Bentley: Vested Interest #1 Read online

  Chapter 1

  Bentley

  I stepped outside, and inhaled a lungful of air. After the past four days of steamy, oppressive heat, the rain that soaked the ground and broke the humidity had been a welcome relief. In the early morning hours, it was cool and fresh.

  “Your paper, sir,” Andrew, my houseman, said.

  I nodded and took my copy of the Toronto Star, looking down the street, pleased to see my car approaching. As usual, Frank was on time, a fraction early, actually—the same as me.

  The car rolled up to the curb, and the rear passenger door opened. Aiden Callaghan, my head of security and right hand, eased his massive form out of the seat, and waved his arm with a flourish.

  “Your ride, Eminence.”

  Ignoring his tone and usual jibe, I slid into the back seat, snapping on the seat belt. I unfolded the paper, the newsprint still crisp and unblemished. Often, if Aiden grabbed the paper before I did, it was creased and smeared, the edges dark with coffee stains or sticky from whatever donut he was shoving in his mouth at the time. The man was an endless pit, it seemed.

  “Mr. Tomlin’s office, sir?”

  “Yes, Frank.”

  I began to study the financial section, when Aiden’s finger bent over the top of the paper.

  “Not even a good morning, asshole? Thanks for being here so early? Nothing?”

  I rolled my eyes and snapped the paper back into place. “That’s what I pay you for.”

  There was silence.

  With a low groan, I folded the paper. “Good morning.”

  He leaned back with a grin, resting his arm along the top of the leather seats. “Morning, sunshine.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “Can I ask why we’re heading to a meeting at the crack ass of dawn? You own the company you know. You could schedule things for times not typically seen only by night owls and prostitutes.”

  I bit back my smile at his dig. “I have a full day.”

  “I think you like to piss off Greg and get him into the office extra early.”

  I glanced out the window. It was early. There was next to no traffic, which for Toronto, was unusual. I preferred early morning meetings. I rarely slept past five, and I liked to start my day not long after I woke.

  I lifted one shoulder in a dismissive action, then grinned. “For your information, Aiden, I’m certain night owls and prostitutes have long since headed to bed. Besides, I did tell you I didn’t need you to be there this morning.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I told you, we aren’t taking any chances.”

  With a sigh, I brushed a small piece of lint from my pants. “It was an idle threat. Nothing has come of it. You’re being overly cautious.”

  He bent forward, all traces of levity gone. “Whoever it was, threatened your life, Bent. I don’t take that as idle. They mentioned the deal you’re so determined to finish, so they know something about you. Until it’s done, I’m sticking like glue.” He sat back. “Plus, it gives me a chance to piss off the big shot lawyer, too.” His grin returned, wide and wicked.

  Aiden and Greg seemed to have a love/hate relationship. Aiden respected Greg, yet there seemed to be a constant pull and push between them.

  I had met Aiden when we were at university. When I opened my business, I brought him and another friend of ours, Maddox, on board. They had been with me ever since.

  Greg became my lawyer six years ago. He was an odd man, his personality dry and cool, but brilliant. He was what I needed in a lawyer. Emotionless, in control, and always wanting to win.

  My phone beeped as we arrived at our destination. I glanced at the screen with a grimace.

  “Greg is running late. His car wouldn’t start. He’ll be about forty-five minutes.”

  “Great. Breakfast then? The place over on Queen?”

  I peered out the window. “I’m not overly hungry. You go. Take Frank and get breakfast. I’ll grab coffee in the shop over there.”

  “Bent,” he warned, “not alone.”

  “Aiden, no one is around. No one knew my schedule but you, Greg, and me. You can watch me walk in, and be back in forty-five.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  I held up my hand. “I want a coffee and some time to read the paper. Go.” I grabbed my newspaper and flung open the door. “I have a black belt. If someone comes at me with a coffee cup, I can take them.”

  I slammed the door behind me, and strode across the street, not giving him a chance to argue. I was certain he’d go grab something and sit around the corner watching, but that was up to him. I was in a public place, and highly doubted I was in danger. He was being his typical, over-protective self. I wanted to be alone and gather my thoughts.

  And coffee was on the agenda.

  **

  It wasn’t one of the chain shops, but it was packed. I could smell the baked goods and rich scent of coffee in the air. People were everywhere, coming and going. All the tables were full, but I could see a few were getting ready to leave. I stood in line, tapping my foot impatiently, waiting my turn. I got my coffee in a takeaway cup, and added a cranberry-lemon scone to my order that looked tempting. After paying, I turned and scanned the room, scowling at the lack of an empty table. I walked farther into the store and rounded the corner, spying a vacant chair against the wall. At least I could sit and wait for a table.

  I strode toward the corner, cursing when my foot caught on something, sending me lurching to the left. Luckily, I kept hold of my coffee cup, but some of the contents spurted through the opening and landed on the table tucked behind the wall. My paper fell out from under my arm, and my cell phone skittered across the worn linoleum tiles.

