Forever Branded (Billionaire Love Series #1) (9 page)

I rummaged through the fridge, trying to decide what to have for dinner when I realized there was an important hockey game on. The Baltimore Gators were taking on the Texas Tigers in a divisional play-off game.

That sealed the deal.

I changed into sweats, poured myself a glass of sweet red wine, and plopped down on my favorite navy couch to watch the game. The TV came to life as I settled into my seat with the remote control. I had nowhere to be and I loved to unwind with a hard-hitting game.

“Richardson takes it down the ice and passes it to DeLuca who races up the side with his lightening quick speed,” the announcer’s blustery voice belted out of the TV.

Sam Richardson was Grace’s husband. He looked like a brawler, but he had a heart of gold, and he was very good to Grace.

The game was in the second period, but the Baltimore Gators were behind 2-1.

“Puzio comes out of nowhere and flattens O’Reilly,” the announcer said as he continued to call the action.

Emma had briefly gone out with Bill Puzio, but her heart had always belonged to Micah.

It was weird to know these players on a personal level after watching them on the ice for so many years. I’d been obsessed with the game of hockey since Beau came into my life.

Something about it just called to me.

Maybe it was the graceful way the players skated, or the do or die spirit each team seemed to have, but most likely it was the hot-blooded, beautiful warriors on the ice. Modern day gladiators who gladly spilled their blood and asked for more, gritty as hell, give-all-take-all men, who played with their heart and soul.

I used to love watching Beau play. He was a graceful skater, a forward with a wicked wrist shot he winged by goalie after goalie. He wasn’t super thick, but he was wiry, taking a lot more punishment than I would have thought possible.

I’d kept up with his career and watched his games whenever I had the chance. He’d been wildly successful for a number of years, playing on the number one line in Toronto before his accident.

The buzz of my cell phone came to life as Baltimore scored. I prayed it wasn’t the salon. I didn’t need to deal with any more crises for the day.

“Hey, lady! How are you?” Stacy Obermeyer gushed into the phone.

She was one of my dearest friends.

“Stacy! How’s San Francisco?” I asked.

“Good. It’s hilly and cold, but beautiful.”

“How’s the new job going?”

“I’m liking it. They gave me my own column. Can you believe that? Stacy Obermeyer doling out inspiring thoughts and being paid for it. I love it.”

She’d never had any trouble tooting her own horn.

“Oh Stacy, you deserve it, but I miss you, hon.” She had just moved a couple months ago and hearing her voice made me miss her all the more.

“I miss you, too. You should come out to San Francisco sometime.”

“That would be fun. I would enjoy that, but it would be hard to get away from the salon. Are you coming back to Baltimore anytime soon?”

“Yeah, I’m coming back out for my sister’s wedding in October.”

“Yay! Are we going to get a chance to hang out?”

“Do birds fly? Of course, we will. Let’s do something fun and dangerous.”

“Oh yeah, because we’re just two thrill seeking gals.”

“Hey, I remember a few adventures with you,” she wisecracked.

Oh god, I missed having her around. She knew me so well.

We’d been friends since my senior year in high school. I didn’t know many people at my new school, but that didn’t stop Stacy from befriending me.

She sat down next to me on the first day of trigonometry and said, “Ah, I don’t know about you, but trig bites.” Her blonde hair was heavily permed, a pink scrunchy holding up half of her thick hair.

“I hear you. Math sucks,” I agreed whole-heartedly.

She smiled, showing off a brilliant set of teeth. “Then let’s stick together and kick this trig bitch’s ass,” she said like she was throwing down in a fight.

I laughed, loving her boldness. “I’m Marla.”

“Stacy. Without an e.”

“Glad to meet you, Stacy without an e.”

After that, we became fast friends, studying hard to get through trigonometry. We were very different, but somehow we just clicked. She was a social butterfly, flittering around to her many friends, while I stayed buried in my books, determined not to draw any attention to myself.

Still, we ate lunch together most days.

One spring afternoon, shortly after I met Beau, I sat in the school’s god-awful cafeteria waiting for her. The room wasn’t so bad, but the smells were what got to me. The aroma, a cross between burnt Tater Tots and overcooked meat, always made my stomach turn.

I don’t know how anyone ate that junk. No matter what, I packed my own lunch. I ate as healthy as I could on the budget Emma and I lived on.

The one good thing about the cafeteria was the panel of floor to ceiling windows which filled an entire side of the large, square room, facing out to the quad with all the lush greenery in full bloom. I always tried to sit over there and stare out at the pretty landscape.

I loved nature and felt better when I was close to it.

“Are you still eating yogurt and granola for lunch?” Stacy asked as she threw her sack lunch down on the white table I was sitting at.

“Yep. It’s my fav,” I said as I scraped the side of the Yoplait container with my spoon. “Plus, yogurt’s been on sale for a couple of weeks. I try to stock up.”

“I know it’s good for you, but don’t you get tired of it?”

“I will eventually, but for now, I love it,” I said licking my spoon.

She rolled her blue green, almond shaped eyes at me.

“Just eat your lunch, smarty pants,” I said as she dug into her brown lunch sack.

“Whatever. How was your weekend?” she asked as she pulled out a sandwich.

“It was good. Just did some studying and some grocery shopping.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re really living it up.”

“I am. As much as I can with a ten-year-old around. How was your weekend?”

“Good. Went to Steve Langston’s house for a party. Got pretty plastered. Then on Sunday, I went shopping and got this cool set of bracelets.” She held her arm out for me to examine a thick bunch of rubber neon-colored bands covering her wrist.

