Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) (22 page)

“Hold the hell on.” The line went silent for a very, very long moment and then Sarah came back on. “Taylor, you still there?”

“Yeah?”

“Holly, you there, too?” said Sarah.

“I’m here,” Holly’s sweet voice piped in. Taylor groaned.

“Holly,” Sarah said, “Taylor is going to Bali, and you’ll never guess who she’s going to fuck.”

“Saraaah…” Taylor warned.

Before Holly could respond, Sarah spilled the beans. “Bennett Wade. Can you believe that?”

Holly squealed. “And you called Sarah first? WTF, Taylor. I’ll forgive you, but only because I want details. Lots of details.”

“Guys,” Taylor said, trying to rein them back in, “I thought you hated the guy? Remember, he’s the one who degraded my ex-boss?”

“Oh, we were only trying to be supportive when you told us, Tay,” said Holly. “Your boss sounded like a complete bitch. We were kind of happy about all that.”

They were?

Holly continued, “Then there’s the fact that Bennett Wade is a fucking sex god. Sex. God.”

Seriously? This is their response?
“Whatever,” Taylor said. “I called because I really need—”

“Taylor,” Holly interrupted, “you tap that cock hard. You hear me. Hard. And let him stick it anywhere he wants. Make us proud!”

Taylor pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the caller ID, wondering if her two friends were on something. Sarah was an uber-conservative, uptight, by the book goodie-goodie when it came to sex, and Holly was a plain, sweet-as-can-be girl next door who worked as an appraiser for a major auction house based out of L.A., meaning she was very big on taking her time and evaluating things before acting.

“Oh. Tay!” Holly added. “Make sure you measure it and tell us if he hangs to the right or the left.”

“I bet he’s uncut,” Sarah said enthusiastically. “He looks like the type who’d be all raw and natural with a big dick.”

“But you know he man-scapes, down there,” Holly said. “Bennett Wade does not go native with that bush. No way.”

Eck. What in the world?
“Did I just call a male-genital-enthusiast chat line?” Taylor objected.

“Yes,” Holly said, “and you will do it in every position known to humankind. Take notes—pictures, too, if he allows it—you have morals, obviously—but don’t have too many—and then you will share every detail with us. You got it, Taylor? That’s an order.”

Taylor’s two friends started busting up, snorting uncontrollably.

Taylor sighed. “I can’t believe you two. I gotta go.”

“What?” Sarah said defensively, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard. “That man has been number one on my fantasy fuck list for five years. Five.”

Wow.
“Uh. Okay. I really am hanging up now.” Hadn’t she just told Sarah that she was in love with Bennett? This conversation was so, so wrong. Bennett wasn’t some piece of man-meat.
This must be why he doesn’t trust women.

“Notes, Taylor! You hear me! Tell your old furry southern girl to take notes, too! We want to know the location of every freckle—”

Taylor ended the call feeling like she’d had the sanctity of her sanity violated by two horny women parading as her sweet, sensible, intelligent best friends.

“Insensitive jerks,” she grumbled to herself.

She decided to call Jack and let him know she was still in Paris, and that he shouldn’t expect her.

When Jack picked up, she immediately knew he was cruising in his BMW with the top down.

“Taylor. Where is that fuck?”

“Excuse me?” Taylor said.

“I’m going to break his fucking nose,” he yelled.

“
Who?
”

“That womanizing bastard, Wade. He slept with you and then fired you, didn’t he?”

“No!” she said. “What makes you think that?”

“Just because I’m a man and surgeon doesn’t mean I don’t have an app to keep up with celebrity news, Tay. Or that I wouldn’t beat the crap out of some rich douche bag who uses my sister. Especially after he almost got you killed flying his piece of shit little plane. Marcus and Rob are in on it, too.”

Who is this person?
Jack was talking like a street thug. They must’ve put something in the California water while she’d been gone.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taylor said.

“Maybe you should try being more discreet in public. Really, Taylor. You practically let the man have sex with you on a sidewalk.”

“Oh no. No no no no. You mean someone filmed us in Tokyo?”

“Were you having almost-sex in another city with another billionaire on video?” Jack roared.

