Blurred Lines

by Naughty Aphrodite

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A sharp pain and then heat, and then more pain is what Samantha feels. Marla’s knees dig into her body, keeping her from getting up. A moment later Marla is high above her, Connor and the driver holding Marla’s twisting and kicking body. She doesn’t look human, foaming at the mouth, crazy eyes, and torn clothes. She is like an animal pulled from a nightmare.

  Someone from the restaurant has come out to tell them they saw the whole thing and police are on their way. The driver now has his arms wrapped around Marla, holding her in place. She has stopped twisting and is just muttering to herself. Samantha has a slit on her face, and her arm is pulsing out blood in two places. Connor is on is knees, using his belt to stop the bleeding. Samantha is in a daze. Everything happened so fast. She was kissing Connor, and suddenly there was Marla’s face, and now she’s on the ground looking up at Connor, who is white as a ghost. Her body feels so cold. She feels like she might be sick, and then total darkness.

  ***

  Samantha wakes up to the beeps and clicking sounds of hospital monitors.

  “Connor?” She asks for him, groggy still. She feels his hand squeeze hers as her awareness returns to her body.

  “I’m right here, Sunshine. I got you.”

  Connor is sitting at her bedside with a bloodstained shirt. His face shows he’s been through hell.

  “Where’s Marla?”

  Connor’s face turns dark. “Don’t worry about her. You’re safe now.”

  “I...I feel strange. I’m so sleepy.”

  “That’s the meds they gave you. You’ve been out for eight hours. She cut your arm pretty bad. And your face. But I had the best plastic surgeon in the city take care of your wounds. You’ll never know they were there.”

  “Connor, I don’t care about the plastic surgeon. What the hell happened? How did she know where we were? Why do you still have that shirt on?”

  “It was me. I’m how she knew where we were,” painful guilt paints his face as he continues, “She called me repeatedly on my way into the city, and I finally just lost it. When I was hanging up on her, I said I just wanted to enjoy my meal at Saison. I can’t believe I did something so obviously stupid. I never make mistakes like that. I put you in horrible danger. You lost so much blood.” Connor looks away for a few moments. “The truth is I did this. I’m the reason you’re in this hospital bed,” and with this Connor stands up. “I’m so sorry. I can’t put you in any further danger.” He kisses her hand and walks out of the room before Samantha can say anything.

  Samantha is stunned. What just happened, she wonders, still partly sedated. A moment later, the reality of everything settles in. She can feel her wounds start to ache. But, the hurt she feels the most is the hole Connor just cut into her heart.

  ***

  Connor doesn’t answer her calls or emails, but he sends a personal chef, a maid, and a nurse to help during her recovery. Weekly, Margaret brings Arabella over to visit her, and though seeing the little girl reminds her of Connor, her bright energy is refreshing, and Samantha is thankful to have her around. By the time Samantha’s wounds are healed enough to return to work, Connor is in Hong Kong. He supposedly has a business, but she knows better.

  On her bed at the city house, she finds a mahogany box with all the tokens and mementos she’s given him. A pink and blue seashell from a weekend trip to Catalina Island. Photo booth pictures of them together when they took Arabella up to the Seattle house. A mock ad she’d drawn up that advertises his powerful shoulders as the cure-all for a bad day. A braided locket of her hair with a small yellow daisy tied into the ribbon. The wound in Samantha’s heart opens up all over again. Her chest feels like it’s caving in on itself like she is an earthquake shaking the world out of place. She slumps down on the bed and sobs like she hasn’t since her mother died. She cries all night.

  The next morning she gets up and resolves to move forward, no matter what. She focuses on Arabella, and in the evenings she looks through job ads both in San Francisco and in the other major cities across the country. She goes on this way for two months. The late summer heat grows unbearable in the city, and Samantha decides to take Arabella to the country house for a week. Arabella falls asleep in the car. Samantha carries her up to her bedroom. As she comes out of Arabella’s room, Connor walks out of his.

  Both stunned, they stand there, staring at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, Connor turns around and walks down the stairs. Samantha is speechless. She stands there staring at the empty air where his body had been. A thousand thoughts swirl in her head, and she feels anger and hurt well up. How could he just walk away like that? Before her brain is conscious of the choice, her feet run after him.

  He is halfway across the orchard by the time she sees him. He’s heading to the boathouse. She calls after him, but he keeps walking without turning around.

  The boathouse door is shut. She stands in front of it for a few moments. Should I just walk away? Should I leave it at this? A box of returned treasures and an awkward silent showdown in the hallway? But, she just can’t and pushes the door open. Connor is winding rope into tidy bundles with his back to the door. The swift movement of his hands stalls for a moment at the sound of Samantha stepping inside and shutting the door.

