Page 14 of Bitter Rival

“Any food allergies?” He sounds hopeful.

“Sadly, for you, no.” I finish my sandwich in two bites and brush the crumbs off my tank top. “Why were you calling me anyway? If you needed me so badly, you could have left your lair and hunted me down.”

“As you can see, that’s exactly what I was forced to do.” He shovels a bite of food into his mouth while simultaneously checking his emails.

It can’t be good to be glued to your phone like that, but now I’m picturing him on the prowl, hunting me down, graceful but deadly like a big cat tracking the scent and pouncing on his unsuspecting prey.

I’m staring at his triceps flexing as he reaches across the table for some bread and wondering how it would feel to have him on top of me, crushed beneath the weight of his body, when his low, gravelly voice cuts through my little fantasy. “I need you to sign something.”

“If you’re trying to cut me out, we’ve been down this road before, and it didn’t work out for you the first time.”

“Which is why I need you to sign the amended contract,” he says. “I’ve included my legal fees as well as the work that I’ll be paying for out of pocket.”

This whole contract thing was a huge deal to him the first time around, and I received no fewer than a dozen shouty caps messages prompting me to sign and email a copy back to him ASAP. Like I had nothing better to do with my time than cater to his every whim.

I was in London at the time, working on a commission for Avant-Garde who sponsored a contemporary dance festival. I followed the dancers and choreographers every day, capturing analogue film images of their performances, backstage, in the studio, and in the streets. The work was intense, but magical.

And through it all, Beckett kept badgering me with endless messages and demands to the point where I couldn’t fully enjoy the immersive process.

Now we’re entering round two and I can already tell the experience will be just as pleasant the second time around. “And you had to kick Hunter out of his seat to tell me this?”

“No.” With a smirk, he snatches the glass of rosé right out of my hand and chugs it like a frat boy pounding shots on spring break. Then he slams the glass on the table and gets to his feet. “I sensed that you were enjoying yourself too much.”

CHAPTER SIX

Daisy

When I return to the house at the end of a very long day, my muscles ache, I’m covered in sweat and grime, and I’m exhausted. But it’s the good kind of tired as opposed to the I need to call an ambulance and pace the hospital waiting room while the doctors pump out Finn’s stomach kind of tired.

The study door is closed as I walk past, and I’m relieved I won’t have to see Beckett’s stupid face. With any luck, he’ll stay in there all night, crunching numbers and creating his ridiculous spreadsheets or whatever it is he does in there all day.

I grab some clean clothes from my bag and briefly consider unpacking, but I’ve spent so many years living out of a suitcase that it’s become second nature. I can’t remember the last time I went a month without traveling for an assignment, let alone three, so if nothing else good comes from this, at least I’ll have some time to pursue personal projects.

My eye snags on a manila envelope on the floor that I missed on my way in, and I swipe it up. Beckett must have slipped the contract under my door.

I toss it on the bed to deal with later and take a long hot shower then scout out the best location to set up a makeshift darkroom. I’ve ordered all the supplies online and they’re supposed to arrive within the next few days.

After narrowing it down to the spare bedroom next to mine or the dining room with easy access to the downstairs bathroom I get started on dinner.

I’m sautéing vegetables from the garden to go over pasta when Anna calls.

“Why did you give that good-for-nothing the keys to your apartment?” she says in lieu of a greeting.

“Because he needed a place to stay. I told him to keep the music down and not disturb you. Is he bothering you?”

“My dear, I’m not calling to complain about the volume of his music. Why do you feel that you deserve so little? Call me old-fashioned but he should be taking care of you, not the other way around. Boys like him are nothing but trouble. You need someone who can protect you.”

We’ve had this conversation before. My octogenarian neighbor has disapproved of every single “boy” I’ve dated, but she harbors the most resentment toward Finn, who has been a fixture in my life for so many years he’s become the only family I have. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” she huffs. “But just because you’re capable of doing it doesn’t mean you should have to. How many times have I told you to dump these losers? When are you going to start listening to me?”

I smile as I add chopped tomatoes to the zucchini and onion. “We’re not even together. We broke up a long time ago.”

She sniffs. “Then you should have cut him out of your life altogether instead of letting him come sniffing around like a dog every time something good comes your way. He’s using you, you know.”

I turn off the heat under the pot and drain the pasta. “It’s okay. Really. He’s…” Messed up. Broken. One of the many lost boys I’ve collected over the years. But Finn is the only one who stuck around, and if not for him, I probably wouldn’t have survived my teen years. “He’s not a terrible person. He just needs to get his life together.”

I’ve been saying the same thing for years, and at this point, I don’t believe it either, but I’m not ready to give up on him completely. He was there for me when no one else was and in my book, that counts for a lot.

---