“And you dealt with it by being angry.”
I nod. Mostly, that’s true. “It hurt to feel hurt.”
“Yeah. It does.”
I turn and look up at him. His hair blows in the breeze. His hands are deep in his suit pants pockets, and his tie kicks from a particularly forceful gust of wind. He knows what it’s like to hurt. His own mother disowned him—after being paid off by the Owens to take custody of him.
“Do you hate him? Your biological father?” I ask.
He pulls in a chest-expanding inhalation and looks around the cemetery. “I used to hate him. Now I feel sorry for him.”
“What about your mom?”
He pulls one hand from his pocket and pushes the sleeve up. Plucking one of the fat beads on the bracelet between finger and thumb, he says, “She gave me this. One of the only gifts I remember her giving to me. I keep it because it reminds me that, at least once, she cared.” My heart aches for him. He frowns. “I don’t hate her. I feel betrayed. On some level. On another, healthier level, I understand she can’t help it.”
“It’s exhausting, isn’t it? To keep making excuses for their behavior when it affects you so much?”
I turn back to my mom’s grave and a tidal wave of emotion slams into me. I’d like to think it came out of nowhere, but I know better. It’s been lodged in my ribcage for most of my life.
“She loved expensive shoes.” It’s such a dumb thing to say. “We had that in common.”
An audible sob wrenches from my throat and I’m in Nate’s arms a second later. I hang on tight in case the storm inside me, like the wind whipping through this graveyard, blows me away.
His lips pressed into my hair, he keeps me steady.
I let him, painting his shirt with a fresh batch of tears.
Chapter Twenty
Vivian
I wear the red-bottomed Louboutins from Nate and pair them with a new dress I argued and insisted on paying for. He refused.
The dress reminds me of the lingerie I wore when we were in Chicago. It laces up, the bodice is satin trimmed. It’s very, very short. It’s gorgeous, and for good reason. The retail ticket on a Dolce & Gabanna dress hovers around three thousand dollars. Which is why I argued with Nate that I should be allowed to pay for at least half of it. Then he said he was insulted, and I told him I used to have a closet stocked with D&G and it gave me flashbacks. I didn’t win that argument either. He pulled me close, the dress still on its hanger trapped between our bodies, and said, “Time to make new memories.”
He was very convincing.
He works hard for the money he makes and he deserves every penny. I’m trying not to take advantage of him. When I told him that, he chuckled, the sound low and gruff. Then he kissed me and shook his head and told me to get dressed.
There’s nothing slimy or self-serving about the way he gives gifts. He just…gives. I can’t say any man in my life has treated me well without an ulterior motive.
Since our awkward morning in Chicago, Nate and I are closer than before. Him revealing his emotions and me tending to his needs set us in a different zone than before we left. In short, I dropped my guard even more, which doesn’t feel dangerous so much as decadent. Nate is back to his comfortable, confident self. I can tell he appreciated me being there for him. He isn’t accustomed to leaning on someone.
He’s probably always been a tough guy who tried to have everything under control. It’s the role he gave himself, and yes, he’s amazing at it, but he’s also human. Every human wants to curl up and stop worrying for two minutes. I’ve been trying to be the person he can lean on, who sweeps away his worries.
Everyone needs someone to lean on.
While I check my lipstick in the vanity mirror of his Tesla, he pulls up to the valet. Club Nine is a splashy big-city-like club, but in Clear Ridge. Tonight’s the big grand opening.
“I see the Miami influence,” I say. Archer should be proud. It’s a gorgeous building, sleek and modern. Neon lights glow from inside and the façade. A lot of well-dressed guests loiter outside waiting to come in.
“He done good,” Nate agrees.
He complemented my black dress by wearing all black himself. His black satin shirt is adorned with crystal embellishments lining the button panel and the collar. It’d look ridiculous on anyone but him.
“You look great.” I touch his collar.
“Versace.” He cranes an eyebrow.
“You wear it well.”
