Savage: A Bad Boy Fake Fiancé Romance Page 7

  Scoop them up, piece her back together. Make her mine.

  Chapter 10

  Olivia

  Nicki stared at the shut door for a full five seconds, shaking her head.

  I cringed inwardly. I wasn’t exactly concerned what she thought about Beckett. He’d made his own bed there, but I despised rudeness. My mom had raised me with manners, my father had instilled in me the belief that apologizing was never cowardly, and the combination had me bubbling underneath the skin, right now.

  “I’m sorry about that, Aunt Nicki,” I said.

  She blinked as if she’d only just realized I was in the room but didn’t quit shaking her head. “That was—who?”

  “My brother’s best friend,” I put in, though I’d already told her. “Beckett.”

  She kept bobbling that head on repeat, her floppy red hair swish-swish-swishing away.

  “Would you like to take a seat, Aunt Nicki?” I asked and gestured to the sofa.

  Nicki shuffled forward and handed me the bag of takeout—the scent of Chinese food drifted from the top and my mouth watered. Screw hotdogs, this was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  “Did you get anything for Penny?” I asked and opened the bag.

  “Spring rolls,” Nicki said, faintly. She plonked down on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Perfect.” I hurried around the sofa and placed the bag on the coffee table. “Hungry, sweetheart?” I asked Penny.

  “No. Where’s Beck Poo?” The little girl scrambled upright and held onto the rail of her playpen, her ocean blue eyes sparkling and bright. She’d stained her shirt with carrot juice—ugh—but I couldn’t help grinning at her.

  “He’ll be back later, sweetie,” I replied and stroked the top of her head, feeling the curls, so much like my brother’s. My throat tightened up, and I quickly turned away and back to my aunt.

  “He’ll be back later?” Nicki asked, sitting up straight now, her gaze hawk-sharp. “Why?”

  “He was Mikey’s best friend, and Penny knows him really well. She likes him.”

  “I can’t imagine why. He seemed like a rude, arrogant—” She cut off and rolled her lips together, as if physically forcing herself not to say something inappropriate. “He was unpleasant. He doesn’t seem like a good influence for Penny.”

  My scalp prickled cold. It was a weird effect that’d happened to me since I was a kid. Each time I got angry, like seriously white-hot angry, my scalp prickled icy cold and the color drained from my face.

  “A good influence?” I swallowed, trying to force myself to calm. “A good influence. Aunt Nicki, I appreciate your input, but I think Beckett’s influence on Penny is not something we should discuss.”

  “Meaning what, dear?” Nicki asked and sat forward.

  “Meaning that, although I do appreciate you being here, you’ve got to understand that all of this is out of the blue. You arrived this morning. I barely know Uncle George, and I know you even less, and now you’re telling me who’s a good influence on Penny?”

  “I’m not telling you, Olivia. I’m merely suggesting that a rude, ornery human being like that can’t be a positive force in a young girl’s life.”

  I inhaled through my nose and out through my mouth. Counted to ten. She didn’t get it. And even my politeness had its limits. “OK, let’s just not talk about Beckett. Let’s have something to eat.”

  Nicki pursed her lips but, thankfully, didn’t chip in about the “ornery” fella again.

  “It smells great! Where’s Uncle George, by the way?”

  “He felt ill this afternoon when he got home. Tummy bug,” Nicki replied, but her gaze was hard. She hadn’t left what had happened behind. She scooched off the sofa and walked over to the playpen. “But you don’t, do you, sweetheart? It’s time for your dinner.”

  “No,” Penny reiterated and slammed one block into the other. “No, no, no food.”

  “She’s not hungry,” I said. “Trust me, when she is, she’ll kick up a fuss. I make a habit of offering her foods at certain times. So now for dinner, and then a little snack before bedtime. If she doesn’t eat now, then she’ll definitely eat at snack time.” Guilt crept through me as I said it. All the stuff I’d read up online indicated that this was OK. It was perfectly natural, and it wasn’t healthy to force a kid to eat when she didn’t want to eat.

