Archer: Ex-Bachelor (Ex-Club Romance) Read online

  She reaches to turn off the music, then skips over to me and takes my hand leading me out of the bathroom while Stuart screeches with laughter behind us. I let her lead me into the hall preparing myself for battle.

  She’s in that casual around-the-house attire, which is something else that I’ve also had to adjust to—for entirely different reasons. A pair of thin, short sleeping shorts show off long, shapely legs and an amazingly round ass. Up top is a tank top with PINK emblazoned across the chest, splattered with bathwater and bubbles. Her hair is pulled back to the nape of her neck in a messy loop that bounces as she walks.

  She turns around to face me and I refocus my attention back on whatever bullshit reason she has for this little surprise addition to the household.

  Before I can say a word, she puts her hands up in a silencing gesture as she dives into her little spiel. “Don’t worry, she’s not ours permanently.”

  Ours, as if this family arrangement was real.

  “She’s CoCo’s. We’re just watching her while he’s in Iceland.”

  “Is that so?” I say raising an angry eyebrow. “I don’t recall pets being part of the deal during the prenup negotiations—where, I may remind you, I agreed to most of your demands.”

  “This isn’t about us, Archer,” she says in that patronizing tone I hate. She looks past me toward the door to the bathroom where Stuart is still laughing, then back to me with a meaningful stare. “Stuart loves her, and his therapist says a pet would be good for him. Don’t worry, I already checked with the apartment manager and he said that we’re allowed to have pets on a temporary basis for three weeks without having to pay an additional deposit.”

  “I still haven’t agreed to this little—wait, did you just say three weeks?” I ask with alarm.

  She gives me a reassuring smile. “Oh, stop fretting, RiRi’s not ours for all three weeks.”

  “So just how long do we have ‘RiRi’?” I ask. “What the hell kind of name is that anyway?”

  “She’s named after Rihanna. Only two weeks. She’s CoCo’s favorite singer, RiRi is her nick—”

  “Two weeks?!” I say, my voice rising with angry surprise, not missing the fact that she tried to gloss over that important piece of information.

  “CoCo’s on a getaway with his new boyfriend. He’s in love and wants to make this trip special. I said we’d watch her,” she pleads.

  “And this is my problem because…?” My voice is still raised in outrage. I hear the shower turn on for some reason and the yapping starts up again.

  Simone ignores my question and her eyes dart toward the bathroom door with a frown on her face. “Stuart, what are you doing in there?”

  “Don’t change the subject here,” I begin, then stop in surprise when she walks right past me back to the bathroom, completely ignoring me.

  “Oh Stuart!”

  The exclamation sends a ripple of trepidation through me. Now what?

  “What the hell is going on?” I say, heading toward the bathroom after her. Before I can reach the door, the dog that was once a rat-looking thing is now a water-soaked rat-looking thing covered in bubbles as it races out of the bathroom, followed quickly by Simone.

  I have no idea why, but I instinctively drop my briefcase and grab ‘RiRi’ before she can run past me. She wriggles in my arms sending bubbles flying everywhere—most notably all over my thousand-dollar suit.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Archer!” Simone shouts, giving me a deep frown of disapproval as she rescues the dog from my hands. “Watch your language!”

  “I just wanted to give her a bath too,” Stuart cries as he joins us in the hallway.

  “Well, she most definitely got one,” Simone says, looking skeptically at the dog as she holds it at arm’s-length.

  The dog does another shake of its body and sends soapy bubbles everywhere. Simone and Stuart laugh. I just feel my temperature rising.

  “Come on, let’s go rinse her off before she gives Uncle Archer his own bath,” she says, giving me a teasing grin before leading them all back in to the bathroom.

  I’m left standing there with my slick, soapy hands splayed out in front of me wondering what the hell just happened.

  “Can we get a dog of our own, Aunt Simone?” I hear him say.

  “We’ll see, Stuart.”

  Over my dead body.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The apartment is finally quiet now that all occupants, including one dog, are fast asleep in their rooms. I now understand what people mean when they say the silence is deafening. After all that excitement earlier, it’s taken me a while to decompress.

  Since I no longer have a home office, I’ve been using the dining room table to finalize contracts, review potential clients and take care of other business.

  After a few hours of this, I sigh and decide to call it a night. I look at my watch to see what time it is. It’s well past eleven o’clock, and I’m not especially tired yet. I can’t sit here looking at paperwork anymore and my bed has yet to call to me. Instead, I seek out the liquor bar—only to find it gone.

  What the hell have they done with my whiskey? I think about the thousand dollar bottle that was not even half empty and feel my anger begin to rise. If I’d known there would be a hundred tiny little irritations like this, I might have reconsidered placing a ring on Simone’s damn finger. I calm myself by reminding myself that there is the blessed light of a divorce at the end of this hellish tunnel.

  “It can’t come fast enough,” I whisper through gritted teeth as I head to the kitchen to start the treasure hunt. I open and close once-empty cabinets that are now filled with an odd mix of kiddie snacks and organic, dairy-free, gluten-free, soy-free (no doubt taste-free) crap. I finally find my liquor bottles stored in one of the upper cabinets. I grab a crystal tumbler and poor a bit more than necessary into it. Tonight of all nights, I think it’s called for. Just for good measure, I decide to take the bottle with me.

