The Playboy Bachelor

  “People love you,” Brant said from behind his paper before lowering it and lifting his coffee to his lips. “You and Bentley together, that is.”

  “Huh?” Margot had completely forgotten about all the reporters out at dinner the other night.

  Reality came crashing down when her eyes fell to the lead story: MILLIONAIRE FORCED TO DATE AMPUTEE FOR CHARITY AUCTION.

  Her heart clenched. “What does it say?”

  “You can’t read?” Brant teased.

  Rolling her eyes, she took a deep breath and went over to the coffeepot. “Why don’t you just summarize?”

  “You’re in love.” Brant sighed. “At least that’s what this article says, since brother dearest basically went to jail for you.”

  Margot chewed her lower lip. “So?”

  “So…” Brant shrugged. “I just thought you should know. Oh, and also, stocks are soaring.”

  “Your stocks?”

  “Our stocks. Titus Enterprises, Wellington, McCleery.”

  “Nice,” she croaked. “My grandmother hasn’t even called me back. I’m still trying to figure out if she bid on him to cheer me up or if she was hoping something like this would happen.”

  “Eh, who knows?” Brant stood and grabbed his keys. “And who the fuck cares?”

  Margot frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You like him.” Brant crossed his arms. “Right?”

  “Yes.” Heat suffused her cheeks.

  “Relax, I’m not going to go tell him you actually have feelings for him that have nothing to do with his six-pack or his bank account.”

  Margot scowled. “It’s not like he doesn’t know anyway.”

  Brant was silent and then said, “You’d be surprised how dense Bentley can be.”

  “Thanks, man.” Bentley yawned and walked in with Scar in his arms.

  “Uh?” Brant pointed at Scar. “You guys try to run over a dog last night?”

  “No.” Bentley placed Scar on the floor. “He got hit and we saved him.”

  Brant eyed the dog and then Margot. “He’s missing a leg.”

  Bentley smacked Brant in the back of the head.

  “So am I,” Margot said in an irritated voice.

  “But your tits more than make up for the missing leg.” Brant winked. “Hell, your face alone—”

  Bentley clenched his fists.

  Brant choked out a laugh. “Damn, you guys really did play right into their matchmaking hands. It’s about damn time the best friends are reunited.” He patted Bentley on the back. “I’m going back to the city. You kids have fun…and Margot, remember what I said.”

  “Don’t.” Bentley shook his head. “Don’t remember anything this idiot says.”

  Brant shrugged. “Fine, don’t remember that I said Bentley is the best brother anyone could ever ask for—or that he’s loyal to a fault—that he’d rather sacrifice his own happiness in order to put a smile on someone else’s face. And definitely don’t remember that he is quite literally the glue that holds our family together. Yeah, forget it all, all right, Margot?”

  With that, Brant left the kitchen.

  Bentley’s face was completely pale. Eyes wide, mouth open. She wasn’t sure if he was going into shock or if he was just stunned into silence.

  “He’s right, you know.” Margot finally spoke. “You are all of those things.”

  Bentley’s eyes fell to the newspaper. He read in silence and scowled. “Maybe to you, maybe to him, but to them”—he drummed his fingertips against the paper and shoved it away—“I’m a sex-crazed player seducing the panties off a romance novelist who just happens to be heiress to a multi-million-dollar whiskey fortune.”

  “So?” She shrugged. “You’ve never cared what they said before. Why start now?”

  He leaned against the counter. “I didn’t care before, because I never had anyone I cared about other than my family. But now…I guess, I don’t want to let you down.”

  “Bentley…” Things were moving too fast. He was supposed to be leaving soon. What if she opened herself up to him fully? What if she told him she loved him? And he left again? She wouldn’t survive it. “You know I…” This was it, it was the perfect moment. So of course she chickened out. Again. “…care about you.”

  His head jerked up. “You care?” His lips twisted into a mean smile. “Great, Margot, just, fucking great.”

  “Bentley—”

  “Get ready,” he snapped over his shoulder. “We have to take Scar to town.”

  He left without a backward glance.

  Scar glanced up at her and whimpered.

  Bentley still didn’t get it. He still didn’t understand how it felt. To have everything and lose it all within the same breath.

  Although maybe he did.

  He had lost her or thought he had. So maybe she wasn’t playing fair, but she was still so terrified this was all just a really nice dream, a fantasy, and at the end of the thirty days, he’d say something like It’s been real and take off.

  Stay.

  Just stay.

  She cared. And for her? That was huge. Because she’d spent the better part of her life trying not to care for anyone or anything.

  Because it hurt too much when they were gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Bentley’s jaw was going to probably fall off with how much he clenched it throughout the day. First when he was riding in the car with Margot, next when the vet stared at Margot’s chest for way longer than necessary, and now, as they roamed Petco for everything Scar would need, and he realized that while Scar seemed to be a permanent fixture in her life, he wasn’t.

  She cared.

  Great.

  Because he cared about things like spinach and coffee, and checking his e-mail and making sure he brushed his teeth.

