Odessa rests her phone in her lap, staring ahead. “I don’t think that way.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Solid advice, which I will kindly decline.” Her tone is preoccupied, fading. She picks her phone up, her nails clicking feverishly against the glass. It’s angled now, reflecting in the passenger window though I still can’t read it.
“You should make him wait longer than five seconds.” My fingers rap against the armrest in the door. “Huge turn off when you know she’s waiting on the other end.”
“He’s not like that.”
“All men are like that,” I huff.
“Dating you would be a nightmare then,” she mutters.
“Which is why I don’t date. I’m the first to admit I’d be a shitty boyfriend.”
She turns to me. “You never get lonely?”
“Never.”
Leaning across the middle seat, she places her hand across my heart. “Yep. Just like I thought. You’re dead inside.”
I pound my fist into my chest. “Alive and beating, sweetheart. I’ve yet to meet a girl who can go toe to toe with me. Live life at my pace. Make me sing a different tune.”
It almost happened. In my post-Sophie stupor, I met an Argentinian bombshell with legs for days and a sexual appetite that only rivaled mine.
We did the fuck buddy thing for a handful of months. It was the closest thing I’ve had to an actual relationship since my failed engagement.
Things with her were amazing until they weren’t…
“You’re going to meet your match one of these days, Beckham.” Odessa’s head falls back as she lets out a haughty chuckle. She tucks her hair behind her ear, slipping her phone into her purse and retrieving her cold oatmeal. “She’s going to knock you sideways. You’ll go insane and love every minute of it too. God, I’d pay money for a front row seat to that.”
Chapter Fourteen
ODESSA
“You going to silence that or what?” Dane groans from across the conference table, his eyes fixed on Beckham’s glowing phone. It’s been chiming and buzzing almost nonstop for the last three hours.
“Never,” Beckham says. “If Peterson calls, I don’t want to miss it.”
“Who’s been calling all morning? Can’t you block their number?” I interject, though it’s not my place. Can’t help but feel comfortable around these two. Despite hardly knowing them, they’re easy to be around. Hardly intimidating once you get past Dane’s tungsten-strength front and Beckham’s relaxed arrogance.
“I don’t block anyone’s number,” Beckham says.
“Maybe you should stop giving it out so much.” Dane slams his pen down, flipping to a new page in his legal pad. “Ever think of that?”
“Don’t go there, Dane.” Beckham sits up, silencing the fresh call that comes in.
“May I?” I place my hand out, palm up. “It’s a woman, right?”
The men exchange looks, and Beckham carefully slides his phone my way.
“Beckham King’s phone,” I answer, injecting friendliness into my tone. “How may I help you?”
There’s hesitation from the other end though I can hear someone breathing.
“Hello?” My voice lilts. “Are you still there?”
“Who is this?” The woman on the other end finally speaks.
“This is Mr. King’s personal assistant. I handle his social calendar and other engagements.”
“I want to talk to him.” She sounds like a child stomping their foot at a toy store. “I don’t want to go through someone. This is ridiculous. Put him on the phone.”
“Unfortunately he’s preoccupied at the moment,” I say. “I’m happy to take a message.”
“Put. Him. On. The. Phone.” Her voice falls an octave, but it doesn’t intimidate me.
“And your name?” I ask sweetly. It’s an old trick from when I used to answer phones at a doctor’s office. Patients would call and make demands, and the second you lead them to believe they’re about to get their way you ask their name. Half of them would hang up and never call back. The other half would pretend they didn’t just have a conniption fit over the phone and offer their name without hesitation.
“Listen, you’re going to put him on the phone.” The woman’s words are sharp but weightless.
She’s still not getting through.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I say. “I just can’t do that. Are you a personal friend of Mr. King?”
“You could say we have a connection.”
“May I make a suggestion?”