Midnight Encounters (13 page)

Yet it pissed him off, the way Maggie drove herself to the point of exhaustion. He liked her—fuck, he liked her a lot. And what he
didn’t
like was seeing someone he liked wasting her life away. He didn’t know what made her do it, why she felt she had to work so freaking hard, but he did know he wanted to help her.

But how the hell could he ever break down Maggie’s impenetrable devotion to her job and her annoying tendency to choose responsibility over fun?

He stood in the stall for a moment, letting the water course down his body, and then the answer came to him.

With a sly grin, he shut off the water and stepped onto the fluffy pink mat outside the shower stall.

Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom, heading for Maggie’s bedroom.

He sat at the edge of the bed and picked up the phone from its cradle. Glancing over to make sure he’d closed the door, he punched the number for information. A few seconds later, he got what he was looking for and dialed another number.

“The Olive Martini. Trisha here.”

“Why hello, Trisha.” He lowered his voice, looked once again at the door, and then said, “I’m calling about Maggie Reilly.”

“Who is this?” The voice on the other end thickened with suspicion.

He faltered for a moment before responding with, “It’s Tony.”

“Tony? Oh my God! I didn’t recognize your voice.”

Shit. He hadn’t banked on any of the other wait staff knowing the infamous Tony.

“Uh, I’m trying to speak quietly. Maggie’s in the other room and I don’t want her to overhear.”

“Gotcha. So what’s up?”

“Well, I need you to do me a really big favor…”

“I want to take you on a trip.”

Maggie’s head shot up, not so much from Ben’s sudden reappearance but more from the words that exited his sexy mouth. He approached the couch, clad in a pair of jeans and a navy-blue long-sleeved shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. His jaw was tight and his mouth was set in a very firm line, as if he’d come out here expecting a fight and prepared to win it.

His words hung in the air. A trip? Hadn’t he listened to a word she’d said ten minutes ago?

“I don’t have time to take—”

“I’m not talking a week-long vacation,” he interrupted, catching the disbelief in her eyes. “I’m talking one night. Well, two, since we’d leave tonight and come back Saturday morning.”

“I’m working tomorrow, Ben.”

“So call in sick.” He offered a small shrug. “C’mon, babe, it’s just one day.” Her jaw tensed at his flippant tone. “I can’t lie to my manager.”

“Maggie.”

“Ben.”

She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, with that secretive little smile that said he was up to something. But how could he be? He couldn’t force her to go away with him. Couldn’t tie her up and drag her out of the city.

Before she could further analyze that sly expression on his face, the phone rang. Grateful for the interruption, she leaned over and plucked the cordless from its cradle, noting the blinking red light on the answering machine that indicated there was a new message. She’d forgotten that she’d turned the ringer off earlier, after three irritating telemarketers had called one after the other.

“Hello?” She avoided eye contact with Ben as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hey, it’s me.”

Since Trisha rarely ever called her, Maggie’s guard instantly shot up a few feet. She didn’t know where that suspicious tug at her gut came from, but she couldn’t ignore that
something-is-fishy
feeling.

“What’s up, Trish?”

“I need you to switch shifts with me. I’ll work for you tomorrow night if you do Saturday.” Something was fishy, all right.

Her head swiveled in Ben’s direction, but he seemed completely uninterested in her conversation, and oblivious to its content.

Of course, he also happened to be an actor, so what he seemed to be wasn’t all that reliable.

“Why can’t you work Saturday?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“You won’t even believe it.”

“Try me.”

“Lou’s taking me to see a Broadway show,” Trisha replied in a bubbly voice. “And it was
his
idea. Isn’t that amazing?”

“What show?”

“Huh?”

“What show is he taking you to see?”

“
The Puppeteer
.”

If she’d caught Trisha in a lie, she had no freaking clue. Her ignorance about Broadway musicals, not to mention most pop culture, was definitely the proverbial thorn in her side. She’d have to check it on the

’Net later. As it was, she found it hard to believe that Trisha would magically want to cover her shift two minutes after Ben announced his plan to take her on a trip.

