Chapter Fifteen
Noah
“Not that I have anything against spending a Saturday evening with you, but why are we here?” Huxley sips his merlot, his cool, wary eyes scanning the high-end restaurant that smells of well-grilled beef and freshly baked crack—I mean, bread.
“I just feel like having steak with my favorite brother.” Actually, I brought him here so he can just happen to see his grandmother dining with Andreas Webber. I couldn’t come up with a smooth way to let him know his family is trying to fuck him over. I don’t want to tip him off that I’m keeping an eye on him and our other brothers, but I can’t in good conscience let him get ambushed. Especially by a bunch of conniving lawyers.
Plus, I might be able to pick his brain a little. Hux could convince an Arab to pay for sand. He must know a few good ways to lay siege—successfully—to a woman’s heart. Or, in this case, at least convince her I’m not the shithead she thinks I am.
Bobbi apparently hates white calla lilies now. I sent a bouquet every day of the week and she tossed each one into the trash, as witnessed by the delivery guy. Delivery confirmation with a note the last day: I think she has a pollen allergy. Her face turns red so fast.
What she has is a Noah allergy, which I plan to take care of before she proposes to some loser in a misguided attempt to “manifest a husband.” Thankfully, she doesn’t have anybody she can pop the question to at the moment. The only decent person with a penis in her life right now is her employee Victor, but he doesn’t fit the bill—too young and not her type.
And now that I’ve wrapped up an intelligence report Mom said she needed last year—I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain—I have plenty of free time to devote to Bobbi.
“I mean, why are we here?” Huxley gestures around.
“Here? At this restaurant?” Damn it. If he won’t let me get away with a bullshit excuse, I might have to abort my plan to alert him to his family’s incipient betrayal. “Because it has the best bread…?”
“It does, but I feel like we’re being disloyal to Grant and Aspen.”
I hear you, brother. “Well, they don’t need to know,” I grumble, then try to ignore the weird prickling sensation I’ve had since we entered the steakhouse. It’s probably guilt telling me I’m going to go to hell for giving money to this establishment.
My brothers and I used to come here regularly for our dinners because it has fabulous steaks and excellent bread—not as good as Bobbi’s, of course, but still amazing. But then the hostess disrespected Aspen and her grandfather one time and we quit coming. There are plenty of great steakhouses in the city. We don’t have to give our business to an establishment that mistreated one of the Lasker wives.
But Catalina Huxley and Andreas Webber don’t know about the incident, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. So they’re meeting here and I had no choice but to bring Hux.
But I’m not drinking anything other than the free water and have selected the cheapest cut of steak, no sides. I’ll just devour the complimentary bread instead, even though Huxley is drinking merlot and ordered surf-and-turf with his favorite lobster mac and cheese and grilled asparagus. He doesn’t believe in denying himself.
“Are we talking here because Bobbi’s cut you off?” He slices into his steak while eyeing my plate. He knows something’s up just from how little I’ve ordered.
“No, no, no. I wouldn’t backstab Grant and Aspen over mere carbs.” I stuff my mouth with a big chunk of bread laden with butter, which is fantastic—creamy with extra salt.
Huxley cocks an eyebrow. “Something more serious?” He frowns. “Are you having issues with women showing up everywhere and throwing themselves at you?”
“What? No,” I say with a small shudder. “Wait… Is Joey still sending you hookers?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously? I thought he gave up after that first try and Griffin almost murdered him.” Then again, Huxley isn’t the one Joey really fears. When Griffin kicks you, you wish you were dead. But Hux? It’s going to hurt, but you’ll live.
From the way Huxley’s face scrunches, the thought has occurred to him as well. “Motherfucker, I’m going to show him who he’s messing with.” His knuckles whiten.
“Actually, I don’t think he’s doing it out of disrespect. He isn’t scared of me, either.” Nobody’s scared of me. That’s the persona I picked for myself.
“Yeah, but you aren’t having hooker issues. Are you?” Huxley’s intense gaze says I better be honest. Man, he’d make a fantastic litigator. No wonder his family won’t leave him alone.
“Nope. Maybe Joey doesn’t think my DNA is worthy.” I grin smugly. He acted all happy at Gion Shiyaki, but he only introduced me to Bobbi because I was right there. He would’ve done the same if Huxley had crashed the “date.” A shitty thing for Joey to do, of course, but at least I stepped up and got her away from the human tangerine.
Huxley snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. If I”m getting them, you’re getting them.”
“But I’m not. Scout’s honor. So…” A light shrug. “Pretty sure dad doesn’t really want a grandkid from me. He needs a baby he can shove into Josh Singer’s face.” And I’ve done a great job of pretending to be not too bright, not too focused and not very talented in anything in particular except wildlife photography. Thankfully, Dad isn’t interested in having a grandchild who’s a photography prodigy. He wants a baby capable of singing like an angel or dancing like a prima ballerina—ideally both.
Huxley drinks more wine, then sniffs. Based on his expression, he’s plotting some sort of gruesome murder. Joey better watch it because Huxley knows all the legal angles. If anyone can get away with homicide… “If you say so. Anyway, if this dinner isn’t about the crazy women, what is it about?”
