Freeing the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 1 Page 12

  Him.

  Maybe he should go up there and confront her or wait for her to show up. He could call her from his car phone. Of course, the best choice might be to give her space for the rest of the night, letting her cool off and reconsider what she’d said and thought.

  Then again…

  He cursed his indecision, idiotic potions, fucking magic, stupid powers that screwed things up rather than fixing them, and all the other crap that continued to mess up his—

  A horn blared behind him.

  Eric flinched. Growling, he gave the driver his middle finger.

  The horn blared again.

  Reluctantly, he drove past Becca’s building. With each mile, his mood grew darker, more pissed and uncertain too. What if Desi had put something in their food? Like Becca, Eric had had the same thought, which he’d quickly dismissed.

  No more. What if their damned relatives had meddled in their time together tonight, which wasn’t a date? Oh no. Despite all they’d shared, maybe it was simply a test run, as he’d suggested so Becca would go out with him.

  Not that he’d really meant that or wanted it.

  Part of Eric needed the truth. Most of him wanted to believe that Becca truly desired who he was, really was, as much as she seemed to.

  As deeply as he craved her.

  Chapter Ten

  “Come on, girl, make the call.” Constance pushed Becca’s iPhone from the edge of the desk to between Becca’s elbows.

  She rubbed her temples and stared at the damn phone as though it might bite or kill her.

  “It’s either that,” Constance said, “or I’ll put my hands on your head. Pull all those nasty memories away in a flash. You’ll never know what hit you. Is that what you want? Not to remember anything about him?”

  Fool that she was Becca leaned away, wanting to keep her memories of Eric safe. Cherished. It was all she had left.

  “I don’t think she wants to forget,” Heather murmured. “Maybe she’d like to do this as a mortal would.”

  Zoe muttered, “You mean, suffer?”

  “Well yeah, I suppose,” Heather said. “I’m not sure.” She sighed. “I’m never sure.”

  Join the club. Nearly a week had passed since Becca’s test run with Eric. She kept going over that night in her mind, everything he’d said and had done, looking for confirmation of what she’d told him about the potions’ effects. Most of the time, she found it. Sometimes she didn’t. Those few moments had her doubting. Worse, they gave her hope. She continued to rethink things, even building an Excel spreadsheet with pros and cons of what had happened between them. What it meant.

  She hadn’t a clue what that might be, and it was driving her nuts. No way could she stand much more of this slow torture.

  Each time her business or personal phone rang, she jumped. It was usually a customer, sometimes a telemarketer trying to sell her dental insurance. Three days ago it had been Eric, leaving four messages on her voicemail, all to-the-point and commanding. “We have to talk,” he’d insisted.

  Uh-uh. Too scary. Becca knew her limitations when it came to him. If they were even in the same building, she’d cave, going the easy route of having a great time, completely deluding herself that he wanted her for who she was—not because of what magic had done to him—avoiding the inevitable end.

  There was always an end. The only thing she was good at with guys was being dumped by them. Eric thought he’d had it hard with women. Ha. He was a mere baby when it came to sucking at love. Becca had it down pat.

  Oh crap, how could she have fallen so hard, so fast? How could she let what she felt for him keep screwing with her?

  She tugged at her hair, unable to relax, fearful the office’s front door would open, which would send her heart into another sprint. Becca kept thinking it might be him. It never was. And that sent her into a new tailspin of disappointment. She figured he hadn’t come around—and wouldn’t—because the potion had somehow worn off. He’d forgotten about her. He probably didn’t want to tangle with her crew either.

  Heather was perched on the edge of Becca’s sofa, shaken as always, ready to dissolve into tears. Constance leaned against the desk, her body language saying she wasn’t about to take shit from anyone. Zoe was at the door, arms crossed over her flat chest, guarding it from Eric’s intrusion.

  After so much time and no more phone calls, it wasn’t likely. He’d moved on, without her having to call her mom as she’d promised, asking Rowena to lift the spell.

  Becca wanted to rest her head on the desk and cry, then sleep, then cry some more.

  Constance ran her hand over Becca’s hair.

  She stiffened immediately. “What are you doing?”

  “Relax. I’m only consoling you.” Constance brought back her hand. “My offer still stands though. You can’t go on like this. You need to forget or know the truth, with that being my personal preference. Go on, call the man.”

  “It’s only his uncle,” Heather added haltingly. “Not Eric. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  Or maybe it would be awful with Desi admitting he’d spiked their food and that’s what had caused such a bewitching night. Sweet, sexy memories Becca was afraid to hold onto but didn’t want shattered either. Not yet. Maybe in a couple of months or a year.

  “You want me to call him?” Constance asked, reaching for the phone.

  Becca blocked the woman with her arm. “No. I want all of you to go back to work.”

  Only Heather moved. Constance gave her a look that said, Sit down. No one’s leaving. Heather seemed torn about what to do. Before she fell apart, Becca gestured her back to the sofa. Constance was right. It was time to learn the horrible truth.

