14. Byron
14
BYRON
T hat was a lot. The whole scenario in our shared kitchen.
It left me feeling like a fraud because telling Meg I wished I could erase this day was a lie.
A big fat monstrous lie.
There was to be no erasing anything. Certain moments from today played in my mind over and over, and I knew they would become terrific fodder for my moments of quiet reflection later on.
Three times today, I had my hand unwittingly on Meg, and three times I could feel her react to my touch. Not that she was writhing underneath my fingers like a sex siren, but rather her breath catching in almost unnoticeable little gasps.
And those chocolate brown eyes momentarily displaying everything but hate as we locked stares.
Ask me about the tiny field of goosebumps blossoming on her leg when I cleaned her toes. Perhaps it was a reaction to the cold, damp rag. Or perhaps it was me gently holding her foot in my hand, the tip of my fingers touching that delicate skin over her Achille’s heel.
And, of course, I heard her whimper. My whole body heard it. Loud and clear.
It had my imagination running in all kinds of dangerous directions.
For instance, how would she react to, say, me kissing that sensitive little spot just below her ear, or the soft skin behind her knees, and the delicate skin on the inside of her arm.
Or let’s say my fingers ran feather-light from her throat down to her stomach over skin I imagined was plush, warm, and quivering under my touch.
I had to keep reminding myself that this was all happening a little fast, and with a complete stranger on the first day we met.
Damnit. Why couldn’t she be less alluring, less of a smart mouth, less of everything that is Meg Belfiore?
It was already quite clear I was in trouble here, that my defenses fell in her presence, and that as far as she was concerned, my good-man aspirations were dangling from a high cliff over a stormy sea.
Even if I was to consider pursuing her romantically, I had nothing to offer her.
This was not a woman who cared about status. Whether I was a prince or a pauper, she was going to assess me by her raw instinct and judge me by my previous actions, which, let’s face it, had been less than stellar.
So, even if she wasn’t as taken by me as I was by her, there would be no piece of jewelry expensive enough to buy her favor, and that made her all the more irresistible.
While enjoying my chocolate cake, I contemplated my fate, which brought me right back to my previous aim, which was to ask Dr. Libby Philips what to do with my new feelings.
I was past pretending that this thing, whatever it was I had for Meg, was going to dissipate into thin air, and the sooner I had my shrink tell me it would blow over in a few days, the better.
Earlier, when I called Libby’s office for an urgent appointment, her assistant was surprised to hear from me, but kept her cool nonetheless.
“Dr. Philips won’t be able to see you today…or tomorrow…or basically ever again,” she said curtly.
Talk about burning bridges in my wake, I practically blazed my way through a few.
Although this was one bridge, I preferred to remain intact. My only option was to call Libby’s private number, which I had been given after the first lavish orgasm I gave her on the grand couch in her office.
She didn’t answer, and I left a message, not expecting a callback, but lo and behold, two hours later she did call, her tone hovering around freezing point.
In the thirty seconds we spoke, I was able to convince her this was a personal matter and that I desperately needed her help.
She agreed to see me at 8 o’clock in her office and then coolly asked if it was still the Belmont Trust that she should bill for sessions dealing with “acute mental crisis”.
Good grief, not to ever mess with a shrink’s affectionate feelings. My bad. Every second that passed, I hated Old Byron more.
“No, this would be my bill,” I said quickly. “And thank you for seeing me on such short—”
Libby hung up before I could finish my sentence. Convincing her that I had truly changed would require all the sincerity I could muster.
“Byron,” Nelson said, ripping me away from my musings.
I scraped the last few crumbs of chocolate cake into my mouth. “Oh, Nelson, I didn’t hear you come in. What can I do for you?”
He marched straight up to my desk, looking irritated. “What is this nonsense about a ghost? Sophia refuses to collect the dirty dishes because someone told her there’s a ghost roaming on the second floor in the south wing. We are terribly short-staffed as it is.”
My confusion mounted. “Ghost? You got me. No idea what you’re talking about. I spoke three words with her, and the word ghost wasn’t one of them.”
“Well, something was said. The girl is in a frenzy and ready to pack her bags.”
A light bulb flickered to life, and I dialed Meg’s number and put the call on speakerphone.
