Fast and Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (19 page)

Her foot taps out a rhythm as she waits for an answer.

I yank on the door again before rolling out my middle finger at the security camera.

“Did you lie to me?” she questions, her voice rising. “Did you tell me you were an executive here to impress me?”

“What? Why would I do that?” I ask, turning toward her. Even when she’s enraged, she looks gorgeous.

“I don’t do liars,” she says, before turning away from me and stomping through the parking garage.

“I was telling you the truth,” I shout to her back. “I just didn’t tell you all of it.”

My words stop her departure for the second time. I can’t blame her for knowing what she wants and not accepting anything less.

She turns to face me with a look of understanding. Her face softens.

“I’m suspended from my position for hitting a guy—my sister’s fiancé,” I explain. “He’s trying to push me out of the company by pushing up the date of their wedding.”

She steps closer to me with a smile crossing those kissable full lips.

“Was that so hard?” she says playfully.

“I got something that can get hard for you,” I joke, nearly forgetting the sole mission and purpose for standing in the middle of the parking lot.

I hook her against me.

“Are you trying to get into the building or into me?” she whispers, craning her neck to look into my eyes.

“Choice C, all of the above,” I answer, sliding a hand to her round behind.

“You can only have one.” She places a steady hand on my arm. “Take a few deep breaths and let’s think this through. Clear decisions can’t be made if your mind is clouded.”

I take slow, even breaths as we make our way back to my car.

She slides in softly, moving those luscious thighs into the passenger seat. Fuck, but I’m actually feeling jealous of my own damn car; at least it’s been given the privilege of cradling that soft ass.

“Let’s recap the situation,” she says when I take a seat next to her. “Thinking about the facts only, without the emotion, can bring about clarity.”

“Trevor told me point-blank that he wants me out. In the last conversation, he brought up my sister and him becoming a part of the family.”

“Have you talked to your sister? Maybe if you call her, let her know that you need to talk, she can buzz you up, or come to you.”

“We’re not that type of family, Ayron. We don’t do the fuzzy, warm conversations.”

“What conversation were you going to have in her office?”

“I’m going to see that slithering snake Trevor to let him know that I see what he’s trying to do.”

She crosses her arms before leaning back against the car door.

“Here we go,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “You should be glad that I like you, lady.”

“I’m just trying to help you think this through. What happens when you go up there?” she asks.

“I’ll let him know that I’m not sitting quietly by for his bullshit,” I say, raising my voice a little in the process.

“That’s basically telling Trevor, the enemy, your plan,” Ayron reasons. “Right now, he doesn’t have a clue that you see his moves. You running up the stairs and screaming at him, possibly having a physical altercation, will put you in further jeopardy of losing your position.”

I think about the truth in her words.

“I believe in doing, not waiting and wondering. I act, strike while the iron is hot and let the pieces fall as they may. I’m not scared.”

“Are you willing to risk your position in the company to prove how ‘not scared’ you are?” she asks in a voice that teeters on the edge of sarcasm, but reminds me more of the advice Sheryl used to give me in our kitchen conversations.

A month after my mother passed away, Sheryl came into my life to run the house. She was no-nonsense, but always let it be known that she cared for me. Conversation and pie is what I remember most about the woman. She believed that the world’s problems could be solved over food.

“Let’s grab some lunch,” I tell Ayron before putting the car in drive and head out of the parking lot.

Maybe it is wiser to have a plan before I pursue.

C
hapter 9-Ayron

T
he exhilaration
that the rumble of Devlin’s sleek sports car provides is enough to make me want to jump across the center console and shift his gears until he roars. A raw manliness radiates from his existence. I understand why women lose control around him.

“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I give a naughty smile.

He handles the powerful turbo car with ease, switching from one lane to the next as though the machine is dancing to a beat. If only he could control his anger like he does the car, I wouldn’t be here.

Devlin parks at a restaurant near the edge of the city, a quaint place with vines covering its limestone-and-brick shell. He opens the door, and I step out of the car as though I own it, as if fancy cars are an everyday part of my life.

