CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

DANNY

“Look at him. He’s gorgeous.” My client says this not with love and admiration in her voice, but with sadness carved into the words. Her eyes are equally as depressed as she stares across the room at the man of her dreams.

Technically, she isn’t my client. Her boyfriend is. That gorgeous guy strumming a guitar across the room while sitting on a stool in the middle of a spotlight, crooning out a love song for the crowd assembled here tonight. He contacted Rent-A-Danny, informed us that he and his girlfriend broke up, and he needed help winning her back.

Considering she’s perched across from me, drooling over the guy, I’m not sure why he had such a hard time that he paid in full upfront and demanded I rearrange my schedule so I could bring her to the show tonight. And offered a hefty bonus if I’m successful by the time he finishes his first set.

“He’s not really my type, but I suppose, yeah, he’s good looking.”

She thinks I’m her sister’s friend, that I’m here because said sister got sick but knew how much she still wanted to attend the show.

“Way more gorgeous than I deserve.” My date, Sylvia, sighs and props her chin in her hand, while her gaze never leaves the man on stage.

“Why do you say that?” I ask. “What do looks have to do with it if you’re both in love?”

She lifts her head so she can flap her hand. “He’s a musician. And he’s amazingly talented. He’s going to be famous someday. And famous musicians date supermodels. And supermodels are not size twelve. Which means I’m out of the running.” She sounds as glum as if she were announcing she has terminal cancer.

I cock my head and scratch my temple. “Um, if he’s so shallow that all he cares about is the number on the waistband of your jeans, you’re better off without him.”

I know this isn’t true about Mike, the guy we’re talking about. When I spoke to him on the phone earlier, I could hear the despair in his voice. The guy is crazy about Sylvia. Insane. Over the top. Like, he’s probably planning to rent one of those airplanes with a streamer hooked to the back, which will announce to the whole damn world that he’s in love with this girl, all twelve pants sizes of her.

“He insists he’s not,” she says, sighing again. “And to be honest, I don’t think he cares. He tells me I’m beautiful all the time. And it’s, like, sincere. I can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes.”

I shake my head. “Not seeing the issue here.”

She waves her hand impatiently. “It’s not about what he thinks. It’s the rest of the world. As soon as he signs a record deal—which could be very soon, since I’ve spotted at least three execs here tonight—he’s going to leave me in the dust. There’s an expectation of musicians, you know.”

“That they produce quality records?”

“Don’t be obtuse.” She sounds so much like Ronnie, I smile, but it quickly fades as I lean over the table and place my hand on her arm.

“Listen to me, Sylvia. I happen to know Mike. And I can say with absolute certainty that he loves you, regardless of your pants size. In fact, I’d wager he likes it better that you aren’t a waif, because that’s more skin for him to lick. And guys like to lick their girl’s skin. Trust me on this.”

She shifts her focus to me, but she’s still frowning.

“The other thing that guys who are in love do is not compare their girl to other women. Someone who is as in love as Mike is doesn’t even see other women.”

She gnaws on her bottom lip, her gaze straying back to the man on stage.

“Mike wants this relationship to work, Sylvia. For the long term. But it won’t, if you don’t want it to.”

“I do,” she says instantly.

I give her arm a squeeze. “Then you have to figure out how to believe in yourself. Because he does. He’s ready whenever you decide to respect yourself enough to believe the two of you can make it work, no matter the external circumstances.”

She glances down at her body. “I do respect myself. I’ve never doubted myself until I started dating him. And it wasn’t even him; it was other people in his circle, telling me how it’s supposed to be. What sort of woman he’s supposed to date.”

“If you truly respect yourself, you aren’t going to let them into your head. They aren’t in your bed, are they?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you letting them into your head?”

“Um…” She starts rubbing her hands together, like she’s just put lotion on them.

The set comes to an end and the crowd is on their feet, clapping and whistling and shouting for more. Mike stands and says into the microphone, “Okay, okay, you’ll get another set. I just need to take a short break. I’ll be back in ten.”

He jumps off the stage and locks his gaze onto Sylvia’s back as he strides toward us. Uh-oh. Not sure I’m going to get my bonus out of this one.

“Hey, Syl,” he says, reaching out and touching her shoulder. “I’m glad you came to the show.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she whispers, staring up at him with big doe eyes and a quiver in her lip.

“I’ve missed you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

She glances at me through her lashes. Mike shoots me a confused look.