  It’d hurt like hell, but would be the first step toward eventually growing numb, then moving through each day like one of her zombie clients. Becca was glad her friends were here to support the beginning of the end. She didn’t think she could do this alone.

  On a weary sigh, she lifted her phone and lost her nerve. “I don’t have his number.”

  Constance pushed Becca’s notepad in front of her. Written across the top, in three-inch high numerals, was Desiderio’s reservation line.

  “What time is it?” Becca looked outside at the sun’s angle, not her watch. “He’s not open until six. It’s too early. He won’t be there.”

  “I called twenty minutes ago,” Constance said. “He answered the phone. We all have a reservation for tomorrow night.”

  “What?” Becca pushed back in her chair so quickly, the legs bounced then scraped over the floor. “I’m not going to eat there again.”

  Constance lifted one shoulder. “Then the three of us will. Right, ladies?”

  Chewing her lower lip, Heather looked at Becca, clearly not certain how to answer. The flames in Zoe’s eyes flared slightly.

  “Even if you do ask him what he did,” Zoe said, “how do you know he’ll be telling you the truth? He could always lie.”

  Becca put down the phone. Constance slapped it right back into her hand. “Ask him in such a way that he can’t lie.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Don’t grill the man or make it sound as though you’re accusing him of anything. Tell him your time there with Eric was so wonderful that you wish you could have another night like that again. You’d do anything for it.”

  “Won’t he just make another reservation for Eric and me?”

  “Not if you word what you say carefully. Praise him. Pull him into your confidence. Use your womanly wiles, Becca. You do have some, don’t you?”

  She curled her upper lip.

  “That’s not the right attitude to have,” Constance advised. “Puff the man up. Make him think he’s the only one who can help you with this. If he did do anything to your and Eric’s food, he’ll offer to do it again because you’re praising h
im so much.”

  Heather nodded and smiled. “And then you’ll have your answer.”

  Becca bared her teeth.

  “Then again, maybe not,” Heather mumbled.

  “It’s either that,” Constance said, “or return Eric’s calls. Ask him how he feels.”

  “Uh-uh.” Becca waved her hands in front of herself. “Any answer he gives me could be the magic talking.”

  Constance nodded. “Always a possibility. Which means that after you speak to Eric’s uncle, you need to finally call your mom. Find out exactly what she put in that last potion. I know, I know,” she said, holding up her hand to keep Becca from interrupting. “Having mixed it, you’re well aware of the ingredients. However, as you’ve already told us, you haven’t a clue how they interacted with each other or with that first potion. She does.”

  “Becca would too,” Zoe said, “if she’d studied her craft a little harder.”

  Too late for that now.

  “If your mom did mess with it—which I don’t believe at all—I’m sure she had the right intention,” Constance said.

  Heather nodded vigorously. “Rowena’s a nice lady. She only wants what’s best for everyone.”

  Becca hoped to hell that didn’t include blindsiding poor Eric into liking her daughter, unless the side effects of the potion had been an accident. Her mom had never worked on a god before; therefore, she wouldn’t have known what might ultimately happen. Not that it being accidental would make this any better. Eric’s transformation in the treatment room, well before he and Becca had eaten the possibly spiked meal, had to be a result of the potion. And what about the way he’d acted before they’d even gone inside Desiderio’s, taking her in his arms, kissing her as if there were no tomorrow, ignoring Ms. Nympho in favor of her? Yeah, that made sense. Desi might be responsible for what happened during and after their meal, but not before. Even Eric had admitted he’d never behaved with another woman the way he had with her.

  As she had so many times in the past, Becca wished she’d been born fully mortal without all this other crud to worry about.

  Constance rubbed her back. “Want me to punch in the number?”

  “I’m capable.”

  “I know. So get a move on,” she ordered.

  Becca tried twice but kept hitting the wrong numbers. “I’m doing it, okay?” She turned her back to Constance, finally got the combination right and wanted to throw up at the first ring.

  Desi’s gravelly voice cut off the second. “Buona sera! Desiderio’s. How can we make your life more beautiful than it already is?”

  Give me Eric. The real Eric.

  “Hello?” he said to Becca’s silence. “Is anyone there?”

  “Ah…”

  “I’m sorry, there must be something wrong with our connection. I didn’t hear that. Can you repeat it?”

  Becca covered her face with her hand. “Hi. This is Becca Salt. I was there the other night with—”

  “Becca! How wonderful to hear from you. Your voice is just as lovely on the phone as it is in person. How’s Eric?”

  She dropped her hand. How was she supposed to know? “Ah…”

  “What was that? You keep fading in and out. It’s probably my phone. Let me go outside for a better connection. This happens sometimes. Just give me a second to get out there.”

  “No, don’t,” she said. “The phone’s fine.”

  “Oh, okay. You want to make a reservation for you and Eric tonight?” He chuckled. “I’ll have the same table ready for you, just like the last time.”

  Becca slumped in her chair, uncertain whether to be happy that Eric hadn’t brought another women there yet, or bummed because this was proof Desi had messed with their food. The man seemed confident that she and Eric were into each other in every conceivable way. “No, I’m calling about something else.”

