Bad Behavior (16 page)

“I don’t blame your father,” Grant said. “He was probably feeling lucky to get out of there alive, and then he ran into me right outside the compound? No wonder he was so upset. He’s just trying to keep you safe, and I’d probably do the same thing, telling you to stay away from any potential threat. If I had a daughter as precious as you, I’d do everything in my power to try to protect you too.”

A few tears had spilled over onto her cheeks, and Sophie’s upper lip quivered. She sniffed. “You already have,” she said. “You already have done everything in your power to protect me. And like an idiot I forgot it all for a second. I’m really sorry. I won’t forget it again, Grant. I promise.”

He listened to her apology with a keen sense of relief, his hope in their relationship returning. This misunderstanding had not been Sophie’s fault or even her father’s fault. Once again, the blame rested squarely on his family. The Barberi clan was yet again attempting to tear down all that was good in his life, but this time he wouldn’t let them. He was fiercely determined to hold onto Sophie, no matter what his family tried.

“So what have we learned here today, people?” Hunter asked. “This isn’t the first time one of you has been so upset that you’ve gone AWOL, leaving your partner feeling rejected and panicked. What did you learn?”

Sophie sniffled again. “We need to communicate,” she said quietly.

“What was that?” Hunter mocked, dramatically drawing his cupped palm to his ear. “What did you say?”

“We need to
communicate!”
Sophie shouted, earning a chuckle from Grant.

“Precisely,” Hunter replied. “Now, with our remaining time today I’d like to go over some communication exercises from the great marital researcher John Gottman. I know you two aren’t married, but he has some wonderful recommendations for romantic relationships…”

Hunter began droning on about physiological responses to conflict, rules for fair fighting, and love maps, while Grant and Sophie listened halfheartedly. Their true attention was riveted only on each other as they sat on either side of their psychologist. Longing for their typical closeness on the sofa, Sophie’s warm mahogany eyes smoldered with desire, and Grant’s cool crystal eyes glittered with want. The curious transformation from livid to lustful was taking place, and if there ever was a time for make-up sex, this was it.

“Okay, so Gottman has found that successful marriages are built on successful friendships first. I want you two to take these love map questions,” Hunter explained, holding out a photocopy for Grant to take, “and quiz each other before we meet again.”

Hunter planned to hand a copy to Sophie once Grant grabbed his, but he hadn’t reached to take it from his hand. Noting Grant’s parted lips and glazed-over stare, Hunter followed his eyes over to Sophie’s face, which looked equally dreamy.

“Has either of your heard a word I said?” he asked.

“Excuse me, sir, what did you say?” Grant stammered.

“I
said
, take these questions and ask them to each other!”

Grant took the paper and nodded. “Will do, sir.”

Sophie let out a giggle of embarrassment as she took her photocopied paper. “Thanks, Hunter.”

He rolled his eyes and wondered how long it would take the nymphomaniacs to get horizontal. “Okay, you two. Get outta here.”

Grant popped off the sofa and headed toward the door, almost running into Sophie. “Oops.” He blushed, holding his arm out for her to go ahead of him. She let out another shy giggle.

When his hand brushed up her side, landing on the small of her back, she felt the crackle of electricity on her skin. As they headed down the hallway toward the waiting room, their awkward excitement continued.

“I can’t believe you ran into my father like that,” Sophie mused, shaking her head.

“And
I
can’t believe you instantly accepted what he said about me!” Grant countered, a twinge of anger still evident in his voice.

They arrived in the waiting room, whose sole occupant was the woman who’d earlier watched Hunter attempt to mediate their argument. Glancing at the flush of Grant’s cheeks, Sophie felt a thrill of naughtiness course through her. Without another thought, she grabbed Grant’s shirt and drew him into the unisex bathroom off the waiting room.

“What’re you doing?” he hissed as she closed the door behind him and pushed him up against the bathroom wall.

“Making it up to you.” She grinned, squinting her eyes mischievously before swooping in for a kiss. Grant’s lips were instantly receptive, and their mouths collided as the temperature in the bathroom began to rise. Their hands snaked everywhere—caressing, groping, massaging, exploring, fumbling.

He loved that the daughter of a very wealthy man was making out with him in a
bathroom.
“Classy joint you’ve taken me to, Taylor,” he teased between kisses.

She felt his lips rise in a grin, pressing against hers.

“Your dad would be appalled,” he added.

