12 Chapter 12

Beatrice

Rock is a total gentleman on the way to dinner. He's charming, but he's not flirty. He's on board with Operation Billionaire for whatever reason, and he's all business.

"You drive a Maserati, too?" I ask, touching the white leather seat.

"Maserati? I don't buy cheap shit like Cole does. This is an Aston Martin. This is royal, high class, James Bond wheels. The queen herself worked the production line to make this car. Normally, I make people bow before they're allowed in this car. At the very least, a curtsy."

"Wow, you don't play with the stock market. You're dead serious with it."

"Look, I couldn't let Cole be the only local boy who did good. He went to Princeton. I went to Harvard. He made his first million. I...well, it's a long story."

So, their rivalry goes back a long time, and the result is a lot of cash and some fancy cars. I would pry more information out of him, purely for research purposes, but it's hard to concentrate on anything else except for not sweating through my dress.

"Do you know anything about shrimp forks?" I ask.

"Don't worry about forks."

"But I don't want to look like a fool."

"Don't worry about the forks," he repeats. "Considering we're crashing this dinner, I don't think anyone cares if you get confused about cutlery."

"We're what?"

"You don't think Cole invited me, do you?"

"I...uh...I..." I'm out of words, and I'm failing at not sweating.

Rock drives through a set of open gates and down a long, gravel road and parks in front of a mansion-sized log cabin. It's like Hart to Hart meets Dallas meets Barbie's Western Dream House meets every John Wayne movie. It's actually like nothing I've ever seen. But there's a lot of money in it. It's dripping money. It's like a giant ATM machine that people can live in.

I'm so over my head. I feel myself sweating, and I hope I'm not leaving sweat stains in Rock's royal car.

A man in a red suit, who I assume is the valet, opens my door.

"Here we go," Rock says. "This is going to be good."

I don't know why I get out of the car. I don't want to. But Rock hops out of the driver's side and skips around the car and helps me out with a tug.

"You're a knockout," he whispers in my ear. "This is going to kill him."

Obviously, he doesn't see the sweat stains. He's so giddy; it's like its 1982, and he just visited the bathroom at Studio 54. "Is that why you're doing this?" I ask. "To torture Cole? What if we wind up happily ever after? Won't that ruin it for you?"

Rock flashes me his breathtaking smile. "I don't hate the guy. I just want to make things harder for him."

"Like a little brother," I say, catching on to their relationship.

"I'm the big brother in this scenario," he says. I have my doubts. Cole is definitely the more mature one. Rock seems like he would be happy to jump out of a plane without checking his parachute first.

The house is gorgeous inside, like a luxury western lodge, and maybe that's what it is. I'm too nervous to ask Rock because we make our way to the dining room where about fifty people are sitting around a table, and they stop eating and drinking when we enter in order to stare at us. I hold my breath and try to think about what Emily Post would do in this situation. Oh, come on. Emily Post would never be in this situation.

"Rock Clarke, as I live and breathe," a beautiful woman at the head of the table says. To her left is Cole.

I gasp. Oh my God. He's so much better looking than Superman. His tuxedo fits him in all the right places. And all of Cole's places are right. Damn him. He's got no wrong places.

My body's sense memory comes alive, remembering how Cole drove me to fits of pleasure only hours before, and just like a drug addict, I want more, more, more. I remember his mouth and his big shlong and what his mouth and big shlong did to me.

They did really good things to me.

Good things are so good.

Cole's mouth turns up into a smile when he sees me, but when he notices Rock at my side, his smile disappears.

"Hello there, Leticia," Rock tells the beautiful woman. "Good news. I've arrived to throw some life into your boring-ass party."

"How do you know it's a boring-ass party?" she asks him, amused.

"'Cause I wasn't here." He slaps his hands together. "But now I am. Get a couple chairs for me and my girl. Push over, people. I'm starved. I hope we're having T-bones and not that sirloin crap."

There's a lot of murmuring around the table, and I think they're going to kick us out, but sure enough, the waiters or butlers or whatever they are, bring two chairs and set place settings for us. There's a couple minutes of seat shuffling, and somehow, I wind up sitting directly across from Cole with Rock at my right.

Cole looks pissed.

"I think this was a mistake," I whisper into Rock's ear.

"Keep whispering. It's making him hopping mad," Rock whispers back into my ear.

He's right. I think I can hear Cole's molars grinding. Rock yawns and stretches his arms up dramatically, and in slow motion drapes his left arm on the back of my chair. He locks eyes with Cole and gives him a huge, conquering smile.

Cole doesn't return the smile. His murderous eyes flash from Rock's face to Rock's arm on the back of my chair.

"He's going to hate me. That's the opposite of what we're trying to accomplish," I whisper into Rock's ear.

Rock smiles and whispers in my ear, his lips touching my skin. "You're doing great. The whispering is working."

We've missed the soup course, but we're right on time for the steak and potatoes course. Yum. We dig in, and the conversation dies off for a minute before the man on my left asks me to pass the ketchup.

