Million Dollar Devil Page 9

  I pull out my phone and open up an email to LB: An update for you on the menswear launch. I’m in the process of shoring up all the details for the West Coast Fashion Week launch, which I’ll send to you later today. Getting our model ready and I’ll have photos and a bio for you shortly.

  I inspect the email and hit send. Good. That ought to shut my warden up.

  Except he messages me right back.

  Do you really even have a model or are you just buying time?

  I’m fuming as I read it and decide not to reply. Images of walking into Banks LTD with a gorgeous, perfectly groomed, and to-die-for handsome James Rowan fill my head as I head home just in time to meet with James—except, forty minutes later, James still hasn’t showed.

  It’s 9:48 a.m., and I’m still waiting for His Majesty, King James Rowan, at my place when I grab the phone and try his number for the tenth time. It goes straight to voice mail.

  Whoa. Wait a minute. Is he backing out on me?

  Did he cash the check?

  After checking my bank statement and seeing he hasn’t, I grab the keys to my Audi and drive downtown, hoping I can remember how to get to Tim’s Bar.

  As soon as I enter, Luke points to the far corner, where I immediately spot a long set of denim-clad legs hanging off the end of a booth.

  I pause with a sigh of relief.

  “He had a late night. Just got into the office ’bout two hours ago after sending Charlie off to school. I’ll wake him in a few minutes, huh?”

  I check my phone, worried we don’t have minutes to spare. “We needed to be somewhere at ten.”

  “Like I said . . .”

  “I heard you,” I say, not meaning to be short and snappy, but we have an appointment with Michael, and I can’t allow tardiness from anyone. Especially me. “Fine. I’ll wake him,” I say, marching over.

  “I bet you will,” Luke mumbles.

  The clickety-clack of my heels tapping against the concrete floor is the only noise in the vacant bar. I’m guessing the drunks on this side of town are probably like James, sleeping off the aftermath of the previous night’s party.

  Bending down to shake him, I pause when I spot a photo on the table. It’s a picture of James and a boy who looks like him. Must be Charlie, I think, staring back at James again. My breath catches in my chest as I’m struck by his clean-shaven face once more.

  I study him for a moment.

  Why do I love watching him when he’s out cold?

  Leaning a little closer, I narrow my eyes, and that’s when I see IT.

  A very dark circle shadowing his left eye.

  No. No, no, no. He didn’t do this. He knows how important his face is to me. It’s in his contract.

  Of course, there are a lot of things in the contract that James seems keen on forgetting.

  I want to punch him again. I frown as I look at the bruise a little closer. “What happened?”

  His eyes fly open. Bluer than blue. He grabs my wrist and hauls me forward. “No fighting,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

  “Then how did you get this?”

  “I mean . . . no fighting with you.”

  I scowl at him, then lean over and mumble, “Are you sure you can read? Because I did put a clause in the contract that you were not to mess up your pretty face, Devil.”

  He pulls me over him as if I don’t weigh a thing.

  Shit. This is not how I planned to start my morning.

  You’re not just making out in cars, Elizabeth—apparently in bars anything goes?

  I fall still on top of him.

  I try to breathe, and that proves difficult. Especially because against my stomach, I can totally feel James’s . . .

  JAMES.

  “Uh-huh,” he says, staring into my eyes, as if reading my thoughts.

  He starts smirking very, very slowly.

  The smirk even reaches those mischievous blue eyes, the eyes that were almost perfect when we last met.

  One still is.

  “Let me go.” I push off him. “James, what happened?”

  “This?” He pats the swollen flesh. “It’s nothing.”

  “You got in a fight,” I say. “I told you to get your life sorted out. I told you that you needed to—”

  “And I did. I am. But maybe . . .” He drags my hand to his mouth and kisses the tips of my fingers. “Maybe you need to keep closer tabs on me.”

  Trying to right myself and pull my dress down at the same time is nearly impossible. Obviously, James doesn’t miss it.

