Impossible Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series, Book 2)

  I pull off my gloves and helmet angrily. Jonny says the first step in controlling anger is acknowledging it. So, okay, I’m mad at Jonny for shutting me down. I’m mad at myself for getting worked up. But I’m really pissed at Ben for smiling through the whole thing like he was enjoying it.

  It was supposed to be a battle of wills. I rule boardrooms full of men who make the mistake of underestimating me. I shoot down men who see me as a challenge—and leave them and their tattered egos in my wake. I can outsmart, outfight, and outlast most anyone.

  Ben didn’t fight me, though. Not the way I wanted him to. If the goofy look on his face was anything to go by, he took some of my punches as foreplay.

  Not only did he win—but he taunted me while doing it.

  That’s why I lost my temper.

  Why does Ben want to be with me? He didn’t deny Dalton asked him to ask me out. But if that’s his only reason—why the lusty, this-is-hot looks?

  It strikes me as I lay my gloves on the bench and change back into my clothes that I’m in uncharted territory. I don’t like not knowing what someone wants from me.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and don’t like what I see. I wish I was only angry. I know that look, though. Sparring with Ben has been—exciting.

  No. No. No. Mother Nature has a sick sense of humor. I’m sure my mother felt something similar when she first met my father. The mistake she made, though, was she gave in to it. She knew he was the wrong man for her. She knew they had nothing in common, but she let pheromones or whatever the fuck makes a person put aside all reason and fall for someone completely unsuited for them take over. My mother is the poster child for why women need to be smarter than their vaginas. Lust fades. Men disappoint. Forget that and you’re destined to end up broke, divorced, and struggling with your career at thirty. No way, not me.

  Stepping out of the changing room, I’m fully prepared to pull the plug. I’ve checked the box. Penny should be satisfied at least for tonight. I went out. When I go back I’ll smile when I tell her about the evening. Win/win. She’ll feel better and I’ll have her off my back for a while.

  I pause, trying to see Ben before he sees me. I’m sure he wants to end the evening as well. He’s behind the front desk giving Jonny a quick tutorial on a software update. “You need to wait until you’re done for the night then run the update. By morning everything should be back online. You’ll love this program. Much easier than what you were using.”

  Is he for real? Who does that?

  I wait to hear him mention payment, but he doesn’t.

  “Call me in the morning if you have any trouble.” Ben hands over his business card. The two shake hands and Jonny gives him the big toothy grin he reserves for his favorite clients. What the fuck?

  I don’t get it. Jonny is not an easy sell. What does he see in Ben that I don’t? It’s a few long beats before I realize I’m holding my breath. I’m waiting for the scene to fall apart. But it doesn’t.

  “I’ll pay for the whole hour of ring time tonight Jonny,” I offer, knowing how much I pissed him off.

  “Don’t worry about it. More control next time, Kylie.”

  I nod. He’s right, but this isn’t a conversation I want to have in front of smiley pants. “I’ll try.” I shrug.

  Jonny waves me off. “I’m holding out hope for you. At some point you’ll get it.”

  “Get what?” I prop a hand up on my hip and dare him to say something sexist. “That I’m not a good boxer?”

  “That you’ll win more when you lose the anger.”

  “Thanks Dr. Phil.” I’m so done here.

  Ben is on my heels as I head to the door. I don’t turn around until we hit the street, then I launch into a speech like I’m firing someone. “I appreciate the invite to spend time with you. As I suspected, spending time together makes zero sense. Don’t bother to walk back with me. Let’s cut our losses.”

  “It could be the knock I took to the head, but I still think we should have dinner.” He catches my elbow gently and spins me to face him. “Somewhere with plastic utensils just to be safe.”

  His smile is hard to resist. “Thanks, but no.”

  “You didn’t work up an appetite?”

  “I can get my own meal. I have absolutely no problem sitting alone in a restaurant. I find it peaceful.”

  “We’re going to dinner.”

  “I believe I said no.”

  “Ouch.” Ben holds a hand to his head. “I may have permanent damage here. You know what would help me? Dinner.”

  “You’re relentless.”

  “Some say irresistible.”

  “Who? Who says that?” I counter with a hand on my hip. I don’t like myself for doing it, but I need him to like me less. “I’ve never seen you with a woman.”

  He places a hand over his heart. “You were paying attention. That’s sweet.”

  My body betrays me by flushing. I strike back. “I notice there’s an asshole from the building across the street who lets his dog piss on the signpost in front of our building every day, but that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him or his dog.” Why is he grinning at me? Is he so dumb he doesn’t understand when someone is slamming him?

  He leans in, that lean men do when they’re going in for a kiss. I freeze. He stops just before our lips touch. His breath is a warm tickle. “You know why you haven’t seen me with any women?”

  I should go. I tell myself to, but my traitorous feet keep me right where I am. “Why?”

  “Because I haven’t found one I wanted to spend time with—not in a long time. You’re different, though. I have a feeling a man could spend a lifetime with you, and you’d still surprise him.”

  Lifetime?

  My breath catches in my throat. I don’t date men who talk like that. I can’t imagine spending a full week with someone, never mind a lifetime. I have more in common with an alien species than with Ben.

