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As much as it chafed, he’d have to follow Beck some more.
“I plan to.” Seth flashed a cocky grin. “Before I have her for dessert.”
The doctor looked dead furious. “No, you fucking won’t.”
Seth ribbed Beck again—just for fun—and they argued all the way out the door.
He exited into the California sunshine, grinning at the temperate, blue-skied day. His family had complained about another Arctic blast of cold when he’d checked on them last night. It sucked to be them. And he had barely thought about the possibility of a catastrophic earthquake since arriving. Maybe he was getting used to the idea of dropping off into the ocean. Or he just didn’t give a shit anymore. The perks of living here just might outweigh the fiery, eventual end.
“The only date you’re going to have, pal, is with Rosy Palm and her four sisters,” Beck taunted. “I’m taking Heavenly to dinner tonight. Get lost.”
With a one-fingered salute, the doctor hopped into his flashy red Mercedes convertible that screamed midlife crisis and revved the engine. The good news about his nondescript gray midsize rental? He’d blend in with the rest of the traffic on the highway…and Beck would never know he was being tailed.
It paid to have skills.
Seth slid behind the wheel and followed at a discreet distance as Beck made his way out of the neighborhood and zoomed toward the freeway. Sure enough, once they both got on Wilshire near rush hour, the doctor stopped looking in the rearview mirror and started laying impatiently on his horn.
A few miles later, Seth followed him into another residential neighborhood. It was a hodgepodge of different architectural styles. He wasn’t surprised when Beck pulled into his garage and shut the door behind him. Of course the SOB had the sleekest, most modern house on the whole fucking block.
With a sigh, Seth pulled to the curb a few houses down and waited. It shouldn’t take long for him to change clothes, throw on some expensive cologne he hoped would get him lucky, and pick up his extra-small Trojans. And whaddaya know, Beck backed his German phallic symbol out of the garage fifteen minutes later, looking all refreshed and smug.
Twenty bucks said he’d just polished his knob in the hopes of controlling himself tonight.
Chuckling, Seth pulled slowly away from the curb and followed at a safe distance. He couldn’t wait to get an eyeful of Heavenly.
Before she got into Beck’s car, Seth hoped to intervene, say the right thing—whatever that was—then sweep her off her feet and take her someplace both fantastic and private.
Shit, he should have brought flowers or candy—or both. Right now, he couldn’t stop, but he vowed he’d give her something much better later.
To his surprise, Beck didn’t pull up at another house, apartment, condo, RV, shack by the river, or even a freeway underpass. The fidiot drove straight to a swanky restaurant on the beach. What the fuck? Did he think he was too important to pick Heavenly up himself?
The doctor valeted his red motorized penis. Seth pulled into a spot at the back of the parking lot and watched as Beck emerged with a spring in his step, box of candy in hand, and paced the fancy restaurant’s portico. Seth frowned. Didn’t he know Heavenly took the bus? Suddenly, Seth doubted it…just like he doubted his rival had learned where she lived.
He whipped out his phone. Yeah, doctors could save lives, and that was nifty. But PIs could dig up secrets. Shouldn’t take him more than a few minutes to figure out where Heavenly called home. Then, he’d go get her himself and take her someplace less country-club pretentious and more romantic.
After a few taps on his screen, he glanced up to find Beck talking into his device, fingers clenched around a box of Godiva. He looked frustrated as he marched, argued, and gestured to the restaurant—not that whomever he talked to could see.
Oh, my god. Was Heavenly cancelling their big date?
How fucking priceless!
Holding in a good belly laugh, Seth pocketed his phone and strolled across the parking lot. This was going to be fun…
As he sauntered just under the portico’s light, the doctor looked up, jaw clenched. “You again? Are you following me? Fuck off back to New York.”
“Not gonna happen. Hammer needs my help, and Heavenly needs my…skills. What’s the matter, cupcake? Did she stand you up?”
Beck ground his teeth. “She has to work.”
“Understandable. I’d rather clean bedpans than go out with you, too.”
“Ha ha. She’s not cleaning bedpans, fucker. She’s waiting tables. She got called in at the last minute, not that it’s any of your business. How long are you staying this time?”
“As long as it takes.” He smiled. Let the fucker make of that what he would.
Behind them, a young, fresh-faced hostess stuck her head out the door. “Beckman, table for two is ready.”
