Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“How are you, old man?”

Mr. Thorne grumbled. “I got a hemorrhoid the size of a golf ball sticking out of my ass, haven’t been laid since the Clinton administration, and the only person who comes to visit me is you. How do you think I’m feeling?”

I smiled and pulled a chair up to his bedside. “Two out of three of those I could do without knowing. But that last one—you’re a very lucky man.”

He waved his hand at me. “Did you bring me the goods?”

I shook my head, pulled ten scratch-offs from my inside suit jacket pocket, and dug a quarter from my pants. Grabbing a book off his nightstand, I set it up on his lap so he could work on his lottery tickets.

Mr. Thorne started to scratch off the gray latex and pointed to the nightstand without looking up. “Make sure you take the ten from my money over there.”

“Okay.”

Same conversation we had every time I came by since I’d been back in New York, and I wasn’t even sure he knew I’d never taken a dollar from him. The ten bucks was the least I could bring him for listening to my ass over the last few years.

While he was fiending on his lotto tickets, I swiped the remote from next to him on the bed and flicked to CNN.

“Hey. I was watching that.”

I arched a brow. “You were? Let me save you the trouble. It’s not the big guy with the shaved head’s kids. It’s the scrawny dude with the mullet and crooked teeth’s spawn.”

Mr. Thorne spent most of his day watching Jerry Springer and other similar programs. I had no idea if this particular episode was about paternity or not, but all those stupid shows seemed to end the same way.

“Smartass,” he grumbled.

“You know what they need to do on one of those shows?” I said. “Have a minimum income of a million dollars a year for guests. Change up the scenery a bit. Maybe I could sign up a few members of my family. Airing the dirty laundry of rich assholes is just as entertaining as the dirty laundry of people who don’t have a pot to piss in.”

Mr. Thorne scoffed. “Like anyone could relate to your problems, spoiled rich kid.”

Someone looking in from the outside might think I had reason to be insulted by the way the old man talked to me. But it was just his way—his way of reminding me my problems could be a hell of a lot worse.

He finished scratching off his tickets and tossed one at me. “Won five dollars. Only cost me ten. Give me back my ten and take this and a five. You can cash it in next time you stop to get my tickets. Bring me one of those ten-dollar scratch-offs next time instead of ten one-dollar ones.”

I tucked the winning ticket into my suit jacket. We sat quietly for the next ten or fifteen minutes, watching a story on CNN about some pharmaceutical company being investigated for selling a knock-off Viagra that supposedly caused some people to stay hard for up to four days. I wasn’t impressed; Sophia had done that shit even longer using nothing but her attitude.

Mr. Thorne clicked the TV off. “So, talk to me, kid. How are the urges these days?”

My gut reaction was to respond the same way I would if my father or grandfather had asked that question, which would be to lie and say I was doing great. But there was an old saying about the four people you always tell the truth: your wife, your priest, your doctor, and your lawyer.

But that was the sober man’s creed. The rest of us had five: your sponsor.

“I’ve had my moments. I paid the cleaning woman at the hotel where I’m staying a hundred bucks to take all the little liquor bottles out of my room the other day.”

He nodded. “Have you been going to meetings?”

I shook my head. “Not in the last two weeks, but I’ve gone to the shrink my grandfather is making me see a few times.”

Mr. Thorne wagged a crooked finger at me. “Get your ass to a meeting. You know the drill. You don’t have to talk, but you need to at least listen. That reminder is key in your recovery.”

I tried to make light of things. “I’m here listening to you. Why can’t that count as my daily listening torture?”

But Mr. Thorne took his sobriety very seriously. “Because I’m fourteen years clean, and the only way I can get myself a drink is by flinging my shriveled-up body off this bed and dragging these useless legs to a store. Which we both know, I don’t have the strength for anymore. But you, you have temptation all around you. Temptation right at your fingertips. Hell, you don’t even have to get up off your ass to get yourself a drink. Just lie in your fancy bed, in your fancy hotel room, and pick up the phone and call room service.”

I ran a hand through my hair and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll find a meeting.”

Walter Thorne and I went way back. Nine years ago I’d wandered into his hospital room drunk one night when I’d meant to visit my sister. I’d tripped over my own two feet and woke him up, laughing hysterically from the floor beside his bed. Turned out, I hadn’t even been on the right floor of the hospital. But the ornery bastard nevertheless sat up and asked me what my problem was.

I spent the next three hours unloading shit to him that I’d never said aloud to another soul. When I was done, I was pretty much sober, and Mr. Thorne proceeded to tell me he was in the hospital for his sixth surgery in five years since becoming a paraplegic when he crashed his car into a tree while drunk.

I didn’t visit my sister that day. But I came back sober the next day and sat with Mr. Thorne for a few hours after I visited Caroline. In fact, I visited with Mr. Thorne for ten days after my sister was discharged. He spent half our time together telling me dirty jokes and the other half lecturing me about sobering up. It would be a much better story if I could say that had been a turning point for me. But it wasn’t.

