Gold Digger

Lottie

“For fuck’s sake!” a deep voice boomed and I froze as the snug door slammed open.

I was holding the queen and about to make the move, putting my opponent into checkmate. The duke took a couple of agitated steps into the room and then came to an abrupt halt when he saw me. His eyes went from my face to my hand holding the chess piece, and despite his anger just a moment ago, he smiled.

“So,” he started. “Feel like finally admitting that you’re the one beating me at chess?” he asked.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I was about to plop the queen back down where she’d been, but this move I was about to make was perfect, and it would put me two games ahead. I bit my lip, placed her down facing the bishop, then straightened up to take a step back.

“Checkmate,” he muttered.

I backed away quickly as he approached, skittering behind the sofa. My movement seemed to reignite his irritation from before. His smile fell, and his brows drew together. He huffed as he threw himself into one of the armchairs next to the chessboard, sagging forward and rubbing his temples.

“I’ll just be getting on, sir,” I whispered, backing away further towards the door.

“Lottie?” he called just as I was reaching for the handle. “Could we just give all this deferential bullshit a rest for a bit? I’ve had a shitshow of a morning, and I’d really like to spend some time with someone who’s not a complete dick.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “How do you know I’m ‘not a complete d-word’? Maybe I’m a total d-word.”

“I just know. I get very minimal dickish vibes from you.”

I hesitated for a moment before letting my hand fall from the door.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Maybe I don’t have to shoot off straight away. But you should know I can be somewhat of a d-word… sometimes.”

“Can’t we all? My sisters would say it’s something I excel at.”

“Sisters?” I asked as I skirted him and took the chair opposite. “You have more than one?”

He frowned. “Yeah, of course.”

“Oh, well, the sister I’ve met seems like a good time.”

He tipped his head to the side. “But you met both of them. Vicky was at the club then they were both here last week.”

“Ohhhhh,” I said slowly. “The blonde? I thought…” I stopped myself before I could reveal my stupid assumptions, trying to ignore the small bubble of hope and happiness at the knowledge that the duke didn’t have a girlfriend.

“You thought what?”

“Well, I thought she and you were?—”

“Oh shit. I assumed Vics would have explained who she was. Sorry, she’s not really that great at … er, well, she’s not really that social. Doesn’t get many situations. Vics is a genius in many ways, but human interactions often baffle her.”

“She seemed nice.” Without the white-hot jealousy, I realised that I did actually like Vicky. She was entirely without artifice and I could tell she definitely never lied.

His eyebrows went up. “Really?”

“I mean, she’s blunt, I guess. Quite literal.”

“That’s an understatement. Unfortunately, Vics can be a bit of a liability. I love my sister, but she doesn’t half piss people off.” He paused for a moment as he looked at me, then seemed to make a decision. “She has autistic spectrum disorder. Her mother, not my mum but my dad’s mistress, didn’t believe in it, so Vicky was only diagnosed as an adult. We don’t really tell people. I don’t want her vulnerable, and she wants to keep it to herself anyway. But it can create problems. Vics is so truthful it can be… tricky.”

“People can’t handle the truth,” I said.

“Yeah, well, now she’s decided she’s been ‘smothered’ for too long in the family business. She’s joined my best friend’s finance company to prove herself or some such bullshit. It’s ridiculous.”

“Is that why you’re angry?”

“Sorry about that,” he winced and looked away from me. “You don’t need me storming around like a bear with a sore head.”

“Er… it is your house, you realise?” I asked with a small smile. “You can storm as much as you want.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be a?—”

“D-word?”

He smiled. “That’s right.”

“Well, I don’t think you are, if that’s any consolation.”

“High praise.”

“The highest. So what else has happened to make you all door-slammy?”

The duke started rearranging all the chess pieces back into their relevant places. God, his hands were sexy. Tanned, with large, manly veins and everything. His chunky, expensive watch peeking out of his shirt sleeve added to the effect. Not to mention the subtle aftershave I could just about make out. His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a few times already, and his stubble was already edging towards five o’clock shadow territory. Seriously, it was almost indecent to be wandering around looking this good at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday. He cleared his throat, and when I looked up into his blue eyes, I realised he was smiling.

“You okay there?” he asked. “You zoned out for a minute.”

“S-sorry,” I said, giving myself a mental shake to snap out of this.

“Your move,” he said in a soft voice, and I blinked. Was he saying I should…

“I… er, I?—”

“ Chess move, Lottie,” he said, gestured to the chessboard and raised an eyebrow.

I cleared my throat as heat flooded my face and hurried to grab the pawn, making a move with no thought at all.

“My brother-in-law is a bit of a dick. That’s what made me door-slammy.”

I pressed my lips together. No way was I giving my honest opinion on Blake. “Claire doesn’t seem like she’d marry a d-word.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders under his expensive suit. “He used to be okay, but lately…” he trailed off and looked to the side. “He was one of those dickheads in the club that didn’t move the glasses out of the way for you.”

