12. Hunter
CHAPTER 12
hunter
I was craving a gyro from my favorite halal street vendor, who always set up his cart near the side street entrance to my building. I’d have Kenny, my driver, stop just inside the entrance to the garage so I could hop out, get my gyro, and eat it on the way up to my office. The main reason for eating it in the elevator is that I always stuffed a napkin into the neck of my shirt while I ate to protect my shirt and tie from any stray drips of tzatziki sauce. I looked like an idiot, so I liked to make sure no one saw me like that.
Vain, I know, but I find it unlikely that any employee who has seen their boss with a napkin stuffed into his shirt like some overweight good ol' boy at a plate of ribs will have trouble seeing that boss in the same respectful light.
I was fixating on the gyro craving because otherwise, I was going to go fucking nuts.
We'll be in touch.
Fuck.
The waiting was excruciating. I found that I did, in point of fact, care very much whether they accepted or not. It had nothing to do with the money—I'd make peanuts on the deal. So why did I care?
Gyro. Shaved lamb, tzatziki, onions. Simple and delicious. No drama. I'd hand Iannis a fifty and tell him to keep the change; the way his eyes lit up every time, even though I've been doing it for years, never ceases to hit me. He's always grateful. He never assumes, never expects. It's a very simple exchange we have. I ask him about his wife and daughters, and he tells me the latest drama—his wife is feuding with a cousin over something idiotic, and his eldest daughter is dating a real…something offensive in Greek, I’ve never quite figured out what he's saying or what it means…and his middle daughter wants to go to college in California and his youngest daughter is still young enough to think her daddy is cool and he's holding onto that phase for as long as it lasts. I just let him talk, and good god, the man can talk . He takes 10 minutes to make my gyro because he stops to talk every few seconds, but I don't mind. It's a little thing I do every day, and I enjoy it.
I can only think about gyros for so long. I doubt there's anywhere in town I can get one, and if there is, I doubt very much it'll be even half as good as Iannis's.
Which leaves me spinning out about…well, everything.
I skipped half of what I'd planned to say, as well as most of my slides. I didn't panic or forget, I just realized I had to pivot. Sebastian Badd is no one's fool and wasn't going to be swayed by fancy graphics or impressive projections. Nor would Delia.
I have no clue how it landed. Sebastian didn't seem to like me. Delia was a little all over the place, to be honest. Neither of them gave much away regarding their thoughts. Just…we'll be in touch.
It's been hours. No call from Delia.
God, Delia.
The idea of going back to New York alone leaves me feeling…honestly, panicky. I don't panic. I don't get nervous. I don't spin out or spiral. I decide and follow through. I do what has to be done. I win. I succeed. I get my way.
Except in this case, I might not. Delia may not feel for me how I feel about her. Which is…what? What do I feel?
I don't fucking know.
I mean, obviously I want to fuck her. Need to. But that's…for the first time in my adult life, that need, that desire is not paramount in my decision-making. Or even in my mind.
I crave her company. In the weeks I've been here, the time I've spent in her presence has been unparalleled. I enjoy talking to her. She makes me laugh. She teases me, and Givey is the only one who's ever done that. She doesn't take me seriously. She's not impressed or intimidated or scared. She's never asked me for anything.
Now, however, she knows who I am. Will anything change? I feel like it has to.
I groan, shooting up to my feet and pacing my living room.
If they accept my proposal, I'll have to come back to Alaska regularly to see things through. What if Delia doesn't return my feelings, whatever the fuck those feelings even are? What if it was just a bit of fun? Seeing her would be torture.
What if she does have feelings for me? How does that work?
My phone rang. "Givey, what's up?"
"I can feel you spiraling, brother."
I laughed. "You're spying on me, aren't you?"
"Yes, absolutely. I secretly flew there, snuck in, and planted a bunch of spy cameras in your…um…plants that I'm sure you have."
I cackled. "So many plants here, Givey. It's a regular fuckin' jungle. A real ficus-fest."
He laughed, I laughed—there was much levity.
"For real, though. You puss out on telling her how you feel?"
"No, asshole, I didn't puss out. I gave her and her dad my pitch this morning."
"And?" I heard him chewing, the bastard—he knew how much I hated listening to him eat while we were talking, yet he did it all the time.
"Could you quit fucking eating? So gross. Damn." I pulled the phone away from my ear when he smacked into the microphone. "You're such a dick, dude."