  Constance hurried around the desk and mouthed, Play it cool.

  Perspiration ran down Becca’s back.

  “Oh, you want to make reservations for another group?” Desi asked. “You and the ladies you work with? A girl’s night out? Someone’s birthday?”

  She squirmed in her chair.

  Constance mouthed, What?

  “Ah, no,” Becca said to Desi. “That is, I didn’t call to make a reservation. I just wanted…that is…when Eric and I were there the other night…”

  “Yes, yes,” Desi said, coaxing her as she fell into a new silence.

  Constance rolled her eyes. Heather rocked on the edge of the sofa. Zoe looked smug, as though she knew this wouldn’t work out.

  Becca finally blurted, “Did you put something in our food?”

  Constance ground the heel of her hand into her forehead.

  Desi was very quiet, then growled, “What?”

  It sounded like back off. Becca couldn’t. “Did you put something in our food? I’m not accusing you or anything.”

  Constance shook her head.

  “It’s just that, well, everything was so wonderful,” Becca continued.

  “That’s cause I’m a good cook,” he muttered.

  “Oh hey, I agree. Best meal I ever had. But…”

  “But what?” His voice got edgier. “Did Eric put you up to this?”

  “Eric? No.” Becca pushed up in her chair. “What do you mean?”

  “He called me earlier in the week, demanding to know whether I messed with your food that night. I kept telling him no. Not that I didn’t think about it. A lot. Trust me, that boy needs help when it comes to women. He can never close the deal. But my wife said, ‘You leave them alone. Let nature take its course.’” He sniffed. “As if that ever works. Now you tell Eric I don’t appreciate him having you call to accuse me of something I didn’t do, even though I should have.”

  Becca trembled so badly, her voice shook. “You really didn’t put anything in the food? No aphrodisiac? No magic or whatever gods use? Nothing?”

  Constance pumped her arms in the air, making a V for victory. Heather smiled and wept. Zoe looked unconvinced.

  Desi sniffed. “Just my secret ingredients that I’m not sharing with nobody.”

  “Secret ingredients.” Becca’s stomach fell. So did Constance’s arms. Clearly stricken, Heather pressed her hands to her chest. Zoe nodded as though she’d suspected such a thing all along.

  “Yeah. Herbs, stuff like that.”

  “Just herbs?” Becca said. “And only to flavor the food?”

  “Sure. Nothing supernatural, okay? What is it with you young people? You should be thanking me for a wonderful meal, not accusing me of messing with your lives. Though they do need messing with.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I was just wondering.”

  “You mean Eric was. I’m gonna tell that boy if he doesn’t drop this, then I’m gonna—”

  “Please don’t. It’s best we just forget about it, all right? Please?”

  He muttered, “What exactly happened after you two left here?”

  Becca went into a full body blush.

  “No, don’t tell me,” Desi said. “I don’t want to know.”

  Thank you.

  “So you really liked my food?” he mumbled.

  “Best I ever ate, I swear.”

  “You didn’t even try my tiramisu.”

  “I will the next time.”

  “I’m keeping you to that. When can we expect you and Eric again?”

  Becca’s palm was sweating so badly, she had to wipe it and her iPhone off before she could answer. “I’ll have to get back to you, okay?”

  “It’s not as if Eric’s holding a grudge, is he?”

  “Oh hey, not at all. There’s just work to do and stuff. You know.”

  “You young people don’t know how to have fun,” he complained, obviously forgetting
her accusation regarding aphrodisiacs. “Tell you what. I’ll pencil you in for Saturday night. No one works then. How’s eight sound?”

  Not good. “Can I get back to you on that?”

  “Is Eric there with you? Is he shaking his head? Put him on, I want to talk to him.”

  “He’s not here. I’m at work.”

  “Oh.” Desi sounded genuinely surprised. “Well, when you two talk again, tell him that he’s bringing you here at eight on Saturday. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  Of course not, that would be too easy. “Okay.”

  He murmured, “See you then, beautiful lady.”

  “Uh-huh. Bye.” She dropped the phone on her desk and moaned.

  Constance squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, girl, you got good news, right? You should be doing a happy dance.”

  She should have her head examined. “Can you remove my memories of that call? Just the call?”

  “No way. Not until you tell me everything he said.”

  “Constance, don’t be mean,” Heather scolded.

  “Sorry, sweetie.” She turned back to Becca. “What’s wrong?”

  “Eric and I have reservations for Saturday night. Desi insisted upon it.”

  “So he can spike your food again,” Zoe warned.

  “Uh-uh,” Becca said. “He didn’t play with it at all. That must be what Eric wanted to talk to me about.”

  “Call him and find out.” Constance offered Becca the phone.

  She leaned away from it. “There’s still my mom.”

  “Such a nice woman,” Heather said, then looked worried. “You’re not going to holler at her, are you?”

  “Of course not,” Constance assured. “Are you?” she asked Becca.

  “No. But I do need to talk to her alone. Go back to work, please.”

  Heather fled the room. Constance backed out of it, her gold-and-black gown fluttering with each step. “You’re sure?”