,’ as you say, in pretty relaxed conditions, but I think the point of it is that your father’s going to be cooperative while Mr. Agostini keeps a hold of you.”