He laughed. "Alright, alright, I'm done. Sorry, some of us have jobs with limited windows for lunch. Unlike some people , who can afford to take a three-hour lunch."
"Oh, fuck you. I don't take three-hour lunches. I work. I usually eat at my desk while working."
"But you could .”
"Givey, with love, shut the fuck up. I’m in no mood."
"No?"
"No."
"Pitch didn't go well, then?" he asked.
“Hell, if I know! They didn't say. They told me they'd be in touch."
"Oof."
"Yeah."
"And Delia?"
"We talked last night and agreed we needed to figure out the work aspect first. She actually came here. Scared the actual shit right out of me."
"You had those headphones on, didn't you?" he asked.
"No. Maybe."
He laughed. "A plane could crash right in front of you and you wouldn't notice when you're in that zone, wearing those things."
"She let herself in through the basement."
"Bold. Was she naked?"
"No, Jonathan, she was not naked. She came to talk. And that's all that happened."
"You're a mess, aren't you?"
"God yes," I sighed. "I care what happens. What's happening to me?"
He cackled again. "Awww shit, it's over. The great Hunter Hawkins has developed feelings."
"Take that back, you monster." I scrubbed my face while groaning. "For real, though. Caring what happens is, like, hard."
Givey laughed. "Le shock. Welcome to the shitshow as enjoyed by the rest of us plebian assholes."
"Why are you so mean to me?" I said, laughing. "All jokes aside, I don't know what to do. Wait for her to call? Go find her? What if she doesn't share my feelings? What if she does? I live in New York, she lives in Alaska."
Givey sighed. "Hawk, are you really that obtuse?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You can do whatever you want, man. You can leave your business to run on its own for a while or indefinitely. To be quite honest with you, man, I’m not sure why you’re there in the first place. Like, you could buy Boeing and start a space company just for fun, but instead you’re…investing in a bar in Alaska no one’s ever heard of? Are you having a third-life crisis?"
I sighed. "I'm tired of explaining myself about this."
"You don't need to, Hawk. You forget, I know you. I've known you your whole fucking life." He paused for dramatic effect. "Hunter, you're bored . You've climbed every mountain, metaphorically speaking, and now you're looking for something to do. Why Alaska? That I can't answer."
"It sounded interesting."
"The point is, if this girl you're in love with pulls off the impossible and falls in love with your grumpy ass, you do whatever the fuck you want. Move to Alaska for a while. Fly back and forth on your private fucking jet . That's the easy part, brother."
"I'm not in love with her."
"Okay, buddy," he guffawed. "Lie to yourself if you want, but you can't lie to me."
I halted in my pacing. "I'm not in love with her. Am I?"
"Tell Dr. Givey about your feelings."
"Well, you're a twat, for starters."
"That’s not new. Tell me something I don't know."
"The thought of going back to New York alone makes my stomach hurt. The thought of dating any more vapid, clueless models and rail-thin influencers with the IQ of a gravy boat makes me nauseated. My big, empty condo, the empty houses all over the world…what does any of it mean? What is any of it for ? I bought all this shit…why? Because I have the money, and I gotta do something with it all, I guess? It's what you do when you're wealthy—you buy houses and cars and yachts. But aside from you, who do I have in my life? If my plane crashed on the way home, who would truly mourn? You. Harriet. My parents, for like five minutes. Everyone else would be looking to see how my fortune gets divvied up and how they can get a piece."
Givey was silent. "I didn't know you felt that way, Hunter."
"Neither did I, till recently."
"And what prompted this epiphany?" he asked.
"Delia."
"The woman single-handedly altered your outlook on your entire existence in less than a month, and you haven't had sex with her." Dramatic pause. "But you’re not in love with her.”
"Fuck. You're right."
"Of course I’m right. I'm always right. The question is, what are you gonna do about it?"
At that moment, my phone alerted me that I had an incoming call—an unknown number, Alaskan area code. “I’ve got another call coming in, Givey. I think it's her."
"Then why are you still talking to me, dipshit?" He hung up, then.
I answered the incoming call. "Delia?"
"How'd you know it's me?" she asked.
I laughed. "Only my parents, Harriet, Elara, and Givey have this number. Oh, and my driver, Kenny. And now you. And you’re the only one who has this number that's not saved in my phone, and you're calling from an Alaskan number. Not a difficult deduction."
"Oh. Well, open your front door. I'm here."
