Savage: A Bad Boy Fake Fiancé Romance Page 5

What would Beckett do? Kick them out, probably.

  But I wasn’t Beckett. I was Olivia Abbott. And I was at a loss for words.

  Add Uncle George and his wife to the group of people who didn’t believe I could do this, or anything, by myself. Or anyone else. Great. Just fucking great.

  “I appreciate your concern,” I said, stiffly, “but I’m doing great. And so is Penny. She’s happy.”

  Penny chose that moment to giggle, and I could’ve smothered her with kisses just then. It was such a change from how she’d been the past couple days. Had Beckett’s presence transformed her?

  “Well,” George said and tufted his brown-gray hair. “Let’s not talk about this now. Let’s go out for a meal. Our treat. There’s a Chuck E. Cheese in Morningside Heights. Penny would love it there.”

  My stomach sank. Chuck E. Cheese. Beckett’s words rang through my memory. God, he was totally right. This was my life now. No more Granite Room. No more upper-class establishments.

  Kids’ restaurants were the new ”in” thing in my life. I didn’t want to sulk about it and be a total asshole, but it still bit at me a little. It was all part of adjusting, though, and I’d be damned if I let concerned Uncle George see that the thought of Chuck E. Cheese—me out of place in my designer clothes—turned my stomach.

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Uncle George. That’s so kind of you.”

  “Family’s family,” he replied and grinned, baring slightly yellow teeth. “Let’s get going.”

  Family was family, except, apparently, when my brother had passed away and they hadn’t even turned up at the funeral.

  No time to be bitter, though. I had to get Penny’s bag ready, then hit Chuck E. Cheese for a stellar kiddie’s meal. It would probably be great. I’d just well, ashamedly, I’d never eaten there before.

  There’s a first time for everything. Do it for Penny. Heck, do it for yourself.

  The image of Beckett’s smug face, that smirk that practically screamed superiority twisting his lips, taunted me, but I shoved it aside and hurried through to Penny’s room to pack her emergency bag.

  Chapter 7

  Beckett

  I barged through the glass front doors of Olivia’s apartment building, burning from the inside out. I hadn’t gone to the damn meeting. I’d blown it off, and for this. For my guilt over Mike’s death.

  I paced past the desk in the lobby, and a man hopped up from behind it. “Excuse me! Excuse me, sir!” he squeaked.

  I ignored him and wound toward the steel-doored elevator at the end of the long, marble entryway.

  Olivia couldn’t do this on her own. She couldn’t raise Penny successfully without help, and damn my guilt, I couldn’t consciously leave her to do it with Mike’s death weighing on my shoulders.

  I’d help her get on her feet, pain in the ass that it was with the business in its current situation and Kayla breathing down my neck, and once I’d done that, I’d leave her in my dust again.

  Because the truth was, Olivia was a danger to everything I’d created. Once before, she’d nearly destroyed my worldview. She’d threatened to tear away my goals simply by existing. She’d turned me into a monster, and I wouldn’t let that happen again.

  Savage, yes. Crazed, no. Never.

  “Sir!” The squeaky doorman streaked up behind me, shoes slapping on the tiles. He grabbed my arm.

  I froze and let out a low, snarling growl.

  The doorman whipped his hand back immediately. “Sir,” he said, in what he probably thought was a measured tone but came out in an effeminate whine. “Sir, I can’t let you go up there. You have to check in and tell me who you’re here to see.”

  “That wasn’t a problem last time I was here,” I replied, barely keeping a lid on my frustration.

  “Those are the rules, sir. May I take your name and the apartment number you’re visiting?”

  I ground my teeth. Fuck. I never took shit. Never.

  This was the perfect example of the types of things I did when Olivia was involved.

  “Olivia Abbott,” I snapped. Abbott. The surname brought back a wash of memories, both of Michael and our friendship, the only real friendship I’d had, and Olivia. The out-of-bounds little sister who’d intoxicated me.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Abbott isn’t here. She left a while ago. She—uh, well, she gave me strict instructions not to let anyone else up without contacting her first,” the doorman squeaked and ruffled his fluffy blond hair.

