Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) (19 page)

So that was his answer. Pushing her away. Yes, his mother warned this would happen and that she should hang on, but why? For what? Linda assumed Bennett and Taylor were meant to be because they’d both eaten a Happy Pants Café cookie. As cute as that sounded, Taylor needed to deal with reality and some very real, very confusing emotions, not to mention some serious career issues in her life. She no longer had the mental stamina or time to be playing around, and Bennett was turning her into a mess.

“Okay,” she accepted his offer, not wanting to, but feeling like she had to try to rein herself in before she became so entangled in his addictive, masculine vibe that she’d never be able to climb that cliff back to sanity.

“But you’re keeping the money,” he added.

“No, I don’t want it. You didn’t get anything from me.”

“I did, actually. Like I said, I emailed myself a copy of your program. It’s not what I expected at all, but I think it’s got potential.”

“Please.
Don’t
remind me that you violated my privacy. But it’s yours to keep. No charge.”

“Let me at least put in a good word for you with a few fr—”

She shot him a look. “You mean your friends who all think I’m some fuck-trophy?”

Something flashed in his eyes. “I’m sorry I said that. And I can see how you might think everyone is laughing behind your back, but if anything, the bet was a tribute to your moral fiber.”

Taylor’s mouth sagged open. “Did you just try to spin the bet into a good thing?” Her reputation was ruined.

“No. There’s no excuse for the way everyone behaved, and I will make sure that you receive a public apology from each and every man involved; however, I’m merely pointing out that the cause of the bet was their immature egos. And their inability to accept the fact that they can’t have any woman they like merely because they’re wealthy.” He reached out and gently grabbed her chin, beaming at her. “You, Taylor Reed, cannot be bought.”

Her heart made a jump. His blatant admiration felt far too similar to deep affection—the kind that might start with the letter “L.”

But then…“But why did
you
do it, Bennett?” she pleaded quietly.

He dropped his hand from her chin.

“Let me guess,” she said, sensing his discomfort, “you’re not ready to talk about it.”

“I will make things right. That’s all you need to know. Even if I have to break every one of their noses. Or in the case of Charles, I’ll rebreak it. Asshole deserves it anyway—the way he talks about women is vile.”

Was that why he’d gotten into a brawl at his own charity event? She’d bet it was.

God,
I so want to dry hump you. Without any clothes on. With your penis inside me.

Okay. Not dry humping at all.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you’ll make things right.” It might not help her land any clients, but at least she wouldn’t be seen as a joke. “And it’s payment enough.”

He nodded solemnly. “It’s the least I could do for your trouble.”

“No trouble, Bennett.” She wanted to say more, but she felt like they both had had enough. The man was looking pale again. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

She moved to the front of the plane and sat down. Candy appeared a moment later with a bag of ice for her head.

“You okay?” she asked.

Taylor nodded.

“He’s not a bad man, Taylor. He’s just had a bumpy road. Don’t hold it against him.”

Taylor smiled shallowly, feeling like she was on the outside of an exclusive club that knew the inner workings of this man. What bumpy road could he have possibly endured? Hot, rich, and powerful all sounded pretty nice. “I won’t.”

“I saw the way he looked at you. He must’ve been blowing off steam when he said he wanted to let you go. I’ve known that man for eight years, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he wants to strangle you and then kiss the hell out of you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s into you.” Her mouth then popped open, and she snapped her fingers. “Oh! I bet that’s why he wanted to fire—” she made little air quotes with her fingers, “
the hell
out of you.” She chuckled.

“Meaning?”

“He won’t date employees. But that doesn’t mean he can’t fire you and
then
date ‘the hell’ out of you.”

Taylor took the bag of ice and plopped it on her aching head. “You’re mistaken, Candy. He just needs help closing the deal.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Sure, honey. Whatever you say.”