I might not be able to purchase him expensive clothes, but I can come with him to this event. I can remind him he’s worthy. And that his strength and stoicism are far less important than his willingness to be himself with me.
After the valet takes the car we bypass the line wrapping around the building. They don’t open the doors for another fifteen minutes. Apparently, they are keeping these finely dressed guests in a state of mouthwatering anticipation by making them wait until the clock strikes ten on the nose.
Inside, Benji spots us first. At his heels is a petite blond woman with soft curls surrounding a cherubic face.
“There you are. Archer’s at the bar.” He tips his head. Their brother is wiping down a bottle of liquor with a white cloth. I’m not joking. He inspects another, wipes that one and I overhear him tell the bartender to “keep ’em shined.”
“Committed as usual,” Nate says.
“I’m Cristin, Benji’s assistant.” The blonde offers her hand. “You can call me Cris.”
“Life assistant coach,” Benji corrects as I take my palm from Nate’s arm to shake her hand.
She rolls her eyes. “He made that up.”
“She’s humble,” Benji says, his eyes on her. The look he gives her is friendly and flirty—the same way I’ve seen him look at practically everyone. The look Cris gives him is more than that. Longing and admiration mixed into a cocktail that will one day spill from its shaker.
Another woman enters via the front door. She waves at Benji as she approaches. She’s tall, leggy, blond. Her wide mouth is coated in a pink sparkly lipstick matching her dress.
“Hey, Bennie!” She presses her slim body against his and his arm wraps around her small waist.
“Benji,” Cris corrects from his side.
“I know.” The blonde’s smile doesn’t waver.
Cris looks like she is about to throw up. I feel for her. I’m tempted to hiss at the blonde in Cris’s defense, but I resist.
It’s a good thing I didn’t. Turns out the blonde is really nice. Along with those Barbie-doll good looks, she’s also smart. Halfway through my first martini, she and I are chatting about business integration. Cris chimes in—she’s no slouch, and knows what she’s talking about. I like her more than I like Barbie, whose actual name is Patricia. She doesn’t look like a Patricia, which I told her. She laughed and said she goes by Trish. That makes more sense.
By then the club is full of guests and thumping with bass. Archer and Nate are in a deep conversation in a VIP lounge upstairs. I stayed downstairs in the fog and lights for one reason. My protective streak kicked in when Trish showed up. It kicked into high gear when Trish dragged Benji to the dance floor.
“She’s nice,” Cris announces miserably.
“She is nice,” I agree, not sure what else to say.
She shakes off her malaise and brightens in a blink. “How long have you and Nate been seeing each other?”
I do a quick calculation. “Two months.”
Wow, can that be right? It’s already August. After each day sluggishly rolled into the next and the one after that, these past few months have flown. It seems like eons since I stumbled onto the Grand Marin job site and threatened to shut it down. And even longer since my brother—who remains jobless, by the way—moved into my apartment.
Grr.
“Nate is cut from a different cloth.” She reaches for her drink.
“How do you mean?” I have my own opinions but I’m curious to hear hers.
“On the o
utside he’s this gruff bearlike creature and then he grins and you realize he’s marshmallowy in his core.”
“His core is quite firm, actually,” I argue with a smile. She laughs.
“You know what I mean.” She props her chin in her hand. “Is he super gooey with you? I’m a romantic. Indulge me.”
Unaccustomed to gossiping with a girlfriend—which reminds me how much I miss Marnie—I hesitate before answering carefully. “He takes care of me, which I’m not used to. I’m more of a fend-for-myself kind of girl.”
“Well. He loves a challenge, so I’m sure he’s eating that up.”
I don’t take it as an insult. I am a challenge. When I first met him I had trouble letting down my guard. It’s still tough for me. My spine is stiffer than I’d like tonight. I can’t escape feeling like I’m lying about who I am to a bunch of very kind people—Cris, especially.
