by C. M. Albert
Presley’s phone vibrated on the counter, and she grabbed it. “Sorry,” she said, grinning. “It’s Willa.”
Her smile quickly faded, though, as she read through the text, lifting a hand over her mouth. She tapped the screen and read some more, her face void of any expression.
“Pres? What is it?”
“Have you seen the news today?”
“Nope. Don’t really care for it.”
“You might today,” she said, handing me her phone. “And I think we need to have a chat.”
I couldn’t read her expression, but I grabbed the phone from her. Everything stood still for a moment when I realized what had happened. Someone from the party had taken pictures. Lots of pictures. There was a photo of me sitting with Vivienne at the roulette table, her hand grasping my arm. Then there was another picture of me scooping her back into what looked like a kiss. But the worst was the headline: “Lovers Quarrel Breaks Out Over Billionaire Media Mogul Victor Vanderbilt’s Ex-Wife and Playboy Escort, Carter Wright.”
There was a clear picture of me throwing a punch and connecting with Victor’s jaw. “Fuck!” I said, slamming Presley’s phone onto the quartz countertop. “Fuck!”
Presley sat completely still, her hands in her lap, while looking down.
“Pres, I’m so sorry. It’s not what it looks like.”
“How do I know that, Carter? Do you even know who that man is?”
“Yeah, I do. Why’d you think I was punching him?”
“I don’t know, maybe because he caught you getting chummy with his ex-wife and didn’t like it?”
“It’s not like that, Presley.”
“Well, that’s exactly what it looked like,” she whispered. “A picture says a thousand words, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t tell the whole story, and you know that,” I said. “She’s a client.”
“Right. And you don’t sleep with clients.” She stood, making her way toward the stairs. “You just finger them under the roulette table. So, technically, guess you’re not a liar.”
“Presley!” I yelled after her.
She turned. “Don’t, Carter. I was stupid. So stupid for letting myself get personally involved when I should’ve been focused on the story. I never should’ve let myself get swept up by you again.”
“Come on,” I yelled out. “That’s not fair. Let me at least explain.”
“I can’t, Carter. I need some space.”
I watched helplessly as Presley made her way up the stairs, then immediately called Dex because I didn’t know who else to turn to.
“Nice, quiet, little trip to the beach, huh?” he said when he answered.
“Fuck, man, it’s not how it looks.”
“I believe you. But I can’t wait to hear how it really is.”
“I wish everyone was that understanding,” I grumbled. Then I told Dex everything.
“Carter, I wouldn’t worry about it. Shit like this happens all the time. It’ll blow over. And everyone knows what a slim ball Vanderbilt is.”
“I need a lawyer, just in case.”
“Sure thing. I’ll get you in touch with mine. Anything else?”
“Could you maybe ask Bianca to put a good word in for me with Presley? She was so hurt when she saw the news this morning. Can’t blame her. It’s a fucking mess. But she won’t even hear me out.”
“I didn’t think things were that serious with you guys. It’s only been, what, a couple weeks?”
“I don’t know what it is, to be honest,” I said, walking to the back patio and sitting down to stare out at the ocean. I needed to surf. To get my mind off things. To give Presley time to cool down before I went upstairs and tried to talk some sense into her. “All I know is she went from being a brat I couldn’t get rid of when we were younger, to a woman I’d do almost anything not to lose.”
Dex whistled. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah. Shit. I’ve really fucked this up.”
“Vivienne was just a client though, right?”
“Of course she was! You know I don’t do that, Dex. Which is why the headline pisses me off. And so much for anonymity now. Everyone knows about my fucking business. FUCK!” I yelled, standing to pace the length of the patio.
“Then let Presley write her piece. Help her shape the narrative you want with the media. This was a sensationalistic article written by a rag magazine. Help Presley understand what really happened, then work together to help people understand what it is you really do, and how you’d never cross ethical lines like sleeping with a client.”
“That might be a little hard if anyone finds out I was sleeping with the writer of the article,” I said. “I won’t let Presley lose any credibility over me.”
“She won’t, Carter. Bianca and I won’t let that happen. I promise you. Besides, you know better than anyone—everyone in New York has their secrets. Find out Vic’s, and you won’t need a lawyer.”
I nodded. Damn if I didn’t know that truth in my line of work.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate everything.”
