Million Dollar Devil Page 8

  It would certainly give me something to do other than sit here with a very hot James Rowan far too close to me. It’s not like I’m able to get any work done here with the guy staring at me the way he is.

  He’s still squaring his jaw, obviously pissed at me.

  “I know you maybe didn’t enjoy that so much. So we’ll go shopping. I’m treating you to some fabulous casual clothes,” I tell him.

  I’m checking the receipt as we drive and realize they didn’t charge the waxing.

  “They forgot to charge the waxing.”

  “Baby . . . they didn’t charge it because I told you. No one would wax me.” He reaches out and tips my head back, seizing my gaze.

  “What do you mean?” I shift, uncomfortable when struck with his new, neatly shaven face.

  He raises one brow. “She tried.” Nostrils flaring, he grabs a fistful of his T-shirt and simply yanks it over his head, tousling his hair. Now that he’s bare chested, I see a sliver of waxed skin on a massive chest, nestled amid a dusting of hair.

  I bite down on my smile as I struggle not to laugh. “She only waxed one strip?”

  “Hurt like hell.”

  “Aw, poor baby.” I can’t help but laugh and shake my head, then turn back again to look at that one strip of waxed skin amid a mass of hair.

  God. And his chest. His pecs.

  I’m drooling in my mouth.

  “Well? Heiress? I expect an apology.”

  I twist my mouth thoughtfully to the side. I tell myself not to ogle. Do not ogle and definitely do not think of touch—

  Impulsively I reach out to stroke my fingers down his smooth, tan skin. “It’ll grow back.”

  Realizing what I just did, I retrieve my hand.

  My eyes fly up to his.

  The look in his eyes simmers with intent.

  He smiles.

  Oh.

  My.

  He speaks on a softer note. “How about we go back, and I wax my dick?”

  “James!”

  Laughing, I slam a fist to his chest, and he laughs and grabs my arm by the wrist and pulls me closer. Leaning down. “I’m serious.”

  “No. I can work with a hairy chest. Nobody is going to see it.” But me, I think. Where did that thought come from? He’s not mine. This is business; I need to remember that.

  I grab his T-shirt from his lap and toss it back at him. “Put that on, please.”

  He grabs it and pulls it on with one swift motion. “Say it.” He rolls the fabric down those impeccable abs with one hand.

  “What?”

  “What you were thinking.” When I only stare, he adds, “Who’s the only one who’s going to see my half-waxed chest?” One black eyebrow is up in challenge.

  I swallow. “Fine. ME! But only for business purposes,” I quickly add.

  And when that damn flush creeps over my neck again, all I hear is James’s low devil laugh in the closed confines of the cab.

  TIM’S BAR

  Jimmy

  “Nice look, man!”

  Luke looks surprised as he pours two shots. I pull out a stool with my foot and drop down on the bar. “Yeah. Well. Thought I’d get a shave,” I lie.

  We lift our glasses. “Salut.”

  “Shit, man, I’d never seen you without a beard. You look . . . fuck, I don’t know. Like those guys on billboards.” Luke cackles like it’s some sort of joke.

  I growl. “Yeah, well. If you only knew the half of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Luke frowns.

  I shake my head, tossing back another shot without answering.

  I’m going insane.

  Fucking insane.

  Elizabeth . . .

  Woman’s driving me fucking insane.

  “Not very talkative today, huh, Jimmy?” Luke prods.

  “Nope. Just want to sit here and simmer for a damn minute, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Simmer from what? You sound frustrated.”

  That’s the unanswerable question. I can’t even say. Due to the fucking contract, there ain’t a whole lot I can talk about.

  “’Cause I am,” I growl, giving him a look that demands he cut it off.

  Luke raises his hand. “Okay, man, I’m backing off. But I’m here, you know. Me and all the tequila you need.”

  “How about one more, to start.” I raise my empty glass, which Luke promptly refills. I shuffle through some notes, scan a couple of emails, and call home.

