Chapter Thirty-Two
Noah
“It’s really nothing.”
Bobbi’s reassurance makes no difference. Every time my eyes settle on the bandages on her arm, I wish I’d peeled Hopkins and Baggett like a couple of potatoes. Just because I don’t have the talent with knives that Mom does, doesn’t mean it can’t be done. I just wouldn’t be able to peel off each layer of skin.
“You still have stitches,” I say.
“Stop acting like I can’t even go to the bathroom on my own. My legs work fine.”
My brain understands that. But my heart says it’s my fault she’s hurt, and I gotta protect my woman. “But the stitches…”
She lets out an exasperated sigh, but a hint of amusement glitters in her burnt caramel eyes. “I know you’re anxious because you care, but you shouldn’t be wound so tight.”
She starts toward the kitchen and reaches for a mug. “Hey, hold on. Let me.” I run over and grab it for her.
“Noah, it’s just a cut. I’ve had worse, believe me.” She points to her belly.
“You’re not making me feel better here.” Regret and fury pool in my gut. Siccing the IRS on that psycho bitch was too lenient. I should’ve just gut-shot her. An eye for an eye. Hammurabi had the right idea. There would be a lot fewer assholes around if we did unto them what they do unto others.
“I should’ve been there,” I say. “I’m never going to forgive myself for not being there for you.”
She shakes her head. “We aren’t going to rehash the past. And you know why? Two reasons. One, because that isn’t how you get to the future you want.” A soft brush of her lips over my chin. “And two, because otherwise I will never forgive you.”
“I know. I’ve been a complete bastard.”
I pour freshly brewed coffee into two mugs and have Bobbi sit at the kitchen counter, then toast a couple of bagels and fry up some bacon. “I talked with Rachel. She said she’d pay the bill for the cake. And she also wanted to know if you’re okay. So did my dad.”
Bobbi sighs. “It’s too bad Rachel didn’t get to cut the cake. She was looking forward to doing it with her boyfriend.” A sudden smile pops on her face. “I was surprised your dad had Reggie and Floyd thrown out. It was pretty awesome.” She’s been around fame-chasers long enough to know that stuff like this can be fatal to their quest for stardom.
“That’s Dad. You fuck around, he’ll make sure you find out. And ruining a party hosted at his mansion definitely counts as fucking around.” I spread a generous dollop of cream cheese on a slice of warm bagel and hand it to her.
She takes it with a murmured thanks, looking vaguely relieved that I don’t try to feed her myself.
“So what’s up with your father?” she asks when I sit down with the rest of the bagels and bacon.
“He won’t be around that much, if that’s what you’re wondering. Not that relevant to our lives.” I’ve always known she has a particular distaste for the Hollywood celeb types, most of it formed due to her idiotic clients. I didn’t want anything to count against me, especially when I was trying to get close to her for the job. And then later… Well, our father is a cross my brothers and I bear.
She shakes her head. “So he’s really that serious about having new grandkids? Even though he already has four? I thought Joey was exaggerating.”
“Oh, not at all. Dad’s absolutely that obsessed, but only because Emmett and Griffin won’t let him near their children. For good reason.”
“Was he a terrible father to you, growing up?” Sympathy softens her voice.
“He wasn’t that bad, considering. He provided for us financially, even though he never had any time for us.”
“No holidays together?” She sounds a little wistful. If even half the stuff from the dossier on her father, Otto Bright, was true, he was a shitty human being and a shitty father. He was always working—mainly to dig up state secrets and find the highest bidder for them. And her mother wasn’t much of a parent, either. She whined about having to move all the time, but never provided any kind of emotional stability for Bobbi.
I wish Bobbi and I had met when we were younger. Then we could’ve hung out and she would have felt less lonely while we were together. Otto took assignments in some of the worst parts of the world and often took his family with him, uprooting Bobbi constantly. The only time he didn’t was when the State Department instructed him to leave his family behind because his new assigned post was too dangerous.
“Not unless your idea of a holiday involves orgies.”
She looks at me, then lets out a skeptical laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. That’s just how he is. Like him nagging me and my brothers to give him grandchildren. He isn’t doing it out of a desire for more family members to love. He wants them because he needs a musically talented grandchild—ideally one who can sing well—to rub into his rival’s face. He was asking Emmett, but these days he’s been harassing Griffin.”
“Because of Ellen? She’s really cute.”
I snort. “He doesn’t even know her name. He thinks she might be better than Monique because Griff can carry a tune. He’s one of the few who can sing a Freddie Mercury song without embarrassing himself. That’s how he wooed Sierra.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet.” Bobbi leans closer. “Can you do it?”
“Not without causing you severe trauma. So I’ll stick to what I do best.” I kiss her, and she giggles against my lips.
Suddenly, the door to the house opens. An alarm blares in my head, and I jerk back, automatically assessing the situation and cursing because I have no gun. The next best option: the knife I used to smear cream cheese on our bagels.
Three people walk in—her cousin TJ, the huge guy I saw at Bobbi’s bakery and who I researched thoroughly. And a couple of women: Bobbi’s other cousin Josie and the Kodiak bear’s girlfriend, Cassie.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Josie says, rushing toward Bobbi. She opens her arms to hug, then stops, hands hovering, unsure if she can touch Bobbi without hurting her. That’s an automatic ten bonus points.