  “Oh, shit,” a horrified voice exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

  Without looking, I slammed my cup on the table, grabbed my paper and phone off the floor. I booted at the worn rucksack that had tripped me, knocking it out of the way. It was small and old, the edges worn and ragged, the brown color faded in spots.

  “Hey, no need to kick my stuff!”

  I lifted my head, meeting the angry gaze of the owner of the rucksack. A girl glared back at me, her dark brown eyes challenging.

  My gaze swept around the table she was sitting at. All alone at a table for four, she took up the entire area. Books, an old laptop, coffee, an empty plate, a second, larger rucksack, and her jacket were flung around the area.

  “You don’t have enough room? You have to use the floor space, too?”

  Her cheeks colored, but she didn’t back down. “It fell off the chair.”

  I snagged the handles, dropping it on the empty chair beside her. “You should have picked it up.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Then stop being such an ass.”

  I blinked at her. “You can’t call me an ass.”

  “I think I just did.”

  “You don’t even know me!”

  “So, once I get to know you, I can call you an ass?”

  My lips quirked.

  “I mean, dude, I said I was sorry, and you’re the one who spilled coffee on my papers.” She responded in a snarky tone, dabbing at the drops of coffee with a napkin. “What else do you want from me?”

  Dude?

  It took me a moment to find my voice. “The least you could do is to allow me to sit since you’re the only one with any room at their table.”

  She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Knock yourself out. I’m working, so don’t bother me.”

  “I have no intention of bothering you. I require a place to sit. That is all.”

  She waved her hand and bent over her notepad. Sitting, I shook out my paper, folding it into a neat quarter to read an art
icle that caught my eye. I wiped at the damp corner where my coffee had dripped and tried not to glare at the girl who made it happen.

  Despite my best intentions, my gaze drifted back to her. She gnawed at the end of her pen as she read her scribbles. Long, curly, honey-gold hair tumbled over her shoulders, and she reached up to toss the long strands back, the movement catching my eye. Her face was oval, her skin creamy. She had high cheekbones, and her mouth was full and rosy. I noticed several glints in her ears, and I caught the flash of color by the back of one. It appeared to be some sort of tattoo. She glanced up, her , rich chocolate gaze meeting my stare.

  “Want to take a picture?” She winked. “It lasts longer.”

  I felt a strange heat creep up my neck, and I cleared my throat. “I was wondering how it was you managed to take up the biggest table in a shop that is so busy at this time of the day, is all.”

  Her grin was broad and mischievous. Those chocolate orbs shone with mirth.

  “Special privileges.”

  I relaxed against the chair back, taking a bite of my scone, closing my eyes briefly in appreciation. It was still warm, thick, dense, and buttery. I swallowed, and met her stare. “Oh? How do you rate special privileges?”

  She pointed at the scone. “By making those.”

  Her words surprised me, and I smiled in delight. “You made these? My compliments to the chef. They’re great—really delicious.”

  “Well, the ass has manners.”

  “May I remind you it was your rucksack that caused me to trip in the first place?”

  “I realize.”

  I chuckled. “And still I’m the ass?”

  She shrugged and looked back at her notebook. “I call them as I see them.”

  I wiped my fingers and took a sip of my coffee. “You bake here every day?”

  “Every morning before I go to school.”

  “School?”

  She indicated her books. “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it early for classes to be back? It’s only August.”

  “I’m taking extra courses over the summer.”

  “What are you taking?”

  Raising her head, she tapped her pen against her chin, staring at me. Too late, I realized I was talking and interrupting her.

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to interfere with your studies.”

  “Are you always so formal?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Like that. Your speech.”

  “I suppose I am.”

  She glanced around, tugging her sweater tighter. I noticed it was thick and heavy—an odd garment for summer. I felt compelled to ask.

  “Do you always wear such thick sweaters in the summer?”

  She sighed and shook her head. With a grin, she stuck out her hand.

  I looked between it and her face. Her hand was small, the fingers delicate. There were silver rings on two of her fingers, and a heavy Celtic looking band on her thumb.

  “I’m not going to keep chatting with a complete stranger. Even if he’s cute and likes my scones. I’m Emmy.”

  She thought I was cute?

  “What happened to me being an ass?”

  “Oh, I still think you are, but you have a great smile when you relax. So, let’s try this again.” She raised her hand higher. “Hi, stranger, sitting at my table. I’m Emmy.”

  I clasped her hand in mine, shaking it. Her skin was soft, her palm cold. “Pleased to meet you, Emmy.”

  She leaned forward, still holding my hand, her voice quiet. “This is the part where you tell me your name.” She winked. “Unless you prefer me to continue to call you ass.”

  I started to laugh. She was droll.

  “Bentley.”

  “Bentley?”

  “Bentley Ridge.”

  Her eyes dropped as she withdrew her hand, running her fingers over the table.

  “Bentley Ridge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your name is Bentley Ridge.”

  “We’ve established that, Emmy. Yes.”

  “Did your parents not like you or something?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It sounds like a swanky subdivision. Come live at Bentley Ridge Estates where the living is easy!”

  I gaped at her.

