Page 16 of Poetry By Dead Men
"We’regoing to the club," he says, and I groan again, outwardly this time as I set the coffee down and try to pull the covers over my head.
"I know." He pulls me back up and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I’m sorry. But you don’t have to come right away. Sleep a little longer. Have another coffee. I’ll even make you one of those dumb ones, if it’ll help."
Ouch. I wasn’t aware a coffee could be dumb. I exhale slowly, pushing away my hurt feelings. Harrison's just teasing me. It's not his fault my over-consumption last night has me on edge.
"I'm on duty today, huh?" I ask after I take another gulp. Somehow, over the past few years, I ended up with a part-time job with Harrison’s law firm. Head of Client Acquisition and Retention. It's not a paid position, or even a real position. Actually, I made up the title myself, but I’m good at it. I’ve helped Harrison sign almost forty clients to his firm.
But it’s not as fulfilling as writing. Not even close.
I was a journalist for various magazines before I got the “job” with Harrison. Freelanceandcovering the arts, much to my parents' ire. And I wasreallygood at it.
"You can take your time. I only need you for lunch. Let's say 2:00?" He checks his watch.
"I'll be there at 1:45," I mumble, cocooning myself back under the covers so I can continue to pretend last night didn’t happen.
"Elizabeth!" Harrison calls from the bar. I turn around to find him nursing a scotch, and I freeze when I see Bobby next to him with a beer that appears untouched by his elbow.
My stomach plummets and sweat beads on my neck, and I kick myself for not asking who Harrison’s client was before agreeing to come here.
Somehow, I convince my body to move forward, keeping a neutral expression on my face. Harrison still doesn’t know anything about my past with Bobby, and I certainly don’t want him asking questions about why I’m acting weird with the guy who could be his most important client.
Seeing Bobby and Harrison side by side in the light of day is startling. Both are exceptionally handsome, but while Harrison is all meticulous grooming and expertly chiseled muscle, Bobby is pure masculine energy. While his hair isn't perfectly in place like Harrison’s, the relaxed style suits him and complements his thick, strong jaw. Taking him in makes my traitorous body heat, but as my eyes drift down from his handsome face, I feel a bit more confident.
Because he looks utterly ridiculous.
If there was ever a mannotmeant for golf attire, it's Robert Beckett. It looks as if he googled “what to wear golfing” and sent his personal assistant to pick up the exact clothes that came up on google images. His polo is too tight in the arms, and even though it accentuates his muscles perfectly, the robin's egg blue color makes him look more like a college frat boy than a world famous musician. His shorts are the same length as Harrison's, but on Robert, they look hilarious. Too short. Too tight around his thick thighs.
I press my lips together to hide my smile as I make my way toward my fiancé and my… what? Ex? That word feels too insignificant, but I can't think of a better one.
"Robert," I nod, walking into Harrison's outstretched arm. “You look… colorful."
Robert licks his teeth, suppressing a laugh. The spark in his eye tells me he has a retort locked and loaded, but is holding back. Dangerous.
"Elizabeth!" Harrison hisses in my ear, and he squeezes my arm, turning me toward him. His grip is tight. I don't allow myself to wince, but it hurts, and I pull my arm out of his grasp as discreetly as possible.
It doesn't matter. Bobby's gaze is locked on my elbow, his jaw clenched and his forearms bunching as if he's physically holding himself back. The jovial glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with a mixture of concern and an unmistakable fury Harrison doesn’t appear to notice.
"She's joking, of course." Harrison straightens, finishing his scotch in one large gulp and picking up his phone from the polished wood countertop.
Bobby lifts his chin. "She's not. And she's right. I look ridiculous." He gestures to his ensemble as if we're all in on a joke together, but his voice is like gravel. And not in the sexy, I played for a sold-out crowd last night so I'm a little hoarse, kind of way. No. It sounds like he's pushing out words he doesn't mean so he can hold the ones he does at bay. "Maybe I wouldn’t if you’d given me more notice about today.”
His words are curt, and Harrison blanches. "Next time, I promise. A whole week's notice." He tries to move on, dialing up the charm with a dazzling smile as he looks at his watch. "Speaking of little notice, my next meeting starts in ten, but Beth here will take excellent care of you at lunch, Robert."
"I'm sure she will…" Bobby's voice deepens, the rough quality smoothing over. It reminds me of aged whiskey, intoxicating and warm when it hits my stomach.
"But, if I could trouble you for a few more minutes, I have something I'd like to discuss with you both." Bobby smiles, but his cheek doesn't dimple, and his eyes remain hard.
The panic on Harrison's face is almost comical. He's used to being in charge. It's a rare occurrence that anyone questions him about anything, and he doesn't seem to know how to react. He looks at his watch, then back at Robert. "I can spare a few minutes," he says as if his eyes hadn't just bugged out of his head. "Shall we?" He grabs my elbow again, gently this time, and leads us toward our reserved table.
I don't miss the way Bobby watches his every move, his eyes never leaving Harrison's fingers on my skin.A server scrambles for another chair as Harrison pulls out mine, gesturing for Bobby to sit across from me. "Well. What is it you would like to talk about?" Harrison asks, standing over the table.
"Let's wait until you get comfortable," Robert replies, picking up his menu and flipping it over. I see the move for exactly what it is—he’s showing Harrison who has the power here.
I don't look, pretending to be interested in what I'm going to order, but I would bet good money that the vein above Harrison's eyebrow is pulsing right now.
A third chair is brought to the table, and only once Harrison sits does Robert look back up, finally giving him the attention he so desperately wants. "Let's cut to the chase here. You want me as a client." Bobby tents his fingers together, leaning forward.
"I do. I think that as far as your needs for legal representation go, my firm is perfect—"