Taylor felt herself turning as red as her dress. “Oh geez. We were just kissing—maybe a little passionately, but that was all that happened.”

“Then why did he fire you? He did fire you, yes? That’s why you’re stranded in Paris, isn’t it?” he accused.

“Yes. I mean—no. It’s a long story. But I haven’t slept with him.” She planned to, but that was irrelevant.

“Ah. So that
is
what happened! You refused him, so the scumbag dumped you in Paris without any way to get home. By the way, Dad wants to say hi…”

“Hi, honey,” she heard her father’s voice.

Her dad was in the car.
Oh the shame
…

Her father added, “Tell that bastard I know where he lives, and he better watch his back. The Reed men are coming for him.”

“Dad. Jack. Bennett did not use me for sex and dump me in Paris. Or dump me because I wouldn’t sleep with him. Okay? It was a misunderstanding, some of it my fault.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed, Taylor,” her dad said. “We won’t love you any less because you got caught up in one of those Fifty Spades fantasies you women are into.”

Has the whole world lost its mind?
“It’s Fifty Shades, Dad. Shades. And I’m not into—oh, never mind. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be home in a few days. I’m heading to Bali.”

“Are you going with that prick?” Jack seethed. “Did he threaten you? Pull a Robert Redford on you and offer you a million dollars?”

“No. Ewww. I gotta go. You two have a great day.”

“Tell him he can’t run forever, Taylor!” she heard her father’s booming voice yell right before she disconnected the call.

Great. My best friends want to build a sex shrine to Bennett’s penis and the men in my family want to chop it off.

By the time Taylor landed in Bali, it was exactly one day and one hour later—eighteen-hour flight, through Singapore, and a six-hour time difference. Not that she’d ever gotten on Paris time or Tokyo time (she was basically just on Bennett time), but her internal clock felt like one of those crazy windup toy mice for cats that zoom around in dizzy little circles.

The first thing she did after deplaning was give herself a quick sponge bath in the bathroom, using some of the items from the complimentary business-class toiletries bag. She had felt a little guilty that Bennett purchased such an expensive flight for her until she realized the seats in business-class lay down flat and how badly she needed sleep. Especially, if she was going to be in good shape for sex with a man like him. Then again, he’d been driving himself so hard that he’d been passing out from exhaustion on a regular basis; maybe she stood half a chance of impressing him.

Not in these clothes,
she thought, checking herself out in the mirror. She’d put back on her sweats and T-shirt from earlier, which now looked exceptionally rumpled and sloppy. She’d written off her suitcase entirely as it had been tagged for her flight to San Francisco.

She splashed some water on her face, dried it with a paper towel, and then put her hair up into a high ponytail.

She left the boarding gate area, carrying only a purse and her laptop case. The moment she passed the security checkpoint, she noted how the air smelled thick and dank. It reminded her of Hawaii or Florida.

A man, standing in the small crowd awaiting their loved ones just outside the cramped but sterile customs room, held up a sign with “Reed” written on it. He wore a long green skirt and a red and white linen shirt.

“Hello. That’s me,” Taylor said, pointing to the sign.

He tilted his body, peering behind her. “No luggage, ma’am?”

“Uh, no. I’m traveling light.”

“Very good. Right this way.”

She followed him through the doors to a square-ish minivan waiting at the curb. It was pitch-black outside, and a gentle tropical breeze wafted over her warm face.

“He will take you to Mr. Wade,” the man said to Taylor, gesturing to the driver.

Taylor thanked him and slipped inside the car. She didn’t know where she’d be staying, but she’d expected them to head south—that’s where the luxury resorts were located according to the map she’d studied on the plane. But instead, they headed north, up the eastern coast. Trust Bennett to catch her off guard again.

“Excuse me, but where are we going?” She leaned forward between the front seats.

“Mr. Wade has a room for you at the Pacific Palace, ma’am. Near the golf course. But his family estate, where he grew up, is another few hours beyond that. He said he did not want to make you drive so far this late at night.”

Bennett grew up here?
Did that have something to do with his project? In any case, she couldn’t at all picture him growing up in such a laid-back vacation destination. Everything about him screamed city boy and structured, sophisticated and disciplined.
Even when he doesn’t wear a suit, he still wears a suit
. Which made her start to wonder…was it just a façade?

