BAD BOY ROMANCE: A Wifey for the Bad Boy (Contemporary Alpha Male Romance Book) (New Adult Alpha Male Romance Short Stories) (51 page)

Chapter 2

The building before Claire could only be described as a mansion, and she as she stared at the ornate windows and balconies, she decided that it must be at least three stories high. It was the kind of grand home that she’d always imagined Chad would find for himself.

              Before they’d even made it to the top of the marble steps, one of the front double doors opened and a woman stuck her head out.

              “Mr. Michaels!” she smiled warmly. “Welcome home.”

              “Mrs. Anderson,” he laughed. “I’m afraid I have a last minute guest tonight—would you mind freshening up the first guest bedroom for her?”

              Mrs. Anderson raised her eyebrows in surprise. “The first…? I mean, yes sir, right away,” she said, stepping back to let them in. She closed the door behind them, then stepped past them to bustle down the hallway. Claire watched her go until she finally disappeared around a corner.

              “How many guest rooms do you have?” Claire asked.

              “Enough,” Chad shrugged. As they walked further into the house, Chad paused before an open closet. “Here, let me take your coat,” he said, holding out a hand.

              “That’s okay,” Claire said quickly, wrapping her blazer tighter against her.

              “Really, Claire,” Chad rolled his eyes, but dropped his hand. “I’m your friend from college, not your mugger from the streets.”

              “Friend?” Claire muttered, but then Chad sighed and she knew he’d heard her.

              “Yes,” he said irritably. “Despite our little falling out, I’ve always considered you a friend.”

              “Well, that makes one of us,” she said, shrugging her bag up from her elbow to her shoulder. “So, where’s this ‘guest bedroom’ anyway? I have work at eight.”

              “Eight in the morning?” Chad scoffed. “My, they really like to overwork their public defenders.”

              “Well,” Claire jeered, “We can’t all be a top lawyer at our father’s billion dollar firm.”

              Instead of bristling, Chad just laughed. “Yes, I suppose not.”

              As it turned out, the first guest bedroom was right next to Chad’s bedroom, complete with connecting doors. Claire locked hers in front of Chad, who only shook his head with a smile.

              “Call Mrs. Anderson if you need anything,” he said, pointing to a red button on the wall. “Or you could always come find me,” he said with a wink.

              “Wonderful,” Claire said dryly, dropping her bag off onto one of the many tables. The guest room was huge—a king poster bed, couches and televisions—honestly, it was bigger than her apartment. “Well, goodnight,” she said, all but chasing Chad out of her room.

              “Goodnight,” he agreed, waving as she shut the door in his face.

              Really, he hadn’t changed at all.

              Claire woke to the scratch of wood and a door clicking closed. She kept her eyes shut, trying to determine if someone was in the room with her when she felt a brush of fingers against her shoulder.

              She jumped up, swinging and kicking, but froze when a voice yelled, “Claire!”

              It was Chad, eyes wide and mouth open as his arms covered his face against her attack. He always had valued his looks over anything else. Sighing, Claire slumped back into the bed, her narrowed eyes on Chad. “What are you doing?”

              “Waking you,” he said with a sigh, as if it were obvious. “You have to be at work by eight, right? It’s six thirty.”

              Claire glanced at her wristwatch. It was six thirty-two, and her usual bus didn’t show up until seven. She could only guess how the buses in his area ran. “Thanks,” she said, sitting up. She’d slept in her clothes last night above the covers, and her blouse was terribly wrinkled for it.

              “No problem,” Chad said, heading for the door. “We’ve got breakfast downstairs, but when you’re ready to leave just tell Mrs. Anderson…” he trailed off, peeking at the folder that’d slid out of her purse from where she’d dropped it last night. “Aww, Claire,” he said. “Still doing charity cases?”

              Claire jumped up and slammed the folder closed, her jaw clenched. It was for the Smith case—a small town factory worker who was suing his company for injury. “It’s none of your business,” Claire ground out.

              “Eh,” Chad shrugged, leaving it be. “Anyway, tell Mrs. Anderson, and she’ll fetch Ainsley for you.”