Taylor awoke to yet another gentle nudge after having passed out from exhaustion. With the time difference, constant lack of sleep, and drama, she’d just…gone away. Candy gave her another quick push. “Honey, here’s your ticket to San Francisco. I made sure to get you a pass to the Admiral’s Lounge so you can shower, change, and eat, but the flight leaves at 7:30
P.M.
That’s in three hours.”

Disoriented, Taylor took the ticket. “Uh. Thanks.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the empty plane.

Candy caught on. “He’s gone. Off to his hotel and then the meeting with Mrs. Rutherford. Told me to give you his regards and the number for his ear, nose, and throat specialist. Honey, have you ever had that snoring looked at? Dear baby Jesus, you’re loud.”

Taylor grimaced. “No. I didn’t really know.” Of course, she hadn’t really been with anyone in a while and her last boyfriend never spent the night—had to get home to his schnauzer. Not that she’d complained because the guy wasn’t a natural-born spooner like Bennett, and a guy who didn’t know how to cuddle or keep her feet warm at night didn’t make for a good bed bud. Bennett, on the other hand, knew how to keep every part of her warm.

Taylor stood slowly and collected her things. She felt so torn up, as though she’d been inside a crazy blender for the last few days and it had finally spit her out.

“Your suitcase has been sent ahead, Taylor. But if you need anything, anything at all, just call me.”

“Thank you, Candy. I really mean that.”

Candy flashed a consoling smile. “That’s what I’m here for darlin’. It’s been my pleasure.”

Taylor moved toward the open doorway. “Hey, why don’t you give me a call when you’re back in S.F.? We can catch a drink.” She quickly dug a card from her purse and handed it over.

“I’d just love that, Taylor.” Candy snapped up the card and gave her one last hug. “You’re a survivor, girl. Keep that chin up.”

An hour later, Taylor was clean, in her gray sweat pants and tee—the spares she carried in her laptop case for emergency travel lounging or for doing exercise—and she’d found food. The spa-like facilities in the Admiral’s Lounge were probably better than anything she’d ever experienced even at a real spa—steam room, massaging shower head, fru-fru shampoo—but the soothing atmosphere did little to get Bennett out of her spinning head. She really, really hated leaving things between them so unresolved.

Finding a quiet spot in the lounge next to the window, she got out her laptop and began writing Bennett an email:

Dear Bennett—

No. Stupid. Erase.

Hi Bennett!—

No, too enthusiastic.

Hey, Bennett. I know you’re busy and probably don’t want to hear from me—

No. Too pathetic.

Bennett: I know you’re busy, but I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye and I feel like there are some things I need to get off my chest. First, you need to know that I like you. A lot. And I don’t mean in the way a person likes a movie or a new pair of socks. I mean that when I’m in a room with you, I get lost. In your smell, your voice, and the way you touch me. I know there’s so much more going on with you than you let on and that I can’t understand it, but I’m willing to trust you. I’m willing to give you time. Your mother told me that you think all women are after your money, and that’s just crazy. It also means that whomever you’ve shared your life with thus far has caused you to form that opinion, an injustice I’d like to help you overcome. What I mean to say is that I like you. Not because you’re good looking or wealthy, but in spite of those things. I’m also a stupid lame ass for writing this email and should be shot because we both know I don’t have the balls to send such a sappy piece of rat turds. I suck. Kill me now.

Taylor highlighted the entire thing and hit
Delete
.

Bennett: I need to talk to you. Call me. Taylor.

She was about to hit
Send
when she realized she didn’t actually have his email address.

Her first thought was to call Robin, but then she remembered that Bennett had been digging around on her laptop, and that he had emailed the training module to himself.

She clicked open her sent mail.
Ha! There you are
. She did a CTRL + C on his address—and then her eyes caught the contents of the email. It was empty save for the attachment: Leadership_BWade_v2.

“What!” She stood from her chair, nearly dumping her laptop on the floor. “No! No!” He’d sent himself the
wrong
module. How the hell was that possible when he’d said he thought it was surprisingly good! Anyone in their right mind would at least question the modified sections, especially without having her serve it to them with a heaping helping of bullshit anecdotes about Mary Rutherford’s personality and why the methods would work.

