Chasing Vivi Read online

  I say nothing in response. I don’t think I could if I tried.

  Then Prescott greets Vince and orders a double shot of something or other. Vince fixes his coffee and after Prescott leaves, Vince wants to know the deal.

  “The deal?”

  “Yeah, how do you know The Prescott Beckham, one of the wealthiest dudes in Manhattan?”

  Interesting. I knew he had money, but not that kind.

  Waving my hand, I say, “Oh, that. We went to high school together.”

  “And you turned him down for a date? What the hell is wrong with you, Vivi?”

  “I don’t want to date a guy from high school, Vince, not that it’s any of your business.”

  He stares at me like I’m loony. “But, he wants you. And he’s Prescott Beckham.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Now, I have work to do.” When I go back to what I was doing before the beautiful Prescott interrupted me, my brain fires in all the wrong directions. It won’t process what I need it to do. I’m not sure how many times I almost throw the stupid keyboard across the counter. And then, to add icing on the cake, my asshole boss, Joe, calls and wants to go to lunch. He says he needs to discuss my progress on the upgrade, but that’s a lie. There’s only one thing he’s interested in and it’s not going to happen.

  “What time?”

  “I’ll meet you at Nikki’s around noon.” Nikki’s is where he always wants to meet. I don’t know why I ask anymore. It’s where he conducted our first interview and he told me then it’s his favorite place to eat.

  That gives me at least a couple of hours to complete what I’m doing and mentally prepare for his attack. Still, the time flies.

  When I arrive at lunch, he’s seated at his favorite table. I stiffen my spine and put on my boxing gloves. Only how can you ever be truly ready to fend off a barrage of sexual advances by your disgusting boss whom you’ve already told in no uncertain terms N-O?

  The waitress takes our order and he’s well-behaved, asking general questions until our food arrives. It’s while we’re eating that he goes on the offensive and tells me he’s prepared to give me a salary increase if I’m willing to do him certain favors in return. I know exactly the kind of favors he’s referring to. Joe has been less than discreet about their specificity in the past.

  “Um, Joe, I thought we discussed this already.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve sweetened the pot, Vivienne. I was sure you’d leap at the chance.”

  Who is he kidding? I would leap off the Brooklyn Bridge before I’d leap into bed with him. “No, I haven’t changed my mind and I never will.”

  His fork becomes a pointer as he aims it at me. “You know, you really ought to consider this. Didn’t you tell me during your interview process that you needed this position? That your mother’s death had left you in quite a financial bind?”

  My jaw falls open. I hadn’t expected him to play this dirty. “Y-yes, I did.” I lick my lips that have suddenly turned bone dry. My brain scrambles for something to grab onto, any remote thing I can use against him.

  “Then, Vivi, I’d think very carefully about your response to me. You see, I’m being quite generous by offering you a raise after such a short time of employment. And you turning down my kind offer is what I’d consider a slap in the face. And slapping your boss in the face could cost you your job. Do you truly want to risk that?”

  I could sue his ass if I had the money. My hands fist and I want to punch something, preferably Joe’s face. Instead, I shove one into the pocket of my coat, which I never took off, being constantly cold in the city. That’s when my fingers brush over it. The card Prescott passed to me in the coffee shop. And that’s when the idea comes to me.

  Do I dare?

  It could come back to haunt me, but at this point I can’t afford to lose my job until I can find another one, and over my dead body am I being blackmailed into sleeping with my boss.

  “Joe, do you know who Prescott Beckham is?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Well, yeah.” His expression conveys that I’m a dumbass for asking. “Who doesn’t? He’s one of the richest guys in New York. Well, probably the country. What does that have to do with anything?”

  I lean an elbow on the table and grab a chunk of hair. Twirling it, I say, “He was in the coffee shop this morning. He comes in a lot. Did you know that?”

  Joe sits up in his chair. “No shit. Like how much?”

  Dropping my hair, I wave my hand. “Eh, it doesn’t matter. What does is that Prescott is a very close friend of mine.”