“My demons,” she says. “But I think I’ve got them under control now. Or at least, I’m going to work really hard on it. Because it sucks not being with you. I don’t want to be broken up anymore.”

“Me neither,” he says, and he pulls her out of the chair and into his arms. The patrons at the surrounding tables clap and Mike laughs. “My girlfriend,” he calls out to the crowd. “We just got back together.”

Wolf whistles accompany more clapping, and a few people start banging on the tabletops. Mike apparently takes that as a cue and cups Sylvia’s face before treating his fans to a hell of a makeup kiss.

And that’s a wrap.

I catch his eye, give him a nod, and then slide out of my seat and make my way toward the exit. Time to head home to Danny’s Love Den.

Which hasn’t felt like home in a long while. Even before Ronnie and I called it quits.

Longest week of my damn life.

I scrub my hands through my hair and then stuff them into the pockets of my shorts as I amble along the streets of downtown Chicago. At some point I need to head out to the ’burbs. But right now, I don’t feel like dealing with Pucker, who keeps asking where the hell Ronnie is. Or Erin, who checks on me constantly, all while giving me these annoyingly sympathetic looks. Or Garrett, who randomly offered to give me golf lessons this morning.

Jesus, I must be seriously pathetic if he’s going that far to try to cheer me up.

I find a bar with outdoor seating along the riverfront, and I park myself at a two top, my back to the building. I place my order, and a short time later, the server brings me a beer and a plastic basket of popcorn. I prop my feet on the railing and stare out over the water as I mentally recap my latest assignment.

My latest successful assignment.

In fact, I haven’t had a single disappointed client. Not one. And the tips and bonuses have surpassed both mine and Ronnie’s expectations.

No, wait. I can’t say they’ve surpassed her expectations, because honestly, I don’t know what she thought she was getting into with this gig. Ah, who am I kidding? She’d been far more enthusiastic in the beginning than I expected. And while I initially thought she hadn’t wanted to tell her family because of the nature of the business, in reality, she’d been hiding for her own personal reasons. They had nothing to do with me, this business, or us.

“If you truly respect yourself, you aren’t going to let them into your head.”

I’d given Sylvia some damn good advice tonight. Advice I should consider following, actually. I frown, my gaze on the river, the beer bottle a couple inches from my lips.

“If you truly respect yourself, you aren’t going to let them into your head.”

Sylvia had been worried about how other people perceived her body size. Not Mike, the guy she’s in love with, but a bunch of other people who were pretty damn inconsequential, when it comes down to it. And to be honest, she didn’t even know if they looked down on her or if they had been speaking in general terms. Like, did they even know she was his girlfriend at the time? They might have changed their tunes if they’d spent ten minutes in Mike and Sylvia’s company. Because the love those two share is pretty damn obvious. I don’t think Mike will be swayed by superficial supermodels if or when he makes it big.

Because he won’t even see them.

Just like I am with Ronnie.

I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time in the company of other women since she and I started sleeping together. And a fair share have made it clear they were willing to give me a physical bonus as opposed to a financial one. I turned every single one down, and it wasn’t because I’m a highly ethical person.

It’s because I didn’t even see them. Not as potential dates or fuck buddies or one-night stands. Whenever one of my clients propositioned me, all I thought was, I can’t wait to get home to Ronnie.

And every single time, she greeted me with the enthusiasm of someone who doesn’t see other people either.

My feet hit the concrete with a thud as I sit up in my chair. I’m blinking like there’s a fog and I’m trying to clear my vision.

Holy shit. I’ve spent most of my life creating a persona to protect myself against my father’s critique of the person I really am. But never once did I stand up to him and say, “I like who I am. This is the person I’m going to be, take it or leave it.” I never respected myself enough to have faith, to believe I was actually a good person.

And the fact that I’ve only just realized this is exactly why Ronnie and I split up.

I gotta talk to her. I need to explain. To beg her to give me a second chance.

I’m on my feet, tugging my wallet out of my pocket. I toss a twenty onto the table and then bolt, jogging down the sidewalk that runs along the riverfront, not heading to the garage where my car is parked but to Ronnie’s apartment.

I need to talk to my girl.

***

…who isn’t home.

Panting, I bend at the waist, press my hands to my knees, and struggle to catch my breath. Okay, maybe jogging all the way here wasn’t the wisest choice. Especially since she isn’t answering the door.