  He was a kid. No more than twenty-one years old, probably working this job part-time, thanks to family connections.

  “I’m going up,” I replied.

  “Sir,” the doorman said. “Sir, I really can’t allow you to do that. You haven’t given me your name.”

  I swiveled and stormed off, leaving him behind—gaping no doubt. I didn’t have time for anterior distractions. I pounded my thumb against the button and waited impatiently.

  She wasn’t here?

  Where the hell was she then? Where the hell could she be?

  Christ, if she’d taken Penny to a spa…

  The elevator arrived, and I stepped inside, turned, and hit the button for O’s floor. The doorman stood a few feet away, gaping, true to form, apparently frozen by my disobedience.

  I dismissed him from my thoughts and opened the text messaging app on my phone instead.

  “Get back to your apartment, now. I’m waiting”. I shot the message off to Olivia.

  The doors of the elevator had already swung shut, affording me a view of my reflection. As usual, stubble along my jaw, black eyes, dark hair styled and a suit to match with a tie as the finishing touch.

  No one could mistake me for a normal businessman, not with local tabloids running stories about me as Manhattan’s hottest bachelor, as the party boy, the savage.

  “Destructive” was the correct term.

  And the anger at being made to wait to see her—Penny, of course, not Olivia, never her—coursed through me.

  The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and I charged out, coming to a halt in front of Olivia’s door. My phone buzzed, and I swiped to unlock, then read the text she’d sent back, my eyebrows climbing.

  “I’m out with family. I’ll be home later, maybe. We’re having a good time.”

  A good time? With family? She didn’t have any goddamn family left. She was bereaved, as I’d been since birth.

  “Did I ask when you’d be home? Get here now, or you’ll regret it.”

  What would I do to her? I’d help her remember exactly why she’d cried seven years ago.

  I passed the next twenty minutes pacing the halls, my rage building, building, like a tower of blocks ready to topple at the slightest motion. How dare she make me wait? I waited for no one.

  Christ, I’d met some of the most influential men and women of our time, and I hadn’t waited for them. In fact, I’d made them wait.

  I checked my phone. Grimaced. Paced. Repeat.

  Finally, after forty whole fucking minutes, the elevator doors binged open and Olivia emerged, with Penny in her stroller and a huge tote slung over her shoulder. The scent of pizza drifted from them, something cheesy. No light peach and vanilla this time. No hint of amber.

  It made me even angrier.

  Olivia caught my gaze but didn’t wither away as others would. She squared her shoulders. “What?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “It’s none of your business where I’ve been. In fact, it’s none of your business being here.” Olivia drove the stroller forward, and I had to jump back to avoid the front wheels.

  Penny spotted me and clapped her chubby hands. “Beck poo!” she shrieked. “Beck poo!”

  I flashed O a wicked smile then bent and unhooked the little girl from her stroller. I lifted her into my arms, and she rested her head on my shoulder.

  “Beck poo,” she said, again. “Pizza.” It came “out “peet-si.”

  “I can smell that,” I replied.


  Olivia balled her hands into fists and stared at us.

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked. “Christmas?”

  “Deliverance,” she replied and unlocked her apartment door.

  I entered after her, and my anger flooded back. Crushed crayons on the carpet, still those stains on the sofa, and tools scattered across the countertop in the kitchen. What was that? Toddler-proofing material?

  Christ, had she tried installing that herself?

  “What?” Olivia repeated and shut the door, then locked it. “My endeavors aren’t to your satisfaction? Don’t worry, you’re not the only one who doesn’t approve.” Her voice practically dripped bitterness.

  I grunted and didn’t reply. I wouldn’t vent my spleen with Penny resting her hot little head on my shoulder. I’d seen enough fights between my parents—term used lightly there—growing up to know how shit it was.

  O crossed the carpet toward us, and I took her in properly since she’d first arrived.

