CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) Page 33

  And then mom and dad had called and laid into me. And then Gareth and his wife, Priscilla. I’d turned my cell off after that, thankful that the driver was tactful enough not to have listened as I begged them to understand, and then flat out told them all to take a leap.

  I don’t love Brian. Brian does not love me. I want a divorce so that I can move on with my life and find a man who’ll make me happy and love me. Brian wants his window dressing firmly at his side, doing the queen’s wave and bolstering a wholesome image. My mom is totally pissed that I would not only let Brian down by skipping our anniversary, but the family as well since they all decided to invite everyone to the dinner.

  Not very romantic, but I’d been relieved to have that buffer for the evening to hold Brian back. He’s not that into sex with me, but birthdays and anniversaries are a nightmare since he seems to think it’s obligatory to be intimate on those days.

  “You look about a million miles away.”

  Snapping out of my daze, I realize that I’m still standing with my fist raised and blush when I realize the door must have been opened quite a while ago.

  “Oh, golly, sorry,” I stammer, feeling all kinds of foolish when I look up into…an angel…

  My God this man is hot. No, not hot…magnetic. His dirty-blond hair hangs in waves, just shy of being too long and his eyes are…okay, wow, he really does have two different-colored eyes, and my God, is that sexy as hell.

  I now fully understand how women can dreamily say that the eyes are the door to a man’s soul because what I see in them as they catch my own is pure appreciation with an intensity that floors me.

  We stare at each other for minutes, my eyes flitting from his strong face to his casual black dress slacks and lightweight gray jersey to…the man is built like an Adonis, built…

  And, for some reason that I can’t place, I feel like I’ve known him for years. That, and only that, is the reason that instead of blushing and stammering like a fool, I offer him a mischievous smile and playfully wipe my brow.

  “Well, good Lord, Liv was right, you’re quite the looker, huh.”

  His eyes go wide for a beat before he throws his head back and laughs in a loud boom that makes me jump a little. The sound is a genuine expression that is so contagious I find myself chuckling along with him as he stands back and waves me in.

  “You’re going to be full of sass I can see.”

  Oooh, his accent is a cross between rolling r’s and a crisp, polished British English that somehow just goes together, giving him an air of sophistication and wildness all at the same time.

  “Where are you from Mr. Marshall? I can’t quite place that accent.”

  “My dad was American and my mum is British. I live here a while and over there for a while.”

  He takes the coat I have thrown over my arm before leading me through a grandiose foyer all the way to the back of the house and a state-of-the-art kitchen, and onto a patio that’s set up with a large array of food and swaying candlelight.

  I’m almost breathless with shock and a strange delight when he takes my elbow and leads me to the table, seating me before taking his own and watching me take it all in. To the left is a large Olympic-size swimming pool that is so clear and tranquil looking, I long to just drop everything and dive right in.

  To the right is a large, cozy area that boasts a fire pit and stone benches topped with colorful cushions.

  I don’t look anywhere else because, at this rate, I’ll be spellbound for hours; the place is huge, but I love it all and can’t keep from telling him so.

  “Your house is lovely. It’s surprisingly cozy for such a big place.”

  That seems to please him and he smiles, holding my gaze intimately before looking out at his domain.

  “Thank you. I wanted a place with lots of space. I had a family in mind when I bought it, so I try to make it as comfortable as possible.”

  We talk about nothing too specific as he starts serving and fills our plates with shrimp salad, what looks like barbecued ribs, and my absolute favorite, twice-baked potatoes.

  “My God, this is possibly the most delicious meal I have had in ages.” I moan, breathing it in like the carb junkie I am.

  At home, Brian’s chef has a strict diet plan to follow for meals, and I only get potatoes when the guy knows my husband will be out of town—never enough for my liking, so I fully intend to delight in this carb fest while I can.

  “You’re enjoying the food…good.”

  He seems so pleased that I grin and find myself admitting my horrid secrets.