  I push the paperwork out of the way and place the bottle and glass on the table. The dining room has floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and I flick off the lights to get a better view as I sip. My apartment is pretty much too high to see into other buildings nearby, which is just the way I like it. The empty night sky will do just fine. It gives me a chance to think.

  Just as I’ve settled in for the first sip, the lights to the nearby kitchen snap on and I blink in irritation. My glass is still resting in mid-air as I turn my head to see Simone bobbing her head to some internal tune she’s humming as she grabs a glass. She’s got some pink scarf thing wrapped around her hair, which makes her look like some kind of housewife from the 50s—a sexy housewife.

  I wait for her to notice me while she opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a Brita water pitcher to pour herself a glass. When she’s done she takes a long sip and that’s when she finally sees me in the shadows of the dining room.

  “Oh my God!” she yelps, the water flying out of her mouth. Her hand flies up to try and wipe some from her chin. “I didn’t even see you there.”

  “Apparently.”

  She laughs as she grabs a paper towel to wipe up her mess. Then, much to my horror, makes her way over toward me.

  “Hmm,” she muses, twisting her lips at the glass in my hand that is still in midair. “Drinking alone in the dark? That’s not good.”

  “Well, thankfully I have you here to intrude.”

  She frowns at me then, even more to my horror, settles down in one of the chairs next to me.

  “That wasn’t an invitation,” I point out.

  “And yet, here I am,” she says smartly. “Besides, we need to talk.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I say, finally bringing the glass to my lips as I eye her over the rim.

  “It’s about Stuart.”

  “If you’re considering getting him a dog, you can forget about it.”

  “No, not that. Heaven forbid you actually bring a little joy into his life. On that note….
”

  I set the glass and look at her, waiting.

  “When I said you had to be home by eight, that didn’t mean basically bringing your office home with you. You’re supposed to be an involved parent. Maybe give him a bath, join us for dinner, read him a bedtime story, something…anything.”

  “First of all, I’m not his parent, I’m his guardian. Second of all, my work,” I wave my hand at the paperwork still on the table, “is what is helping secure his future. That is my part in all of this, and the one obligation that I have.”

  She stares at me for a few moments. “It’s statements like that which make me think you don’t care about your nephew at all. Maybe he is better off with Miranda in charge of your part of the guardianship.”

  That sets off warning bells in my head. This marriage is still new, still early enough for an annulment, which puts the ball right back in my mother’s court. I haven’t heard from her since that farce of a wedding took place, but I have no doubt her attorneys are just lying in wait for some small crack in the dam to exploit.

  I exhale and set my glass down. “Okay, fine. Would it make you feel better if I read him a bedtime story every night?” That should take, at most, half an hour out of my busy schedule, hopefully less.

  She stares at me for a moment, then gives me a small, cynical smile. “I suppose that’s the best we can do with you.”

  I don’t respond, hoping this is all there is to it. She just looks out the window as she sips her water. I feel my irritation grow, but for some reason don’t speak up.

  “Nice view,” she muses.

  “It is,” I say curtly. Why isn’t she leaving?

  Her eyes fall idly to the paperwork before us. “Refraction Cosmetics?” she says, her eyes lighting up with acute interest. She reaches out to grab the prospectus for the company Bennett Financial is considering investing one of our wealthier clients’ money in. I grab it before she can take it. It does nothing to dim her sudden excitement.

  “Do you invest with them?” she asks me, looking at me with something other than her usual disdain.

  “What do you know about the company?” I ask with mild curiosity. I personally know nothing about it, or the cosmetics business at all for that matter, except that it’s a shiny, new rising star in a multi-billion dollar industry. Perfect for some angel investor to scoop up 51% of. From there, it’s just a matter of us taking hold of the financial reins and turning it into a cash-cow.

  “Nadia is amazing!” Simone says, practically gushing. “She started on YouTube with these make-up tutorials. Then she singlehandedly turned it into a business, creating her own line of products for all types of women. You have no idea how one-dimensional the make-up industry is. She completely upped the game, Archer, creating make-up for women of all shades and—”

  “Okay, okay—” I say with a sigh, suddenly losing interest. At the very least, I’ve learned that the company is worth considering. It has at least one happy fan.

  Simone falls back in her chair with a smug smile on her lips. “You just tapped me for information didn’t you?”

  I sip my whiskey and shrug. “You’ve been mildly helpful.”

  “So are you going to invest in her company?” She asks wiggling her shoulders excitedly.

  “That’s not exactly how my business works, Simone.”

  “Hmm, you know, I don’t even know what it is you do.”

  “I…” I swirl my whiskey around as I ponder how to put it, “I make rich people richer.”

  “Sounds like a noble calling.”

  I raise one eyebrow at her cynical tone. “Well, it isn’t dressing up and having my photo taken, but it pays the bills.”

  She sighs and huffs out a sardonic laugh. “I see you have just as much of an understanding about my profession as I do of yours.”