I pull out my phone and press the button to call her number.

“Hello?” There’s noise in the background, like she’s at a concert. That melodic voice sounds familiar.

“Are you at The Hideout?”

“Yes,” she says, and the sound of the singer’s voice is getting faint, like she’s walking away from the stage. “When Mike hired us, he gave us a few free tickets. A couple of my girlfriends love him, so I brought them tonight.” She pauses. “I saw you, sitting with Sylvia. She’s now in the front row, and Mike keeps staring at her while he sings. I’m guessing it’s another check in the success column for Rent-A-Danny.”

“Yeah.” I lean against the wall and scuff my shoe against the floor.

“Listen, I was going to wait until Monday to talk about this, but since we’re on the phone… I think I should leave Rent-A-Danny.”

“What?” I straighten so quickly I get a head rush and squeeze my eyes shut while I wait for the spinning to stop.

“You don’t need me, Danny. You never did. This, this is your swan song.”

“My what? I’m not dying, Ronnie.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. That’s not what I meant. Rent-A-Danny is your calling. It’s what you were meant to do. Now I need to go figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

Uh-uh. No way. She’s not leaving me. Not like this.

“I’m not having this conversation over the phone,” I say, sounding far more like her than, well, me. But it feels comfortable. As afraid as I am at the moment that I’m about to lose her forever, it’s nice to simply be…whoever the hell I want to be.

“Danny, I can’t—”

“I’m at your place. Come talk to me in person.”

“You’re at my place? Why?”

“I came to see you.”

“Why?”

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. “Just come home.” And I thought I was the hardheaded one in our relationship.

“I’m here with friends, Danny. Can’t we—?”

“No. Come home or…or I’ll call your mother.”

“And what?” She sounds amused.

“And tell her I want you to have my babies.” Holy shit, it’s true. Jesus, I’ve never even thought about having kids before, but yeah, I can totally see a couple of blond-haired, blue-eyed Frost-Harrisons running around, causing havoc. Maybe even three. Or four.

She gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

I chuckle. “I’m not playing fair on this, Ronnie. I need to talk to you. In person. Tonight.”

It sounds like she growls, which makes me chuckle again.

“Fine. Let me go tell them I have to leave. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Come faster,” I say, knowing the double entendre will send her mind straight to the gutter, much to her own annoyance.

She huffs and then disconnects the call. I pass the time by logging into my email, figuring I’ll clear out my inbox. There’s one from her, and it has an attachment. It’s a legal document, dissolving her ownership of Rent-A-Danny. She doesn’t even want any money out of it. Shaking my head, I close the document and delete the email. And then I shoot off a text to my brother.

Just so you know, if Ronnie and I don’t work out, you have to honor the fact that we are brothers and never, ever try to date her.

He responds: So you’re officially dating now?

I apparently don’t reply fast enough, because he sends another text: By the way, she’s not my type. And I’m happy for you, little bro.

I stare at the words. Not his type? My brother’s type is female, and Ronnie definitely qualifies. And then I roll my eyes, because what the hell am I thinking? I don’t want her to be his type. She’s my type, damn it.

Maybe if you ever find your type, we can double date, I finally respond.

You’ll have to come to Cali for that to happen, but yeah, that would be cool.

Sounds like my brother is ready to go home. Which means once I set things straight with Ronnie, I should head over to my parents’ house and figure out how to get along with the rest of my family. I’m done with all this estranged bullshit.

Wonder how my father will react when I tell him that?

Earlier I said this week had been the longest of my life. Scratch that. These twenty minutes feel like twenty years. How the hell long does it take to say goodbye and head a few blocks south? She doesn’t live that far from the venue.

Shit, what if something happened to her on the way? What if she was mugged? Or hit by a car? Or…

“Hey.”

I whip my head up and watch as she hesitantly walks toward me. She’s wearing this navy and white sundress with spaghetti straps and a really, really short hemline. Between the barely there skirt and those high-heeled sandals, her legs look like they go on for miles.

She’s clutching her handbag in a death grip, and there are brackets around her lips and eyes. I hope those tell-tale signs aren’t saying, I can’t wait to get rid of you; that they really mean I’m desperate to get horizontal with you. No, wait. Right now they need to be Let’s work this out and make up.

“Hey,” I respond, and then take a step back so she can unlock her apartment door.

