Whole Latte Love (The Jewells) Page 5

  For a banker wannabe, she was certainly a big flirt, although she seemingly gave nothing away with her bland expression. She set the cup down and speared a strawberry, twirling it in whipped cream before sucking and rolling it into her mouth.

  Dylan swallowed, sweat popping from his brow. Only a woman who wasn’t trying to could make eating a simple plump, juicy strawberry look like an erotic act.

  He took a deep breath through his nostrils to calm his racing heart. Casually, he crunched on a piece of toast. “Since it’s your last day before work, I was thinking we can go sightseeing. You haven’t had much time with the apartment hunting.”

  She stopped in the middle of spreading honey on her toast. “Oh, sorry. I’m going shopping.”

  Shot down. This had never happened to him before.

  “Maybe another day, then.” Dylan managed to eek out a grin. At least the rejection would ease his erection. Why was his body misbehaving around her? She was obviously a studious workaholic, a climber, too much like Rebecca was, always looking for the next deal, willing to step over anyone who got in her way. Carina rolling her luggage over his foot was a sure sign. Consider it a cosmic warning.

  “What are you doing today?” She cut the toast into tiny pieces and used a fork to put a wedge in her mouth.

  “Brew happy coffee, kick around with the guys, work out and maintain my well toned body.” He popped a bicep, letting her know he wasn’t down for the count. “Can’t get good and firm unless you sweat.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Sheila said you’re nothing but a big flirt. I bet you get bigger tips that way.”

  Ouch. Maybe all she thought about was money. Typical banker chick concerns: pumps and price tags.

  He should feel insulted, but then, he wasn’t the one going into banking where they schmooze and fawn over clients and lie down in front of them like gold-threaded doormats. He set his hands firmly on the table. “Tell me, Miss Chen, why do you want to go into investment banking? Is it for bigger tips?”

  “They’re called commissions.” She pointed the knife at him.

  “Same difference. Is it something you’ve always dreamed of doing?”

  “I don’t know about that, Mr. Jewell, but it’s a respectable profession.” She finished her coffee and dabbed her lips with a napkin, leaving a smudge of lipstick.

  If respectable meant eating people’s mortgages for breakfast and wiping out jobs while bankrupting municipals with high-risk derivatives.

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t seem ideal.” Dylan cupped her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Tell me, if you could follow your dreams, what would you be doing?”

  She jerked her hand away and stood. “I have no time for dreaming. Thanks for breakfast.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Dylan plugged the pickup into the amp and adjusted the volume while the rest of the guys lounged on a sectional couch, sharing a joint. The pungent odor of weed burned throughout the garage Nico borrowed from his uncle.

  Nico clapped Dylan on the shoulder. “Roll one with me?”

  “Nope, promised my mom I’d quit.” Dylan set his guitar down and stepped over Vic’s saxophone. “Can’t you guys smoke outside? I don’t want to smell like a pothead.”

  “What are you so uptight about?” Paul blew a cloud of smoke at him. “You used to be cool.”

  Dylan ignored the jibe. There was nothing cool about memory loss and low testosterone. He passed out the sheet music of the new song he wrote. “We should go over this before Friday’s gig, unless you dirtbags are too stoned to learn it.”

  “Relax, we have all day.” Zeke turned on the keyboard and played a riff.

  “He wants to get home to his new wife,” Vic said. “I’ve heard banker chicks make the best ones. Rich and fashionable. No time to bitch, moan or nag. Give them a quickie and they’ll expense everything to their company.”

  “Tell me, are you a douche or what?” Dylan strapped his guitar around his neck. “She may be hot, but she’s not my type.”

  Her abrupt departure this morning was a pointed reminder. She was only a roommate, one who could pay the rent, given her salary. If he wanted appreciation, he’d get it from his usual gal pals.

  “Just bang her already.” Paul took a swig of beer and set it next to the drums.

  “I’m not going to bang my roommate.” What kind of creeper did they think he was? He patted the snare drum. “If we’re serious about touring, we’d better get this material posted on Soundcloud and get on more playlists. Is Roxy showing?”

