by Maya Rose
My pulse sputters. “Do you like her?” I might as well stab myself right now.
“I might have.” He tilts his head with a knowing look plugged on me. “If you hadn’t looked at her that first day like you were dying of thirst and she was the last drop of soda. Hell, that’s the reason I offered to go with her in the first place. Do you realize it was the first time you actually banned me from doing something? Off-limits, you called her.”
“I didn’t...I’m not...it’s not what you think.” Fuck, now I’m stuttering like a moron. “It’s just--”
“If it’s any consolation, she looked at you the exact same way.”
Ah, Jesus. “Scotty, it’s not--”
He holds a palm up. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but don’t hurt her, man. She’s...too fucking...decent. Do you know that first day, she called up all the places she worked, to tell them that she might need a few days off work because she was dealing with a personal issue? Who the hell does that after winning the fucking lottery? So just...don’t hurt her.”
“I’m not gonna hurt her.” Never willingly, you mean. She told you she has a crush on you and you’re doing nothing to discourage it.
He keeps his gaze on me for a few silent seconds. “As long as we’re telling secrets…”
We talk for hours, filling in years, and she doesn’t step out of her room the whole time. When Scotty wants to be on his way, I tap on her door, and when she doesn’t answer, Scotty leaves. It’s late. She probably nodded off, he says. I wait till he’s gone. And instead of leaving her alone like a person not trying to hurt her would, I open up without permission. She’s lying asleep on the bed, her cheek on a pillow, cognac hair caressing it, arms delicately lined up, one palm up, one down, the empty plate to her side on the surface of the nightstand.
She cordoned herself off so I could talk freely to Scotty. She’s been fighting me, but also fighting half the world for me. Scotty, Warren, Selena, Steve, even me. She’s got a mouth on her, but not once has she opened it and disappointed me. Maddened, roused, aroused, hell yes. But never disappointed. She makes me better. As a brother, a boss, a lover, a friend. She makes me care more, simply because she does.
I gaze, helplessly overwhelmed, at her demure, tranquil face and form, in a moment I’m going to remember when I’m old and grizzled and alone and sitting on my golden throne, as the irremediable truth kicks me in my plexus.
She’s not the only one with a crush, is she?
A flare of heat springs right in the center of my gut, panic seizing me.
She crept her way through my buffer of emotional fences like they meant nothing. Capsizing the teetering balance I’ve tried to keep all my life. I’m all I’ve ever needed. I’m all I was ever going to need. That was the goddamn plan. And now the uphill path ahead of me seems insurmountable with just me in my secluded corner. For the first time, I’m questioning if I can do any of it alone. Without her. If I even want to. And if I don’t or can’t? Some day, when she’s had her fill, like they all do, what if I haven’t? What do I do then, when she wants to leave and I can’t let her go?
How did I get here?
Fuck. How do I get back?
Chapter 16
Ariel
◆◆◆
“It’s time, Eli.”
“Tomorrow is too soon, Warren. It’s been less than 20 days since the news broke. And yeah, she’s been listening in on calls, but she hasn’t met anyone in person—she hasn’t even seen the office yet.”
“Which is why we need to do this now. They’ve all had a chance to see her on video calls and I haven’t heard anything negative. And the board’s getting antsy, Eli. The sooner we get her out there, the sooner she can move around freely and the sooner I can put things into motion. I don’t want to put this off any longer. Pre-thanksgiving is ideal. We have a lot of people out of office in December, and I would much rather do this when everyone’s able to attend.”
A look passes between the two of them. Eli, on the barstool at the island counter, facing my father on the large monitor. I’m standing across the island on the other side behind Eli, and while Warren can see me, he’s only talking to Eli. It doesn’t offend me as much as it should. And it has to do with the man whose broad back is teasing me, sans jacket and vest. Just a black shirt over a hulking mass of no-nonsense muscle.
Less than twenty days. Sixteen to be exact, since we’ve been in this house. Just the two of us. Our days have fallen into a pattern. Him working like it’s his lifeline, all the waking time, even when we’re eating, while I struggle to keep myself busy when there are no meetings. I’ve finally gotten used to not saying anything in meetings like we agreed. But he’s taken to asking me after every meeting what I thought of it, with a directed gaze, and he won’t give up until I tell him. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that we have a deal. Because I like working with him. Listening to him talk, solving problems, coming up with solutions. Taking my inputs. And he listens if I even offhandedly comment on anything. Why? I wish I knew.
We haven’t stepped out, not even in the yard. And the only person who has visited is Scott. He came over twice after that evening. Staying late into the night, all of us kicking back, watching a movie, or playing cards that he brought, or talking about how awful politics is. It’s different when Scott’s around. Eli is more relaxed. More smiles. More happy. And then when Scott leaves--
“Ariel?”
Eli’s even prod makes my eyes fly up from drilling a hole into the counter. Where’s the intensity in his blue eyes? That heat darkening them when they used to roar at me? I’m wearing the skimpiest tank top and the shortest shorts I could find--which in hindsight I wouldn’t have if I knew Warren was going to call, it’s why I’m standing behind the counter--but I did not get a second glance from Eli.