Like an idiot, I took the phone with me, still connected, to the front door. Sure enough, there she was, dressed in pale tight blue jeans and a plain white V-neck T-shirt. Her dark red hair was down and curled into loose spirals, and she'd put on bright red lipstick.
She took my breath away.
"Hi there, beautiful," I said. “Come on in."
"Actually, I was hoping we could go somewhere."
I shrugged. "Sure, where?"
"I dunno, anywhere. A date. Take me on a date."
I stepped into her space and cupped her face. "How's Paris sound?"
She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Yeah, okay. We'll just hop a flight to Paris for the day.”
I grinned. "Maybe a few days." I brushed her lips with mine. "Not sure if you know this or not, babe, but I'm Hunter Hawkins. I can take you anywhere you want to go."
Her eyes widened. "You're for real?"
"Try me. Anything you want, I’ll make happen, right now."
She blinked at me, frowning. "But Hawk, I don't care about your money. You don't need to impress me or buy me gifts."
"Need to? No. Want to? Yes." I swallowed hard. “ Are you here for you, or…?"
"You're dying to know if we decided something, aren't you?"
I snorted. "Absolutely. Being on this side of the wait is traumatizing."
She laughed. "Poor baby." Her gaze went serious. "We're gonna do it. I'm going to Anchorage. I just…I hope you're serious about this. Like, you'd better not get bored again in six months and leave us swinging."
"I see things through, Delia, always. Regardless of our personal connection, I'd never leave you swinging. When I commit, I commit completely."
"Are you talking professionally, personally, or both?" she asked.
"Both," I said.
She looked up at me, blue eyes searching my face. "Hawk…" she shook her head. "Or should I call you Hunter?"
"Either. Givey calls me Hawk most of the time and Hunter when he's serious about something."
"Where does this leave us?" she asked.
"You tell me."
She pulled out of my arms and pushed past me into the house; I closed the door and followed her through the foyer and into the living room. She sat on the couch, tossed her purse aside, and let out a long, shaky breath. "I don't know, Hunter." She rested her elbows on her knees and her face on her hands, exhaling shakily again. "I don't know. I thought I'd feel more…sure about things once I knew who you were and we were past your whole sales pitch bullshit. But…" she trailed off, shaking her head.
I sat down on the coffee table opposite her and took her hands in mine. "But what, Delia? Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me what you're feeling. Please."
"A million fucking things!" she shouted. "Everything! I'm confused and pissed off that I didn't know who the fuck you were to begin with. I feel like an idiot for prancing around like a fool, messing around with one of the wealthiest and most famous people on the planet, and I had no fucking clue."
"I'm not one of the wealthiest or most famous people, Delia. I'm not even in the top ten wealthiest and not anywhere on any list of most famous. Most people couldn't tell you what I do or why I'm famous other than for having a lot of money and dating a certain type of woman."
"And I'm not that type of woman, Hunter!" She yanked her hands away and shot to her feet, pacing away, raking her hands through her hair. "I'm not skinny. I'm not rich. I'm not famous. I'm not an actress or a model or an influencer or a pop star. I'll never be any of those things. I don't want to be. I like who I am, and I like my life. I'm happy in Ketchikan. I'm happy tending the bar. My ambitions stop at taking over the company whenever Dad is ready to retire fully, which probably won’t be for a while yet."
I stayed where I was and let her rant.
She stopped and looked at me. "And you…you live in Manhattan. You own entire fucking buildings. You're just getting started, Hunter. As much as you've done already, it's obviously just the beginning. And I…I don't fit into that. I'll never fit into that."
I went over to her. Grabbed her wrists and tugged her against my chest, body flush to body. Her eyes flew wide, wet with emotion. "You done?"
She blinked at me, puzzled. "Wha…? Am I…am I done ?”
"Yes," I repeated patiently. "Are you done?"
"With what?"
"Ranting."
“I’m not ranting, Hunter . I'm communicating . You should try it sometime."
“Oh, I think you'll find I'm an expert communicator, Delia. Just…not always with words."
She swallowed hard, wide blue eyes shimmering and deep and uncertain. "Then please, elucidate."
"I thought you'd never ask."
I grasped her wrists in one hand, slid my other to the back of her head, and leaned down to capture her mouth with mine. I ravaged her mouth, giving way to the full force of my need for her, letting my lips and tongue do the talking. I swept my tongue across her lips, and she parted them for me, accepted my tongue and danced hers against mine.