“Um, it’s kind of quiet without Pucker here,” she says. She flips on a light while I close and lock the door. I’m wracking my brain for an appropriate response, and I’m coming up flat. It was easy to be brave and confident when we were on the phone. But now that she’s standing in front of me, fiddling with the strap of her purse, I’m losing all that self-respect I just recently discovered.

She waves at the kitchen. “Do you…do you want a drink?”

“Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.”

We sound like strangers, not estranged lovers. Or hell, maybe this is what estranged lovers sound like. I’ve never been in this situation before, so I have no clue.

I place my hands on the counter while she reaches for the Johnny Walker Blue Label on top of the fridge. The hem of that too-short skirt rides high on the back of her thighs, and my mind blanks even more than it already was.

I clear my throat while she pours smooth, blended scotch over ice.

“I, uh… So, um…well, Mike and Sylvia got back together.”

“I saw,” she says, turning around and offering me one of the drinks.

“How come you didn’t say hi?” I ask.

She lifts one shoulder, her gaze on the amber liquid. “Didn’t want to interrupt. Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve ever watched you do your job? You were really good.”

All I did was listen to the woman and convince her to have a little confidence in herself, but okay. “Yeah, speaking of that… I realized something tonight.”

“What’s that?” She’s peering at me expectantly, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to be polite or really wants to know what I have to say.

“That I’m a dumbass.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part. “Why do you say that?”

I swirl the liquid in my glass, staring at it like it holds the answers to all my problems. “Because I’m in love with this really fantastic woman, but I didn’t have enough confidence or self-respect to keep her.”

There’s a sound, a little eep, and I glance up at Ronnie, who is opening and closing her mouth like she’s trying to speak but someone stole her vocal cords. “Did you just say you love me?” she finally manages to croak.

I nod. “Yep.”

“Oh God.” She glances around with a sense of urgency, and then finally walks over and sinks onto the recliner in the living room. I frown and follow, sitting on the edge of the couch and placing my drink on the coffee table.

“Oh God,” she says again.

“What?”

“This”—she waves her finger between the two of us—“was okay when it was just screwing around, having a good time. And then it turned serious, and I still thought, okay, I can handle this. And then you started acting all weird and—”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I have self- confidence issues. I didn’t realize that was my problem until tonight. But now that I do, I want to fix them. I want to be the guy who you can envision yourself with for the rest of your life.”

Her eyes are glassy, like she’s holding back tears. “I don’t want to be my mother. I can’t be. My lasagna isn’t nearly good enough. And she’s so much more organized than I am. And while I may be a better decorator, she’s always better at finding things on sale. And then there’s the waffles, and—”

I laugh. I can’t help it. She narrows her eyes and glares at me, but it still takes me a few moments to get the chuckles under control.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

“Us.”

Her brow furrows, like she’s confused.

“Here I am, thinking you are the most confident woman in the world, and I’m pretty sure you thought I was super confident, too, until we started getting serious and my mom’s stroke forced me to deal with all my family issues. So you called it quits because I wasn’t confident enough to be able to make this relationship work. When, in reality, you’re having the exact same issue.”

She frowns. “I’m not following you.”

I lean forward and place my hand on her knee. God, it feels good to touch her again. “Ronnie, you are a far better version of your mother.”

“I am?”

I nod and give her leg a squeeze. “For the record, I think your mom is pretty spectacular.”

She stares at me, like she isn’t quite sure whether to believe me. “You do?”

I nod again.

“If she’s spectacular…” Her eyes light up.

I laugh. “That means you’re, like, off the charts.”

The sparkle dims. “But I don’t know if I want to be my mother.”

I snag her hand, wrap it in both of mine. “You don’t have to be your mother. I said you’re a better version of her. That means you take the traits she gave you and make them your own.”

She’s staring at our hands, and I fall silent while she processes our conversation. Without looking up, she says, “I don’t really want to leave Rent-A-Danny.”

“That’s good, since I deleted the email you sent.”

Her gaze shoots up to mine. “You did?”

“I want you to be my work wife and my real wife.”

She whips her hand away from mine and lifts it like a stop sign. “Whoa. That’s a little fast, don’t you think?”

I clasp the hand she’s holding up and use it to pull myself toward her. She shifts, trying to move out of my way without getting out of the seat. “What are you doing?”

“Making up with you,” I say, wedging my ass between hers and the chair. And then I slide my arm around her waist and lift her onto my lap. “There. That’s better.”

