RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE) (61 page)

Chapter 13

The next day, I barricaded myself in
my office and refused to speak with any of my clients. I was an utter wreck
after that fiasco of a dinner the night before. That kiss had brought my heart
right into my throat and my cheeks to a deep burning red hue. All the thoughts
I had tried to repress of the night we’d spent together all came flooding back
to me in that moment. It was too much for me to handle at once. I had to get
out of there. I had to escape.

My world felt like it was all
crumbling in on itself, the very foundation on which I’d built my life felt
like it was crumbling and all because of that stupid boy I’d wanted all those
years ago. I wanted to curse his name and kiss him all at the same time. Damn
him.

I was more than thankful I had a
woman like Tina in my corner—I could never trust anyone else with the running
of the business when I just couldn’t handle the stress of the world around me.
It was because of her I could make it through the mess of sorting out the love
lives of countless of people, she knew everything there was to know about this
business, and if I ever thought of handing the reins over to anyone it would be
her. She was an absolute wonder.

Except when it came to my mother.

“
Marm
,”
she said, poking her head into my office around the noon hour, “your mother’s
on the first line for you. She told me not to put her on hold forever like I
tried to do last time. I think she’s getting wise to us.”

“So she is, Tina,” I sighed, trying
to muster up a smile to reassure her that all was well. “I’ll take the call in
just a second.”

Once the door was closed and I was
bathed once again in the relative dark of my office I pressed the blinking
button on my desk phone and put my mother on speaker phone.

“Good afternoon, Mother. What can I
do for you?”

“Gwendolyn! Dearest, how are you?”
my mother asked, her voice too chipper to be anything but suspicious. “I’ve
missed the sound of your voice.”

She wanted something. I could tell
just from the break in her voice as she tried to give some indication that she
gave a damn about anything, especially how I was doing.

“Is there something I can do for
you?” I asked again, my tone much more forceful this time.

“What in the world makes you think I
want anything, dear?” she asked, doing her best to sound offended. “I just
wanted to know how you were doing, and perhaps why you happened to be
emblazoned across the gossip section of this tabloid across my table?”

I frowned, a pit forming in the
bottom of my stomach. What had they seen? Were there pictures of Tristan and I
in bed together? My heart started to race at the possibilities of how all of
this could go wrong. By the time this whole ordeal with my stepbrother was
over, I’d need to be on at least two different anxiety medications.

“I’m sure I haven’t a clue what you
mean, Mother,” I said, trying to sound as innocent as I could.

“Well, right here it says
‘Matchmaker Stepsister Making a Match for Playboy Stepbrother,
’_”
she read aloud, still trying to feign confusion. “Is
that true, dear? Are you trying to set up our Tristan with a woman?”

“He came to me to find himself a
more stable relationship, yes,” I admitted, though I didn’t like the way my
mother was prying. She never took an interest in who I did business with, let
alone what Tristan got up to in his spare time. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was just wondering how wise
that would be,” she said. “Tristan isn’t really a man for stability, now, is
he? I wouldn’t have thought you would have taken on such a hopeless cause.”

“Tristan seems very set on settling
down, Mother. He wants to stop being seen as the brash party boy that he was
for all these years. I’m rather proud of him,” I said, a defensive tone to my
voice as I sat forward in my chair. Who was she to tell me whether or not one
of
my
clients was worth my time or
not, regardless of whether they were Tristan or the Queen herself.

“But where will that get him?” she
asked, doing her best to sound as unassuming as possible and failing miserably.
The more she talked the more I was convinced that her motives were far from
pure. Tristan had mentioned the argument he’d had with his father a few days
before, about how he’d known that Tristan and Patricia had been out having
dinner with one another. Was this another one of his attempts to gather
intelligence? “He’s not the kind of man who’s suited for married life—certainly
not for a life of duty and service to his country.”

I felt myself tense in anger as I
listened to my mother go on. This wasn’t just some time to gossip about my
goings on, she was trying to convince me to give up on my case with Tristan.
She wanted to be the mother of a duke, the child of noble birth that she’d
always craved since before I was ever born. I never got her what she’d wanted,
and now she had her chance and wasn’t about to give it up.

“And who would be a better heir,
mother? Your fetus?”