“Yeah?” I ask him past the dryness in my throat.
“You’re up for this tomorrow?” He asks me like he has been asking every question ever since that day. Serious and so freaking polite, I want to spray him down with a hose.
But they’ve been talking about this for the last ten minutes. The reception or whatever. My debut. Like this is seventeenth century England. Eli thinks it’s too short a notice, and Warren...why is this man always on an express train?
“What do you think?” I ask Eli back, fully aware that my father’s running this show. Why does Eli let him have his way all the time?
“It’s up to you.” Eli replies, face not giving anything away.
It’s frustratingly stunted. I know who it’s upto--I’m asking what you think, I want to howl. Then I want to straddle him until his eyes change color.
But it’s Warren’s big mouth that opens again. “I know I told both of you to live together for a couple of months. But given how smooth the last two weeks have been, I’m confident you two can make a partnership work without burning anything down. I don’t think it’s necessary anymore for you to be cooped up like this. So after the reception, we can set you up in a nice place, Ariel--and you can get on with your life outside of work. As can Eli.”
Time stills. And ironically, it gets so quiet that I can hear the digital clock on the wall change seconds. This is over? No more creepily spying on Eli when he does his pushups in the third unoccupied bedroom? No more seeing him roll his eyes, even as he types away on his laptop, when the dumb blonde on the screen follows the scary noise out in the woods, like she’s expecting to find a unicorn instead of a machete-wielding scarecrow? No more cologne sniffing when he’s fresh out of the shower. No more watching him flex his neck to get the crick out. No more waiting for his verdict on my culinary experiments. No more living with Eli. The world is suddenly all thorns again.
Neither of us has spoken, when a shrill ring bursts in at Warren’s end. “It’s Martin.” He looks at his phone--he has two?--and then back up at us. “I need to talk to him about the arrangements for tomorrow. But we’re good for it, right? Eli? Ariel?”
Why is he asking when
he doesn’t really want an answer other than the one he wants?
“Yeah, we’re good.” Eli answers like a freaking robot.
Warren brightens, seemingly glossing over the fact that his question was aimed at two people, but only one of them has replied. “I’m really proud of you two.” He says. “This hasn’t been the easiest of situations, and I haven’t made it any easier, but I could not be happier about how it’s turning out. Exactly like I wanted. I can’t wait to see both of you in the office.” He smiles, before hanging up, and I’m hit with that unfamiliar conflicting mish-mash of emotions again for my father. I don’t know him, but I sort of like him and I sort of don’t. And if I have to be honest, I’m intimidated. He took 300 hotels to almost 3000. What am I going to do with my life?
“I don’t know how to apply makeup.”
I realize I’ve said it out loud when Eli bodily turns the seat of the barstool to face where I’m standing, face tripped with surprise.
“Mom thought it would make me look prettier than her.” I explain, now that I’ve opened the door. “So she never taught me. And I never dated, or had any girlfriends. So there was never any need or opportunity.” How is it that I feel no shame in telling this man anything?
I wait for him to ask me more, or share something of his own.
We’re good. That’s what he told Warren. Are we? No, you silly girl. You told him you have a crush on him and now he’s acting like a freaking gentleman, trying to spare your adolescent feelings. He’s letting you down easy so you don’t feel embarrassed. Everything was fine till Scott left that day. And when I woke up the next day, Eli’s been...this. He talks to me, but it’s unfailingly impersonal and formal. To the point. There’s no fire, no ice. Just this stagnant state, like the magnetic connection between us was all in my head. He felt it too. When I hugged him that day. He had to have felt it. Or am I just projecting my stupid emotions onto him?
“I’ll ask Selena to come by tomorrow to help you get ready for the party.” He says to me now, with an impassive tone and expression, but gentle.
I can’t stop. His hands, his tongue, his lips--I feel them everywhere, every day, all the time. I pretended to be asleep on the living room couch four days ago, desperate to feel his touch, even if it was to return me to my room. He did. He picked me up like I’m the most fragile creature in the universe and carried me to my bed. He’s only been wearing shirts now, and my senses just melted when his heartbeat flew clear as day into my ears. He laid me on my bed and covered me with a blanket. Then proceeded to give me a kiss on my forehead, his hot lips infusing life into every nerve in my body, pooling tears in my eyes, letting loose once he closed the door to my room.
“Did I do something wrong, Eli?” I asked him the next morning over breakfast, finally finding my spine, while he worked on his laptop.
“What? What do you mean?” He asked me patiently.
“Telling you that I have a crush on you? Should I not have done that?”
I caught the change in his eyes, even though it was brief. Anger, irritation, regret, it was too short for me to tell. “I told you that you can tell me anything. I meant it.” He answered without hesitating.
“Then why are you being so...distant? I’m a big girl, you don’t have to be on eggshells around me. I know that this...what I feel...is one-sided and you...you want me but not...want-want me. You don’t have to worry about me being clingy or needy. If you throw a smile at me, I’m not going to misunderstand it to be anything other than you being a good friend.”
God, I was so lame.
In reply, he lied to me. “I’m preoccupied with work, Ariel, I’m not being distant.”
