When he said he wanted to discuss "our future" I jumped to conclusions, foolishly thinking I might get my first "L" word on the same day I found out I just landed an amazing new job-- all on my own.
"Well what do you want, Rache?"
I look down at the plate of pot stickers on the table between us, still untouched.
He even chose a fancy Chinese place for dinner tonight. And ordered dumplings. Just like that first meal we shared back in Bridgestone the day he declared he was bring me home with him.
These cost 3 times as much and won't be half as good as the Sun's were but I was so touched by his gesture.
His question hangs between us, waiting for me while I carefully consider my answer.
Colter
I can see the feelings flash in her eyes as they move through her while she considers her answer.
I wait, surprisingly patient, in case the answer isn't what I want to hear.
This isn't how our night was supposed to go. Tonight was supposed to be about our future, about our future together.
We were supposed to be reminiscing about how we met over Asian food, celebrating how different Rachel's life is now and comparing that first 20 dollar lunch to this 5 star rated restaurant and then laughing that the pot stickers were still better back in Bridgestone.
Rachel's eyes have been on the plate of 3 small dumplings sitting between us for so long that I know she's not really looking at them any more.
She's making a hard decision.
And I know it can't be good if it's taking this long.
Finally, her shoulders sag with her long sigh and her soft, brown eyes lift up to meet mine.
"I want you to love me, Colter."
Relief floods me.
"I do love you, Rachel," I tell her.
It's the easiest thing I've ever said.
The light does not return to her eyes like I expected it to. Her fingers do not return the slight pressure against mine in the affectionate gesture I've gotten used to when our hands touch.
"Then I need you to do it better, Colt." Her face is filled with so much pain. It rips me up inside.
I don't understand, and I can't fix it if I don't understand.
"I don't get it? I love you, Rachel. I've loved you since I first saw you, remember? I told you how I was reading over your shoulder that day in the coffee shop when you were filling out that website profile?
"I knew when I went all the way back to that shithole town that I was already in over my head. There was no way I was coming back without you.
"You needed someone to give you a chance again and I knew I could do that for you. I knew I had resources at my disposal that you didn't, like being able to get you into a job that you're actually qualified for so you wouldn't end up working for minimum wage at a gas station in some bumfuck nowhere rest stop town and that I could help you get your debts paid off and your credit back on track. And look how much better things are for you now."
The pained expression on her face has turned to something new.
"Is that all I am to you? A project? A charity case?" Rachel's voice hovers at a low volume, but there's no mistaking the disgust.
"You don't really love me, you love that you were able to rescue me. You love what you think you made me into, not the real me."
"What are you talking about? I didn't turn you into anything, I just gave you the opportunities you weren't finding on your own."
"Exactly, you rescued a damsel in distress and now you don't like that I don't need to be rescued anymore. You don't love me, you love having me dependent on you."
There's a quiver to her chin that I don't like. It's killing me to see her upset like this but it's pretty clear she isn't looking for a hug right now.
Rachel's head hangs slightly and then she shakes it back and forth like she's clearing a bad memory.
"That's why you were so upset when I bought the car."
She looks back up at me. The quiver in her chin is gone, replaced by a hard kind of sadness.
"Because it was something you didn't control. It was something I did on my own, and the job-- Jesus, Colter, I was so excited to tell you about the job. I thought you were going to be so happy for me. That you'd be proud of me for getting such a great position all on my own. I didn't need your clout to help me, I got it on my own merit."
"I-- I didn't even know you wanted a different job." I tell her, "I thought you liked working for the Foundation. If I'd known you wanted something different, I could have--"
She cuts me off.
"Exactly! You could have. You could have pulled some strings, made some recommendations, made sure I didn't have to risk getting rejected because you can make everything happen for me. And I wouldn't own any of it. It wouldn't be my successes or failures and I'd never know if I got the job because I was the best candidate, or because my boyfriend is Colter Meyers."
She's not staying for dinner.
Rachel pushes her chair away from the table, picks up the leather clutch purse from beside her water glass, and gets to her feet.
"I don't want to be a sugar baby, Colter. I never really did, it was just some last resort idea I had when I was sick and miserable and living in a cheap hotel room that I could barely afford with my unemployment check.
I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but--"
There's the quiver in her chin again and this time her voice breaks and her eyes are shining with tears.
"--but if you really loved me, you'd understand why it's important for me to be able to carry my own weight again.
"I'm sorry I can't go on being your pet project, Colt. I love you, but you don't understand what I need."
And then she's walking out on me.
I sit there stunned for a second, wondering what happened to my plan for tonight.
The chair falls backward as I stand up too fast, tossing cash on the table that will cover plenty more than I owe for our failed date and making a beeline for the parking lot at a dead run.
There's no way she's going to catch a taxi before I can catch up to her.
