by P. Dangelico
There’s so much naked heat and longing and desire in his eyes I’m surprised I don’t go up in flames. This is a man that barely has a pulse most of the time, and yet the level of intensity I’m witnessing is almost a little scary. Not by a mile.
That’s when it comes to me––what am I doing? Fantasies are fun and all but reality has consequences. I am way out of my league here. I don’t think I would survive having sex with this man. He would wreck me.
“All done,” I murmur.
“All done!” Maisie echoes back. Jordan breaks eye contact first.
Most definitely done.
11
Chapter Eleven
Riley
The traffic on the road to the Hamptons is brutal. Basically it’s hell on wheels. Four hours and counting and we’re barely moving. At least Maisie hasn’t noticed. I put on a video at the start of the trip and she nodded off halfway through.
It’s been five days since the bathroom incident and neither of us has spoken a word about it. We just go about life as if it didn’t happen, as if nothing ever happens, ignoring this growing thing between us. This is totally in character for Jordan, no surprise. Me? I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I call us the unfamily. We’ve been going through the motions of life for close to two months now, sharing space, sharing household and parenting duties, but we’re not the real thing. Like today, for instance, here we are, attending an event as a family when in truth, we’re not, not even close. We’re the unfamily unit.
Next to me, the driver seems on edge, one hand on the steering wheel, thumb tapping impatiently, mouth pursed. He keeps checking the rearview mirror like he’s on the run from the mob.
“Do you owe somebody money?” I murmur. We’ve both adopted this low voice talking without ever having discussed it. Typical unfamily stuff.
His brow furrows in confusion, his focus shifting between me and the road ahead. Not that we’re going anywhere––traffic is at a standstill.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Today is another uninspired wardrobe choice. He has on a white linen shirt and jeans. Though, to his credit, it’s an improvement over the all black widow’s weeds he usually wears.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says. Dark shades cover his eyes so I can’t get a proper read on the amount of BS he’s feeding me.
“You look,” Can’t say nervous. Grim wouldn’t approve. “…restless.”
He exhales. A moment of silence ensues. “It’s business.”
“Tell me more,” I say, turning in my seat to watch him. He hardly ever talks about his work––not that I would understand most of it––but I also get the feeling he wishes he could unload sometimes.
He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and throws me a lopsided smile, a brief flash of rare lightness.
I am dead. That smile was a shiv straight to the heart. I am officially dead.
He’s been smiling more lately, but it’s still startling to witness. It’s like a spotlight is turned on, illuminating him from within, transforming his entire face.
“Someone who wants to buy me out. He’ll be there.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, expression contemplative. “I thought I wanted to sell.”
“Sell what?”
“My stake in a technology I helped develop.”
This piques my curiosity. “What kind of technology?”
“It’s AI, artificial intelligence that tracks spending of government and or private institutions. Think of it as every dollar would essentially have a tracking device. Sanjay and I developed it for emerging countries battling waste and fraud, but the applications are limitless.”
This is making me hot––hearing him speak with passion. I’ve never seen him more animated…other than when he’s spending time with Maisie. That show is enough to get a girl pregnant by immaculate conception.
“Is this the Winstar thing that jerk Woodson was talking about?” Jordan nods, his jaw tensing at the mere mention of the guy who was booted from the club. Turns out it wasn’t the first time Woodson overstepped. “And now you don’t want to sell anymore?”
He shrugs, his gaze returning to the traffic ahead. “I’m not sure.”
Jordan is the most self-assured person I have ever met. There’s no waffle in the guy. And for him to be this conflicted about something says a lot.
“So don’t do anything until you are.”
A slow smile grows on his face and somewhere deep, deep in my chest that dangerously warm feeling is back. It’s been happening a lot lately––this strange kick start to my heart I’ve never felt before.
The phone rings. Madam President flashes on the Audi’s touchscreen and he answers.
“You’re on speaker so keep your voice down.” No greeting, straight to business. The West family way.
“How’s my lovely girl?” Joan asks in a near whisper.
“Sleeping.”
“Good. Everyone’s here already. Are you close?”
“Yes.”
I glance at the navigator map––we’re nowhere near close. I shoot Jordan a look that he ignores.
“Bill Leventhal is here. I need his endorsement so please make nice when you see him.”
This woman loves to issue orders.
“Whatever you say, mother.” Looking at me, he shakes his head, and I have to bite down on my lip not to giggle.
Joan exhales. “I don’t ask much of you––”
“The baby’s waking up,” he interrupts. “We’ll see you soon.”
And just like that, he ends the call. I don’t know if I should be impressed, or horrified at the way he treats her.
“Your mother’s a real peach.”
“She’s been in politics for two decades. She’s been called worse.”
“Does it bother you at all? That she tries to manage you?”
“No, because I don’t let her. I only let her think she’s managing me.”
“That sounds a lot like manipulation.” It gives me a bad feeling. I’ve always been a forthright person. Anything else smacks of game playing and dishonesty.
“The quickest route to a desired outcome isn’t always a straight line,” he says, turning to meet my eyes.
“I like straight lines,” I murmur back.
“Why?”