  “She’s late.” Nico glanced at the wall clock. “Let’s wait another fifteen.”

  Roxy was the agent who was lining up investors to fund a possible tour.

  Dylan’s nerves were too amped to hang out and chill. He wasn’t used to women blowing him off, especially not after he’d provided breakfast. While his bandmates took hits, he fingerpicked his latest lick in the bossa nova style.

  After a while, Nico joined in with a walking bass line, with Paul providing the beat on the drums while Vic wove the velvety notes of his sax into the mix. Dylan belted out the vocals, his hips arching into the climaxing series of chords. Music never ceased to comfort him as he got into the flow zone.

  Paul finished with a flurry of drumbeats and cymbals.

  “Oh yeah!” Dylan’s voice boomed. “We got it, baby.”

  Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he opened his eyes and would have dropped his guitar had it not been strapped on.

  Rebecca clapped slowly, her bright red fingernails gleaming like claws stained with fresh blood. Dylan tightened his jaw and waited for the snark attack to come.

  “My, my, my, what raw talent.” Rebecca strode to within a foot of him. Her perfume, a sultry, oriental scent full of seductive undertones, assaulted him with unwanted memories.

  “There’s no peace for the wicked.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “What are you doing here?”

  The years spent in banking had taken their toll on her. Although heavily made up, her face sagged with fatigue. Fine wrinkles radiated from the corners of her catlike green eyes, and her flaming red hair was too contrived to be natural. The sharp, cutting teeth with the long canines appeared unchanged, but when she rolled her tongue over her upper lip, his stomach clenched in memory of what she could do on her knees.

  He steeled himself. She was obviously here to demand something from him. Hard to believe she used to read poetry and sing in his mother’s bluegrass band. Now, all she cared about was climaxing her way up the corporate ladder.

  Rebecca circled Dylan like a tigress eyeing her prey. “Just the man to play at my engagement party.”

  “I don’t need the job.” Dylan lowered his voice, not trusting his tongue to refrain from obscenities. Sweat broiled under his collar. No one told him his father had proposed, but Rebecca sported a large square diamond.

  “I’m prepared to pay whatever you ask.” She waved a check in front of his nose.

  “Don’t want it.” Dylan sidestepped her and placed his guitar in its case. What the hell was wrong with the old man? Why get married when he could play around?

  “You boys want the job? Eldorado Country Club in Orinda. Name your price, I’ll pay.” She twirled a silk scarf at his bandmates. “The guests include congressmen, CEO’s, and venture capitalists, maybe even a future presidential candidate thrown in.”

  “I’m out of here.” Dylan picked up his guitar.

  “Wait.” Rebecca parked herself in front of him. “Aren’t you at all interested in the guest list?”

  “Nope.” His fists tightened and he could barely keep himself from throwing things. After they’d broken up, he’d deliberately paid no attention to her and pretended she didn’t exist. It had worked well, until she had the gall to go after his father shortly after his mother’s death.

  Around him, his bandmates were silent, their eyes downcast. Rebecca’s heels clicked on the enameled garage floor. “It’s a lot of money and exposure to big investors. Can’t h
urt, can it?”

  A couple of his bandmates were hard up for money. But the only reason Rebecca offered them the gig was to rub herself in Dylan’s face.

  Nico patted his shoulder. “What do you think? We might meet donors to crowdfund our studio fees.”

  “It’s up to you, dude.” Dylan walked down the driveway. “I don’t take money from whores.”

  Rebecca was surprisingly fast on her spiky heels. She yanked his arm. “When are you going to wake up? Your dad’s put up with this hippie stuff long enough. It’s time for you to pull up your big boy pants and get back in the game.”

  “I’m trying really hard not to fucking strangle you.” His blood pumped to his head and his temples throbbed, close to exploding. “Get out of my life and stay out.”

  She poked him in the chest. “I don’t give a shit about you, loser. I’m here for Rich. Your absence from the firm is tearing him up. Stop wasting your brains on dope, tramps, and grunge.”