“So will you do it, Mags?”

“Uh…”

“Please say yes,” Trisha begged. “You know how much I complain about Lou never paying attention to me. You’ve
got
to let me have this.”

A sigh lodged in the back of her throat. Damn it. The guilt card worked every time.

“Sure, of course I’ll take your shift.”

“Great! I owe you a million!”

You sure do, Maggie thought ruefully as she hung up the phone and turned her attention back to Ben.

He’d moved across the room and now stood in front of the television, oddly fascinated by the Cary Grant photos Summer’s grandmother had mounted on the wall.

“Apparently I now have the day off tomorrow.”

He turned around, his features revealing nothing. “Looks like fate decided to step in.”

“Fate,” she repeated, unable to stop that mistrustful cloud swirling in the forefront of her brain.

“So does this mean the trip is on?”

She took great pleasure in bursting that balloon of hope floating around in his gaze. “Nope.”
Pop
. The balloon dissolved into an annoyed glimmer. “Why the hell not?”

“I volunteer four days a week, in the afternoons. Fridays and Saturdays are two of those days. It’s a requirement for my college program.”

His broad shoulders sagged with disappointment. He looked really cute when he was dejected, but Maggie refused to let that puppy-dog gaze get to her. In fact, this was a conversation she’d had so many times, it was almost soothing. The men in her life made demands, her schedule got in the way, and they left in a huff. It was a routine now, and the one thing she always gained the most comfort from was her routine.

She softened her tone. “You could still take that trip to…wherever it is you wanted us to go.”

“I guess you’ll never know,” he muttered. For the first time since she’d met him, he’d lost that confident aura.

The annoying blinking light on the answering machine flashed in the corner of her eye. “Hold on. You can continue being mad at me in a second,” she teased.

She pressed the play button and a familiar female voice filled the room. “Maggie, it’s Gloria. I really hope you get this message before you show up for your shift tomorrow.” Gloria Rodriguez was the facilitator of the Broger Center, and the second Maggie heard her soft Hispanic voice an uneasy feeling climbed up her throat.

“Libby Martin, you know, the little girl with the freckles? Well, she’s come down with the chicken pox. I know you haven’t had any contact with her lately, but some of the other kids have and they’re showing symptoms too. So if you’ve never had the chicken pox, I’d advise that you don’t come in tomorrow.”
Damn you, Fate.

“Actually, don’t come for at least a week, just to be safe. The infectious period is about five days, but chicken pox could be dangerous for adults. So stay away if you’ve never had it, kiddo. Call me to let me know.”

Maggie listened to the soft click, then the automated voice announced she had no other messages.

“So…just for my own curiosity,” Ben began, his husky voice coming out in a soft drawl, “have you ever had the chicken pox, sweetheart?”

She made an inaudible noise, and then set her jaw so tight her teeth hurt.

“What was that?” he prompted. “I couldn’t make out your answer.” She slowly opened her mouth, relaxing her muscles with a long, calming breath. “No, Ben, I can’t say I’ve ever had the chicken pox.”

He made a clucking noise with his tongue. “What a shame.”

She met his gaze and saw the amusement dancing around in those striking blue eyes. “I’m sure
Fate
would agree with you.”

His lips twitched. “So how long will it take you to pack?” Chapter Eight

Whoever said fate was a cruel mistress had no idea what they were talking about, because apparently fate was very much on Ben’s side. He may have gone behind Maggie’s back to get her out of work, but he’d totally forgotten about her volunteer work. Fortunately, fate stepped in after she’d dropped that I-volunteer-four-days-a-week bomb in his lap. Okay, well, maybe not fate exactly, but an itchy childhood ailment that had irritated him immensely when he was six years old.

Gotta love the chicken pox.

He was actually surprised Maggie hadn’t put up more of a fight after her tidy little schedule shot up in flames. He’d expected her to, but she’d yet again impressed him with her graceful admission of defeat.