He looks genuinely interested. Like the answer is important to him. The feeling is back, the one in the middle of my chest. It’s just geography, I tell myself. If the feeling was in your arm, you wouldn’t care. Hopefully my heart will listen.
“I can see clearly where I’m headed.”
When someone says dress casual, I think…casual, for freaking sake. You know––jeans, maybe a nice shirt or blouse. I don’t think dresses and hats out of a day at Ascot. This place looks like a movie set.
Big problem, I’m underdressed. The saving grace is that so is Jordan. Then again, rich people get away with murder while the rest of us can’t get away with anything.
We arrive just in time to see the polo match start. Maisie is now wide awake and ready to rumble, full of energy needing to be contained and talking nonstop.
“Horsey! Horsey!”
Which really sounds like, “Hosey! Hosey!” Hosies everywhere and so is the smell of horseshit.
After Jordan helps me strap her into the stroller, I try as best I can to smooth out the wrinkles in the sleeveless light blue shirt I borrowed from Veronica to go with my skinny jeans, but it’s hopeless. I look like I wrestled a bear in this shirt and lost.
“Darling!” Joan shouts from a few yards away, white wine glass raised in the air and smiling like a politician. She’s surrounded by a crowd of well-dressed people, mostly men of a certain age. “Look who I found.” She indicates to an older man with a shock of white hair and a baby face. The man waves.
I glance sideways, to get an assessment of what Jo
rdan’s face is doing. He’s got his stoic but resigned mask on. I’m learning all the little nuances of his micro expressions at record pace. Adapt or die, as Dom likes to say. I’ve had to. Otherwise I would never know what’s going on in that head of his and I would be in a constant state of confusion.
“I think she means you,” I tell him.
“I have to go say hello,” he replies with a grimace.
Across the polo field, I spot a large navy blue and white striped tent with tables and chairs, people milling about under it. “Go. We’ll be there when you’re done.” I tip my head in the direction of the tent.
With the sun bearing down on me, we make our way there. I figure Maisie and I can hide while Jordan does what he needs to do, shake hands and kiss babies. Like in The Godfather. Or whatever the political family, upper crust version of that is.
Sometimes I forget that he’s someone important. Everyone here seems to think so. Which is both strange and interesting because he doesn’t have many friends. Or any that I’ve met. No one ever calls the landline at his home, no one ever stops by. I know Jordan isn’t a party animal but no one?
Following the gravel path along the grass polo field, I send up a silent prayer of gratitude that this stroller is one of those off-road types with the big wheels. I’m already a hot mess and pushing this thing over rocks and divots in the grass is turning an already critical situation into a terminal one. By the time we reach the seated area, my cute sleeveless top looks like a used diaper.
“Did you see who’s here?” an attractive woman, mid-thirties, makeup perfect, dressed like she stepped off the runway says to her equally attractive friend. One of women eyeballs me strangely as I pass by. No doubt because I look like I don’t belong. Veronica would love this place. In contrast, I’ve already seen enough to count the minutes before we leave.
“It’s good to see him out,” the other one says. “Sad what happened. I’m happy to comfort him though.”
A strange feeling tells me they’re talking about Jordan.
“Not if I get to him first. Why do you think I donated to his mother’s campaign?”
Nailed it.
I find a small table with a few empty fold-up chairs and lay claim to it, pulling all my rations for the day out. Water, juice, watermelon cubes I personally diced, yogurt, banana and on and on. Maisie is a bit of a moody eater, so I’ve learned to come prepared for every scenario.
“Watermelon or banana?”
“Melo,” she answers.
“Welcome to the Fifth Annual Polo For Pediatric Cancer Research event folks,” the announcer says over the loudspeaker.
Scanning the crowd along the sideline of the field, I spot Jordan talking to the same man from earlier. He must feel my eyes on him because he glances around. Those forest-green, heavily lashed eyes narrow and scan back and forth until they land on me. It’s one of those weird meaningful moments that feels like it lasts an eternity…or I could be reading too much into it. Some redhead walks up to him wearing a big smile and takes all his attention away.
“It’s a scorcher today so I hope you’re all staying hydrated. We’re going to begin our auction shortly. Last year we hit our goal of seven-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars. Let’s make it nine-hundred this year…”
The crowd claps and cheers.
“But first, a great big thanks to our sponsors…” He rattles off some big brand names. “…and Mr. Jordan West.”
Huh?
While I’m in a deep meditative state, analyzing this stunning new data, a man walks up to my chair. He’s tall and extremely fit in the way people who do triathlons are, with short black hair and a short neat beard, tan skin that suggests he spends a lot of time outside. The pale fine lines next to his smiling brown eyes are a dead giveaway. He’s probably the only person here dressed worse than me, with cargo shorts, a faded navy Lacoste polo and Birkenstocks. This guy made zero effort today and I respect that.
“Hi, I’m Beau,” he says as if I’m supposed to know what this means.
“Umm, hi?” is my reply. Hope Beau knows I’m not here to make friends.
“Hi!” Maisie chimes in.
The dude crouches down next to the stroller and smiles at Maisie and every protective instinct in my body––instincts I never knew I possessed––activate.