Except, when I burst through the front door onto the sidewalk where the valets are staring at the crazy man that just ran out of the building like it's on fire, there's no Rachel.
She's no where to be found.
The valets just shrug when I ask and a frantic scan of the sprawling parking lot reveals a lot of people but none of them are Rachel.
Rachel
So much for my strong woman storm out.
Thankfully, Colter picked a restaurant located in the catacombs of a casino. A women's restroom just a little ways down the wide mall corridor made for an easy sanctuary so I didn't have to make my way through the crowded building with a face covered in running mascara.
I stood in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors for a long time after doing my best to wash away the panda bear eyes and fixing the eyeliner I'd managed to wipe away in those efforts. My plan was to catch my breath, square my shoulders, order an Uber, and walk out of there with the determination of a woman who had her shit together.
Instead, when I opened up the app to call a car, I realized I didn't really know where I wanted to go.
So I stood in that bathroom and cried some more.
When I finally did pull myself together and left the lady's room, I made my way out front looking a lot less confident than I'd pictured it when I first stormed out.
The cab took me to a hotel and I collapsed on the bed in a new heap of tears.
It's been 2 weeks and I'm still here, thinking about how far I've come over the last year.
Well, not that far after all, I guess.
The hotel I'm calling home is an off-strip, extended stay place. One of those hotels that caters to people who travel for business and have long since become immune to the lights and sounds of Las Vegas and just want to get some sleep at night.
It's a big step up from the Bridge Star, for sure. So at least there's that. But I can't help but feel
like, despite the new job, the new credit, and the new car-- which I snuck back to get while Colter was at the office because I've been a total chicken shit-- I'm still living in a hotel room, wondering what comes next.
Making the transition out of my job with the Meyers-Armstrong Foundation went smoothly enough. Since Colter already knew I was leaving, I've basically been working remotely from the hotel while they transition my work load to another manager.
My new job starts next week.
I guess it's time to think about looking for a place of my own.
That's something I've been putting off since I checked in to the hotel.
I don't know, I guess on some level I thought-- I hoped-- that Colter and I could work things out, but the more I think things over, the more I realize I really was just a sugar baby for him. Something he could own and manipulate through money.
When he gave me the position with the Foundation, it was never really about giving me new job experience and expanding my resume. It was just a hand-out to placate me and give me a false sense of accomplishment.
Everything he did in the name of "helping" was just his way of giving me the illusion of getting my life back on track. This whole time, all he was really doing was keeping me under his thumb.
A heavy sigh escapes me as I lie on the couch in the room in front of the TV that I haven't been paying attention to all day.
Under Colter's thumb was a good place to be.
Literally speaking.
I can't help but smile wanly at the memory of making love with Colter. And then tears threaten as soon as I catch myself using the euphemism.
I really did think we were making love.
That's why this hurts so much; it's hard to come to terms with the fact that I was blind to what was really happening. To what I really was to him. When I thought I wasn't the only one falling in love.
Well the joke's on him. Thanks to my short tenure at Meyers-Armstrong , I actually did add enough current work experience to my resume to overcome 2 years of unemployment and the stigma of being associated with the scandal at the old office.
I didn't have to resort to using my connections to the Meyers family to get any strings pulled or favors called in.
I got the new job on my own.
The new job that I have to start in 2 days.
The new job that I'd so been looking forward to celebrating with Colter.
Turning over on the sofa with a hard flop, I wince. Partly from the pain of obsessing over our break up, partly from the pain of hitting my ribs against the metal framework of the pull out sofa under the cushions.
It's time to stop feeling sorry for myself and get a grip.
Maybe Colter really was offering me happily ever after. His version of it, at least.
But that's never been me. Even though that's how I ended up alone, broke, and unemployed at 35: I never wanted to be dependent on someone.
Even when I posted that stupid ad for a sugar daddy when I was at rock bottom with a 102 fever, it was just a strategy to get back on my feet. I never expected a relationship out of it.
It shouldn't be a surprise that Colter turned out to be the kind of guy that needs his woman to stay dependent on him. I don't know why I expected anything else from a guy like him.
There aren't many men out there that are born into the kind of money Colter's had his whole life and still grow up with his humility.
The Foundation is his baby. He created it so he could help people because he genuinely wanted to help, not just to create some tax shelter to protect his wealth.
It's no surprise he felt the need to come back to Bridgestone to save me after he saw me filling out my sugar baby profile at the cafe. That's just the kind of guy he is.
A knight in shining armor.
Who knows? Maybe his interest in me was genuine and maybe we could have lived happily ever after-- as long as I was willing to keep playing the part of the wounded bird so he would always be able to play the savior role.
But that's not me. Even when my entire life went skidding sideways, I was always looking for a way to regain my independence.
I needed a hand up, not Colter's hand out. I just didn't realize there we weren't on the same page about that until I was in too deep.