Instead of hurling more excuses at him, she’d calmly walked into her bedroom and packed an overnight bag, and now they were seated in the back of a cab headed to the airport. Much to Ben’s delight, he had two whole nights to make her realize he was exactly what she needed.

Call him arrogant, call him a presumptuous ass, but he’d spent enough time with Maggie Reilly to know the woman needed a wake-up call.

From him.

Who are you really helping here?

Ben bit the inside of his cheek, momentarily startled by the little accusation in his head.

Maggie. He was helping Maggie, right?

Or was he starting to feed on the way Maggie made him forget about his mess of a life?

He’d never been one to duck and hide when troubles arose, but these past few days with Maggie reminded him of what life before fame had been like. It brought back memories of growing up in Ohio, of being able to take a girl out without it winding up in the tabloids, of being able to sing along to the Beach Boys without a sound bite popping up on the Internet. And damn it, he wanted to hold on to that unburdened feeling for as long as he could, to think about someone other than himself for a while. He didn’t know where it was all heading, but for the moment he needed to be around her. Needed that feeling of being a regular person.

And he
would
be helping her. He’d told her he’d give her all the sex she wanted, and he’d done that, but it was becoming unsettlingly obvious that Maggie needed more than sex. She needed fun. Relaxation. A
life.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, jarring him from his thoughts.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Did I mention I don’t like surprises?”

“No, and mentioning it now won’t get you any answers.” He reached over and squeezed her lower thigh, then tried to ignore the jolt of desire in his groin. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” She had better like it. Ben had pulled so many strings he could officially put the New York Philharmonic out of business. If Maggie didn’t appreciate what he was doing for her, he’d owe a few big names some big favors.

After the cab driver dropped them off at the International terminal at La Guardia airport, Ben helped Maggie out of the taxi and slung her overnight bag over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“How can I be ready when I don’t know what to be ready for?” He grinned and pulled the rim of his Yankees cap low to his forehead. Where they were going, he probably wouldn’t get recognized, but better safe than sorry, his mom always said.

They were met at the end of the taxi stand by an airport employee, who ushered them onto a small private shuttle. As they drove away from the terminal, Maggie shot him a puzzled look.

“Seriously, where are we going?” she repeated.

“Be patient, Red.”

She made a little irritated sound and closed her mouth. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a large private hangar, its doors open to reveal a white and gold Gulfstream IV. Sexiest jet ever built, in Ben’s opinion.

Maggie’s eyes were two green saucers as she stared at the sleek plane. “Please don’t tell me this is yours.”

“I’m not that rich,” he replied in a mild tone.

As they followed their airport guide out of the shuttle, Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off the plane.

Whether or not Ben owned it suddenly became a moot point. That he knew someone who did was enough to leave her wide-eyed and speechless.

People actually lived like this? She’d always known it, but seeing it was an entirely different matter all together. Seeing it also brought a tiny spark of resentment to her gut. She had nothing against someone who could afford his own private jet, but it was just a reminder of everything she didn’t have. Not that she aspired to be a jet-setting billionaire who went through hundred dollar bills like Tic Tacs, but it would be nice not to worry about saving her pennies to pay for basic essentials.

The person who owned this plane probably only worried about when it would be time to trade in for a newer model.

As Ben exchanged a few words with the pilot, who’d stepped out of the cabin at their arrival, Maggie swept her gaze along the length of the jet. In gold lettering, scrawled across the side, were the words

“Papa G”.

Jeez, did this monstrosity belong to a
mobster
?

She seriously hoped not.

“We’re good to go,” Ben told her, shifting her overnight back to his left shoulder so he could put his arm around her again.

She managed a nod and followed him up the steps leading into the cabin. Inside, she openly gaped at the surroundings. There were about twelve seats in the cabin, white leather, with gold seatbelts that—God, those couldn’t be
real
diamonds studded along the buckles. Instead of a tray that folded out of the back of each seat, each pair of chairs faced another, and bolted onto the floor between them were honest-to-God
poker
tables. With green felt and everything.

“Who owns this?” she blurted out.

Ben shot her a tiny little grin. “Papa G.”