by Maya Rose
Yet. For now. But he will. It’s a matter of time. Mom wasn’t a forever kind of girl. Why would I be?
For the first time ever, I actually understand mom. Logic has nothing to do with it. I get why she did something as desperate as getting herself pregnant. Risked it all despite perceiving deep down, that at some point, the man she loved was going to be done with her. She went for broke anyway.
At the end, no matter how much I resist, is that how my fate has been sealed too?
Chapter 15
Eli
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Ariel’s been way too quiet for two whole days. She’s still talking, sure, but no feisty retorts or pushy questions. In most of her spare time, she reads fuck knows what on the laptop I got her, cooks gourmet meals, cleans obsessively--even after the cleaners came in and deep cleaned every inch of the goddamn place. She peeks out through the blinds every few hours, keeping conversation to a bare minimum during dinner and breakfast. The girl is avoiding being within less than two or three feet of me, sitting in every meeting that I ask her to, saying what’s required of her, doing everything and exactly what I need her to do, and I’m hating every moment of it. She’s a mirage. There, but not really.
In a smooth move last night after dinner, I purposely sifted through channels on the living room TV as she tidied the kitchen, and I bumped up the volume when I saw The Shining playing. Not a peep out of her, or a glance at the screen.
When she started for her room, I was forlorn enough to outright ask, “Do you want to hang around for a bit? It’s halfway through--maybe an hour more left.”
The pink tip of her tongue skid along her lower lip, visible at the corner for a second more before it went back inside. “I think I’m just going to crash--is that okay?”
You do you, I howled noiselessly at her in my head. Don’t ask me or anyone else what is okay. Then I watched the movie anyway, and spent the night staying up to make sure she doesn’t make a run for it and just leave this place.
It’s because of what you said and you fucking know it.
But I read her like a book when she asked me. I knew exactly why she asked me if anything more was ever going to happen with her and me. What the hell else was a selfish bastard like me supposed to say? Give her my goddamn blessing to move on from me? Mine, mine, mine. The word possessed me when I cleaned that soft floral-scented skin in the bathroom.
She sits now at the far end of the couch, like a prop in the background, as far from me as she can, only returning hellos to the people we’re having video meetings with. By now she’s been introduced to most major players on Warren’s executive team, if only virtually. Warren already released a press statement and spoke to the board and the immediate management team in a closed door meeting about what he plans to do. So everybody knows. Well, everybody knows his plan, not the actual one. And he was right. The board seems happy about it. So for now, it gets them off my back. Once I’m running this, if they don’t like what I do, they can suck my dick. I’ll hold the majority of shares, like Warren does, and they might fight me, but they can’t do shit about anything I do. So I should be fairly stoked about the way things are going.
If only these jackasses would stop staring at her like they haven’t seen a human woman before.
They’re curious, my empathetic side says. When the fuck did you spring an empathetic side, my brain asks. There’s always a good reason why anyone does anything. Even when she’s not talking out loud, her voice in my head won’t shut up.
“Steve. Eyes on me.” I bark at my CTO, and his abnormally large digital head swings rapidly to look at me on the screen with big bug eyes. How is it that the Chief Technology Officer of a ten billion dollar business cannot figure out the right goddamn position and zoom ratio of a video in the conference room? I can practically look down his untrimmed nostrils. He’s only forty. It’s like the man doesn’t even want to try.
“Eli?”
Great, I missed what he said. “Say that one more time?” I ask him.
He looks at me like I’ve turned into Sasquatch. I might have. I never need encores. But suffice to say that between a couples masturbation session that ended with me unloading bucket loads of cum on her wet pussy, and then two days spent in freaking the fuck out because she’s suddenly gone all subdued, I have a lot on my mind. Thank God the day’s ending and I don’t have to sit through more of these today.
I force myself to be attentive when Steve slowly repeats, “I would like to put the cardless keypad locks in before Thanksgiving.”
This again. “It’s too risky, Steve. And too resource-intensive right before the peak period. The testing alone will require most of Jack’s team. And they’re already overshot.”
“But just think of the payoff.” He argues, irked. “It’ll make their stay memorable. Not having to roam around with a keycard around the resort premises. Just a pin number to unlock their room and that is--”
“I’m not disputing the value--I have concerns with the timing. Or have you forgotten your rush last year of replacing the internet provider on the West Coast a week before New Year's? We lost money compensating guests because of the damn connectivity issues. I warned you, but you kept pushing. And I approved it instead of going with my own instincts. I’m not doing that again.”
Pink is really not his color, but his face unfortunately gets coated heavily in it, and his eyes keep spying Ariel every few seconds. “Eli, this is not the same. My team has done extensive research this time around that gives us enough confidence--”
Yeah, maybe to him, but not to me. Can we be done with this? “Steve--this is not a negotiation. We’re doing this in January, when it’s slower.”
He presses his lips together. “Eli, I don’t want to escalate this, but--”
When will these people stop threatening me with going to Warren? “Warren is on the same page as me. I already spoke to--”
He suddenly swings to where Ariel sits, cutting me right off. “Ms Walton, shouldn’t you be weighing in on these decisions too? Warren told us that you would, eventually--so what do you think?”
