More, Please (Please Series Book 3) (10 page)

“Yeah.” I slung the pack over my shoulder. “With the mother.”

“She’s a sweet lady,” Brenda said, swiveling in her chair and facing me. “Mind your manners, though, because she’s very…wealthy.”

“Like, proper?”

Brenda gave one large head-bob. “Yes. Prim and proper at all times. It stresses me out.”

“When did you meet her?”

“She’s come through here a few times. Usually for Hunter’s birthday. She’ll take him to lunch or dinner.”

I stepped into the doorway to Hunter’s office. “I’m headed out.”

He looked up from his computer, nodded, then turned back to his work. He didn’t balk at the extra time it would take me to get ready. He knew the score.

“You’re supposed to say goodbye…” I waited for a reaction. I saw his lips quirk upward, but he ignored me. He would start saying please, thank you, and goodbye, so help me God. He might even give me chocolates and flowers. Why not? If I was going to put the effort in, I might as well go big.

Just not today. I had to beautify.

“Okay. See you on the flip side,” I said to Brenda as I passed.

“Yup. Have a good weekend.”

Bert was waiting for me by the curb. It then took an hour to get home. Those seven miles were a killer. I really hated living so far away from the city center.

As we pulled up, Bert let out a low whistle. “That’s not good.”

I glanced up from my phone where I’d been looking at code. It took a second for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I saw what Bert was looking at. Scrawled across the garage in bright pink spray paint was the word “Bitch!”

“Great,” I muttered, looking hard at the door. It was still closed, thank God. Hopefully that meant she hadn’t been able to get into the house. I had no doubt that this had been done by Blaire. She was a sore loser.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Bert asked.

“Yes, please,” I said in a small voice. “It looks like Blaire wasn’t thrilled Hunter got out of the contract.”

Bert clicked on the hazards and got out of the car. He came around and opened my door before shadowing me through. The walls in the hallway looked fine, and the door to the flat itself was untouched.

“Here, Livy, let me.” Bert took the keys from my shaking hand and opened the door. He stepped in first, the giant muscles on his body flexing. His huge arms drifted away from his sides, ready to fight.

I blinked at him for a moment. I’d never seen him get aggressive. He’d always been sweet around me. But as he walked into the kitchen with nimble feet, perfectly balanced, it was like seeing a complete stranger.

“What did you say you did before being Hunter’s driver?” I asked with a dry mouth. I knew he would never hurt me, but truth be told, I worried about what he would do to whoever he found.

“I did a little boxing before playing in the NFL.” He passed me by, having looped around through the living room, and was now headed toward the back of the flat. “I think it’s okay, Livy.”

I stared after him. “The NFL? And you need a job?”

A moment later he walked toward me again, his body seemingly deflated and his happy-go-lucky outlook back in place. I wasn’t fooled, though.

“It’s clear.” He smiled and handed back my keys. “I was second string in the NFL. I didn’t make millions like some of the others.”

“Uh huh.”

“Mister Carlisle pays well.”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s wrong?”

I started and tore my eyes away from the man I really needed to get to know better. “Sorry.”

“Anyway, I’ll see ya, okay? Knock ’em dead!” Bert gave me a pat on the shoulder before leaving.

I glanced around the empty flat. That was nuts.

Without waiting any longer, I hurried into the shower. A quick scrub later and I was in front of my closet. The doorbell chimed.

“Who…” I stayed still, listening. It chimed again. “…is that?”

Worried that it might be Blaire, I hurried to the front of the flat and edged closer to the window. I peeked out and saw an unknown car in the driveway, blocking the garage, and a brunette with a rolling suitcase waited at the door. It wasn’t Blaire.

In confusion, I went to the speaker system as the door chimed again. I pushed the button to talk. “Who is it?”

“Olivia? It’s Pat. I’m here to do your hair and makeup.”

Pat! She had been the mastermind behind my appearance when I went to the first business meeting with Hunter.

I eagerly pushed the button to buzz her in and opened the door. I heard her clomping up the steps. She was looking around with appreciative eyes when she reached the landing. “Nice place. You’ve moved up in the world.”

