He doesn’t notice.
Hell, and if he does, he doesn’t pay me any attention.
Not that I was expecting him to in the first place.
“Mr. Harley.” He finally looks up at my voice.
His dark eyes rake over me before they land on mine. “You’re late.”
“I’m early, actually,” I say, smiling. “Should we go in?” I ask.
He looks at his watch as he slides his phone into his pocket. “Yes, the clients haven’t arrived yet, thankfully.”
I nod, and he opens the door for me.
A quick peer over my shoulder at him, I am surprised when he looks down at me with a frown on his face.
“I was raised with women, Miss Leigh. I know how to open the door for a lady.”
“Thank you.” I walk ahead.
The hostess looks up, but it’s Mr. Harley her eyes land and stay on.
He doesn’t even have to say his name. She simply directs him to a private booth and he tells her who he’s meeting. She nods and walks off, telling him she will bring a bottle of wine as I pull my seat out to sit across from him.
“Next to me, Miss Leigh. If we plan to land the Jackpot account, I need you to sit near me so you can steal his full attention.”
At his words, I push the seat back in and pull out the one directly next to him. Sitting on it, I have to remember not to let my cheeks redden at being so close to him. That the smell of him is not intoxicating. That he is not intoxicating.
“You drink wine?” he asks.
I have to mentally shake myself out of thinking about him.
“I do,” I answer, not looking his way, because if I do, he may see it written all over my face.
“Good. And you should call me Beckham tonight.”
As he says those last words, I glance up to two older men who are walking over to the table with the same hostess who seated us. They both smile at me, and those smiles they held vanish when their eyes land on Beckham.
“I see you brought back-up,” one of the men says.
I recognize him from my research. He owns most of the company. His name is Adam. While his brother, James, owns a smaller percentage and is the other man who is currently taking a seat opposite me.
“A pretty lady never hurt anybody,” Beckham says.
What the hell did he just say? I have to hold back my shock that he called me pretty. When I look at him, he offers me a smile, but I can tell instantly it’s fake. It still makes something in my stomach flutter though, even if I don’t know what.
“No, I guess you’re right,” Adam relays as the waitress brings over two bottles of wine.
“We would like one of every starter,” Beckham announces.
The waitress, who can’t seem to look anywhere else but Beckham, nods before she walks away.
“So, you want our business?” James states as he pours himself a glass, but it’s more a question than a statement. He offers me one, and I smile and nod my head before he pours mine. “Tell me … sorry, what is your name?” James looks at me.
“Jacinta,” I reply with a smile.
“Yes, Jacinta.” He’s kind, with gentle eyes. “Tell me … is Beckham as lethal to work with as I have heard?” I feel all sets of eyes fall on me. I could tell the truth that he’s as ruthless as he is a major asshole. Instead, I try to come up with something positive to say, and that’s damn hard.
“I’ve gained great knowledge working with him. Beckham is dedicated to his work.”
James’s lip lifts. “Are you choosing not to answer that question?”
“Oh no, he’s a delight.” And that lie tastes sour on my tongue, so much so I almost pucker my lips with the acidity.
The brothers share a look, and I feel Beckham’s eyes boring into the side of my head. When I turn to confirm this, he offers me a smile, and once again, it’s fake. It says you will pay for this before he turns back to the brothers.
“I’m not going to deny you’re the best, Beckham. We all know this. The whole city knows this. But we also only want to work with people we can trust. Can we trust you?”
Beckham’s hand comes up on the table, and he taps it lightly.
“You can trust me with your money. Of this, I have no doubt. But as a person, you would have to get to know me. I’m not a complicated man, but I keep my circle small because trusting the wrong people seems to have burned me in the past.”
Both brothers nod as they take in Beckham’s words while our waitress places our starters in the middle of the table before she walks away.
“Tell us something … something you have told no one else.”
Beckham’s fingers start to tap on the table, and I can feel his leg bouncing near mine in agitation. “The love of my life died almost six years ago. Some nights when she invades my thoughts, the only thing I can do is drink to drown her out.”
The table goes silent.
I go silent.
Holy shit.
I wonder if that tidbit of information is real.
It has to be, right?
That’s not something you make up out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Beckham. My wife died over ten years ago, and still to this day, I miss her like crazy,” Adam says.
“Yes, sorry. Thank you for sharing that with us,” James adds.
For the rest of dinner, the only thing that’s spoken about is their business and what Beckham can do for them. Toward the end, and only two wines in, I stand as we get ready to leave.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Jacinta. I hope at our next meeting we will see your beautiful face.”
“I hope so, too.” We linger as they walk out, and when they’re gone, I reach for my purse and turn to face Beckham.
“Don’t be late Monday,” he barks at me before he walks off.
Well, okay then.
Guess I make my way home on my own!
Beckham, the asshole, still exists.
Chapter 5
Beckham
The weekend was heavy. I stayed in my apartment and didn’t leave. Why did I share my most painful secret with them? I shouldn’t have shared that. But I also knew it would get me the deal I wanted. And I was right. I landed the deal of a lifetime.
Even if I exposed myself in ways I would never usually do, and even if she was sitting right next to me. Now she knows too.
As soon as I walk into the office on Monday, I find Jacinta already at her desk, headphones on. When she sees me, she pulls them off and trains her gaze on me.
“Don’t you have a kid?”
She was pregnant, this much I remember. She asked Rylee to babysit, which would make me think she’s raising the kid by herself.
“Yes.”
“So why are you here and not getting him ready for school?”
“Because you’re here,” she replies.
“I own the company. You are just an employee. Stop coming in so early.” Before I get a chance to walk away, her glare could pierce my skin. Once I get to my door, I turn back to look at her, and her shoulders are slumped. “Who has your son right now?”
She twists her hair in her ponytail, flicking it over her shoulder. “I hire a sitter for the mornings.”
“How much?” I ask.
She screws up her nose. “Sorry?”