  He lifts a hand and runs a finger down my jaw. “Did someone hurt you? Is that why you’re so afraid?”

  I smack his hand away and step back. “Just because I don’t want to have dinner with you doesn’t mean I’m afraid of you. Why is it when a woman isn’t interested, a man has to believe there is something wrong with her? Sometimes she’s just not interested.”

  He rubs his chin as if contemplating something, then says, “So, no spark at all?”

  I swallow hard and shrug. “Sorry.”

  He holds up one arm and flexes. “How about now?”

  I roll my eyes, but a corner of my mouth twitches as I fight back a smile. “Nothing.”

  He raises his other arm and does a full body building pose. “Now?”

  I give in to the smile. “Nope.”

  He lowers his arms and pulls me to him, leaning me back over his arm. He stares into my eyes. “Now this, this is my signature heart-melting look. Works every time.”

  I laugh and try to right myself, but end up with my hands on his shoulders. “Stop. I must have hit you harder than I thought. Clearly you have some lasting effects.”

  “You did have an impact.”

  I know he’s not talking about the punch but I can’t do this. I push at him to right myself then move a step back from him. Very few things scare me, but this does. I’ll never admit it to him. This is exactly what I don’t want to happen.

  A rumble of far-off thunder rolls through the sky as light drizzle starts to fall.

  “It wasn’t supposed to rain.” I sound angrier than someone should about a change in the weather.

  “The forecast is often wrong. That’s what I love about the weather. I was a total nerd for it when I was a kid. It’s unexpected and bewildering, and it doesn’t always follow the rules. It can’t be controlled or changed by the will of man. You just have to roll with it.”

  No. No rolling with anything. Not the weather. Not Ben. “Want to share a cab back?” I ask.

  “Or we could eat at someplace near the Tower.”

  I almost say
I’m not hungry, but my stomach grumbles loud enough for him to hear. He’s pointing to a place that looks like a total dive. I should probably refuse and end the night here, but I am starving.

  “They make great sandwiches.”

  I guess it’s only a sandwich.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kylie

  “The Barista Bungalow?” I have to squint to see the small sign as Ben leads me into a very unassuming little café. The only good thing about it that I can see is it’s not raining inside. Other than that, it’s not a place you’d ever find me.

  “Hey Ben.” There is a stooped man behind the long wooden counter who lights up at the sight of us. “You’re never in this time of night.”

  “Good to see you, Mr. Dias. Don’t you ever go home?” Ben gestures over to a booth in the corner, and I tentatively slide in. I wish I’d brought my sanitizer wipes for the table.

  “Oh, Ben, you know I love this place. My kids are all grown and me and Mrs. Dias treat our café like our baby.” He takes his rag and slings it over his shoulder as he comes our way. “Now who is this lovely lady?”

  I open my mouth to introduce myself but Ben cuts in. “Penny’s sister.”

  “No way.” Mr. Dias slaps his hands together in excitement. “The famous Miss Kylie. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” I say coolly. I don’t like that he knows more about me than I do about him. How does he know Penny? I take another look around the place. This is exactly where Penny would get her coffee. I prefer chain shops where I can reliably get exactly what I want each time. Penny chooses places like this. Valuing personal interactions over quality. Classic Penny.

  “Are you hungry?” Mr. Dias looks as though he just proposed marriage to us. The anticipation on his face is unnerving. Clearly bringing us some food would make his night.

  “We are starving. We just worked up quite an appetite.” Ben winks at me for our inside joke. Mr. Dias smiles in approval and hands over two paper menus. I kick Ben under the table.

  He grins at me unapologetically. I pick up my menu and whip it open, letting that be my rebuttal. There are only a few options. Some sandwiches. Quiche. Soup. Salad.

  “I’ll bring you a couple of coffees and you two take your time. It’s quiet tonight. Stay as long as you like,” Mr. Dias says from across the shop. He hustles toward his antique coffee machines and gets to work fiddling with them.

  “You come here often?” I ask, though it’s a stupid question with an obvious answer.

  He doesn’t bother to look over his menu. “A couple times a week. It’s nice to go someplace where they know your name, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” I think through all the places that call me Miss Fuller. I’m used to staff jumping to their feet when I walk in. They do it because I tip well. They do it because they know I expect good service. “Not like this.”

  “Are you happy, Kylie?”

  His question bursts out of nowhere, and I’m not prepared for it. I answer in a defensive tone. “Of course I am. I’m at the top of my career. I’ve met every goal I’ve set for myself. I’m exactly where I want to be. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

  Mr. Dias slides two coffees in front of us and waits patiently while we order. I welcome the break in the conversation.

  Ben makes some suggestions based on his favorite dishes. I order a salad. He looks disappointed, and I tell myself I don’t care.

  “How are your sisters, Ben?” Mr. Dias asks, his order pad spilling out of his pocket. He’s disheveled but in a sweet familiar way that reminds me of my father.

  “They’re well. Still driving me crazy, but they said thank you for the beans you sent. Best coffee they’ve ever had. You have to let me pay for them.”

