How To Pleasure A Playboy(4)

Four





Lacey's father harrumphed, peering at the book Lacey put in his lap. "Is  this Carter? His chapter comparing socialism to religion is garbage.  Calls himself an intellectual. What a joke."         

     



 

"I thought it was the book you wanted. But I can bring you a different  one if you like." Lacey's heart sped up like it always did when he asked  for one of his books. Thirteen of the most valuable ones were gone.  Sold. And if her father found out, he'd never forgive her.

Her father propped the heavy hardback against the arm of his wheelchair.  "Bring Winston, maybe. Or Peake. They're a little more intelligent than  some of the others, though that's not saying much. But if you stopped  messing around and let me come home, I could choose for myself."

"It's too damp for you there, you know that. The leaks are so bad, I had to move out of my room and into yours."

"That's why you don't want me home." Her father narrowed bloodshot eyes  at her. "You're too comfortable without me. Got my bedroom, and all my  things. Now you're hoping I die quickly."

"That's not true, Dad." Lacey's voice shook. She hated when he went on  the attack. He'd had an anger problem for almost as long as she could  remember, but his vitriol had gotten worse in the last year or so. Then  one of his headaches had been so bad he'd passed out from the pain, and  his doctor had discovered the brain tumors. A small, dormant mass in his  frontal lobe was what they suspected had caused his personality  changes. A larger tumor, buried too deep to operate on, had so far  resisted all their efforts to treat it.

"If the roof's leaking you need to bring all my books here. My columns, too, before the old newsprint gets ruined."

Lacey glanced around his tiny room at the hospice. As great as the  doctors were here, she got why her father wanted to spend his last  months at home instead. Compared to the soaring ceilings of the Baxter,  this room felt claustrophobic. There wasn't enough space to store more  than three or four of his books at a time.

"I covered up your books, remember? And I'm almost half way done typing  your newspaper columns into the computer, so they'll be saved, no matter  what." She took a breath, hoping her idea would please him. "I was  thinking about publishing a book with all the columns you've written.  Would you like that?"

"Why can't you talk to the fucking building owner about fixing the  roof?" her father snapped. "I want to die in my own bed, not this  shit-hole. You want to keep me here so I'm out of your way."

Lacey squeezed her fists tight. "I went to see him, Dad. And I've started a campaign on my blog-"

"Organize a protest." He wagged his finger at her. "That's the way to  change things. Sitting at home, typing into your computer won't do any  good. Get out there with a sign and make some noise."

"I'm planning a protest for next week, at Bronson Reyne's new night  club." She let out her breath, glad to give him one bit of news he might  approve of. "Believe me, I'll stop him. No matter what, I won't let him  pull down your home."

Her father sighed, his muscles visibly relaxing, and the sight made her  own body sag. It was tough when he got so angry, but occasionally she  caught glimpses of the man she remembered from when she was a girl. A  man who'd all but disappeared after her mother died. The doctor didn't  know how long the mass in his brain had been affecting his personality.  She'd always assumed it was her mother's death that had triggered his  terrible moods. To find out it could have been the tumor had been a  shock.

"I'll handle it, Dad. As soon as the place is fixed up, you can come home, okay?"

His nurse shot her a sympathetic smile as she left her father's room. To  them, he was probably just a grumpy, caustic old man, but the anger  wasn't his fault. It was part of his illness, and it killed her that he  suffered that way. Before she'd known about the tumors, she'd resented  his bad temper. Now she knew how unfair that had been. When her mother  died, her father had done his best to look after her while he worked  long hours at the low-paying job he'd despised. And she'd repaid him by  telling him how much she hated him.

Her phone dinged when she was walking through the Baxter's sadly  decaying lobby. Probably another tweet from Bronson, but she managed to  wait until she'd labored up three flights of stairs, wrestled her door  open, and dumped her handbag on the coffee table, before she checked it.