  “What’s up, kiddo?”

  Charlie says, “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Late. Sorry. Did you do your homework?”

  “Always.”

  Charlie is such a good kid. “I’m proud of you.” I tell him often since our parents aren’t here to do it.

  “Can you be proud of me at six in the morning? I’ve gotta get some z’s.”

  “Yeah. See ya tomorrow. I’ll be there to make you some breakfast.”

  “’Kay . . .” His voice drifts off, and the line goes dead.

  After Luke calls some drunk an Uber, he locks up and saunters over. “Look, Jimmy, I’d never met your woman before the other night.”

  “She’s not mine.” The bite in my response is because I’m frustrated to the point of blue balls here.

  Fuck this.

  Can’t pretend my pride doesn’t hurt and that she’s not a whole shit ton better than me. Completely unavailable. And there I am, letting her shave me, like a dog playing tricks in the hopes she’ll throw me a bone or two. No bones, just boners.

  When I signed her contract, I had nothing to lose. That was my first thought. Why not? I’ve got nothing to lose. And I needed the cash. I’m constantly two months behind on rent, always teetering Charlie and me on the edge of eviction. A million dollars can buy me a hell of a lot of wiggle room. Maybe get Charlie into a private school, away from assholes like Denny’s brothers.

  But maybe I should’ve thought about more than just the money, for once.

  Lizzy pitches a helluva deal, but what if I want more? I might. I mean, we’re adults. We could have sex without the strings. Right. Thanks to Lizzy’s BFF adding a written clause to the contract about my not attempting to form a relationship with Ms. Banks herself, those strings are pulled pretty damn tight.

  And thanks to her stubborn need to keep me at bay, well . . .

  I’m pretty fucked.

  Not a good thing, as I’m a man who likes to do the fucking.

  Luke shoots me a look that proves he already knows the thoughts that are stirring up my brain. “She stumbled in here looking for a drink, and that’s all there was to it. She didn’t have a motive. She may have been down on her luck. She was pretty negative until she met up with the likes of you, and it’s like you were the angel come down from heaven to rescue her from her problems.”

  I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell him about our arrangement. If anything. I’m not sure about anything about this whole deal anymore.

  “More like the devil of temptation who will take her nowhere good.” I drag my hand down my face and wonder what the hell she really saw in me to do this whole ordeal.

  “Was she the inspiration for you doing something different with your hair?”

  “Fuck you, Luke.”

  He laughs. “Looks good on ya.”

  I hold up my hands. “Do these look any different to ya?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I had a fucking manicure. Can you believe that?”

  “Damn.”

  “Yep.” I’m not sure what his one-word response means. If his expression is any indication, he’s impressed. “I’m stumped.”

  “I can see why,” Luke says, nursing his beer. “She’s keeping you up, and you haven’t even fucked her. Have you?”

  “I’m working on it. Believe me.”

  “Don’t get hung up on her, Jimmy. Women like that come out of the womb with their men practically chosen for them. They know exactly who’ll get that ass for life. Their families arrange it.
I know we’d never think of this ’cause your parents were simple people who loved each other and worked hard for what they had.”

  “My folks worked nonstop to provide the best that they could. Hell, my parents weren’t rich. They were comfortable, but ordinary. Dad was the best man I’ve ever known, and Mom . . .”

  She would’ve approved of Lizzy. I scoff at the thought.

  I wonder if that’s why Elizabeth Banks is so appealing to me? Is it because I know Mom would approve, just like I know she would’ve disapproved of the long string of women I had before? Couldn’t see introducing a single one of them to Charlie.

  Luke and I talk about the night, mine and his, and when we wrap things up, I can’t help but think of Elizabeth. Everything about her intrigues me. The way she tries to do the “right” thing but is so tempted to do the wrong one.

  Next to every other word out of her mouth says that she’s disgusted by me. But her body? Her body is anything but turned off by me. That fact alone makes me hungry for more. More real, ungoverned responses, not the shit she’s been taught to say and do by Daddy Warbucks.

