The Playboy Bachelor (The Bachelors of Arizona #2) Read online

  Best friends.

  It had never been part of his plan to fall for his best friend, and then, just when he had gained the nerve to tell her—he almost lost her.

  And the thought that he could lose her—forever—had caused such crippling anxiety that it had taken his entire family to pull him out of it.

  And once he was finally able to function…

  …he still couldn’t face her.

  The thought of her in that hospital room was enough to set off the panic again.

  So he ignored her calls.

  And when he couldn’t take it anymore—there was Jennifer, and then Miranda, and Ashley.

  He’d found his cure.

  Women and alcohol.

  Too bad it never lasted.

  And he usually woke up with a hangover and irritation that the woman sleeping next to him wasn’t who he wanted—who he imagined when he closed his eyes at night.

  His dick gave a hopeful jerk at the picture his mind had just painted. God, he needed a distraction. He wandered through the house and ended up in a state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen. This opened up to a dining room lined with windows that overlooked the expansive grounds.

  An inviting pool was nestled near the foot of the hill that the house sat on. Bingo. At least he’d have something to do other than sit on his ass. With an exhale of relief, he turned to go back to the room where he’d placed his bags only to have his phone ring in his pocket.

  Grandfather.

  Of course, because the man hadn’t done enough?

  “What?” he barked out.

  “Manners, Bentley.”

  Kill me now.

  “What did you need, Grandfather? I was late, as you predicted, and she’s a sad, miserable human being, as I predicted. Haven’t you tortured me enough? Because I’ve gotta hand it to you, I’m pretty good at finding the positive in any situation, and the only positive I’m coming up with right now is that the house is big enough that I can avoid her.”

  Grandfather chuckled. “She’s not used to people.”

  “No shit.” Bentley snorted.

  “Language, Bentley.”

  Bentley leaned against the countertop and clenched the edge of the granite until his knuckles turned white. “Just get whatever lecture you have stored up in your head over with.”

  “Eager to be with Margot, are you?”

  “Right.” He drew out the word. “I can’t wait to get off the phone so I can go fuck the red queen upstairs. You read the papers. Do I look desperate? Hell would need to freeze over before I touched someone that…” The first word that came to mind was broken, but was that it? Was she broken? Or was she just a cold, hard unforgiving woman who wanted to make the whole world feel whatever pain she was suffering? “Frigid.”

  A soft gasp caught his attention.

  He turned around and tensed as Margot slowly backed away from him with her hands up, maybe in an attempt to block his words, but he knew they’d already done their damage.

  “Shit.” He shook his head, “Margot, wait, I didn’t mean—”

  Her eyes were swollen. Had she been crying? “You just stay away from me!” She thrust her finger at him like it was a weapon.

  Bentley glared right back at her. “Hold on, Grandfather.” He pressed the phone to his chest. “We need to talk.”

  He tried to meet her eyes, but she shifted her gaze to somewhere over his head. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea, in fact none of this is a good idea. Just…stay away.”

  Bentley remained silent. Great. He’d walked right into that one. It wasn’t like he wanted her company anyway. At least that’s what he told himself.

  “Promise me!” she said in an urgent tone. “Promise me you’ll stay away from me.” Her glassy eyes were like a direct punch to the gut. “After all, you’re good at that…staying away.”

  Her sharp words hit their mark, making it hard him to breathe. So he deflected, he did what he’d always done, he turned the tables back on her to keep her from seeing the blood from the gaping wound she’d just torn open. “Is that what you want, Margot?” Bentley immediately recognized the familiar helplessness and anxiety welling up, storming inside him. Clearly, she brought out the worst in him. Still. “For everyone and everything to stay away? To what end? You do realize there’s a big badass world out there? With actual people in it? Who have conversations? And don’t hole up in their houses with all the blinds closed mourning the loss of something that happened a decade ago?” He knew that firsthand. Isolation only fed the anger. And maybe he was reaching, but what other reason could she possibly have for shutting herself off from the world?

  He knew the minute he’d pushed her too far. Her face went ashen white, and then she charged toward him. She jammed a finger in his chest and then, as if having a second thought about it not being good enough, slapped him across the face and turned on her heel.

  “Do you hit all your guests?” he asked in a mocking tone.

  Ignoring him, she limped to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and walked past him again.

  “Red—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she barked and then left the room, but not before getting in the last word. “Leave me the hell alone!”

  Well, one thing was clear as hell—she still had that notorious temper when pushed too far. He hated how sexy she was when her eyes flashed and her cheeks pinked.

  “So this is going to be really fun,” Bentley said to his grandfather once he pulled the phone away from his chest. He rubbed his right cheek and winced at the stinging skin. Where the hell did she learn how to slap so hard?

  Grandfather sighed. “She’s had a hard life, son.”

  Bentley sucked in a dark laugh and did a half circle. “You’re kidding, right? She lives in a mansion and has enough money to buy a small country. Right, her life is so hard. She’s not the only one who’s lost someone. Now I know why her grandmother had to buy her a companion. Well, she didn’t pay enough. No job is worth this.”