              “Ainsley?” Claire repeated, holding the folder. “Wait, I’m not taking—”

              “See you downstairs,” Chad winked, closing the door behind him.

              Claire glared after him. Damn billionaire.

              Breakfast was a feast within itself. Whereas Claire would usually eat some toast or, on the rare occasion, treat herself to a muffin and some coffee, Chad seemed quite comfortable sitting at a table full of a dozen or so platters. Bacon, cheeses, toasts and jams—all of it was at his fingertips.

              “Please,” Chad motioned to the chair next to him, and a woman pulled it out. “Join me.”

              “God, you’re such a…” Claire sat down, thanking the girl. Looking at the various dishes in front of her, she looked hopelessly at Chad. “So, what’s good?”

              For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he laughed and spread his arms wide to indicate the table. “All of it, I imagine. Why not try each dish for yourself?”

              Claire shrugged and reached for the platter of eggs. Scrambled would be nice, and some bacon wouldn’t hurt either. Before long, she had a full plate in front of her, and she grabbed one of the many forks laid out for her to dig in. As she chowed down, she half expected Chad to say something, but he just laced his fingers under his chin and watched her eat, a small smile on his face. It was sort of creepy, actually.

              “Sir,” a man stooped next to Chad, whispering in his ear. Chad raised an eyebrow at his words, and stood up.

              “Well Claire-bear,” he said, ignoring the look she gave him for it. “I must be going. Mrs. Anderson, look after her, will you?” With that, he pushed out his chair and followed the other man out of the room, walking after him with his hands clasped behind his back.

              Claire finished her meal at a slower pace, and by the time she set her fork down Mrs. Anderson was already approaching her. “Was it all to your liking?” she asked kindly.

              Claire nodded, but asked, “Does he always eat this much?”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “The boy barely eats anything, I’m afraid. When he called upon the kitchens, he kicked up quite a storm.”

Claire scoffed. “I can imagine, asking everyone to change their schedules at the last minute.”

“Oh, quite the contrary,” Mrs. Anderson giggled. “The chefs were only too happy to comply. And while he did manage to polish off a plate, I believe the only reason he asked for it was because of you.”

That made Claire blush, but she didn’t answer. There was a time when Chad had cared enough to do that sort of thing—when he’d bring coffee to her morning classes, or hide sweets in her bag for later. He’d never seemed to care that she wasn’t skinny, but maybe that was why it’d hurt so much when she’d found out.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “He said to ask you about Ainsley…?”

“Oh, yes,” she said happily. “I’ll got get him for you,” she patted her shoulder as she left, heading towards one of the many doors. Claire just sighed, and sagged in her chair.

Ainsley was ready immediately, and Claire was relieved to see that instead of a limo, he had a simple BMW pulled up for her. As she got into the car, try as he might she ignored his protests to have her ride in the back and took the passenger seat next to him, rattling off the address of the courthouse.

“Ah, yes,” Ainsley said as he pulled onto a main street. “Mr. Michaels had business here yesterday. It was lucky he saw you when he did,” he added.

“What business did he have at one in the morning?” she asked, staring out the window.

Ainsley shrugged. “Court business. Such a late night is not so unusual for him by any means, I assure you.”

              That made Claire turn and look at Ainsley. “No?”

              Ainsley shook his head. “Much is expected of him,” he said. “As he is the son, set to inherit the firm one day.”

              That just made Claire slump back against her seat. “Yeah,” she muttered sarcastically. “I can just imagine.”

Chapter 3

              Claire hadn’t been at work for more than an hour when she found Chad’s note. It was hidden in her folder among the various paperwork, and she couldn’t help but pull the cream piece of paper out with a scowl on her face. His handwriting was scribbled across it, complete with his personal cell number and a second one to contact Ainsley.

              As if.

              Claire tried to work as normally as possible, immersing herself in her work as she sorting through the evidence against her client. Some things just weren’t adding up, though. For one, the opposing lawyer was trying to say that Claire’s client had taken a workshop just three days before the incident concerning safety in the work place, one specifically highlighting the assembly line and the personal protective equipment a worker should wear concerning it. Yet, Smith’s schedule called for him to usually work three days on, and two days off. Shouldn’t he have been off of work on the day that they were trying to say he attended a workshop?