  Still, doubt popped up. What if I was wrong? What if this was another screw-up on my part?

  “That’s ridiculous,” Nicki said. “Take it from me, I’ve raised three boys. Kids will do anything to stamp their mark on a situation.”

  “Huh?” I blinked at her. That was totally nonsensical.

  Nicki patted the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “Kids are manipulators. They’ll do whatever they can to seize power in any given situation. It’s their way of testing boundaries. So, when she says no, it really means she’s hungry but she’s just trying to pull a fast one on you to see how far she can push you.”

  “That’s—no, that’s crazy.” I walked over to the playpen, as well, and kept my tone even, though the dreaded skin prickles were back. This woman brought them out in me, apparently. She was so full of herself. She thought she knew what Penny wanted, and she’d only just cropped up today.

  “I’m telling you. She’s manipulating you,” Nicki replied and patted the top of Penny’s curly head. The little girl scrunched up her nose and shifted.

  “She’s two. She doesn’t understand the concept of manipulation. She’s self-regulating, and I’m not going to force her to eat when she’s not hungry. We’ve got our little routine, and it’s working really well for us.” I clipped the sentences off, but Nicki didn’t take them in.

  She cooed and bent down, then lifted Penny underneath her chubby little arms and placed her on her hip. “Come on, darling, I’ve got some lovely veggie spring rolls for you to try out. You’re going to love them.”

  “No,” Penny howled and screwed up her little fists. “No food. No. I not hungry.” The words were a little slurry, but the sentence was clear. She wasn’t hungry.

  “Aw, honey, you think that now, but wait until you get a whiff of this food. It’s delicious.”

  “Not ‘licious,” she said. “I not hungry. Don’t wanna eat.”

  It was the first time Penny had been so adamant or spoken as much in the time she’d been here. Shock and anger passed through me. She’d been through so much. She didn’t need this.

  “Of course, you are,” Nicki insisted.

  “That’s enough.” I stepped forward. “She doesn’t want to eat anything.” I held out my arms, but Nicki didn’t hand her over. “Give her to me, Nicki.”

  The frumpy woman raised an eyebrow at me and tightened her grip on Penny. “She’s—”

  Penny screeched and swung her arms around, tears spilling from her eyes. The kid was an auto-fountain, waiting to shed water at the slightest prompting, but this time, I couldn’t summon up any emotion but relief.

  It was a clear expression that I was right. Penny didn’t want this. She didn’t want food, and she didn’t want to be held by Nicki.

  Her chubby toddler fists clashed with Nicki’s jaw—she hadn’t swung them to hit, there was no malice screwing up her features—and her eyes closed now. She arched her little back and kicked her legs.

  “What on earth?” Nicki held her out at arm’s length, like she was a ticking time bomb. “What’s wrong with her?”

  I scooped her up and pressed her little body to mine. “Nothing! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her,” I snapped, then patted Penny’s back. She softened immediately, but didn’t quit crying. She didn’t flail her arms, though. She let me hold her.

  The full-blown terrible-two tantrum had dwindled but hadn’t ended.

  What had the articles said?

  In the event of a tantrum, use distraction. Distraction.

  There was plenty of distraction in her playpen, but I had to get her away from Nicki and the vibe in here. It w
as awkward and totally off.

  I quick-marched away from Nicki and toward the hall, then paused.

  My “aunt” might follow me into Penny’s room, but she’d never barge into mine, and right now, I needed to be alone with this child and calm her down, without interference.

  Interference. What made her think she could do that?

  I opened my bedroom door, walked in, and kicked it shut behind me. Penny didn’t stop wailing.

  OK, think. What does Penny like? Apart from screaming. I rolled my eyes at the lame internal joke, then headed across the bedroom, toward my closet. Shiny things. She likes it when I wear a watch or rings. She always tugs on my earrings. Sheesh, talk about a choking hazard.

  I opened the closet door regardless and slipped inside. I didn’t head for the jewelry, but rather, the row of dresses I’d coveted and then purchased after last year’s New York Fashion Week.