For a moment the line was silent as
my mother realized that she’d been found out. She never reacted well to her
manipulations being called out into the light, and any moment I was expecting
the kinds of verbal attacks I’d always gotten when I was a girl.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she
sneered. “Even an unborn child could hold your stepfather’s position with more
grace and dignity than Tristan ever could.”

I felt the heat rising in my face as
I sat there in silence, my muscles twitching. I only wished my mother had had
the courage to come here herself so I might have the chance to slap her across
her smug face. I hated her with every fiber of my being, and if she intended to
stand in my way then I was going to make sure that she regretted it.

“I’m afraid I don’t agree, Mother,”
I said, my tone icy. “Over these last few days Tristan has shown me that his
time in the Army has changed him for the better. He’s become a dedicated man
who has learned to put his duty over his own desires and I’m proud to say that
I will continue to help him in the foreseeable future. Your fetus be damned.”

“You’re going to regret this,
Gwendolyn,” she said in a low hiss. “If you throw your hat in with that
bastard
then you’ll share his fate.
We’ll cut you off from this family just like your bastard stepbrother and
forget all about you like the garbage you are.”

“At least we know where we stand,” I
said adamantly. “Perhaps I’ll see you at Tristan’s wedding, mother. It should
be quite the affair.”

“I should have had you torn out of
me when I had the chance,
you
horrible little bitch—”

I ended the call, my breath coming
out in hard bursts. I almost expected to see steam rising from my nostrils. I
made a promise to myself right then and there that I would do everything in my
power to have Tristan married and make sure that child never saw their
privileged ass in that seat.

I opened up my computer and found
Denise’s number. My stepbrother had better be on his damned best behavior this
time.

Chapter 14

I sat idly in the dining room of
Desrosiers
,
waiting for my date to arrive.

I’d seen the pictures, read over the
notes that Gwen had taken on the things that I should bring up over the course
of dinner, but the more I thought about it the more nervous I became. It wasn’t
so much whether or not I would like the woman—I couldn’t have cared one way or
another at this point—but I honestly worried whether the more I dated the more
of a wedge would be driven between my stepsister and I.

I had slowly been coming to terms
with the fact that whatever the two of us had together would never actually
work out—despite how much I knew we wanted one another, the fallout of our
relationship would cause too much of
a
uproar for
either of us to live quietly ever after. It had to be this way, whether I liked
it or not.

I noticed her out of the corner of
my eye at first, a gorgeously graceful woman gliding toward me in a glimmering
silk dress. She almost floated across the floor as she walked, and if I hadn’t
seen her feet, I’d have sworn they were at least an inch off the ground. She
was
a stunning woman by any standard,
and I couldn't deny that I was enraptured as she took her seat, the waiter
pulling out from behind her before she arrived and pushing it before departing.

“Tristan, I presume?” she said, a
coy grin spreading across her face as she set her small clutch in her lap.
“I’ve been told a great deal about you—not all of which from your sister.”

“All good, I hope,” I said, smirking
as I took a sip from my wine glass.

“Hardly,” she said, raising one
perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You have a reputation for being a bit of a…”

“Playboy?” I prompted, hoping to
draw some kind of reaction out of her other than that disgusted look on her
face. This wasn’t off to a good start, and I didn’t like the odds of it getting
any better.

“An idiot,” she corrected, her tone
severe. “And if you intend on continuing any manner of liaisons with me, I will
insist than such embarrassing behavior ceases at once.”

“You hardly know me,” I said,
“Perhaps it would be best to leave your assumptions elsewhere while we have our
first dinner together.”

“That will be for me to decide,”
Denise sneered, and already I knew what had thrown me off about that
expression—the look in her eyes that I’d seen in all those other photos Gwen
had shown me—that was the same look that my father had on his face constantly.
That overconfident, pompous sneer, looking down their noses at those they see
as less fortunate than they.

She was everything that my father
might have looked for in a wife, and for that reason alone I already despised
her. But I knew that I would need to be civil for Gwen’s sake; I didn’t need to
anger another of her clients, one who was more than willing to spend her money
for what she wanted, especially if what she wanted was a man.

“Your sister says that you have a
love of literature,” Denise said. “What manner of literature would that be?”

“I enjoy the classics, mostly,” I
said, not at all wanting to discuss my favorite books in with such a snobbish
woman. I was hoping something awful might happen to save me, like a monsoon or
an earthquake.