“It’s Hunter’s. This is his solution to not wanting to spend the night in my old place.”

“Don’t blame him. That apartment was a
disaster.
”
She wheeled her suitcase into the living room and whistled. “This is definitely Hunter. Look at all this space. You’re a lucky girl.”

“So he doesn’t trust me to do myself up for his mom, huh?” I asked with a grin.

She brought over a chair from the dining room and placed it in the living room area. She lowered her suitcase so it was lying flat before unzipping it and removing makeup items. “He just said you needed help preparing for a special occasion.” Preparing, in Pat language, was relaxing. “Get the champagne flowing, girlie, and grab your dress. I want to see what I’m working with.”

“I don’t think we…” I opened the fridge as the front gate clanged. The door opened a moment later, admitting a red-faced and bustling Janelle.

She looked around, smiled at Pat, and then hurried into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she called. “The bus just stopped for no reason and told us all to get out—I had to walk eight blocks!”

“I didn’t even know you were supposed to be here.” I wandered to where I could see her. Her upper half was behind the door of the fridge.

“You have my schedule.” Janelle took out a bottle of champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Have it, yeah. Look at it, no.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Pat said, shooing me toward my room. “I want to see what you’re wearing.”

I led her to the back of the flat and left her standing at my bedroom door as I pulled out a sophisticated dress in deep, sparkly blue. I laid it on the bed as I pulled out some jewelry to go with it.

“Shoes?” Pat asked, analyzing the selection.

I pulled out some black heels, and then a pair of strappy sandals. “One of these.”

“Black heels. It will age you just a little. You don’t want to seem too young and hip with a parent. Okay. I think I got it.”

“Did Hunter have any directions?” The last time Pat had helped me, Hunter had a very precise way he wanted me to look. Turned out his ideas were perfect and looked awesome. He knew how to look the part better than anyone I knew.

“Nope. He’s pretty laid-back about this one. It surprised me.” She glanced at my robe. “Put on something not so fluffy and meet me in the living room. Let’s get started.”

It took Pat an hour and a half to get me looking like a million dollars. The woman was a genius of the highest degree. Hunter arrived halfway through the transformation, grabbed a glass of brandy, asked Janelle to make him something to eat, and escaped to the bedroom.

“And the finishing touches…” Pat fastened the jewelry on and dropped the shoes at my feet. When everything was ready, she and Janelle stepped back.

“Lovely!” Janelle exclaimed, smiling.

Pat smiled, too. “Perfect. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

“I’ll get Mr. Carlisle,” Janelle said, walking toward the back of the flat.

Butterflies filled my stomach at what came next. “Oh God, I’m going to meet his mother.”

“Relax. You’re smart and sweet—you’ll do fine.” Pat sat on the couch with a glass of champagne.

Hunter came into the room wearing a casual dress shirt without a tie. The deep cream hugged his cut chest and cinched down his trim waist perfectly before tucking into black slacks. I closed my eyes as his delicious smell hit me, his cologne mixing with his natural scent, distinctly man. Safe, protective, and mine.

I smiled as he stopped in front of me. His gaze took in my dress, my accessories, and finally stopped on my eyes. “Perfect. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said, reaching forward and slipping my hand in his.

He held it for a moment, squeezing before checking the time. “Shall we?”

The butterflies came back in force. I blew out a breath and gulped down the last of my champagne. “Okay.”

“Here.” Pat hopped up and handed me a nude shade of lipstick. “Remember to reapply.”

“Got it.” I took my clutch from Janelle before turning so she could drape a wrap over me. Hunter shrugged into a leather jacket and waited for me by the door.

“You ladies going to just hang out?” I asked as I made my way to Hunter.

“Yeah. There’s all these appetizers Janelle made, not to mention champagne—” Pat resettled on the couch.

I looked at Hunter. We always had Janelle and Mrs. Foster in the flat, but it was weird for Pat to assume she could hang when the owners were gone.

Hunter answered my reservations by winking and slipping his hand around my waist. “Ready?” he asked quietly.

I shrugged. “Sure.” I waved at the ladies and let him guide me down to the garage and into his car.

“You’re driving this time, huh?” I asked as the garage door opened and he started the car.