  Thousands of dollars’ worth of fabric and genius, some of the creations flighty or flashy, others totally outlandish, and here I was in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blouse. It’d been only a month, and I couldn’t picture myself in these garments anymore.

  And that was fine. Totally fine.

  “Look, Penny,” I said and picked the glittery one. Made of shimmery, yet surprisingly soft material, it was tapered at the waist and spread out below. What seemed like miles of sea-green fabric shimmered with the slightest disturbance.

  I lifted it off the rack and held it up, wiggling it in front of Penny so it caught the light and flashed in a million different ways.

  The little girl’s cries cut off and she slurped, blinked at the dress. “What that?” she asked.

  “It’s a dress, sweetie. It’s a very fancy dress,” I said.

  Penny held out her arms, her legs now hooked around my waist. “Want it. I want it.”

  “You do? You’d look very pretty in it, you know, but it’s a little big for you.”

  “I want it,” she repeated.

  “Say please,” I said.

  “Please,” she replied, obediently.

  “Here you go.” I brought it closer to her and she grabbed on to it, twisting the fabric beneath her fingertips. She was rough with it, but I didn’t bother telling her to be gentle. It was a ridiculous dress. Even on a night out, it’d been ridiculous. Funny, I hadn’t realized it before.

  “You shouldn’t let her play with that.” Nicki’s voice jolted me on the spot.

  I turned, still with the dress and Penny in tow, and stared at her.

  She stood just inside the closet, her arms folded across her breasts. “You’re going to spoil her if you keep letting her get away with stuff like this. She’s not supposed to—”

  “That’s enough,” I replied. “Look, Nicki, I appreciate you guys coming out here to visit us, but we’re doing great together. We’d like our privacy now. Penny’s got to sleep soon, and I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Doing what?” Nicki asked and flashed me a smile. “Are you seeing that guy again?” It wasn’t worded maliciously, but it brought back the prickles again.

  “No,” I replied. “He’s not here for me. He’s here for Penny, and I’m not seeing him again tomorrow.”

  “Good, because he’s not a good influence.”

  Fuck, what the hell was her problem? She had to stick her oar in the water constantly, and I was beyond the point of arguing with her. “We’ll walk you to the door,” I said, firmly.

  And we did exactly that. Nicki left the food on the coffee table but sniffed once she’d exited into the hall. She looked back at me. “I just want what’s best for both of you. I really do. We’re here to help.”

  “Thank you,” I said and forced a smile. “I’ll ask when I need it.” I shut the door on her soft smile, then breathed a sigh of relief.

  One obstacle out of the way. Now, there was just the rest of the evening to get through—without thinking about Beckett.

  Chapter 11

  Beckett

  I swirled the dram of whisky and raised the nosing glass, inhaled the peaty scent into my nostrils, and sucked it in as deep as I could, as if it would travel through to my brain and scour it of thoughts of Olivia.

  It didn’t help my assistant had chosen the Granite Room for me, today.

  Three days had passed since that piece of shit freeloader had barged into her apartment. She hadn’t called me, and I sure as hell hadn’t called her. No way. I wouldn’t fall into that trap again.

  I wouldn’t open up to her again. I’d already gone too far. She was my drug, and I hinged between hating her and… Don’t you dare, you pussy. You don’t have those types of emotions.

  “Mr. Price?” The guy sitting across from me could easily have graced the cover of Sports Illustrated, the football edition. He was broad-shouldered and carried himself as if he’d love to knock someone’s teeth out. I could relate to that on a base level.

  “Yeah,” I replied and sipped the whiskey. I savored it, then placed the glass on the table. Kayla would chew me out for this later. She had eyes and ears everywhere. Likely, the waiter was one of her spies and would call her the minute he had the chance.

  News of my drinking wouldn’t shock her. Just piss her off.

  Look at me, shaking in my designer shoes. I buried my mirth deep.

  “Mr. Price, you’ve been silent for the last five minutes. We haven’t discussed my investment interests yet.” He pronounced each word as if it’d taken him two years to think it up. Maybe it had.