“Then tell me something about you I don’t know.” I was dying to know everything about him, see his baby photos, the whole freaking deal, but I wasn’t going to fess up to that.
“Ariel--” He started with a kind tone but it just made me mad.
“You said you didn’t sleep with Selena that night.” I reminded him, before asking the question, “Meaning you’ve slept with her before?”
I could actually see the debate playing out on his handsome face, wanting to stop the conversation, but wanting to prove that he wasn’t afraid of having it. “Yes.” He said finally.
“More than once?”
“Yes.”
“Have you slept with anyone else from work?”
“No.”
“Then why her?” I wasn’t even sure why I was going down that path. It was like a plane crash waiting to happen, and I couldn’t look away.
“We’re compatible.” He said after a pause.
“Compatible how?”
His eyes line up with mine unerringly tight. “She doesn’t need more than I can give.”
Meaning only sex. No feelings. “And is it good? The sex?” I added without waiting for his answer, “It must be, I guess.”
A frown finally emerged on his forehead. “Ariel, where are you going with this?”
I’d gulped before asking the question that was harassing me. “When all this sorts out, are you going to...again...with her?”
“Ariel.” My name was a warning on his lips.
“We’re friends, right? You said I can tell you anything. It should go for you too--so we should be able to talk about this. Tomorrow, if I’m sleeping with someone--”
“You’re NOT sleeping with ANYONE!!” He banged his laptop shut, shouting.
In a true low point, I was thrilled to finally get a rise out of him. He didn’t want me sleeping with anyone else--that had to mean something, right? “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because!!” He screamed eloquently.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Mr King, if you’re suggesting I stay celibate all my life.”
“You have to listen to me--I don’t have to do squat.”
He was starting to calm down so I poked frantically. “Why the hell do I have to listen to you?”
“You don’t have to--but you want to.” He said triumphantly, calm and precise, before going in for the kill. “You like it, you fucking love it, when I tell you what to do. And go ahead, fight me all you want and tell me that you don’t, but we both know that’s a fucking lie.”
I couldn’t do either--fight him or lie. I thought about the time he told me to leave my hair down. When he denied me alcohol. When he grabbed me from my apartment and dragged me out to his car. When he took my hands and roughly pushed them down on the bathroom sink after tearing my panties, telling me to be a good girl for him. The arrogant ass was right. I freaking want to be his good girl. His. Because I know he’ll never abuse the privilege.
So I said nothing, and there’s been only limited conversation between us since, my heart sinking in quicksand with every passing moment that makes me realize that when this ends, when we end, I’m kind of wrecked. I have to watch him parade his conquests in my face, while I nurse my--
“Ariel?”
His blue eyes are quizzical. Also concerned. Why does he look at me like that? “Sorry, what did you say?”
His frown deepens, but he tells me again, “That I’ll ask Selena to come by tomorrow to help you get ready for the party. Makeup and dress and hair and whatever else you need.”
Great. He has no one else to ask for help but his buddy with benefits.
When she arrives the next day, two hours before the big event is supposed to start, she rips into him right at the door.
“What the fuck, Eli?!” She showers so loud that I can hear her in my room at the end of the hallway. “You’ve been ghosting me for two weeks and when you call, it’s for a celebrity makeover? And where the hell are your jacket and vest? What are you--turning into a hippy now?”
Ghosting her? I remember the second day in this place when she called and he switched off his phone. But he hasn’t talked to her at all since? Why won’t this man stop surprising me?
“I’ve responded to every email you sent me--how exactly is that ghosting?” He asks her calmly, checking the
perimeter outside the house again. He does it every time the door opens. For Scott, or the cleaning guys, or for trick or treaters two days ago. And he never lets me open the door.
“You’re not taking my calls, you dick, and you know that’s what I meant!” She angrily responds.
When I come out to see her, my heart plummets. Why does she have to be so beautiful? Sophisticated, and literally floating on air?
“Did you have her sign the contract yet?” She asks him.
What? “What contract?” I ask her directly, and both of them startle and then go stiff.
She restores her speech before he does, and there’s no awkwardness when she replies. “A legal document stating what you agreed to with him. We’ll make sure you have a steady inflow of funds and you--”
NO. It fires me. Not the contract part. “We?” I hone in on the word, “Where do you come into this?”
“I--” Selena begins, then screeches to a halt with a puzzled look, like the question caught her off guard. “I’m his friend.” She completes finally, and even she doesn’t sound convinced.
“Oh yeah? What’s his favorite color?” I ask her, and she actually looks at Eli for help to put an end to this carnival ride.
“Ariel--” He says.
Hell no. “I thought you’re the lawyer--why do you need him defending you?” I ignore him and talk to Selena.
Her mouth gapes open. Two seconds. Four. And then to my amazement, she grins. First at Eli. “I like her. I really think I like her.” Then wider at me. “Have you thought about going into law, Ms Walton?“
I’m irritated that while I’m feeling seriously insecure in her presence, I don’t even seem like a speck in her universe. “Are you offering me a job, Ms Roberts? Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”
“Eh.” She shrugs easily, pleasant smile on her bright pink lips. “There are loopholes around everything.”