“I’m thinking about a career change.” Not true, but I need a plausible reason for this meeting other than trying to save Hux’s ass.
“Cheetahs no longer excite you?” He reacts like I just told him I get off on sticking my dick into a live socket. Understandable since I’ve spent most of my adult life acting like wildlife photography is one of the greatest joys of my life, up there with carbs.
If only he knew that “cheetahs” is actually what I call my rifles and guns. They’re as sleek, fast and fatal as the gorgeous cats. The moniker fits.
“No, they’re still good. But I’m getting a little…restless.” I take a bite of the beef and sigh. Would’ve been better with some creamed spinach, but loyalty comes first.
“I thought you’d die shooting your precious beasts.”
The comment reminds me of what Bobbi said. Marry the one you love the most. The one you probably moan about in your sleep. Your precious cheetahs. Totally unfair, of course. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was never that weird about my love of cheetahs.”
He snorts. “Ridiculous?” His eyes defocus a bit as he looks up at the ceiling. “‘Cheetahs don’t have retractable claws. Unlike other big cats, cheetahs can’t roar. Cheetahs have those black tear-stripes on their faces to help prevent sun glare.’ You know how I know all that? You.”
“Well, yeah, okay. But—”
“Weird, fetishistic cheetah-love.”
“I don’t really—”
He waves a dismissive hand in my face. “Stow it. My only advice is, if you want to be successful in your next career, don’t be a novelist.”
“Hey. You can’t rush art.”
“You can if art puts food on your table. Did you know Bach composed a mass a week?”
“Should’ve invested his money in venture capital or private equity.”
“He lived three hundred years ago.” Huxley points it out in that half-condescending, half-superior way he has. He always prides himself on being intelligent and well-versed in culture and history. Unfortunately, he’s oblivious to the giant stick protruding from his ass.
“Well, I live in today’s world and am well invested, as you know. So food will be on my table whether my book gets written or not.” I pull out my phone and tap the screen to check up on Catalina and Andreas. Ten minutes away. “Actually, I’m thinking about going into advertising.”
Huxley’s fork stops in the air, butter dripping from the lobster tail. “What?”
“It’s a stable career. I’ll be great at it.”
“No. You’ll be terrible at it. You’ll never make any money.”
“I’m not asking you to pay me. Just show me the ropes. I can begin as an unpaid intern.”
He blanches. “Hell no. Get an unpaid internship with Emmett or Grant.”
“Why are you so against me working in advertising? It’s a great place to learn how to appeal to different people’s tastes and desires. Plus, I’m a great photographer.”
He puts his fork down and looks me in the eye. “Noah. You’re too independent. You can’t follow directions and you do whatever you want. If I told you we were launching an engagement ring campaign, you’d bring me a photo of Marilyn Monroe with a blown-up diamond ring on her head like a crown.”
I consider for a moment. “Nah. I’d hang it around her neck on a kind of choker, making sure the rock rested between her boobs.”
“You’re making my point for me. Look, if you’re finally tired of cheetahs, why don’t you just get married and give Dad the baby he wants? Or just bang one of Joey’s bimbos and get her pregnant? That way Dad’ll quit bugging the rest of us. It’s too late for this year’s birthday party, but next year…”
“Ugh. What did my not-yet-created baby do to deserve that fate?”
Hux shrugs, then downs his wine, hiding his face with the glass.
There’s a good reason Emmett and Griffin refuse to let our dad near their children. Dad thinks the giant dick canon we gave him was still the best birthday gift ever, not realizing it was a gag gift. He made replicas with some modifications so that they’d actually shoot out goopy white liquid, then had them at parties with kids around. “Bro. I thought you loved me.”
“I do, but you’re obviously bored and restless. Making a baby will be new and interesting. And you’ll probably be pretty good at it, too.”
“I’m not a virgin, you asshole.”
“Of course. But have you done it without a rubber?” He raises both eyebrows.
“No.” If you want something done right, you do it yourself. No condom, no sex, and I provide the contraception.
“So you’re a ‘raw’ virgin.” Huxley starts to reach for more wine, then looks across the restaurant. “Huh.”
“What?” I say in a bored tone. Don’t want to seem over-eager to know what he’s looking at when it’s probably Catalina and Andreas arriving a little early.
“Isn’t that Bobbi?”
“What?” I swivel around immediately. “Where?”
“Over there.” Hux points to my five o’clock and looks impressed. “She’s hot in that dress. If she wore something like that at her bakery she’d make a mint off her male customers.”
I spot her among the diners, and Hux is right. She’s in a bright red calf-length dress with a slit that goes all the way up one creamy leg and stops at mid-thigh. Her golden hair is unbound and pretty. I realize my tingling sensation wasn’t guilt at betraying Grant and Aspen, but an unconscious awareness of Bobbi since I stepped inside the restaurant.
