The Boyfriend Collector, Two Page 4

  Her lips tighten. “Unconditionally. You really, truly mean that?” The doubt in her tone has just moved up the ladder to “I’m calling bullshit,” and I fully understand why. No one has ever loved her. Anyone who tried to get close, tutors or staff at the estate, was fired. I imagined Rose met a few people while taking classes at college, but from what I gather, she dropped out after being manipulated by her grandparents one way or another. To her, love is like a mythical creature she’s only caught glimpses of in her mother’s stories. I do believe, however, and this is just my assumption, that she loved her grandparents deeply. But how they chose to show it back—by presenting her with an endless stream of guilt over the death of Rose’s mother, who died during childbirth—it’s all distorted Rose’s world. She knows what they did to her is wrong, but deep down, all Rose really wants is to be made whole, and she’s never going to find it if she’s looking outward.

  I know this because a few months ago I discovered that my mother and I were never enough for my father. On his deathbed, he confessed to every affair and one-night fuck with strangers, assistants, patients, and students at the university.

  Now, you might be thinking that I’m the type of person who wonders why we weren’t enough for my father, but you’d be wrong. His confession offered me a glimpse of the world through his eyes, and what I saw was a man who wanted to fill a void. He searched everywhere except the one place that actually might have made a fucking difference. Inside himself.

  So now you see why I’m doing this. From what I’ve read online, Lana Hale’s heroine in her final book was semiautobiographical and exactly like my father. She searched her entire life to find love, but ultimately ended up alone. Empty. Troubled.

  I want something different for Rose, but I can’t love her enough to make her past disappear. I can’t love her enough to heal her. No amount of “us” is ever going to make up for what she’s been deprived of, which is the reason I haven’t told her I love her. I know she’s unaware. But if I really want her to move on and thrive emotionally, she’ll need to make peace with her past and learn to love herself. That’s where my skills can help, if she allows it. And if I can tolerate listening to stories of her love life that don’t involve me.

  I gaze into her intense brown eyes and clear my throat. “I meant what I said. Unconditionally. There is nothing you can say that’s going to make me run away or hate you.”

  “Are you sure? Really, really sure, Bex?”

  “You can say anything to me.” My stomach tightens into a sickly knot.

  “What if I already slept with Markus? Would you still be okay talking about it?”

  Rose

  Fine. Maybe Bex is right. I do need someone to trust, and while it’s uncomfortable discussing other guys with the man whom I’m trying very hard to get over, Bex seems incredibly at ease with it all. Why should I second-guess him? Bottom line, I’m not his babysitter, and he’s not mine.

  Yeah, but a few hours ago, we stood in front of a justice of the peace at city hall. We swore to be true, in good times and bad, and to love and honor, in sickness and health, for as long as we both shall live. I don’t know what was going through his head, but I might have been playing out a few fantasies about us doing it for real. Doesn’t help that one hour from now, the two of us will stand before the estate executors—some sleezy, high-paid lawyers my mother hired twenty years ago for reasons I’ll never understand—and present our marriage certificate. I will become the official owner of the Lana Hale estate, which includes seventeen acres and a mansion, movie rights, book rights, and merchandising revenue along with anything else owned by Lana Hale Enterprises. I will be an extremely wealthy woman.

  And then I will pay a hundred-thousand-dollar legal retainer to fend off, shut down, silence, and stop anyone who comes after me.

  Bex was right when he said that allowing so much money to go to my grandparents, even if only for a few short days while the courts issue injunctions, is dangerous. They could buy a lot of hit men and lawyers with that much money. My aunt Belinda could move it all offshore and disappear. I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it, and I’d be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life.

  “You want to talk sex?” Bex sits back in his black leather armchair positioned just a few feet from the white velveteen couch where I’m seated.

  I stare him dead in the eyes, observing his every move. How does he look so comfortable? It kills me that I feel so much for this man, but he only sees me as one of his pathetic rescue pets. “Yes.”