  “I don’t get a lot of carbs at home since my husband and my mom are image freaks who think a little cellulite will stop the world turning. I’m probably being a total pig, but I’m going all in while I can.” I say, closing my eyes when the melted butter and potato hit my tongue.

  When I open them, I see him staring at me, his eyes so cold I swallow without chewing and sputter around the lump.

  “You should be allowed to eat what you like.”

  I snort at that and take another bite, leaning an elbow onto the table and gesturing with my fork.

  “You’d think.”

  Why am I even talking to this guy about my life and hinting at my shitty family? I couldn’t tell you except to say that he makes me so comfortable I feel like we’ve been friends for years. Plus, I really like him. He’s hot, smart, and a man with a passion for downtrodden families and the elderly.

  What I wouldn’t give to have met him before Brian got his hooks into me.

  “Anyway, that is not at all important. You just single-handedly changed the lives of an entire neighborhood. I went to check out that community, and I have to tell you, I am more than impressed.”

  His eyes go soft for a minute and he smiles.

  “It was well worth the hassle of dealing with politicians and contractors, believe you me. And I cannot stand the dangers that woman have to face living in places rife with drugs and gangs. The city has a responsibility to keep people safe.”

  Exactly! I’ve had this same argument with Brian and my parents for years because, yeah, I am one of those crazy people who labor under the notion that the police force should be as concerned about the poor as they are about who stole Mrs. So-and-so’s million-dollar diamonds.

  “Wow. Okay. This is a first for me Mr. Marshall.”

  “Chase, please,” he says, smiling at my grin.

  “Chase. No one ever agrees with me about this kind sort of thing, so let me bask in my potato and glee for a minute here.”

  He laughs at my exaggerated expression and pours me more wine, his own food going untouched as he keeps eyeing me intently.

  “You believe in the Utopian ideals too?”

  “I didn’t used to. I was the classic cheerleader, a brainless airhead who did what mom and dad said I should and drifted through life with a very secular view of the world.” I admit, cringing to remember that girl and her vacant life.

  My parents are very upper-class types who wanted their children to fit the mold. My siblings had done just as I had, and played football and been on the cheerleading squad. I’d done it all and been so sure of my place as a popular jock’s girlfriend who didn’t have to make much effort but to look pretty and follow the status quo.

  Shallow, and so blind to the needs of others, I’m ashamed to admit that I still feel guilty even now after I've changed my life.

  “You don’t strike me as an airhead.”

  I look up at his soft tone and smile ruefully, abandoning my food for the wine and the memories I haven’t explored in years.

  “You’d be wrong. I totally was. I was such an idiot; I didn’t care about anything, including school till one of my teachers threatened to fail me. She gave me one chance to get my head outta my ass and actually work. I took it, not really thinking I’d put in much effort till I got to the debate team and found out what real work is about. God, I was so uninformed; I went home that very day and started cramming as much info as I c
ould.” I laugh, remembering my feverish googling and the things I’d learned.

  “So you picked yourself up.”

  A statement, not a question, and boy do I wish I could live up to that amount of confidence. Unfortunately I can’t.

  “Not exactly. After a night of reading and general learning, I gave up even trying really and just resigned myself to floating along for a while till the teachers stopped focusing on me. But a great thing happened a few days later. I met this great boy, I mean he was so smart and funny and he had this way of talking to me that didn’t make me feel like such a fool. I learned that I do want to be better and see people—really see them—and contribute to making the world a better place.”

  One person at a time.

  “One person at a time,” he says, finishing it before I can say another word.”

  “Yeah! Exactly. So I buckled down and got to work. My parents and boyfriend flipped out—big time. I changed almost overnight from the bubbly idiot they liked so well to someone who cared about…everything.”

