His father or grandfather probably owned a vintage version, but Dillon preferred the mod-cons of the contemporary update. The color was also an interesting choice. It told me that though perhaps a little conservative in some ways, he also had a wild streak that came to the fore at other times. Interesting, Dillon, very interesting.
Last but not least, a shiny red Dodge Hellcat was Beck’s ride of choice. Of course I had the advantage of knowing his backstory in advance, and again, his ride seemed to support what I already knew. There was no doubting that the car was expensive. Not the kind of obscene money needed to be the proud owner of any of the other vehicles, but still enough to put down a substantial down payment on a house in some parts of the country.
What was most interesting about this car though, was the working class roots of the mark. Unlike Nate’s Vanquish which was more about hiding one’s origins than celebrating them, the Dodge grunted “blue collar hero made good.”
That was Beck alright, growing up with a single mother in Allentown was about as blue collar as it got. According to his online bios, he’d had to fight for every cent he now earned. He’d clawed his way through Yale, struggling to make ends meet, and his financial contribution to BR&ND had consisted entirely of money he’d earned from investments, unlike the other three, who had had family money to bring to the party.
Like Nate’s, his had been an inauspicious start, but in contrast to his friend, he was proud of his humble beginnings, and with good reason. He was a self- made man and he wanted the world to know it.
One feature the cars shared was the fact that they were extremely impractical for the streets of New York, and probably cost the gods more money to store and insure than most people’s cars were worth period. But owning these vehicles was nothing to do with practicality—the fact was, they probably caught taxis everywhere, anyway—and everything to do with showing the world who they were.
With the pop psychology session over, I followed my colleagues into the impressive vaulted-ceilinged lobby area of the main house. We were met by a designer-suited host, I guess kind of like a butler, who introduced himself as Christopher, and lead us into the drawing room, where the gods awaited us. I truly didn’t know where to look first, whether at the strikingly handsome quartet of men before us, or at the sumptuously appointed room.
As I contemplated the embarrassment of beauty in the vicinity, both living, and decorative, Nico marched right up to Dillon, with her shoulders and jaw set for a fight, and thrust her hand in his direction, barely seeming to speak beforehand. Startled, Dillon weighed up his options—fight or flight—before clearly coming to the conclusion that social norms dictated that he stay and fight. He stretched out his own hand, clasping hers in what looked to be a firm handshake. This was going to be a truly interesting forty eight hours indeed.
I tried and failed to pull the corners of my lips down as they quirked up in amusement. I felt traitorous smirking at the misfortune of others, but I had to admit that it was a nice distraction from the shit storm I was walking into courtesy of one six-feet-three ex jock, ex-boyfriend, ex love of my life currently lurking “casually” on the other side of the room.
“That has disaster written all over it, right?”
At least I had thought he was on the other side of the room. Clearly I’d been mistaken. He was standing so close his breath stroked my ear, and the crook of my neck, sending electric aftershocks racing around my body. If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d sniffed me. Holy. Shit.
Despite my shock and extreme irritation, I whirled around, a fake smile plastered on my face. If they had been giving out Oscars on the spot, I’d have walked away with several little gold statuettes, for sure.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought the maneuver through properly, and as close as he seemed when my back was facing his front, it felt even closer when we were both front on—close enough to feel the outline of his erection against my thigh.
I stepped back a little, putting a more socially acceptable distance between what was supposed to be two people meeting under professional circumstances, and for only the second time. I kept the Hollywood smile in place while hissing at him angrily.
“For God’s sake, Ty...Beck. I know you tell your boys everything, but I’m here with my boss and two colleagues who currently have no idea that I’m—whatever the fuck it is I’m doing with you—and I’d really like to keep it that way. So I’d appreciate if you would please not rub your dick against my thigh like a dog in heat.”
I extended my hand as though to shake his, because that was what near-strangers did at business meetings. Much to my consternation, instead of playing by the established social rules, Beck looked down at the proffered hand, gripped it in both of his, turned it over, then kissed it, smirking from ear-to-ear. If there’d been a time when I’d ever wanted to slap someone more than I wanted to forcibly wipe that smug look from his face, I most certainly couldn’t remember it. I could seriously have strangled him with my bare hands.
“Really? Are you trying to get me fired? You four might pride yourselves on being the king rogues of an already roguish industry, but I have the opposite reputation to maintain, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t do anything to tarnish it. I’ve worked hard and sacrificed a lot to get where I am. The last thing I need is for all of that to come crashing down around my ears because you couldn’t be discreet.” Holy shit, the next two days were going to be an epic fucking disaster. Why had I even agreed to this?
He had the decency to look somewhat contrite then, slapping a similarly fake smile on his face, and playing along with me.
“So good to see you again, Melissa, I trust you’ve been well since the last time?” He was doing okay until he winked at the end of the sentence.
I wondered briefly if I could kick him in the shins or better still, junk punch him, and make it look like an unfortunate accident. I doubted it, but it was a seriously tempting thought. Instead, I carried on as though nothing had happened.
“I’ve been really well thank you, and am so looking forward to getting to know you and the rest of the BR&ND team a little better over the next two days.” At that, I excused myself to greet the other guys.
With introductions over with, we were offered refreshments—it was all I could do not to order an espresso martini to steady my nerves, but I decided that it was a sure-fire way to wave a red flag in Martin’s direction, at the very least to a potential problem with alcohol, which was definitely not the impression I wanted to give my boss. I settled for an alcohol-free coffee, and some breakfast petit fours chosen from a selection laid out on a table at the side of the room.
Mel
Once everyone was fed and watered, Beck welcomed us to the retreat, before Nate then took over to explain the order of the next two days. The headlines were workshops and relaxation in almost equal measure, with a slightly larger focus on pampering and chilling than on working hard. This was a plan I could definitely get behind.
First we were allocated rooms and given directions as to how to get to them. My room was a beautifully decorated king suite, complete with four-poster bed, claw-foot bath, and stunning view of the lake. As work sojourns went, this one was definitely going into the hall of fame, alongside my all-expenses-paid business class trip to Beyner HQ in Geneva a few years previously.