Taylor looked at her watch. Bennett’s meeting was probably over, but they’d be going to dinner, so maybe she still had time to keep him from completely ruining his deal.

She dialed Bennett’s cellphone and paced back and forth in front of the window overlooking the airstrip.
Voicemail?
“Fucking shit!”

Just then, an elderly woman passed by and shot her a look. What was with her screaming inappropriate things in front of elderly women?

“Oops! Sorry! Sailor mouth over here.” Taylor pointed to herself and then heard Bennett’s voicemail beep.

Oh no. Do I leave a message? Do I hang up? Ahh! Message!

“Bennett! It’s me, Taylor. Please, you have to call me back the moment you get this. Please…just don’t speak to Mary or say anything. I need to talk to you!”

She hung up and stared at the phone.

She could turn off the Bennett cell. It would probably make him come running.
No, he won’t
—
he’s
expecting you to get on a plane and have to turn it off, silly.

Ugh! Okay
…As she continued to pace, she did some quick time zone math—it was eight in the morning California time, so Robin might be at work and would probably know how to get ahold of him. She dialed quickly, but it too went to voicemail.
Fucking
dammit! Dammit! Dammit!
At least this time she kept the sailor-talk to herself.

Taylor looked at her watch.
Almost five o’clock.
There was no way in hell she could get on that plane without speaking to Bennett first, and she still had a few hours before her flight.

But I’m totally out of money, and I can’t sprint to Paris.
Thinking, she paced and then paced some more, before deciding to call her brother.

Doctors were never really off duty, so he’d answer no matter what.

It rang three times before she heard Jack’s reassuring voice. “Dr. Reed,” he said, all groggy.

“Jack! Are you at your house?”

“Taylor? Yes, I’m home. And why haven’t
you
come home yet? Are you still traveling with that slimeball? If yes, tell him I’m going to kick the crap out of him for tarnishing your reputation.”

Jack was clearly still mad about the picture in the tabloid. Taylor could only imagine what he and her brothers would do if they ever found out about the bet.

Castration or eyeball-plucking for sure.
Which obviously was no good. Those parts of Bennett’s body held a special place in her sad, dirty little heart.

“I’m in Paris right now, but I need your help. There’s a check for fifty thousand from Wade Enterprises on the dresser. Think you can deposit it for me?”

“I’ll do it if you come home and bring that shmuck with you to dinner.”

“No, Jack. I’m not going to let you beat up Bennett Wade. And he didn’t do anything.”
At least, not what you think.
“I’ll explain everything later, but I’m in Paris and out of money and—”

“I’ll get over to the bank later, but it’s going to take at least a few days to clear.”

“Sometimes they make a portion of the funds available immediately.”

“I’ll just loan you a few thousand,” he offered.

“No, Jack. I can’t—”

“You can pay me back when your check clears,” he said.

She really, really hated to borrow money from him, especially after he’d been so generous with giving her a place to live, but what other choice was there?

“Thank you.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d land on your feet like you always do, Tiger. Now get your ass home.”

“Love you. I’ll text you once I’m on my way.”

“Money will be in your account in a few minutes. Love you, too,” he replied.

She ended the call and headed out of the lounge to start looking for some clothes while she waited for the transfer to come through. She wasn’t getting into any office buildings or nice restaurants in Paris dressed in her quasi jammies or the wrinkled, stale travel clothes that she still had with her.

She grabbed her laptop bag and purse and sprinted for the nearest airport boutique.

After the world’s most awkward hour-long cab ride with a French driver who wanted to practice his English and then lecture her in “Frenchlish” about the shortcomings of Americans, Taylor entered the
Dame Marie
headquarters and abruptly found herself being pushed out onto the sidewalk by a very smarmy-looking security guard with a lazy eye and large mustache. Oddly, the man reminded her of that Sebastian man she’d met at Ms. Luci’s house.

