Magnificent Bastard Read online

  “You’re just an overgrown child,” she says, propping her hands on her hips. “You’re so used to getting your own way that you don’t know how to behave when someone calls you on your bullshit. But I’ve already raised three children, Sebastian, and I have no desire to raise any more.”

  She lifts her chin, somehow managing to look down her nose at me despite the fact that I’ve got six inches on her. “Now it’s time for you to go before you make any more of a fool of yourself than you have already.”

  I shake my head, concentrating on keeping an outraged expression on my face even though I’m so proud all I want to do is scoop Caroline up in a big hug.

  This isn’t the same shattered, broken woman who sat down across my desk six weeks ago. This is a woman who has taken her vengeance on the man who abused and demoralized her for nearly twenty years. A woman who has learned to feel beautiful and confident in her own skin.

  A woman who is going to knock Gary, who is finally moving across the grass to come to her rescue, off of his feet.

  Because Caroline doesn’t need rescuing anymore. She just needs the man she hired to help her reclaim her life out of the picture so she can move forward with the coworker she’s had a crush on for months.

  “Fine.” I whip off my glasses and pin her with a wounded glare. “But don’t come begging for a second chance when you realize you’ve dumped the best lay in Manhattan.”

  Amusement flickers in her eyes, but she manages a cool nod. “Goodbye, Sebastian.”

  “Goodbye, Caroline,” I say, before adding in a whisper. “And good luck, gorgeous. You’re magnificent.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Knowing my work here is done, I turn on my heel and jog across the gently rolling hills toward Central Park West, ignoring the male voice shouting that I should “keep walking, asshole!”

  Gary, I assume, the Prince Charming too dense to notice the beautiful woman making eyes at him across the art gallery for the past six months.

  Color me unimpressed.

  Caroline is more than a decade older than my thirty-two and not even close to my type—I prefer brunettes with dark eyes and curves to slim, willowy blondes—but I wouldn’t be able to pass her on the street without taking a second look, let alone work alongside her every day and remain oblivious to her charms. A pretty face is only one of the many things Caro has to offer. She is also kind, thoughtful, generous, and an excellent conversationalist.

  I advised her to expand her dating options, but she was determined to catch Gary’s eye, and who am I to turn down the consulting fees it took to throw the two lovebirds together?

  I have an investment portfolio that would make the King of Persia weep with envy and Magnificent Bastard Consulting has never been about the money—if I wanted a more extravagant lifestyle than the one I already enjoy, I would still be working as a corporate raider—but I do enjoy the finer things in life.

  Things like a few thumbs of Laphroaig Triple Wood Irish Whiskey at the end of a long day. Or at the beginning of one.

  It’s Sunday, an excellent day for day drinking, and I’m a free man for the next week. I’m taking my first vacation since I started the business and see no reason not to start celebrating.

  And chances are I won’t have to drink alone.

  As I reach the edge of the park and turn left on the sidewalk, moving south along Central Park West, I glance over my shoulder to see my tail still following at a discreet distance, though nothing about Aidan could be called inconspicuous. Six feet five, with the shoulders of a linebacker, a lumberjack beard, and full sleeve tattoos on each arm, Aidan is the type that turns heads. Men want to keep an eye on a potential threat and women just want to keep an eye on him. Period.

  He’s going to be the perfect addition to MB Consulting…as soon as I convince him to sign on the dotted line.

  Hopefully, this morning has been educational for my furry-faced friend.

  I turn and lean against a graffiti-covered mailbox, grinning as I wait for Aidan to catch up. When he does, his first words—

  “You were a fucking asshole back there.”

  —make me smile even wider.

  “I prefer bastard,” I say. “It’s important to stay on brand. Want to hit Highland Fling? I like to celebrate the end of a job with scotch. My treat.”

  He grunts. “Sure, I’ll drink with you, but I still can’t believe that woman actually paid you for that.”

