by Brisa Starr
“I love your laugh, Aspen.” She stops and looks at me. Her eyes shine, and her mouth parts slightly, like she’s about to say something, but clarity comes into her face, and she turns forward and walks into the boutique.
“What else makes you laugh?” I ask her.
She thinks about my question. “Um… my mom, she’s a hoot. Popster is funny, too. Dagny makes me laugh. Oh, and romantic comedies, when I have the time to watch them.”
“Who’s Dagny?”
“She’s my bunny.”
“And what’s a Popster?”
“He’s my grandpa.” She starts combing the racks, and she grabs two black dresses, one shorter than the other, and a dark purple sequined item. Her arms are full, and my services look needed. “Allow me to hold those for you, ma’am,” I say in my best concierge tone.
She chuckles and hands them to me, “Might as well.” Then, she adds, “Seriously though, don’t you have to work or something?”
“My future great-great-grandkids don’t even have to work.”
“Hm. Sounds boring.” She steps over to the next rack. I follow dutifully. She holds up a navy dress and wrinkles her nose, then hangs it back up.
Her truth makes me bristle, and I snort dismissively. “I do things. I race in Spartan races every few weeks. I’m a philanthropist. I’m a world traveler, I’m… an investor, ahem.” I pause. She looks over at me and raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to finish. She is paying attention.
She shakes her head. “Oh. That explains why you’re hot on my tail, following me everywhere. You’re bored. Greeeaat,” she says, her tone dry as melba toast.
As she fingers the dresses, assessing their material, she asks, “So what makes you laugh?”
“My buddy, Sax. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Sometimes I think he needs to still grow up, but he always makes me laugh.”
“Hmmm,” she replies, and I don’t know if she’s responding to my answer about Sax or the pink dress she’s holding up. But I’m pleased she’s engaging at some level, and no longer telling me to leave her alone.
Progress.
She puts the dress back, and we move along to the next rack. I ask her, “What do you like to do for fun?”
She stops. The tiniest hint of longing crosses over her face before she answers, “I like going to concerts, but I never do. Too expensive and no time. I also like watching pro basketball, although I couldn’t really tell you why. For whatever reason, if I have it on in the background while I’m cooking or working on my laptop, it relaxes me.”
“That’s it? That’s your fun list?” I ask, shocked and sad for her, though admittedly, my own list is rather lacking.
She shrugs. “Yeah. That’s my life right now. Too busy for fun. Though, in my defense,” she says and purses her lips, making them look utterly kissable, “I have fun with my work. I love it. Maybe that’s why I don’t make a big effort to do anything else. I feel satisfied.”
Before I can comment, she takes one last look around the shop and says, “Well, I’ll try on those dresses.” She takes them from me and heads to the dressing room. I follow her, and she snaps the curtain closed just as I attempt to go in with her.
I snap it back open, and she gasps.
“What?” I shrug, feigning innocence. “You might need help with the zipper.” I give her my most devilish smile, and she laughs. One of her hearty ones, too! I’m on a roll today.
“I am an excellent judge of dresses. I will give you my unbiased opinion. Scout’s honor.”
“Fine. Stay there. On the other side.” She yanks the curtain closed again, but not before I see her lips turn into a little smile.
She starts with the short black dress with gold lace adorning the hem. She steps out of the dressing room and spins around. It flares up, and I whistle appreciatively. “Beautiful,” I say. Fuck, what I could do to her in that dress. My cock starts to harden, and I shift my stance.
She stares at her reflection in the mirror and tilts her head to the side, considering. I say, “Let’s see the others. We need to compare.”
She changes into the second dress and steps out. I whistle again. Damn. This black dress has flowing chiffon that goes down to her ankles. It has spaghetti straps and a black lace shawl covering her soft, delicate shoulders. “Beautiful,” I say. “Out of those two, I prefer this one. Next?”