My ears burn and I’m boiling inside. Everyone that I’ve had a meeting with over the last two days is subtly doing it. Looking at her for some sort of secondary support when I refuse them something. I’ve been ignoring it, because it won’t mean anything in a few months. But fuck how barefaced Steve is about it. What is up these people’s asses that they would want to listen to a nineteen year old high school educated girl, but not me? She’s smart, sure, but she’s unripe. Does it mean nothing to anyone that I’ve been doing this for years? Doing it really fucking well.
I curve my gaze on her, but she’s looking straight ahead at Steve’s face that covers two-thirds of the screen.
“Ms Walton?” Steve asks again, hell of a lot more patiently than he’s been talking to me. “What do you think?”
I told her to keep her mouth zipped in these meetings that first day in Warren’s house, and I told her again after the call with Warren the first day in this house. But now this fuckwad is putting her in a spot. What is she going to do? Feign she’s deaf or brain damaged?
“Steve, leave her out--”
“You want to know what I think, Mr Columbaris?” Her voice carries over mine, arresting my focus.
“Yes, please.” He gives her a slick smile that makes my blood go sour.
I watch her lean ahead towards the edge of the couch. “I think you should stop being a baby.” Oh holy Jesus. “I think you should take some lessons or Ted Talks or whatever on how to persuade your boss. And if you can’t, then I think you stop your ego from throwing tantrums, and just fall in line with Mr King, instead of telling Mommy or Daddy on how he’s not letting you have your favorite toy.” She pauses and returns his exact smile. “That’s what I think. Does that help?”
He starts stuttering something, and I’m only half hearing him. Because she turns to me with the same antagonized face. “And you--will you cut the man some slack? So he made a
mistake--you’re saying you never have? You’re just going to keep holding it over his head without giving him a chance to prove himself again? He’s trying to tell you he’s more prepared this time but you won’t even let him finish his damn sentences!!” Her gaze an index finger flaps between Steve and me. “Narcissistic bullies, all of you!! Just freaking talk to each other like an evolved species!!”
She hops up from the couch when she’s finished, her fluttery yellow skirt spinning with her as she hikes away to her room, and didn’t I tell her not to fucking do that?
Left alone, I’m not sure what to say to Steve’s beetroot-gone-bad face.
“Did that kid just school us?” He wonders out loud instead, mouth parted in stupefaction.
I’m without answers, and we stare at one another for a beat before we’re both doubled up in a fit of laughter. It’s not funny, you ass. It’s so not funny. She was supposed to keep her mouth shut. But she didn’t and goddamn it was magnificent.
When we finally regain our composure, he’s the one to speak again. Surprisingly...nicely. “Look I get it. I fucked up last year--and I understand where you’re coming from. I only went with my gut and didn’t back my assumptions with data. But I have this time. I analyzed everything--the risk involved, impact if the rollout doesn’t go well, a rollback plan if necessary that won’t cost us too much. I even talked to HR to hire contractors since our full time resources seem strapped. And I know I shouldn’t have gone to them before talking to you, but I wanted to build a solid case before I came to you.”
What in the hell is happening right now? Did he just say that he understands me?
“I don’t want two incidents in a row in the news, Steve.” I keep my voice stern and decisive, but it’s hard to do when the man almost talks like he’s...fucking shit...human.
“And I respect that.” He says and I’m barely managing not to fall over the expensive faux leather that my ass in on. “How about this--I have an alternate proposal. How about we do it only in a third of the locations? Ones with medium footfall, and where we don’t get too much high flying traffic. That way we get to test it out sooner so we know if the concept works, and we spread the risk without going all in. What do you think--will that work?”
It could. And now I really fucking want it to. “Talk to Selena to get the contracts rolling with--who’s the vendor--HomeSense?”
He nods, eager, eyes sparked. “Yeah.”
Will he stop looking so obnoxiously happy? “And I want to see all the data you just talked about--send it to me today and we can talk again tomorrow if I have more questions.”
He grins. “Will do.”
And now I feel...what is this--guilt? “You know it wasn’t personal, right? I wasn’t trying to be hard on you specifically.”
“I know. You want what’s best for the hotels. That’s never what any of us doubt, Eli.” He shifts in his chair, his eyes dropping to the conference table, then moving back up. “You went out on a limb for me last year and ended up taking flak for something that wasn’t your fault. And you still took ownership of the decision in front of the board and I really appreciate that. But you’ve been micromanaging ever since and I’ve been losing hair getting you to trust me again. And so are the others. Any of us makes one mistake and you just switch off on us. It’s just...give us some room to slip up every once in a while, man. Give us the benefit of the doubt. Trust us.”
It’s a lot to take in. “I do trust you guys.” I automatically say, because it seems to be the right thing to say. But do I? Fuck, I don’t. Because it’s me against the world. It’s always been me against the world.
“In the beginning you did. Well, kind of.” He smiles dryly. “But the more mistakes you saw, the more you started pulling back. And your standard is impossibly high--you’re so perfect it’s a pain in the fucking ass, you know?”
“I’m perfect?” What is this day? What is this planet?