Dragging myself off the couch, I rub the tender spot on my side where the frame has been digging into my ribs and pull out the laptop.
Colter obviously isn't the man I thought he was. He may have saved me, but he was never going to let me be free.
And what if I'd stayed anyway? How long would it have been before he left me for some other train wreck of a girl that made him feel important again?
Let's face it; I've been sitting around this hotel room for 2 weeks because, on some level, I've probably been hoping I'm wrong.
It's time to go apartment hunting. Let's just hope I can find something decent without a co-signer.
Colter
Two weeks.
The longest 2 weeks of my life.
I left her a dozen voicemails when she first left, but she never answered them.
I thought I'd be able to at least catch her in her office since she had a few weeks left with the Foundation, but they told me she was telecommuting.
Then one day, her car was gone. Security said she'd come and gotten it during the afternoon when I had to be out of town for a Foundation project.
No one has a forwarding address for her and she hasn't started her new job yet.
It's like she just disappeared.
Wandering through the apartment, I can't help but turn on lights as I move aimlessly through each room.
It's been like this since she left.
All the lights are on in every room. The TVs are on in the living room and my bedroom. The stereo plays softly in the kitchen. But nothing I do makes the place feel any less empty.
If I was a better sleuth, I'd have found her by now.
I thought about hiring a private detective but...she's not a prisoner.
Despite what she might think.
Eventually I end up in the second master suite on the far side of the apartment. The one that was hers before she started sleeping in mine every night.
Memories of her sleeping beside me twist my gut. The way we always fell asleep tangled together, her curves pressed against me in the softest ways, until sometime in the night I'd wake up on the edge of the king size bed, missing my share of the covers and wonder how a 5 foot tall woman could manage to take up so much space.
I never minded that though. I'd lay on my side and watch her sleep, with the sheets wrapped around her and her limbs spread eagle.
She was so used to sleeping alone.
One time she told me she didn't think she'd ever meet a man who want to sleep next to her.
I couldn't imagine any man that wouldn't.
How could anyone not love her for all that unyielding strength?
The same strength that I took for granted.
Maybe even overlooked a bit.
Definitely misinterpreted.
In her abandoned room, I run my hand through the clothes that are still hanging in her closet.
She hasn't come by to pick anything up.
I thought she'd come get her things, but so far the only thing she's come for is her car.
Her car.
Frowning, I caress the red silk dress that hangs beside the other formal gowns. The red silk that she was wearing that first night we were together. Despite the tormenting sadness, I can't help but smile at the memory.
Then I find myself at the vanity, like I often do.
My hands paw through the perfume bottles, the lotions, the curling iron and the straightener. All the hair products that I never understood why she needed so many? Wax, pomade, anti-frizz, heat shield, shine, fix. Aerosol sprays and pumps, tubes, jars, and dishes.
How many times did I sit on the end of her bed and watch her use them all?
And her make up. Drawers of carefully organized bottles and compa
cts, and palettes of colors.
I run the tip of my finger across the soft bristles of a small brush still dusted in a light gold powder. I wonder if that's bronzer or eye shadow.
I never learned the difference, even though I must have asked a hundred times. Even though she told me a hundred times.
Truth is, I didn't care. I just loved watching her. The way she took so much time and put so much effort into getting her hair and her make up just right. Like she truly enjoyed the process.
She said she'd forgotten how good it felt to have an excuse to put on her makeup and do her hair. She said she liked looking nice for me.
She thought I deserved a woman who put in the effort to look the part of a rich man's date.
Inhaling deeply from the bottle of perfume that was her favorite, I close my eyes and try to drown in the scent I've come to associate with her.
I didn't care if she had her make up on or if her hair was done. She could have worn her pajamas to any of those stuffy old functions if she'd wanted. She'd still have been the most beautiful woman there. Every time.
It doesn't matter what she drives or where she works and I don't care whose money pays for it.
If she wants her own damn place, that's fine by me.
As long as I'm the one she says good morning to first every day and good night to last every night.
There's got to be some way to prove myself to her. Some way to convince her that it's not about control.
First, I have to figure out how to find her.
Rachel
"Good morning, Ms. Lewin."
My new assistant, Ashley, is obviously one of those naturally perky morning types. She hands me a stack of paperwork with a smile that makes her look like she ought to be working in an orthodontist's office.
"There's coffee ready in the kitchen adjacent to your office," she chirps happily as she comes out from behind her desk and leads me toward my new office, "but if you prefer something else just let me know and I can be sure to have it ready for you when you get here."
She guides me into a kitchen slightly bigger than the one in my extended stay hotel room. The kitchen-- not be confused with the break room-- is located just off the hallway connecting my office with the rest of the private offices on this floor and is reserved for use by us "suits."
Ankle Deep in Sugar Page 5