  He’d rather be torn to pieces by a shark than go back to the pretentious, elitist world of high finance, especially since it was filled with people like her. Stepping back, he mustered all his control not to slap her hand. “Go hook yourself a richer man than my dad and leave our family alone.”

  Rebecca licked her lips and smiled, showing her elongated canines. “I’ll rather enjoy being your stepmother. Be a dutiful son and play at your father’s engagement party.”

  “Not a chance.” Dylan walked away from the woman he thought was his true love.

  Chapter 5

  Dylan checked the time when he stepped out of the shower. Five-thirty in the morning, and he was up before Carina. He hated getting up early, but he’d promised her a morning latte and he darn sure wasn’t going to miss her first day of work. Besides, she’d appreciate not having to grab a cup before her commute on public transportation.

  Running a brush through his hair, he pushed the longish strands from his eyes and spiked it with a dollop of gel. Not too much. Going for the friendly roommate route: he’d give her a ray of happiness and a pat on the back before she headed into the investment banking black hole.

  He left his damp towel on the rack and sauntered naked to his room. The sound of her alarm jingled in her room, but she hadn’t cracked open her door yet. After donning his boxers, he pulled on a pair of dark wash jeans and a light gray crew t-shirt.

  Yawning and stretching, he headed for the kitchen. He’d missed Carina last night. By the time he returned from working a gig, she was already holed up in her room. Surprisingly, she’d left Thai takeout in the refrigerator for him with a note: Thanks for breakfast. Enjoy.

  It would have been nice to relax with her over Thai food and forget about the unpleasantness with Rebecca. The fact Carina left food for him showed she wanted to get along, maybe even hang out, a nice change from her all-business-all-the-time attitude.

  He preheated the espresso machine and ground the coffee beans into the portafilter. As he beat eggs and milk into the sourdough waffle mix he prepared the night before, he heard Carina step into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Dylan spun the tamp to polish off the puck and stuck it into the machine to extract, listening for Carina to turn on the shower. The coffee dripped, slowly, dark in color, before turning into a thin stream. By his estimation, Carina was about to peel off her PJs before exposing her sleek body to the massaging showerhead. Beads of water would caress her from head to toe, trickling over her breasts and slipping into the valley between—

  A scream and a loud bang jolted Dylan from admiring the blond crema trailing into the coffee cup. He bolted upright and ran to the bathroom door.

  “You okay in there?”

  “Ahh … ahhh …” She sounded like she couldn’t breathe. He grabbed a small screwdriver from the linen closet and jiggled the door open.

  Carina was perched on top of the closed toilet lid. Shampoo covered her hair, trickling down her shoulders, and water beaded over her breasts.

  “What are you doing in here?” Carina dived for a towel and fell off the toilet right into Dylan’s arms.

  He eased her to the floor. Her skin was perfectly smooth, tempting him to run his hands all over and kiss her senseless. Holding her, even briefly, had his erection ballooning at an alarming rate.

  “There’s a huge spider in the shower.” Carina yanked a towel around herself.

  Dylan tore his gaze from her and opened the shower door. “Oh, that’s just Bella. She’s a tarantula, not a spider.”

  “She’s yours?” Her voice rose an octave and a half.

  “She won’t hurt you.” He scooped the tarantula from the shower floor, unable to resist a smirk.

  “Ahh, ahh, ahh. Get it away from me.” Carina gasped and ran for her room, her towel flapping and briefly exposing her backside.

  A wolf-whistle wouldn’t be welcome, so he took Bella to his room and set her into her terrarium. “Sorry, girl. Forgot to feed you. Who told you to sneak out?”

  He dug under his bed and extracted the box where he kept Bella’s food, a colony of beetle larvae known as superworms. They were fat and juicy due to the fresh apple slices he fed them. Using a pair of long tweezers, he dropped a grub into Bella’s box. She latched onto it immediately.

  “Is it safe?” Carina peeked from her door across the hallway.

  “Nothing to worry about.” Dylan stepped out quickly and shut his door before she could look inside. She’d faint if she saw the collection of mealy worms and crickets for Tykie, his bearded dragon.

  “Easy for you to say.” She had the cutest little lines between her eyebrows.

