The Bachelor Contract Read online

  Brant scowled and slammed the shot glass back down on the bar. “I didn’t ask for your advice.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, it’s always free.”

  Brant let out a rough exhale just as Cole made a beeline in his direction. “Oh, hell.”

  He braced himself for a punch.

  Words. Fighting. Broken chairs, glass, possible drowning.

  But when Cole stopped in front of him he didn’t throw a punch, he didn’t as much as blink. Which was slightly more terrifying.

  “Your better half just checked in with his better half and the entire Wellington and Titus families.”

  “I don’t know what to do with any of the information you just gave me.”

  “Miraculously, we have a big enough suite for all of them.”

  “I’m not going to like the direction of this conversation, am I?”

  “But we had to connect it to the presidential suite to make sure there was a bathroom for everyone, because according to Nadine, she doesn’t share.”

  “There it is,” Brant muttered.

  Cole’s mouth twitched into a pleased smile. “I also took the liberty of cleaning up the broken glass, the lamp.”

  Brant winced.

  “The torn sheets, the shattered mini bar.”

  Behind them, George whistled.

  “And the blood in the sink.”

  Brant sighed. “Don’t ask.”

  “Wasn’t gonna,” Cole snapped.

  “So as far as they’re concerned…” Brant shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to find the thank-you that was getting caught in his throat. “No nervous breakdown this morning?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  Cole shook his head sadly. “It’s because I love a girl who’s in love with a complete dick. A man who sure as hell doesn’t deserve to see her naked and yet did, for the last twelve hours, and then had the fucking nerve to send her blindly away as if she knew how to work the damn elevator without running her hands along every single button in order to find the lobby!”

  With every word, Brant felt sicker and sicker.

  Cole’s features softened. “Just…do everyone a favor and stay away from her, all right? Finish off the rest of the week. And leave.”

  “Fine,” Brant snapped. “You know…” He lifted the glass of soda water off the bar. “If you weren’t in love with Nik, I could probably respect you a little more.”

  “Should we come back at a better time?” Nadine strutted into the bar area in the tallest red heels Brant had ever seen.

  Bentley chased after her and made a strangling motion with his hands while his wife followed behind with Jane.

  “She needs a bell,” Bentley said tightly.

  “Read my mind,” Brant added with a glare. “Was it completely necessary to bring every last family member with you?”

  Bentley pointed at his wife, Margot, who pointed to Brock, who pointed to Jane, who rolled her eyes and pointed at both Grandfather and Nadine as they ordered drinks.

  “Right.” Brant nodded. “So nobody’s taking responsibility for any of this?”

  Bentley held up his hands. “I tell Margot everything.”

  “And I was texting Jane,” Margot admitted sheepishly.

  “And I was in the longest board meeting of my life listening to Grandfather and Nadine argue over toilet paper—they picked the two-ply, by the way.”

  “Wait, then how did they end up knowing about this little mini vacation if they were in the meeting?”

  Brock snorted. “How do you think? I was tracked. I think they like us to believe they don’t know how to use technology, but I could have sworn my phone made a beeping noise the entire drive to the resort only to have them honk their horn behind me and yell out ‘Surprise!’”

  Brant shuddered.

  “Thanks for squeezing us in, Cole.” Bentley held out his hand to Cole.

  “Yeah,” Brant said tightly. “Thanks.”

  “Just doing my job.” A self-satisfied smirk settled over Cole’s face. “I’m needed elsewhere.” He eyed Brant and added, “Remember what I said.”

  “Like I could forget,” Brant muttered under his breath, as Cole gave him one final look of disgust and walked away.

  “Making friends, I see.” Bentley slapped Brant on the shoulder. “Is that the guy who pushed you into the pool?”

  The whiskey went sour in Brant’s stomach. Hell, he was a complete jackass. A complete and total dick. He’d just wanted her to hurt, but in trying to hurt her, he’d hurt himself. He hadn’t been able to get her out of that hotel room fast enough; he couldn’t let her see him break.

  And then he’d screwed up again by lashing out.

  That seemed to be what they were known for now. Arguing. Fighting.

  And then she’d done something unexpected—rather than beat him, slap him, yell at him more like he deserved, like he wanted her to—she offered help.

  And he’d wanted to take it.

  Except she’d see it all. She’d see how much he still buried the pain.

  And Nikki, being Nikki, would have stayed. She’d want to fix what was broken. She’d want to talk.

  And dealing with it meant remembering it—all of it. It meant living through it again, and he wasn’t sure he could handle it. He had barely survived last time.

  Hell, he’d barely survived sleeping with her.

  Talking with her? It would mutilate him.

  He needed to at least let her know that he was going to stay out of her way as much as possible—and that she’d get her wish.

  It was just that the thought of walking out the door made the anger lessen and the sadness sink its hooks into his gut.

  He inhaled. God, he could still smell her on his skin.

  With a shudder, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

  “What’s he doing?” Nadine’s irritating voice pierced his concentration. “I had no idea our Brant was a man of faith!”

  Or he could just be needing a minute so he wouldn’t strangle someone.

  “Bet he is now, if what Bentley said about a certain someone working here has any truth to it,” Brock commented.