  She slapped her hand over her mouth, her dark eyes large in her face. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She bent close again. “But seriously, has no one ever said it to you?”

  “No!” I snapped. I was sure people had thought it, but no one ever stated it out loud. “They haven’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking.”

  I picked up my coffee. “I’ll find another place to sit. You can go back to studying.”

  Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm. I looked down her fingers against the navy fabric of my suit—pale, small, and frail.

  “No please, I was only teasing. I do that when I’m nervous—make jokes and say things without thinking. I’m sorry.”

  I huffed and sat back down, unsure why I was doing so. She grimaced anxiously and plucked at the sleeve of her sweater.

  “I have a condition,” she announced.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I get cold easily. I have really poor circulation. So when you’re hot, I’m comfortable. When you’re cold, I’m freezing. That’s why I wear a sweater in the summer, and is why I’m sitting at this table. It’s sort of tucked away and the air conditioning doesn’t work well back here, so it’s not as popular.” She grinned and a deep dimple appeared on her left cheek. “In the winter, it’s reversed, and it’s so hot here no one wants this table, but it’s perfect for me.”

  I realized she was trying to make up for her teasing by sharing something personal, and my annoyance lessened. “Is it serious?” I asked, somehow curious. “Your condition.”

  “No, condition isn’t even the right word for it—more like temperature malfunction. It’s more annoying than anything.” She shrugged. “People think I’m overdramatic, but it’s a simple fact of life for me.” Then she went back to her work.

  I sipped my coffee and finished my scone. It truly was delicious.

  I studied my table companion again while she had her attention on her computer screen. She was frowning, tapping her chewed pen on her chin, mouthing the words she read. Her brow furrowed and she pulled her sweater tighter. I wondered if there was a way to make her more comfortable. Startled, I shook my head at the strange thoughts. She looked my way, and our gazes locked. The sunlight streaming in the window caught her eyes. The light was bright enough I could see small flecks of gold around her pupils, like bursts of sunshine. Her expression was no longer challenging, but gentle. The need to share something with her filled my thoughts, and I leaned closer.

  “My father was Winston Bentley Ridge the second. I’m the third. I hate the name Winston so I use Bentley. I know it’s pretentious”—I shrugged—“but I’m told often enough I am as well, so it fits.”

  She smiled at me. A huge smile that showed off her straight, white teeth.

  “So, a pretentious ass then?”

  I gave up trying not to laugh. She was honest to a fault. “You got me.”

  “Rich too, I suppose.”

  “Rolling in it.”

  “Yep, I figured. All rich, pretentious assholes come to Al’s Coffee Shop for the scones.”

  “Of course. They’re amazing. I heard it at the club.”

  I couldn’t believe I was sitting there, joking with a random girl about my life—and, enjoying it. Possibly, it was because she didn’t believe a word I said, even though some of it was true.

  “Where’s your bodyguard?” She lifted her eyebrows dramatically. “Is he waiting for your signal to pounce? Take me out for my insolent behavior?”

  “No, you’re safe. He’s having breakfast down the street. He’ll be along shortly. If I change my mind, though, you’d best run.”

  “Are you serious?” Her mouth was agape.

  “About having a bodyg
uard? Yes.”

  “Wow. I’ve never met anyone with a bodyguard before today.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, we all have one. Mine must be having his nails done right now. He likes them short so they look good when he holds his gun.”

  Once again, I began to chuckle.

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh shit! I’m late!”

  I watched, amused, as she slammed her laptop shut, gathered up her papers, and shoved it all into the larger rucksack haphazardly, yanking on the zipper to get it shut. It took everything in me not to tell her if she organized things better, her possessions would last longer and be in better shape. The rucksack was falling apart—both of them were. I wondered why she carried so much stuff that she needed two rucksacks. I reminded myself it was none of my business. Seeing my car pull up outside, I stood.

  “I’ll see you out.”

  She waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh Lord, such manners.”

  Smirking, I indicated she should go ahead of me. At the door, I reached around her, letting her out first.

  Outside, Aiden stood by the car, his arms folded over his mammoth chest.

  “Whoa. Is that him?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, you’re safe, I believe.”

  “I think I’m good.”

  She turned, and her hair lifted in the breeze, the color vivid in the sun, a mixture of blonde and brown that swirled around her face. I had the strangest urge to lift my hand and tuck the loose strands behind her ear. Instead, I cleared my throat and stepped back.

  “Thank you for allowing me to share your table, Emmy. Have a good day.”

  A look of disappointment crossed her face, then she nodded.

  “You too, Rigid. I am sorry about tripping you. Try to use your smile a little more, okay?”

  “Ridge. It’s Bentley Ridge.”

  She ignored me. “Can I tell you something, Rigid? My name isn’t Emmy.”

  “It’s not?”

  She leaned up on tiptoes, close to my ear, her small hand resting on my forearm. “No. It’s Winifred.”

  “Winifred?”

  “Yep. Winifred Windfall. That means, really, I’m Freddy Money. So, Bentley Ridge isn’t that bad.”

  I could feel the amusement growing in my chest once more. I felt the brush of her lips against my cheek.