“Are you saying I’m not your prince charming?” Rebel asks his mouth curved up on one side.
“If anything, you’re the antithesis.”
Right away, the firm set of his lips and his darkening eyes let me know that he doesn’t like my answer. For some reason, what I said bothers him, but I don’t get a chance to find out why.
“Mr. Donnelly will see you now.”
The stuffy man in the suit turns on his heel and glides away, the long tails of his jacket breezing out behind him.
“I guess we’re supposed to follow him,” Rebel says as he stands.
I follow, leaning in to whisper, “Does he remind you of Alfred?”
“From Batman?” Rebel asks, his brows kitting together.
“Yeah.”
“I think you’ve got a wild imagination.”
We follow the man I’ve decided to call Alfred down a maze of hallways, each elaborately decorated with expensive paintings and antique furniture, until we reach a door made of twisting gold metal.
It opens like an accordion to reveal a small box and he motions us inside. “Press the star button for the lift to take you to the subfloor. Your destination is the third door on the right.”
I chew the inside of my cheek as he steps out of our way to let us pass. Once the doors have been closed, Rebel punches the appropriate button on the wall and we begin our descent.
I clear my throat.
“Don’t say it,” Rebel warns.
“What? I thought Alfred was really nice. Didn’t you?”
“You’re incorrigible,” he accuses, his voice holding a smile.
The elevator slows to a stop and when Rebel pushes the metal doors back, we step out into a low-lit hallway that feels like a...well, cave. Tilting my head back, I give Rebel a pointed look. “If bats rush me, I’m using you as cover.”
“If bats rush you, I’ll already be back on the elevator before that can happen.”
“Some knight in shining armor you are!”
Throwing his hands up, Rebel walks ahead. “Hey, you’re the one who said prince charming and fairy tales don’t exist.”
My rebuttal will have to wait. The room we enter is larger than I expected for a basement, and it’s certainly not lacking. Decorated with rich mahogany woods and deep burgundy carpeting, it’s a true man cave.
Jack Donnelly is seated behind a sprawling desk that takes up the length of one wall. When he hears us enter, his balding head rises and he graces us with a warm, welcoming smile. “Ah, my two favorite people.”
Hefting himself from the chair, he rounds his desk and shakes hands with Rebel. For me, he opens his fluffy arms wide. “I’m thrilled you came.”
“I couldn’t say no,” I tell him as I accept a brief hug. In fact, it’s so brief, that I decide Rebel is full of shit. Judging from his embrace and the photos I saw upstairs, he’s just a very nice man. Friendly. The only woman he has his sights set on is his wife.
My suspicions are confirmed when Holly Donnelly breezes into the room moments later carrying a tray of glasses surrounding a pitcher of what looks to be...yep, iced tea.
“I hope you two are thirsty,” she trills as she sets it down on a table in the small seating area along the opposite wall. “I made sweet tea.”
“Please, have a glass. She’s famous for it around these parts,” Jack says proudly.
Holly, bent over the table, begins putting a glass together. Looking up from her task, she sets a loving smile on her husband. “Two sugars and a wedge of lemon?”
“That’s right, darlin’.”
She does it up the way he wants it and carries it over. “Thirty-seven years of marriage and he still takes his tea the same way.”
“And she still asks the same question every time,” Jack says as he accepts his glass. Taking a sip from it, his eyes light up and he hums. “Perfect every time, just like you.”
Holly brushes her hand over his barreled chest in a playful smack. “Oh, you sweet talker.”
After Rebel takes the lead and serves us both a drink, which surprises me, we seat ourselves on one of the two red leather love seats stationed around the table.
“I want to talk shop,” Jack says bluntly as he lowers himself into a chair across from us. “When are you planning to buy me out, Rebel?”
The sudden aggression in his tone has me looking to Rebel with concern. He sits back coolly, crossing one ankle over his knee, and adopting a bored expression.
“I see the rumor mill is buzzing,” he drawls. “I have my eye on early June.”
“Why the hold up? Why not this minute?”
“I’ll need to liquidate a few assets first. Is the deal still fifty-one percent of the shares?”
Jack nods. “That was the agreement.”
Leaning forward in his chair, Rebel sets his empty glass on the table. Propping his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands together. “Are you still set on not telling Florence about you leaving? It’s her company, too.”
“That may be, but it’s my brainchild. She might understand financing, but you’re the visionary. If anyone is going to grow and expand the business, it’s you.”
“I’m only as good as my team,” Rebel says, and even though he seems sure of himself on the outside, I hear the subtle touch of doubt in his words.
“You carry the team. They operate under your instruction,” Jack barks. “Give yourself some credit, Scott. Christ, you graduated top of your class. You’ve developed revolutionary designs. You’ve single-handedly sent six companies operating below their potential into Fortune Five-Hundred. You understand the business, you have the contacts, and you know how to get the job done. This company would be nothing without you.”
I’m stunned. What Donnelly is saying goes so far beyond the simple programing that Rebel told me about. I feel lucky to be sitting here, privy to this information.
Pride radiates from Rebel, but for whatever reason, he’s holding it all back. I sit back and watch the exchange in fascination. Rebel is such a cocky sonofabitch, so self-assured, controlling every situation and ruling over it with an iron fist. But here, now, it’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The Rebel I know is nowhere in sight. He’s been replaced by someone who is much more subdued. Still learning, not entirely certain about the path he’s on.
I know what the difference is. He looks up to Jack Donnelly. This is his role model. I would have guessed that role was taken by his suit-wearing, tough-as-nails father, but this overweight, paunchy man who’s as sweet as the day is long, is it.
***
Jack and Holly asked us to stay in their guest room so we could enjoy an early breakfast with them, but Rebel declined. I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed.
After they had finished their business negotiations, we enjoyed an amazing meal put together by none other than Holly herself followed by attending a live showing of Les Miserables put on by a local theater.
The couple was great company. Down to earth, warm and funny. I never would have expected to have such a nice time with people twice my age, but I did. Even more, I never would have expected to have such a good time with Rebel. That’s twice now. Spending time with him outside the bedroom is fast becoming an unexpected treat.
“Do you plan on spending the rest of the night pouting?” Rebel asks from his side of the bed. “Because if you are, I’ll call a cab to come get you and take you back.”
“I’m not pouting,” I protest, even though I am. “But if you insist on being a dick, I’ll call the front desk and ask them to put you in another room. How’s that?”
“Careful, pussycat. Your mouth is flapping again. If you don’t shut it, I might be inclined to fill it.”
Lying on my back, I turn my head on the pillow and sneer into the darkness in his general direction. “I thought my mouth was what first attracted you to me in the first place.”