The Pet Stylist and the Playboy Page 15

  “I was gonna wait for Christmas to pop the question, but as soon as I finished paying for the ring, I had to give it to her.”

  “When’s the big day?”

  “Not till next July. We’re gonna move in together first. Cupcake’s hoping to mend some fences with her family before the wedding. Not that it’s gonna be all that fancy or anything, but she wants them there.”

  “That’s really great. Hey, what’s Cupcake’s real name? I’ve never heard it.”

  “Celine,” Foghorn said.

  “Pretty name.”

  Foghorn agreed and looked around the room. “You like it here?”

  Several of the dogs were penned in the playroom down the hall, their yapping and scrambling around a boisterous background to our chat.

  “Yeah, I do. It’s great.” I glanced at Moe, who swiped curiously at the biker’s beard. “You sure you want Moe? He’s kind of feisty. Besides, I’d hate to split him up from Marmalade. They’ve bonded.”

  Foghorn disengaged Moe’s claws from his long beard.

  “No, it doesn’t have to be this one. Ouch! He bit me.” He set Moe on the ground and rubbed his finger. Moe hadn’t broken the skin.

  I chuckled. “He doesn’t like it when you touch near his tail.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  I stood up. “Let me show you some of the cats who have been here a long time that would make great pets. We also have more kittens, but they’ll be easy to find homes, and I hope you’ll consider an older cat.”

  We walked into the sun room, and I sniffed the air. It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it was getting pretty rank. I walked to a side window and cranked it open to let in some air through the screen.

  “Sorry. I need to change the litter boxes. With so many cats, it’s hard to keep up with it.”

  “No worries,” Foghorn said, looking over the cats that sprawled on the shelves in the sun. A few jumped down and wandered over to rub against his legs.

  He sat down on one of the two wooden rocking chairs and pretty soon he had five cats climbing all over him. I couldn’t help laughing when one wrapped itself around his big shoulders and hung there like a living fur stole. I snapped a picture with my phone.

  “It’s for the social media site I made for the shelter,” I told him.

  “You’re gonna ruin my rep,” Foghorn grumbled good-naturedly. “I’ll have to bring Cupcake over to help me choose, ‘cause I can’t.” He dislodged the cats and stood up to brush the fur from his clothes. I handed him one of the rollers of tape I kept in the room for that very reason and watched him clean up.

  My phone buzzed. Morgan.

  “Go ahead,” Foghorn said. “I’ll get a bag and scoop out these boxes.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. I answered the phone as I walked through the house, flopping onto the couch in the living room.

  “Busy?” Morgan asked.

  “Nah. Jesse’s here to help out.”

  “Jesse?”

  “Foghorn. He’s scooping out the litter boxes.”

  “Yuck. Better him than me. I’ve got a job for you, if you want.”

  I perked up. “Really? What is it?”

  “It’s three nights a week in upper Manhattan at an exclusive gay club called Lux.”

  My heart sank. I knew the place. Clint used to go there all the time and probably still did.

  “Isaac?” Morgan had recently started calling me by my real name.

  “I’m here.”

  “They have a gym on the bottom floor. You’d be washing and folding towels, restocking them, mopping, stuff like that. They may want you to work in other areas down the road, but that’s what they told me you’d be doing to start off with.”

  The gym was fine with me. The more tucked away from everything, the better. If I ran into Clint, well, I ran into him. I needed the job.

  “Okay, great. Who do I talk to?”

  Morgan gave me the name and number of the manager, and I called as soon as we disconnected. Morgan had told him all about me, and being a Wentworth, his recommendation held a lot of weight. I got the job sight unseen. I just had to go fill out some paperwork.

  The only problem was, I’d failed to consider the fact I didn’t have transportation. If I paid an Uber to get there and back every time I worked, it would eat up my pay in no time.

  “What’re you looking all down about?” Foghorn’s low voice jolted me out of my thoughts.

  “Nothing.”

  Before I knew what was happening, Foghorn pulled me off the couch and into a wrestling hold on the rug.

