Mister Impossible: Bachelor International, Book 3 Page 4

  I mean, hell, I’d recently been offered a full scholarship at a prestigious US school that had been attempting to recruit me for years. Bri had filled out an application for her own scholarship, and I’d told the school I was waiting to hear if she’d also received one because I couldn’t leave her behind. Before my letter could even make it to the school, one was delivered to her, and since I always picked up the mail, I opened it first. They had extended her a scholarship. I’d been bursting at the seams to tell her, but I wanted to surprise her and make it special.

  Normally, we’d walk to the home from our school, even though they provided a bus. Though you wouldn’t classify the kids who lived with us as enemies of ours, we had little in common with them, and as a result, we mostly kept to ourselves. The walk home Bri and I a chance to catch up and was often the most time we would have during the day that wasn’t under continual threat of being interrupted by chores or homework.

  On my way to wait for the bus with the other kids from the home, I changed my mind and turned around. I hated riding the bus and wanted to give the news to Bri. My new plan was to wait for her to finish her “meeting” and then walk back together. That’s when I’d give her the news.

  I smiled, picturing how happy she’d be that we’d be leaving. Recently, some of the older boys had taken notice of her. Obviously they took notice. Hell, I took notice. You’d have to be blind not to see her transformation from an awkward girl to a knockout young woman. But those boys knew better than to do anything other than look because I’d made it clear on numerous occasions she was under my protection and I’d beat the shit out of them if they laid a finger on Bri.

  I sat on a low brick wall to wait. It was the time of year when the weather couldn’t decide what season it wanted to be. I shrugged out of the jacket I’d needed first thing that morning but that it was now too warm for.

  Only twenty minutes passed when a familiar car pulled up to the school. I frowned. What was the director, Mr. Newsome, doing at the school? My frown deepened. And why was he headed toward me?

  “Mr. Worthington,” he said. “Just the man I was looking for. I thought I’d find you here.”

  I said nothing, but what I wanted to know was why was he looking for me in the first place?

  “Are you waiting for Brigitta Duncan?”

  I didn’t answer him that time either. What I was doing was none of his business.

  “You don’t have to answer,” he said. “I know that’s what you’re doing. Which is why I came by to tell you there’s no need.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Ms. Duncan just left the home with her grandmother.”

  My jaw hit the ground. “Bri has a grandmother?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she has a grandmother.”

  “I mean she has a grandmother who is alive?” Bri and I had discussed our families too many times to count over the years, and I felt certain that if she had a living grandparent, she’d have mentioned it.

  “Yes, it’s a remarkable story actually. The grandmother was unaware of Ms. Duncan’s existence until recently when she came across some old papers her daughter had in a storage box. She’s been looking for Bri for months, and she came by today to pick her up.”

  Nothing the man was saying made any sense at all. Not that there was an unknown grandmother who suddenly appeared or that she came by today.

  “Bri left with her?” I asked, not believing a word that came out of his mouth. “Just like that?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t she? She said now you could accept the scholarship and not have to worry about her.”

  I gnashed my teeth together because it sounded exactly like something like something she’d say. She was forever telling me she didn’t want to be a burden, and I was a fool for not taking the scholarship the second they offered it to me.

  “She left and didn’t say goodbye?” I asked, more to myself and not so much because I expected a reply.

  “She said it’d be better this way.”

  Those words still held the power to bring me to my knees all these years later. Bri had broken me, and from that day on, I’d worked to ensure no one ever had the ability to do so again.

  Chapter 7

  Bri

  I wasn’t so unstable that I’d spend all the time and energy I had to bring down a man whose worst sin was accepting a legitimate way to better his lot in life. He’d have been an idiot if he hadn’t taken it. Nor could I fault him for wanting to do so without a scrawny preteen tagging along.

  No, from what I’d learned from the Organization, it wasn’t until Piers became powerful that he made himself a target for my vengeance. That he’d left me alone all those years ago was just icing on the cake.

  Piers had always been quite savvy when it came to dealing with people. He always seemed to know instinctively what to say to someone, and when to say it. Even my earliest recollections of him involved my marveling at how easily he could read those around him.

  It came as a surprise to no one that he had friends who ranged from petty thieves to members of government and everyone between. What would shock people is how he used those connections for not only his gain, but for his clients as well. I’d yet to find anything confirming either Mia or Tenor knew anything, but I was still looking.

  Piers had called me when he made it home from doing whatever he had to do with the police department and asked me to dinner. If I was honest with myself, I was conflicted. Did I want to have dinner with Piers? Hell, yes. But I wanted it to be just about us, without the involvement of the Organization. I mourned the us that Piers and I used to be. Young. Carefree. Having each other’s back.

  But those days were gone, and those two young kids no longer existed.

