9. Delia
CHAPTER 9
delia
M onday, just past noon. Dad and I were huddled together in the family booth at Badd's, going over the latest numbers.
Dad had his readers on, which cracked me up to no end; I just didn't dare laugh at him out loud—he was sensitive about needing reading glasses. He scanned the P to the right was a short hallway with three doorways, all closed—bedrooms; to the left, the owner's suite, a pair of French doors cracked slightly ajar. Light spilled through.
Taking a fortifying breath, heart pounding, hoping like hell I wasn't about to walk in on something I'd regret seeing, I nudged the door open and stepped in.
Hawk was on a huge Alaskan King bed in a nest of pillows, dressed in thin, light gray sweatpants and nothing else, noise cancelling headphones on, laptop on his lap, and stacks of papers and legal pads filled with scrawled notes surrounding him. He had a pair of glasses on—blue-blockers, if I had to guess. And fuck me, the glasses gave him a nerdy-sexy look that had my pussy sitting up and taking very intent notice.
Gripping my purse strap in one hand and the bottle of scotch in the other, I stood in the doorway just watching for a minute.
His focus was absolute. I couldn't see his screen, so I had no way of knowing what he was doing, but whatever it was, it took up every bit of his attention. He had a pen pinched between his rolled-in lips, and he flipped between glances at his pages of notes, the stacks of papers that he would sort through, and his screen, occasionally typing obscenely fast or using the tracking pad to swipe, pinch, or tap.
Not wanting to startle him and get punched by accident, I fished an old protein bar out of the bottom of my purse and lobbed it underhanded at him.
Most unfortunately, my aim was a little too good because it landed directly on his junk, causing him to toss his laptop aside, double over, and groan in agony.
"Oh, fuck! Hawk!" I said, hurrying over. "I'm sorry!"
He pawed his headphones off. "What…the…. fuck ?" He rasped, peering at me in agonized confusion. "Delia?"
I perched on the edge of the bed beside him and pulled his head onto my lap. "Hawk, god, I'm so sorry—that was an accident. You were so focused that I wanted to get your attention from a distance. Are you okay?"
"What? How?" He groaned again, cupping himself. "Jesus fucking Christ. That hurt like a motherfucker."
"I'm so, so sorry, Hawk. I'm sorry."
He rested his head on my lap, groaning, for a minute. Eventually, he let out a harsh breath. "Fuck, that hurt." He levered himself upright. "Delia, what the hell? How did you get in here? What are you doing here?"
"To answer your second question first, I needed to talk to you. I rang the bell like five times and waited like five minutes, but you didn't answer. I knew you were home because I could see the light on and your truck is in the garage, so…I, um, went around back and came in through the basement." His hair was damp and messy, and he smelled freshly showered.
"And your first thought was, 'lemme throw a protein bar at his dick?'" He wiggled further upright, whimpering pathetically as he cupped himself.
"God, no, I just…It was supposed to hit your chest or something, not… there. It was an accident, and I'm so, so sorry." I covered my face with both hands. "I feel awful, Hawk."
He groaned a laugh. "I'll be fine. Probably. Eventually." He grabbed the offending protein bar and ripped it open.
"I wouldn't eat that," I said. "I don't know how old—"
He took a bite, stopped before his teeth had made much of an imprint, and then pulled it out of his mouth. "Holy shit that's stale."
I winced. "It's probably been at the bottom of this purse for…god, I don't even know. The store where I got it doesn't even stock those anymore."
He pulled the wrapper up around the half-bitten end and set it aside. "So you didn't just throw a protein bar at my junk, you threw a stale, rock-hard protein bar at my junk. I know things are weird between us, Delia, but that seems a little harsh." He scooted over on the bed to make room for me. "So. What brings you, uninvited, into my bedroom at…shit, it's after nine already?"
"You were very focused."
"Most people would take the fact that the lights were off and I didn’t answer the door as a sign to come back another day," he said, with a wry arch to his eyebrow.
"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "I'm not most people."
"That much is evident." He gathered his papers and notebooks. "So. It's after nine on a Thursday and you broke into my house and threw a stale, rock-hard protein bar at my dick…why?"