"So who are you?" he asks me, as he spoons ketchup from a silver bowl onto his plate. "Venture capitalist? Trust fund baby? Natural gas titan?"

I'm pretty much always a natural gas titan, but I'm reasonably certain he's talking about a different kind of natural gas. He wants to know my pedigree and why I'm allowed to eat baked potatoes with the rich of the rich. "I'm an event planner. I came with Rock. He drives an Aston Martin. The queen handled all the rivets."

"I guess that earns you a seat at this table," he says, dipping a piece of steak into his ketchup. "I like a woman who works for a living. Half of these people are no accounts who got their money from daddy. Not me. I'm in pig wheelchairs."

"Excuse me?"

He points his fork at me. "Pig wheelchairs. You can't imagine the demand for it. Ever since George Clooney got a pet pig-bless his liberal bleeding heart-people have been bringing oinkers home left and right."

"And pigs need wheelchairs?" I ask.

The man nods with his mouth full of steak. "Little known fact. And I know the fact and have profited from it. That's why I have a summer home in Sausalito and a mistress with double-D's."

"Interesting," I say, but what I want to say is, yuck. I always thought rich people would be more interesting than poor people, but I'd give my kingdom for talk about Walmart's price matching policy.

I feel Cole's eyes on me, and I sneak a peek at him while I spear some potato with my fork. Luckily I only have one fork, so I can't make a mistake. I pretend to focus on the potato, but I'm really looking at Cole, who is looking at me. His angry face has changed to his alpha, I'm-plotting-something face. Quickly, I look down at my napkin.

I'm so over my head. From my fancy shoes to the race cars to the pig wheelchair talk, I'm completely out of my element. I'm fighting a strong desire to pretend to go to the bathroom and call an Uber to escape this charade, go eat Toblerones, and watch Judge Judy with Olivia's mom. But I'm pretty sure there's no Uber out here in the middle of nowhere, and there's no way I can walk miles through the Western wilderness at night in my Louboutins.

"How's that acquisition coming along, Cole?" Leticia asks.

A man at the other end of the table looks up. "I've been wondering about that myself," he says. "Taking over the western hemisphere, my friend?"

"You know how it goes," Cole says, lifting his wine glass to his lips and never taking his eyes off of me. "There's always something just out of reach, but I never give up until I get what I want."

Cole takes a sip of his wine, and Rock coughs into his hand, but it sounds more like "bullshit!" than a real cough.

Rock leans into me. "Giggle," he tells me into my ear, and heaven help me, I giggle. I'm shameless. I'm part of a frat boy pissing contest. I thought I was above this kind of behavior, but I'm playing along. I'm the middle of an alpha billionaire sandwich. It would be sexy if I was into that, but I'm strictly a one billionaire at a time kind of woman. Rock leans back in his chair and put his hands behind in his head in a power pose. The message is clear, and Cole looks like he's going to murder Rock. I listen intently for the click of a gun hammer, and I keep my eyes on Rock's glass to make sure Cole doesn't slip poison in it, although I'm pretty sure Cole would rather wring Rock's neck than poison him.

We finish the steak and potato course, and we're served a heaping pile of cheesecake with coffee. The company is upper crust, but the food is familiar. In fact, it's just like the Cheesecake Factory, but you don't have to wear formal wear at the Cheesecake Factory. After dessert, some kind of brandy is served, and I take that time to go to the bathroom and breathe.

The bathroom has a three-way mirror with a cushiony seat and an assortment of makeup, creams, and perfumes on a table for guests. I decide to do a full update on my face and hair, since the products are all free. When I'm done, my eyelashes are three inches long, and I smell like Nordstrom's entire first floor.

After wasting all the time that I can, I open the door and walk into Cole's rock solid chest.

"Oomph!" I say, surprised. It takes me a moment to realize what's happening.

"What's happening?" I ask. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm waiting for you," he says and adjusts my dress to cover a nipple that has slipped out.

"You're waiting for me?" The sentence could mean so many different things. What is he waiting for me to do? To love him forever? To marry him? To provide him with loving heirs for his dynasty? Or maybe he's waiting for me to free up the bathroom. I mean, I've been in there for fifteen minutes.

"Yes, come on." He takes my hand, and he marches us down the hallway.

"Where are we going? Where's Rock?" I ask, stumbling over my Louboutins.

"I hog-tied him, gagged his mouth with a dinner napkin, and locked him the shed in the back," he says, matter-of-factly and staring straight ahead.

"Is he okay?"

We walk out the front door. "Aston Martin," Cole tells the valet and slips him some bills. "I didn't hurt him," he tells me while the valet runs for Rock's car. "I played nice."

"Hog-tying and gagging him is playing nice? Wow, Idaho is rough. What are you doing now? Stealing his car?"

Cole gives me a pointed look. "Rock stepped over the line. He's got to pay."