  “What in particular do you want to share?” His tone remains clinical and distant.

  I didn’t say I wanted to share. I was only throwing out a hypothetical because I’m so stunned or hurt or…I don’t know. His emotional distance isn’t easy to swallow. But deep down inside, I know he’s keeping his word. He said the marriage was on paper only. Nothing between us changes. I’m on my own to date, travel, and live my life. He merely wants to keep me safe, and I’m grateful for everything he’s done. I am. Still, it’s hard to look at him and know he feels nothing for me except maybe a small physical attraction. Bottom line, he’s in this because he wants to be my knight and save me, but that’s not the type of love I’m interested in.

  “Rose?” he prods.

  “Oh. Sorry. I was going to ask how to assess things,” I lie. “I mean, I read that sex feels better after the first few times. Is that true?” Not that I’ve had sex even once, but Bex doesn’t know that.

  He jots something down. I want to know what, but he probably won’t tell me. “I can’t answer that question.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “It’s subjective. Your,” he shifts in his chair and crosses his legs, pointing his lower torso away, “initial experiences might have been terrible or mediocre, but there’s no telling how it’s going to measure up down the road. It all depends on your partner.”

  “So you’re saying I will just have to keep experimenting and see?”

  He clings to his robotic expression, and it’s more proof that his feelings for me were never more than a superficial attraction, one he never acted on. In his defense, though, never did he—not once—mislead me. I strung myself along, reading hope into his every act of kindness.

  “I’m not advocating you sleep around,” Bex replies. “I’m only sharing my experience. The first time isn’t an indicator of how good, or bad, sex feels later.”

  “How was your first time? And don’t you dare say my question is inappropriate. I’m your wife now. Remember? I think we’ve crossed the inappropriate line and left it in the dust.”

  He rakes his fingertips across the side of his short dark beard. He’s one of the few men I’ve seen who looks tempting no matter what he does with his facial hair. The man could probably sport some two-inch handlebars, and I’d hop on for a ride.

  “You’re right.” He speaks in a low voice. “I need to get accustomed to our less than traditional relationship.” He pauses, flicking his pen against his pad of paper. “It was with a girl from my track team in high school.”

  Of course he had sex in high school. He’s hot now, and I bet he was then, too. “How old?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” I ask.

  “You mean all eight seconds?” He shrugs. “Sure, though I doubt she did.”

  I try not to laugh. “So, am I to assume that sex got better for you?”

  “I’m a man; sex is always good. But you can assume I’ve gotten better at making it last longer—kind of important for the woman.” He smiles, and two deep divots pucker in his cheeks. I never noticed them before, and I’m not going to lie; his smile, even when he shows a hint of it, makes me tingle. Pretty much everywhere. Right now, it’s concentrated deep inside my core.

  “So what type of woman do you typically bless with these skills?” I ask.

  “I don’t have a physical type, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Actually, I wanted to hear more about his exes.
I don’t know if it’s weird or not, but part of me feels jealous. They’ve had him in bed. I haven’t. Thinking about him naked, his hard ass pumping between two naked thighs, is an image I see almost every night when I’m lying alone. I think about him next to me, running his fingertip over my pert nipple. I think about him trailing kisses down to my navel and continuing on.

  And you realllly need to stop thinking about that now. We’re married on paper. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want a relationship for real. I’m not stupid enough to sink hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t want me like I deserve.

  I straighten my back. “So you’re not a big boob man or stuck on brunettes,” I say casually, trying to mask my true thoughts.

  “No. And I think that’s all the Q and A we have time for right now. We have an appointment.” He stands, and my stomach falls.