  “For that and the rest of the package.” I clap him on the shoulder. “But I take care of the detective work and the behind the scenes revenge elements. All you’ll have to do is look pretty and put on a good show for the exes.”

  “I don’t know, man.” Aidan scratches at his beard. “I’m a tattoo artist, not an actor. I don’t know if I could pull off something like that.”

  “That’s why we practice with the clients ahead of time,” I say, waving away his concern. “And you’ll be amazed how gullible people are. As long as you’re saying the right things, nine of out ten times no one will notice if you’re saying them the wrong way.”

  “Comforting words coming from the man who’s been my best friend since middle school,” he says dryly. “Careful, or I’m going to think this entire bromance has been a lie.”

  “Our bromance is my only truth,” I deadpan. “And I only lie to people who don’t deserve better.”

  He grunts again, proving he’ll be the perfect rough-around-the-edges foil to the smooth, sexy, successful businessman experience I provide.

  “But there’s no need to make a decision now,” I assure him as we start toward Midtown and one of my favorite whiskey bars. “Let me hook you up with Penny. I’ll text you her phone number and you two can discuss all the semantics while I’m soaking up the sun in the Hamptons. Get the facts, think on it, and you can let me know at the end of the month.”

  “Who goes to the Hamptons the first week of May?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Isn’t that a summer thing?”

  I shrug. “Usually. But I enjoy the beach on a sixty-degree day. I enjoy not dealing with the fucking summer crowds even more. Penny booked me into a guesthouse at a winery in Southampton.”

  “Sounds epic,” Aidan says, amusement in his voice. “Bet you’ll get laid like crazy out there with all the blue hairs on vacation.”

  I shoot him a narrow look. “I get laid plenty around here. I’m looking for peace, not pussy.”

  He snorts. “And that’s not weird at all.”

  I don’t dignify that comment with a response. There’s nothing weird about wanting to unplug for a few days, especially after the past two years.

  I’ve been working—and playing—non-stop. If I wasn’t with a client, I was with one in a long line of beautiful women who were all too eager to help me forget the one who got away. Not to be an arrogant son of a bitch, but I’ve never had trouble getting laid. I bear a striking resemblance to a certain square jawed, blue eyed, super-hero-playing movie star but with better hair, and I’m every bit as magnificent in the sack as I am at the vengeance business.

  The Incredible Bulk delivers on all levels—size, appearance, and performance. My cock has been called magical in four different languages and I have no doubt that if there is a single beddable girl in the Hamptons, I could get her naked and underneath me with a minimal degree of effort.

  But I don’t want to bang a stranger in my vacation cottage. I just want peace, quiet, and some time to think.

  Time to consider why, over two years after things ended with Rachael, I still haven’t met a single girl I want to keep around for longer than a few weeks.

  At first, playing the field was therapeutic, a way to forget how much it hurt to know I’d been dumped in favor of a man who gives new meaning to the phrase Heartless Douchebag. But now I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get out of the serial dating rut. I never aspired to be a manwhore, but somewhere between Savanna the cocktail waitress, the first woman to take me home post-ugly-breakup, and Wendy from the gym
last week, I’ve slipped into a disturbing pattern.

  A pattern that, while pleasurable, has left me feeling…adrift, unsatisfied, and maybe just a tiny bit lonely.

  It’s time to step back and take a long hard look at my life. I’m actually looking forward to some time alone away from it all. And if things get uncomfortable below the belt while I’m reflecting, I’ll take care of it myself.

  Despite what Aidan seems to think, a week of spanking it out to porn never killed anyone.

  “Fine,” he says, with a sigh. “Hook me up with Penny and I’ll give it some serious thought. I’m not going to raise the money to open another Ink Addicts location working twelve hour days in the West Village.”

  “Smart man.” I pull my phone from my pocket, refreshing my e-mail, frowning when I see there’s nothing new from Penny. She usually checks in at least once by ten a.m. and I haven’t heard from her since last night.

  Concerned, I shoot her a quick text—

  What’s up buttercup?