Bobbi hugs her instead. “I’m fine.”
The women take seats at the counter. TJ remains standing and glares at me like I just stepped on an apple pie. “What’s he doing here?”
“Nursing her,” I say. “How about you?”
“Checking up. She’s family. Gotta take care of her.”
“Who’s this?” Cassie asks.
“Noah.”
Josie narrows her eyes at me as she speaks to Bobbi. “The Noah? The one who ditched you over and over again?”
“Who are these people?” I ask Bobbi. I’m not supposed to already know.
She makes quick introductions. “My cousins TJ and Josie. That’s Cassie, his girlfriend.”
“I see. And you haven’t told them about our relationship?” I’m a little hurt. After all the effort I’ve made, does she still have enough doubts that she doesn’t think she can tell her family about me? I address the other three. “I’m a reformed asshole.”
“I didn’t really call you an asshole,” Bobbi mumbles.
“Oh yeah, you totally did,” TJ counters loudly, which earns a glare from Bobbi. His lips flatten, but he drags a chair from the dining table and sits down.
“Need some couple therapy? I can give you a referral,” Josie says, shooting me a bland smile.
Bobbi sighs. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. But seriously. What are you guys doing here? And what’s with all this ‘you’re going to take care of me’ stuff?”
“We saw the videos.” Cassie bristles. “What that bitch Reggie did! It’s all over the Internet.”
“Uh…” Bobbi blinks slowly. It’s like somebody just told her that her car just went over a cliff—but it’s okay because the car got smashed to pieces without killing anybody. Guess she didn’t expect she’d be the star of a viral video or two. But people don’t go to parties at my father’s mansion for discreet fun. They go to flaunt, to be seen—and thereby let the world know they’re important enough to warrant an invite. And they post whatever they think is interesting and dramatic. There’s no way people at the party wouldn’t have posted clips of the cake falling, much less security hauling off Hopkins and Baggett.
“I’m just pissed somebody got to them before I could,” TJ says.
Bobbi frowns. “What do you mean?”
Biting back a smug smile, I look at TJ. Yes, tell her what I did. It sucks I can’t take credit for it, but then I can’t take credit for most of the good I’ve done for the world.
“Home invasion,” TJ says. “Got roughed up some.”
“Seriously?” There’s no shock like feigned shock.
“Uh-huh. Reggie called me, begging me to hook her up with some exclusive security that’s not going to break the bank.”
Josie makes a face. “Because nothing says exclusive—or secure—like cheap.”
I nod inwardly. I like this woman. “So what happened?”
“Somebody shot up the hot tub at their house—actually, her fiancé’s house. Which I sort of feel not that bad about since she was always so obnoxious about it, like nobody but the two of them have ever had a hot tub.” Cassie rolls her eyes.
Bobbi looks at me, eyes wide, and mouths, Huxley?
Why would she think my almost-lawyer brother would do something like this?Oh, wait—the text! I firm my chin to hide my amusement as I shake my head, then turn to Cassie.
“But they weren’t shot, right? So what if somebody messed up their hot tub?” I shrug. “Just get the insurance to pay for it.”
TJ gives me a look. “They were shot. With tranq darts. And then tied up.”
“What? Are they okay...?” Bobbi says.
TJ grunts. “Some money and some valuable sports memorabilia were taken. Floyd’s computer. Also, Reggie supposedly had her hair sheared off almost to the scalp.”
“That hair is her pride and joy,” Josie says, wincing.
That’s right.The sports stuff and money were to throw the police off the track. I threw all of it into the Pacific. But the bitch said shit about Bobbi’s pride and joy when the bakery first opened, so the hair was more eye-for-an-eye justice. These are the worst croissants I’ve ever had, my ass.
TJ continues: “And your landlord? He got shot in a ball.”
“Jesus!” Bobbi gasps, her jaw dropping before she cringes.
“Again, just a tranq dart.” TJ raises his eyebrows. “Coulda been a lot worse.”
“Coulda been blown off with a bullet,” Cassie says viciously.
TJ shudders.
I do my best to not smile with pride. Damn, I’m good. Floyd let out a cry somewhere between a dying cow and a rutting hyena. He passed out even faster than Reggie. Then again, the pain probably knocked him out before the tranq drug hit.
“Then he got four cuts on his arms.”
One cut per stitch, which will take at least sixteen stitches total to fix. Or so I think. I’m not as precise with knives as Mom, and might’ve gone a little overboard because I’ll be damned if he’ll only need fifteen.
“You look awfully pleased,” Bobbi observes.
I shrug, but the twitching of my lips betrays me. “I think whatever karmic force is responsible for what happened to Reggie and Floyd did a helluva good job.” I make sure to hold Bobbi’s eye for the next line: “It should get the Nobel Fleece Prize.”
She laughs, shaking her head. Josie and Cassie join in.
TJ gives me a hard look for two heartbeats. “You’re not wrong.” A corner of his mouth pulls upward. Then he adds in a voice just loud enough for me to hear: “Maybe you aren’t a completely useless bastard after all.”
I feign confused innocence.
He shoots me a don’t-play-dumb smile. “Every rich guy knows a guy who knows a guy.”
He doesn’t realize—I am the guy. But revealing that wouldn’t do any good for my future with Bobbi, so I just give him more confusion and turn to talk to the ladies. A lie of omission is better than a lie of commission.
Isn’t it?