  Distressed jeans tight to her thighs, high heels in dusty rose pink, and a matching cardigan. A silver chain at her throat, bearing a small heart—a locket I’d seen her wear years ago.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t ask. Don’t think about whatever the hell is in that locket.

  She was so slender, so curvy at the same time, tall. The woman could’ve been a model if she’d had the inclination, but thankfully, she hadn’t.

  “Give her to me,” Olivia said and held out her arms. “She needs to go down for her nap.”

  “I’ll do it,” I replied.

  “No—”

  “I wasn’t asking.” I walked Penny off to her little bedroom with the plain walls. So different from the one she’d slept in at her mom and dad’s place. No wonder the kid was unsettled.

  I kissed her dark curls and lowered her into the crib, smiling for encouragement. “It’s time to sleep, Penny.”

  “Beck poo,” she said and yawned.

  I pinched her chubby little cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Don’t worry.”

  The little girl settled back and picked up one of her stuffed animals from the sheets, yawned, and hugged the bear to her chest.

  “Sleep tight,” I said.

  “Sleep night,” she replied.

  I checked the curtains in the room—cream and pretty thick so they blocked out the light—were properly closed, then moved past Penny’s crib in the gloom, and out into the hall. I shut the door behind me, breathing hard.

  It was easy to remain calm with the kid around, but now she was asleep, and Olivia was in the living room down the hall, clattering around on those heels, doing fuck knew what. Making more messes. Dreaming of a time when she had nothing but manicures to worry about.

  “Fuck,” I growled, under my breath.

  The woman angered me to no end. How could she possibly think she could do this on her own?

  I strode through to the living room and caught her bending over, scooping up the crushed crayons from the carpet next to Penny’s playpen. Her ass wiggled in the air, heart-shaped and edible. Jesus Christ.

  It only made me angrier.

  “You’re out of your depth,” I barked.

  Olivia yelped and jumped, scattering crayon pieces to the rug in the living room. She spun toward me, flushing red. “Excuse me?”

  “You can’t do this shit on your own.”

  A change came over her, a stiffening of every part of her body from the top of her head to her toes, which were bare now, the polish on her nails chipped. “I’ve gotten that from everyone today,” she said. “From people I haven’t seen in years, Beckett. And I took it. I took it all. But I’ll tell you something, Mr. Price. I won’t take it from you. So, you can take your foul attitude and your sexiness and your, ugh, your eyes and fuck off right out of my apartment. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. And I’ll be damned if I let you make me feel like I do.”

  Cute speech.

  I smirked at her.

  “Get out.” She pointed to the door.

  I crossed the space between us, crunched over more of those crayons and ground the wax into the carpet, closing in on her, pressing my presence in on hers.

  O backed up, looking over her shoulder as if she’d find an escape there, and whimpered. Backed away, away, away from my power, from the need that had definitely sprung up inside her the minute I’d moved.

  Her back hit the wall, and I pressed my body against hers, lifted one arm, and braced it above her head.

  Olivia tilted her chin upward, defiance trickling into her eyes, then subsiding, resurging again.

  “You can pretend that you’re fine, O,” I whispered, biting off the words, dancing them across her soft skin.

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  “You can pretend you’ve got everything under control,” I said. “But you can’t hide from me.” Her body was so precious, so soft in comparison to the hard planes of mine. My dick hardened, pressed against the inside of my pants, demanded I claim her.

  Olivia’s jaw dropped. She glanced down, then back up again at me.

  I devoured her with my gaze alone. “I know you, O,” I whispered. “I know everything about you. Don’t you dare forget it.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think you need,” I growled. “I know the truth. I know your every desire. I always have.”

  Her eyes rolled, and she bit her lip then forced herself to focus on me again.

  “You need me,” I grunted. “And I’ll be damned if I let you push me away. I’ll tear the world apart before I let anything happen to you. Or her.”

  Olivia blinked up at me. I pressed my forehead against hers.

