The click of the lock precedes the whipping of the stall door, and out emerges a baby-faced blonde in a cinched pencil skirt with shiny flaxen waves dripping down her shoulders. Her crystal blue eyes are rimmed in red and glassed with tears.
“Thank you. Yes. There you are.” I follow her to the mirror. “Got a name?”
She sniffs, staring ahead at her reflection. “Bellamy. You work here?”
My nose wrinkles. As soon as I get a chance, I’m accepting the job Beckham offered me. I quietly decided on the flight over here.
“Sort of. I’m based out of the New York office.”
“You work with Beckham?” The blonde asks.
“You know Beckham?” She looks like the type he’d go for, at least before fatherhood was thrust into his lap. “Or do you, like, know Beckham...”
“Not sure I follow.”
I bat my hand. “Forget I said anything.”
She washes her hands, drying them on a paper towel and dabbing her face with cool water.
“You’re crying over a guy, right?” I step closer.
“Maybe.” Bellamy’s eyes snap to the counter.
“He’s not worth it, whoever he is. They never are.”
“I know.”
I smirk. “If you know, then why’d you let him get you all worked up?”
“It wasn’t really him; it was mostly the way he spoke to me. It was hurtful, and he wasn’t supposed to hurt me. At least he said he wouldn’t.”
My eyes roll. I could strangle the asshole that disrespected this adorable little angel. She has naive written all over her, which makes her an easy target for heartbreak and rejection. “That’s what they all say, and you know what? They’re all a bunch of fucking liars. Pardon my French.”
Bellamy’s lips almost twitch into a smile. She draws in a cool breath, her shoulders shaking as she exhales. Her cheeks are less red than they were a minute ago, which is good.
“You want to get coffee or something? Are there any good coffee places around here that don’t have a green mermaid as a logo?” I point to the door.
Bellamy’s jaw falls, her lips dancing in hesitation. “I don’t know. I should get back to my desk. My boss is probably wondering where I am. I’ve been in here a while.”
“Who do you report to?”
“Dane.”
“Oh, I’ve got this. You’re going with me. I’ll deal with him if he gives you any shit.” Dane might intimidate everyone else, but not me. He’s harmless. A kitten. Rapists and murderers are what keep me up at night, not affluent businessmen who rarely smile.
I take Bellamy by the arm and lead her out of the restroom and toward the elevator.
“I don’t have my purse,” she objects as we stride in step.
“Good thing I have a company credit card.”
***
“How long have you been working here?” I pull up a chair at a table next to the front window of a small coffee shop.
“This is my first week.” She sits down and takes a sip from her small latte. “I’m his concierge.”
Her emphasis on the word concierge tells me everything I need to know. One of my friends back in the city did the same thing, only the man paying her was old enough to be her grandfather and married and everything was on the low. I bet she’d have killed to be on her knees for someone as striking and virile as Dane Townsend.
“You’re shitting me.” I place my cup on the table, sitting up and squaring my shoulders. The corners of my mouth curling a delayed moment later.
She shakes her head. “No.”
I study her, trying to picture what might make a young, beautiful girl like Bellamy agree to be a bought-and-paid-for, modern-day courtesan.
Her hand claps across her mouth. “Odessa, please don’t tell anyone what I just told you.”
“Were you crying over Dane then?”
Her chin dips, and her see-through blue gaze drifts toward the window.
“Please, tell me you weren’t crying over Dane.” Poor thing. He should’ve picked someone older, more experienced. Someone who wouldn’t have let her heart get in the way of a business arrangement.
“He’s intense.” She squirms in her seat like she’s unable to get comfortable. “We have an agreement, and I’m just not sure I’m what he needs, and I need this job.”
“You’re probably his type.” She angles herself in her chair, and her tone is flat. “Blonde. Blue eyes. Pretty. An innocent ingénue ready to be shown the world…”
What hot-blooded man wouldn’t want that?
“I didn’t know he had a type.”
“Why do you need this job so bad? There are millions of other jobs out there. Don’t work for someone who treats you like crap. You’ve got to have more respect for yourself.”