He takes my hand inside of his as we make our way in.

The dim, candlelit restaurant automatically registers as expensive. Silver glitters around French words and accents. Fleur-de-lis, fake grapes, and vined, triangular leaf decorations stand out strategically amongst the light purple walls as people in white tops and black bottoms rush around the table clothed areas.

“Have you been here before?” Devlin asks, watching my expression.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s a beautiful place, though.”

The fanciest place that Lance ever took me had cartoons on the menu.

“Ayron!” the hostess calls out as she steps forward.

I want to take off my face and drop it inside of my purse.

The uniformed woman hugs me quickly, with no regard for Devlin. Despite being enveloped in her powerful hug, I watch his face. His caramel eyes watch me. Do I detect a hint of suspicion?

“Jenny,” I say kindly, hugging her back.

Two years ago, I helped her escape an abusive relationship and provided counseling to her and her daughter for six months afterward.

“How is your baby?” I ask, hoping to guide the direction of the conversation.

“Great. We’re doing so well,” she says with a genuine smile, before turning her attention to Devlin.

“Seating for two?” she asks, her voice becoming professional.

“Yes. Jenny, this is my friend Devlin.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Someone else was supposed to be your waitress, but I’m going to take care of you two personally today.” She punctuates her declaration with a wink, officially knotting my stomach.

I had already lectured Devlin on the importance of him being honest with me, even though I continue to hide things from him. I am usually very open with my patients about my life and history. I always want them to feel comfortable when they talk to me.

Jenny guides us to a nice table near a wall, handing us our menus before we sit.

“You make sure to take good care of the doc,” she says before turning and leaving.

“Doc?” Devlin questions, lifting an eyebrow.

If panic were frequent flyer miles, I’d have enough for two trips around the world. I feel like we are making progress. I’ve gotten him to agree to a non-sexual relationship, open up about his family and rethink a rampage against his soon-to-be brother in law. I don’t want that to change.

“Just a nickname,” I say, calmly unwrapping my silverware.

“How’d you earn that?” he asks.

“I told you that I work as a professional organizer. Sometimes clutter is covering more than a home. Our physical cleaning can lead to some soul cleaning, sometimes.” I shrug. It’s not a total lie, but my stomach turns a little at the thought of not being completely honest with him. “Plus, I give good advice,” I add for good measure.

Jenny arrives with our drinks, but not alone. She comes to the table with a man dressed in a chef uniform.

“I promise that I’m going to let you enjoy your date, I just really feel like I need to say this.” Jenny looked between Devlin and me.

“It’s fine,” I reassure her, remembering how hard it was for her to open up about her feelings when we first met, how hurt she was. “How about we step over and speak in private?”

I push back in my chair, ready to stand.

“Wait,” Devlin interrupts my exit. “I want to know more about you. If that’s all right.”

He looks between Jenny and me.

“I’ll tell anyone about Doc,” Jenny says, lifting her hand as if to testify. “There were days that I didn’t want to live anymore, when I didn’t want to get out of bed, when breathing felt like too much of an obligation.” Her intense words uncover memories of conversations meant to be motivation for her to live.

Looking at the woman standing here on her own, not curled on a kitchen floor threatening herself with utensils, confirms my belief that talking about a problem and making a plan to overcome it works. The psycho mumbo jumbo that others consider worthless has been priceless for Jenny.

“I’m glad that I was there to help you,” I say with a smile, thankful that I ask my patients to call me by my first name.

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” she says, holding the hand of the man standing next to her. “I would never have met Cooper without your support.”

There’s a universal look that women around the world have when love takes over. A look mixed with disbelief, pride, and affection. I was seeing that in Jenny when she spoke about her fiancé. I guess seeing this makes me want that look, too.

“Thank you,” Cooper says. “If you had anything to do with this wonderful woman being here today, I am forever grateful.”

“I still use some of the same advice that you gave me,” Jenny says as she gushes a tear glistening in her eye. “I am so happy.”

