How To Pleasure A Playboy(5)

Once she'd sent the tweet, she put her phone down to build a fire.  Surely he'd respond? The flames had crackled into life and the room was  warming up when an alert went off.

Want to try my silk sheets? Only if you wear your red dress. #LadyInRed #TheBaxter

Lacey wasn't sure whether to jump for joy or grind her teeth. At least  he'd replied, even if he kept bringing up that damn red dress. Well, two  could play his game. If he was trying to annoy her by turning this into  an online flirtation, she'd turn it right back at him.         

     



 

Silk sheets are for #PamperedPlayboys. A bed in #TheBaxter would be more than you could handle.

She sent it with a grim smile. Surely he wouldn't be able to resist that? Barely a minute later her phone dinged again.

#TheBaxter is history. I want you out.

If you want me out, come get me. #TheBaxter

Is that an invitation? Ask nicely and I'll think about it.

Seriously, the man had no shame. She typed another tweet.

Think you could spend a night in #TheBaxter? No way. Too pampered.

Try me.

Yes! Gotcha. Grinning, she pumped her fist.

Spend a week in #TheBaxter and I'll cancel the protest.

His response came back even quicker.

If I spend a week in #TheBaxter you cancel the protest and move out.

She had him now. And the stakes would be winner takes all.

Agreed. And if u step one foot outside during that week, I win. You repair #TheBaxter & tenants stay.

An ego like his, he'd assume it would be easy. But he had no idea how  run down this place had become, or how determined she was. Staring at  her phone, she willed him to respond. The way it was now, he could still  laugh it off and back out. But if he accepted her terms, he'd be  committed.

A moment later, her phone rang. This time it was a cell phone number,  not a land line, and when she answered, it wasn't his secretary asking  her to hold for Bronson Reyne. The pampered playboy had deigned to press  the buttons and make the call himself.

"Lacey?" His deep voice made her shiver, remembering the way his eyes  had lingered over her body when she'd danced. "I'm going to assume  you're serious about this. So what's the catch?"

"No catch, just a simple wager. For seven days, you can't leave the Baxter or you lose."

He was silent for a moment. "You can't lock me out, or have me physically removed. To lose, I have to leave willingly."

"Fair enough."

"When I win, you'll go quietly?"

"Like a mouse." She gritted her teeth, hating to put so much on the line, but needing him to agree.

"Then we have a deal. But I'll need a little time to reschedule everything I had arranged."

"Cancel all your dates?" She surprised herself with how much acid was in  her tone. But at his nightclub, he'd practically ignored the two women  he'd arrived with. He'd left them sitting at their table like excess  baggage while he danced with her. What kind of man treated people like  that?

"I'll have to change my plans to be at my club for that week. But if we  keep the bet high-profile, the publicity will make up for it."

"And with it so public, you'll have to hold up your end of the bargain when you lose."

"I never lose. Expect me on Wednesday. I'll be at the Baxter in time for dinner."

His arrogance took her breath away. He expected her to cook for him, like she were one of his servants?

"Then the bet will run from this Wednesday to the next. Make sure you  tweet your agreement," she said before he could hang up. "Let's get it  all on record."

"With pleasure." He disconnected the call.

And sure enough, a minute later, a tweet came through from him.

Deal made. #TheBaxter here I come. After 7 days, Lacey will be gone for good. #GoodbyeBaxter

Lacey tweeted back.

#PamperedPlayboy has no idea what he's signed up for. Sucker! Let #TheBaxterGames begin.

"May the odds be ever in my favor," she muttered, putting her phone  down. Now that was settled, she needed to decide which apartment he'd  stay in. The worst was probably 204, the one underneath her. Its tenants  had moved out ages ago and when it rained, water ran down from her old  bedroom into-

An alert went off on her phone. Another tweet.

I'm bringing my silk sheets, so you're in for a treat. But I'll only let you share them if you don't snore. #TheBaxter

Wait, what? He wasn't staying at her place. And trust him to make the whole thing sound sleazy.

Her phone rang and Ally's name flashed up. Her business partner had obviously been glued to Twitter.

"He's staying in your room?" asked Ally, when Lacey answered. "Was that part of your plan?"

