Taming Mr. Charming (The Taming Series Book 2) Page 6

  “Is everything okay in here?”

  “Fine!”

  “Peachy!”

  Spencer looked uncomfortable. “Okay then,” and then ducked back out in the same manner with which he’d entered.

  I huffed, rocking back on my heels.

  “Mia,” Peyton touched my arm lightly, “I do not see you as a charity case. It bothered me to think of you so vulnerable and in danger. I hired Estefan for my own piece of mind.”

  His admission rocked me. Normally, when a man went out of his way for me, it was just so he could get lucky. Obviously, I’d made my stance clear to Peyton – apart from that kiss – that I wasn’t interested in him that way. The only other conclusion that made sense was that his gift stemmed from pity.

  I inhaled deeply, trying to organize my thoughts, “I appreciate your concern, Peyton,” he cocked his head to one side, anticipating the ‘but’, “but I’m a grown woman and I’m capable of taking care of myself and my store.”

  “I hear you, but-”

  I interrupted his defense with a hand, “I know you mean well, but your actions make me feel powerless. Do you get why it offended me?”

  He nodded and then walked back to the phone on his desk. “I can discontinue the security services right now,” he picked up the receiver as evidence, “if you look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t feel safer with Estefan around.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but I couldn’t do it. He knew that and was playing my own sentiments against me.

  I agitatedly placed my hand on his and returned the receiver to its cradle, “You know I feel safer with him there.”

  Peyton grinned and perched on the edge of the desk, “Is that a thank you, I’m hearing?” he cupped his ear.

  Rolling my eyes, I pushed his shoulder. Spitting out the words like arrows, I acquiesced, “Thank you for going behind my back and hiring my store a security guard.”

  “And an all-inclusive security system,” he added.

  I froze. What? I wasn’t aware of that one.

  He grinned, “Yeah, they’re coming this afternoon.”

  “You sure are full of yourself,” I remarked staidly.

  “You sure don’t know how to accept help when it’s being offered.”

  “Let’s make a deal and not buy each other anymore gifts, kay? Cause now I feel like I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” He assured me genuinely.

  “Yeah, see it doesn’t work like that. I don’t like debts and now I owe you.”

  “Fine, how about you pay me back with your company? Spencer’s always with Melody and when they’re together well… let’s just say I’d rather be single with you.”

  I grinned. I knew from experience how cheesy that couple could get. “Deal. Come by tonight. I’ll make dinner.”

  “You cook?”

  “Amendment, I can order dinner.”

  Peyton grinned, “Perfect.”

  I strode to the door, “I’m sorry for barging in here. And for scaring the crap out of your receptionist.”

  He smirked. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for doing something so major without your permission.”

  I moved to leave, but froze just before opening the door, “Peyton, about that kiss-”

  “What kiss? The one where it felt like you were punishing me? That kiss?”

  I grinned and turned to face him, “I’m sorry about that too.”

  He waved it away, “It was an insignificant affair. Already forgotten.”

  “Thank you. So in the risk of being awkward; tonight, it’s not a date.”

  He nodded, “It’s not a date.”

  “I just wanted to make sure,”

  “Mia, relax. The kiss didn’t mean anything and tonight is not a big deal. I’m just in need of company and you want to pay off an imaginary bill.”

  I sighed, “Okay, great. I guess I’ll see you later,”

  My little apartment didn’t receive many visitors. My parents preferred not to trek into this area of town too often though they lived in an arguably more poverty stricken area than me. Melody was the only one who frequently came down here. She loved my apartment because it represented everything that she valued, independence, freedom, her own space; while I jealousy treasured each interaction with her family because of what I valued: warmth, sincerity, and love.

  For this reason, I didn’t make much of an effort to clean up my apartment beyond the standard that would prevent the nesting of nasty creatures like rats and roaches. I cannot stand roaches. I took my yearly insecticide spraying very seriously and rarely left food out if I could help it. Still, housework like washing dishes, taking out the trash, and vacuuming were activities of torture to me. I knew that Peyton was coming by soon, but beyond clearing the fashion magazines that littered every conceivable space in my living room and piling them in a corner of my bedroom; I didn’t do much to spruce up my space.

  “Hey,” he greeted me, when I opened the door later that evening, “I brought dessert from Sugar Fix.”

  “Whoa, thanks. I love their goodies.”

  “Great.”

  I led him inside and guided him the three steps from my door to my living room. The T.V. was already on. “I usually watch the Style network. I love the fashion design competitions.”

  “Don’t you watch the news?” he asked as we settled into the couch and dug into the panades that I’d bought earlier.

  “You mean that network that’s obsessed with murder, corruption, and the ever deteriorating moral compass of our society?”

  “Whoa, I’m guessing that’s a no.”

  “You got it buddy.”

  “Well, I absolutely refuse to watch those sissy channels,” he teased grabbing the remote from my hands, “How about the History channel?”

  “Boring,” I yawned, “How about food network?”

  “No way.”

  We argued over the various cable networks when at last I clicked the channel to a familiar face, “Tim Hardey!” I screamed, “Everyone loves this man.”