  Oh, yeah, for sure the man wouldn’t approve of me. But I don’t really care what he thinks. It’s his daughter I want beneath me—fuck the rules of propriety. Lizzy may follow them to a T, but I’ve never had any problems breaking a few in my own self-interest, and for sweet little Elizabeth to lose her cool beneath me, I’m capable of breaking them all. Every last one of them. If she wants me enough—and I get the feeling she does—she’ll keep me around even if I break a few of those contract clauses.

  A short time later, I’m on my way home when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s local, and I answer without considering the time.

  “This Jimmy?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “A friend.”

  “Yeah? My friends usually tell me who they are as soon as I pick up.”

  “Not this one.” Static fills the line. “Shit. I don’t have a good connection. I’m calling about your kid brother. Text you the address. Meet me in twenty.”

  The line goes dead. Seconds later, an address is sent, and I know the place. Every thug in Atlanta knows the neighborhood.

  It’s where boys become men and men become criminals. Correction. They become thugs doing twenty years or more in the state pen.

  Fuck my life.

  I don’t have time for this shit. This is why I accepted Elizabeth’s offer in the first place. I don’t want to earn my honor or Charlie’s freedom in a street fight.

  Right now, it doesn’t matter what I want. I flip through my contacts and find Luke’s number and get him on the line. “Hate to ask, but I may need some backup tonight.”

  “What do you need?”

  I tell him. He says he’ll be there. “This is about Charlie, Jimmy.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Street rule is if you take ’em all down, they’ll leave him alone.”

  “Then let’s end this.”

  “On my way.”

  The fight ends about as quickly as it begins. Luke’s a brute, and while he was late, the gang never expected me to have backup. Having another guy show up for Charlie was a surprise, and it worked out to our advantage. After Denny’s brothers and their crew flee, Luke and I stand around and shoot the shit, half expecting to see another round with different guys.

  When no one shows, Luke gets all sentimental. “Charlie has a tough time. If you ever need me again, I’ll be here. Tell Charlie the same.”

  I have nothing but mad respect for this guy. I wish Charlie could find a friend who has his back.

  Then again, siding with Charlie could get a good kid knocked up pretty bad.

  It’s almost dawn when I creep inside our cottage-style house. The floorboards creak as I make my way to the bathroom. My cheek is swollen. My back is sore as shit, and my eye is turning a different color by the second.

  I splash some water on my face and head to the kitchen.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Charlie is already at the small table. “Let me guess. Somebody wanted to give you a haircut and shave, so they beat the hell out of ya until you agreed?”

  “Very funny.” If only it were that simple. “Want bacon and eggs?”

  “Toast is fine.”

  “Coming right up.” I nod at his open book. “Thought you did your homework last night?”

  “Mine, sure. Didn’t do Hank’s.”

  I grimace. “Why would you do Hank’s?”

  “So you don’t get your ass kicked again tonight.” He glances up at me. “I’ll do the kid’s homework from now on, and there won’t be a problem.”

  I toss some bread in the toaster. “First, I didn’t have my ass handed to me. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Secondly, you’re not doing Hank’s homework. From now on, if a kid threatens you, come to me. I’ll handle it.”

  “This time, a haircut. Next time they’ll shave your head. That’s the way these people roll.”

  “They didn’t bring out the clippers, Charlie. I had the cut and shave yesterday.”

  “Okay, well, in that case . . . who is she?” Charlie pours himself some juice.

  “Just a woman.”

  He shrugs. “Does ‘just a woman’ have a name?”

  “Elizabeth. And it’s just business.”

  “Don’t believe you. Since when do you hold frozen peas to your face?”

  “Since you asked, we might as well do this now.” I tap my fingers against the table. “But you gotta keep it under wraps, okay? I’m the new model for an exclusive fashion line. Banks Limited. Have you heard of it?”

  “A model? No fuckin’ way.”

  “Language, kid. I’m guessing that’s good?”