              Claire opened up her email and shot off a letter to Smith concerning his work schedule. If they could prove that he’d never attended their so-called ‘workshop,’ then she might just get their case thrown out and clear the way for an easy win.

              By the time ten o’clock rolled around and most of her coworkers had left, Claire decided that she couldn’t call it any closer and turned off her own computer. After last night, she wasn’t going to stay out until the courthouse was a ghost town again. She’d leave when there was still traffic outside at least, and get home safe. Besides, the next bus was due to arrive in ten minutes anyway.

              Claire hadn’t expected to find a black BMW with Ainsley sitting in the front seat right outside.

              “Ah, Miss Claire!” he said, practically falling out of the car.

              “Ainsley,” she said slowly. “What’re you doing here?”

              “Collecting you, of course,” he said happily, already walking around to open the passenger door for her. “Mr. Michaels didn’t want you to be alone tonight, not after yesterday.”

              “Huh,” Claire clicked her tongue. “Well, you can tell
Mr. Michaels
that I appreciate the gesture—you know what? No, that might just encourage him. Just say that I had a bus to catch, and thanks but no thanks.”

              “Miss Claire,” Ainsley said, stepping in front of her as she tried to walk around the car. “Won’t you at least accept an old man’s help?” When Claire hesitated, he said, “Let me have the peace of mind that you’re safe and sound in your own home.”

              That made Claire sigh. “Fine. But just so long as you are taking me to
my
place.”

              “Of course, Miss Claire,” he assured her.

              “Uh, you’re sure this is ‘your place?’” Ainsley asked, not for the first time.

              Claire just rolled her eyes in amusement. “I’m telling you, Ainsley—this place isn’t nearly as bad as it looks.”

              “Oh,” Ainsley said quietly. “That’s comforting.”

              “Okay, look,” Claire said with a snort. “It may not be on its own private piece of land, or in a particularly well-lit area, but it’s super cheap.”

              “Miss Claire,” Ainsley said pitifully, pointing ahead. “There are cars without tires, and too many youths creeping in the dark. Look! There’s one now!”

              Claire could see him. He was young, and she guessed by his hair that he was Hispanic. She thought she could see a bulge under the back of his shirt, but she wasn’t about to tell Ainsley that.

              “So?” she said instead. “It’s a free country. Leave him alone, Ainsley. He’s not hurting you.”

              “It’s not me I’m worried about,” he muttered darkly.

              By the time they pulled up to her building, Claire was shaking with silent laughter at Ainsley’s antics. He was hunkered down in his seat like they were in a war zone, and his wise blue eyes were narrowed as they searched the darkness.

              “Thanks, Ainsley,” she said, opening up the door to step outside.

              “W-wait,” he said, putting the car into park as he turned off the engine and ran after her. “Let me walk you to your door.”

              “What? And risk someone stripping your car? I hear they can steal four tires in under two minutes, you know,” she teased.

              Ainsley seemed to hesitate at her words, but stuck true to his word. “Mr. Michaels would never forgive me,” he told her.

              Claire just rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself.”

              She led him up to the battered black door cage and entered her code, grabbing the doorknob when it unlocked. She yanked it hard, a difficult move because of all the rust, and slipped inside, waiting for Ainsley to do the same. Once he was in, she unlocked the real door with her key and led him into the entryway.

              Her door was on the second floor, but she wasn’t going to make Ainsley go that far. “I’m just right up there,” she pointed at the stairs. “See you later, okay?”

              “I’m coming with you,” Ainsley said, puffing out his thin chest.

              Claire just shrugged. “Okay, okay.”

              They went up the wooden stairs and turned left. “This is me,” Claire said, indicating the green door. “Apartment twenty-six. Thanks for walking me to it,” she said, barely disguising her impatience. She just wanted to get inside, rip off the skirt suit she’d been wearing for two days, and take a long, hot shower.

              But Ainsley didn’t say goodbye. His eyes were on her door, and he gently moved her out of the way as he stepped in front of her. That’s when Claire saw it.