She looks in the mirror and nods. “Noted,” she says and steps back into the dressing room. While she’s changing into the purple sequined dress, I see a swath of red on a nearby rack, and I walk over to it. “Hey, Aspen, what size are you?”
“Size six!”
I check out the size on the red dress. Perfect. I carry it over to her and hand it over the curtain, “Here, try this one, too.”
She takes it from me without a word. Then she comes out wearing the purple dress, which is more like a gown. “It’s beautiful,” I say, “but too heavy for summer, and overkill for this event.”
She tilts her head. “Good point.”
“Try the red one,” I say.
Aspen turns around and goes back into the dressing room. A moment later, she pushes the curtain aside and steps out wearing the red dress. Holy fuck. My heart stops. My cock throbs. My mind goes blank. Her beauty strips my breath from me. The red dress graces her sexy curves, and it narrows at her ankles like a mermaid. The dress is a bright, crimson satin material with a layer of lace over it. I can’t take my eyes off her as they rake her body from top to bottom. Her dark brown eyes meet mine, and they’re lit with so much fire, they’re almost the color of amber. I’m stunned into silence.
The shop owner interrupts us as she passes by, “Well, my dear, isn’t that smashing on you? Perfect. That’s the one!”
Aspen smiles with excitement, then lifts her right arm to look at the price tag. She gulps, and her smile fades. “I’ll take the short black one.” She turns around and goes inside to change back into her street clothes. A moment later, she comes out carrying the short black dress.
“You need the red dress,” I say.
“No, I don’t.”
“You look beautiful in the black one, but the red one is perfect.”
“I don’t want the red one,” she says with a huff.
“Why not?” I ask.
Her lips tighten, and she takes a breath before turning to face me. “Because it’s too expensive. I’m not paying that much for a dress.”
“Let me buy it for you.”
“Oh my god, will you stop?” she says, exasperated.
I clench my teeth, but she won’t budge. Stubborn woman. Amazing, beautiful, mesmerizing, stubborn woman.
She pays for the black dress, and we leave the boutique. Walking to our cars, she stops and looks across the street. And she sighs. I follow her determined gaze. She’s looking at The Rose Hotel.
“You’ll get it someday,” I say, and she drags her eyes away from it to find mine.
“Yeah,” she breathes, and we look at each other for a warm heartbeat. I want to reach out and touch her, hug her, kiss her. She interrupts my thought. “Well, I gotta go,” she says softly, and she turns to her car, leaving me standing there.
I call out, “I’m still gonna marry you someday.”
She doesn’t even turn around and yells back over her shoulder as she gets into her car, “I didn’t have that good of a time!”
I turn over in bed. It’s midnight, and my mind is still thinking of Aspen in that stunning red dress, and what I want to do to her in it. I’d like to see it hiked up around her waist, with her legs spread in front of me. God, I can’t stop thinking about her. This woman is different, I feel it in my bones.
I grab my phone and open the messaging app.
Me: I liked seeing you today.
No answer. She’s probably sleeping.
Just then, I see the three little bubbles.
Aspen: Ryker, you seem like a nice guy. But you’re wasting your time with me.
Me: What are you doing awake?
/> Aspen: What are you doing texting me this late?
Me: I was thinking about you. Can I say the same about you?
Aspen: Yes. I was thinking about me, too. And all the stuff I have to do, including finding another investor.
Me: You have one.
Aspen: We’ve been through this. Good night.
I smile. I can’t wait to see her again. Tomorrow isn’t soon enough. My eyelids grow heavy and start to close, as I finally edge toward sleep.
Suddenly, my eyes shoot wide open. I’ve got it. I know what to do. I start working on my plan, my plan to win Aspen’s heart.
10
Ryker
I wake up, the sun is shining, and I’ve still got my plan in my head to win Aspen’s affection. Or more specifically, to wear down her resistance. I know she’s attracted to me, and I know she’s interested. She just doesn’t know we’re meant to be yet. But she will. She’s thinking too small, constrained by imagined limits. But in my world, there are no limits.