  Christ. We have to go see the executors now. My lawyers are supposed to meet us there. Well, actually they’re Bex’s aunts’ lawyers, and their kindness still shocks me. Virginia and Eugenia—twins and his deceased father’s older sisters—were at my coming-out party and witnessed firsthand the delightful ways of my evil family when my grandmother declared in front of a room full of Georgia’s wealthiest families that I was violent, manipulative, and deranged. It was the first time they ever said such ugly things to my face, and the weird part is I honestly preferred it. It was a sick kind of relief to finally see their true nature. Anyway, Eugenia and Virginia insisted on helping me do whatever it took to remove these vultures from my life. I won’t ever forget their kindheartedness.

  I slowly get to my feet, feeling my knees tingle. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

  Bex nods and holds out his hand. “Yes. It is. And happy birthday, Rose.” A flicker of a smile plays across his lips, and though I can’t tell if he’s happy for me, proud of himself, or both, I don’t really care. I won’t ever get enough, because when Bexley Hughes smiles at me, I know he means it.

  I take his warm, strong hand, ignoring how right we fit together, and we leave his office. Once in his car, a white BMW SUV thing, I notice a black sedan closely following us. “Bex, there are two men behind us.”

  Bex keeps his eyes on the road. “I know. I hired them.”

  I stare at his face. His expression is all seriousness—tight square jaw, eyes intensely focused on the road, large hand gripped firmly around the steering wheel.

  “Bodyguards. You hired bodyguards.” I can’t quite believe it.

  “I’m not about to take any chances with my wife.”

  A wave of raw sexual tension ripples down my spine. Jesus, the way he just said “my wife” sounded like he really meant it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bex, the two men in dark suits, and I arrive to the offices of Fucker, Fucker, and Big Fucker, in downtown Atlanta, just after three p.m. The executors’ office building is one of these shiny rectangular eyesores that takes up an entire city block along with the airspace above. A great setting for the battle about to go down.

  For the record, I’m expecting my grandparents’ lawyer or my aunt to show up with a stack of legal documents or some bullcrap court order, blocking me from taking my inheritance. Still, this is a moment I have thought about a thousand times since I was twelve or thirteen, when I was given the fake explanation for my circumstances. In short, I was told I would inherit my mother’s empire on this very day. All that was required of me was to earn my keep and work as a staff member at the estate. I didn’t mind the hard work, but I was left alone all the time. No family. No friends. Isolation was all just part of my grandparents’ plan to keep me in the dark. That’s why I never cared about the money. I just wanted to be free. That’s it.

  “You okay?” Sitting beside me in the lobby, Bex slides his warm hand over mine. My hand is nails deep in the armrest of the chair but relaxes instantly with his touch.

  “Yes,” I say, bouncing my crossed leg. “Never better.”

  “Rose, it’s going to be all right.” His confident baritone voice almost makes me believe him.

  I glance over my shoulder at a woman coming through the double glass doors. She doesn’t even notice us and continues to the elevator bank.

  “Rose, just relax,” Bex commands.

  “Says the man who hired bodyguards to accompany us,” I throw back.

  “It’s merely a precaution. Can you blame me?”

  “No. But it signifies you understand the sort of people I’m up against.”

  Bex leans in close to speak quietly in my ear. “The bodyguards were my aunts’ idea. But between you and me, I pulled some strings to have your grandparents placed in solitary.”

  “Solitary?” I know what it is. I just don’t understand why that should make me feel better other than maybe they’re both suffering a little extra.

  “No phone calls. No visitors. No talking to each other. They’ve only been allowed to speak to a lawyer and pick paint from the walls of their cells.”

  “Not sure that gives me comfort. Their lawyer is probably just as shady as they are,” I rebut.

  “Their assets are frozen right now, so they’re using a public defender. His reputation is the opposite of shady—a champion-of-justice-and-the-law type.”

  I’m impressed that Bex is so on top of all this. He’s really looking out for me. Of course, his protectiveness only makes my heart want to lean in closer.

  Not good. For me or him.

  “That’s really comforting to know. Thank you.” I mean it, but still can’t help looking around the room. Where is my grandparents’ cavalry?