“Yes. There is plenty of parking.”

“And you don’t mind Pat staying in the house when we’re not there?”

“No. I’ve known her for a long time. I trust her, and I trust Janelle. They’ll look after things. It’s no different than leaving Kimberly behind.”

That made sense.

He paused in the driveway as the garage door closed. I could see his lips thin as his eyes trained on the pink scrawl. He didn’t say anything, though, just waited until the garage was fully closed before backing out.

Hunter’s mother lived across the Golden Gate Bridge in a stupidly wealthy area where a large house would be priced in the millions. Not a mansion, just a large house. It was the area where all the wealthy people, who worked in downtown San Francisco in extremely well-paying jobs, lived.

“I just can’t get behind the idea of an area where you spend millions on a normal-sized house. You could have a palace in middle America for this kind of money.”

“But then you’d have to live in middle America.” Hunter parked the car in between a shiny Mercedes and a Tesla, and across the street from a Porsche.

“What’s wrong with middle America?” I didn’t make a move to get out of the car. Even if I looked like one of them, they’d be able to sniff me out, easily. I was from modest stock, and rich people could tell.

“Snow, sleet, cold, not to mention landlocked—need I continue?” Hunter smiled at me and got out of the car.

I was pretty sure a little snow would be a small price to pay for affordable housing, but I couldn’t tell that to someone who owned an island. He just wouldn’t get it.

The door opened, allowing a swirl of cold air into the car. I pulled my wrap tighter around me before I took Hunter’s hand to get out of his sleek sports car. “I forgot that the temperature shifts by ten degrees across the bridge.”

“At least. It’s chilly here.”

I smoothed my dress and then looked around again. “I feel like Cinderella. I’ll probably have to pull a runner in a few hours when everyone realizes I still have something called college debt…”

“Not Cinderella.” Hunter put his arm around my shoulders as we walked up the walkway to the front door. “Belle from
Beauty and the Beast
. You were smart and beautiful before I found you. The only change you made was putting on nice clothes and jewelry. It’s still the same you. I was the one who turned from something ugly into something I hope, one day, you’ll be proud of. The transformation was all on my side. Because of you.”

I leaned into him as warmth filled my chest. He squeezed me tight as we arrived at the door. He turned me to him, lifting my chin so he could give me a soft kiss. He looked into my eyes for a moment before giving me a smile, then rang the doorbell.

“You don’t just walk in?” I asked, savoring the soft look he’d just given me. Trying to commit to memory the beautiful words.

“Do you just walk into your mother’s house?”

“No, but your mother likes you. Right?”

He squeezed me close again. “She likes to hang on to ceremony with these types of things. Besides, her butler insists on the
right
way to do things.”

“She has a butler?” I mumbled as the door swung open slowly.

An old man that may or may not have already died and refused to admit it stood in the doorway wearing a black suit and a bright red bowtie. Wrinkles lined his face and white wisps of hair stuck out from his head. “Mr. Carlisle. How nice to see you. And Miss Jonston, I presume?”

“Mr. Smith, hello. How are you?” Hunter guided me forward as the butler stepped back to admit us before closing the door behind us.

“Just fine, Mr. Carlisle. Just fine. May I take your wrap, miss?”

Hunter shrugged out of his jacket as the oldest butler in the world draped my wrap across a coat hanger, moving so slowly a turtle would be impatient.

“Please, follow me.” Mr. Smith led us down a wide hall adorned with well-polished furniture and really neat art. My gaze was captured by a painting and became trapped, following the colors and lines within the frame.

Despite the fact that everything seemed high-dollar and of the best quality, it gave the impression of having been bought long ago and kept in good condition. The style, and an occasional faded color or two, lent it that older person feel that said Hunter’s mom hadn’t updated her furnishings in a while. Not that she really needed to—it all still looked great. Just…dated.

When did I start noticing this type of stuff?

“You were raised here?” I asked quietly as we made our way through a large room and toward the low murmur of voices.

“Partly. My mother had a large estate in Arizona.”

“Had?”

“She had to sell in the divorce.”

“Why Arizona? Talk about landlocked…”

“That’s where she grew up.”