Delivering the Virgin(24)

"It's not a lie," I said slowly, "and yes, I am the delivery man. It's  just that I wear a lot of hats. I'm not just the delivery man, I'm the  CEO, the boss, the task master, the guy who runs this place," I said,  staring into her eyes. "I play a lot of roles and delivery man happens  to be one of them."

Laurie just shook her head.

"But I don't get it," she said, lips pursed. "I mean, why were you  making deliveries that first night to my apartment? And if you are the  CEO, why didn't you tell me?"

I began slowly.

"Honey, part of my job is to understand the concierge business through  and through. There isn't any way to make informed decisions unless I get  my hands dirty, get into the nitty-gritty of things. So yeah, I make  deliveries on occasion, putting on the jacket and hat, going up and down  stairs, getting a feel for the job itself. Because how can I understand  the job unless I actually do it myself?"

And that seemed to penetrate the fog of rage surrounding her.

"Okay, I get it," the brunette panted softly, still angry. "But why  didn't you tell me? What was the point of this charade? Did you not  trust me or something?"

And this was gonna be the hard part.

"Of course I trust you," I said, warmth in my eyes. "But honey, when  women get a whiff of how much I'm worth everything changes. It's hard to  describe but there's a breed of women in Manhattan who are all about  the money. I could be a complete fuck, treat them like shit, and they  wouldn't care so long as I gave them an allowance, bought them clothes  and jewelry, set them up in an apartment. They're after one thing only,  and it's called cold, hard cash."

She paused for a moment.

"And you thought I might be one of them?" she asked tightly.

I shrugged.

"Honestly, yeah. I've gotten burned from experience, I'm thirty-five  now, it's not like I'm an untrained newbie going out on a couple dates,  getting my dick wet for the first time. These women are all over  Manhattan, and the minute they get a whiff of a dude like me, the claws  come out, they're in it to win it."

Laurie paused, thinking.

"But what does that have to do with me?" she asked again, tilting her  head to the side, eyeing me speculatively. "Why did you have to ‘test'  me?" she said neutrally. "I live in a tiny walk-up on the Lower East  Side, I'm poor, it's obvious."

And that was it exactly.

"Honey, you're assuming that the only women with their claws out are  rich bitches, women with designer clothes and shoes, skinny and mean.  But the fact is that women of all stripes, of all economic means are  after me. Trust me, I've had poor women come after me too, girls who  worked as nannies, who were struggling students. Just because you're  poor doesn't make you a saint."

And something changed in the brunette then.

"So you thought I could be one of them, that maybe I just wanted you for  your bank account, huh?" she said softly. "Maybe I was just another  girl out on the hunt."

And I had to be honest.

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "I mean, I'm thirty-five, I've been dating in NYC for decades now. Trust me, I know women."         

     



 

And that final statement broke the camel's back. Because all the light  went out of my best girl's eyes, her shoulders slumped, her vivacious  energy shut off like a light socket gone dark. Instead, Laurie was  subdued now, not meeting my eyes. She fingered the cuff of her blouse,  biting her lip.

"Thanks Tucker, I get it," she said softly, still not meeting my gaze. "I'll let you get back to work now."

I strode over to the brunette and grabbed her chin in my hand, forcing  her to look at me. But the brown eyes were shuttered, shielded, and gave  nothing away, merely reflecting my own.

"Listen," I growled. "This isn't over, we'll talk more when I get back tonight, alright? I promise."

And she nodded slightly before breaking free, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

"Sure, no problem," she said with a slight smile. "I'll see you at home  okay?" And was it my imagination, or had Laurie's lip trembled on the  word "home"? But I couldn't focus on that now, there were a million  things to be done at work, investors were coming later today and we  still had a shit-ton of prep to do. So I watched silently as the curvy  girl left the conference room, slipping out and shutting the door  quietly behind her. This wasn't how I wanted to end the conversation but  at the moment I didn't have a choice. Come eight p.m., we were going to  have a real conversation to set things straight, get everything in  order  …  because Laurie was mine and that was that.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Laurie




I sat in the library, my laptop open on a huge, wooden desk, far from  any other users. I typed in "Tucker McGrath" and held my breath as the  machine hummed. And sure enough, a dozen results popped up.

