I already knew this about him and more. Plus, Scott’s ability to shock me with his antics had waned over the years. When my expression didn’t waver from mildly displeased, he continued.
“…I bring home strange women.”
He’d thrown down the gauntlet, issued a challenge. At least he thought he did. Silly fool. I continued to stare blankly. Thea had told me (over one too many happy hour cocktails) that he’d once brought home a woman in a clown costume. A bona fide clown costume. With her, she had a miniature donkey wearing a tuxedo on a leash. A miniature donkey…a tiny ass, for heaven’s sake. For weeks, whenever Frank mentioned his name, I was haunted by the image of Scott, the woman in the clown costume, and the miniature ass boarding the elevator to get to his penthouse apartment. I hadn’t been worried for the welfare of the donkey because I knew Scott to be a devoted animal lover. The clown I wasn’t so sure about. After the clown slash donkey incident, “strange women” was conservative by his standards.
“…at all hours of the night,” he continued. His eyes flashed desperation, his color high. “Sometimes I have orgies…at the house.”
That one garnered a surprised widening of the eyes, in morbid curiosity more than anything. Had it been anyone else I would never have believed it. But this was Scott.
“Really? People do that in real life?”
Scott’s hands went to his hips and his jaw pulsed with tension. He looked angry. Which grated some more. What did he have to be mad about? Considering the circumstances, I thought I was being very understanding.
“Yes, Sydney. They really do.”
“Like…with other men?” Because this I had to know.
His face pinched. “Yes––” A headshake. “I mean not like that. I don’t have…” He exhaled sharply. “Forget the orgies. Are you going to call him or what?”
Suddenly boneless with fatigue, I moved to the foot of the bed and sat on the end. Only then did I realize the mistake because Scott looked ten feet tall, looming over me like a grumpy Paul Bunyan. A sexy one…unbelievably fit and, well…virile. Pushing all wayward thoughts aside, I stood back up.
“As long as you choose people who can keep their mouths shut, I don’t see why you can’t carry on with your…orgies. I can even draw up an NDA for you if you’d like…” My words faded to silence when Scott frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Oh––” For a moment there, I’d forgotten that Scott wasn’t like other people. He had no shame. I mean, literally––no shame. I doubted he’d ever once experienced the emotion. It wouldn’t even occur to him to try to keep his orgies low-key.
“Right,” I started again in a regular volume. “My point is that I’m not here to get in the way of your personal life, Scott. I’m fully aware that you require a lot of…entertainment. Is it going to take effort to make this work? Yeah, sure it is. If we’re going to live together, concessions need to be made. But if it benefits Blackstone, what’s a mere three years? And when Frank…” Emotions piled up in my throat. I swallowed, and after a deep breath, started again, “When your parents…well, you know. Blackstone will be yours and Devyn’s. You benefit from this arrangement too.”
He continued to stare at me with a mix of skepticism and irritation on his face, and the tension thickened. Oddly, he seemed more upset about the marriage arrangement than his father’s diagnosis. He hadn’t even mentioned it.
“Have you spoken to your father?”
His expression turned guarded. “I’ve spoken to him.”
Ooookay. Then again, everyone had their own way of grieving and I respected that. That he showed no outward appearance of it didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling. If anything, I could sympathize since I tended to bottle stuff up as well. It wasn’t my place to pry if he wished to keep his feelings private.
“What about you?”
I didn’t like the tone he used, or the attitude he was suddenly giving me. “What about me?”
“No boyfriend? Fuck buddy?”
The last was said with too much sarcasm to ignore, the question nothing short of a taunt. I’d almost forgotten whom I was speaking to there for a moment. How callous he could be. It instantly cooled whatever sympathy I was feeling for him.
“No. None.”
His eyes narrowed. Like he was making a great effort to get to the bottom of something. A beat later, without explanation, he abruptly moved past me, headed for a quick exit.
“Where are you going?” I heard myself calling out. Before I could even work out what the heck I was doing or saying, which was par for the course whenever he was around.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he said, facing the door, hand paused on the handle. “Put the security latch on.”
The door banged shut, leaving behind a charge in the air. My head swam in confusion. Mostly over the very real possibility that I may have talked Scott into marrying me.
d
Scott
* * *
“I’m getting married.” It sounded strange, even to my own ears.
There. I’d done it. Announced it to the world. And still, it felt wrong. Brushing a palm over my face, I exhaled tiredly. A nuclear meltdown was developing between my eyes and it was not something a strong cup of black coffee could cure. Regardless, I tried anyway. Sitting in one of the club chairs across the couch in the office, I drank my third cup.
Meanwhile, two very blank expressions stared back at me. One belonging to Laurel who peered around her desktop monitor. The other to Ryan who looked barely alive lying next to Romeo on the leather couch in the office. The information took a moment to clear away the early morning brain fog. Once it did, Laurel’s blonde brows lowered over suspicious gray eyes while Ryan’s shot up to his hairline.
“Who’s the baby mama?” Laurel sounded put out. Like it was her job to clean up this mess.
Ryan’s response was less concerned. “I need coffee for this.” Expression unfazed, he dragged himself across the room to the kitchenette as if the mess was not his to clean up.
“There’s no baby mama and no baby,” I told her in a somewhat offended tone. My life might’ve officially gone to hell, but at least I’d managed to remain childless over the many years I partied hard.
Laurel took off her reading glasses and placed them on her desk. “What’s going on, Scott? Seriously.”
The conversation was making me restless. Standing, I walked to the picture window. “Neither of you can breathe a word of this to anybody else––” I stared pointedly at Laurel. “That means if you tell Pete and a word of this gets out, I’ll know it was him.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. Pete can keep a secret.”
“Pete cannot keep a secret,” both Ryan and I responded in unison. Laurel’s husband, the ranch’s assistant manager, was well-known as the town crier. Everyone agreed Pete had missed his calling as a gossip columnist.
“I mean it, Laurel. There’s a lot at stake here.”
“Top secret. Got it.” She made a locking motion over her lips.