The Bachelor Contract(11)

“How long have you worked at Azul?” Brant asked, bringing his attention back to the bartender.

“Ah, ’bout fifteen years. Best job I’ve ever had, though lately the hours have been a little rough. As you can see, we’re at capacity, and it’s like that all the time now. It will be nice to have more help.”

“Hmm.” Brant sipped his soda. More help would be nice. It would also be costly. And even though the hotel was raking it in, they were able to do so because their employees worked long hours. Folks weren’t given overtime, but they did have a bonus structure that kicked in once employees worked a certain amount of extra hours.

Expensive.

Brant made a mental note to look at the books to see where they could cut costs, especially since Nadine was hell-bent on keeping the same staff rather than restructuring and starting the hiring process over again—which typically saved a newly acquired business a lot of money. There was always someone willing to do the same job for less—always.

“Mr. Wellington.” Cole approached in three long strides. “My apologies, I had to”—he coughed—“alter your itinerary a bit. I figured a bikini wax probably wouldn’t intrigue you.”

Brant nearly spit out his drink. “Thanks for that mental picture.”

The old bird still waxed? He shuddered.

Colt pressed his lips together in a smug smile. “Yes well, we’re completely booked, though I was able to get you a massage for later this evening.”

Brant stiffened. The last time he’d gotten a massage had been from Nikki. God, those hands. He suppressed a shiver and begged his body not to betray him as his memory conjured up images of her hands on his stomach, straining lower, a giggle, and then her hands gripping him.

“Mr. Wellington?” Cole tilted his head. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Brant stood and unfortunately found himself thinking about bikini waxes and eighty-nine-year-old women in order to stifle his obvious arousal. “And Mr. Wellington is my grandfather; please, just Brant.”

“Great.” Cole’s nostrils flared. What the hell was his problem? One minute he was polite, the next it looked like Brant was about to get strangled. Whatever. “Your printed itinerary.” He gave Brant a thick packet. “And your room key to the ultimate luxury—the presidential suite. It’s on the top floor, includes twenty-four-seven room service, and boasts one of the best views in Arizona.”

Brant slid out the room key and flipped it over. It was shiny blue with a giant black A on one side.

“Now.” Cole cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a staffing matter to attend to. If you need anything please don’t hesitate to call. As you know, you have free rein of the entire resort. Welcome…home.”

He turned on his heel and walked off, without a clue as to what those words did to Brant.

He hadn’t had a home in a long time.

Home meant family.

Home meant her.

“You sure you don’t mind?” He kissed her rounded belly. “That I can’t access my trust fund yet?”

“I didn’t marry you for your trust fund, Brant.” Nikki’s smooth skin broke out into goose bumps. “I married you because you’re my home.”

He smiled against her skin. “You’re just saying that because we’re living in a one-bedroom apartment overlooking an alleyway where I’m ninety percent sure an orgy takes place every night.”

Nikki’s laughter danced around the room as she tugged Brant by the arm and pulled him closer. “Hey, at least they’re having a good time.”

“By the sound of it, they’re having a great time.”

“Just like us.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “You’re my happiness, B.”

Emotion clogged his throat. “God, I would die without you.”

Her smile was sad. “You can’t say things like that. It scares me.”

“Why?”

“It’s a lot of responsibility, keeping such a risk taker like you alive.” She winked.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Be careful not to trip over your briefcase on the way out the door. I put a note in your lunch next to the apple and pocket protector.”

“Really? A backup pocket protector?” He grinned. “So the riskiest thing I’ve ever done is marry you in my senior year of college. I’ll take it.”

“I like being your risk.”

“I love it.” He kissed her into silence, as her hands began massaging the stress away from his skin.



“Brant.”

Huh? Who was saying his name?

George waved a hand in front of his face. “You doing okay, son? You’ve been staring at the wall for the past few minutes, and you look pretty pale.”