  “One kiss and I might let you up.” His voice is gruff but mischievous.

  I hurriedly peck his lips to appease him, but instead of releasing me, he licks his bottom lip and looks at my mouth even more intently. I groan. “I thought you were an honorable man, Devil.”

  “Baby . . . I said might for a reason.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “Totally dependent on the kiss.” He tips my face back with his thumb and forefinger, eyes drinking me in. Eyes that shine too intently on my face for a guy who’s probably hungover. “Want to try again?”

  My heart skips.

  “I need . . . thank you . . . up, please.”

  “Oh, I’m up.”

  I resist a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But it’s what I meant.” He laughs, slowly getting up to his feet. He cups the back of my head. “Kiss me again.”

  “I didn’t kiss you to begin with.”

  “The hell you didn’t,” he says, eyeing me with such lust that it makes me nervous. “We’ll be damn good together. You’ll see.”

  “No. I won’t. Because we aren’t doing this. I told you.”

  “Why not? You’re into this. Into me. Do you deny it?”

  “James, I’m your bo—”

  “I’m no one but Jimmy here. Come here.” He bites down on his lip, watching me under thick dark lashes with eyes that shimmer like pools. “I want to tell you something.” That grin is carnal, dangerous. “It’s a secret.”

  I can’t help but steal a glance at the bulge in his jeans. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I try to pull away when he loosens his grip, but I quickly realize that this is a trap. Can the guy tell I’m curious by nature?

  “Come closer,” he says, motioning for me.

  “I don’t have time for your . . .”

  He locks his hand around my neck and drags my ear to his mouth, where he whispers, “If we weren’t at Tim’s Bar, I would’ve taken you from whimpers to moans in less than a minute. Next time you wake me up, think about that.”

  “I will indeed.” I want to sound and act professional, but his hot breath on my neck sends a cascade of goose bumps straight down my back.

  He smiles. “Good. Now how about I take you somewhere for a change?” he asks.

  “Where?”

  “To eat. I’m hungry.”

  Oh, I’d love to see just what he considers to be food. Probably something as unpalatable as that tequila behind the bar. “Sorry. We need to meet Michael. I’ll pick you up a bagel on the way.”

  “And Michael is . . .”

  “A genius. You will meet him soon. Come on, Devil. He will love you.”

  I lure him out of the bar and his ridiculous office with a sway of my hips, his long footsteps quickly catching up with me.

  “And you,” he croons as he swings open the bar door and lets me pass, “will love me too. Baby.”

  His eyes glimmer.

  I jerk my own eyes away as quickly as I can, because I’m not sure whether the wicked shine in his baby blues excites or scares me.

  OUT WITH THE DEVIL

  I sip my Starbucks latte and sit on the large chaise in the main fitting area of Banks LTD. I keep looking down the hallway, hoping no one else from the company will come in and see my work in progress.

  “Where’s LB?” I ask Michael, our head tailor, as I pull the plans for the West Coast Fashion Week from my files and email them to my nemesis,
as promised.

  “Probably slinking along the sewer, where he belongs,” he mumbles, his lips closed upon straight pins.

  Ah, one of the millions of reasons why I love Michael.

  When it comes to LB or me being the top dog eventually, I know for a fact Michael is rooting for me.

  For the past hour, Michael has been all over James like a bee on honey, covering him up in the suits I selected for this fitting. I can see James is a bit irritated. He seems completely moody, and I sense that a guy like him doesn’t like other men to be sliding their hands up and around them while they ooh and aah.

  Now Michael smooths his palms over James’s back, then steps aside to contemplate the fit. “Puuurfect, love. This jacket embraces that toned body. Oh yesssss, darling, it does.”

  James is just looking at me with a glare that could shoot bullets.

  I wish James would act a little less like the brooding tough guy from the streets and more like the person I want him to be. But Michael is clearly in love, nonetheless. Plus, I know I can trust Michael, even if I can’t trust many other people in my life.