A few weeks later, I was back to partying, and I’d tossed the number Mr. Thorne gave me in the back of a drawer somewhere. Then five years ago, I dug it out and called him the night Caroline died. We started talking, and eventually I let him help me get sober.

“How are things between you and that jackass grandfather of yours?”

I forced a smile. “Everything’s pretty good. As long as he continues to get outstanding reports from the shrink, and I live up to the twenty other things I had to agree to in order to get my job back.”

“He’s just looking out for you.”

It was way more complicated than that; it always was with my family.

“How are things going with that lady friend you mentioned a while back?”

I had no idea who he was referencing, but I didn’t need to in order to answer. I shrugged. “It was just a date. Nothing more.”

“Boy, by the time I was your age, I was married with two kids.”

“That’s probably why you were divorced by the time you were thirty-five.”

“Nah. My Eliza divorced me because I was a drunk who couldn’t hold a job more than three months. Can’t blame the woman. A good woman deserves a good man, and eventually she sees right through an imposter.”

His comment made me think of Sophia. As much as I didn’t want to think so—because it made my situation easier—she was a good woman. Mr. Thorne was the only person I could admit all my ugly shit to, and he wouldn’t look down on me or judge me. Maybe it was because he had his own ugliness, or maybe it was because he was confined to this bed, and the only people who visited him were the nurse who got paid to take care of him and me. But whatever the reason, I trusted him with anything. In a lot of ways, he’d taken Caroline’s place. She was the only person I ever felt like myself around.

Blowing out a deep breath, I said, “I’ve actually started seeing a new woman. Well, she’s not really new, considering we’ve known each other since we were kids. And I guess technically we aren’t seeing each other, but whatever. There’s a woman.”

Mr. Thorne nodded. “Go on.”

“There’s not much to tell. Her name is Sophia, and she’s basically my enemy.”

“So, you’re telling me you’re sleeping with the enemy, like the movie?”

I laughed. “A different kind of enemy. Basically, my family and her family hate each other.”

“But you two get along?”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. Most of the time, she’s about five seconds away from kicking me in the balls.”

Mr. Thorne’s bushy brows dipped down. “I’m confused. So, you’re not sleeping with this girl?”

“No, I am.”

“But she wants to kick you in the balls?”

I smiled. “She does.”

“And that makes you smile? I don’t understand this generation at all.”

“She doesn’t like me. But her body does. We’re like a tornado and a volcano. It’s rare the two meet. But when they do, it’s explosive.”

“Explosive, huh? That sounds more like destructive to me.”

He had a point. But it was okay. Sophia wouldn’t get hurt, since she was the tornado, and they tended to move on quickly. It was the volcano that sat around dormant for years on end.

“Be careful. That sounds like the type of thing that can jeopardize your recovery.”

“Don’t worry about me. I got it all under control.”

Our eyes met for a moment, and we both knew this wasn’t the first time I’d uttered those words and been wrong. Though I appreciated him not reminding me of that.

I stood. “How about we get your lazy ass into the wheelchair, and I take you outside for a walk? It’s beautiful out.”

Mr. Thorne nodded and smiled. “I’d like that.”

***

Later that afternoon, I hit up an AA meeting on my way back to The Countess. After, I sat in my office thinking about what Mr. Thorne had said. I’d assured him I had things under control, and that was accurate in regard to my drinking, but the truth of the matter was that Sophia Sterling was getting under my skin. If I wasn’t watching her from afar, I was thinking of excuses to go talk to her, which inevitably led to an argument I’d get off on. My days had become centered around watching her or interacting with her, and our nights together fulfilled my fantasies. If I couldn’t goad her into a fight that heated things up between us, I sat in my room alone, jerking off to the memory. I’d even arranged it so when I moved out of the presidential suite, I moved into the room she’d just vacated and declined housekeeping. So now my sheets smelled like her, and every time I went into the shower, I imagined her standing in the exact same spot bringing herself to orgasm. Between that and how I liked to secretly watch her in line at the coffee shop and working behind the reception desk, I was turning into a real creeper.

So when Sophia knocked on my open door, I felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, Fifi?”

She rolled her eyes and walked in. “Why did you start calling me that in high school, anyway?”

I leaned back in my chair and tossed my pen onto the desk. “I don’t know. I said it once and saw that it got a rise out of you, so it stuck.”

She sighed. “Some things never change, huh?”

“Well, technically they do. These days you’re the one getting the rise out of me, aren’t you?” I winked.

Sophia smirked, but ignored my comment. She took a seat in a chair on the other side of my desk and crossed her legs.

Was it me, or did her skirt ride up a little higher today? This morning, when I watched her from afar at the coffee shop, she’d had her hair down, but it was pulled to the side so I had a clear view of the beautiful skin on the back of her neck. While she stood in line, her perfectly manicured nails gently grazed up and down from her hairline into her silk blouse. I’d assumed it was my vivid imagination, and she wasn’t intentionally trying to drive me crazy, but this afternoon’s skirt was a bit on the short side.

When my eyes rose to meet hers, I could’ve sworn they held a hint of a gleam. Yet she was all business when she spoke.