Very trendy.

“Ooh, cool. Those are better than the smelly jelly shoes I used to wear.”

“Yeah, I’m glad that fad didn’t last,” she agreed, watching her bracelets move up and down her wrist.

“So the social worker paid us a surprise visit yesterday,” I announced as she took a bite of her sandwich.

Stacy was the only person at school who knew I was living on my own, raising a ten year old.

“Oh?” Her dark brow arched coolly. “What did she say?”

I smiled. “She said I was doing an excellent job taking care of my sister. Her exact words were ‘Emma is well-fed, well-adjusted, and thriving.’”

“Oh, that’s great to hear!”

I beamed under her praise. “The best part is she told me she’ll be recommending full guardianship to the court in her next report.”

“Bet you’re excited about that.”

“Yeah, now we just have to make it official and Emma will really be mine.”

She scrunched up her nose. “You’re weird, Marla...what eighteen-year-old wants to be that responsible?” she teased.

“I know. But it makes me sick to think of my sister being raised by someone else, or falling through the cracks of the foster care system. I won’t let that happen.”

“Emma’s a lucky little bitch to have you,” she said, her glance lighting up with admiration.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You bet your ass it is!”

We laughed and continued to eat. As I finished my sandwich and got up to throw my trash away, I came face to face with Ashley DeGraw and her mean girl crew. Wearing a colorful array of blazers with shoulder pads the football players would envy, they looked ready for battle.

Thin, hostile, and hungry.

Not fun.

Ashley was known for starting vicious rumors that ruined many reputations. She was the typical pretty on the outside, ugly on the inside girl. With long legs, blonde ratted hair, and the trendiest clothes, she was a force to be reckoned with at North High.

“He’s mine,” she claimed as I threw away my brown bag.

I knew she was talking about Beau, but I wasn’t going to make it easy on her. “Who?” I asked, trying to annoy her.

Her aquamarine glance filled with superiority. “Beau Shepard,” she said as she crossed her arms over her pink blazer.

“Oh, really? Funny that he’s never mentioned you, let alone told me he has a girlfriend.”

She sneered, tapping her manicured fingers on her crossed forearm. “Why would he discuss his love life with you? You’re nothing to him.”

“You don’t know what I am to Beau. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

Her gaze turned icy. “Beau is my business and I am warning you to stay away from him.”

“Ashley, if Beau is interested in you, he’ll make that known. Otherwise, leave me alone,” I said, pushing past her as she huffed in outrage.

I didn’t have time for mean, vicious girls getting catty about boys.

“Did you hear her? Back off, bitch!” Stacy said, getting in Ashley’s face.

I could always count on Stacy to have my back.

“Ah! How dare you!” Ashley scoffed in outrage.

“Walk away, bitch! Don’t let me catch you messing with my friend again!” Stacy hollered after the retreating crew of mean girls. “You’ll regret it!”

It still made me smile, thinking about Stacy punking out Ashley DeGraw as I tuned back into my phone conversation with her.

“Are you up for that?” Stacy asked.

“Tell me again,” I let out, having no idea what she was talking about.

“When I’m in town for my sister’s wedding, we’ll have dinner and then go out to a new club I heard about.”

“Yeah, that’s sounds good.”

“Awesomesauce! I can’t wait to see you, lady. But right now, I gotta go write my column,” Stacy said.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe and I’ll see you in October.”

*****

Beau:

“Your shirt, sir.” Peter, my valet, held my crisp white tuxedo shirt open for me as I stood in front of the full length mirror in my huge walk-in closet.

I buttoned it up as he got out a black valet box that contained the limited accessories I wore.

“Cufflinks.” He motioned his hand upward as I bent my forearm, so he could smoothly thread my cuff. “I thought the silver and black pinstripe would go nicely with your silver vest,” he offered as I put my arm down.

Fashion wasn’t really my thing, but I knew he put a lot of thought into my outfit. “Yeah, looks good,” I said, admiring my sleeve.

He beamed, his thin mouth almost breaking into a smile. “Your jacket,” he offered as he helped me slide my arms into the form-fitting coat.

At this point, you might be thinking, why the hell do you need someone to help you dress?

I’ll tell you why.

Peter was amazing.

He took the guesswork out of trying to decide what to wear. He kept up on the latest styles and trends, and laid out a perfect outfit every day for me. I always looked good and never worried about my clothes.

It hadn’t always been like that. I had been of the jeans and T-shirt variety when I was playing hockey, but that all changed when I got into real estate. When a business associate had first suggested a valet to me, I’d balked. It seemed weird. I was perfectly able to dress myself. No need for any help.

Then I saw one in action when a friend got ready for his wedding. I was impressed with how professional and proficient his valet was, and the way he got my friend cleaned up after a long night of partying.

I wanted one to make me look that good.

So, I hired the very best. Peter was a rigid, little English man who had impeccable manners and had dressed heads of state, royalty, and perhaps David Beckham at one time.

He was great.

Plenty of days, I handled the dressing part myself, but he did incredible things with my wardrobe, especially on black tie nights when I needed to look my finest.

My shoes were always shined, and my shirts and slacks were perfectly pressed. I never had stains on any of my clothes. He meticulously went through my wardrobe, looking for loose threads, unraveling seams and shoelaces which needed replaced. All things I would never care about, but I was happy to pay him to worry about.

“Which watch?” Peter asked as he held out my black valet box.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“The Ulysse Nardin would go nicely with the silver cufflinks.”

“Yes, it would,” I agreed as he handed me the dark leather band.