“You two look good together. You fit.” She turns her head to check on Benji, though I’m not sure she meant to. She consistently clocks his whereabouts. He’s dancing close to Trish, his lips grazing her bare shoulder. Cris reroutes her gaze to the upstairs lounge where Archer and Nate lean on the railing, drink glasses in hand.
“I’ve never seen Nate this gaga for anyone,” she says, but it sounds like a cover-up for her actual thoughts after observing Benji.
I pull my attention away from my gorgeous date and his brooding brother. When I don’t respond, she winces.
“Did I say too much?”
Sort of, but I’d die before telling her that. “Not yet.”
She laughs. “Told you. I’m a romantic.”
Which might explain why she’s holding out hope for a clueless Benji. If we were friends, I’d give her some hard-knocks advice, but it doesn’t feel like my place. I glance up at Nate. He must feel me staring. He turns from his brother and gives me a wink. Archer follows Nate’s gaze and gives me a bland blink that might be his version of a smile.
“Is Archer always so morose?” I ask Cris. “His new club is open and packed to the walls. Shouldn’t he be happy?”
“I think this is him happy.”
“And Benji is always happy,” I say, unable to resist my curiosity about Cris and her wayward boss.
“Not always. Generally, he’s upbeat. His teen years were rough.”
I imagine any kid who had to be adopted because his parents were no longer alive would categorize their teen years as “rough.” He evidently dealt with it differently than Nate. Benji is as upbeat as a motivational speaker.
“So, you know him well,” I pry. I can’t help it. The look she’s been giving him since Trish arrived is more than a crush an assistant develops for her boss.
“We’ve known each other going on ten years.”
“Wow. Long time.”
“I started interning for William Owen when I was fresh out of college. Mostly at the office, but the entire family would pop in from time to time. Benji hired me to manage his personal schedule about eight months ago, but he’s always been in my periphery. I mean, not just him. They all have,” she amends. “It’s hard not to notice the Owens. They’re each so…unique.”
They are. Nate’s gruff good looks mask a tender heart, Archer’s scowl seems to be hiding more turmoil, and Benji’s joy and happiness are absolutely contagious.
I suppress a smile and sip my martini. Benji hired Cris eight months ago. He’s oblivious, unlike his super-observant brother, Nate.
“Have Benji and Trish been together long?” Not to rub salt into a wound, but I need more details. I don’t tend to hold back, in case you haven’t noticed.
“I met her one other time. She had a meeting with Benji the other night that ran late.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s a player and a half. Any woman would be crazy to become involved with him.”
“You should warn Trish, being his life coach and all.”
“Life assistant coach,” she corrects, holding up a finger.
I laugh. I like her. Way more than I like Trish. “What does that even mean?”
“It means he can pay me more than William paid me. I demanded a raise.” Her tone suggests she believes she deserves it. Interesting. Maybe the “thing” she has for her boss is nothing more than inconvenient attraction brought on by proximity.
Inconvenient attractions can fool you into wanting more. Trust me.
I crane my head to look for Nate, but he’s gone. He appears beside me a second later and runs his finger along the back of my arm. I jump and spin around, startled. He fills the space around me. I always imagined those open cracks would let the monsters in, but look who’s guarding the door.
“Dance with me.” He sets his empty glass on the bar and takes my hand. I check on Cris, hesitant to leave her alone.
Archer is next to her offering her his hand. “Shall we?”
She smiles up at him and Archer slants me a knowing glance.
“Who knew Archer had a heart,” I remark as Nate leads me to the dance floor.
“We hide our hearts in whatever way is convenient,” he says. “Benji with his women.” Nate settles his hands on my waist, claiming me. “Archer with his warm, fuzzy personality.”
I laugh at his sarcasm. “And you?”
My arms around his neck, I sway to the slow beat of the song. We move well together. Just as good as when we’re wrapped around each other on the couch. Or a hotel bed. Or in the bathtub…
“I hide behind giving luxurious gifts.” He gives up his secret easily. “What about you? Where do you hide your broken heart, Vivian?”