  He braced himself for an argument, but his grandfather merely listened and then said, “Sometimes, we are blinded by our love for people. So blinded that we allow them their justifications and reasons, only realizing too late that by not pushing—we’ve helped them become a little less human.”

  “You’ve just explained the woman perfectly. She’s insane. She slapped me. In the face.” Bentley sulked toward the stairway.

  “Where else would she slap you?”

  Visions of her hands all over his body slammed into him in rapid succession.

  “That’s not the point,” he argued, suddenly exhausted. “She needs professional help.”

  “I’m so glad you agree.” Grandfather said in an eerie tone. “I think you’re just the man for the job.”

  “Job?” Why the hell did the word job sound like a death sentence coming from his grandfather’s mouth?

  “Job.” His grandfather coughed. “Or, duties.”

  Oh hell, now his grandfather wanted to pimp him out.

  “Be honest.” Bentley smirked at his reflection in the oven. “Did you hire me out as a gigolo? No judgments, but you do realize I leave a trail of broken hearts in my wake, right? Every. Single. Time.”

  “Funny, I imagined most of the women you slept with didn’t have hearts. You know, since they’re clearly missing a good brain.” He chuckled.

  Bentley rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

  “I find myself quite funny, yes.” Grandfather coughed. “I’ve decided to up the stakes.”

  Stakes? What game was his grandfather playing? “Come again?”

  “The stakes required to secure your future,” Grandfather explained. “Naturally I’ll allow you to interview for the new VP position if you stay the weekend.”

  “Interview? Did you just say interview?”

  What the hell? “I thought the job was mine!”

  “I said the board wanted to hire within and that you’d have to fix that ridiculous résumé, not that the job wa
s yours…at least not yet.”

  “Yet.” Why the hell was his grandfather suddenly interested in his life now? Not years ago when he actually needed him, but now that he was a grown-ass man who didn’t need or want the attention.

  “There is a manila folder in the top drawer of the guest bedroom downstairs, the one that Margot should have said you could stay in. Open it and complete the tasks. You don’t have to complete all of them—think of the tasks like suggestions…strong suggestions. Cheer the girl up. Stay a full month, out of the limelight you love so much, out of trouble. A bit of quiet will do you good, and a month with you might just help the girl start living again.”

  “Pardon my language, but why the fuck should I care about her?” But even as he said the words he knew he didn’t mean them. He cared. He’d always cared. Too much.

  “I thought you wanted the job at Wellington, Inc.”

  “I’m not sure it’s worth it.” Liar.

  “It comes with a corner office, a signing bonus, and anything else your heart desires…but you have to stay with the girl a month, and Bentley, you have to try.”

  There was that word again.

  Try.

  As if he had spent his entire life doing the opposite, when all Bentley felt like he’d been doing since his parents died was try. Try to impress his grandfather, try to keep his brothers happy, try to keep himself happy at the same time. Try not to have a nervous breakdown or an anxiety attack in public.

  Try, try, try.

  Hell, he hated that word.

  “That’s it, then?” he asked. “I either leave and take my chances at an interview with a potential board member who hates me, or I stay for thirty days and you hand the job over to me on a silver platter?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Easy,” he lied. “I can do anything for thirty days.”

  Anything but charm a girl who hated him, a girl he’d abandoned when she’d needed him the most. Right. He could do anything. But that? That would take a miracle.

  “What if she still hates me after the month is up?” Most women fawned all over him—while Margot looked ready to shank him every time he opened his mouth.

  “Still?” Grandfather was quiet, and then said, “I was under the impression you used to be friends—at least that’s what her grandmother says.”

  Well, hell. “People grow up.”

  “Do they?” Grandfather asked rhetorically, most likely lifting his eyebrows in that judgmental and arrogant stare that forced a lesser man to crumble.

  Bentley sighed. “I just want to know that there aren’t any other loopholes. Say I can’t make her happy, say she kills me before day thirty; I want to know that on my gravestone you write VP of marketing.”

  Grandfather let out a hearty laugh. “She’s not going to murder you.”

  Bentley laughed drily. “Well, if she does, give Brant my cars.”

  Grandfather joined in real laughter. “Bentley, one more thing.” He blew his nose. “Son, try not to fall in love with her.”

  Bentley ended the call with an easy laugh and made his way to the bedroom in search of this mysterious list of tasks.

  He trudged over to the one and only dresser in the room and jerked open the top drawer.

  As promised, a large manila folder sat in the empty drawer with his name printed across it in large black block letters.

  He mumbled a prayer of thanks when there was only one sheet inside, with neat boxes next to each item.

  The list was handwritten.

  On Titus Enterprises paper.

  Fucking. Hell.

  Grandfather had called in reinforcements. Nadine Titus, known as one of the most powerful and richest women in the country, had recently joined forces with his grandfather, making both of their companies, Titus Enterprises and Wellington, Inc., basically a monopolizing empire.

  She was an eighty-eight-year-old menace who in her spare time liked to play matchmaker.

  And because her grandsons were all perfectly happily married.

  She was a bored, rich menace.

  Who was currently dating his grandfather.