  “Go ahead and finish your shower.” He backed toward the kitchen. “You want latte or cappuccino this morning?”

  “I’m ah … in a rush.” She scurried to the bathroom and turned on the water.

  Dylan prepared another puck. The last extraction would be too bitter since he hadn’t had time to pull the cup before the tail end of the brew slipped through. A good barista always tossed the first cup anyway. He poured batter into the preheated waffle iron and fixed another cup of espresso as visions of Carina’s porcelain smooth body danced in his mind.

  Among all her surprises, she had a glittering jewel piercing in her belly button.

  ~ ~ ~

  Glancing at the time on her cell phone, Carina hustled up the stairs of the Montgomery Street station. Damn that Dylan Jewell and his giant spider. Why hadn’t he mentioned it when she was checking the apartment for insects? Who knew what else he hid in that room of his?

  Unlike the order in the common areas, the room was a mess: clothes were flung over a weight bench, stacks of weights lay on the floor, and several plastic boxes and shoe boxes hid who knew what?

  This wasn’t going to work. Carina brought up Dylan’s contact and texted: Lose the spider, or I’m moving out.

  She didn’t need Dylan and his coffee and waffles and be-happy-smirk. Talk about embarrassing—he’d seen her buck naked atop the toilet lid.

  Gulping a breath, she stomped up the stairs to alleviate the tingling squeeze at the base of her spine and the heat flushing her chest. Carina wasn’t the type of woman to fall for men who practiced their good looks with ease, especially ones who made her weak-kneed and lightheaded.

  It wasn’t just his looks. The man was a threat to her work ethic: from his dreamy blue eyes to his languid flowing stride. He made her yearn for leisurely walks on the beach, long, hot siestas, and lazy nights of slow dancing under a full, fat moon—scenes she fantasized about during her frequent bouts of insomnia. Only now, the faceless man would forever sport Dylan’s square jaw, pointy nose and lush, kissable lips. Add a stylish haircut, closely cropped at the sides with a wavy sweep-up top, and not only would that man be fit to be tasted, but swallowed whole.

  She should slap herself. She was a budding career woman, not a star-struck groupie. She had no need for real life romance with all its drama. Better to read books and fantasize about fictional heroes than deal with dirty socks an
d creepy pets. Especially the eight legged variety. Yuck!

  Squeezing herself between the hordes of commuters, Carina emerged in the heart of the Financial District. With no time to gawk at the mirrored office buildings, she ran several blocks in her heels to the Mogul Bank employee entrance. Next time, she’d wear sneakers and change at the door.

  She was sweating under her suit jacket by the time she pushed through the circular glass door behind a lanky young man.

  The receptionist regarded them frostily, while handing each of them a folder. “Orientation is to the right.”

  After they checked in, the man introduced himself. “James Sweet, Stanford. And you?”

  “Carina Chen, Wharton.” She shook his hand as he sized her up and down.

  She returned the favor and held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. He had that healthy billionaire glow, white teeth, an even tan and sandy blond hair, slicked back with too much gel.

  “A Wharton girl?” He smirked as if he didn’t believe she was a fellow intern. “You’re doing great.”

  Condescending bastard. Not answering him, she pushed through the conference door and strode in.

  Twenty or so newly pressed interns mingled around a table set with decanters of coffee and tea and a continental breakfast. There were three women besides Carina. They barely glanced at her before turning admiring gazes at James.

  He went by them, grinning flirtatiously, and headed to a group of men wearing shiny shoes and expensive suits. Since the women didn’t greet her, Carina swung her Longchamp tote over her shoulder and positioned herself near the window facing the doorway. She’d play second fiddle to no one.

  James returned to her side with two male interns and introduced them as Hal Becker from Harvard and Daniel Hayward from Yale. Carina noticed one of the women, a blonde with short bobbed hair, curl her lip and whisper to the other one, a petite brunette. They both shook their heads, as if finding fault with her.

  She turned her attention back to the men who, as usual, were playing one-up.

  “It was a tough choice between Mogul and Goldfinch,” James said. “But the return invite rate is higher here.”