Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) (16 page)

It took about an hour for Taylor to talk herself off the ledge overlooking the dark ominous ocean filled with pity and low self-esteem. Yes, the sting and hurt were still alive and kicking, but the modicum of pride she clung to wouldn’t allow them—
those horrible, horrible men—
to damage her like this.

That boat might’ve sailed.
Truth was, she’d never be able to face her ex-clients, who were never real clients. And anyone she knew professionally probably laughed behind her back because they’d heard the rumors. To make matters worse, she’d come all the way to Tokyo with Bennett Wade, probably making it seem like her “services” included way more than simple consulting.

Oh, God. I can’t believe this.
She had no idea what she was going to do.
Yes, you do.
She sighed and looked at her bank account balance on her cellphone.
You’re going to file for bankruptcy.

Dressed in jeans, her comfy black flats, and a soft gray sweater, she grabbed her rolling suitcase, laptop bag, and purse and headed for the elevator. She’d checked out of the room already—yes, and said goodbye to her fancy toilet, which oddly now spoke in a male voice (Had Bennett changed it for her?)—and used the remaining balance on her last credit card to book a flight home. Two thousand eight hundred fucking dollars. She was now officially broke. A loser. A failure.

No! Don’t you go there, Tay. Don’t you jump into that pity-ocean with the little pity-fish and pink pity-seashells.
As she made her way toward the subway—a much cheaper option versus a cab at rush hour—she reminded herself that many people went through life and didn’t even try. She’d at least attempted to do something. Failed big-time, but she’d taken the risk.

Oh really? You settler! You settled for a job you didn’t want, you settled for dating men who didn’t make you feel anything, and now you’re settling again. You’re letting those rich a-holes get in the way of something you really wanted to do: help others.
There were millions of people in the world who worked for these companies that made them feel…well, unhappy, undervalued, invisible, and disposable.

She shook her head. Sadly, those in a position to change things weren’t interested. They mostly just seemed interested in being a-holes.
Still, that doesn’t mean you give up, does it?

She didn’t know. Right now she was an emotional void and needed time to figure it all out.

Suitcase in hand, she stared at the giant map of the Tokyo subway and groaned as hordes of people—Japanese men in gray suits, woman in conservative work outfits, young people in the latest Tokyo fashion reminiscent of
MadMax
extras with hair that defied the definition of hair, and the hodgepodge of normal folk—passed her by.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”
This looks like the subway threw up another subway and then had a bastard child with a plumbing blueprint
. The little blurb on the tourist website said the Tokyo subway wasn’t so different from New York’s “once you got the system down.” But you’d need a damned engineering degree to figure it out.

She used her finger to trace the pink line to the purple line that connected to the light rail to the airport.
Okay, you got this. I am a woman of the world.

She rolled her enormous suitcase over to a machine that resembled a space station console and purchased her ticket. She then did an entire lap around the upper platform, weaving through the flowing crowd, trying to avoid people tripping over her suitcase.
Where is it, dammit?
Unable to read Japanese or find an elevator anywhere, she had no choice but to lug.

With two hands, she carefully maneuvered her wheelie beast down several flights of stairs. Honestly, she’d packed heavy because she’d assumed she would be flying private and thought she would need business clothing for different climates; but she probably could’ve done without the seven pairs of jammies and the daily workout clothes she knew she’d never use.

When she finally got to the train platform, she stopped. “No. No way.” The waiting train was so tightly packed that the people looked like cartoon characters who’d been flattened with a steamroller—cheeks, lips, and chins smooshed against the windows.

The doors began to close, and men in conductor uniforms began pushing, their shoes squeaking as their heels slipped over the white tile floor. The already sardine-ized people inside didn’t protest, groan, or make so much as a face as the invasion of their personal space crossed over into “Hey! Only my doctor gets to go in there,” territory.

Taylor’s jaw dropped. She’d heard about “the pushers” but didn’t believe they actually existed.
Guess I’m not getting on that train.
Besides, she’d had her quota of dry humping for the day.