  “Family Feud,” Peyton nodded, “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  Content with our compromise, Peyton and I sat back and enjoyed the comedic relief and intellectual grooming of Tim Hardey’s Family Feud. At first it was strange breaking bread with the guy. Beyond the fact that my initial reaction to Peyton had been negative, I wasn’t used to being friends with a man. I usually kept the members of the male species at arm’s length. I knew what was on their minds and I couldn’t always hope to be strong enough to resist my own temptations if anyone got too close. But Peyton was so easygoing. As the evening wore on, his charm and affability allowed me to loosen my shoulders and simply enjoy hanging out with a friend. We set up another chill session and then a little after eight o’clock, I bid him good night. Maybe Peyton would be my first successful guy friend. Hopefully, I didn’t do anything to ruin it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Owning a business is a lot like having a child. Sleep is a thing of the past. There’s always one last minute detail or huge issue that, even if you have no control over it, you obsess about. The minute you think you understand the layout of owning a business, something happens that throws you for a loop. And, it is all so expensive. The boutique soaked up most of my profits each month. I understood that the business needed time to get on its feet, but I’d been at this for almost three years and I still felt I was barely keeping my head above water each month.

  I was seated at my kitchen table Thursday night, marveling at the abominable numbers my business associated with when I heard a knock on the door. I checked the person’s identity through the peephole before opening the door.

  “Peyton, hey,”

  “Hi,”

  I invited him in.

  “Sorry for not calling first,”

  I acknowledged his insincere apology with a side look. For the past week, Peyton showed up at my house whenever he felt like it. Surprisingly, I’d come to expect his random drop-ins. I even
enjoyed them a little.

  “I hope you brought sustenance.”

  He lifted a plastic bag. The container crinkled inside. I bent over to sniff the worthiness of its contents.

  Mm… fried tacos. He had good taste in Belizean cuisine. As he closed the door, I padded to the kitchen and surveyed the contents of my fridge. I ate out a lot, so there were more leftovers than real fresh food in there. Fortunately for Peyton, he’d bought a gallon of soda for these very occasions. I only drank water. Carbonated drinks just didn’t do it for me. Grabbing two glasses from the drainer, I filled one with Coke and the other with purified water and set them on the edge of the table.

  “You grinding the numbers again?” Peyton asked, shifting a paper so he could read it better. I bumped him away with my hip and quickly cleared the sheaves from view. I didn’t want anyone to know just how badly the boutique was doing. Especially Peyton. He hiked an eyebrow at my actions but didn’t comment… for once.

  We sat down and the appetizing scent of diced onions, cilantro, and tomato sizzled with beef bits all wrapped in a soft tortilla filled the room. We ate in comfortable silence at first, engrossed in ensuring that the taco’s contents ended up in our mouths and not in our laps, but when I turned on the TV and flipped to “Say Yes, Brides”, I earned a glare and a ton of complaints from Peyton. Choosing to ignore him, I saluted the poor doof with a juicy taco raised to my forehead and enjoyed the show.

  When the tacos were gone and our tummies were satisfied, I excused myself to the bathroom to wash my hands. As I studied my reflection in the little mirror above the sink, I marveled at the progress Peyton and I had made. The annoying twerp was not only bearable, but a good friend. In fact, those tacos had been full of onions and I felt no need to brush my teeth, though I did pop a mint. I didn’t want to knock Peyton out with my stinky breath. Peyton didn’t promote anything but honesty and I was beginning to return the favor and trust him in full.

  I exited the bathroom, calling,

  “Peyton, where’d you buy those tacos from? They were unbel-”

  I stopped short. Peyton wasn’t sitting on the sofa in the living room as I’d left him. He wasn’t even being helpful and washing the dishes we’d eaten out of. No, Peyton was shifting through my personal business papers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “What the…”

  I marched up to him and grabbed the papers from his snoopy hands. He scoffed,

  “Rude.”

  I could only gape at him.

  “Those are none of your business!” I scolded, hitting him with the leafs.

  “Calm down, Mia!”

  I accentuated each word with a slap, “I. Will. Not.”

  Tiring of my assault, Peyton grasped both my wrists with one firm hand. I was immediately and totally impotent. Well, I could always knee him in the pooka. I’d leave that option open.

  “Why didn’t you tell me how much you were dealing with? This business is barely turning a profit.”

  I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, seriously contemplating the pooka maneuver.

  “Because it’s none of your business.”

  He repositioned his grip on my wrists so that my hands braced his side. I felt the contraction of muscles and tried not to think about it.

  “You know that I can help you with this stuff.”

  “I don’t need your handouts, Peyton. Unless they’re meal related.”

  I was proud, not stupid. You never turn down free food.

  He laughed, “You’re so stubborn, Mia. I have connections and the experience of running a successful business.”

  “That’s nice, but I believe in the power of trial and error.”

  “Do you believe that God puts people in our lives for a reason?”

  I stopped struggling. Dang it. He played the God card. He had to play the God card.

  Peyton saw that he’d struck a chord and a smirk climbed his face.

  “You are insufferable,” I managed, hoping the words found their target somehow past his inflated ego.