"I didn't break in," I said, my tone arch and prim. "The door was unlocked. I let myself in. There's a difference."
He lay back against his headboard. "Delia."
His laptop was still open, and I blatantly stole a look at the screen. He had several things going on at once—a spreadsheet, several different graphs and charts, and a long document with changes marked in red.
"Hoping for clues as to my identity?" he said, eyes closed.
"Yup," I answered. "I'm a shameless snoop. Don't leave me alone around anything you're sensitive about."
"Why are you avoiding the question? Why are you here? Not that I'm unhappy about you being here—the opposite, in fact, dick injury aside. But this is a new development—you seeking me out."
I sighed. “We need to talk."
"Nothing good ever comes from those four words," he muttered. "Do I need to get dressed for this?"
"No," I answered, mainly because Hawk, in nothing but gray sweatpants and glasses, was a turn-on like nothing else. "It's not bad. I just…I don't know where to start."
"Just rip off the Band-Aid, babe."
"Babe," I muttered. "What is it with men calling me babe?"
"Not a fan?"
"I dunno. My dad called me babe earlier this week, and he was like, It's not weird, I call everyone babe, which is true. My mom, my adopted sister slash best friend Sunni, my aunts, everyone is babe."
Hawk shrugged. "I get that. Babe is not the same as baby. Babe is generic." He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. "You're changing the subject."
"Fine!" I snapped. "Fine. My dad wants a meeting."
Silence.
"Your dad wants a meeting as your father, like hey buddy what are you doing with my daughter? Or your father, CEO of Badd's Bar Enterprises, would like a formal meeting with me to discuss my proposal?"
"You have a proposal?" I asked.
He bobbed his head to one side. "I wouldn't classify it as a full-on pitch, like something I'd bring to a Fifth Avenue boardroom full of execs. But I do have a proposal that I'd feel comfortable bringing to your father on a quasi-formal basis."
"And to me," I said. "Because I'm VP of Badd's Bar Enterprises."
He regarded me for a long moment. "Delia Badd, VP of Badd's Bar Enterprises at twenty-two years old. Impressive."
I rolled my eyes. "No nepotism here."
"No, there's not," he said, the statement void of humor. "It's a family business. You're his oldest child and next in line to inherit the reins."
"I guess that's true."
“People tend to get their panties in a twist over nepotism, and I've never gotten it,” He said. “I mean, when you're talking about some CEO forcing his useless shit of a kid into a role he's clearly unqualified for, yeah, that's a problem. But a parent using their resources and connections to give their kid a leg up in whatever industry, I don't see the issue. If I ever have kids and they show interest in the business, you bet your ass I'm gonna give 'em a headstart. I'm not gonna put them right into the corner office, but I'm gonna help them get started."
"Is that how you got started?" I asked.
He tipped his head side to side. "More or less. My father gave me five hundred thousand dollars the day I graduated high school. I had—have—a trust fund set up by my grandparents, but I've never touched that. I started investing and saving the money my parents gave me for living expenses when I was in junior high, with my granddad’s advice and assistance. I started my first company when I was a junior in high school. By the time I graduated, I had plans for the business I wanted to start—Dad’s seed capital was enough to get me started. I grew it all on my own from there. So, a half million dollars isn’t nothing, I recognize that. But I didn’t use any of my family’s connections, and my business is totally separate from what my father and grandfather did and still do. They're proud of me, for sure, but also a little annoyed that I didn't take the reins of what they assumed would be a family company."
"I see," I said. "So, when your father and grandfather die and or retire, that's the end for that business?"
He shrugged. “Not necessarily. I've been toying with the idea of buying them out and folding them into my portfolio."
"So you're successful enough that you can buy out your family?" I asked.
He nodded. "Oh yes." He sat forward, raking his hands through his messy, damp hair. "So. The meeting? When and where?"
I shrugged. "Whenever works for you. Dad and I are flexible. Before the bars open would be best. We could do it at Badd's."
He nodded again. "Works for me. Tomorrow?"
"Sure. I'll let him know. Let's say ten tomorrow morning at Badd's? The original location."
"Ten tomorrow. I'll be there." He picked at his thumbnail, not looking at me. "Delia, about you and me—"
"Nope." I slid off his bed. "I'm not here for that. I don't have a number for you, which is why I showed up like this. Otherwise, I would have just called or texted."