  And they just kept going, pushing at me, yelling, sometimes even ordering me flat out to quit the team and the friendships I’d developed with those they considered unworthy. My new crew had been the dorky kids and the less privileged, though I never saw them as less because, in a lot of ways, they had more than I ever would.

  Money is great, but it can’t make up for a mother who watched my diet and a father who bought me a car to try to get me to refocus on the squad and my old, backstabbing friends.

  Brian had gone nuts and acted like a controlling dick till I very gently but firmly told him to get lost. And then the incident— I shiver, cutting off the thought and focus instead on the rest. I’d been hurt and afraid, needing some understanding.

  And then my friend Alex had disappeared, and instead of staying strong and keeping my head down, I’d fallen apart and right back into Brian’s arms.

  “What happened?” he finally asks, pulling me back to the present, and the sadness I always feel.

  “Well.” I take a deep breath. “I, uh, my friend left, and I had a lot going on at that point. I managed to graduate, though just barely, and I made it to college. I decided to study something more than art history or literature, and chose social work instead. What a nightmare.”

  We both laugh when I pull a dorky face and shudder.

  “You made it though.”

  “Yup.”

  “You missed him? Your friend?” he asks, staring intently.

  I nod and swallow a little, my face turning wistful.

  “Every day.”

  Chapter 5

  Chase

  I didn’t get everything I wanted out of that first dinner meeting, not by a long shot. What my irrational mind had been hoping for was that Remy would fall so madly in lust with me that she would throw herself at me and let me have my way with her.

  All through dinner, I’d thought about sweeping the table clear and throwing her down, ripping her clothes off and finally seeing her body before I touched her delicate skin and tasted every last inch, one last place in particular.

  I didn’t do that though, and not because I’d have felt guilty but because she would've and I couldn’t have that. So despite my desire—God help me, I’d been hard since opening the door and all the way through dinner as she licked, moaned and totally devoured her food—I’ve sworn to slowly seduce her so that by the time she signs on the dotted line, she’ll be as ravenous for me as I am for her.

  As planned, I’d kept the conversation light for the rest of the evening, amusing her with stories about restoring my first house singlehandedly and shooting a nail through the webbing on one hand.

  She’d laughed her ass off and then some when I talked about Gabe and his absolute brilliance at making deals but his hopelessness with a hammer. For such a brilliant man, the guy is definitely all thumbs.

  And when it was time for her to go, her eyes looked as sad as I felt when the car rolled up. For some reason, I’d had the urge to spill it all as she stopped and turned at the car door, a rueful smile on her face.

  “You know we never got around to discussing anything important tonight.”

  I’d smiled and cocked my head, holding my tongue, and just stopping myself from telling her that I am Alex, her best friend and the man who’s wanted her for years.

  “Oh, but I think your life is very important, Miss Harrow.” I’d drawled, enjoying the fact that she never corrected me. Loving that despite years of marriage she doesn’t think of herself as Mrs. Carson.

  “Thank you. I had a wonderful time. You kind of rescued me from my worst nightmare tonight. You’ll call me to set up meetings so we can get started on those programs?”

  And then she left, taking the joy and light with her as the car pulled away, taking her back to a man who doesn’t deserve her…and won’t have her for very long if I have my say.

  The best part of last night had been that I got to look at her, the real her, and not some photograph for hours. Gone are the highlights that she’d once confessed her mother made her get. Now she was crowned with a caramel-colored swathe of thick tresses that look softer than satin or silk. And her eyes, my God, so dark aqua they look bottomless.

  They were warm though, definitely warm as we’d discussed everything from my college years to her confession that college almost killed her socially and mentally.

  So, yeah, I’m high on success right now and trying to figure the best way to maneuver Remy into getting that divorce I so desperately need her to get, when the phone rings and I get the best news on earth.

  “Neil.”