"Internet billionaire bad boy does it again!" screamed one headline.

"Will McGrath break the new economy?" blared another.

And the worst: "Tucky Tuck gets his duck on with Laurel Hardy," read the  caption with a picture of Tucker, handsome and arresting, blue eyes  piercing, in a tux with a beautiful woman on his arm. The skinny blonde  was the opposite of me, ten miles tall, thin as a whip, with perfect  make-up, perfect hair, her lips painted in a wide crimson smile.

And I died inside, absolutely shriveled up and withered to nothing. It  was like Tucker had had been playing with me, stepping out of his "real"  life to have some fun. Because the real Tucker seemed to be someone  else completely. The "real" Tucker was a self-made entrepreneur with  more money than God and a taste for fancy things, be it the latest  sports car, luxurious yachts, or expensive vacations. And there were  pictures of all this on the web, all of them with a different woman, a  different perfectly made-up, camera-ready model with a set of manicured  fingernails and a smiling, lipsticked mouth.

I'd never felt more dumb. Why hadn't I googled Tucker earlier? Why  hadn't I done like normal people do and get on the internet immediately,  searching for anything and everything about my new guy? I guess it was  because I didn't want to jinx myself, I was so traumatized from my  marriage and divorce that I didn't want to open up any closets and face  the skeletons, I wasn't ready for that. So instead I'd gone the opposite  route, sticking my head in the sand, seeing only what I wanted to see,  willing myself to believe in the fairy tale.

But I cursed myself because there'd been so many signs, the luxury  apartment, the friends who didn't exist, the way Tucker never batted an  eye about money. I shook my head, defeated. Even the wine we drank each  night was expensive, there was no way a delivery man could afford even  that. Shit. It was my own fault, and I only had myself to blame.

So I sat back, my shoulders trembling, the air heaving in my chest. I'd  packed a suitcase and had it with me now, the little travel-sized case  humble and tiny. And the thought of my drab, bare apartment on the Lower  East Side was depressing, but at least it was still mine. I dreaded  going over there, dreaded letting myself into that lonely, cold room,  but the library was closing soon and I'd have no choice. Suddenly, a  ring jolted me from my stupor. Picking up my cell, I saw that it was my  mom.         

     



 

"Hi Linda," I said, speaking quietly into the receiver. "Let me go  outside." Slowly, I tiptoed out of the reading room and into a common  area filled with light and the buzzing sound of conversations.

"Hi Ma," I said a little louder, standing in a corner, plugging up one  ear with a finger. "I'm at the library so I can't talk long, but how are  you? How's your vacation going?"

"Hi honey," squealed my mom. I held the receiver away from my head,  wincing. So much for my warning, Linda never took instruction well. "How  are you baby?" she trilled. "I haven't talked to you in so long!"

My mom had been sailing the world with her new beau, a silver fox who  wined and dined her like no tomorrow. But Charles was genuinely nice,  and I was glad my mom had someone to spend time with.

"How are you hon?" repeated my mom. "I've missed you! Tell me everything," she gushed.

"Well, you know I'm divorced now," I started slowly.

But my mom just pooh-poohed.

"Oh honey, Gary was never right for you. I know you dated two years and  all but some people are able to keep things hidden for years, for years  baby. Remember that douche Michael that I dated back in '05? He was in  the mafia and I didn't even know until after we broke up."

I winced at that one. Linda was still beautiful at forty and had dated  non-stop since I was two, my dad leaving when I was just a baby. And I  agreed, the whole mafia situation had been unbelievable. We'd thought  Michael was an insurance salesman, a totally blah white-bread dude, but  instead he turned out to be not Michael, but Massimo of the Valetti  Crime Family, a hired assassin who'd committed countless atrocities. And  as the kicker, it was only when the FBI came knocking that my mom and I  found out.