“Up my skirt,” I answer cheekily. “Want to check?”
“Behind that sass,” he answers for me. Then he lets me off the hook with a, “And yes, I’ll have a look for it later.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Vivian
There is a strange woman in my house.
I don’t know her but Walt does, and he’s fond of her, given his wide, goofy smile. He excitedly introduces her as Dee. I recognize the name. This is one of the “friends” he lived with while he was in Atlanta. Oddly enough she resembles him. She’s thin with dark hair, though she’s a good foot shorter than him, and covered in tattoos. Just on her arms and legs from what I can tell, but there could be more.
Beneath a pile of black eye makeup are pale blue eyes. She doesn’t strike me as a particularly warm person, but she’s friendly. She’s chattering about how she recently achieved her thirty days of sobriety. Hence the visit to Clear Ridge.
“We’re heading out for tacos. You want to come with?” Walt asks.
No way am I going on a date with my brother and this chick. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad he has a friend in town to occupy his time who isn’t me, but I’m not hanging out with them after a full day of work. I mentally tack on that Walt hasn’t worked a full day in a very, very long time. I want to vent, but I don’t feel comfortable in front of a guest.
“Can’t. Nate and I have plans tonight.”
Before Dee walks outside she turns, her hand on the doorframe. “Walt told me about your boyfriend. Said he owns a bunch of properties. I heard he’s super rich.”
I don’t know what to say so I nod. My brother also used to be “super rich.” I wonder what he’s told her about our family, if anything.
“The car is here,” she tells him and then she skips outside to climb into an Uber. Walt tells her “one second.” After she scampers outside, he turns to me. “Can I borrow twenty bucks?”
“Is that why you invited me? So that I’d pay for dinner?”
“Don’t be a bitch, Viv. I need an allowance or something.”
“You need a job.” But I’m already en route to my purse. I hand him forty dollars and he makes a plea for an additional twenty. I give that to him too. I don’t have the energy to argue or teach him a lesson tonight. I have a feeling it wouldn’t stick anyway.
After he walks out the door, I call Nate. Before I can launch into my tirade, he says, “Come to Grand Marin. I’ll take you
to dinner.” Then he shouts goodbye over what sounds like large machinery chugging away in the background.
I guess venting can be done in person as easily as over the phone. I drive to the job site and find him in the office, hovering over a laptop. He’s dressed down in cargo pants and a T-shirt today. This is probably the most dressed down I’ve ever seen him.
“The wall looks good.” I point over my shoulder and his eyes flare with heat. That was the first time we met. Had we known then what we know now… “Doing some of your own dirty work?”
He doesn’t honor my joke with an answer, standing from his desk to kiss me hello. “I hope you’re okay with casual dinner or carry out. I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Nope. Eight course chef’s menu or I walk.”
I’m teasing, but he nods his head curtly.
“I’ll make a reservation.”
“You do well with high maintenance, do you know that?”
He grins. Yeah. He knows.
Within half an hour, we are being seated at a very relaxed Mexican restaurant. Of course I didn’t let him make reservations. That’s ridiculous. He would’ve though. He’s spoiling me and I’m starting to like it. Not because it reminds me of my old life—but because this is a whole new experience. Nate is a new experience.
I like the chips and salsa here. La Piñata is a place I’ve been to more than once. After a quick look around to determine this wasn’t the same taco joint where Walt and Dee absconded to, I relax.
“So you were saying…” Nate motions for me to talk while he drags a chip through the dish of salsa. I started to tell him about what was going on with Walt on the drive over, but then he took a phone call. The gap gave me time to reconsider my approach. I no longer feel like fuming, unless it’s at Walt, but that will have to wait.
I summarize, explaining how I gave my brother and his “friend” money for dinner. “I don’t know where she’s staying while she’s in town. I bet she’s staying with Walt. Also, me.”
“Tell her she can’t.” He shrugs as if it’s that easy. Arguably it is. Telling Walt is the hard part.
Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1 Page 15