  He leans back and now he thinks I’m off my rocker. “Yeah, right, Vivi.”

  “Don’t believe me. I honestly don’t care. But he is. We went to high school together. Crestview Academy in Virginia. I can call him right now, to prove my point. But whatever.”

  “So?”

  I scoot in a little closer. “So this. What you’re doing to me is considered sexual harassment in the workplace, and I’m sure if I called Prescott right now, he could get me one of his high-powered attorney buddies and sue your ass for everything it’s worth. So, Joe, I’ll happily accept your raise with no strings attached, of course.” I wink at him, adding, “Because you know, that little addition of demanding sexual favors is illegal as shit.”

  And then I pull Prescott’s card out and lay it on the table, watching his eyes saucer.

  “Any questions?”

  Chapter 2

  Prescott

  Vivienne Renard. Of all the people to run into this morning, I never expected her to be one of them. And damn if she wasn’t a sight for sore eyes. Hungover ones, too. Talk about changing from an ugly duckling into a blazing smoke show. Jesus, I can’t believe how hot she is. There’s not a single thing about her that isn’t fucking perfection. But it’s that mouth of hers that nearly set me off. All I could think of was how it would feel wrapped tightly around my dick, sucking me until ... It’s a good thing I was wearing a coat to hide the boner she gave me. But damn if she didn’t turn me down for a date. Fuck that. No one ever does that. Game on. She’s just made it my mission to change her mind. It’s what I’m good at—getting women to do what I want. Besides, I can’t get that image of her mouth on me out of my head. Even though her memories of me probably aren’t the best, she did make a little bank off me back in the day. Poor girl ran all over the place doing my homework. If it hadn’t been for her, I never would’ve graduated from Crestview. Too bad she hadn’t gone to the same college as me. I probably wouldn’t have dropped out. It’s not like I needed a degree, though. Family money gets you everywhere, as I like to say.

  My coffee cup’s empty by the time I make it to Whitworth Enterprises. The high-rise looms before me. Dad keeps trying to find ways to cut me out, but it ain’t gonna happen … ever.

  I pass the lobby security, giving the guys a wave as they greet me by name and step on the open elevator, reserved for the top floor only. When it reaches the destination, the doors softly whoosh open, and I exit to see Cheryl’s smiling face.

  “Good morning, Mr. Beckham.”

  “Morning, Cheryl.” I give her my famous, megawatt grin. She’s cute and I’d normally fuck someone like her, but I never mix business with pussy. That’s one rule I’ve never broken and I don’t ever plan to. I can do some pretty shitty things at times, but that’s a line I’ll never cross. Suddenly, Vivi’s mouth pops into my head again and I have to think of something else. I don’t want another boner as I just got my dick to calm down as it is. Then, as I close in on the executive offices, the atmosphere thickens. My skin crawls. All thoughts of Vivi vanish as I arrive at my own expansive haven. My admin sits like a bear directly outside the door.

  “Lynn, how are you today?”

  “Mr. Beckham, I’m well, and you?” She scrutinizes me and immediately notices I’m hungover. She reaches in her drawer and tosses me a bottle of water. “Do you require any ibuprofen this morning?”

  “Three would be nice, along with a bagel, toasted with butte
r, please. And eggs. I’m hungry.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get that right over to you. Your favorite place?”

  “Please. You’re an angel. Oh, and is my father in?”

  “Not yet, sir, but your grandfather is.”

  “Great. Thanks.” I keep moving into my office and collapse into the chair. The computer comes on at the touch of the mouse and I scan all my investments. Before I’m done, Lynn shows up with breakfast, along with more coffee and water.

  God, I love this woman. She’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had, besides my grandparents. “Have I told you I love you lately, Lynn?”

  “No, but I love you, too. Also, you look like shit, again. Prescott, you have got to get a hold of yourself.”

  Behind closed doors, we’re on a first name basis, but around everyone else, she refuses to call me anything but Mr. Beckham even though she’s in her fifties.