  It was a much older and wiser Bri who waited in the lobby for a much older, albeit a much hotter, Piers. Whenever our dinner date had crossed my mind earlier in the day, and I’d admit it was a lot, butterflies would fill my stomach. Then I’d have to give myself a talking-to and explain to the butterflies why they needed to fly away. One, it was unprofessional for me to seek any sort of relationship with a target. Two, the Organization would have my head. Three? Okay, there wasn’t a three, but one and two carried enough weight to make a third obsolete.

  Still, no matter how many times I tried to convince myself it was only a business dinner and not a date, I failed. I had a feeling that even if I’d been able to do so, it wouldn’t have mattered.

  I noticed him as soon as he walked into the lobby. He was taller than most of the other men, which gave him an advantage when he scanned the room. I watched from my spot behind the plant as his intense gaze swept the lobby for me. It triggered an image of him looking over my naked body with that same concentration and threatened to dissolve me into a pile of goo.

  “Shake it off,” I told myself. “You have a job to do, and not a single part of that job involves you naked in front of Piers.”

  To prove I was more than capable, I took a step away from the plant and stood still, not in the middle of the lobby space but off to the side, and watched as he continued scanning the room. I knew the moment he caught sight of me because his eyes lit up and a big grin covered his face.

  He wore a pale gray suit that should have made him appear washed out. At least that’s what it would do on another man. But on Piers it only accentuated his already too-perfect-to-be-real body. I felt bad for other men all over the face of the earth who had no hope of ever looking a fraction of how good Piers did.

  He made his way to me, air-kissing my cheeks once he stood before me.

  “Bri,” he said, taking a step back. “You look beautiful. Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me.”

  “Has anyone ever been able to turn you down?”

  His expression turned dark for a split second, but almost instantly, his grin was back in place. “Once or twice,” he joked.

  I didn’t believe him for a minute, but I wouldn’t argue about it. “So tell me, Mr. Once
or Twice, where are you taking me to dinner?”

  He held his arm out for me to take, and I did so, even though it felt awkward. I immediately noticed the hard muscle beneath my fingertips. Damn. I knew he wouldn’t be soft—even as a kid he was all scrawny muscles—but what I felt was the result of much more than an occasional workout.

  I almost mentioned something about how obvious it was he worked out but held my tongue. It would be for the best if I didn’t draw attention to how much I noticed his body, much less compliment him on it.

  “You want to know about dinner?” he asked as we stepped outside. “Funny thing. I had a place in mind, but it would involve getting in my car, and to be honest, I found a really great parking spot, and I’m loath to give it up. Now I’m thinking we should go somewhere we can walk to.”

  “There is a thing called public transportation, you know,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “Public transportation?” he asked, like I’d suggested we dine on the moon. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Don’t you ever ride the train?”

  “Not if I can help it.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “And ninety-nine point nine percent of the time I can.”

  “You are aware you’re only making yourself look like a snob,” I pointed out.

  “Let’s cross the street here,” he said, and we turned and crossed over when the light changed. “I suppose I do sound a bit snobbish,” he continued once we had reached the other side. “But surely it’s better to be honest and sound snobbish than to sound otherwise but be deceitful.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Instead I asked, “You seem to know where you’re going. I take it you’ve decided where we should eat?”

  “Very astute.” He waved down the street. “An acquaintance of mine has a place about a block from here. He opened last year. It’s packed during baseball season but is easier to get into this time of year.”

  I’d never been much of a sports fan. Granted, I’d watched a few football games when I lived in the UK, but American sports? Not my thing. “I don’t even know when baseball season is,” I admitted.

  Piers patted my hand. “We’ll keep that between the two of us,” he said, and we both laughed.

  Fifteen minutes later as we sat at a table near a window overlooking the downtown area, I had a feeling he’d been selling himself short when he claimed to be an acquaintance of the owner. Piers was obviously well known by the staff. The hostess, a middle-aged woman, fawned all over him and then turned her attention to me, saying it was about time Piers brought a woman by for dinner. I could only nod, but it didn’t matter because she’d turned back to Piers, saying she had just the table for us.

  “She seems to be a fan of yours,” I said once we’d been seated.

  “Betsy is the owner’s sister. Sweet lady. Widowed last year. It’s been rough on her.”

  Piers greeted the server who stopped by our table with a hearty hello, and she playfully smacked his shoulder. “It’s been too long.” He only laughed and told her to surprise us with dinner.

  “Do you know everyone in Boston?” I asked as she walked away. “Or only those who own or work in restaurants?”

  For some reason, Piers found my question funny. “I imagine it does look as if everyone I know is in the food industry. I assure you, I know plenty of nonfood-industry people as well.”

  That I knew for a fact, but I kept the thought to myself. “What made you decide to go into law?” I asked. It seemed to be an innocent enough question. Plus, if we were talking about him, we couldn’t talk about me.