I stand up and hug her again.

“I’m so glad that you are well and happy,” I tell Jenny, finding a tear or two myself. She worked so hard to become a better person.

I take one of Jenny and Cooper’s hands without worry of Devlin. It is good to know that I have done well, that what I do has a positive effect.

“I wish you all the best,” I tell the two.

She hugs me this time before walking away.

“Wow. I feel like I am in the presence of a rock star,” Devlin says when Jenny and Cooper have left.

“I’m nobody special,” I say, placing my glass back down on the table. “I just help where I can where I’m needed, especially if I can make someone feel better about their life.”

“I’m impressed,” he says, causing my cheeks to warm.

“Thanks.”

“You do give great advice,” he agrees, taking a sip of his drink. “You stopped me from going upstairs when I found out about Trevor.”

“You wouldn’t be able to woo me from jail, so…” I joke.

His chuckle is smooth enough to make me moan. The underlying rumble is like vibration from a speaker.

“Don’t speak too soon. I’m still working on a plan to take down Trevor and talk some sense into Dana before she marries him.”

“What are you thinking about? Maybe I can help?” I say.

“I really want to revisit this rock-star sighting,” he says. “Jenny has really piqued my interest about you.”

“I think the possibility of personal assault trumps my one sighting,” I divert. “Why don’t you take advantage of my great advice giving skills—you know, while you are granted the opportunity and all.” I run a finger around the top of my fine crystal wine glass, hoping I can convince him to drop the Jenny subject.

“I have a few conditions,” he says, mimicking my approach from this morning.

“Do tell.”

“I’ll follow your wait-time guidelines, plus give you more information about my plans, if you accompany me to a charity ball tonight,” he offers.

“Go out with you tonight?” I shouldn't. Worse: I shouldn't
want
to as much as I do. I have to keep this professional, or at least, as professional as possible.

So why was I already worrying that I had nothing to wear?

“It’s a charity event that my company donates money to every year,” he explains. “It was a cause very near to my mother’s heart and I haven’t attended since she passed.”

His shoulders slump a little and the bravado that spilled from him in the sports car is now nonexistent.

Devlin wets his lips and then looks out of the window. The sun streams in purposefully, like its only intention is to illuminate the clarity of his eyes like stained glass.

I take his fingers in mine and squeeze them.

When he looks at me, there is water welling in them.

“You miss her?”

Devlin clears his throat, before presenting an unauthentic smile.

“I do, and I’d be honored to have you by my side tonight for my return to an event and organization that she helped fund.”

“No problem.” I find myself agreeing. “That does mean that you’re sponsoring a new dress, shoes and hair,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Devlin reaches for his wallet, but I put my hand up to resist.

“I was just joking,” I tell him. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I always have.”

His smirk reappears, erasing all signs of vulnerability.

“Maybe it’s time that you don’t have to,” he says, handing me a black credit card.

“I can’t take that, Devlin,” I insist, pushing the card back in his direction.

“Would you rather have cash?” he says with no sign of understanding that I don’t want his money. He pulls several crisp hundred-dollar bills from his wallet.

“Sorry,” he says, obliviously counting the bills to himself. “I only keep a couple thousand on me at a time.”

“Put that away,” I snap in a hushed tone. “Where I’m from, people get hurt flashing that kind of cash.” I look around the room at the patrons, hoping that no one saw him. “I don’t want your money.”

“No problem,” he says, taking a sip from his glass.

“Thank you,” I say, before I realize he just gave up entirely too easily. And he was smiling even wider now.

“I’ll just be there with you to pay for it,” he says before signaling Jenny over for the check.

“No. That’s not—”

He cuts me off. “Ayron, you are a beautiful woman and tonight, I want to show that off.” He reaches across the table, one long, strong finger lightly tracing circles over my wrist. I can't help it; even this light touch causes me to shiver and heat to pool between my thighs. I'm so distracted by the good wine, the good food, this good man—I force myself to pay attention to his words.