BECKHAM

“We’re staying at Golden Oak,” I announce as Odessa climbs into the black Town Car my brother sent to pick us up from the airport. Bronson loads our luggage before shutting our door and climbing up front. A few minutes later, we’re speeding down the freeway toward his expansive country estate. I was always the city mouse. He was always meant to be a country mouse of the rich, reclusive variety.

“I thought we had a hotel reservation?”

“We did. Dane cancelled it. He wants to host us at his place.” I turn my phone on, my screen blowing up with missed emails and messages. Another topless selfie from my latest admirer mixes somewhere between all those. I delete it, but not before taking a peek. I’ve never claimed to have the self-control of a saint.

“That’s nice of him.”

“He likes to control everything.”

“And you don’t?” She chuckles.

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re obsessed with controlling what people think of you,” she says. “You want everyone to like you but only on your terms. That’s controlling.”

I glance up from my phone, two seconds from reminding her that she agreed to be kind during this trip. She wears a smile that lights up her emerald eyes, and it’s nearly identical to the one she wore the first night we met. For a second my heart hammers, and I forget we’re on completely different pages.

“Insulting someone while smiling,” I say, “isn’t the same as being cordial.”

Her chin tucks, dragging a curtain of shiny auburn hair over her shoulder as she sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I struggle to decide whether her apology is genuine, sarcastic, or a combination of the two. She looks at me from the corner of her eye before shifting her entire body my way.

Her slanted hand juts out a second later.

“Truce,” she says. “Let’s call a truce. At least for the next four days. I’ll stop making snide comments and you stop trying to get under my skin. We’ll play the roles of two cordial associates who’ve never slept together.”

I chuckle. Interacting with her while attempting to forget how fucking sexy she looked straddling my cock last week is going to be a challenge.

Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. It’s almost as if she has to psyche herself up to be nice. All it does is make me want that upper hand even more. She still fucking has it. She’s a goddamn dog refusing to let go of a stolen bone.

I meet her hand, my thumb grazing the delicate bone in her wrist. Her hands are softer than I remember.

The Town Car pulls into the private gate of Golden Oak. The driver presses the call button and within seconds the gate opens. We’re deposited under a majestic porte-cochere built with two stories of honed Brazilian granite Dane flew south of the equator to personally select. Every inch of this estate has Dane’s stamp of approval. Visiting here, as much as I loathe Utah and what it represents to me, always serves as a solemn reminder of what we’ve achieved in the last decade.

“Bienvenue!” Mathilde, my brother’s house manager greets us along with a tuxedoed butler. It always amuses me how my reclusive brother prefers to have a staff of eight at his beck and call while preferring to remain alone in his spare time. I can hardly spend an hour without some kind of social interaction yet I prefer to keep my penthouse employee-free.

The world couldn’t handle two of me anyway. Dane would venture to say the same.

“Hello, Mathilde,” I help Bronson unload luggage and wheel Odessa’s bag around the car. “Mathilde, this is Odessa. She’s consulting for TEH. I assume Dane told you she was staying?”

“Oui.” Mathilde smiles as if the auburn-haired beauty standing before her is enchanting. “The rooms are ready. We’re happy to have you.”

Odessa leans in and kiss-kisses Mathilde’s cheeks, taking her hands. “Very lovely to meet you, and thank you for accommodating us. I look forward to my stay at Golden Oak.”

We follow Mathilde up a winding, mahogany staircase, one I’ve traveled many times, until we reach a quiet hall opposite of my brother’s wing.

“Here you are, mademoiselle. Monsieur King, your room is next door. Press the call button if you need me.” Mathilde disappears into the dark hall.

“Sure beats the Hampton Inn.” The corner of Odessa’s mouth pulls up. I don’t think she’s being facetious, but it’s so fucking hard to tell with her.

“Unpack. Freshen up if you’d like,” I say. “I’ll come get you before we head downtown. Dane has meetings planned for us the rest of the afternoon.”

* * *

“What’s your brother like?” Odessa asks as we’re driven to headquarters an hour later. “In person, I mean.”

“Intense.” I straighten my tie.

“Just…intense?”

“Yes.”

“He can’t be that bad. He seemed nice on the phone.”

“He’ll be impressed with you.”

“I’m not worried about him liking me. Not everyone has to like me.” Her hand flies to mine as if the gesture could possibly soften her words. “And I don’t mean that in a snide way, Beckham. I’m just saying. I’m comfortable with who I am.”