A moderately full train on the opposite side of the platform pulled up. It had enough room for her to board without having to get intimate.

She glanced at the giant map of colorful squiggles on the wall.
Okay, that train looks like it’s going north
. She knew the airport was northeast, so maybe she could work her way around the rush hour traffic and stay off the congested lines. She’d have to make more transfers, but it might work.

She glanced at her watch, noting she had two hours. She hobbled along with her oversized travel monstrosity, swearing to never pack more than clean underwear and a toothbrush in the future.

Ten minutes later

Dammit!
This isn’t north
, she thought, staring at the multicolored clusterfuck (or “map”) inside the brightly lit, sterile-looking train car filled with passengers that had the whole avoiding eye contact thing down to an art.

She leaned toward an older woman in a tan trench coat standing next to her. “Excuse me? Do you speak English?”

The woman, who wouldn’t look at her, stepped away to the side.

Taylor sighed.
Okay, I get the point. The train is a do not disturb zone.

She glanced back up at the map. Apparently they were heading west, away from the airport and to the other side of Tokyo.

She hopped off at the next station and saw another train going in the opposite direction. It, too, wasn’t all that full. She glanced at the signage and the name above said “Tonzai.”
I think that’s the one I want.

She ran and caught it, deciding to pick out her transfer station once on board. Just as long as she was heading in the right direction.

Ten minutes later

“Come on!” Now she headed south instead of north.
Haven’t I paid my crappy-day dues already?
After the night with Bennett and their “discussion” this morning, she just couldn’t take any more ripples in her pond. She just wanted to get home and lick her wounds.

She got off on the platform at the next station and went to the crazy map of silly town, while people flowed past her like river water around a rock.

With her finger, she found her current location and laughed, throwing up her hands. She’d managed to travel exactly to the other side of her hotel. Underground. Like a brain-farting gopher.

She shook her head. Okay, maybe it was time to catch a cab. Then again, it would probably end up being more than she could afford, especially after last night’s two hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of rides.

“Good God. How did I get to this sad, sad place?” She was officially poorer than a church mouse.

“By sheer goddamned stubbornness!” barked a deep, angry voice.

Taylor swiveled on her heel to find Bennett in his immaculate suit, looming right over her with a rage-red face, his brow dewy with sweat.

“Bennett?” she gasped his name.

Snarling, he grabbed her by the elbow and snagged her suitcase with his other hand. “You have some goddamned nerve, Ms. Reed.”

She stumbled forward and pushed away from him. “What in the world has gotten into you? And what are you doing here?”

“Don’t pretend for one goddamned minute,” he said in a raised voice, “that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Man. She’d never seen anyone so upset. “I really, really don’t know.” She raised her palms. “But whatever it is you think I’ve done…”
Oh shit. Oh shit. I do know. He found out about my phony training module.
It then dawned on her that he’d been snooping around her laptop. He must’ve sent himself both modules and put it together that one was bogus?

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman, Ms. Reed.” He grabbed her hand and began pulling her along.

“Bennett, I can explain.” She began to panic. Not that he’d physically hurt her, but she sensed he was about to read her the riot act.

“I think we’re fucking past explaining,” he seethed.

“Bennett! I’m sorry.” She trailed behind him, his hand tightly squeezing hers in a death grip. He scanned some card at the set of stainless steel turnstiles, and they stumbled through. He then lifted her enormous suitcase with one arm, effortlessly toting it up two flights of stairs—
Show off!
They emerged outside onto a busy, pedestrian-packed sidewalk lined with towering office buildings and flashing, multicolored billboards with Japanese characters. The early morning sun hit her face, and the sound of traffic instantly flooded her ears. She wondered if that was why Bennett ignored her pleas to stop.

Grumbling like an angry ogre, he hauled her toward an awaiting limo at the curb.

“Bennett. Stop!” She dug her heels into the sidewalk and yanked back her hand. The people around them kept on going, acting like she and Bennett were invisible.

