She tsks. “You know, having sex with people for money is usually called prostitution. And the people who make the hookups happen are usually called pimps.”
I didn’t think of it that way. Keeley has a point I’d rather not see.
“If your charm alone isn’t stealing his attention, then we’ll talk about it. Come up with a strategy.”
“That may include whoring myself,” she asserts. “You’re not denying it.”
She’s taking the worst possible spin on this. “I’m also not enjoying it! For the record, that’s not what I think of you at all. And I didn’t mean to upset you. We can get creative, so all you have to do is make him think you might have a thing with him someday. Maybe after you clear up your aggravated case of herpes with a gonorrhea chaser.”
“What? I’m not lying to him about something like that!”
“It would be a good reason for him not to have sex with you.” Actually, about the only reason I can think of.
I’m botching this totally. I know it. Every time I open my mouth, I shove my foot even deeper.
“Here’s a better reason: I’m not saying yes.” She tosses her hand in the air. “I can’t believe you’re offering to pay me a hundred grand to most likely sleep with your brother after we’ve spent the night together.” She slams her juice down and launches herself out of bed. “I thought I liked you. And now I feel like a total impulsive idiot. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you’re clearly not someone I want to spend another minute with. I don’t want any part of this low, demeaning scheme.” She stomps out of the room.
I follow. “Keeley. I’m sorry, sunshine. I’m not trying to insult you. This is all coming out wrong. You’re amazing. Fantastic.”
“Do not try to sweet-talk me. There’s no positive spin you can put on this that will make me want to help you screw your brother over by letting him screw me.” She jerks her dress and heels off the arm of the sofa and marches for the guest room. “That’s not who I am. And just because I was easy for you doesn’t mean I’m cheap.” She slams her way into the bathroom.
Shit. That did not go well.
I lean against the door. “I don’t think you’re cheap. I think you’re beautiful. You make me laugh. I can’t tell you the last time a woman—hell, anyone—has done that. And you even make me look at myself critically. Those are just a few reasons I don’t want to stop seeing you. Those are the qualities I know will intrigue Griff, too. I wasn’t trying to insult you. It’s a compliment…just poorly worded. Will you come out so we can sit down and talk about this?”
Keeley doesn’t say anything until she yanks the door open, now fully dressed in last night’s clothes. “No. Even putting aside the whole Pretty Woman aspect of this scheme, it sucks. You can phrase it however you want, but this is about revenge. That’s bad karma. It will come back to bite you in the ass. I don’t want anything to do with it. He’s your brother. Don’t do something you’ll regret later.”
She grabs her purse and stomps to the front door.
I grab her arm, feeling more than a little panicked. “Where are you going? I drove you here.”
She jerks free and reaches for the knob. “It’s a hotel. I’m sure I can get a taxi.”
Yes, the bellmen are very helpful that way. Damn it… “Don’t leave like this, Keeley. The last thing in the world I ever want to do is upset you.”
That part is so true it almost hurts.
She pauses, stills. “I really wanted to like you. Hell, I really wanted to keep you. But not after this. Good-bye.”
Her sniffle tears at my heart. Before I can call her back, she’s out the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Come Saturday evening, I’m back at the crappy sports bar, hidden in the corner, waiting for Keeley to take the stage. For the last few days, I’ve been miserable and spent at least half my time trying to track her down. My place has felt empty. My sheets still carry a hint of her scent. It not only makes me hard, it makes me miss her. Britta says I’ve turned into a short-tempered prick.
“What are you going to do?” Rob asks beside me. “Grovel?”
I told my marketing manager about my grand scheme. He agreed that Griff would fall all over himself to pursue a woman like Keeley. He’s all for whatever puts us in the win column.
“It’s crossed my mind.”
The truth is, I’m not sure what to do. I can’t give up on Keeley. I need her help to undermine Griff…but I want her for myself. It doesn’t make sense. I only spent a handful of hours with this woman. I’m surprised by how thoroughly she’s stuck in my head.
“You’ll need a more robust strategy than that. What did she object to most?”
“Everything. But if I had to pick one issue, I’d say the hooker/pimp thing. And the karma.” I look for a way to help Rob—who’s every bit the bastard I am—understand Keeley. “She’s got a soft heart.”
“The sort who roots for the underdog against all odds?”
“Yeah.”
In the past, I would have dismissed her attitude as unrealistic. I like coming from a position of power. I don’t believe in fighting wars from the bottom, just annihilating enemies from the top. That strategy won’t work with Keeley.
“Try some reverse psychology on her. Be contrite. Tell her that you’ve seen the error of your ways or some shit like that. Tell her you realize screwing Griff over isn’t really in your best interest but in his. Frame it as a life lesson for your brother. Maybe that will work.”
I shake my head. “I’ve already thought of it. Too thin. Instead of helping me improve Griff’s moral character or giving me a hand to remove him as an obstacle, she would suggest I talk to my brother. Share my feelings.”
“What good would that do?” He recoils. “I’m thinking you need to find another woman to do your dirty work. While you do, Britta and I will have your back at the office. You need that. I’ve got to tell you, so far the distraction you found for Griff has only succeeded in screwing up your A game.”
He’s right, and I know it. But there’s a problem. “I’ve looked for someone else to occupy my brother. Name one person we know will appeal to him whom he hasn’t already slept with or that he won’t see coming a mile away? Hell, I’d turn Britta lose on him, but…”
“Bad idea. I don’t know whether she’d break down in tears or fry his balls for breakfast. If we’re lucky, she’d kill him.” Rob taps the side of his beer glass. “Since it sounds as if Keeley Sunshine won’t help you get revenge without a damn good reason, I’m not sure what to tell you, man.”
“And I don’t have a better idea. I’ve tried to think of one, too. Griff seems laser focused on this listing. Just about every hour, I hear of some other tool he’s throwing into his arsenal to wow the Stowe heirs. I’m falling behind.” Because all I can think about is Keeley.
“We’re running out of time.”
I turn to Rob. Does he think I don’t know that? That I’m not aware every day—every hour—that all the minutes and seconds are ticking by and I can never get them back? That each grain of sand through the hourglass is taking me closer to losing out to my asshole brother for good?
“Aloha, Lahaina. I’m Keeley Sunshine.”
Tonight she’s wearing a top that’s soft white and lacy with barely there sleeves that brush her shoulders. It almost looks demure, except for the deep V-neck that shows off the swells of her cleavage and her delicate collarbones. Her pink hair is in a messy bun. Everything about her tonight is more sedate, even the sheer nude pink of her lipstick.
“I hope you’ll indulge me while I sing some of my favorite songs,” she continues. “Since I just had my heart bruised recently, they might be a little melancholy. But I figure if you’re here and dateless on a Saturday night, you might be feeling lonely, too.”
Her words dig at my chest. She can’t possibly see me with the bright lights in her face. I’m sitting in a shadowy corner. But I can feel her across the room.
She turns to the ol
d man who plays guitar and nods his way. The music begins. I find myself sitting at the edge of my chair.
She starts with a familiar tune, “Love the Way You Lie.” As a kid, my sister used to play the Eminem and Rihanna version over and over, but Keeley chooses Skylar Grey’s simple, stripped-down rendition. When she sings about me standing there and watching her both burn and cry, I can’t help but twinge with an itsy-bitsy heap of guilt.