She answered a little quickly, I thought, as if a call from me wouldn’t be the most unpleasant experience for her.
“Didn’t we just decide to stay cool and keep it professional ?” she answered in a sassy pitch. “It’s been what, thirty minutes? Don’t you have work to do?”
My insides swirled at her cheeky tone. I almost forgot what I was calling about. Nelson cleared his throat, and I could swear he was rolling his eyes.
“Nelson is here,” I said hastily. “He was wondering why Sophia thinks there’s a ghost in the south wing. Did you say something to her?”
“Oh, for the love of sweet baby Moses in his tiny hay basket, are you kidding me?” Meg hissed.
I shrugged at Nelson. “Well, that’s a yes.”
Meg went on. “When you banged the espresso machine to the ground in the kitchen, it scared the hell out of me and Sophia. And I might have mentioned something jokingly to her about a ghost. Who knew she’d take it seriously? Geez, for an Italian, she’s extremely sensitive. Hi Nelson.”
Nelson let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, I’ll explain to Sophia that it was in jest. But what is this about the espresso machine now?”
Which put me promptly in the hot seat.
But before I could explain, Meg beat me to the punch.
“Oh Nelson, go to our kitchen right now. You won’t believe that mess. Goodbye espresso machine,” she snitched gleefully, and then dramatically added in the whiniest of little voices. “Does this mean I have to bring my own coffee to work now?”
“Wow, that's some superior deflection there, Miss Belfiore,” I defended myself. “But I guess anything not to talk about scaring the staff with silly stories of ghosts. Besides, I already have the espresso machine handled, thank you very much.”
She snapped back. “Handled…you make it sound like your laser-engraved black Amex card made of anodized titanium had nothing to do with it.”
“See, now I’ve learned something. I didn’t even know that the black Amex card was made of anodized titanium. In any event, you have your cozy family, I have my black card. Maybe we should talk about switching places sometime.”
“Oh, you’re so not ready for my family.”
“Pity, because the black card is a real treat.”
A muffled “ Lord help me ” came from Nelson’s direction, and I grinned apologetically.
“Well, now that we know who’s scaring Sophia, enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Miss Belfiore.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Belmont. And don’t call me again unless it’s super important. I have a massive amount of work to do. Thank your brother for that.”
“I could ask him to ease up on you,” I suggested.
Was that an uncouth little snort I heard? Yes, it was.
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “I know what I signed up for, and I’m so here for it. But thank you anyway.”
I reluctantly ended the call and met Nelson’s impatient gaze. “So, there you have it, Nelson. It was just a joke.”
It should have been the end of the discussion, but Nelson lingered. “You two seem to be getting along well,” he ventured, and I couldn’t figure out if it was an observation or a warning.
Of course, I was defensive, not wanting to come off as the playboy jerk. “Like I said, she’s a great person…and it’s just…refreshing to talk to someone witty and smart.”
Nelson chewed on my explanation, his expression giving nothing away. “And as I told you before, be careful. Also, you mentioned having “handled” the espresso machine quandary. Anything I need to know?”
I laughed. “What I meant was that I will have it handled. So, if you could please do the necessary. The best Italian espresso machine there is, my bill. And I’m sorry about the mess.”
Nelson quickly gathered the empty plates into one spot. “That’s fine, I will have it dealt with. In return, I would appreciate it if you could do me a favor...Roman is not doing well. Perhaps talk to him. At least get him to eat.”
“What do you care,” I said. “I thought you were mad at him.”
“Being angry at someone doesn’t constitute a death wish…the fewer Belmont family members there are in need of medical care, the better. I’ll send someone to remove the dishes here.”
With that, he left. You’d think after my delicious lunch, nothing but a power nap would be in the forecast, but wonder above wonder, I couldn’t wait to dive back into the business at hand.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as I immersed myself in work, quickly adapting to the demands of managing an empire of this scale. Now more than ever, I wanted my father to get better and finally see what I was capable of.
There were a few strange moments when I caught myself glancing at my phone, looking for a valid excuse to text Meg. But each time, I came up short—nothing that wouldn’t make me sound like a fool.
So, I pushed the thought away and forced myself to focus on work.