“I’m pretty sure you made that clear when you were prancing around my bathroom naked, finger-brushing your teeth.”

She laughs, dragging her hand off mine and leaving a cool vacancy in its place. “I try not to care what people think of me. It’s none of my business.”

“And yet you work in PR, where you’re constantly manipulating the way people perceive things.”

“Don’t think you’re the first person ever to point that out.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a tiny diamond stud. I never noticed it before. I was too fixated on appreciating the way her hips sway when she walks or too busy looking for a hint of a smile on her pink lips to pay attention to the little things. There’s a freckle on the side of her cheek too: a small, lonely freckle in a sea of flawless, creamy skin. The tiniest hint of a bump in the profile of her nose catches my eye. She isn’t a boring, classic beauty, but she doesn’t need to be. She’s soft edges and dynamite, and that sets her apart from the polluted sea of cut-and-paste beauties back home.

Twenty minutes later, we’re strolling down the hallway toward the double mahogany doors that’ll deliver us to my brother. I burst in without so much as a knock, knowing full well how much he hates that.

“Dane,” I say.

He glances up, not startled in the least. He’s used to my tricks I suppose. His gaze lands on Odessa, and he straightens his posture before rising.

“Dane, pleasure to finally meet you.” Odessa goes to him, her hand extended and a radiant smile on her face.

She’s never smiled at me that way.

“Thanks for coming all the way to Utah,” Dane says. He speaks to her but gifts me a curious glance. If I know my brother he’s trying to decide if I’ve fucked her yet. “I hope the flight was at least somewhat enjoyable.”

“It was a lovely flight. Thank you,” she says, though she may as well be curtseying at this point. Apparently Dane’s royalty, and I am the lowly jester.

“Maureen has the conference room set up.” My brother points at the door. We follow.

“This must be new.” I point to an oil painting of Dane that looks more like a caricature than a portrait. “Commissioning art now, are we?”

“You won’t find it as a line item,” he states. “It was a gift.”

“Not good enough to hang next to your Renoir at Golden Oak?” I razz.

He never used to be so goddamn pretentious. Success does something to a man. It’s an unstoppable catalyst.

Odessa spreads her things out at the end of the conference table, taking the chair on Dane’s right.

“Oh, Dane.” Casual excitement colors her tone. “Beckham and I are flying to Vermont next week. He’ll be leading a town hall meeting with Charity Falls and answering questions for an interview that’ll go in their Sunday paper. Front page.”

Her body mirrors his. Apparently I’m made of cellophane.

“You didn’t tell me it was going to be front page,” I interject. Not that it matters. It doesn’t.

“This project is kind of a big deal there.” She turns to me, sticking the end of a capped pen between her pink lips before pointing it at me. “This interview is a huge deal. They’re going to try and use your words against you, analyzing the town hall meeting to come up with pointed questions.”

“No pressure.” Dane tenses his jaw.

“I can handle this.” I take a seat on my brother’s left, but not before removing my jacket and draping it over the back of my chair.

“The last thing we need is negative publicity,” Dane grips a pen between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it back and forth. “We have several major deals in the works. Some just waiting on signatures. It could all change if our image is slaughtered because of Charity Falls.”

“Exactly.” Odessa chimes in, speaking with her hands. “This is the kind of story that goes viral. Today Show picks it up, Facebook sticks it in their sidebar, Reddit gets ahold of it…”

“You act like this is the Keystone Pipeline.” I groan, burying my head in my hands. “They’re wind towers for fuck’s sake.”

“The fact that he doesn’t see the significance of this is what concerns me,” Odessa turns to Dane, cutting me out of the conversation once again.

“Agreed.” Dane furrows his brow as he mirrors her posture. They’re locked in some kind of silent conversation, I’m sure. Communicating telepathically like they share a goddamned brain.

The room is hot. I unbutton my collar, as she tilts her head and smiles at him.

“Don’t worry, Dane. I’ll feed Beckham some handcrafted lines that’ll quell this little story before it picks up any more steam.” Odessa places her hand over his, and he doesn’t flinch.

I’m not sensing a sexual attraction between them. But they click. Genuine, mutual respect filters back and forth between them, taking shape in quiet smiles and easy nods.

Just a couple of fucking pals.

“Anyway.” I clear my throat, rising to grab bottled water from the fridge in the back of the room. “Next order of business?”