  Samantha pulls her shoulders back. She takes a breath, and says, “Connor, you need to speak with me. You can’t just run away from me like a child. We are a part of each other’s lives, at least for a little bit longer.”

  Silence.

  She continues, now feeling anger rise, “Do you think just because you’re avoiding me, I’m going to quietly slink away?”

  Silence.

  More emotion rises in her voice, “In one month I am leaving San Francisco for good.”

  Connor stops winding the rope. He slowly puts it down on the table in front of him. He looks out through the window.

  “CONNOR CLARK TURN AROUND AND LOOK AT ME, DAMNIT!” Her voice cracks at the end. All the sadness she’s been carrying collides with the anger of his behavior today. She wants to beat him senseless and cry in his arms, all at the same time. She holds back her tears.

  Connor wipes away a single tear as he turns around to face her. Their eyes meet for the first time in two months. Even through his tough exterior, she can see his insides are like a sea thrashing in a storm.

  “Where are you moving?” he asks gently.

  Big hot tears roll down her face. She wipes them away quickly, stands a little taller, and maintains a normal speaking voice. “Chicago.”

  “Why Chicago?”

  “I got a job there. In advertising.”

  He looks down at his feet and smiles. “Good for you,” he says genuinely. He looks back up at her. “Way to go, Samantha.”

  “Yeah.” Samantha searches his face for understanding. “I don’t--” she’s looking for words. “I’m not--” she’s stuck with so much to say and no way to do it.

  “I’m so sorry, Samantha. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

  “Getting hurt is a part of life.”

  “Your cheek looks great. No scar.”

  “Is that the hurt you’re talking about?” she asks in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Who cares about my face! You ditched me.”

  Connor takes a step forward, and with a raised voice says, “I didn’t ditch you. I was protecting you!”

  “Oh please!” Samantha says with anger, “There were other choices where you could have still protected me from Marla without totally abandoning me. No, what you did was get freaked out and consumed with guilt, and then you left me. Literally in a hospital room.” Samantha takes a step forward and is gesturing strongly with her hands. She has been holding this in for so long, and her face shows it. “Why did you even get out at the hospital? Why didn’t you just slow the car down by the entrance and roll me out?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Samantha.”

  “I AM NOT RIDICULOUS!” she shouts. She
takes a breath, and she continues more calmly, “I am not ridiculous. I am bright and focused and funny and I have legs that run all the way down to the floor, Mr. Clark. And I do not deserve to be brushed aside with a chef and some maid service as a consolation prize.”

  “No, you don’t,” he mumbles.

  “What was that?” she prods.

  “I said, no, you don’t,” he says and looks her straight in the eyes.

  They look at each other for several moments. Connor looks like he’s barely holding something in. He continues, “No, you’re right, you don’t deserve this. Any of it. I just don’t know how to fix it. I’ve done the best I can.”

  “Do better,” she commands.

  He looks at her with some surprise, almost delight. After a moment of considering her, he continues, “How can someone so small, so fragile, carry such power? And, such power over me?”

  “What are you talking about? I obviously don’t have any power over you. I can barely get you to talk to me--”

  “I love you, Samantha,” he says, cutting her off. “I love you. I am in love with you. I love you so damn much I can hardly breathe sometimes.”

  Samantha is speechless. He’s never spoken these words.

  Connor continues, “Do you think walking away from you was easy for me?” His words are growing more urgent. He takes another step closer to her, and now they only stand four feet apart. “No! It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. In my life. And remember, I was once married to Marla!” He takes another step. “But you, you are the most amazing, most wondrous thing to happen to me in a long time, and when I saw you lying on the ground, blood spilling out everywhere, and then you lost consciousness,” he closes his eyes with the pain of the memory, “there was a moment when I thought I’d lost you. I thought I had been part of killing you.”

  Samantha finds her voice again, “But you weren’t! Not only was it not your fault, I am still here. I am still alive. That’s because of you.”

  “But, I am the one who led Marla to you in the first place!”

  “Connor, listen to me carefully.” She takes a step toward him, and continues slowly and deliberately, “Marla is mentally ill. She is unstable, violent and, as the police tell me, is now locked away at a very posh mental hospital. Indefinitely.” She takes another step closer, and they are now standing so close another body couldn’t fit between them.

  Connor looks down into her eyes.

  Samantha continues, more quietly now, “This was not your fault. Even with telling her where you were going to be. It was not your fault. It was the work of a madwoman.”

  She searches his eyes.

  “Connor,” she begins and searches for words, then continues softly, “I love you too.”