  “Jesse!” I struggled to get free from the big man, but it was useless. He was a tank.

  “’Fess up, boy. I’m not taking no for an answer,” Foghorn rumbled in his deep voice.

  I sighed and went limp. “You’re a moron.”

  He knuckled my hair. “Tell me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I’m sure we looked ridiculous—Marmalade seemed to think so by the way she’d gathered herself up and retreated to the farthest corner of the couch.

  “I had to get a second job, and I don’t have any way of getting there that wouldn’t eat up most of the money I earn.”

  Foghorn loosened his hold. “You got money troubles?”

  I sat up and ran a hand through my disheveled hair. “No. I just want to save up some, but taking an Uber or taxi will be too expensive.”

  Foghorn appeared to think. “We got an extra bike back at the clubhouse. I’m sure Blaze’ll let you use it.”

  When I’d lived with the MC, Blaze had insisted I get my license to drive one, just in case. They weren’t my chosen mode of transportation, but who was I to be picky?

  “You think so?”

  “I’ll talk to him.” Foghorn eased up off the floor. “Now, what else can I do around here to help?”

  I had him walk the dogs while I took the opportunity to go up to the main house to see Gus.

  “You look better,” I said when I’d taken a seat next to him on the sofa.

  “I feel better. Wanda Weeks came by with a casserole and cut my hair for me,” Gus said.

  “She did a good job. What kind of casserole is it?”

  “Chicken, I believe. Want to eat with me?”

  “Foghorn, I mean, Jesse’s down at the shelter helping out.”

  “Well, call him up here, and we’ll all have some.”

  We had a leisurely lunch during which Gus peppered Foghorn with questions about his fiancée and their plans. When he heard they were adopting one of the shelter cats, he beamed.

  “I could tell you were an animal person the minute I laid eyes on you.”

  Jesse stayed the afternoon. He didn’t come often, but when he did, he made up for it by getting three-times the work done. By the time he drove off on his Harley, I didn’t have much left to do.

  I’d just climbed into bed, freshly showered and bone-weary, when my phone buzzed with a text.

  Blaze: I’ll bring the bike to you tomorrow. Should have thought of it before.

  I smiled as I settled under the covers, ridiculously pleased to know the MC still had my back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dante

  “You were so quiet all night. Didn’t you like my friends?” Felicity looked at me across the seat of the Maserati. Although my father kept pushing me to choose my own car from the dealership, I wasn’t eager to do it, seeing it somehow as the final nail in my coffin. He’d recently given up and begun driving his Bentley Mulsanne, leaving the Mas to me.

  “They were cool,” I said. In truth, I thought the group had been over-indulged, stuck-up, and selfish, all of them. We’d met up at a local bar, and they’d spent all evening talking about which was the best overseas vacation spot. Was it any wonder I hadn’t had much to say? Although my parents often traveled all over, I probably never would. I suddenly pictured taking Isaac to a tropical island. Remembering his awe over the countryside around Henry, I knew he’d love it, and that I’d love showing
it to him.

  Felicity sighed. “Well, then why did we have to leave so early?”

  I shot her a look. “It’s one AM.”

  She laughed. “How old are you, eighty?

  “I have to work tomorrow,” I said. My mother had pushed me to ask Felicity out, and I’d tried to have a good time, but it had been excruciating. Felicity tapped manicured fingernails on her purse.

  “Christmas is coming up,” she said with a sudden sly smile. She rested her hand on my leg. Once, that would have turned me on. Not anymore. I might as well be a monk with the lack of sexual drive I had these days.

  Except with a certain someone in the golf shed.

  “I thought a trip to Aspen would be a great way to spend the holidays,” she said.

  Although we barely knew each other, after taking her to my birthday party, Felicity and I were officially considered a couple in my parents’ social circle. Still, the thought of spending the holiday with Felicity made my balls draw up—and not in a good way. The only thing that sounded worse was spending Christmas with my parents.