  Just finished with Caro and am a free man. Heading to Highland Fling in Midtown with Aidan.

  Let me know if you want to join. Drinks before noon are always on the boss and Aidan wants to pick your business brain before he agrees to join the fun.

  As I slide my phone back into my pocket, my fingertips tingle.

  Will today be the day Penny finally decides to take me up on my offer to meet in the outside world?

  For the past two years, we’ve averaged ten e-mails and numerous texts every day and several epic phone conversations each week. But despite the fact that she only lives across the river in Brooklyn, we’ve never met in person. Like any good Manhattanite, I loathe leaving my preferred stomping grounds, but I would hop an L train for her.

  Aside from Aidan, the woman is my best friend. She’s been with me from day one when people were still telling me I was insane to abandon a successful career to take up shop as a detective/male gigolo—minus the fun parts of being a gigolo.

  When I’m with a client, things never go further than a kiss.

  It’s the first of the ground rules Penny helped me put together in the early days. She’s been invaluable at making Magnificent Bastard Consulting, and my life post-corporate America, a success.

  I would very much like to buy her a whiskey before I go on my soul-searching vacation. Or a coffee. Or an ice cream—we both have a weakness for any brand made with whole milk and containing obscene amounts of fat.

  I know that and a hundred other things about her, but I’ve never seen so much as a selfie of the woman who vets my clients.

  I don’t know when it started to bother me so much that I don’t have a face to put with Penny’s unexpectedly sweet voice or the snarky e-mails that litter my inbox, but recently I’ve started to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.

  What kind of man puts implicit trust in someone he’s only interacted with over the Internet and the phone? Penny could be a fifty-five-year-old man with a weirdly high-pitched voice and a porn addiction for all I know. Or a cat lady whose entire apartment has turned into one gigantic litter box.

  The thought makes my stomach turn.

  Penny has strong hermit tendencies and probably a greater chance of becoming a cat lady than anyone else I know, but I don’t want that to be true. I don’t like the thought of my friend drowning in kitty litter.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, my cell vibrates. I slide it from my pocket just as a series of Penny texts—they tend to come in clusters of six to twelve—begin to chime in, filling the screen.

  Actually, I was hoping to run into you before then.

  I’m waiting at the corner of Central Park West and 73rd street and I’m pretty sure you’re walking straight toward me. I mean, assuming you look like the picture we send out to clients, then that’s definitely you.

  And Aidan. He does kind of look like a lumberjack, doesn’t he?

  Ha!

  Okay, I know this is kind of weird, but don’t freak out. I’m not stalking you. I mean, I am stalking you, but that’s only because you told me where you would be this morning.

  Shit, that looks a lot creepier on the screen than it did in my head.

  I’m going to stop texting now because you’re totally close enough to hear my voice.

  I force a smile as I glance up to scan the sidewalk in front of me, but I’m feeling anything but calm. My pulse is pounding and my stomach is snarling and scotch isn’t sounding nearly as good as it did a few minutes ago.

  Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

  Okay, fine, I know exactly why I’m nervous.

  I’m afraid meeting Penny will be a letdown. I’ve had it happen before—you make an online connection with someone who seems amazing, only to find out later that they have a donkey laugh and smell like industrial cleaner. Or there was the girl who gave great phone chat but was a dead-eyed sociopath when we met up for drinks. Not to mention the woman with the amazing textual flirting skills who was incapable of making eye contact or the husky-voiced real estate broker who turned out to be a man.

  Fuck it.

  If Penny is weird or smells funny or has a dick, you’ll deal with it.

  You have to deal with it. You know damned well you can’t manage without her.

  The thought has scarcely tripped through my mind when my gaze lands on a petite woman with big brown eyes and silky brown hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head. Her hair is messy, her face is make-up free, and she’s wearing a baggy off the shoulder tee shirt and leggings like half the other women walking the park this morning, but even looking like she just rolled out of bed, she’s fucking stunning.