"Hell, no. I was going to put him in the apartment downstairs." Lacey  shook her head. "I should have made that clear before making the bet."  If only she hadn't let her enthusiasm get the better of her. What else  hadn't she thought about?

"If he thinks he's staying in your place, why don't you make him sleep  in your old bedroom? No offense, but it's horrible in there. And that  way you could keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't cheat."         

     



 

Lacey considered it. "That room leaks so badly, I had to move all the  furniture out. Every time it rains, it practically floods."

"Smells bad, too. The other night I stuck my head in for a look and almost gagged."

Lacey snapped her fingers. "I saw an old mattress on the side of the  road. Someone must have dumped it, and it was soaked. What if I put it  on the floor in there for him?"

"Oh, that's evil. I love it." Ally laughed. "Can you mess up the whole house so his days are as bad as his nights?"

Lacey looked around her cozy living room. "Sure. I'll just reverse all  the things I had to do to make this place liveable. And the toilet's  stopped flushing, so that'll help."

"Pity you'll have to suffer with him."

"It'll be worth it. Besides, I can keep my bedroom nice. He won't be  allowed in there, and it's the only room that doesn't leak."

"And you can leave, right? So you won't have to spend your days with him."

"Thank goodness."

Once she'd hung up, Lacey collected every heater she had in the house.  She'd take them across the hall to Crystal's place for safe keeping. And  once she got rid of her firewood and swept all traces of ash out of her  hearth, she could say her fireplace was blocked and unusable. The only  thing decorative thing she'd leave in here was Myrtle's tank. It was too  heavy to move, and she didn't want to disturb her pet. Lacey had gotten  Myrtle for her tenth birthday, and now the old girl was nineteen. She  deserved respect.

When Lacey opened the door to her old, empty bedroom, the rusty door  hinges creaked mournfully, making her shiver. Every time she came into  this room, it looked worse. Black mold was spreading over the ceiling  and creeping down the walls. Like Ally had said, it stank. And it was  cold in here, too. But not cold enough.

She prised the old window open with an effort. After a squirt of super  glue on the hinges, it'd be impossible to close. No matter how hard  Bronson tried, there'd be no shutting the freezing wind out of this  room.

With the water stains, the rotten-wood smell, and the way the floor  sagged and groaned under her feet, the room was guaranteed to make a  pampered playboy run away screaming. And she hadn't even started getting  the rest of the apartment ready for him yet. She'd make his life  miserable.

Lacey smiled, feeling decidedly wicked. Bronson Reyne had picked the  wrong woman to mess with. And she couldn't wait to see his face when he  saw what he'd signed up for.





Five





The Baxter was in worse condition than Bronson had expected. Good thing  it only had three floors, because the elevator was dead. He carried his  suitcase up the dark stairwell to the top floor, while the flickering  lights buzzed and cast weird shadows, and water dripped somewhere inside  the walls. The entire place smelled of decay.

The rent the tenants paid was ridiculously cheap, but now it didn't seem  like a bargain. He'd assumed Lacey would try to make his stay  unpleasant, but if her apartment was as bad as the rest of the building,  she wouldn't need to try too hard.

Lacey lived in Apartment 304, but she wasn't the one who answered the  door. Instead, it was a brunette with a mass of tangled curls. Lacey's  friend wore faded jeans, a worn old hoodie, and a pair of thick-rimmed  eyeglasses.

"I'm looking for Lacey," said Bronson.

Instead of calling for her, Lacey's friend just folded her arms across  her chest and tilted her head down to glare at him over the top of her  glasses.

Bronson almost called out for Lacey himself, then he recognized her  brown eyes. This was the woman who'd come to his nightclub in that sexy  red dress?

"It's you." He kept his voice level so his surprise didn't show. "Nice to see you again."

"Wish I could say the same."

"Is this how the next seven days is going to be?"

"Wishful thinking. You won't last seven days."

Bronson suppressed a smile. Lacey's tongue was as deadly as a sniper's  rifle. "Nice place." He stepped forward so she had to move aside and let  him in. As he walked through the short hall, the old floorboards  creaked and groaned. "Remind me why you're not taking my money and  getting out as fast as you can?"