  Chapter 8

  Olivia

  “Get out,” I hissed, pressing my forehead to his. I didn’t mean a word of it. I couldn’t possibly with his body pressed against mine, so hot and hard, so overpowering. Oh god, everything was on fire. Every part of me.

  The planes of his abs pressed through the suit, through my ridiculous pink cardigan. His hand strayed to my waist and held me there, so large his fingers passed my spine, his thumb tucked snug against the knit of my top. And his dick.

  Oh. Good. God.

  Save me. Someone had to save me from this, because I couldn’t save myself.

  Even with all my strong words, with my tortured defiance, he was the man who’d always turned me inside out without even trying, and I still couldn’t stop wanting him.

  “No,” he replied. “You don’t want me to get out, O. I see it in your eyes.”

  “Stop calling me that.” It made everything harder to hear it from him. The name he’d given me before he’d simply disappeared and taken all the attention, all the interest he’d lavished on me with him. Without an explanation.

  One soul-searing kiss and then he’d disappeared.

  “Why?” Beckett asked and rubbed his nose against mine.

  My chest expanded. My mind ran amok.

  “Does it remind you of that night?” he asked. “It was seven years ago, Olivia. Aren’t you over me yet?”

  I couldn’t answer without lying.

  “It was just a kiss.” Beckett grinned.

  “It wasn’t,” I snapped. “It wasn’t just a kiss, and you know it. It was more than that and then you were—” I stiffened. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Good,” he replied. “Then you’re not over it. How could you be?” Poisonous, delicious words. “You were always mine, Olivia. You always belonged to me.”

  “I belong to no one.” My chin jutted upward. “No one!”

  “Except to me,” he repeated and drew closer. His lips eclipsed everything, all my anger and frustration and the hot thrum of need curling between my legs.

  He lowered them to mine. Closer, closer, closer.

  I couldn’t move away from this. I didn’t want to, even though the rational portion of my brain screamed at me to get away before he destroyed me again, before he captured
my heart and crushed it on a whim.

  Get out! That was for me, not for him. Get out! Get out! Before it’s too late. He doesn’t care about you. He never did. You’re nothing more than a conquest. He doesn’t believe in love. He told you so. He told you.

  But I was glued. Desperate. Wanting nothing more than to taste him again. Just this once. Just this one moment of weakness, and then I’d make him leave.

  Beckett’s lips were a millisecond from touching mine. Warmth washed from them. I inhaled his scent, the cologne and that cosmic musk of him beneath of it.

  A shriek split the moment down the middle.

  It galvanized the common sense floating in the back of my mind.

  “Penny,” I chirped and slipped out from underneath Beckett’s arm. I staggered across the carpet, crunching wax again, for god’s sake, and toward the hall. My heart knocked in my chest, demanding to be freed. Breaths caught in my throat, and I hiccupped.

  “Leave her,” Beckett said, behind me, and my legs—betrayers that they were—quit moving. The muscles liquefied. “I’ll handle this.”

  If I let him settle her, now, he’d never leave. I’d be stuck with him looking out for us. I’d have the help I needed but hated having. The one that wasn’t hired, that was totally allowed, and there would be nothing I could do about it.

  Penny loved him. The connection between them was good for her. It made her happy. It made my life easier. But it made my life hell, too. Beckett’s special hell.

  He strode past me and toward the hall, without even a glance in my direction. He’d almost kissed me again, and he didn’t care to look at me. To share a secret smile or a wink or anything.

  Pathetic. You’re pathetic for wanting him. You’re better than this.

  Moments later, the crying stopped, and the rumble of Beckett’s voice drifted from Penny’s room. The little girl hiccupped, and I crept toward the corner, held onto the wall, and listened hard.

  A snort. A giggle. Another snort.

  It was the same game he’d played with her in the restaurant. He’d been so soft with her. It was a side he’d never shown me, and I couldn’t believe it was real.

  “It’s time for you to nap, Penny. When you wake up, it will be time for your dinner. Tonight, I’ll read you a story. Which one’s your favorite?” Beckett rumbled, gently.