  “Get out of town,” Mr. Dias says in his raspy heavy accent. “It’s a gift. You’ve brought us lots of business and helped with the website. You wouldn’t let us pay you. We’re grateful.”

  Mr. Dias bows a little and heads back into the kitchen.

  “You have sisters?” I ask, leaning back in the booth and trying to cobble together a better picture of Ben. I don’t want to be interested in his life, but I am. Maybe if I figure him out, I’ll realize I can package him neatly in the box he belongs in and stuff him away.

  “Four. And it’s about as hectic as you’d expect. But I can’t imagine life without them.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Very much so. They cross the line every now and then when they try to set me up on dates, but their hearts are in the right place. At least they don’t dress me up for tea parties anymore.”

  “They did not do that.”

  “Oh, they did.”

  “And you willingly admit it?”

  His chest puffs with pride. “It made me into who I am today. You cannot embarrass a man who has survived four sisters.”

  “You’re proving that tonight.”

  Ben chuckles, and I can’t help but join in.

  “They’re all married now and popping out kids, so I take my revenge by eating ice cream in front of them whenever they say they’re dieting. I wake up the babies when I visit. I bought my oldest nephew drums.”

  I smile. “Cruel but I like it.”

  “Occasionally I wear a bowl of that ice cream on my head when they get pissed, but it’s worth it.”

  I can easily picture that scene as well.

  He continues, “They get me back by setting me up on blind dates—often surprise blind dates. They say it’s not to make me suffer, but I wonder.”

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “It’s not all that bad. How about you? What does the love life of a CFO look like?” Casual but direct. It’s a style I don’t see often.

  “No drama in my dates.” I fold my hands and rest them on the table. “I’ve cracked the code to the correct way to date.”

  “This I need to hear.”

  “It’s like any other contract you enter into. Eyes wide open. Clear rules. Consequences when those rules are broken.”

  “Like safe words? It gets too kinky and you say space shuttle or something?”

  Space shuttle? What the hell? I’d tease him about that if I wasn’t fighting back an image of him tied naked to my bed. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “No. It’s about honoring terms of a relationship. Needs are met. Lines are not crossed. It’s perfect.”

  “Have you considered writing greeting cards? You’re a real romantic at heart.”

  “I’m a realist. Why does love need to be messy? How about a well-functioning partnership between two adults? Why can’t that be a thing?”

  “Do you have a thing? What’s his name?” He’s leaning in, completely engrossed but clearly not sold.

  “Clint. He’s a pilot. He comes through town about once a month. We have lively conversation at a gorgeous five-star restaurant. We discuss the economy. My job. His travels. We debate. If I have an event, he comes with me. He’s usually here for a long weekend then he’s back to work. It fits perfectly into my life. We don’t argue because we don’t smother each other.”

  “You like him?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Another nice Hallmark card. That’s a real ringing endorsement.”

  “He’s a hardworking, serious man. His job requires a lot of his time, but he has his future planned out. He knows where he’s going.”

  “And that’s what you want long term?”

  “God no. Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing lasts.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Romance is a myth. It’s like makeup. People invented it to cover the truth. Cavemen weren’t running around writing poetry for women and our species continued.”

  “So you’re into cavemen.”

  “I’m into things that matter. I’m a healthy adult. I like sex like everyone else. I just don’t need to douse it in flowers.”

  “What do you have against flowers?”

  “You can’t eat them. Essentially they’re rotting from th
e moment they’re cut. It’s the equivalent of walking by a trashcan and throwing money straight in.”

  “So what does a man buy you to show you he’s thinking of you?”

  “Nothing. That’s the point. I don’t need him to do more than show up.”

  Ben is quiet for a moment. What is he thinking? I tell myself I don’t care. I am who I am. I was this way before I met him. I will sure as hell be this way after tonight. He is just a fellow tenant from my building. We’re passing time together. Nothing more. “Am I different than the women your sisters set you up with?”

  “You are.”

  “You’re smiling again.”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I never go out with them more than once, and I’m already trying to figure out how to get you to go out with me again.”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  “I admire your confidence, but you’re underestimating my lure.” His face is serious now, but there’s a flash of mischief in his eyes.

  Mr. Dias carries our food to the table and presents it proudly. Ben’s looks divine. The plates aren’t fancy and there is no useless little parsley leaves decorating the corner. It’s simple. Bare-bones good food from a nice man who cares about what he does. I don’t hate it.

  My eyes fix on Ben for a moment. I want to find something wrong with him. There is obviously something. That’s a given. I mean he has a penis, which means he has hidden character flaws. Those two things go together like peanut butter and jelly. Women are easier to read.

  “Something wrong?” Ben asks, tilting his head to the side and eyeing me closely.

  “Of course there is. I’m just trying to figure out what,” I answer, knowing it will confuse the hell out of him. “But not with the food. The food looks amazing.”

  I’m lying. My salad looks pale and tasteless next to his Reuben.

  He asks for a second plate and puts half of his food on it then pushes it in front of me.

  “No, thank you,” I say automatically, but my mouth is watering.

  “Try it,” he insists.

  I look down at the plate and growl, “I don’t really do a lot of bread. I don’t miss it though.”