I pad into the kitchen, yawning, and I make a cup of strong, black coffee. I drink half of it, and then I put on my swim trunks and walk down to the lake. I dive off the deck and start swimming. The water is cold and invigorating, which clears my mind.
I think about what my Dad said, the idea of having a passion and of leaving a legacy. He’s right. I want something more. I want to be with someone. I’m ready to do something different with my life.
When I sold my Bitcoin and became a billionaire, I thought my life was made. I had no idea it would lead to such a lack of purpose. Or such loneliness. And then I meet this beautiful woman who has her shit together, and she doesn’t want me for my money, not even when I try to give it to her. She’s so full of passion, and I have such respect for her determination… not just because she’s got it, but because it’s something I’m profoundly lacking. The irony of our situation is that she has the passion and drive, but limited resources. I have unlimited resources, but no passion or drive.
Damn, we’d make one hell of a couple.
I’m not giving up.
I get dressed and head over to Gabby’s Rooster to see Aspen.
An hour later, I’m sitting in the second-to-last booth in the back of the bistro, scanning the menu. Aspen saunters up to my table, wearing tight jeans and a tight, cotton-candy pink T-shirt under her leopard-print apron. I smile and shift in my seat. Her shiny, blond hair is in a high ponytail, which I want to yank her head back with and kiss her shiny, suckable lips. They’re cherry-red. Like always.
I gotta make this happen.
“What can I get you, Ryker?” she asks, only mildly annoyed I’m here. I think.
“You,” I say, in my sexiest voice and flash my eyebrows. She’s laughs. I see she’s not completely immune to my charms. He shoots, he scores.
“I mean, what can I get you to eat?”
Oh, she’s making this too easy. I lean forward and whisper, “You.”
And for the first time, I see her face infuse the same color as her lips… from something I said! She taps one of her red canvas sneakers on the floor nervously, like she’s had three espressos.
“OK then, quiche it is,” she says, and floats away.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my email. Patrick is moving forward with the Kauai house renovations, which pleases me. And Sax emailed about setting up another round of golf. He also said we need to go out bar hopping. There’s only one reason he wants to do that—for girls. But I’m not interested in meeting girls. I’ve already set my sights on one.
Aspen brings the quiche over to me, with a glass of chocolate milk. Cute.
“Would you like to go out tonight?” I ask her.
“Nope,” she says and walks away. I grab my fork and take a bite of the quiche.
Her mother, Gabby, comes out of the kitchen. Her platinum blond hair is as bright as Aspen’s, and she leans against the counter talking to one of the regulars. I overhear her telling the customer a story, “… and then I see that my seat on the airplane is in the emergency row! So, I stood up and said to everybody around me, ‘Look I’ve been married four times! I’ve been through a lot in my life! I can handle this emergency door.’” Gabby and the customer bust out laughing, and I smile.
The customer, still laughing, says, “Gabby, you are too much!”
“That’s what all of my husbands said,” Gabby replies, her laughter following her back into the kitchen.
I hold up a finger to get Aspen’s attention, and she comes over.
“Yes?”
“Aspen, my offer still stands. I’m serious. I want to invest.” She doesn’t smile. “Come on, let me do this, I want to.”
“I already told you, Ryker, absolutely not. I don’t want to get tangled up with you. In a romantic way, or in a business way.” Her words are one thing, but her eyes tell me otherwise. Even when she’s trying to ignore me or scold me, they smile. She can try to cover it up all she wants. She’s not fooling anyone. She’s just stubborn.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s pocket change to me. I need to find places to put money, or it just sits there, doing nothing. You have a hotel you want to buy. I have no doubt that you’ll make it a success. We can keep it professional.”
“No, we can’t. You’re already a distraction.” She turns to walk away, but I’ve got another trick up my sleeve. A big one.