  Her familiar, feminine handwriting didn’t put him at ease, although he was relieved to see only five tasks written out on the paper.

  He could probably complete five tasks blindfolded.

  Number One: Do not under any circumstances, kiss, seduce, or make advances on Margot. But every day, until she finally opens her door or receives them—try bringing her flowers from the garden. Do not force them on her. Note that accepting the flowers means she keeps them at her desk or in her room. Throwing them at your face, stomping on them, or burning them doesn’t count. Once she’s accepted the flowers, you are free to kiss her. Only then. Try to do this backward and you may just end up with an injured penis or, worse, none at all!

  Margot would burn flowers? And maim him? Seriously? His mouth wasn’t going anywhere near her. Even if the idea did have merit: her skin, his lips. He shook away the image of her red hair spread out across his bed.

  Suggestions.

  He had to force himself to remember these were suggestions from an insane eighty-eight-year-old woman and his equally insane grandfather.

  The first item wasn’t going to be the easiest to accomplish after their third fight of the day, but he knew women in and out. She’d accept the flowers. He just had to accompany them with something she really wanted. In his experience flowers had always been a sort of peace offering, so the suggestion wasn’t too far from the mark. Then again, the last time he’d given a girl flowers, it had been based on the assumption that he’d get to see her naked.

  The problem was that he had no idea what Margot truly wanted. Did she still like books? Poetry? Swimming? A cold sweat broke out across his brow as he kept reading, his confidence dwindling by the second.

  Number Two: It would be romance suicide if you told her about the list in your hand, as in, she’d probably kill you in your sleep. Remember these are suggestions. Don’t tell her you are following a list of silly instructions—it would make her feel like she’s just a job, and it would make you look like a paid whore.

  Solid word choice.

  His gaze fell back to the list.

  This item needs to be handled delicately. Give her a new, meaningful compliment once a day until her cheeks glow with the knowledge that what you say is true. Unless you own a woman’s heart, you will never truly have her. Give her compliments that mean something. You’ll know when she finally believes you, because her demeanor will change. If it doesn’t—you’re an idiot and doing it wrong.

  A headache pulsed between Bentley’s temples. He’d be more likely to get a black eye than have her believe any of his compliments, because he wasn’t stupid—he knew most of his compliments were empty and self-serving.

  With a frown, he read on.

  Number Three: You cannot force love. Nor can you force a friendship, especially if it’s been broken in the past.

  Love? What the hell was wrong with these two? The last thing he wanted was for Margot to fall in love with him. Although having Margot’s friendship again wasn’t a bad idea at all. Damn them.

  Try a picnic. Force her to go outside. In the sunshine.

  Number Four: Make her laugh. A real laugh. The laugh must bubble up from the soul, and we want there to be tears with this laughter. Laughter, after all, can cure anything.

  Number Five: Give her something priceless. We’re not talking about diamonds or furs. The gift must have meaning. It must be received willingly, cheerfully.

  Thirty days.

  You have thirty days to be her friend, her confidant, and everything in between. Regardless of how things end, you will still get your job.

  This is a binding contract. At the end of the thirty days the marketing VP position at Wellington, Inc., will be hereby granted to Bentley Wellington provided he completes all five tasks…

  Bentley’s eyes glazed over at all the legal language until he scanned the bottom of the page. It ha
d been signed by both his grandfather and Nadine Titus, in the presence of Margot’s grandmother, Prudence McCleery.

  The worst part?

  The other witnesses were his brothers, Brock and Brant.

  So that’s what he got for helping?

  “Hell.” He slammed the paper against the dresser and ran his hands through his hair. He was going to murder them. Would it have killed his twin, his homie in the womb, to call? Send a text? Drop a note, saying, Oh, and by the way you’re completely fucked. Have a nice thirty days in hell!

  He’d just seen Brant the night before.

  The tight-lipped bastard hadn’t said a word. Though he did look paler than usual. And that was another thing.

  If Bentley was here, Brant was in the city alone, which begged the question: Who the hell was making sure his twin wasn’t out getting drunk and arrested every weekend? Nobody truly knew the extent of Bentley’s babysitting, and they would be in for a rude wake-up call over the course of the next few weeks.

  Bentley made a mental note to text his eldest brother and fill him in. At least Brant was a creature of habit: same bars, different women. Easy.

  But babysitting Brant and cheering him up was easier than this.

  How the hell was he going to tame the redheaded Beast?

  And damn it, he was more than a little bit leery if that made him Beauty in this scenario. Because he knew just as much about romance as he knew about love.

  Which was absolutely nothing.

  Chapter Six

  Later that night, Margot opened her bedroom door and scanned the empty hallway. It was past midnight. Maybe she’d get lucky and Bentley would be drunk off his ass downstairs or sleeping off a hangover. Either option would be fine as long as he stayed the hell away from her.

  He hadn’t knocked on her door again.

  In fact, he’d been deathly silent.

  At one point, she even pulled back her curtains to make sure his car was still parked outside.

  Unfortunately, a splash of cherry red glistened from below, mocking her. Of course he’d have a sports car, because what type of millionaire womanizer would he be without one?