  If he knew what I was doing, he didn’t let on. Leaning back in his seat, he replied, “I received a full ride at Stanford. I knew I wanted to do something that made a difference, but I wasn’t sure what. At first I thought about politics. It didn’t take me long to realize I might be limited with what I could accomplish since I was born in the UK. Plus, I had more than enough skeletons in my closet to sink any run for a major office.” He shrugged. “Law school seemed to be a good choice. I took the LSAT and did above average. Good enough to get me into Georgetown.” He winked. “The rest is history.”

  “And you went into business law.”

  He raised an eyebrow in silent question. “Yes.”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I searched for you online.” It wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t mention when I searched him.

  “In that case,” he said. “I’m sure you saw how I use my law practice to help small business owners.”

  No. Actually. I hadn’t known that. I didn’t voice an answer, but something in my expression must have revealed my thoughts.

  Piers leaned forward, and I did the same, not realizing what I’d done until I saw how close we were. But I didn’t move back.

  “I’m a very good business lawyer, Bri,” he said, and I found no trace of vanity or exaggeration in his statement. “The businesses that pay me are what allow me to help those who can’t. In fact, last year fifty percent of my workload was pro bono.”

  Fifty percent? I didn’t see how that was possible after viewing all the information the Organization had on him. It made little sense. Based on the documents and spreadsheets I’d been given, Piers sent a lot of his money to various offshore accounts. If he did that, he wouldn’t have the funds to do as much pro bono work as he claimed.

  “Fifty percent is commendable,” I said, trying to make sense of it in my head.

  His eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel as if you don’t believe me?”

  Because I didn’t. But I didn’t want to tell him that. “Fifty percent is a really high percentage rate for pro bono work. It’s hard for me to see how you could be profitable if you’re working for free half the time.”

  He was getting money from somewhere and a good amount as well. Anyone could tell that simply by looking at what he wore. I didn’t think it would be untrue to say most people who gave fifty percent of their time to doing things for free didn’t walk about with expensive Swiss watches around their wrist.

  “That’s the normal assumption people have,” he said. “And mostly I’d say that you’re right. Very few businesses could do what I do and not fail.”

  “You are aware of how cocky you sound right now?” Though truthfully, if fifty percent of his work was pro bono and he still looked like a runway model every time I saw him, he certainly had cause.

  “Is it still considered cockiness if it’s true?” There was something in the tilt of his head or the slight up curve of his lips when he asked that told me he was teasing me while being completely honest at the same time.

  “I don’t know about all that,” I said. “But I know everything about you screams cocky.”

  “Damn straight,” he said, and I swore his eyes grew darker and he inched forward just a bit farther. His gaze dropped to my lips. My mouth went dry, and in that moment, I realized I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted Piers to kiss me.

  I think he wanted it too. But before either of us could make a move, our server appeared with our entrées.

  “Let me know if I can do anything else for you,” she said once we each had a delicious-looking plate in front of us.

  I gave her a smile and a thank-you because what I wanted was for her to have waited ten more minutes before bringing our meal to the table. Ten more minutes and I’d have felt Piers’s lips on mine. I’d have known their taste. I was certain he’d been mere seconds away from kissing me.

  Part of me screamed it was a good thing the plates had been brought out when they had. And that it was a damned good thing I hadn’t kissed him. In public, no less. Right where anyone and their brother could have seen us.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself because even though I was loath to admit it, the part of me that had been screaming I was an idiot and a half was right. If there was a top ten list of things I better not do with Piers, having any sort of connection, be it physical, emotional, or a combination of both was assuredly number one.

  “This looks fabulous,
” I said, trying to pretend as if nothing was wrong.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking at his plate but watched me instead.

  I felt my cheeks heat, and I dipped my head so he couldn’t see, but I don’t think I did it fast enough. Undeterred, Piers refocused his attention away from me and on his dinner. I thought that meant we could settle in for small talk and chit-chat while we ate. But he had other plans.

  “The key to having a profitable business while continuing to work pro bono is all about math.”

  The reference to that fateful day he’d left without saying a word, no matter how subtle it was, shook me to the core, and before I could find a way to get myself together, the fork I’d been using slipped out of my hand and clattered to the table.

  “I hate math,” was all I could get out wordwise. Across the table, Piers chuckled.

  “It’s simply a case of ensuring the resources coming in exceed those going out,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “And it probably helps when you charge your paying clients a gazillion dollars an hour.”

  “Nonsense,” he said without missing a beat. “I stopped charging a gazillion dollars an hour years ago. I’m worth one point six gazillion an hour now.”

  That actually got a smile out of me. I wanted to say there he went, getting all cocky again, but I was afraid he might try to kiss me.

  Scratch that. I was afraid he wouldn’t try to kiss me. And I didn’t want to think about what that said about me. Not then anyway.

  “Was the call from the foster mom about a pro bono case?” I asked.

  “No.” He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “That wasn’t about any sort of business. It was personal.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that to be his answer, so I was speechless. What could be his personal connection to a foster mom? The answer that came to mind was preposterous, but I had to ask. “Is the foster kid in question yours?”