              The lock on her door was busted.

              “Oh my god,” she whispered, her heart speeding up to match the erratic pace it’d hit last night in the alley. “Ainsley—”

              “Let’s go back downstairs,” Ainsley said quietly. “And go back to the car.”

              As soon as they were back outside and safely locked within Chad’s BMW, Ainsley pulled out his phone and dialed nine-one-one. “Yes,” he said calmly to the other line. “I’m at the corner of Bradley and Kent, at two-sixty-seven apartments. I’d like to report a robbery.”

              It wasn’t long before they saw the flashing red and blue lights behind them. Two officers exited their patrol car, and Ainsley left the BMW with Claire to take them upstairs. They stood aside as the police nudged the apartment door open, their weapons out and flashlights on, ready for anything. Claire couldn’t hear anything besides her blood rushing in her ears, but a small voice in her head kept whispering, “Calm down, girl. I don’t want to kill you unnecessarily.”

              It only took a minute for the officers to sweep her studio apartment. Soon they were back at the door, opening it wide and flicking on her main light. “Whoever it was, they’re gone now. But ma’am, if you notice anything missing,” one said, handing her a business card. “Please, don’t hesitate to call me.”

              “T-thanks,” Claire nodded, still a little shaken up. As they left, she turned to Ainsley. “Well, this is goodnight,” she said, trying to smile. “Thank you for staying—”

              “Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

              Claire jerked her head up at the voice, her eyes connecting with Chad’s at the top of the stairwell.

              “What are you doing here?” she frowned.

              “Ainsley texted me,” he said, glancing around as he approached them. “You really live here?” he asked.

              Claire could feel her face growing hot. “Chad Michaels, if you only came out here to insult me—”

              “Of course not,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve come to take you home. Well, to my home.” He was already reaching for her hand.

              “What? No, I’m fine here! The police already came, and—”

              “And left you with an empty apartment and a broken lock, I know.” Taking her arm, Chad began pulling her back toward the stairs. “Besides, I’ve got amazing security back at the house, and with all of your bad luck , I’d say that you need it more than I.”

              Claire couldn’t argue with that, but she couldn’t just leave without checking her apartment over either. “I need to see if anything’s missing,” she said, yanking her arm back. “Give me a moment.”

              “Oh, so you are coming then?” Chad smiled. Claire didn’t bother answering.

              Her apartment, to her relief, wasn’t the torn up mess she would’ve expected after someone had taken the time to break her lock and get inside. Everything was just as she’d left it, though some of the papers at her makeshift desk were scattered on the floor. She stooped to pick them up, trying to remember what she’d printed and if any of them were missing.

              “This is where you live?” Chad asked, peeking inside.

              She could practically hear the, “It’s a bit small, isn’t it?” Shuffling her papers, she set them back onto her card table and grabbed her backpack, turning to her small dresser.

              “Do grab more than one outfit,” Chad advised, looking over her shoulder.

              “I’m not staying with you for very long,” Claire shot him a look. “Just until my lock gets fixed.”

              “Oh, good idea—Ainsley!” he called into the hall. “Can you ring a local locksmith? Tell him that we’ll pay double for a speedy job.”

              “You’re the one who invited me,” Claire muttered.

              “Oh yes, of course,” Chad agreed. “I just don’t want anyone getting any ideas when they see your broken lock. Don’t want your neighbors suddenly making off with your belongings.”

              He had a point, not that Claire would ever admit it.

              She gently took two work suits from inside of her closet and rolled them up, placing them carefully at the bottom of the bag. Then, on second thought, she shoved a few jeans and t-shirts inside as well. As she went to her bathroom to grab her toiletries, Chad stopped her. “Please don’t think that we don’t already have plenty at the house,” he said, steering her back to the hallway.

              “Sir,” Ainsley said, hanging up his phone. “A Jerry Samson will be here in the morning to repair her door.”

              “Excellent,” Chad nodded. “Have a man here to meet him.”

              “Of course,” Ainsley said, following them down the stairs.

              As they got into the car and Chad urged her to sit in the back next to him, she put her bag on her knees and wondered when this had become her life.