  “I know. I’m a fucking mess.”

  “Why do you let him get to you like this? You’re so much better than he is.”

  I rub a hand over my face and my scruff feels and sounds exactly like sandpaper. Glancing out the window, I can’t even appreciate the magnificent view.

  “I just do.” The words come out with a groan. “He keeps making those humiliating scenes in public and I look like an idiot because of him.”

  “No, he looks like the idiot. But you’re a grown man who’s acting like a child. Take it like a man, pull up your fucking tighty-whities, and move on.”

  “Lynn, you sound like my grandfather—and I don’t wear tighty-whities. I don’t wear any—”

  “More than I need to know. TMI, thank you very much. If not tighty-whities then undies. Your grandfather’s right. Listen to him.”

  “What kind of grown man wears undies?” I mumble.

  “Maybe you need to start or at least pull the ones up that are binding your ankles.”

  I let out an aggravated growl. “It just sucks that he wants me out of here.”

  She rests a hand on her wide hip. “Have you looked at the name on this building? It’s your middle name. If anyone doesn’t need to be here, it’s your father, not you, you big moron.” With a huge huff and some mumbling under her breath, she marches out. When she gets to the door, she looks over her shoulder and says, “You need to brush your teeth again, because you smell like bourbon. And use some mouthwash.”

  Every time I think back to the first time my father’s fucking wife made a pass at me I want to put my fist through the wall. It was back when I was still in college. And stupid, naïve me thought it was a joke. Only she got really nasty, because I didn’t take her seriously. Paybacks are hell and last Christmas she finally made her play. Smack in the middle of Christmas dinner, she told Dad that I was the one who made the pass and she had to fend me off. As if. The fucking cunt.

  We were all seated at dinner, ready to dig into our traditional meal. My grandparents were there, along with my cousin and her husband. My step-cunt clinked her glass with a fork and I thought she was going to raise it for a lovely toast, as if she’d ever do something as tasteful as that. But no, she grinned evilly at me and said how wonderful it was that we were all together because she wanted to share some news. At first I thought maybe she was pregnant. Then I wondered whose it was. The pool guy in West Palm? I’d seen her with him a time or twelve. But silly me, I was completely off base. Instead, she announced to the family that I had done something so awful, so heinous she couldn’t bear to hold it inside anymore. With a shudder of fake emotions, she told the entire family that I had attempted—to her utter horror, of course—to fondle and kiss her several times last summer and again at Thanksgiving. Then it happened. I laughed. Red wine shot out of my mouth as I threw back my head and roared a deep belly laugh. Who in their right mind would believe that I’d chase after that plastic-surgeried up bitch, when I had the cream of the pussy crop at my disposal?

  Except the joke was on me, seeing as I was the only one laughing. Dad’s face was as red as the cranberry sauce on the table, and my grandparents looked as though they were going to kill her. They hate her as much as I do. And the step-cunt? She sat there acting like a queen.

  Then Dad said, “Get out of here.”

  “Dad, you can’t possibly believe—”

  He stood up, pointed to the door, and repeated, “I said, get out of my house.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave.” Before I left, I turned to the lying cunt and said, “You think you may have won, but you haven’t. Just remember, karma is a bitch.”

  Then as I was heading for the door, I heard my grandfather say, “If he goes, so do we. And you may have forgotten something. The Whitworth name is what made you, Jeff. As for you, I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I would caution you. My daughter, with our advice, locked up her will as tight as a drum. My grandson’s inheritance is unquestionably his, no matter how hard you try to change that.”

  I was waiting at the front door for them. My grandmother hugged me when she got there.

  “Grand, I never touched her, I swear. I may not be the most stand-up guy when it comes to the opposite sex, but I’d never do that.”

  “Let’s get out of here, Prescott. That woman is a viper.” She took my large hand into her smaller one and we walked down the porch steps. My dad’s house is out in Westchester County, and so is my grandparents’. “Come to our place. I think we have some hotdogs in the fridge.” The three of us laughed.