I figure I'm the line, and the payment is the car.

"What if he's stuck in the shed for days? They could find him dead and desiccated. Or suffocated on the dinner napkin." These are all real possibilities, and I don't think Operation Billionaire should result in deaths.

The car arrives, and Cole opens the passenger door for me. He leans down, as I get inside. "I'll tell Leticia to let him out once we're far away and his car is at the bottom of the lake."

"But..."

"I'm torn between liking the fact that you're worried about him and hating the fact that you're worried about him."

Cole wraps his arm around me and kisses me forcefully with all kinds of lips and tongue action. My body melts and so does my brain. Hormones are an amazing thing. In an instant, they've completely taken away any of my concerns for poor, hog-tied Rock.

Cole shuts my door. He sits in the driver's seat, and takes off like a bat out of hell.

"You drive like a madman," I say, happy for my seatbelt.

"A skilled madman. I used to drive Formula One, and I miss it now and then. Rock's car is pretty nice. It's a shame I'm going to have to drown it."

"Well, you don't have to drive it into a lake, you know."

Cole smiles. "No, I don't. But I sure want to."

I don't actually see Cole drive Rock's royal car into a lake, but I know he's done it, because I've never seen him happier. While he's destroyed hundreds of thousands of dollars of car, I've been waiting in his private plane, being served toffee-covered peanuts by one of his two flight attendants. After about ten minutes, Cole comes back and orders the pilots to take off. He plops down on the sofa across from me and takes off his tie.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks.

"Hawaii," I say and start to laugh.

"Hawaii it is," he says, loudly.

The flight attendants join the pilots in the cockpit, giving Cole and me privacy. I pop a handful of toffee peanuts in my mouth and chew. One part of me loves Cole's jealousy, but I'm not sure that's what it is or if it's just some running competition he has with Rock. It's quite possible that I'm incidental in this show of testosterone levels.

"What's going on here?" I ask. "You got some kind of competition thing happening with Rock so you're bringing out the big guns? The billionaire perks? A private plane to God knows where?"

"You said you wanted to go to Hawaii."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

Cole smiles and throws up his hands in surrender. "Okay, you got me. I do have a competition thing with Rock, and you did get in the middle of that, but I knew that he was playing you and using you to make me mad."

I feel a hot blush creep up my neck, but I will myself to stay cool. I can't possibly tell Cole the truth, that I was actually using Rock to make Cole jealous and therefore more interested in me. A girl's gotta have a modicum of dignity.

"How dare you," I say, throwing a peanut at him. "Just because you're a seven-days-and-leave-'em guy, you think nobody can be interested in me? Maybe Rock can't live without me. Maybe he's sworn his undying love for me."

"Rock? His undying love? That's a good one!" Cole doubles over in laughter. He's got a great laugh, full of joy and abandon. I could listen to him laugh all day. But I'm supposed to be insulted, and at the very least, I'm frustrated, so I throw the rest of the peanuts at him. One by one, I throw the projectiles at his head, but he's more coordinated than I am, and he fends them off, swiping at them in the air as he continues his fits of laughter.

Finally, I'm out of peanuts and despondent because I really want to eat more peanuts. I think about picking them up off the floor and eating them, but again, I'm supposed to have some dignity, so I don't.

But I pout. I'm good at pouting.

Cole wipes his eyes and reaches for me. He manages to catch me, and he pulls me on top of him.

"You're kidnapping me, you know," I say.

"Subtlety was never my strong suit."

"Yeah, your strong suit is all in your penis."

Cole holds me close, caressing my butt and pulling me against his raging erection. "We had a good time today," he says, his voice full of emotion. "Then, you left. I didn't like that, you know. I didn't like that a bit. Then, you walk into Leticia's house dressed in something that should be illegal because it could make men have strokes, and jerkface has got his arm around you. If I hadn't known Rock since I was in preschool, I would have killed him."

"Let me get this straight," I say, counting on my fingers. "You had a good time boffing me, you wanted to boff me more, and you don't want Rock to boff me. Have I got it all?"

Cole's mouth smiles ever so slightly. He's so handsome. I could sit and stare at him forever, and there's a weak part of me that wants to give in and let him boff me for six more days and live off the memories for the rest of my life.

But just like Oliver, I want more.

"Believe it or not, I don't have a lot of trouble finding women to boff, Beatrice. But what we did today wasn't boffing, and what we're going to do now isn't boffing, and what we're going to tomorrow won't be boffing either."

My throat grows thick, and it's hard to speak. He's saying all of the right words, and in the right order, too. It's like he's reading the winning lottery ticket numbers, and I've got all of them in my hand, including the bonus number.

"We didn't? We aren't? We won't?" I ask.

Cole is caressing between my thighs and driving me nuts. "No," he says, softly. "Didn't you feel it between us? Don't you feel it now?"

Yes, I feel it. I've never felt anything like it before.

"I don't feel a thing," I say and somehow my lips find his.