I felt her knees buckle. "I've grown tired of those types of women, Delia," I whispered.
I backed her up against the sliding glass door, which rattled as she caught up against it. I shoved her hands up over her head, pinning them against the cold glass. She gasped, eyes blazing with arousal while still laced with trepidation.
"Ask me why," I murmured.
"Why? Why are you tired of those types of women, Hunter?" She struggled against my hold, trying to free her hands.
I gripped hard enough that it was clear she'd never escape my grip unless I allowed it, but not hard enough to hurt. "They're boring," I said. "They have no wit, no class, no charm. The conversation is…beige at best. Flat. Lifeless."
"Conversation can't be a color," she whispered.
"Sure it can. I said so, so therefore it is." I touched her kiss-swollen lips with my thumb. "Kissing them is like kissing a dead fish. They've got no passion. To them, I'm nothing more than a gift dispenser with a nice dick. It's transactional. I give them diamonds and cars and trips to Geneva and weekends in the Aegean on my yacht, and they pretend to enjoy my company."
"Sounds awful," she said. "So why keep doing it?"
"An excellent question." I ran my hand down her side to her hip. "You know why else I’m tired of them, Delia?"
"No, Hunter. I do not. Why else?"
I pressed my hips against hers. "They're all the same. Same faces. Same botoxed forehead and same lip fillers, same hard little A-cup tits, same narrow hips and taut little asses. Same washboard abs from eating nothing but kale and birdseed."
"What's wrong with that?" she asked, her voice a delicate breath I could barely hear.
"Nothing, in and of itself. It just turns out that I'm attracted to a somewhat different body type."
"What type would that be?"
"Sexy redheads with foul mouths, a penchant for brutal sarcasm, an ass that doesn't quit, and tits for fucking days."
"Weird," she murmured, a tiny smile curving at the corners of her mouth. "That kinda sounds like me."
"It does sound like you, doesn't it? We had better be sure, though, shouldn't we?"
"Probably a good idea."
I pinched a spiral of hair between my finger and thumb. “Red hair, check. Sexy as hell, check. Foul mouth, check."
"Just checking things off your little list left and right, are you?" she snarked. "Reducing me to a checklist. How very efficient of you, asshole."
I grinned, nipping at her lower lip. "Brutal sarcasm, check." I kissed the corner of her mouth and then her throat. "Two items left to check off."
"I have a question before we move on to those last two items," she said.
"What's that?"
"Does this checklist have a title?" She struggled against my grip on her wrists, breathing heavily, eyes flashing with amusement and arousal. "Because all good checklists have a pithy title."
"It does have a title," I said. "Would you like to know what it is?"
"I think I'd better."
"It's tentatively titled ‘My Dream Girl.' Although, I've been toying with 'The Perfect Woman' as an alternative."
"I feel like those are a little vague."
"I'm open to suggestions."
"You could call it ‘Reasons I'm Wildly Attracted To Delia Dru Badd In Particular.'"
"That's somewhat on the nose, but accurate." I slid my hand over her hip and then cupped her buttock. "The last two items on the list require somewhat…deeper…investigation and research, I'm afraid."
She rubbed against me, panting softly. "Is that so? What manner of investigation do you propose, Mr. Hawkins? The committee must vote before any action is decided upon.”
"Well, we at the Hawkins Group Corporation take R-and-D very seriously, Miss Badd. We research very thoroughly before taking any product to market. In this particular case, the subject of our research has, unfortunately, been obscured by several intervening layers of textile obfuscation, preventing an in-depth analysis."
"Is that so? What is your proposal in this case, Mr. Hawkins? As the subject, we are very invested in ascertaining whether we meet the standards herewith established."
I tried to hold back my laugh, resulting in a coughing splutter. "Herewith?"
"Shut up and go with it. I skipped corporatese class in high school.”
"Very well then, Miss Badd. As head of R-and-D for this project, I have decided that the most efficient method of investigation is to remove the obscuring textile layers which have, up until now, prevented our research from commencing in a timely manner."
"I see, I see. Well, speaking in my official role as the Chairwoman of the Orgasm Acquisition Department, I hereby order you to commence your research." She lifted on her toes and nipped my lower lip in her teeth, tugged my lip away, sucked it into her mouth, and then slanted her mouth against mine, thrusting her tongue past my teeth. "Posthaste, if you please."
I grinned, wolfish and hungry. "Yes ma'am. Commencing."