My body is already responding. Mr. Happy is anticipating being really happy here shortly.

“Danny.” She wiggles, and I groan. “Stop.”

I lift my arms. “I’m not doing anything.”

She twists around until she’s facing me, and then grabs the hem of her dress and hikes it up so she can settle on my lap with her knees pressed to the chair on either side of my thighs. “Now that’s better,” she says. And then she shimmies, and my vision blurs around the edges.

I grab her waist to keep her from moving. “What?” she asks, giving me that faux innocent look she’s damn near perfected.

“Are we made up?” I ask.

“Almost,” she said impatiently, trying to wiggle out of my grasp.

“Do you love me?”

“I think so. Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Are you going to tell your mother about us?”

She freezes. Her shoulders sag. “She’s going to be relentless.”

“About what?”

“Babies.”

“You don’t want babies?”

“Of course I do. Maybe. Someday. I just don’t want to be pressured into doing it sooner than I’m ready. There’s still so much we can do with Rent-A-Danny. We need to start advertising, to grow the business. There are some local magazines we should run ads in, and maybe partner with some of the clubs around town, like the one Sam works at. And I want to add more detail to the website. And—”

“You don’t just love me. You love it. The business we created together.”

“Maybe,” she admits. “It may be my calling too. But”—she lifts her finger, waving it in my face—“I love you more. If I had to choose, I’d choose you. Hands down.”

I release my hold on her waist and place my hands on her thighs, sliding them up until my fingers slip under the hem of her skirt. She sucks in a breath and grasps my shoulders. “I’ve missed you so much,” she says.

“I think Pucker and I should move in,” I say, my breathing choppy as I push her dress up and over her head. “Officially.”

I’m not sure I can go slow tonight. My blood is pounding in my ears, and my dick is pressing against my zipper with enough pressure that it almost hurts.

“That’s a marvelous idea.” She grabs at my shirt while I palm her breasts. “We’ll move all your stuff tomorrow.” She tosses the garment over her shoulder and starts tugging at my belt.

“After we visit both our parents.”

She groans and frowns. “I’m pretty damn worked up here. Are you seriously trying to kill the mood?”

I chuckle and cup her cheeks, pulling her close so I can kiss those pouty lips. “Not at all. I just want it to be more than sex, that’s all.”

“It is.”

“And I want us to both make things right with our families.”

She blinks rapidly. “You’re-you’re going to talk to your dad?”

I nod. “I don’t even need you to come with me, if you don’t want to.”

Her smile is watery. “Of course I want to go with you. I always want to be there for you.”

I wrap my arms around her back and pull her flush against my body. What a few seconds ago was a sense of desperation has morphed into such a tender moment, there’s a lump in my throat and my eyes feel wet. I nuzzle her cheek, and she turns toward me, capturing my lips in a kiss that is both tender and sensual at the same time. She hugs me close while she grinds against me, and I work at the clasp on her bra. It springs free, and I slide the thing off her shoulders and tweak her nipples before breaking the kiss so I can give some affection to her breasts, too.

She lifts herself up onto her knees and tugs my pants down my legs, but I cover her hands with my own and say, “We need to go to the bedroom. I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh,” she says, and reaches for her handbag, producing a small foil square.

I arch my eyebrows.

“I knew we were going to be in the same place tonight.”

I shove my pants and boxers down to my knees and snag the condom. “What did you think, that we’d bang right there at the bar?”

She lifts one shoulder. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”

I sheath myself and clutch her hips. Staring into her eyes, I pull her down while thrusting at the same time, and she sinks onto my shaft with a gasp.

“This,” I say, my teeth gritted while I try my damndest to make this last, “this is my dream. I’m living it right now.”

She makes this sexy little noise and then says, “Having sex in the chair?”

I give her an extra deep thrust for that one, and she answers with a guttural groan while grinding down onto my cock.

“Being here with you,” I say between gasps. My balls start to tighten, and my dick is pulsing. I reach between us and thrum her clit. I need her to race over the edge with me. “Just. Being. With. You.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and throws her head back and lets out a scream as her body convulses, her inner muscles milking me until I explode. Her movements gradually slow until she finally collapses against me, and I can feel her heart beating the same erratic rhythm of my own.

“I think this is my new favorite chair,” I say.

She giggles. “Yeah, mine too.”