  However, it wasn’t funny and it still isn’t. Dad has yet to come around and nothing I say or do will change his mind. He believes that plumped-lipped wife of his. Now he keeps trying to make me look like a fool. Every opportunity he gets, he tries to belittle me in front of business associates or at public functions. It’s getting old and grating.

  The phone on my desk buzzes and jars me out of the contemplation.

  “Beckham.”

  “Prescott, do you have a minute?”

  “Hey, Granddad. I have hours for you.”

  His warm chuckle makes me smile. “I’ll be down there in a few.”

  My grandfather is in his early seventies, but he acts like he’s forty. I adore him. He’s the one I look up to as a father, more so than my own. After I lost Mom, he stepped in because Dad was never around. And I didn’t blame him for that. Dad was blown away by everything. So was Granddad, but he handled it a lot better. He took me under his wing and guided me. When Dad finally had his fill of that, because he resented the closeness between my grandparents and me, he sent me away to boarding school. That’s when I met Harrison Kirkland. The two of us became fast friends and the best troublemakers Crestview Academy had ever seen. That is until Weston Wyndham showed up. It took a while—and some ass kicking—before he joined us and our duo turned into a trio, but we’re family now. If not for my grandparents, Harrison’s dad, and those two, I’m not sure where I’d be today.

  Granddad pokes his head in the door and says, “Knock, knock.”

  “Get in here. Since when do you knock?”

  “Since today. I want you to know that I’ve run over the final figures of franchising A Special Place. Scotty, I’ve run them up, down, backward, and sideways, and I believe it’s a go. The contracts should be ready to go, as well, so you can call Weston with the news. You, Weston, and Special have a great opportunity here.” Special is Weston’s wife and the love of his life.

  “You honestly think so?”

  “No, I’m lying through my teeth.” He taps me on the side of the head. “Of course I think so. I’ve had some of my best people look at it. It’s excellent. Any venture capitalist would jump in on this with both feet.”

  “Carpe opportunitas.”

  “Yes! Now get the damn contracts signed so you can start seeing the money roll in.” He sits on the side of my desk. His white hair gleams with a bluish tint in the morning sun. “I don’t tell you this nearly enough, but your mother would be so damn proud of you.” He gets up then. “Oh, and brush your teeth. You smell l
ike bourbon.” He leaves me with those words, and I wonder if Lynn told him I’m drinking too much. I go brush my teeth for the second time since coming to work.

  Then I call Weston and tell him the news so we can get moving on finalizing the franchise. His parting words are, “I’ll pass the news on to Special. She’ll be happy because we thought it would take much longer. I know nothing of this stuff. You’re the financier; I’m the architectural engineer. Do your magic and shoot the contracts over to me so my attorneys can check everything out.”

  I get that ball rolling as soon as I hang up. In the meantime, I devise a plan on how to get Vivi to go out with me. She’s presented a challenge I can’t seem to get off my mind.

  It’s five after twelve when I grab Lynn to take her to lunch. I let her choose the place and she picks Nikki’s. It’s close and the food is good, so we walk, though I initially object to that since it’s so cold.

  “You need the fresh air,” she says.

  “About that. Did you tell Granddad that I needed to brush my teeth?” I elbow her in the side.

  “Absolutely not. The entire building is aware of it.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Honestly, Prescott, if you were the average Joe, no woman would look twice at you.”

  No wonder Vivi didn’t want to go out with me. I probably smell like I cohabitate with Jack Daniel’s.

  “Message received.”

  “I’m worried about you. Do you think …”

  “What?”

  She crams her hands in her pockets and says, “You know … that you may have a drinking problem.”

  My brows leap toward the sky. “No. Honestly, Lynn, I can stop anytime.”

  With a determined look, she says, “Prove it. Stop coming to work stinking like bourbon. If you don’t, you’re going to need rehab one day.”