He grabs her hand. "Look, sweetheart, excuse me for barging into the convo, but this is Mr. Moneybags here. He's not exactly hurting for pennies, if you know what I mean. Let the man help you out, Viv. My God. He's doing everything he can to make this awful situation better for you and you're throwing one roadblock after another at him. Not to mention, he's right. You can't stay by yourself yet. I can't be here with you when I work and neither can he, which puts you in a bind."
She sucks on her puffy lip, exhales, long and slow, and then nods. "Fine. I'll accept your charity, Prescott. And thank you."
Eric throws his arms up in the air and yells, "Hallelujah."
She slaps his arm. "Shut up."
After he leaves, I want to say more to her. I don't like that she's thinking of it as charity, but I'm afraid of opening up that can of worms again. We sort of closed it when she accepted my offer and I don't want to drive it into the ground.
"So, would you like for me to wash your hair?"
"I'd love a shower, but I don't know what to do with this arm."
"We can figure this out."
After wrapping it in plastic wrap, taping it, and then sticking it in a couple of garbage bags and duct taping it again, she's ready to get wet.
"I hope this works."
"Worst-case scenario, we send you off to get a new cast."
She asks if I'll stay in the bedroom in case she needs my help. We set everything out she could possibly need, and I sit on the bed, impatient for her to finish. It takes forever. I pace, then sit, then pace. Did she fall and hit her head? Should I call out to check? I don't want to sound like an overprotective mother. Twenty minutes pass, then twenty-five. When it gets to thirty, I'm ready to storm the door down. Finally, I hear my name.
"Yes," I practically shout.
"Can you help?"
I almost take the door off the hinges and yell, "You okay?" I must've scared the poor woman to death because she shrinks from my thunderous arrival. "Shit. Sorry. I thought you might've fallen or something."
The fright vanishes from her face. "No. I need help in wrapping my hair in the towel." She stands with the other towel haphazardly wound around her and any movement whatsoever will have the thing unwinding. I brush the hand holding it together aside and tighten it, tucking the ends in. Then I wrap her hair up in the other, trying to create a turban like women do. I fail. "Sorry. I'm not very good at this."
"No, it's good. Thank you." Her gracious smile speaks volumes.
"Let's see how the plastic worked." I unwrap her arm and we're happy to note it was a success.
Then I think of something. "Give me a minute." I sprint out and run upstairs. All the guest rooms have terry robes. One of them might fit her a little better. Grabbing one, I run back down to the bathroom.
"Here, you might like to put this on. I have them upstairs in the extra rooms."
"Oh. Thanks. Can you … ?" She aims her gaze at the door.
I leave to let her exchange the towel for the robe. When she calls out, I return.
"This is great. I had to shimmy my arm a bit, but it worked."
She hands me a brush and asks me if I would mind. As I get rid of the tangles, she lets me know how much she enjoyed the shower.
"The hot water felt so good. And that shower is amazing."
"Yeah, it's pretty good."
She lets her hair air-dry and changes into her athleisure clothes, as Eric called them. I wait for her in the living room.
"I want to tell you something, Vivi. Hear me out. I know you worry about the money I spend on you, but if the situation were reversed, I'd like to think there would be someone out there who'd do the same for me. I'm not selfish with my money. I don't try to buy people." Then I remember how I bribed the host at the restaurant that night and I add, "Well, there are times I use it to attain certain goals. But not in a particularly bad way. The coats I sent you a while ago, I sent those because I knew you needed them. You were struggling to get through this freezing weather. It looked bad on my part. I see that now. But I really did want you to be warm."
A slow smile builds on her face. "Why have you turned into this nice guy? It was so much easier to hate you when you were an ass."
"Hmm. Hate is such a strong word. I never wanted you to hate me"-I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out what to say-"and maybe I grew tired of being that asshole."
Chapter 22
Vivi
I'm still smiling at the idea that Prescott Beckham just admitted he was tired of being an asshole, when he leans close and kisses me. He's still an asshole. Except, not really. Somehow the tables have turned. Now I'm the asshole who can't stop thinking about fucking him.
"Prescott." I don't think about what I'm doing. If I did, I would second-guess myself. I crawl on his lap and take his face between my palms. Then it's my turn to kiss him. Softy. Slowly. I run my tongue across his upper, then lower lip.
"Vivi," he warns. "You're playing with fire."
"You've already lit a fire in me, so what does it matter?"
"Fire sometimes burns out of control, and even the most diligent can't contain it."
"We won't know until we test it, though, will we?"
"You're bruised, and your arm is broken."
"I've been bruised and broken since I was twelve. Nothing new here."
"I can't fix you," he says as he slides his hands into my wet hair.
"Never asked you to."
"Do you know the first thing I thought when I saw you in that coffee shop? You were sitting there, looking flustered as hell, with a bunch of napkins in your hand. I couldn't believe it was you at first. But there was no mistaking your eyes. I always thought you had great eyes. So damn expressive. They gave you away every time. As I watched you, I told myself I was going to fuck you. I'd do whatever it took, but eventually I'd be between your thighs and you'd be mine, every single inch of you. And here we are, Vivi. That opportunity sits in front of me like a piece of fruit hanging from the vine, begging to be picked, and suddenly, I've developed a conscience. The weirdest thing of all is I'm not even sure if it's because you're injured."
He moves me off his lap and stands. After shoving his hands in his pockets, he says, "I have to admit, this is a first for me. You've changed the rules, and I thought I was the play maker."
His hands fly up and rake through his hair, making a mess of it. I've never seen him look sexier than this moment, where he stands before me, frustrated as hell. The humanity of this situation creates a larger space in my heart, but I also recognize the danger it places me in.
"Why do you have to be so controlling?"
His head snaps in my direction, away from his feet, which he'd been staring at for some reason. He raises a hand, and then lowers it as he shakes his head. "Old habits, I suppose."
"That's not an answer. Before, when you were pursuing me, you were so hardened. It wasn't like you were even nice."
"That's not exactly true. I was nice when I first saw you, but you didn't give me the time of day. I'm not used to being brushed off."
I guess he isn't. When you're gifted with the looks of a god, why would he be?
"You know an awful lot about my past, Prescott, but I know very little about yours, other than you went to Crestview. Why is that?"
"What do you want to know?" The question seems innocent enough, but the edginess rolling off him tells me he's not willing to open up quite yet. I push anyway.
"Tell me about your family."
The stiffening in his posture indicates I'm right. He definitely doesn't like this line of questioning.
"My family." A humorless laugh escapes him, but then his eyes light up. "Well, my grandparents are two of the most amazing people in the world."
"Tell me more."
"Granddad and his father started Whitworth. I never knew my great grandfather because he passed before I was born. But Granddad is more my father, really. And Grand is special. They raised me, if you want the truth. My dad didn't. When I was young, I was a handful. So my grandparents took me under their wing and then Dad got fed up with me anyway and sent me off to Crestview."
"What about your mother?"
His expression turns into a blank slate. "I never speak of her."
"Oh?"
"It's not up for discussion." And bam, just like that, he completely shuts down.
"O-okay." I'm shocked by his reaction. "So does your dad get along with your grandparents?"
"Hell to the fucking no on that. He's so far removed from them in every way, and hopefully I'm equally as distanced from him." He tells me about his dad's marriages and briefly of his current wife. The hard edge to his voice is a clear indication of how much he dislikes the woman. "She's a liar and, well, I've run my mouth enough already." His jaws clamp together and that tiny muscle on his cheek twitches. Jeez, the woman must be a total bitch.