  “Helpful,” Brant said through clenched teeth. “Look, why don’t you guys get settled in and we can meet for lunch?” Basically, give him five freaking minutes to regroup.

  Nadine fluffed up her hair and grabbed Grandfather’s hand. “Well, it’s been at least two years since my first visit, and when I was here last it was all business because of the acquisition. Perhaps your grandfather and I will—”

  Bentley made a choking sound and clapped. “All right, then!”

  Nadine glared. “I was merely going to say we would—”

  Brock coughed wildly into his hand. Jane patted his back. Margot smirked behind her hand.

  Nadine crossed her arms and grinned smugly. “—get naked.”

  Brant let out a groan. “You.” He shoved Bentley toward them. “You deal with this. I have somewhere to be.”

  Bentley grabbed Brant’s arm. “Are you”—his eyes darted from left to right, likely searching Brant’s face for any hint of crazy—“are you okay?”

  “No.” Brant jerked away from his twin. “Would you be?”

  “I have no clue,” Bentley whispered. “Since you never told me what happened, since you left me and the rest of the family in the fucking dark.”

  Fresh guilt slammed into him wave by wave: the woman he ran away from, the family he didn’t rely on, the brother he refused to lean on.

  “Later.” Brant choked out the word. “Can we talk about it later?”

  “Yeah.” Brant didn’t miss the disappointment in his brother’s voice. “We can.” His eyes said that he doubted they ever would, because nothing had changed.

  Yet Brant knew, as he clenched his fists and made his way toward the spa lobby—again: Everything had changed.

  Because that was how life worked.

  “Annie!” Thank God,
she was at her desk without Cole lingering. “I need a favor.”

  “Nope.” She tapped the computer keys and squinted at the screen. “Fresh out.”

  “Annie.” Think, Brant. Think! Charm. Use your charm. “Can I call you Ann?”

  “Call me Ann and I’m going to impale you with this pencil.” She snapped it between her fingers and then dropped the pieces onto the glass countertop. “Will that be all, Mr. Wellington?”

  He glared. “Threatening your superior?”

  “Sleeping with the employees?” she countered sweetly.

  “Bullshit,” he lied. “Wait…”

  “I see those wheels turning.” She still wasn’t looking at him. “I’m the receptionist. I know everything.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Tap, tap, tap. “Uh-huh. Look, I’m kinda busy, so why don’t you go ruin someone else’s life like you did Nikki’s, mm-kay?”

  “Fuck.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Everyone knows?”

  “Not everyone.” Annie grinned just as one of the maids walked by with her cart. “Hey, Julie, did you know Mr. Wellington broke poor Nikki’s heart and left her in the elevator to die?”

  Julie’s eyes widened and then narrowed before she marched off.

  “Now everyone knows.” Annie smirked. “Doesn’t it say in the company manual—you know, right next to ‘No sleeping with the employees’—that communication within the company is encouraged?”

  “Not that kind,” he snapped.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “Stop! Typing!” Yeah, he was losing his mind. “What the hell are you even doing? Typing in appointments? Playing solitaire?”

  “Oh no.” Annie grinned widely, and her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m writing a novel about a prick who falls on his own sword and bleeds to death. It’s alarming how much you look like him.”

  “You realize I could fire you, right?”

  Annie hid her laugh behind her hand.

  “Hell.” Brant needed a drink. Ten drinks. All the drinks. “Nadine Titus just checked in.”

  Annie stopped laughing.

  “And I need to find Nik.” So he could what? Yell at her again? Apologize for sleeping with her? Using her? Bribing her? The list was getting way too long. He didn’t know what the hell he would say. Maybe because he’d been trying to get revenge, to punish her for ruining them.

  He’d discovered that as angry as he was, he didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to do the right thing.

  The right thing would be walking out of that resort and never speaking to her again, expect possibly to give her an apology. He groaned.

  “She’s with a client,” Annie said quickly. “She’s booked all afternoon, and if you interrupt her—”

  “Yeah, yeah, it makes the resort look bad.” He grabbed one of the pens from the reception desk and scribbled down his number on a piece of paper. “Text me the minute she’s free so we can talk. Until then, I’m off to find Nadine Titus.”

  “Going to confess to Nadine Titus? I’m impressed,” Annie said.

  “Not a chance in hell.” Brant shook his head. “I know this might come as a shock, since clearly all you do is gossip—but I’m here to do a job, and she just happens to be my boss. Now, is there any other employee gossip you think I should know about before I give her a report?”

  “Report,” Annie repeated. “As in a report on the employees…”

  Brant smirked. “On all the employees. Yes.”

  “N-no.” Annie hung her head, and he felt like a jackass all over again. Making her feel threatened, making her wonder about her job when she was just protecting a friend.

  The woman he slept with. The one he couldn’t get out of his mind. The one whose scent refused to go away.

  It had to be her. It had to be this resort.

  Damn it, Nadine.

  He really should have kept the auction money, done his pity date, and been done.

  And yet, he had to wonder if it would have left him in the same predicament. Wanting what wasn’t his to want, not anymore. And finding ways to get it—even if it cost him everything.