  There would be no way to avoid sleeping with FB-B if we went to Aspen together, and I didn’t want to sleep with her. Not yet.

  I didn’t have any fight left in me. I’d kept my promise, and part of that was a marriage and family. Even though I didn’t have the best childhood growing up, I’d always thought of my parents’ marriage as a good one. I remember running into my father in the kitchen one night when I was around seventeen. I’d asked him what he was doing up so late, and he’d said he’d been making love to my mother. Not exactly what a teenage boy wants to hear, but it had made an impression on me all the same. Their parents had been friends and had encouraged them to date. They grew to love each other and had been happy for the last twenty-five years together.

  Maybe Felicity and I would be compatible if I’d just give it a chance.

  “Dante?”

  I realized Felicity was waiting for an answer about Aspen.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, and I would when I didn’t feel so tired and grumpy.

  I dropped Felicity at her apartment building and headed home. I was surprised to find my father sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cottage cheese and pineapple.

  “You’re up late,” I said, crossing the black and white tiled floor to the sink to get a glass of water. God, I hope he doesn’t say he’d been making love to my mother.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” my father said. “Your mother has me on a diet, and I’m starved.”

  I glanced at my father, who might have put on a few pounds in the last year but was by no means overweight. “And that’s how you cheat? Cottage cheese? Aren’t there cookies in the pantry?”

  My father pushed the bowl away. “All gone.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “How was your evening out?”

  “It was fine.”

  My father sighed, obviously not happy with my answer. “Dante, you could at least try to enjoy yourself. Felicity’s a beautiful girl. You’re handsome and rich. You should be on top of the world. I don’t understand what it is you want.”

  He looked genuinely perplexed, and I wished I could make him understand, but I knew I never could. Water in hand, I pulled a chair out from the table and sat down across from him.

  “If you aren’t compatible with Felicity, there are dozens of suitable young women dying to go out with you. Believe me, I hear it all the time. Gayle will get over it.”

  “Felicity’s fine,” I said.

  “Again with that word. Life should be more than fine, Son.”

  “Are you happy, Dad?” I asked suddenly.

  “Of course I’m happy. Now that you’re home, doing what you should be, my life is perfect.”

  A pang of guilt shot through me. I’d made him wait a lot of years.

  “When did you get involved with the family business?” I asked.

  My father seemed surprised I’d asked, as I never had before. “I worked summers at the dealership with your grandfather until I graduated college, and then I gradually took over, moving up from the very bottom. When he opened the second dealership, he put me in charge.”

  I frowned. “How come you haven’t put me at the bottom to work my way up?”

  “I would have if you’d started fresh out of college, but let’s face it, Dante: we don’t have time for that. You’re thirty-years-old. You should be starting a family, and for that you need a good paycheck.”

  “You pay me too much for what I do.”

  “Nonsense.”

  I rubbed at the table top with my finger. “Did you enjoy working for Grand-dad?”

  My father crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair. “Not at first. Your grandfather was a bastard, but looking back, I can see that he forced me to become a man when I might have wasted my time doing silly things. What’s important is I learned the ropes and did it well, married your mother and had a son, and the business is thriving, ready for you to take over in the next few years.” He shook his head. “I made a mistake letting you go off by yourself after college. I should have reined you in.”

  I’m not a horse, I thought irritably, rubbing my eyes.

  “What if I’m not any good at it?” I said dully.

  My father made a dismissive noise and stood. “You’re a Durham; of course you’ll be good at it. And the sooner you start thinking that way, the better. Stop with the self-doubt.

  My phone buzzed.

  “Who is messaging you this late at night?” My father asked from the sink where he was washing out his bowl.

  “Felicity,” I said. I opened the text and almost dropped the phone. FB-B had sent me a nude. My father whistled. I hadn’t realized he’d moved to stand behind me.

  “You could certainly do worse than that,” he said, slapping my back heartily before leaving the room.