An Asian guy is sitting opposite her. Something about him feels familiar, but I can’t place it. I look him up and down, doing my best to find some fault. But his dark navy three-piece suit looks like bespoke Italian. It fits his lean frame perfectly, his shoulders straight and broad. His hair isn’t flaming orange, and he doesn’t look like a Canadian druggie searching for better and cheaper highs. He’s actually decent looking, I admit grudgingly. His eyes are surprisingly intense, his lips full—the kind of face many women would find attractive, including Bobbi. His burgundy tie is impeccably knotted, the pin on it—probably a real diamond, if I’m reading the rest of him correctly—discreet and expensive.
The man exemplifies good taste and casual affluence. Likely born to money and comfortable with it. I watch him eat, hoping he’ll slurp his wine or chew with his mouth open. But nope. Even my mother would approve of his manners.
He’s the exact opposite of Lorcan Duncan—a true threat and a dangerous rival.
Something flashes in his hand. A blue stone.
Bobbi bought a blue diamond ring. The band was too small for his hand, but she could’ve resized it.
Is this guy the perfect husband she manifested?
Hell no.No fucking way.
But he fits the bill. He’s the right age. Looks good enough if you like uptight corporate drones. Probably wants kids because Asians are big on family.
The idea of him and Bobbi in bed together kills my appetite faster than a roach puking in my food.
Mr. Perfect Asian Guy slides the ring onto her finger. What the hell? He can’t even buy his own fucking ring to propose?
I slap my napkin down next to my plate and get up. Hux frowns as he follows my movement, but I don’t have time to satisfy his curiosity.
I walk toward their table. Then, pasting on my most charming smile, I place a kiss on Bobbi’s cheek, quickly enough that she can’t move away or punch me in the face. Her fists hurt. “You look lovely, my light.”
Bobbi gives me a poisonous glare while her date assesses this new development. Finally, he turns to her. “Do you know this man?”
“No,” she says.
“I’m her fiancé.”
“Ah.” His gaze drops to the blue diamond on her finger, the one he placed there just moments ago. The gesture is a challenge and a fuck-you. “You seem to be a bit late.”
For once, I hate my easygoing persona. Should have listened to Mom when she recommended an ax murderer vibe, then this asshole would be showing me more respect.
“This is what you managed to manifest?” I say. “A guy who can’t even buy his own ring?”
She gives me a pat smile. “But one who can keep his promises.”
“What promise?”
“He’s here. For dinner.”
“Which I’m paying for,” the guy adds with a bland smile.
“I bought you dinner before!” I say, in case she’s forgotten all the things I bought her, or if this is about her needing to be sure I can treat her better than this guy. I thank my lucky stars for my perfect memory. Every single thing we’ve done together is seared into my mind. “Mexico, July twenty-ninth, when we first met, and then for the rest of the vacation, lunch and dinner. After we came back to the States, a brunch at Jean-Georges on August fifteenth. Then—”
All this doesn’t seem to advance my case. Her cheeks redden and she jumps to her feet, covering my mouth with her hand. The feel of her bare skin on my lips sends an electric jolt through me. She’s close enough that I can smell the heady scent of her shampoo and soap, which haven’t changed since I’ve known her. I kiss her palm, then lick it, holding her furious eyes with mine, silently communicating she’s the only woman I want. That’s the one true thing in my world, and I don’t want her to resist it anymore.
Her face turns redder. Her beautiful eyes flash with incredulity, shock and oh-no-you-don’t. “Excuse me,” she says to the other guy. Then she snatches her hand away, grabs my wrist and drags me off toward the bathrooms. I follow, willing to go literally anywhere as long as she’s with me.
We walk past the diners, some of whom turn to watch, then to the less brightly lit corridor outside the bathrooms. She starts to pull me into the ladies’ room, which I instinctively resist.
“Hey, I can’t go in there—”
“Get in here right now!” She grabs me with both hands and practically lifts me off my feet. I end up inside the ladies’ room, which—thankfully—is empty. Bobbi seems worked up enough to toss any woman who might be in here out.
All the stalls have floor-to-ceiling faux-wood doors that have been left ajar. Spotless mirrors cover the walls in the vanity area. She reaches around behind me and locks the door.
“Okay,” she says, hands on hips. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“No game.”
“Are you trying to embarrass me in front of Eugene?”
Of all the things to be upset about. “Me telling you what we have between us is embarrassing?” I thought she was unhappy that she forgot some of our history, while I haven’t.
“You were listing the meals you paid for!”
“I was listing all the times we had together, except for, you know, the dates and the sex stuff because I figured that might be upsetting for you. I haven’t forgotten even a second of our history.”
A hint of uncertainty fleets in her eyes before she stiffens. “Bullshit.”
“What’s bullshit is you letting that asshole put that ring on your finger. He didn’t even pay for it.” I glare at her, bristling with outrage that she’s settling just to avoid me. “He doesn’t know you the way I do. He doesn’t understand you the way I do. He will never cherish you the way I do—”
Her eyes flutter as the walls around her start to crack. She covers her ears, squeezing her eyes closed, like that will keep me out of her mind and erase our history. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
I’m not going to shut up, not like this. But if she doesn’t want to hear the words…
I take her wrists and pull her hands away from her ears. “Make me.”