  His face breaks into disbelief, into gratitude, and finally into abandon. Connor grabs Samantha’s waist and kisses her passionately like he’s starving for her lips. They grab at each other--hands reaching into hair, pulling at the backs of heads, cupping faces, with the moans of desperation spilling out of them. Connor lifts her up, and she wraps her legs around his waist, as he pushes her up against the wall. Fused together, they are a fire reignited and blindingly bright. Long and deep, melting into each other, they finally pull away just enough to look into each other’s eyes. They laugh a little and gaze with awe. It is such a relief to have each other again.

  After a moment, Connor says, “Don’t go. Don’t move two time zones away.”

  “I don’t want to go, Connor,” she says reluctantly, “but it’s also a really good job. And in my field.”

  “So stay. Stay and take a better job.”

  “I already tried to find a job here. It’s just not happening.”

  “Y’know, I happen to have my own advertising department, ” he says with a smirk.

  “I can’t just take a job because I’m your girlfriend.”

  “Then take the job because you’ve earned it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember that shoulders ad you made for me? I showed it to my head of advertising.”

  “You what?!” Samantha exclaims.

  “I showed it to her, and I’m not sorry,” he’s beaming now. “She was intrigued and asked to see more. So, I sent her the link to your portfolio.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Of course I did,” he says proudly. “She saw what I see. Incredible talent and creativity. She said as soon as I’m ready to give up my superstar nanny, she’s ready to hire you.”

  Samantha squeals with glee and then kisses him wildly. They lose themselves in each other. Connor pushes the rope aside and sits her on the table, and they begin peeling each other’s clothes off.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  (One Month Later)

  Samantha drops her keys on the entryway table, puts her briefcase down, and kicks off her heels. She calls up the stairs, “Connor, Arabella, I’m home!” Arabella, followed by her nanny, runs down the stairs and throws herself into Samantha’s arms.

  “What did you bring me!” The little girl is bouncing up and down.

  Samantha reaches into the pocket of her gray pinstripe pants and pulls out a little flower made of paperclips. “For you, my little lovely,” she says with a big smile and hands the flower to the adoring child. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “In the pool,” she replies.

  Samantha ruffles Arabella’s hair and strolls into a nearby room. Connor is swimming laps in an Olympic size indoor pool. Samantha flashes the lights on and off to get his attention. When she has it, he swims to the edge of the pool, gets out, and towels off.

  “How was your day at the office, my love?” he asks and then gives her a kiss.

  “Excellent. I’m learning so much. And they put me in charge of the interns.”

  “Already managing, I see. Your boss better watch out,” he teases.

  “It was great. I’m so excited for these little interns.”

  “Just be sure you don’t get too excited and run off with one of them,” he says with a wink.

  Samantha puts on her dirty little girl face, looks up at Connor and says, “Now why would I go and do something like that, when I have a big strong daddy waiting for me here at home.”

  Connor pulls her to him, leans her back, and kisses her deeply.

  THE END

  Billionaire’s Fate

  GLORIA

  I hated waiting outside of interviews; I hated waiting outside of closed doors in general. I reminded myself to use my smile. I had worked at a diner in Cincinnati growing up and knew how to turn on the charm at the drop of a hat.

  I’ve got this. It’s already in the bag.

  I pressed down on my leg to stop it from shaking. I already worked for the charity department at Eco-Farming Enterprises in New York City but was seeking a promotion. The charity department hosted an annual fundraising dinner at a high-end dining hall in Manhattan to support children in Africa. I had been the Assistant Coordinator for two years. With only two weeks until this year’s annual event, Luise, the Head Coordinator, fell sick and I wanted his position.

  I could hear Darek, a bald-headed, nerdy-type from Public Relations, laughing as he interviewed someone inside the room. What are they, old college roommates? They’d been in there for almost a half hour already. I was ideal to head the charity because I was half Irish-American and half Ghanaian; the country in Africa where the charity focused its support. My mixed ethnicity used to make me feel different, but now I appreciate the blue eyes and full bosom I got from my mom and the light skin complexion I got from my dad. Ultimately, my mom taught me to be strong and just be myself; a regular, small-town girl.

  Getting this promotion was important for me. A year ago, my fiancé left me a month before our wedding because his ex-girlfriend “was actually his true love.” With the help of my favorite Joni Mitchell songs from her “Blue” album, I got over it. I’ve focused on my career and paying off my school loans ev
er since. But now I was 26 years-old and my position and salary had become stagnant.

  I heard Darek give a high five to the interviewee. What is going on? There was no explanation for an interview going this long. I took a deep breath and wondered why the hot, 32-year-old billionaire and CEO of the company, Aiden Ford, didn’t attend these interviews. The charity was supposedly an important part of his company. He was a mysterious man who shut himself off from the company but ran it like a well-oiled machine. Most of what I knew about him was from the tabloids; he liked to date a lot of models.