“Wait,” I say, and she turns back to me. I narrow my eyes at her, and then I raise my eyebrows as high as they go, which makes her giggle and shake her head at me. I’ll charm my way into her heart after all.
“Yes?” she asks and crosses her arms over her chest. But before I answer, I drink in the site of her for a moment, and I can’t help but admire her dedication. But enough is enough. It’s time to close this deal. When she hears what I’m planning to say next, I’ll have her.
“Aspen, I need to tell you something. You are responsible for me becoming wealthy. Indirectly, at least. But I still owe it all to you.”
She uncrosses her arms and puts her hands on her hips. Then she adds a sassy tilt to her head for good measure. “What are you talking about?”
I shrug with ease. “When my parents divorced, I avoided people, spent a lot of time in the basement, pissed. I dove into the Internet, and one of the things I got involved with was mining Bitcoin, and here I am.”
She just looks at me, like she’s waiting for the finale to my story.
I continue, “Had you not said that to me in the cafeteria, back in high school, I never would’ve raised the issue with my parents.” I shrug again, to maintain my air of “what I’m about to say is truth and no big deal,” but I pause for effect before finishing. “They would’ve still divorced, but it would’ve happened later. After I was an insecure high school student who cares what clique he belongs to. After I left for college and had other ways to occupy myself. And most of all… after the early days of Bitcoin. And I wouldn’t be sitting here a billionaire. So, you deserve a cut. How does $300,000 sound?”
“How do you know I need $300,000?”
Not the response I was hoping for.
“Because I know what’s needed for the down payment on The Rose Hotel.”
“Damn you, Ryker. Stay out of my business,” she says, all smiles gone, and she storms off.
A half hour goes by, and she’s still avoiding me. I spend part of the time reading email, and then I get out my journal and start sketching.
If at first, or second—or is it third now?—you don’t succeed, try, try again. I grab my phone and dial the number of the bistro. Her mom answers the call from the kitchen, and I ask to speak to Aspen.
I hear her mom call out, “Hey, Aspen, pick up line one.”
Aspen walks to the cash register and picks up the phone with a chipper, “Hello? Aspen here.”
“Hi, it’s Ryker.”
Her mouth drops open, and she glares at me from across the restaurant. Her voice is no longer chipper. “Oh my god, you’re fucking incredib
le, you know that?”
I smile back at her, and I say into my phone, “I’d prefer hearing you tell me that in bed.”
I watch her face as her eyes grow wide, and she sucks her lips between her teeth, trying not to smile.
I continue before she hangs up on me. “How much are your pies?”
“Ten bucks,” she answers, unamused.
“I’d like to order 30,000 cherry pies, please.”
This time, I don’t even get a response. She shakes her head and hangs up the phone.
I put my phone down on the table and resume sketching, trying not to smile.
“Looks like you keep striking out, son,” says a voice from behind me, with a little chuckle.
I turn around and see the back of an old man’s head filled with white hair. “Excuse me?”
“I said, you keep striking out. With Aspen.”
“Who are you?” I ask and twist around more in my booth, but I’m cut off… “Turn around, dummy, or she’ll know we’re talking.”
I do what he says, and he adds, “Now pick up your phone and pretend you’re talking to someone on it.”
“What?”
“Just do it, boy.”
“Okaaay,” I say.
“I have an idea for you,” the old man says. “It seems like our Aspen has a need, and there’s something you want to give her, but she doesn’t want it from you.”
“And who are you?” I say, pretending to talk into my phone.
“I’m Popster, Aspen’s grandpa. Gabby’s my daughter.”
Ah. Aspen mentioned him yesterday. This ought to be interesting. I play ball. “OK, what’s your idea?”
“I have a house I need to sell. It was worth about $320,000 when I had it appraised two years ago. It sounds to me like you need places to park your cash, things to buy. Well, I’m interested in selling my house. And if you buy it, I’ll loan Aspen the money she needs. She’ll accept it from me.”