  Dragging my eyes down the perfect pitch-black suit draped around James’s frame, I brush some imaginary dust off his rounded collar. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

  “Oh, darling, it’s not just you.” Michael jabs his finger at James.

  James doesn’t miss it, and if his expression is any indication, he’s had enough of fittings. He’s still caught up on the pair of cuff links we’ve given him. All the Banks shirts require cuff links. When I handed them to him, he said, “I don’t fucking wear earrings.”

  I showed him how to use them, and he watched me, his gaze dark. “What the fuck is the purpose of this shit? Buttons aren’t good enough?”

  Michael strokes James’s collar before he eyes me. “Fitted look is elegant, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. It’s—he’s—perfect.” I thumb through a few styles and locate a notch collar on one of the dinner jackets. “Let’s try this one.”

  Michael immediately removes the current jacket from James’s shoulders and snaps his fingers at one of his assistants, who hurries to set it aside.

  “Your father must be so ecstatic about our new face. I can see it across every billboard in the country already,” Michael tells me.

  I glance back toward the doorway. It’s empty. I’m going to have a heart attack if I have to keep skulking around with James like this to get my work done. “Yes. My dad is, uh . . . thrilled.”

  Michael raises his head. “Or has he even met our delightful model yet? LB got in touch with me this morning. You know him, snooping around. He mentioned your father had asked him to keep an eye on it.”

  My flush is suddenly rising up my neck and cheeks. Anger mingled with frustration over my dad not trusting me. Hardly taking my phone calls but still having plenty of time to discuss me with LB. And also mortification, because when I lift my gaze, I can see James’s blue, blue eyes fixed on me.

  He sees me.

  Before him, I’m naked and bare.

  I look through a rack of ties and select a simple red one, since he said that was his favorite. I avoid his hot gaze as I drape it around his neck. “Know how to tie one of these?”

  He shakes his head. “Like I said. Didn’t even wear a tie to my parents’ funeral.”

  Hmmm. “I’m supposing a bow tie is a big no, then, huh?”

  Michael doesn’t bat an eyelash. He nudges me out of the way and shows him how to tie the thing, effortlessly.

  “Michael, would you be able to give James here a thorough lesson on how and when to wear each piece?” I ask.

  James gives me a look. “You don’t think I know how to put on a jacket? Just ’cause I never tied a tie before don’t mean I’m an idiot.”

  I roll my eyes. “There are certain occasions befitting of different pieces, and you need to understand that.”

  He salutes me.

  “Oh, and that snake LB,” Michael continues with a nod. “He put a call in to some of us, asking if we wanted in on a little bet he has going on. Can you believe? He’s betting on you failing at this, Lizzy. The balls on that little parasite!”

  “I think we’re done for today; thank you, Michael,” I say, flushing even more because James is listening.

  “Thank fuck.” James exhales, his nostrils flaring as he rips the tie from his neck and jerks the jacket off of him with an angry yank. “Fucking straitjacket.”

  When he finally steps off the platform, I almost can’t look back into his eyes for fear of what I’ll see there.

  “Now will you let me take you someplace?”

  Surprised, I jerk my face up. He’s wearing a white button shirt, a perfectly smooth area of his tan chest exposed.

  “Only if we can call it a business dinner. It’ll be a chance to practice your manners,” I say, needing to get out of here.

  He laughs and starts to button the shirt back up. “Call it whatever the hell you want, if it’ll make you feel better.” He motions to his gorgeous body, clad in the shirt and slacks. He can almost pass for a man from my side of the world. “Do I meet with your approval?”

  Oh, hell yes. But I can only nod dumbly.

  “We can take my car.” I fish out my keys as we head to the parking lot.

  I decide this is just as good a time as any to start teaching him how to treat a lady. So I stop in front of the driver’s door of my car.

  “Open the car door for me, please?”

  James is already heading to the passenger side like he can’t wait to get out of here.

  He pauses, confused. “Why? You’ve got two hands.”