“Well,
whatever
to you, too!” she bellowed back, ignoring the snickers of the nicely dressed professional Parisians flowing in and out of the Renaissance Period office building. Located on Avenue du Maine, near the tower of Montparnasse, which looked like a giant erection defiling the skyline of the historic city (as the cabby had bitterly pointed out), Lady Mary’s offices were supposed be near all of the world-famous tourist attractions like the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. But she hadn’t seen anything she recognized yet, apart from a multitude of mopeds and
boulangeries
that reminded her of
Ratatouille
. She so needed to get out more and stop speed-dating these amazing cities.

She looked down at her outfit, wondering what the hell to do. She had to get in to see Bennett—if he was even still there—but she looked like a complete tart in the skintight red dress that showed her cleavage and was far too snug wear for underwear. She’d been in a huge hurry and the options at the airport had been limited. It had been this or a bikini the size of a Post-it with dental floss in the back. And yes, she wore red, glittery spiked heels, but it had been that or her flip-flops. Standing out front, trying to ignore the abundance of catcall action, Taylor’s mind went to work. There had to be a way to get in touch with Bennett before he did himself in with Mary.

She glanced at her phone again. Why hadn’t Bennett called her back?

Shit.
Maybe she should call his mother. She’d help, wouldn’t she?
Worth a try.

Taylor scrolled through her contacts and passed a name that caught her attention. “Dirtbag.” Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Dirtbag was code for “Chip,” Mary’s son.

She hit
Call
.

“Well, well, well,” said a deep, entitlement-laced voice that repulsed her. “If it isn’t Taylor Reed.”

“Chiiiip,” she said cheerfully, trying her best to not let her revulsion show. “How are you?”

“A million dollars poorer, but otherwise well, I suppose.”

Taylor wanted to punch him in his man parts—not that he had any, because real men didn’t slither.

She played the innocent card and threw out, “Oh, no. That’s awful. I know a person you can call for gambling addictions. She’s not cheap, but she’s really worth every penny.”

“How can I help you, Taylor?” Chip asked.

“Actually, I’m looking for Benn—Mr. Wade. He’s having dinner with you and your mother tonight, and I’ve been trying to reach him—it’s urgent.”

“What kind of urgent?”

“Oh, you know; complicated business matters involving math. Nothing you’d understand.”

“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you should try calling his assistant. Goodbye, Tay—”

“Wait! I’m sorry.”
Not really, you cockroach.
“I tried his assistant, but she’s not there. It really is important, and for whatever reason, Bennett’s not answering his cell.”

“
Bennett
—” he emphasized the fact she’d used his first name “—is not answering for
you
, perhaps. In which case, it’s none of my business.”

Oh, you little fucker.

“Chip, don’t hang up. I’m standing outside your headquarters, and I really need your help.”

“Really, now? You sound desperate, Taylor. And I think I like it.”

Of course he would.

“You got me. We had a misunderstanding, and I really need to talk to him. Please,” she added in her best Bennett tone.

“He’s already left the building.”

Oh no.
“How did the meeting go?”

“Your usual boring crap—numbers, empty promises—you know.”

“So your mother didn’t throw him out? Never mind. Do you know where he went?”

“He said he was going to see a friend, but didn’t share where. However, I know where we are having dinner.”

Thank God. She could get to him before he made any huge mistakes. “Where?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

Slimy sycophant
. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I want a taste of what you gave Bennett.”

She wasn’t sure which taste, but she had to assume the worst. “If you mean what I think, the answer is no.”

“Why? I’ve been told I’m fun. And it would make me happy—happy enough to tell you where we’re having dinner.”

“I am
not
going to ‘make you happy,’ Chip.”

“You made Bennett happy,” he argued. “Am I so unworthy of your pussy?”

Ewww.
“Just so we are clear. I
did not
make him happy either, and yes, you are unworthy.”

“You didn’t sleep with him?”

“No.” She felt a pang of guilt for getting Bennett into trouble, but then she remembered it was his fault for making such a stupid fucking bet in the first place. “Want your money back?”