Throughout dinner, I think of ways to win her back, using my grandmother's approach. Delivering dinner, sending chocolates and flowers, all those simple things that seem so boring to me, but maybe to her they don't.
I'll know soon because starting Monday, I'm going to find out where she lives. That's step number one. After she moved out of that shithole in Brooklyn, I pulled my security team off of her since she'd be safe living with Eric. Once I locate her again, I'll move on to getting to know her roommate. If he's a loser, I'll do my best to like the guy, even if I have to suck it up every day. I have an edge, which is getting Eric's foot in the door of his interior design career. We have an entire decorating division at Whitworth. I could bring him in for interviews, but only if he agrees to help me win Vivi over. If he does, and is hired, he could gain invaluable experience with us and later move on to open up his own business. This could help him launch a very successful company and he'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.
The larger piece of this, I realize, is I'd be a bigger fool to let Vivi slip through my fingers.
Chapter 15
Vivi
A few weeks later, and I'm in full bartending motion at The Meeting Place. It's actually a blast mixing drinks and my chaotic brain is pretty damn good at it. Even Lucas is impressed with my mad skills. After the third day of training, he'd asked me for the hundredth time if I hadn't bartended before.
"Never," I told him.
"Not even at weddings or for a catering company?"
"Nope."
"You're damn good at this."
"Why, thank you, kind sir," I joked.
Lucas and I make a pretty good team behind the bar. So good that Lucas has me to work on Saturday nights, the busiest of the week. The first time he asked I was shocked. I double-checked with him to make sure I heard right and he only laughed.
When I got home that night and told Eric, he was excited. "I smell money for you. You should pull in some big tips. Guys love girl bartenders."
"I hope."
"You'll see."
I discover Eric was right. I make a shit-ton of money at this. Well, a shit-ton compared to just waiting tables. Lucas and I split the take because we cross over so much and that's the fairest way to do it. As we're cleaning up one Saturday, and doing the tally, Lucas says he'd like me in there every weekend just for the money.
"Yeah, it's a lot, right?"
"More than usual, for sure. Hey, why don't you call it a night? You worked your ass off, Vivi. Thanks."
"Oh, it was fun, actually." And it was. I enjoyed being around all the people who were having a great time. "Enjoy your Sunday," I say on my way to the door.
"Hey! Don't walk home alone. One of the guys can take you. Someone should be heading out in a minute or two."
"I'm only a few blocks from here. It's fine."
"You sure? I don't want anything to happen to you."
"It's SoHo. This is a safe area."
"Yeah, but you never know."
"I'll run. Promise." I leave before he can stop me. The streets are empty save for a car or taxi here or there, but I make it home without incident. Eric is in bed, so I creep around like a burglar. Then my phone beeps. It's probably Lucas, checking on me. But when I see the text, I nearly drop my phone.
You shouldn't be out walking alone at this hour. It's dangerous.
It's from Prescott. Is he still stalking me after I've made it perfectly clear I want nothing to do with him? And how does he know where I live? I never told him.
Oh, right. He's the mighty Prescott Beckham with all kinds of information at his disposal. He probably hired a private investigator and had me followed. Well, that's just too bad. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of answering his text.
Unfortunately, the doucheface has now planted his mug into my mind and by the time I crawl into bed, he's all I can see. I want to punch the shit out of my pillows because of him. Why does he have to be so damn sexy and why did he have to tell me there's more to him than I'm aware? Why do I believe him now about his daddy issues?
I was better off thinking he was an ass for the sake of being an ass. Now that I think he has some sort of a troubled past, I have this ridiculous urge to fix him, which is the stupidest thing ever. I'm the one who needs fixing, not him. I'm the one who's at bankruptcy's door. All he has to do is snap his fingers and everyone, including their mothers, come running. Even Eric mentioned him the other day. I almost choked on my chicken noodle soup. He thinks I should reconsider seeing him.
Everyone that touches or gets close to Prescott Beckham must go slap-ass-crazy as fuck. He was rude as hell to Eric and now Eric feels sorry for the man.
"He might need your help, Viv. Maybe something went wrong in his past. People don't act like that without a good reason."
"What are you? Dear Abby or whatever the hell her name is?"
"Oh, come on. When you told me your story I nearly cried. You don't open up to every single person you meet. Maybe he's the same. Do you know what his home life was like? Maybe he was abused. It happens all the time."
Oh, God. I hadn't thought of that. "Shit, Eric. Do you know something I don't?"
"No. I'm just saying. Think about it."
"Not until he learns some manners."
And that was the end of that conversation.
But the truth is I can't stop thinking about him. And why? There are a gazillion sexy guys out there. Take Lucas for example, but I don't think about him. Groaning, I roll over for the tenth time and slam my fists on the bed. Why am I such a sucker? You know why, Vivi. You've always had a mad crush on the man. Why did he have to be such an ass just because I moved in with Eric? Why can't I just move on and forget him? You know the answer to that, too. Because he wants you.
When my room gets a little less dark and a lot more gray, I drag my tired-as-hell body out of bed. What's the use in lying here when sleep is as evasive as my chance at winning the lottery? I sneak into the tiny kitchen and put a pot of coffee on to brew. While I wait, I stare out our window that overlooks East Third. Ironically, Prescott only lives a couple of blocks away. I'm sure he's found out I work at The Meeting Place already.
After I grab a mug of coffee, I open my laptop and, for the third time, start searching for everything I can find on Prescott Beckham. There's a ton of information about Whitworth Enterprises, his grandparents, cousin, and father, but again, nothing comes up on his mother. This is so weird. Not even a first name pops up, though obviously her maiden name would have been Whitworth. I could pay to have her searched for, but I can't afford to spend the money and am I really that nosy?
The sun is glaring. I'm still staring at my laptop, which has long since gone to sleep, when Eric pads into the room. "How long have you been up?"
"Since dawn."
"Why?"
"Couldn't sleep. You know who texted me when I got home last night? Told me I shouldn't walk home alone that late."
"He's right, you know."
"Not you, too? I didn't want to bother anyone or wait for them to finish up. And really? It's not but a few blocks."
Eric shrugs. "All I'm saying is he was worried, maybe. And he was right. Don't get angry with me."
Then my eyes zero on him and I smirk. "So, what did you end up doing last night?"
"I went out to a club. Why?"
"Looks like someone had a good time."
"What … why do you say that?"
"You need to look in the mirror and maybe put a shirt on." Then I spit out a hearty laugh. Eric is covered in purple love bites, from his neck to the waistband of his pajamas. "Someone must've been trashed last night."
He looks down and actually turns bright pink. "Oh, God. This is awful. You must think I'm-"
"A guy who had a great time last night. No need to be embarrassed about that. Was he cute?"
"Shut up, bitch," he says over his shoulder. He returns wearing a shirt, along with a sheepish grin. "Yes, he was. Very."
I clap my hands and ask, "Oooh, are you going to see him again?"
"Yeah, we're going to dinner tonight."
"That's awesome." We fist bump.
"Enough about me. Let's talk about you and Mr. Fancy Pants."
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm making breakfast. Want some?"
"As long as you make pancakes."
I whip up a huge batch, because even though Eric is tall and lean, he's a bottomless pit.
He cleans his plate, mopping up the last bit of syrup and asks, "What're you up to today?"
"I don't know."
"Let's go for a run after the pancakes settle."
"Sounds good." I watch him clean up and think about what a hot catch he'll be for whomever gets him. Dark hair with dark eyes to match, Eric is as kind as he's good-looking.
"What are you staring at?" he asks, catching me.