Or first order, really.

It’s not like Dane to allow someone else to run the show. Shit, he barely allows me. I have to claw my way up and prove that I’m not some haughty playboy without a care in the world. I give a damn about this company. It’s my “baby” too. I’ve just mastered the art of conducting myself without a giant stick up my ass.

My brother drones on about a couple of clients he’s been wooing on the West Coast, while I’ve been busy romancing the Peterson Corporation. I assure him the Peterson contract is in the bag, and we’re just waiting on the board to meet and take their final vote.

“Oh, here.” Odessa perks up, typing into her tablet. “We have the preliminaries for the test site if you want to go over it now?”

She whips the screen around, only I can’t see it from where I’m seated. Dane’s eyes adjust and his bottom lip juts out as he scrutinizes.

“Is this something we can discuss tomorrow?” I glance at my watch, my stomach damn near echoing. I haven’t eaten in several hours. “I’m going to grab a bite to eat.”

And call some old friends because I’ll be damned if I sit around Golden Oak tasting Scotch and smoking hand-rolled cigars by the fountain that depicts torch-carrying Goddess Demeter.

That was Dane’s idea of a guy’s night last time I was in town…

“Remember we’re having dinner with Uncle Leo,” Dane says.

“I wasn’t aware that was tonight,” I say.

“We’re meeting at six.” Dane checks his wristwatch. “Sam, you’re welcomed to join. It’s a casual dinner at an old diner outside of town. I’ve given my kitchen staff the night off. You’ve been traveling all day. You deserve a decent meal.”

“I don’t want to impose,” she says.

“Uncle Leo would love to meet you.” Dane offers a warm smile. “Please. I insist.”

Odessa’s eyes search mine then return to Dane’s.

“Yes. Please.” I stand, swinging my jacket off the back of my chair. “You can sit by me.”

She ignores me, gathering her things. “Sure. I’ll join if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Dane retrieves her pen. “And Sam, if you’d like to put your things in office thirty-four, it should be unlocked. Key’s in the door. It’s all yours while you’re here.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” She heads toward the door.

“Meet us at the elevator in a half hour,” Dane calls after her. He steps closer to me the second she’s out of earshot. “What the hell was that?”

“Beg your pardon?” I was about to ask him the same thing.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?” Dane’s hands hook on his hips. “Can’t leave you alone with anyone for five minutes.”

“In my defense, it was before I knew she was Sam the PR consultant. I picked her up at a bar.” I hate how seedy that sounds out loud. “She said her name was Odessa. It was only supposed to be one night.”

“You can’t fuck half of Manhattan and expect to never run into any of them again.”

“Half of Manhattan? Thanks.”

His hand flies up. “I’m sorry. That was a little harsh. But you don’t get a playboy reputation staying home on Friday nights.”

“Gotta get laid somehow,” I declare. “Not the relationship type, and I’m sure as hell not going to find what I need in some kinky sex club.”

Dane fires a daunting glare my way. I don’t know much about the Crystal Swan, I simply appreciate that his urges are distinctly different than mine. Sex for Dane has to be as mentally stimulating as it is physical, at least that’s what he told me once. I prefer not to have to think when I’m balls deep in a gorgeous woman. I don’t want her restrained, quiet, or subservient. I want her riding me, screaming my name, and digging her nails into my back.

Deliciously uninhibited.

“Are we done here?” I slice through our silence. “Because I’m fucking starving.”

My brother cracks a rare smile. I catch a glimpse of it before it fades. “Don’t fuck her again. Not while she’s working for us.”

“Same to you.” Not that I think he’d do it.

“She’s not my type, Beckham. You know that.”

“So you weren’t eye-fucking her right in front of me for the last two hours?”

“You’re delusional. And it’s called being hospitable. She’s a company guest. I was treating her as such.” Dane grabs his silver pen and tucks it into his left breast pocket, a sign that he’s done with this conversation. He takes a step past me, then another, before stopping and turning back. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Fuck, no.” I scrunch my face.

“Right.” Dane rakes his hand along his jaw, seeing right through me.

“Some girls are worth the chase.” My words are about as accurate as that God-forsaken oil portrait hanging down the hall. “Believe me, she’s not. There’s nothing special about her–”

“Ahem.”

Our attention jerks toward the doorway, where Odessa stands with folded arms and averted eyes.

“Maureen said the car’s downstairs.”