  “Hell yeah! I bet you’re making a busload of cash. Are you?”

  “I will be. Yes.”

  He does a dance with an arm pump. “That means I’m asking for the new Xbox for Christmas.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s take one day at a time.”

  “Don’t fuck this up, Jimmy.”

  “Hey, no. Watch your mouth.”

  “Seriously, bro. This is an awesome chance for you. Sure, I’d like an Xbox, but if you do this, maybe we can afford to get real equipment for your channel. Go real places.” Another arm pump. “Maybe now you can choose your stunts a little more carefully too. Now I won’t have to worry about you getting yourself killed for a couple of bucks.”

  I start to tell him that his perception of a couple of bucks and a few hundred is about as screwed up as my boss lady’s, but he’s already talking circles around me.

  Charlie’s never looked happier, and for the first time in years, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Charlie and I may make it out of the slums after all.

  PROMISING

  Elizabeth

  I hardly slept. I was too excited, my creative juices flowing as ideas on the big launch in two and a half months flitted across my mind. Not to mention the memory of James Rowan sans beard, with that adorable dimple on full display and that mean, square jaw out in the open. Damn.

  Add in what Jeanine and I talked about. I could use him and that body of his for a quick roll in the hay, and no one would have to know about it.

  It was almost too much temptation to bear. It kept me writhing in bed, sleepless, all night.

  Bursting with adrenaline early the next morning, I call my dad to see if he got into Minneapolis okay.

  “Of course I got in okay. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He sounds annoyed that I’m calling, and I stupidly realize I’m interrupting something. “Well, sometimes flights—”

  “I fly private.” A meaningful silence. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “Dad, take your blood pressure medicine!” I yell out as quickly as possible so that he hears the reminder.

  There’s a long silence. “What?”

  My stomach sinks as I realize.

  “You forgot them. Didn’t you?”

/>   His silence definitely confirms that he did.

  “Dad, how can you be such a hotshot in business and at the same time not take care of the most important thing—your health? How long are you staying?”

  “Couple more days,” he grumbles.

  “I’ll send them over.”

  He lets out an annoyed sigh. “Have you been in touch with LB? He told me you haven’t given him any of the plans for the West Coast Fashion Week, which is concerning him.”

  “Oh. I was just planning to do that today,” I lie. Shit.

  I hang up with my dad and call his secretary to get the hotel address as I head to his place.

  I hate it when he doesn’t take his medicine. He starts getting headaches and doesn’t sleep well, and worst of all is . . . he puts himself in danger. Which isn’t like James Rowan, who does it on purpose. I know my dad simply forgets, but still.

  My dad lives in THE apartment building of Atlanta, in THE penthouse of the city. Anyone would kill for this spot, but my dad would do the same to anyone who tried to take this away from him. He’s become who he is by hustling hard and often. And although he wasn’t born exactly into old money, he’s climbed society’s ladder carefully and methodically until people believe that he is the be-all and end-all of the city.

  I head straight for the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.

  Pulling them out, checking each of the labels, and sticking them into ziplock bags. Aside from the labels on the bottles, I add Post-its with “a.m.” and “p.m.”—he needs two pills, twice a day, for both his systolic and diastolic numbers—and then I add one more Post-it that reads, “Take these daily!”

  Once I’ve got it all perfect, I zip up the bags, stick them inside a padded envelope, and label it with the hotel address. And as I’m ready to leave, I pause as I cross his bedroom.

  On the shelves lining the sides of the flat-screen TV, among books and collectibles, sort of hidden, is a framed photo of him and me. I can’t even remember who took it, but it is one of the few photographs that we have together.

  Taking it in hand, I cross the room and set it on his nightstand, then step back to see how it looks. Surveying, I turn it just so, until it’s perfect. Then I organize the rest of the stuff on his nightstand—a Tiffany clock, a notepad and pen, and a tall reading lamp. Smiling when it looks good, I flip off the lights and head to the mail room.