Shacking Up (Shacking Up (Shacking Up 1)

“I guess it’s good that you’re used to it then?”

“I don’t mind the travel but I feel like I’ve done enough of it over the last seven years. It can be”—he pauses for a few seconds, searching for the right word—“lonely, I guess. I missed so many birthdays and holidays with my family. I was looking forward to being able to spend more time with them, put down some more roots I guess, but it seems like that will be delayed again.”

“You’re close to your family then?”

“They’re important to me. My mother was sick a while back and I wasn’t there for that, because of my job. I’d like to be around more. There are some New York projects I’d like to be involved in, but it really depends on how quickly I pick things up whether or not I’ll get to work on them.” He sounds a little despondent.

“Is it a steep learning curve?” I have no idea what the hotel business entails.

“I have all the theory from school, but I haven’t been actively using any of the things I learned in college for this purpose. It’s a new application, if that makes any sense.”

“It does. So after you have the basics down, then you’ll get to work out of New York?”

“Not strictly, but my hope is that I’ll have the opportunity to manage some of the properties in the US, and travel will be limited.”

“And that’s what you’d prefer?”

“I think so, yes. It’s just a big transition. It’ll take time to get used to suits instead of cleats.”

“Mmm. That is a big change.” I lean back, holding on to the edge of the island until I can see the giant, sweaty poster of him on the wall. “If it’s any consolation, you look just as good in a suit as you do in cleats.”

“Nine out of ten good?”

“It would’ve been if you hadn’t asked that question.”

He laughs. “So how does a Scott end up in New York, looking to get on Broadway? I thought you were all born with your times tables memorized.”

I snort. “Ah, that’s typically the way it goes. I’m the rogue, unfortunately. My passion has always been in theater. My father only let me come to New York out of guilt. And possibly to get rid of me for a few years so I wouldn’t ruin his extended honeymoon phase.”

“I’m not following.”

“My mother waited until I was done with high school to hand my father the divorce papers. Then she moved to Alaska. I’d applied to Randolph before that happened and my mother had been a big supporter. My father not so much. Of course he found it in his heart to support my decision when he brought his new girlfriend home to meet me two weeks after my mother left.”

“Ouch.”

“She was his secretary at Scott Pharmaceuticals. She’d been working under my dad for two years. I’m fairly certain he’d been dipping his quill in the company inkwell for a long while. So he let me go to New York.”

“How convenient for him.” Bancroft’s derision makes me happy.

Obviously, my father was smart enough to draw up a prenup, so he wasn’t just letting his penis guide his actions.

He’d done the same with my mother, but the money had never been the thing for her. I’d been her glue; and when I was all grown up and ready to make my own way, she’d finally walked away. It had been so difficult to lose her like that at first. I’d been angry, until I realized what she’d sacrificed and that my father was just another privileged asshole.

“Oh it gets better. As soon as the divorce was final he married her. And my whore-mother is four years older than me.”

“Pardon?” I’m pleased by how horrified Bancroft sounds.

“I mean my stepmother. She’s twenty-eight and I’m twenty-four.”

“That’s just—”

“Gross? Sadly typical? At least she’s older than me. She’s actually five years younger than my half-sister and seven years younger than my half-brother.”

“That’s just wrong.”

“On so many levels. And they all work together. She’s moved to a different department so she’s not directly under him anymore.”

“So many tasteless jokes there,” Bancroft says derisively.

“Right? But he’s still her boss and she’s still the employee he screwed his wife and family over for. I think it’s rather ironic that he deals in erectile dysfunction medications. Of course he needs a trophy wife to parade around so everyone knows he can still get it up. It’s embarrassing.”

“I can see why New York would’ve been alluring, and still is.”

“Honestly, I probably would have murdered her had I stayed in Rhode Island, so moving was really the only viable option.”

“Very practical, and far less complicated than murder,” Bancroft says. I almost wish we were on video chat so I could see his smile.

“Exactly. I don’t think I’m designed for murder. I mean, I love watching horror movies, but I can barely manage preparing meat, so I think I probably would’ve sucked at getting rid of the body.”

Bancroft laughs. Then yawns.

“Am I boring you with my tales of murder?”

“I’m so sorry. I think the carbs and the jet lag are finally hitting me.”

“I’ll let you go so you can get a few hours of sleep before you have to be up for meetings.”

“It’s probably a good idea. I’ll touch base later in the week, okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Bancroft.”

“You know, you can call me Bane.”

“Like the bane of my existence?”

That gets me another sleepy, gravelly sounding laugh. “Is that what I am?”

“Not even a little. You’re my white knight in shining armor, saving me from living in a box on the corner, singing on the subway to earn a living.” As much as it’s supposed to be a joke, he really is the only thing keeping me from having to move back to Rhode Island for at least the next month.

“I’m not so sure I deserve that title, considering my role in sabotaging your last audition,” he says ruefully.

“I’m confident this makes up for it.”

“That eases my guilty conscious more than you can know. Night, Ruby.” The warmth in his voice wraps around me like a hug.

“Night, Bane.”

Chapter 10: Luckless

RUBY

I don’t hear from Bancroft for the next two days apart from a few text messages asking how things are going. So he’ll know they’re alive, I send him pictures of Francesca and Tiny, with little thought bubbles proclaiming their love for me. Bancroft thinks it’s funny.

After that the phone calls come almost nightly. Bancroft has taken to calling me around dinnertime—well, dinnertime for me, but since he’s across the ocean it’s more like bedtime for him. Which I don’t mind in the least. Especially since, two nights ago, he video called instead of voice called because he missed seeing Francesca. If I put him on speakerphone while she’s in the room she goes nuts, and I wanted him to see how cute she is.

Both times we’ve video chatted he’s been wearing a white undershirt that hugs the muscles in his chest and outlines the incredible abs hidden underneath the thin fabric. I don’t get to see what he’s wearing from the waist down since we’re clearly not staring at each other’s crotches while we talk, but I like to picture him in boxer briefs that also hug all the good parts and outline his package nicely.