  That big head could be empty for all I knew. And the word on the street was that this guy, Dane Holmes, had been chatting with my biggest rival, Cooper.

  I gritted my teeth and twirled the glass between my fingertips. “Let’s talk. What are you interested in?”

  “Naturally, I want the highest returns possible for my investments. I’m not interested in risks, at all. I’m interested in betting on the winning horse, so to speak. And I’m not entirely sure that your company knows which horses will win.”

  “Any investment contains risk. There are no sure wins in this game,” I replied. “It’s the reason we have risk assessors.” I flashed him a sharp smile.

  The guy didn’t like me. It oozed off him.

  Years in the game and I’d become accustomed to picking up the minutiae of human interaction. Body language, micro-expressions. Every time his eyes met mine, his lips tightened at the corners, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

  This meeting was a waste of my time and his.

  My assistant had organized it weeks ago. I’d missed the first one, and possibly, my opportunity to have him on board as an investor.

  This wasn’t an official meeting—it was a chat between potential associates. It was me wining and dining him like I wanted a piece of his ass. Except, his ass didn’t look that good up close.

  Dane leaned in and rapped his knuckles on the tablecloth. He glanced left and right, lowered his voice, and gave me a steely glare. “I’ll level with you, Mr. Price, I don’t think I like the way you do business. There have been some stories about you of late, ones I don’t think match your seemingly sterling portfolio.”

  The nerve of the fucker. “The way I do business isn’t a risk,” I replied, evenly. “You’re talking about my personal life, yes?”

  Dane’s focus flickered from me to the dram of whiskey, now empty.

  “I see,” I replied. “My assistant briefed you on our portfolio. On the companies in which we’ve invested, and those that have made profits.”

  “Yes,” he said and tore himself from the glass.

  Asshole. I tapped my finger on the silver fork to my left. “When did you speak to him?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Cooper. When did you speak to him?” I asked. That had to be it. He’d obviously had a meeting with the ass when I skipped out on the last one. To be around Olivia. No, it was for Penny. For Michael.

  “It’s none of your—”

  I rose from my seat and looked down on the investo
r, power barreling from me and silencing him, the tables around ours. Every eye in the restaurant trained on me. “I don’t like time wasters,” I said, softly, and the words carried. “Good afternoon.”

  His jaw dropped. “Wait—you can’t do that. I wasn’t—Perhaps, I spoke too soon. Mr. Price!” Dane’s words followed me as I wound my way between the tables, out and away. I reached the door and shoved it open, then trundled down the steps without acknowledging anyone around me.

  Cooper had moved fast. He’d scooped Dane up before I’d had the chance to woo the fucker, and he’d obviously filled the man’s head with bullshit stories. I growled under my breath and headed for my car—a black BMW parked down the street.

  Christ, I’d been stupid.

  I’d been distracted, guilty. I’d been obsessed, and not with work or partying for once.

  It was Olivia.

  It all came down to her.

  I could convince myself that it was just the guilt taking me back to her place over and over again, but that was a goddamn lie. She’d done it again. She’d crept into my soul the minute she’d appeared in the Granite Room with a bawling toddler, and I could not get her out.

  No amount of fantasies and jacking off in the bathroom would dislodge her.

  It came down to one fact and one fact alone.

  I hadn’t claimed her yet.

  I’d kissed her once and hoped that would do the trick, that I’d be sated and convince myself she was easy, that she meant nothing and I’d get over her, but it hadn’t worked.

  Thirty minutes later, I was parked in front of her apartment building, the setting sun casting orange rays on my windscreen. The glare couldn’t block out the blinding truth.

  If I wanted to get rid of this addiction to her—this weakness—I had two options. Leave her for good. Leave her in the past. Forget about her, and Penny, and the fact that Michael had been my best friend, that he’d been protective of his daughter and his sister.

  Or I could…what? Fuck her and leave her in the lurch? Claim her once and for all and dump her anyway?

  I couldn’t do that.

  Countless other women had received that treatment from me. They’d known the deal, of course, I’d made it clear, but they’d been one-night stands and nothing more.