“Maybe that’s why I like it in here so much,” she shot back, skating her hands inward from his muscled hips to the button of his jeans. As their mouths zigzagged across every inch of exposed skin, their bodies pushed against each other, creating a hot friction. With exquisite pleasure, Sophie let out one of her characteristic moans.

“While I’m going to miss Ben,” she panted, “I do know
one
advantage of him going back to his mom’s.” She grinned devilishly. “Now we can be as loud as we want.”

She heard the deep rumble of a chuckle springing up from his chest. “I see you’re already testing that theory, and we’re not even home yet.”

Her laughter morphed into deep intakes of air as he worked his McSailor Method on her, swiftly and expertly.

About five minutes later, they emerged from the bathroom, utterly disheveled, with flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and a sated glow warming their skin. The woman gaped at the two lovebirds.

Despite her earlier demands for Grant’s touch, Sophie felt her face on fire. Grant, however, looked the woman directly in the eye, pulling his unkempt girlfriend to his side. Winking at the woman, he announced, “This couples’ therapy thing really works!”

“You ready, kid?”

Grant glanced up from the sheet music in his hand to the open doorway off the bar to find his gray-haired boss staring expectantly. He rose, trying to swallow his fear. “I think so, sir.”

Alex Remington laughed. His performer looked anything but ready for opening night. He took a seat in the makeshift dressing room. “Relax, Grant. You sounded great in rehearsal.”

“Thanks,” Grant said, adding a giant exhale. “But I’m really worried I’ll forget the lyrics.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine. Hell, I’m so confident my bar will be a hit that I invited a couple of old buddies to celebrate opening night. I really want to impress those two. Don’t let me down, Grant.”

A bartender walking past the doorway distracted Alex, and he abruptly got up to follow, calling after the employee with some question about champagne.

Standing alone now, Grant felt even more nervous. If that was supposed to be a pep talk, it had missed its mark.

He wished Sophie were here, but her department was interviewing a cognitive psychology candidate, and she had to go to dinner with the prospective assistant professor. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he recalled how she’d attempted to calm his nerves the last time he’d been nervous about a public singing performance. One tequila shot had turned into quite a few more. He couldn’t remember much about that night—except for kissing her in the cab on their way to Kirsten’s apartment. It was one of their first experiences together, and even now it flushed his face with a warm glow.

Returning to earth, he realized he was on his own this time, and he’d better not blow it. He sighed heavily and sat back down, snatching the sheet music to
Mack the Knife
and closing his eyes while mentally reviewing lyrics about a man lying dead on a sidewalk.

He wished he could get through the song without thinking of Logan. Though Carlo was now six feet under as well, a heated desire for vengeance still rushed through Grant’s veins. Feeling sickened by the lingering impulse, Grant realized no matter how hard he fought, he’d always be a Barberi.

Hearing light footsteps near the doorway, Grant opened his eyes to find the youngest Barberi tentatively entering the room. As soon as he and Ben saw each other, both broke out in big grins.

“I found you!” the teenager said buoyantly.

“Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“Sophie texted me,” Ben explained, holding up his phone as proof. “She said, uh…” He scrolled through his messages, locating the one he wanted. “She said ‘Your uncle has his opening night at Capone’s Spirits and needs your support.’” Ben looked up and added, “He’s so nervous he’s peeing in his pants.”

Grant felt the blood drain from his face. “She didn’t say
that
, did she?”

Ben grinned. “Nah, I may have embellished a little.” Still peering at his phone, his face took on a wistful expression. “And she said, um, she missed me.”

“That part I believe.” Grant smiled. “We both miss you. How’s it going at your mom’s? What’s it been, almost a week now?”

He sniffed. “It’s okay.” Blushing, he glanced nervously at his uncle. “I feel kinda bad that my mom’s been all alone…so maybe I better stay with her—”

“Of course,” Grant interrupted. “I totally understand. You’re welcome to stay with us anytime, but I think it’s great you’re back with your mother.”

Relieved, the teenager studied his surroundings. “This is a pretty tough hotel, huh? Super rich. When I asked where the bar was, the dude at the front desk called me ‘sir.’” Ben grinned wickedly and glanced through the open door at the rapidly filling bar. “So, you’re freaked out?”

Grant nodded solemnly. “I’m about to pee in my pants,” he said with a completely straight face. They both chuckled.

“But you did okay on the cruise,” Ben pointed out. “At least the passengers didn’t try to launch themselves overboard or anything when you were singing.”

“Thank you for that rousing praise. The difference is I only did
one
song on the cruise. Here I have at least six songs in the first set, and then maybe more if it goes okay.”