That was what his mother had said. He had a big heart and tried to hide it.

Will the real Bennett Wade please stand up?

“Thank you.” Taylor looked out the windows as they drove through town. Despite being well past midnight, hordes of small mopeds zoomed by. The urban sprawl reminded her of the many tourist towns she’d seen all over South America when she’d gone backpacking in college. Lots of small, cement block homes, and mom-and-pop stores that sold either fruits and vegetables or local cuisine.

Without warning, rain began coming down in big sloppy drops, pelting the windshield.

“I thought this was the dry season,” she commented. Yeah, she’d had a lot of time to kill on the plane so she’d done the requisite Internet surfing on her laptop using the plane’s WiFi. Honestly, she’d never thought much about going to Indonesia, but now she wondered what had kept her away. The country seemed to have every activity known to man—river rafting, hiking, sailboating; lovely ancient temples and stone monasteries; and then there were the beaches, with water ranging from dreamy deep blues, perfect for surfing, to the clear turquoise found in the quiet glassy bays. All of it skirting deep lush jungle and steep mountain terrain.

“Yes, this is the dry season,” said the driver. “But we still get the occasional storm—like the one coming in tonight. Should be gone by the end of the week.”

End of the week? There go my beach excursions
. Not that she was there for vacation. Unless one counted marathon sex with Bennett Wade?

An hour later, they pulled up to the sprawling, open-aired lobby area of what looked to be a very upscale resort, complete with marble floors and elegant furniture made of dark wood with white upholstery.

She thanked the driver and tried to give him a twenty, but he refused, telling her everything had been taken care of by Mr. Wade.

Taylor’s heart fluttered like crazy the moment the man said Bennett’s name. She didn’t know what she’d say when she saw him.
Hi, ready to have your mind completely blown with some very mediocre sex?

“Good evening, ma’am. How was your flight in from Paris?” said the young woman behind the reception counter. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun and she wore a cream-colored linen tunic.

“You know who I am?” Taylor asked.

“Yes, ma’am. The owner left very specific instructions.” She raised her hand into the air and a young man wearing a khaki linen uniform appeared.

Owner?
“Do you mean…Bennett Wade owns this hotel?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said demurely.

Okay, yet another surprise
. So this
had
to be his project. He was expanding his company into hotels and resorts in addition to the fragrances business. She supposed that was nice, but was it really worth killing himself over?

The attentive bellhop was standing next to her, looking confused.

“I don’t have any luggage. It’s somewhere in Paris,” Taylor said, feeling a little embarrassed to be checking in to such an extravagant resort in the kind of clothes one might wear for a midnight run to 7-Eleven for a pint of ice cream or a bag of Cheetos.

It was also eighty-something degrees, and she was wearing sweatpants.

“He will take you to your suite,” said the clerk. “What is your size, ma’am?”

“Size?” Taylor asked.

“Yes, of your clothing? We will have a selection of garments and sandals sent to your room.”

“Oh. That’s not necessary,” Taylor said. “I’ll hit the gift shop in the morning.” The one in the lobby behind her was obviously closed.

“Mr. Wade made it clear to see you were taken care of. It is no problem, ma’am.”

Taylor wrestled with her conscience for a moment, but she really could use something clean to sleep in. “I’m a size eight. Or ten. Depending on the day. And don’t worry, my flip-flops are fine.” Taylor had on the horrible pink pair she’d also had stashed in her laptop case as part of her emergency comfort outfit.

The woman raised her brow. “We will have the items sent to you within the hour, ma’am.” She looked at the patiently waiting bellhop. “Please take Ms. Reed to the presidential suite.”

“Presidential suite? Are you sure?”

“That is where Mr. Wade always stays, though it’s not often we see him.”

“Is Bennett—I mean—is Mr. Wade staying, too?”

“Yes. Mr. Wade said he’d be here shortly to join you for the evening.”

Okay. We’re going to share a room. This is happening. Really happening. And I haven’t shaved anything. Ohmygod. I am a mess.

“Um, are there bathroom supplies in the room?” Taylor asked.