  “Hey boss. Thought you should know, I followed your girl all the way to her lawyer’s office this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, seems she went ahead and filed those papers without his signature. She’s going for irreconcilable differences, which I don’t think will get the job done, so I went on ahead and anonymously dropped those photos of Carson and the cousin in the lawyer’s in-box. She went racing back about an hour later and came out with a glory of a smile on her face.” He finishes, chuckling darkly. “My guess is that woman ain’t gonna let her family stop her this time.”

  The smile that lights my face is a toothy grin, and I lean back with a burst of joy that reaches clear to my toes.

  “It’s about bloody time.”

  “Yup. Told ya you shoulda sent her those pictures a long time ago boss. She’d already be divorced by now.”

  “I was hoping she’d make that decision by herself.”

  So I could avoid more guilt, which I honestly wouldn’t have felt, but still, it’s the principle…

  “Well, she went and did that boss. Her lawyer filed a couple weeks ago apparently, but she went in to give him that last push to speed up the court dates. Looks like your girl’s been planning this for a while and whatever’s happened recently gave her that last nudge.”

  Me. I want to yell that it was seeing me that pushed her, that she’s attracted to me and likes me and that for once I’m being chosen over the popular guy.

  I restrain my fifth-grade impulses and end the call on a high note before dialing her number and starting my battle plan full scale. I’ll get a judge friend of mine to speed up that divorce, and fucking quick because I’m banking on having Remy Harrow in my bed and under me in no more than six weeks, tops.

  And I get what I want.

  Always.

  ***

  Remy

  “You may not do this, Remington. Think of the scandal!” my mother yells into the phone, her voice hard and shrill and so nasty I feel a momentary need to obey before I harden my resolve and keep moving my stuff from the master bedroom into a guest room.

  I can’t afford to move out yet, so I’ll have to use the guestroom or hope that Brian gets the hint and gets packing. Somehow I doubt that will happen, but hell, a girl can hope.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but like I said, I will not stay in a marriage where my husband mes
ses around on me constantly.”

  I ignore her lecture and huff as I drop the last armload of clothes on the bed, wincing when I hoist them back up, hangers and all and attempt to get the whole enchilada into the closet in one go. It’s just as I hook the last hanger and release the load, my arms screaming, that she drops her last bomb.

  “A woman stands by her husband through thick and thin, Remington. A few indiscretions must be tolerated. Why, I think it’s selfish to expect a virile man such as Brian to settle, especially when you haven’t made any effort with yourself whatsoever.”

  That cuts deep, amazingly deep, and for a moment I’m shocked to realize that it hurts even more than the last time I’d needed her and she’d rejected me and blamed me instead of giving me the comfort a mother should lavish on her child.

  For years I’ve wondered if she would ever live up to my expectations and be the mother I needed. It looks like that’s a big fat no now that she’s decided to take Brian’s side once again, despite the fact that my suspicions of his philandering are confirmed.

  So I drop my next bomb, not caring one iota about her delicate sensibilities and really quite relishing the opportunity to upset her a little.

  “While I would agree—cause, gosh darn, you’ve taught me so well, haven’t you?—Brian, my dear virile husband, has been fucking Helena for the last seven months, Mother, so please excuse me if I’m feeling a little put out by that fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really don’t have time for this since I have an hour to get to a dinner meeting.”

  I slam the phone down on her shriek of outrage, a grin lining my face before it slips beneath the weight of other more pressing matters—the first being that I absolutely hate having to live here with Brian.

  I told him about the divorce papers and the measures my lawyer has taken since he point-blank refuses to sign the papers, and I’d had to listen to two hours of his ranting, pleading, and then threats if I didn’t call it off.

  Apparently he knows some people and my job could be in jeopardy. Bastard.

  I can’t think about that though because I’m afraid that I may snap. Yeah, I don’t love Brian anymore, and he sure doesn’t love me, but come on! He’s doing my younger cousin and threatening my job! I’m afraid that elastic band will give and I’ll come to, standing over his very bloody corpse to see a hammer or equally deadly tool in my white-knuckled grasp.