“Hmm. Well, there
is
a bar out there—want me to get you a drink to chill you out?”

“Hell, no,” Grant quickly responded. “I learned my lesson the first time.”

As his nephew’s eyes lit up with curiosity, Grant shook his head. “Forget it—there’s no way I’m telling you that story.”

Thinking for a minute, he narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second—you’re
sixteen.
How on earth would you buy me a drink?”

The blush returned, coloring Ben’s neck and cheeks. “Uh, um, I dunno—charm the bartender or something?”

Grant’s eyes filled with suspicion. “Give me your wallet.”

“C’mon, Uncle Grant, it’s cool.”

“Give it to me.”

Ben frowned but reluctantly reached for his backpack, which he’d earlier slung over a chair. His uncle had some kind of hold over him, and he felt powerless to disobey. Slowly he unzipped the front pocket and handed over his thin wallet.

Grant opened it, instantly locating what he was looking for: a fake driver’s license. Despite his disappointment, he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips as he read aloud. “Albert Fredo? Where the hell did that name come from?”

Despite himself, Ben chuckled too. “My boys came up with that name—Al is one saucy dude.”

Grant shook his head. Scrutinizing the fake ID, his eyes bugged out. “You’re supposed to be
twenty-five?
Has this ID actually
worked?”

Appearing wounded, Ben started to answer but then thought better of it. “I’m taking the fifth on that one.”

“You’re taking the fifth?” Grant repeated, simultaneously dismayed and impressed. “Well,
I’m
taking this bogus ID.”

“Hey, c’mon, Uncle Grant. Even you said the ID probably wouldn’t work.”

“And if it doesn’t, you could get arrested! Do you
want
to go to juvie?”

“No,” Ben conceded sullenly.

Pocketing the offending license before handing back the wallet, Grant nodded. “Good.”

As Ben zipped up his backpack, he felt overwhelmed. He wished he didn’t make his uncle so mad at him all the time.

Watching his nephew stare at the floor, Grant sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m probably taking out my nervousness on you, and that’s not fair.”

“’S okay. I probably shouldn’t have a fake ID.”

“No, you shouldn’t, Mr. Fredo.”

Ben looked up with one of his characteristic smirks. He was quiet for some time, then asked, “Are you mad at me for going to Angelo’s?”

“I
was
mad,” Grant admitted. “Now I’m just relieved you’re okay. But if I ever find out you went there again, you’ll be doing push-ups forever.”

“I’m not going back,” Ben told him.

Grant was surprised at the conviction in his voice. What had happened at the compound?

“Um, and the push-ups thing?” Ben said shyly. “Uh, I can do them now, I think.” His face reddened as he confessed, “I’ve been training.”

“You can do fifty now? That’s great!”

“Want me to show you?”

Grant paused. This back room was hardly a convenient space to do calisthenics, yet he sensed his nephew’s urgent need to make things right, to make him proud. Grant often felt the same way when it came to Joe.

“Um, sure. Why not? Here…” Grant scooted a small table against the wall and gestured to the floor. “You can do them here.”

Ben nodded and bit his lip, totally focused on the task at hand. He bent down to rest his weight on his hands and toes, then pumped his body up and down while he counted off each rep. Watching the boy’s determination and burgeoning physical strength, Grant experienced a swelling in his chest, an outpouring of love so deep it almost felt like an ache in his heart.

He remembered feeling the same sensation at age fourteen when he’d first held his infant nephew in his arms—when Joe had taken him to visit Ashley in the hospital’s maternity ward. Nineteen-year-old Logan had been absent at the time, but Grant had been amazed that his ne’er-do-well older brother had created the tiny, beautiful bundle in his arms.

Before he knew it, Ben had returned to standing, fifty push-ups under his belt.

Grant gave him a bright smile. “That was awesome!” He reached out to ruffle Ben’s hair, and his nephew looked embarrassed but didn’t shy away from the touch. “I love how you persevered—that’ll get you far in life. And now you’re no longer grounded if you come back to live with us.”

“Finally!” Ben cried victoriously, still panting a bit from exertion.

Grant glanced at his watch and his expression turned from affectionate to anxious. “Only twenty more minutes till show time,” he croaked. “You’ve done a good job distracting me, though. Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Grant crossed to the door and peered out at the small stage area next to the piano, to the right of the bar. He gulped, letting his eyes float over the gathering crowd sprinkled at the semicircle of tables arranged around the bar and stage. His attention was immediately drawn to two stocky men standing behind one table. They reminded Grant of his father’s goons. Casting his eyes down to the three men seated at the table, he caught the gray hair of his boss, who spoke animatedly to his guests. Scrunching his forehead, Grant wondered if Alex had his own bodyguards. Then he studied the profile of the man next to Alex and drew in a sharp breath.