  She fucking cared?

  Really?

  He was in love with her and she cared!

  God, he hated that word.

  His damn jaw ached as he followed Margot through the aisles.

  “Okay.” Margot halted abruptly. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped. “We should probably get Scar a leash. You’re going to want to take him on walks.”

  “Me?” She frowned.

  “Who else would walk him?”

  “His owner?” Margot blinked. “You?”

  “Me?” he replied. “Margot, Scar’s your dog.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “But I’ve never had a dog before! I don’t even know how to put a collar on him!”

  “Buckle it.” Bentley had to fight to keep from smiling. Angry. Stay angry.

  “But—” Margot put her hands on her hips and stared down at Scar, who was sitting in the cart like a king in his new bed. “But what if I kill him?”

  A little kid walked by at that exact moment and gasped.

  “No,” Bentley said, holding out his hands. “She doesn’t mean she would kill the dog.”

  The kid paled and ran off.

  “Good job, Margot.”

  She scowled. “Well! You can’t just thrust this on me! I mean, you’re the one who wanted to be a vet!”

  “True,” Bentley said slowly. “But I can’t have dogs in my apartment.” Total lie. He wanted to give her a gift, damn it! A gift that would encourage her to go outside, a gift that would make sure that she wasn’t lonely.

  “Just take the damn dog and say thank you, Margot,” he whispered harshly. “It will be good for you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “You mean when you leave, right? That’s it? You’re going to leave me a damn dog? Do you think that makes it easier?”

  “I don’t know.” He pulled her close. “After all, you just care…why would I stay when you care? Hell! Is it just sex to you? What the fuck is even going on?”

  He wasn’t even aware they had an audience until a throat cleared to his left.

  When he looked around he saw at least ten people were watching their exchange; several of them had
phones aimed in their direction.

  He hated technology sometimes.

  “We should go,” Margot whispered, linking her arm with his. He took it gladly; they needed a united front.

  It took ten minutes for hell to break loose.

  And fifteen minutes for his grandfather to call him and demand they figure out a way to get the press to print a retraction.

  Within twenty minutes, Wellington, Inc., stocks were climbing.

  His grandfather changed his mind about the retraction.

  The Google alerts wouldn’t stop popping up.

  Oddly enough, they had nothing to do with the fact that Bentley and Margot were at Petco with their new dog.

  And everything to do with the juicy piece of information that Bentley Wellington, heir to one of the biggest family dynasties in the world, was leaving the family company because he decided he wanted to be a vet.

  * * *

  It wasn’t that big a deal. Or it shouldn’t have been a big deal, but the minute the press latched on to something, it exploded.

  The press that followed was relentless—covering everything from his actual job performance surveys, to the promotions he’d had in the past, and finally to the open position for marketing VP that was rumored to be his if he wanted it.

  The focus had gone from the possible acquisition of McCleery Whiskey to Titus Enterprises’s involvement—which of course brought up interesting gossip about the auction.

  Did Prudence McCleery plan for her granddaughter to fall for the playboy? Were Titus Enterprises and Wellington, Inc., finally merging?

  And worse?

  The press linked his suicide attempt and his trip to rehab with his grandfather forcing him into the family business instead of allowing him to go to veterinary school.

  It was a partial truth.

  But it had been Bentley’s choice to take the pills—it wasn’t like his grandfather had shoved them down his throat. He’d thought his best friend was dead. He’d been heartbroken. Angry. Much like he was now…

  The minute Bentley and Margot got back to her house, he locked himself in his room and lay down on the bed.

  Exhausted.

  Depressed.

  And done with just…everything.

  The press was that bored and hungry. And Bentley Wellington had always been like a feast to them. He eventually turned his phone off after speculation hit at least three entertainment sites that his playboy behavior was another cry for help.

  People blamed his grandfather.

  They blamed him.

  They blamed America’s school system.

  But, lucky for his family, the stocks kept soaring.

  Margot’s face was splashed on the TV right along with his—her parents’ accident once again breaking news for everyone to see. Pictures of the car, pictures of her parents, of her.

  So while Bentley suffered alone—

  He knew she was suffering more.

  Because of him, she was being forced to relive one of the worst moments in her entire life.

  Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and stared up at the ceiling.

  He’d made a mess of things.

  Not on purpose.

  But wasn’t that what he did?

  He messed up.

  A knock sounded at his door.

  He didn’t answer it.

  Another knock.

  The handle jiggled. Thank God he’d locked the door.

  He closed his eyes.

  And then something hard slammed against the door.

  He jerked up. “The hell?”

  Barking commenced.

  And then something hit his door again.

  He ran over to the door and jerked it open just in time for Margot’s body to come flying into his, sending them both to the ground, followed by a drugged-up Scar, who pounced on top of Margot.

  Margot breathed out a sigh of relief and hugged his neck. “You turned off your phone, you bastard!”

  Bentley huffed. “I think you may have ruptured my spleen.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “At the very least my liver’s bruised.”