  I’m talking take your breath away beautiful, with an angel face and melted chocolate eyes and curves for miles. Curves for days. Curves that not even that baggy tee shirt can conceal and you can bet the Incredible Bulk sits up and takes notice. He’s not ripping through my boxers, insisting you’re going to love him when he’s angry, but things are definitely getting tighter below my waistband.

  I can’t help myself.

  This woman is exactly my type, from the tip of her turned up nose, to her way-more-than-a-handful breasts, to the curve of her phenomenal ass.

  I’m already scheming a way to get her number—I don’t leave for the Hamptons until Tuesday, the city will still be here when I get back, and my manwhore ways can wait to be mended until after I’ve shown this gorgeous creature a very good time—when our eyes meet and my throat locks up. I curse beneath my breath as my palms begin to sweat.

  “What’s wrong?” Aidan asks, but I only shake my head.

  There’s no time to explain. We’re barely a foot away from the bona fide sex kitten, and she’s already thrusting out an arm and saying in a way too familiar voice, “Surprise! Happy meet your assistant in person day.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  From the e-mail archives of Sebastian “Bash” Prince and Penny Pickett

  From: MagnificentBastard1

  To: Penny4YourLobsterPot

  Re: Internet Dating

  Penny,

  The next time I decide to log on to my LetsGoLove account, please arrange for a hairy Italian man to come beat the shit out of me, steal my wallet, and piss on my semi-conscious body.

  The experience will probably be equally enjoyable to the date I had tonight and I won’t have to bother replying to half a dozen e-mails, graduating to text messages, and upgrading to an awkward phone call before meeting Ms. Shifty Eyes Who Is Probably An Ax Murderer In Her Spare Time for drinks halfway across town.

  Please nail down the next client ASAP so I have an excuse to stop dating.

  Dating is dumb and then you die,

  Bash

  From: Penny4YourLobsterPot

  To: MagnificentBastard1

  Re: Internet Dating

  Bash,

  10-4 on the hairy Italian. There are a few wandering my neighborhood. Will get their contact info so I’m ready next time you fall off the dating wagon.
r />   Details on your next client attached. Your orientation meeting is on Monday.

  Penny

  p.s. I agree that getting pissed on is preferable to making small talk with strangers. This is why I am committed to full-time hermitting and solo ice cream eating.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Without my conscious permission, my hand reaches out to enfold Penny’s.

  Penny, who is a stone cold fucking fox. Whose palm is warm and soft and whose skin feels way too good against mine for someone who is off limits.

  Because she is. Off fucking limits.

  Verboten. Forbidden. Completely out of bounds.

  That’s been decided even before she laughs nervously and says, “And now’s the part where I tell you I’m a liar and beg you to forgive me.” Her eyes dart to Aidan as I force myself to release her hand. “Hi, Aidan. You must be Aidan. He’s told me all about you. I’m Penny, his assistant.” Her fingers flutter to her chest as she adds in a shakier voice, “Or maybe his former assistant. If I get fired today.”

  “Hi, Penny. Nice to meet you.” Aidan clears his throat and arches a brow in my direction. “So should I hit it? Give you two some time alone?”

  “No,” I insist, just as Penny says—

  “Yes, please. That would be great.”

  I turn back to her, wondering what the hell she’s lied about and how I’m supposed to go back to thinking of her as my work friend who writes me goofy e-mails when she looks like this.

  Jesus, even the way she fidgets, causing her breasts to bounce lightly beneath her shirt, would be enough to get me hard if I let it.

  But I won’t. Not now, not ever again.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve just got a lot to tell you,” she says. “Some of it’s private and all of it’s embarrassing. And if there’s even a chance Aidan and I will be working together in the future, I would prefer not to spill my dirty laundry during our first meeting.”

  She nibbles her lip, drawing my attention to her beautiful mouth. It really is perfect. I can almost imagine the way her plush bottom lip would feel trapped between my teeth while I’m kissing her breathless.