  “You are adorable,” he bopped my nose. I stomped his foot. Hm, I should have done that earlier. Peyton released me in favor of nursing his smashed food.

  “Crap, Mia. You might have broken a toe,” He bellowed, hopping to the dining table.

  I tried to sum of feelings of remorse but failed epically. I shoved my bank notes under his nose. “Would you take a look at these, Peyton. I’d really like your help.” I said innocently.

  He pierced me with a hard glance which would have been more believable if a smile did not play on his lips.

  “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, woman.”

  “But that’s why you adore me,” I returned sweetly, tapping his cheek.

  He slanted me a look of annoyance, and then ruffled in his pocket for a minute, pulling out the nerdiest pair of glasses I have ever seen. Peyton wore reading glasses. He looked like an old man with those huge square things perched on the tip of his nose. And he licked his pointer finger before flipping a page. I found that gross, but it fit his little old man persona. Despite my hesitancy to have Peyton meddle in my financial business, he brought up decent points.

  “Have you ever thought of advertising with the local television networks?”

  I was in entrepreneur mode so I took his questions seriously.

  “I have, but the cost is always so high that I’ve never seen the way to make such an investment,” I admitted.

  He nodded in understanding, “There are several ways to advertise your business without spending an exorbitant amount. Think of seasonal event opportunities like Easter and cater especially for those. Do you have a website?”

  “I’ve always been meaning to set one up, but I’m not that computer savvy and researching requires a lot of time that I don’t have.”

  Peyton pulled out his very very smart phone. Was that thing even available to the common folk?

  He tapped on the screen, “I know a guy. Let me call in a favor and get that website up.”

  It felt weird allowing Peyton to take control like that. Half of me questioned his motives as I was more intimately acquainted with the darker side of the male species than most. I didn’t like feeling indebted or impotent.

  “I – uh – I do have a Facebook page.” I informed him helpfully.

  Peyton smiled, “That’s great!” he encouraged.

  I narrowed my eyes. I wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or sarcastic. My distrust prompted me to ask, but before I could, Peyton put up a hand to halt me.

  “Hello, George!”

  Wait, Peyton was arranging this website now?

  He got up and walked out of hearing range. I glanced over at the notes he’d made on my mortgage statements and daily expenditures. A minute later, he emerged,

  “I have my best guy working on that. He’s internationally acclaimed.”

  Peyton sat down and reclaimed his perusal. I sat in stunned silence before gathering the courage to ask,

  “How much does ‘your guy’ usually charge for this stuff?”

  Peyton named the most ridiculous number. I almost had a heart attack.

  “Per hour?” I choked.

  Peyton gave me a funny look. I could already picture myself selling a few vital organs in order to pay for this thing. Peyton read my expression,

  “It’s on me, Mia. Don’t worry.”

  His generosity made me feel worse.

  “I can pay my own way Peyton,” I argued.

  I think I read an article about a woman selling her kidney for a thousand bucks. People lived regular lives with one kidney, right?

  “No, I insist. Greg’s a friend.”

  My jaw dropped, “That was the price with a discount?”

  What was the website made out of… internet gold?

  “Peyton, I can’t allow you to do that.” I said, horrified because what I really wanted to say was:

  “Peyton, I’m broke and cannot afford a quarter of that fee so if you
want to spend money on me, go right ahead.”

  “That’s too bad. I’m doing it. All you need to do is send him some pictures of your store and merchandise to his email address. I’ll send you that in a minute.” He continued as if the discussion was settled. I found that annoying, but decided not argue about it. Anger stresses out the kidneys. I needed those in top shape to repay Peyton for his expensive ‘assistance’.

  “Now, the website will take care of online customers, but what about passersby? The regular Belizean woman. Would you be interested in renovating your building to install a window display?”

  The more Peyton spoke, the more I appreciated my organs, wagering that I wouldn’t have many of them left after his extravagant suggestions.

  “Peyton,” I began, but he continued without acknowledging my hesitancy.

  “Having an eye catching display would definitely boost profits.”

  “Peyton…”

  “It’s funny because I-”

  “Don’t you dare say, ‘I know a guy’.” I threatened him.

  He blinked as if only now realizing that I was even in the room.

  “Is there a problem?”

  I tried to lower my voice and convey my sentiments without unleashing the full force of my discomfort.

  “Look Peyton, I appreciate your enthusiasm in helping me, but I’ve been around long enough to know that when it comes to finances, I shouldn’t be getting into bed with anyone but myself.”

  “Whoa, at least buy me dinner first,” he teased.

  I glared at him, “I’m serious.”

  “Fine. Fine. You don’t seem to understand that I don’t need anything in return and if it makes you feel better I’ll have that written in writing.”

  For some reason, his words touched me and I began to cry.

  A startled, helpless look invaded those blue eyes of his.

  “Aw, don’t cry.”

  I tried to stop but those stubborn tears kept on coming. My kidneys wept along with me. Peyton left his chair and placed his arm awkwardly over my shoulder, and then he patted my head. Like a dog. His obvious difficulty to comfort me had me laughing through my tears. At the glimpse of my smile, Peyton’s relief was palpable.

  “You okay?” He asked.