Good. Because this is about to get ugly.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said, staring into his fuming face from a few yards away. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t lie to me, Ms. Reed.” He closed in on her. “Not only is it beneath you, but you’re terrible at it and fool no one.”

She wasn’t lying. Why did he think that? She honestly couldn’t feel more sorry. That said…“I know you’re upset, but don’t forget the part you played. I’m not the one who decided to make a bet with my friends.”

Rage filled his eyes. “That’s no excuse to behave like a child, and you know it.”

It sure the hell was!
But regardless…“I changed my mind after I realized how stupid it was.” That, and revenge wouldn’t accomplish anything except making her feel even more pathetic.

“Oh,” he laughed acerbically. “That was you changing your mind? Nice try. I’ve been chasing you from station to station. And you knew I’d follow, didn’t you?”

What?
“Uhh…no. I didn’t.”

“What the hell else was I going to think when I lost your signal?”

Taylor stared at Bennett, completely perplexed. “Wait. I’m confused. What signal?”

He glanced at the brown leather purse slung over her shoulder, and then it clicked.

“You’re,” she pointed to her bag, “talking about your
cell-phone
?”

“What the hell else would I be talking about?”

Oh no. He’s not talking about the modules.
“Uh…me leaving without saying goodbye?”
Oh God. I
am
such a horrible liar.

He shot her a look as if trying to figure her out.

Ugh. This is silly. What am I doing?
She was done with this mess and done with him.

She dug the device from her purse—it had reception, but probably blinked out when she’d been underground. In any case, so the hell
what
? This was ridiculous!

She shoved it at him. “Here. Take it. I don’t want it any…” She noticed Bennett’s face turning pale. “Ohmygod, Bennett. Are you okay?” She reached for his upper arm and absolutely did not take note of the firm biceps she needed two hands to grip. Nope.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath.

“You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?” She wondered if she could manage to get such a large man over to the limo by herself.

He shook his head and then snapped his eyes open. “I’m fine,” he growled. “But now I’ve missed my flight window. And my very important meeting.”

“Bennett,” she said, with an artificial calm, “why would you do that?” His behavior was completely irrational.

She still had hold of his arm—
I can’t seem to let go
—so when he looked down at her, their faces were separated only by his height. Deep, hard emotion flickered in his lovely eyes. “I thought—I thought…” He rubbed his face. “Your signal went dead, and you weren’t answering your personal cell, and then the tracker on your other phone kept blinking. I thought the worst.”

All right.
Bennett’s fixation had crossed the line from a little eccentric and kinky to very, very stalker-like—and not at all in a fun way. “But why are you even following the signal in the first place?”

“I have a…thing,” he mumbled, running his hand over his messy dark hair.

Damn.
The man just had to look hot no matter what he did. Even now—pissed off, one black eye, a small bandage behind his ear—he still looked like he’d just wandered out of a photo shoot for sexy, reckless billionaires with an addiction to fake fugu.

She shook it off and lifted one brow. “A…thing?”

“Yes, for fuck sake. A
thing.
I don’t wish to discuss it,” he added, “but I warned you to never turn it off.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you or what your ‘thing’ is, but your need to control me or have twenty-four-seven access to me or whatever—it’s over. We are no longer working together. You fucked me, Bennett. You fucked me
hard
!”

He blinked, and she gasped, realizing what she said. “Ohgod. I-I…” Of course, she’d meant that figuratively, as in “fucked over,” but her f-bomb elicited a startling reaction.

Bennett’s eyes slowly moved to her lips and down her body, and she imagined what it would feel like if his mouth and hands made the same journey.

Her chest tightened. Her core tightened. The way he looked at her was harshly sexual, and she goddamned liked it.

She cleared her throat. “I—I meant screwed—No. I meant—”

He snapped out of whatever dirty place he’d mentally ventured to. “I know what you meant. Are you getting in the limo or not?”