  “Feel free not to enlighten me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “So now that we’ve come to an understanding….” I wait for her to pick up on the hint in my voice that I’d like to be alone.

  Instead, she digs her heels in, leaning in to face me. “You know, even though this marriage isn’t real, it doesn’t mean Stuart and I aren’t family. You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not. Maybe, just maybe, you could try to come to terms with that and—oh, I don’t know—perhaps try to embrace it.”

  She falls back into her chair and grabs her glass, staring down into her water, her face softening in thought. “One day you’ll realize that family is important. You don’t want to wait until everyone is gone before you finally begin to appreciate what you had.”

  I know she’s thinking not just about Bette and Kevin, but her own parents. I don’t even need to ask to know that they were much closer to each other than my hollow shell of a family tree. The one saving grace was Kevin.

  And now he’s gone.

  I consider what she’s just said. I won’t deny that these past few weeks have…softened my feelings somewhat about my nephew, if not his aunt.

  But the bottom line is still everything, and I have no intention of straying from my original plan of action. The business comes first. In the end, it’s really what’s best for everyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I stare at George Tanaka, once again sitting across from me in my office. This time the look on his face is even more filled with apprehension than before, as he finishes explaining his failure to produce what I asked for.

  “That’s where the trail stopped cold.”

  “Nothing?” I prod. “You found nothing?”

  “It isn’t difficult to stay anonymous in cyberspace these days. Frankly, any amateur—”

  “And yet my own so-called experts couldn’t figure out the source,” I say, giving him a meaningful stare.

  His face falls with weary resignation, actually losing all of its initial fear, which is telling. Then he straightens up in his chair and gives me a direct look, which is even more telling. “Frankly, Mr. Bennett, short of calling in the authorities—which would involve warrants—there’s nothing more anyone else could have done. Legally, anyway.”

  I relax in my chair, realizing he’s telling the truth. I tent my fingers in front of my face and stare at the desk to consider my options.

  I’ve resolved myself to never using the video as evidence against Simone when the time comes to fight for total guardianship. The taint to Bennett Financial is too risky. There’s also a small, tiny, part of me that feels it’s a bit too below the belt.

  All the same, the fact that it’s floating around out there is concerning. Even more concerning at this point is, who the hell sent it? More importantly, why?

  George’s nervous cough brings my attention back to him.

  “What?” I prod.

  “Well…there is always the option of…going straight to the source,” he offers.

  “Simone?” I ask, giving him an incredulous look. “Do you honestly think she was the one—?”

  “Not her, the—er—the man who was filming?”

  Josh.

  I keep my face neutral as I consider that option, which frankly seems to be the only one left. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out who this Josh is and where he lives…without involving Simone.

  “Thank you, George. You may go.”

  He’s all too happy to scurry out. I wait for him to leave before picking up the phone.

  I’ve caught Simone and Stuart at bath time once again, which I’m quickly beginning to realize, may be by design. Tonight, the soundtrack is something by Beyoncé. I think a little more negotiating with my dear wife is in order: I start reading bedtime stories, if she gives up this damn music.

  I hear the approaching yaps of RiRi and feel my annoyance deepen. I wait by the door to get this greeting over with. She comes bouncing toward me faster than those tiny legs of hers seem capable of. This time when she reaches me she stops—and so does the barking. I stare down at her wondering what’s coming and I’m met with a few heavy pants, one fi
nal yap for good measure and then she turns tail to run back the way she came.

  I suppose I’m growing on her. I can’t say the same is true for me. I follow the renewed yapping and music to the bathroom where once again I’ve caught Simone drying Stuart’s hair.

  “Look whose here, just in time for your bedtime story!” she announces giving me a bright smile that’s full of the underlying threat just in case I’d forgotten our deal.

  I give her a tight smile.

  “Hi Uncle Archer!” My face softens the tiniest bit when I see that happy, gapped-tooth smile of my nephew, who seems thrilled to see me.

  There’s something to be said for a stroke to the ego.

  I’ve gone as far as taking off my shoes, tie and jacket. I don’t want either of them getting the idea that I plan on getting comfortable during this new nighttime chore. One quick story, then I’m done, back to more important business.

  I look around at Stuart’s bedroom. Once upon a time it was a mix of slate, black, and gray. Now it’s blue and black with vibrant yellows and reds mixed in—all keeping in line with the more comic book aspect to Batman. I don’t hate it, or at least I wouldn’t if I was five years old.

  Stuart is already sitting happily in bed, with RiRi tucked right in his lap. He’s looking up at me with an expectant smile, and I swear that dog is as well.

  “So what are we reading tonight?” I ask, slapping my hands together with a brisk clap.

  “I thought we’d let you start on The Wind in the Willows,” Simone says, planting the book in front of me.

  I stare down at it with a frown. I was expecting something quick and simple like Green Eggs and Ham or that one about the moon. “Isn’t this a bit…grown up for him?”

  “He’s well past his ABC’s, Archer,” she scolds with a patronizing smirk. “We’re supposed to be fostering his literacy.”

  “Did you happen to read that bit of parental advice in a book?” I ask, raising an eyebrow sardonically.