“I see,” she said, her words
clipped. “As broad and elusive as you are, apparently. You at least
gets
points for keeping yourself mysterious.”

“Well I’m glad that you approve,” I
said, forcing a smile onto my face.

“Hardly,” she said, rolling her
eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted to harm another human being, but this
woman would certainly have been on such a list were I that manner of person.
She was infuriating on almost every level.

“And what literature do you read?” I
asked, more out of politeness than any actual curiosity. To be honest I hardly
cared one lick whatever book this woman shoved in front of her face.

“I greatly enjoy the works of —”

“May I take your order?” came the
soft voice of a waiter who’d suddenly appeared at my side, thankfully cutting
her off before she could expound on he interests. Her attitude alone had turned
me off to the thought of pursuing anything that might even resemble a
relationship with her. I couldn’t have asked for a better excuse not to listen
to that woman for another moment, my thoughts distracted by the idea of
something I could stuff in my mouth to save me from having an actual
conversation with this utter brat.

“You’ll be quiet while your betters
are speaking,” she demanded, her voice rising to levels that one would expect
of a person whose entire family had just been cursed, “or have you been taught
nothing of your place?”

The young man and I stared at her,
stunned, as she continued to speak, her voice once again more civilized. How in
the world could any one person be so rude? Even my father’s horrific attitude
was at least curbed in public, something that apparently developed with age.

“Tristan,” she said in an
obnoxiously insistent manner, ignoring the waiter and pretending as though her
little outburst never happened. “I have no desire to be seen in the company of
a serial fornicator who has not renounced his ways—and should this courtship
continue, those ways of yours
will
be
curbed. Am I clear?”

I blinked at her, staring for what
felt like a full minute.

This woman was everything that my father
prized in a member of the aristocracy—arrogant, entitled, belligerent, and
worst of all, high on her own social standing. I don’t think I’d ever decided I
hated anyone as quickly as I did in that moment. She was possibly the most
impudent, spoiled, and self-important
bitch
I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

“Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised
so high I thought they might make a run for her widow’s peak. “I expect an
answer.”

I turned to the waiter, slipping a
hundred-pound note from my pocket and putting it in his hand. “I would greatly
appreciate the check, if you don’t mind.”

The young man was shocked, more by
the bill than the request as he hurried off to settle out my account—the sole
item being the bottle of wine that I again filled my glass from. I could take
no more of this woman’s grandstanding and flouting of her impossibly high
standards that I’d never reach.

“I believe this dinner if over,
Denise,” I said with a sigh.

“Excuse me?” Denise hissed, her face
a mask of utter incredulity. “You will
not
walk out on me! Not here, not in front of… of…” She gestured. “People!”

“I think that I will,” I said,
looking her right in the eye as I took a long drink of my wine glass, draining
the entire thing in one go. “In fact, I’d like to add something before I go.”

I stood up, holding up my empty
glass, as if in a toast. “You are possibly the most horrific woman I have ever
had the displeasure of sitting across a table from for so little a time—and I
say this knowing my own stepmother. You are by far the most pretentious,
self-important
bint
to have crossed my path. And I will be happy to see the back of you.”

“How
dare
you!” she screeched, and before I could even react I felt the
cool splash of wine splattering across my face and down over my shirt. “Why, I
never
!”

Before I even had time to wipe my
eyes free of the wine, I heard the sound of her chair being pushed back and the
clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor. I couldn’t help but start to
laugh. I was cursed to be this way forever, to constantly botch whatever date
my sister set me up on.

Gwen
is going to murder me
, I
thought as I wiped my face with a napkin, the waiter who’d only just been there
moments before at my side, helping me get myself in order. Everything kept
falling apart on every single one of these dates that my stepsister sent me
on—none of them seemed right. The only person I ever felt at ease with ever
since this whole fiasco started was Gwendolyn herself.

It’s
ironic
, I thought.
I go to my sister, the matchmaker, to find a
romantic connection, when all along it’s the matchmaker herself that I fall
for.

I couldn’t stop laughing at the
cosmic hilarity of it all, that fate would make the one person I’d always
wanted the one person who I’d trust to help me find love for myself.

I stood up, brushing myself off and
slipping the waiter another fifty pound note before I headed out to hail a
taxi. I knew now what I needed—what I wanted more than anything… Nothing would
suffice until I had it. I needed Gwendolyn.