“What is it?” Ben asked from behind him.

“That’s the governor of Illinois!” Grant exclaimed. “Governor Tom Grogan. What’s he doing here?”

“Holy shit—you’ll be singing for the governor?”

Grant turned to look at his nephew with widening eyes. “Holy shit! I’ll be singing for the governor. Oh,
no!”
He spun around and desperately stared at the table again, hoping his eyes had deceived him. However, when he looked back at the bodyguards, he detected an earpiece. They had the look of secret service types. One protection agent leaned in to whisper something in the governor’s ear, at which time the third seated man, whose back faced Grant, turned away to give the politician some privacy. When Grant saw his face in profile, he stopped breathing.

“You okay, Uncle Grant?”

“Th-Th-That’s Will Taylor.”

“What?” Ben craned his neck around to get a look for himself. Sure enough, the man he’d seen in Angelo’s study was sitting right there at the table.

“That’s Sophie’s dad,” Grant numbly announced, beginning to feel nauseated.

“Maybe Sophie asked him to come and give you support too?”

Grant shot his nephew an incredulous glare. “He
hates
me! He’s already tried to break us up several times, including last week after he ran into me at the compound. Sophie almost left me because he told her I was working for the family.”

“But you’re not!” Ben instantly recalled Angelo lying about Grant being on the payroll. He felt sickened that his uncle had almost lost Sophie as a result of having to retrieve him from the compound. He had to do something.

“I can’t do this,” Grant choked out, almost hyperventilating. He weaved his way over to a chair and collapsed into it, murmuring, “I can’t sing, not with him out there. What the hell is he doing here? I—I can’t sing. And if I don’t sing, I get fired, I go back to prison, I lose Sophie…”

“It’ll be okay, Uncle Grant.”

Ben’s promises barely registered with the man holding his head in his hands.

Patting his uncle’s shoulder a few times, Ben instructed, “Just sit here, okay? I, um, I gotta run to the bathroom—I’ll be right back.”

Stepping out of the side room, Ben took a deep breath and headed straight for Alex Remington’s table. As he quickly approached the three men sitting there, one of the agents stepped forward, ready to pounce if he made any sudden moves. The men ceased their chatter and curiously stared at the boy.

“You’re a little young to be in a bar, aren’t you?” Alex asked.

“That’s okay, Alex. He’s just looking for an autograph,” Governor Grogan reassured him. “Do you have something for me to sign, son?”

Ben dismissively waved his hand. “No, actually I’m here to talk to
him
.”

All interested parties followed Ben’s pointed finger to the surprised face of Will Taylor. “Who the hell are you?” Will asked.

Ben swallowed against his tightening throat. “Ben Barberi.”

Will flinched, and his blue eyes turned icy. “You’re Logan’s son? You’ve been staying with my daughter?”

“Yeah.”

The governor watched the interaction with interest, already quite familiar with the Barberi crime family. He’d been furious when Angelo Barberi had weaseled out of extortion charges. The governor’s advisors had warned him that failing to put the notorious crook behind bars might cost him the upcoming election.

When Ben said nothing further, Will tried again. “Well, what do you want?”

“I need to tell you something,” Ben said, his voice quivering. “I was there.”

“What?”

“I overheard the whole thing. I heard Angelo lie to you when he told you Grant’s working for him. He’s not. I promise. The only reason my uncle was there was to get me—he was worried about me.”

“Will, what the hell’s this kid talking about?” the governor asked.

Ignoring him, Will narrowed his eyes. “Sophie told me some story about Grant being there to retrieve you, but I didn’t believe it. Now you’re saying it’s true? You were there?”

Ben nodded eagerly.

“Why do you care about this? Why does it matter what I think about Grant?”

“Because my uncle’s about to sing in the bar tonight, and he freaked out when he saw you here. He, uh, he knows you hate him. I thought if you knew the truth, you might not hate him so much.”

Will glared at Alex. “
Grant Madsen
’s this new singer you were telling me about? The singer you dragged me here to see?”

When his friend nodded, Will’s face reddened further, and his voice rose. “Did Sophie put you up to this?”

“Why are you so upset, Will?” Alex responded calmly. “Sophie asked me to keep it a secret when I hired Grant because she wanted to surprise you or something. I thought I’d invite you here tonight and save her an extra step.”