  “They’re to embrace the flowers you give me, not open my own doors when a man is around,” I say.

  He exhales in frustration, nostrils flaring as he stalks around the front of my car, grabs the remote, unlocks it with a beep—and swings the door open.

  Our shoulders brush as I step in.

  “Want me to fasten your seat belt too?” he asks, his voice gruffer than it was a few seconds ago.

  I hesitate, the look in James’s eyes unreadable. “If you want . . . ,” I answer, my voice thick.

  He does.

  The brush of his fingers against my body as he straps my seat belt makes me stiffen, wild, white-hot shivers crackling through my system.

  I exhale when he eases back, the cologne I spritzed on the guy only yesterday teasing me. I bought him my favorite by Tom Ford. I wonder if that’s why I can’t get enough?

  I’m a little worried about what kind of low-class dive he’s going to take me to. I’m not a fan of fast-food places; they smell like fake food and a lot of grease, if my teenage memories are accurate, with several documentaries claiming the food is barely fit for human consumption. But he gives me directions, and we end up having burgers in Shake Shack. A first for me.

  And definitely not my last.

  “Gosh, this is really the best hamburger ever,” I declare a half hour later as we sit side by side in a small booth at a corner of the restaurant. I can’t really teach him table manners here, but . . . I’ll let that slide.

  “Good, right?”

  I nod, licking my fingers from the last bite and happy I’ve still got a lot of fries to go through. “How did I spend my whole life missing this?”

  “What? You never ate Shake Shack before?”

  I cringe before admitting, “I’ve rarely eaten fast food at all.”

  And as expected, he gives me a look like I just crash-landed to earth in a UFO.

  “Geez. So what? Do you want to talk about it? What’s the deal with Dad?” He leans back a bit and studies me.

  I’m so surprised by his question I don’t know what to say for a long moment, opting to lift my drink and take a cool, quick sip from my Diet Coke.

  I set it down, opening my mouth as I try to come up with some lame lie. Instead I say, “I just had a moment. My father is a rather strict man, and it’s difficult for me to gain his
trust. I wish he would call me instead of LB—his right-hand man. I called him this morning just to say hello, and . . .” I shake my head. “Needless to say, I could tell he’d rather I not call.”

  He leans back in his chair, eyeing me for a moment. “I can’t say I remember what that feels like. Having a difficult father. But if he’s asking someone to keep an eye on you, it means he cares in his own way.”

  I’m literally not breathing. “No,” I say, frowning. “My father wants an eye on the business—specifically on the part of the business I’m managing. He’s afraid I’ll screw something up.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I mean, I know he loves me. But when my mom ran out on us . . . I guess he feels like he needs to keep eyes on me so I don’t go and do the same.”

  “You’re a grown woman.”

  I roll my eyes. “Try telling that to my father.”

  “We lost our family some time ago,” he adds, shifting closer. His eyebrows are drawn, as if it causes him pain simply to talk about it. “For the longest time, Charlie wouldn’t talk or eat. I wasn’t much help then. Our parents and sister were in an accident, and instead of being grateful to have survived, I resented being left behind. It took a few months for me to process everything, and while I was processing, Charlie became the kid everyone bullied. Now, he needs a boost of confidence. That’s not fucking coming if he keeps getting beat up every time he heads off to school.” He sighs and clenches his jaw, playing with a fry for a second before tossing it back into the basket. “Anyway. I’ve got plans for him. Big plans.”

  “Like what?”

  “Send him to a solid, good private school. Giving him the best chances I can to make something of himself.”

  I nod in agreement, this revelation inspiring me and my thoughts about him. It hurt me, to lose my mother. But as far as I know, she still breathes. But to lose your whole family?

  “So you raised him on your own? Didn’t you have relatives who could help?”

  “None who were in any better shape to help. My cousin Maria stayed with us during the school year. Her parents were drug addicts, and she cared for them more than they cared for her. The only stability she had was my parents, and I wasn’t about to take that away from her when we lost them.”