“Um, sir, please step away from the baby, sir…Beau, whoever you are.”
“Away!” Maisie repeats.
The big guy chuckles and rises. “Hi. Jordan’s brother. He told me to come introduce myself.”
Fifty shades of red. The embarrassment is all over my face.
Grimacing. “Hi! Sorry. I am so sorry, I’m––”
“Riley,” he says beating me to it. “Jordan told me to come over and check on how you’re doing.” He takes a seat in the folding chair next to me.
“Fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.” I feed Maisie another watermelon cube.
Jordan never mentions his family. I wouldn’t even know he has a mother if she wasn’t always in his face. “Jordan didn’t mention his brother was going to be here.”
“Jordan doesn’t mention anything unless you put him in a chokehold,” Beau is quick to explain. I like this guy. He’s laid-back with a sharp wit and an easy smile.
“Yeah, I don’t think that would work for me.”
Two women walk past us and make eyes at Beau, the man sitting next to me as if I don’t exist. Chew on that. I wanted to be invisible so I guess I got what I wanted.
“Don’t you love these things?” he says, smiling, two big dimples dead center on each cheek.
“Not at all. You?”
“Hate them. I rarely come, but I was in town.”
He doesn’t strike me as the type to hang with the silver spoon set. He’s the type I could see fishing on a small boat that he restored himself. A lover of nature type.
“You don’t you live here?”
Beau smiles, looks off at the polo players racing across the lawn. “No. Florida Keys. Near my dad.”
Which would make sense why I’ve never seen him. Another crumb of information to store away like a squirrel with a nut. “So he’s always been like this?”
“Mostly…less so before he got sick.”
Sick?
You know that feeling when an elevator suddenly drops? That suspended, I’m-going-to-crash-and-it’s-going-to-hurt feeling? That’s what’s going on right now. The wind is knocked out of my lungs.
“Before he got sick?”
“Jordan had cancer when he was a teenager.” Beau examines my face. “You didn’t know?”
“Out!” Maisie demands, now done with her feast.
Beau springs into action, unbuckling her stroller strap. Meanwhile, I’m in a state of stunned paralysis as I try to come to grips with what he just told me. Other than my heart beating rapidly and my lungs expanding with shallow breaths, I cannot move.
Jordan had cancer? Jordan had cancer. Jordan was sick. Which follows the logical conclusion. Jordan could die.
I’ve been here before. I’ve done this already. Memories from my dad’s illness surface, spill over, tainting my mood. Ruining everything. All the horrible treatments he endured like a champ when he was in so much pain he could hardly speak. The hospitals. The smells. My mother crying. The crying. So much crying. The priest coming over to issue last rites.
Jordan’s fine, he’s okay, he’s alive, my mind justifies. Jordan is healthy now. But I can’t calm the panic. The panic stays with me.
“Are you okay?” His question snaps me out of deep thought, slowly pulling me out of my misery. He looks worried.
“Yeah, I’m just…surprised.”
“Out!”
“I’ll get ya, pretty girl,” Beau tells her, smiling sweetly.
Maisie goes willingly to him, her little arms raised high in the air. What a shameless flirt.
“Hello, I’m John.”
I glance up to see a big burly-looking man approaching. He looks more like Beau than Jord
an, the resemblance uncanny.
“You must be Jordan’s father.” I stand and offer my hand, self-conscious with all the attention on me now. I’m still completely shook over the news that Jordan had cancer.
“Nice to meet you Riley,” he says, gripping it. “Jordan speaks highly of you. He says you saved him from getting mugged? Is that true?”
“Oh, I didn’t save him…he still got mugged. I just helped get him home.”
“She did, Dad,” Jordan’s voice comes from somewhere behind me. “She’s just being modest.”
My face goes up in flames. Between all the attention, and the news, and Jordan being so unJordan today I’m pretty messed up right now. His family is being so nice to me I don’t know what to do with myself. Technically, I’m the help. And they’re treating me like I’m something more.
“Don’t believe a word they say,” Jordan murmurs into my ear as he passes by. I can smell him, the soap he uses. I can feel his breath near my face, skimming my cheek, and goose bumps break out on my skin.
He’s healthy. He’s alive. He’s fine…I try to downshift my speeding heart rate.
He takes Maisie out of Beau’s arms and she throws her chubby little arms around his neck. He blows a raspberry on her cheek and she screams and giggles, having the time of her life with him.
He’s fine. He’s healthy. He’s more than healthy, he’s in perfectly gorgeous shape, I tell myself. Then why does it feel like I have a fucking boulder stuck in my throat?
Our eyes lock and he smiles. And I mean with teeth. He smiles with beautiful perfectly white teeth and I’m a goner. That’s the last nail in my coffin. I’ve done my best to keep all these inappropriate feelings at bay but I failed. This man who speaks little but cares so much has officially claimed my heart.
Damn it. What do I do with these feelings now?
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him before I fall apart in front of everyone.
Walking away, I go in search of a ladies’ room. We’ve been on the road for hours and hours and with everything that’s happened, my body just remembered that it has needs.