  He shoved the thought away.

  Just like he shoved the emotions that came right along with it—sadness, anger, and most of all, guilt.

  “Just text me when she’s done.” He felt the need to say it again, this time more gently.

  Annie stared at him, like she could see right through him.

  He turned around and walked off before she saw too much—before she saw the hole in his chest he’d been desperately trying to fill with everything but the one person who made it in the first place.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Everyone was staring at him.

  Grandfather’s eye twitched. Nadine hid a smug smile behind her third glass of wine. And his brothers shared confused expressions with their significant others while Brant still waited on his drink.

  The one he’d ordered forty minutes ago along with everyone else’s. They brought him the wrong one twice, adding enough lemon to kill a man in the first one, dumping salt in the second.

  “Really, how hard is it to make a martini?” Nadine asked the room while Bentley eyed Brant with interest. “Has this been happening the whole time you’ve been here?”

  Brant’s eye twitched. “Actually no, the bar service has been exceptional.” At least up until he slept with Nikki. Then everything went to hell. He left that part out, though.

  The waiter returned to their table with fresh drinks for everyone but Brant. He placed the bread basket on the far end and then very casually removed every last piece of silverware in front of Brant’s chair and left.

  Well, that was expected. Apparently if he wanted to have a good meal he was going to have to go to the bar across the street.

  Nadine frowned. “Do you not…use silverware?”

  Brant bit his tongue.

  Jane, Brock’s wife, narrowed her eyes at him, then slid over her silverware and whispered, “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” he hissed under his breath.

  The waiter returned and handed Brant a sippy cup. Humiliation complete.

  Nadine’s eyes bugged, “My, my, do you get to order from the kids menu, too? I’ve heard the nuggets are wonderful.”

  The kids menu sure enough followed. Along with a bib. And plastic silverware.

  “Thank you,” Brant said through clenched teeth when the waiter nodded innocently.

  “Just following your orders, Mr. Wellington.” His orders. Right. More like Cole’s orders.

  Jane kicked him and quietly said, “Seriously, what did you do?”

  Brant stared down at the Sesame Street bib. “Nothing good, I can tell you that.”

  “Brant.” Jane let out a frustrated sigh. “You know if you want to talk—“

  “—I don’t talk,” Brant snapped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Bentley piped up.

  Nadine whispered something to Grandfather then pointed at Brant’s plastic fork. “Is this normal behavior?” she asked Brant.

  What was normal?

  “Well, you did say to make sure to assess every part of the menu. Tonight, it seems I’m eating fries, a Go-Gurt, and a smiley cheeseburger.”

  And maybe if he was good he’d get a chocolate sundae.

  His body jerked to attention. Over a fucking chocolate sundae. Nikki loved chocolate.

  Why? Why did everything come back to her?

  He checked his phone again. Two hours. Didn’t she get breaks?

  “So.” Nadine folded her hands on the table. “What do you think so far? About the hotel?”

  Brant set down his phone and sighed. “The staff is”—he paused as the waiter returned with salads for everyone else and placed an order of carrot sticks in front of Brant—“stellar. Their attention to detail is impressive, right down to the guest-specific itineraries.”

  Nadine frowned. “Is there anything else I can do to
serve you?”

  Brant cleared his throat.

  The waiter finally glanced at him. “Yes, Mr. Wellington?”

  “Food?”

  “Oh.” His eyes widened with fake innocence, the bastard. “I was under the impression you were fasting from fried foods.”

  “Fasting,” Bentley piped in. “From food?”

  The waiter nodded seriously. “Cole has notified the entire staff that you mean to take on the Zen retreat as part of your experience here.”

  “Oh, how lovely!” Nadine clapped her hands. “I’ve heard it really helps a person embrace their inner child!”

  “My…inner child.” Brant nearly choked on his tongue as a vague recollection of the program entered his fuzzy memory. “So you…don’t eat normal food on this fast?”

  “On day one, you are allowed one alcoholic drink at night, but other than that, water and juices it is!” He rubbed his hands together. “The chef was just putting together your Zen for the afternoon.”

  “My Zen.” Unbelievable.

  “Oh, here it is!” He quickly pulled it from the approaching tray. It was a chunky, green-looking thing that had him gagging before he even smelled it.

  “Bottoms up!” Nadine cheered. “Oh, Brant, truly, this is wonderful. I knew you would do a good job, but this is above and beyond. Most people are too afraid of the meditation practices with the Zen program to even embark on this journey! And now I’ll have your expert opinion on all the facilities here!”

  He looked between her and the green drink. Cole Masters was going to burn in hell.

  With a grimace, he picked up the drink and held it to his lips. It smelled like sour milk and cherries.

  “The rotten goat’s milk smells worse than it tastes, I promise.” The waiter winked.

  Bentley made a gagging noise and scooted away from Brant while Brock paled.

  Brant was only able to choke down one sip before he bolted to his feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, emptying every last ounce of breakfast and green poison into the white porcelain.

  Two sets of footsteps sounded. A knock on the stall door.

  He jerked it open. Brant and Brock stood on the other side, expressions grim.