  I stared at the photo. The pose wasn’t lewd—just her lying on a green and white comforter, eyes half-closed and a provocative smile on her face. Her hand even covered her pussy. I’d had plenty of nudes sent to me over the years, from both women and men, but somehow this one seemed wrong.

  I looked at the photo objectively. Nice body. Her breasts had that perfectly symmetrical look that spoke of surgical enhancement. I never understood why women did that. I preferred a natural pair of breasts any day, even or not.

  Why wasn’t I turned on? I’d felt the same disinterest when I’d gone out with Maggie. I stared at the photo, but my cock remained soft.

  Realizing Felicity was probably expecting a reply, I wondered what I was supposed to say after receiving a nude photo from someone I’d technically only gone out with once.

  I thought back to past replies to similar pictures.

  Damn, nice tits!

  I had to laugh at the thought of FB-B reading that response from me.

  I scratched my head. I could say, Very naughty of you!

  So-o douchey.

  What would my father say if the photo had been sent to him? I cringed. I couldn’t wait much longer. FB-B would think I didn’t like the looks of her, and as much as she irritated me, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  I quickly typed out Nice, babe, hit send, and headed for bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Swish

  I finished cleaning up the dinner dishes and walked into the living room where Gus had settled with the newspaper, which he still had delivered daily. He said he didn’t see well enough to stare at a computer screen and that he liked the feel of a newspaper open in his hands.

  “You good, Gus? I’ll be leaving in thirty minutes, but Deirdre and Caleb are at my place if you need them.”

  Blaze had brought the refurbished Harley to me the night before, and it sat waiting in the driveway. Tonight was my second night at my new job.

  “I’m fine, Son, just fine.” He licked his finger and turned the page, glasses perched at the end of his nose as he lifted his chin and looked the paper over with interest. I couldn’t help the t
ender smile that curved my lips. I still got a warm feeling in my gut every time Gus called me Son.

  “Oh, look at this,” Gus said. “It’s Dante, isn’t it?”

  My heart sped up, and I crossed the room to look over Gus’ shoulder. The paper was open to the society page, and sure enough, there was a picture of Dante, looking drop-dead handsome standing with Felicity What’s-her-face.

  “I didn’t know Dante was one of those Durhams,” Gus said. “Why would a boy with so much money bother doing menial work here?”

  “Because he isn’t like them,” I said, still staring at the picture. Dante’s smile was genuine, the small dimple at the left corner plain to see. “He enjoys working with his hands and has no interest in being a socialite.”

  Gus pointed to the picture. “So, what’s he doing there? Some charity function, it says.”

  I shrugged. “He’s working for his dad now. I’m sure he’s just making appearances.”

  Gus seemed disgruntled, as though seeing Dante in the newspaper annoyed him.

  “Who’s this?” He held the newspaper closer to his face and read, “Felicity Bogart-Beezey.” He sniffed. “What a name.”

  Feeling nauseous, I patted Gus’s shoulder and said, “I really don’t know. I have to go. I’ll be by in the morning, okay?”

  I grabbed my bag with my uniform in it and hurried outside. Riding a motorcycle felt extremely reckless to me and always had, but without a car, I had little choice.

  My first night on the job had been Monday, and I’d found I’d enjoyed moving silently behind the scenes, picking up after people and making sure they had everything they needed. I had to wear black pants and a white shirt, and I was instructed not to fraternize with the members. Easy enough. For the most part, none of the wealthy members paid any attention to me anyway unless they needed a clean towel. The evening had been quiet and calm, and I hadn’t had any problems.

  When I pulled into the underground parking lot of Lux, I immediately noticed how crowded it was compared to Monday.

  “What’s up?” I asked Tim, a guy I’d met on my first night who did much the same job I did, although he sometimes worked upstairs.

  “Some wine tasting thing. Big deal to these yahoos.” He shrugged and moved away from me. I went to the employee locker room and changed, then headed into the gym to give the equipment a final wipe-down. Next, I headed to the back where the saunas were located to collect the dirty towels and put out fresh.