  “That’s from alcohol, not me,” Margot grumbled, then moved off him, unfortunately. “I was so worried!”

  “That I’d fallen asleep?” Bentley groaned, moving to a sitting position.

  “No.” A tear spilled over onto her cheek. “I just, I was watching the news—”

  “Margot.” He hissed out her name. “The last thing you need to be doing is reliving your parents’ accident through gory pictures and assholes who like to feed off other people’s pain.”

  She frowned. “I was talking about what they’re doing to you.”

  “Let them fillet me alive.” Bentley shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

  “No.” She wiped her tears. “I just, I didn’t want you to go to that place…I didn’t…You said I was a trigger and I said I cared because I’m a chicken and you scare me”

  Bentley frowned as his heart hammered against his chest. “You are a chicken.”

  “I know,” she wailed. “And it’s my fault, I didn’t want you to get sad or anxious, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Come here,” he said gruffly, pulling her onto his lap. “I’m fine, see?” He ran his hands down her arms. “Well, other than the bruising. What were you trying to do, anyway?”

  “Break down your door.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Clearly it was working.”

  “I was close!”

  “Very.” He nodded. And then let out a loud sigh, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For being a dick today. I just…” Damn it. “Margot, I really like you.”

  “I like you, too.”

  “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted.

  Her breath hitched. “Do you mean that?”

  “No, I’m lying to get you into bed, oh wait…” He flashed her a playful grin. “We can figure something out, right?”

  She nodded as more tears ran down her cheeks. “Are you saying you don’t care about the marketing position or—”

  He kissed her forcefully across the mouth and pulled back. “You. I care about you.”

  Scar barked from his spot on the floor.

  “And Scar,” Bentley added. “But he’s a close second.”

  Another bark.

  “So he’s our dog?” Margot looked at him with hopeful eyes.

  “Yeah.” Bentley tucked her hair behind her ears as Scar tried to make his way over to them. He was just learning to walk on three legs; if only they had a prosthetic for dogs, one that fit.

  Damn it!

  He’d almost forgotten about the appointment he made for Margot!

  “I have a surprise for you.” He kissed her chin. “A huge surprise.”

  “Another animal?”

  “Well, I do have an ass…”

  “What?”

  “Long story short. I won him in a bet.” He winked. “He stays at the family ranch, though, with Brock—I think the asses are attached to each other.”

  “That sentence.” She made a face.

  “Yeah, not my best.” He chuckled. “Come on.” He checked his watch. “I need you to get ready for company.”

  “Company?”

  He smiled. “Yup.”

  Margot didn’t look so sure, but she nodded anyway. “Actually…” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been putting off writing for a few days. I haven’t been in the mood. I should probably just check my e-mail and get some stuff done, so why don’t you come get me once company’s here?”

  “Sounds great.” He said smoothly as she shyly rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Nope.”

  “Sorry.” She reared back.

  “Don’t be.” He pulled her closer. “But I have to taste you. Knowing that your lips just tasted my skin and that I was left just dreaming of yours? Not fair.”

  He captured her mouth in one last kiss befo
re turning her around and gently pushing her toward the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Margot walked on air the entire way up the stairs and into her room. He liked her.

  Rolling her eyes at the fact that she was giddy because he confessed he liked her, she was painfully aware she was acting like a girl with her first crush.

  A smile teased her lips. Did it really matter? He had been her first crush—and now? Now he yelled at her and said he loved her.

  And he called her beautiful.

  Kissed her scars.

  Gave her a dog.

  Her smile widened. Yeah, okay, she had a reason to smile, she really did. The smile only grew as she sat down at her computer and started firing off the next scene in her book.

  Before she knew what was happening, thirty minutes had passed and she still hadn’t really prepared for company in any way.

  With a grimace she glanced down at her jeans and loose T-shirt. She needed to at least put on something that didn’t have wrinkles.

  Yawning, she stood and stretched, only to have her e-mail alert ping.

  “Crap.” She hadn’t checked her e-mail in at least two days, which was completely unlike her.

  She had several messages from readers, which was normal, and a few from her editor, most of them about her deadline, business, cover art, the usual.

  Normally she was better about answering her e-mails, but Bentley had been a distraction—a very welcome one.

  The newest e-mail had an exclamation point in the subject line, and when Margot clicked on it, there was a link to a news article.

  Margot had no desire to click the link. She knew what it most likely said, and the last thing she wanted was for her day to take a hit after having such a good morning.

  Below the link was a message.

  Keep dating him. Sales are incredible! We are looking at a second print run for The Duke! See attached.

  Margot refused to click on the attached Excel spreadsheet with her sales numbers on it.

  A sick feeling built in her stomach. She hadn’t gone out with him in public to be seen. God, it was hard to even be in public let alone use it as a way to sell books! Did her editor have any idea how much anxiety she’d had during that dinner? Or the hell that she’d gone through afterward?

  Writing had been about passion for Margot, not sales.