“So, I received the two quotes from my contractors. The estimates aren’t that different, but only one feels they could get the job done in the timeframe we need. Any chance your quote came in?”

“Actually, it did. I’ve only glanced at the bottom line, so why don’t we take a look at all three and see where things stand.”

We moved over to the round conference table to spread out, and Sophia and I exchanged estimates. It only took a quick look to realize both of her estimates were significantly lower than mine. While my contractor felt comfortable committing to get the work done in three months, he’d included a number of rush charges throughout. The only extra fees Sophia’s contractors charged were for things like required night differential and overtime.

While we were reviewing the estimates, Sophia’s cell phone rang. She quickly sent the call to voice mail, but not before we both read the name on the caller ID.

I felt a stab of jealousy in my chest. “I thought things were over between you and the boring Brit?”

She sighed. “Can we both pretend you didn’t see that just now?”

My jaw flexed. “If that’s what you want.”

Sophia nodded and went back to reading the estimates. A few minutes later, she pushed the papers aside. “Well, I think it’s obvious who we should use.”

Maybe on paper it was. But I hadn’t forgotten the way Travis Bolton looked at her. “It’s not always about the lowest bidder.”

Her tone was defensive. “I know that, but the Boltons are also the most confident that they can get the job done, and they have a great reputation and have never let my family down.”

“I’ll need to make some calls to ask around about them.”

Sophia’s lips pursed. “Whatever you need to do. But obviously the sooner we decide the better.”

Fuck. I wanted to suck on those puckered lips. We had an obvious history of our attraction heating up when we were pissed off, but at the moment I was confused as to what the hell I was even pissed about. Was it because my estimate was clearly the shittiest one? Or because her asshole ex had just called her? Or did the thought of Travis Bolton hanging around her while doing the construction here drive me a little bit nuts?

Sophia’s cell phone interrupted my thoughts again. We simultaneously read the name Liam, and I put my hand out, palm up. “How about I answer?”

Her eyes widened, and she sucked in her bottom lip. “What would you say?”

“Is it over?”

She nodded. “I want to bury the body deeper than eight feet.”

I flashed a wicked smile. I could easily have picked up the phone from the table, and I doubted she would have stopped me. But I wanted her to hand it to me.

“Give me the phone.” My hand was still extended, waiting.

I felt a surge of pride when she dropped it into my palm. The cell rang for a third time, so I swiped to answer and brought it to my ear.

“Hello.”

“Who is this?”

“This is the man fucking your ex-girlfriend. And we’re busy at the moment. So what can I do you for, Liam?”

Sophia’s eyes looked like they might bulge out of her head. She covered her mouth with both hands.

The asshole on the other end of the phone had the balls to sound indignant. “Put Sophia on the phone.”

I leaned back. “No can do. She’s a little tied up at the moment, if you get my drift.”

“Is this a joke?”

“A joke? No, the joke’s on you. I bet you didn’t even know our girl likes to be tied up, did you? Such a shame. Maybe if you had taken your time exploring what the beautiful woman needs, she wouldn’t be moaning my name at night. But that’s not your thing, is it? You’re only into fulfilling your own needs. You know, like with her cousin.”

I kept quiet for a few heartbeats and waited to see what good ol’ Liam had to say about that. Though, apparently I’d stumped the idiot. I could only hear him breathing loudly. So I figured I’d end on a fun note.

“Okay, then. It’s been great chatting with you. And Liam, lose Sophia’s number.”

I swiped to end the call and offered the phone back to a very stunned Sophia. She continued to stare at me, bug-eyed, even as she took her cell. From the look on her face, I thought a tirade was likely on the way once she managed to get her bearings again.

“Too much?” I asked, lifting a brow.

Sophia’s mouth hung open. But then her lips slid into a giant grin. “Oh my God! That was awesome!”

“Glad you think so. I was beginning to think you were going to lay into me. Although, that would turn into a big fight, and we both know where that seems to take us. So it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

We had a good laugh, and then Sophia swept all the papers on the table into a neat pile. I thought we were going back to business.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

I nodded, and again, she chewed on that bottom lip.

“How did you know Liam had never tied me up?”

“The way you reacted when I asked your permission to use my belt. You wanted me to, but you weren’t comfortable admitting that. If it hadn’t been your first time, you would have reacted differently.”

She nodded, but went quiet again. Eventually, she said, “But how did you know I wanted you to?”

Man, that Liam really was a dipshit. Didn’t the fucker ever read what she wanted and try to satisfy her? I couldn’t believe she had to ask me that question. Though I didn’t want to make her feel foolish, so I did my best to answer without any hint of judgment in my voice.

“It’s just something I sensed from you.”

She shook her head. “How? Do I appear weak or something?”

“Just the opposite. You seem very much in control, which is why I thought it might work for you to let go a little. What you like in the bedroom in no way reflects who you are as a businessperson.”

Sophia was quiet again. “Is this your thing? You’re a dominant or something?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s not my thing.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I leaned close and wound a lock of her hair around my finger until she looked up at me. Then I smiled and gave it a good, firm yank. “But it appears to be our thing.”