"I haven't been avoiding you, I've just been—"
"Hawk, no. Stop. For one, yes you were. And I get it. You're working. And work, in this case, is my family's livelihood. And listen, we're giving you a chance to be heard, but don't expect a warm or eager reception. My dad has run Badd's Bar for over twenty years—he and my family grew it from one little local dive bar into what it is today, and we're damned proud of that. I said it before and I'll say it again—we're not for sale. We don't want or need a corporate partner or sponsor."
"Delia, I understand and respect all that—truly, I do. And all I'm asking for is what you're offering—a chance to be heard, and I'm grateful for the chance."
"As for you and me," I started.
It was his turn to interrupt. "Delia, I…I think it's best if we put all that aside until after tomorrow."
"Me too," I said. "That's what I was going to say."
"I know." he looked at me. "That's not what I want, though."
I stared at him. "This is me not asking what you want, Hawk."
"I want to forget all about the business. I want to throw you onto this bed and devour you until you don't know your own name." He slid off the bed in a lithe, predatory movement and stalked toward me. "I want to know what you feel like wrapped around my cock. I want to lock that bedroom door and not come out for a week."
My knees shook. I locked them and swallowed hard, looking for the fire that usually sees me through every scenario. In its place, I only found pathetic, trembly, needy desire. My breath was caught in my throat, and my hands shook. "Hawk," I whispered. "We're not doing any of that."
"No?"
"No."
He reached for me, but his hand stopped short—I didn't miss the minute tremble. "What was it you said? We'd fuck like gods."
"I know," I whispered. "But we can't. I can’t—I won’t .”
"You won't?" he echoed, making it a question.
"I won't. Not with you. Not until you've told me the truth." I threaded my fingers into his, palm to palm. "It's hard for me to set that boundary, Hawk. It's not what I want. I want everything you said. I want it all, and I want it now, and I don’t want to ever stop. That’s how I am around you. It’s nuts.” I turned away, shaking my head—it was too hard to look at him; my desire was too strong. If I looked at him, I’d break. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Which scares me. But it’s because of how much I want you that I'm not going to let myself go there with you. I can't. For myself."
"I get that," he said.
"I don't know if you do or not, and that's part of the problem." I turned to face him but held my hands out. "Just…stay over there, please. Fucking gray sweatpants." I rubbed my face. "I don't have the best track record when it comes to relationships, Hawk. I'm not good at them. I always pick the worst guys. Sunni says I do it on purpose, but that's a topic for another day. I just…I really do like you. But I don't know who you are, and things are messy and complicated, and you're…not lying exactly, but holding things back from me. And I can’t start something with you under those circumstances. And…and once upon a time, very, very recently, I would have been okay just fucking you for fun. But it’s not that between us. It’s not just fun, Hawk. You know it, and I know it. So…yeah. When business is settled, however that looks, and you decide you want to fill me in, we can talk. Until then, I need to hold onto this boundary."
Hawk stood with his hands at his sides, regarding me with an unreadable look on his face. "I respect that position a whole hell of a lot, Delia. And much as I hate to, I have to agree with you. Because I feel the same way."
“You…you do?" I asked.
"Absolutely. I'd wager my track record with relationships, if you can call what I've engaged in to be relationships at all, is probably far worse than yours. I'd come to the same conclusion, and that's what I was going to say."
"Then…what was all that about the things you want?"
He shrugged. "The truth. That is what I want. But for once in my life, I'm trying to listen to what's right and what's best, long-term, not just what I want in the moment."
We locked eyes for a long time, unspeaking, unmoving.
"If you don't leave right now, Delia," he said, taking a step forward toward me, "I can't be held responsible for what I do to you."
My entire being yearned to throw itself at him. Rip his clothes off and do unspeakably sinful things to him. Let him tie me to his bed and have his wicked way with me. Ride his rugged, handsome, beautiful face like a rodeo bronc. Suck him. Fuck him. Hold him. Lick him, kiss him, touch him, snuggle him…
Claim him.
Instead, I fled.
I didn't so much as look back, either.
I left through the front door this time.