“Oooh.” I made an eek face, feigning surprise. “I see.”

“Exactly, mega dickhead alert. But that’s really only when he drinks. The deal he’s just fucked up on the land that we need to develop the new bars has nothing to do with the booze.”

I bit my lip and looked to the side. In my experience, booze could come into play in a lot more scenarios than people were aware of.

“Should never have let him take the lead on it, but he said it was under control. Even now, he thinks he can still salvage it.”

“Maybe give him a chance,” I said softly, and his eyebrows went up.

“Why are you defending him? He was a total prick that night at the club.”

I shrugged. “He’s your family. Family is important. You’ve got all these threads between you in families, weaving in and out, strengthening you all as a whole, giving everyone a safety net, a sense of belonging. Don’t risk cutting any of the threads. Not when your sister could be the one to fall through the hole it creates.”

He sat up and blinked at me. “I never thought of it like that,” he said slowly. My heart clutched in my chest, and my throat felt thick for a moment. If you’ve never had family and stability ripped from under you, you can’t truly understand how important it is, how rudderless you are without it. I tried to shove the jealousy I was feeling down as I watched him consider my words.

“Is that how you are with your family?” he surprised me by asking. In my experience, men like to talk about themselves exclusively .

I shrugged. “I’d do anything for my family.” That was true enough, even if my family extended to just Hayley. The threads that bound us were unbreakable.

“Hmm, well, I don’t know how I’ll keep my temper with him. But you’re right – family is important.”

“You could try what I do,” I blurted out without thinking. He tilted his head to the side.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, when people pee me off, like in the club the other night…” I paused when a murderous look crossed the duke’s face, “I, er, well, I have this little song I sing under my breath. I guess it’s like counting to ten.” His frown was now replaced with a smile.

“Go on then,” he encouraged.

“Oh, I’m not singing you my song.” I picked up my knight and moved to engage his bishop on the chessboard.

“Hey, you can’t hint at the secret to dealing with dickheads and then not give the actual deets.” He made a shit move with his rook, leaving his knight exposed; the man was total shiitake mushrooms at chess.

“Nope, not happening,” I said. “Make up your own song.”

“Come on, Lottie,” he wheedled.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

I huffed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, fine,” I muttered, heat flooding my face. “So it’s:

I won’t punch this d-head in the face,

I’ll just wait till he’s gone.

Cause d-heads be d-heads,

But they always jog on.”

His rich, deep laughter filled the room, and I stared at him in total awe. He was so beautiful it was almost unreal. “That’s catchy,” he said through his amusement. “Tell me, have you used that little rhyme when it comes to me?”

I cleared my throat and looked away. “No, of course not.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

I smiled at him. “Even you have to admit that you sometimes warranted that poem.”

“Oh really, would that include me being concerned that you might break your neck? Or wanting you to go the hospital after you fell ten feet and couldn’t put weight through your leg? Telling you off for standing on a ladder when – and baby, I mean no shade when I say this – you have a fair bit of trouble staying upright when you’re on solid ground? I think my concern was warranted.”

Suppressing the shiver that ran through my body when he called me baby, I rolled my eyes and made another chess move, this time taking his bishop. “You’re bossy,” I told him.

“Yes,” he told me, and I looked up at his face. His eyes captured mine, and we sat there staring at each other with me yet again completely under his spell. “Yes, Lottie. I’m very bossy.”

Okay, so he hadn’t said anything explicit, but it was the way he said it – dark-edged, low and commanding. I had a feeling we weren’t talking about my clumsiness anymore. When I made my next chess move, my fingers were shaking and I knocked over the pawn I was reaching for.

Before I knew what was happening, he’d reached out and enclosed my hand in his. I should have snatched it away. If I’d have had more willpower, I would have. But with his expensive cologne in the air, his strong hand swallowing mine in its warmth, the memory of his low, dark voice in my brain and his blue eyes staring straight at mine as his pupils dilated, there was really no way I could have pulled back. It was physiologically impossible. He stroked my palm with his thumb, and I felt so lightheaded I thought I might pass out sitting up. His touch felt electric, like a living, breathing force flowing into my hand and up my arm.

“Your hand is really small,” he said, his voice still low.

“Er, I think it’s average size,” I said in a hoarse voice, then cleared my throat. “Yours is just too big.”

He smiled at me then. “That’s what she said,” he muttered my joke from weeks ago back to me, and I lost it.

Years of careful control, of doing the right thing, of keeping my head above water, of never having anything for myself, of self-discipline, all unravelled. This man was simply too much. It was like a switch tripped in my brain – sensible Lottie left the building, leaving sex-starved, duke-obsessed Lottie in her place. I surged out of my seat, my free hand diving into that glorious hair that I’d been dreaming about for months and my lips crashing onto his still-smiling mouth.