Lots of tenants collecting $20k each. @LaceyReporter want to join them? #MoneyTalks #TheBaxter.

Rat bastard. Throwing his money around to get whatever he wanted. Well,  some things weren't for sale. If he thought he could buy her, he'd  better think again.         

     



 

She was considering what reply she should make when her phone rang and Ally's name flashed on the screen.

"Did you see the number of hits you got on that last blog post?" asked  Ally. "Audience numbers are up, and our ad revenue is too." Her business  partner sounded pleased. Ally had married a famous movie star, and  Lacey had been afraid she'd lose interest in their blog. But Ally seemed  just as determined to make sure Liaison was successful now as when they  were both in debt and desperate for money.

Lacey went over to Myrtle's tank and peered in, making sure her pet was  okay. "Bronson's raised his offer for the tenants to move out. Pretty  soon, I might be the only one left."

"What are you going to do?"

"Besides the protest? No idea. And in this freezing weather I'm not even  sure anyone will turn up." She flopped onto the couch, pulling her coat  tighter around herself. It was so cold her hands were going numb. As  soon as she got off the phone, she'd light a fire.

"At least your tweets are getting lots of support." Ally chuckled. "Lady in red. You looked hot in that dress."

"It's good to have public opinion on our side. Not that Bronson cares what anyone thinks."

"He must do, or he wouldn't be tweeting back so much."

Lacey pressed her lips together, remembering the handsome playboy with  his teasing smile. "All he cares about are his nightclubs and going to  parties. I bet he's never done a day's work in his life. He has so much  money, it's nothing but a game."

She looked over at her father's bookcase, and as always, her eyes went  straight to the empty shelf. It had been rotten luck that her father had  gone into hospital just after she'd quit work and started the blog with  Ally. Even though the Baxter's rent was dirt cheap, she'd had to sell  some of her father's precious books to pay it. But thanks to Ally,  they'd got through that dark time, and Lacey had sworn she'd get the  books back somehow. Especially if she managed to bring her father home  for his last few months. If he came back, he'd find out what she'd done.

"Well, if it's a game to him, why not take advantage?" said Ally.  "Challenge him to let the tenants stay. You could turn it into a  competition." She sucked in an audible breath. "I know. What about  running the Hunger Games in your apartment building? Whoever can survive  the mold, leaks, and everything else you put up with, wins the game."

Lacey sat bolt upright. "Oh my god, that's brilliant. Ally, you're a genius."

"I hate to break it to you, Lace, but it was a joke."

"You didn't see him in his nightclub, waited on hand and foot, his harem  letting him do whatever he wanted. He's so spoiled, he's lost touch  with what's real." She couldn't help but smile. Oh, this was too good.  "If we make a bet and he has to stay here, I can make sure it's utterly  miserable. Then I'll get what I want and teach him a lesson. Show him  how the people he's trying to control actually live."

"But how would you get him to take the bet?"

"If I taunt him enough, he won't be able to resist. And our readers will  love it." She jumped to her feet, too excited to stay on the couch.  "There's no way he'd survive this run-down place more than a day or two,  and when he loses, he'll have to drop his plans to pull down the  Baxter. Plus, I'll give live updates on how miserable he is, and our ad  revenue will go ballistic. Win-win."

Ally was silent for a moment. "Maybe I am a genius. But what if you lose?"

"I won't. Believe me, I can make his life a pure living hell." She'd  never thought having a freezing, moldy apartment could be a good thing,  but suddenly Lacey wanted to throw her coat off and embrace the cold.  "I'll play as dirty as I need to. There's no way I'll let him win The  Baxter Games."

"First step is getting him to agree. That won't be easy."

"Don't worry, I got this. I'll call you back, okay?" Lacey hung up, then pulled up Twitter and composed a tweet.

Does @BronsonReyne #PamperedPlayboy have a golden toilet and sleep in  silk sheets? Spoiled! He wouldn't last a week in #TheBaxter.