He chuckles for a second time. “I’ve said too much. And I’m late for my next meeting. I’ll send you the data in an hour, alright?” His grin widens when he adds, “Please let Ms Walton know that it was very nice meeting her.”
He disconnects with a wave of his hand. It’s the most insightful conversation I’ve had with anyone at work. Productive and without frustration or bad blood festering on either side. And you had nothing to do with it turning out that way.
I take my agitation and bruised ego to her door. “Get your ass out of there, Ariel!”
Her tits swelling her white T-shirt, her hair a red blaze, she’s at the door before I have to ask again. “Fine. Yell at me.” She bites. “Tell me I was out of line.”
Yeah, she was. “You were out of line.” Her expression plunges, dragging my pulse with it.
She looks down at her feet before glancing up at me strained. “I’ve sat through enough meetings, Eli. You don’t need me here. I’m not adding anything...I’m just making this worse. Let’s stop this act now. I don’t care what Warren wants.”
Eli. Christ. The way she says it, I’m hearing it for the first time. The name I’ve heard my whole life. But is that how she’s feeling? Valueless, or responsible for the issues that these people have with me? She’s not. She’s in the middle of it, but she’s not the cause. And I won’t let her think she is.
“Why did you not like the security enhancement Charlie proposed in the meeting yesterday?” I question her.
She looks on, thrown off and stunned. “I never said--”
She didn’t have to. “You had this frown when he was presenting. Your foot was tapping non-stop and you were biting the inside of your cheek. So what did you not like?”
A blush hits her face, as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers slightly shaky. “It was nothing…”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Answer.”
Her face prickles with annoyance. “I just thought…” She stops, then continues in a firmer tone. “I thought it was too invasive and disrespectful to ask hotel guests to show their driving license to the valet to get their car back. I get that it might help security, but it’ll increase the time it takes to get the vehicle squared away and it’ll piss people off that they’re being treated like criminals. Plus there’s the risk of data theft through driving licenses. I guess you guys do background checks on the valet staff, but still...” She trails off, shrugging.
She was listening the whole time. And she’s clearly given it a decent amount of thought. Jesus, that’s sexy. “So what do we do to avoid crooks and cons driving off with guest cars? The valet ticket is pretty easy to lose or steal.”
She pouts, regarding a spot on the floor in concentration, and twists her lips to one side in thought, and my dick follows the movement like a puppet. Then her serious eyes find mine. “Maybe give them a digital ticket or a code for identification...when they leave the car with the valet. Or a code through text or something. Like banks do. So there’ll be no ticket to carry. Phones are less likely to get lost or stolen, and I’m sure hotels already have guest phone numbers so there’s no additional data needed.”
Goddamn, she’s sharp. “I like that.” I mutter.
“You do?” She asks with muted delight and bewilderment, like she’s trying to hide how much it means to her.
It’s too much. She’s too much. “You done hiding in your room?”
She hesitates, fingers of both hands playing, meshing restlessly. “Can we...can you…” She starts tentatively.
I don’t like her like this. Afraid. “Spit it out, Ariel. What do you want?”
“Scott.” She says quickly.
A brick settles in my stomach. “Meaning?”
She looks uncomfortable, but presses on. “Can he come over?”
“You miss him?” Fuck, can I be more of a sucker?
She lets out a tiny breath and my nose sniffs it in like a glue addict. “We’ve been texting. He seems...I don’t know...has he ever lived alone before?”
No, he hasn’t. Why didn’t I think of
that? “Did he say something?”
“No, I just...I’m sensing it. I don’t think he likes being in a big empty penthouse by himself. Or having frozen dinners everyday. It might be nice to have him over for dinner or something. He can take a cab or Uber or whatever and make sure he’s not being followed?”
That’s...infuriatingly sweet. Startlingly considerate. Why isn’t this the sort of thing I would ever think of? I want to go down on her and make her come on my tongue till she can’t stand, and then I want to bend her over my knees and redden her ass till she can’t sit. So I can carry her wherever I want like a Neanderthal. Why does she care? After the cards the world dealt her, how does she think of anyone but herself?
“I’ll check with him.” I tell her.
“Thank you.” Her eyes sparkle delicately.
What else can I say that makes her go like that? “I can help.”
“Help?” She peers at me curiously.
“With dinner.” Dr Monsanto. That was the name of the therapist Warren made me and Scotty see for grief counseling. I wonder if he still practices. Because I fucking need it at this point.
“You want to help?” She repeats, and it’s sort of a half question, half shocked statement.
“Yes.”
“Make dinner.”
“Yes.”
“You want to help me make dinner.”
Neuter yourself, you dumb fuck. “Do you want to lie down to process this faster?”
My attempt at sarcasm falls flat, a line of provocation forming between her brows, her brown eyes mired in conflict. “Why?”
“Why do I want to help?”
“I was rude and unprofessional and I had no right to do what I did in that video meeting.” She glowers, knuckles curling tightly on the doorframe. “Why the hell aren’t you mad at me?”
I’m so lost. “You’re mad that I’m not mad?“
“I’m not mad!” She slams the side of her fist on the door for emphasis.