  On cue, a group of five men in suits enter the lobby, and my entire body tenses until I realize that one of the men is Frank. This is my legal team from the firm of Awesome, Expensive, and Don’t Even Think of Fucking With Our Client.

  We greet each other, and it isn’t until we’re all sitting in a big conference room on the top floor, the wintery-gray Atlanta skyline laid out in front of us, that it dawns on me. No one has come to stop us. This is happening.

  Bex and I present our marriage certificate to the sharky-looking guy with thinning hair across the table. I say sharky because I know this firm has been allowing Gertie and Mel to spend my annual allowance, twenty million dollars over twenty years, without any supervision. It wouldn’t surprise me if my grandparents paid this guy to look the other way—no receipts, no verification that that money was being used for my education or clothing or anything. All it would have taken was one visit to the estate, and they would’ve seen a spanking new Rolls in the driveway and me in my shitty old clothes scrubbing floors. But no one ever came. No one ever cared.

  I glare at the lawyer. And this guy got paid to care. By my mother. Which makes him just as shitty a person as my grandparents.

  “Well?” I fold my arms over my chest. “You going to sit there all day, weeping over the loss of your prized cash cow, or can we move on?”

  The look on the lawyer’s face is priceless. But so is Bex’s. He’s gloating right alongside me, which makes me feel like we’re a team. He’s got my back. I’ve got his and—

  Fuck. Stop it. I push back on myself and try to focus on this moment. It’s a good one, and I can’t ruin it with silliness and fantasies about me and Bex.

  “I believe our client asked you a question, Mr. Lime,” Frank says, sitting motionless in his chair, the four other lawyers on his team seated to his side.

  Lime. Sharky man is named Mr. Lime. I try not to laugh, even though the name fits his sour face.

  “Yes. Everything looks to be in order,” says Mr. Lime with a croak. “I will get the paperwork.” He gets up, leaves the room, and returns with two thick stacks of paper. My lawyers get out their red pens and attack one of the piles, dividing everything up.

  That’s why there’s five. They’re reading everything before I sign.

  I want to cry. Not because I’m sad—hell no—but because I know this is Bex’s doing. He wanted to make sure there were no tricks, no loopholes, no
thing to hurt me in those documents. I bet he told Frank that everything had to be read ten times, which would require a lot of eyes.

  I try not to swoon and to allow those feelings of love to seep in, but I can’t help it. I just can’t. And I know I’m only making this harder on myself.

  An hour later, as man and wife, we sign the last page, and I experience my first ever moment of unbridled happiness. This is a huge turning point, the end of a long painful road. I don’t know whether to laugh or slap my face to make sure I’m really awake.

  “Is that it?” I set down my pen on the long gray table. My heart is racing a million miles per second.

  “Yes, Ms. Hale. That’s it. Congratulations,” says Frank.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Lime stares vacantly at the pile of executed documents. He clearly didn’t see this coming—the loss of a client and whatever else my grandparents promised him.

  As for me, I’m still wondering if this is a dream.

  I look at Frank again. “So I really own everything now?” I’m not greedy, but putting this behind me means the world.

  “You and your spouse have complete and equal control of the estate,” he clarifies.

  “Of course.” I smile at Bex. “I meant to say us.” As stipulated in my mother’s will, we were both required to sign a power of attorney naming each other. There will be no fifty-fifty, no permission required by the other spouse. Bex can spend, sell, or give away everything we own without my permission. I can do the same. Complete trust. Yes, my mother was a little crazy. Obviously, though, Bex doesn’t want a dime and promised never to touch the money, even when we divorce. That’s right; there is nothing in the will that says we have to remain married forever. It makes zero sense other than the marriage alone would be a huge act of faith in the man I chose. Those powers of attorney leave me wide open to being swindled, which is why Bex was my only choice. Anyway, the lawyers advised us to remain married at least until we see what sorts of legal challenges my family comes up with.