“No problem, Carter. By the way, how’s your dad doing?”
“Not good. I need to get over to see him. I was supposed to go today to check in on him . . . and bring Presley for a nice family dinner. Those plans have been blown to hell.”
“Give her time. She’ll come around. She’s a reasonable woman. She thinks more logically than with her heart. She’ll hear you out eventually.”
“I hope so, Dex. I sure hope so.”
BY THE TIME I got out of the water and made my way back to the house, my whole body was finally relaxed. I would find Presley and hash things out. Then we’d swing over to my dad’s place so they could meet her. Well, as an adult this time. He would be so surprised and happy to see Presley again. She’d always been one of his favorites.
The house was quiet when I entered, and my heart ached for Presley. It’s weird how fast these feelings had come. I craved her. Absolutely needed her to feel whole these days. When we were together, things just felt right. And not only because of the sex—though it was the most mind-blowing sex I’d ever had. And it wasn’t because of the things we did. I’d done far more and far worse with other women.
It was the connection I felt when I was with her. It was like she saw my soul, and I saw hers, every time our eyes met. I sounded like some love-sick schoolboy, but it was true. Presley made me feel safe in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt. I had to make this right.
I bounded up the stairs, two at a time. Her door was closed. I knocked, stepping back to give her space, and waited. When she didn’t answer, I knocked again.
Still getting no response, I cracked opened the door. Maybe she’d run out. “Pres? You in here?”
I looked around. There was nothing there. The room was as spotless as the day we arrived. I went to the bathroom and it, too, had been cleared out. I couldn’t stop myself from opening drawers and the closet, torturing myself with the truth of what had happened.
Presley left me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Presley
I GOT HOME late that night and was grateful to Willa for picking Jar Jar up from the kennel for me. She stood over my crockpot, a spoon in one hand, a glass of wine in the other.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I said, dropping to the floor to pet the cat. “The tabloids would go crazy right now if they could see you in this getup,” I said to my friend, waving at her “Will Cook for Sex” apron.
“And don’t think I’m putting out just because you made—what exactly did you make?” I said, sniffing the air.
“Turkey chili in the crock pot, corn bread in the oven.”
I stood up and walked over to Willa, wrapping my arms around her. “I don’t deserve you.”
&n
bsp; “Of course you do, Pres. You’re fucking fabulous, and so am I.”
I shrugged. “You have a point.”
“Dish up,” she said, pouring me some of the mystery red wine she’d already gotten into. We carried our bowls into the living room off the kitchen. It was smaller than the front sitting room of my brownstone, making it the cozier choice to curl up, have a bowl of chili with my best friend, and cry.
“I think you need to hear him out,” Willa said after listening to my sob story. “Carter doesn’t really seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that.”
“And I don’t seem like the kind of girl who would go from zero to sex goddess in a couple of weeks—but here we are. Anything’s possible.”
Willa laughed, but then sobered up when I shot her my stink eye. “I’m serious, Willa! What possessed me?”
“The Cock of Carter Present?”
“Really funny,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. But then I burst out laughing. “Though, to be fair, I guess it is better than Loneliness of Virginity Past.”
“But not as good as Relationship with Hottie Future,” she pointed out.
“Ugh,” I moaned, hugging a pillow to me as I sank into the couch. “Can I tell you something?”
“What?” she asked, smearing butter on her bread. I don’t know how she did that and maintained her figure.
“I thought I loved him,” I said sadly.
“Thought?”
“Well . . . how can I love him if I can’t trust him? If I feel like I don’t know who he really is.”
“But you do, Presley. That guy in those pictures—that was a man doing his job. You said he stood in for people who needed to keep up appearances, right? So maybe that woman needed to make her ex jealous. Did you ever think of that?”
No, actually, I hadn’t.
“But if he’s that good of an actor, then how do I know he’s not playing me?”
“God, Presley! You’re so damn logical sometimes. Love isn’t about logic. It doesn’t play by your timeline. It doesn’t wait till the fourth date—”
“Well, technically, neither did I this time,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“But that was a good thing, in this case!” she insisted. “Presley, I know he hurt you. I know you’ve had shit for a run with guys in the past. And Victor really did a number on you—even if you insist it was nothing. It caused you not to trust and prevented you from getting close to men for a while. So, here you are,” she said, waving her hands around the space. “All I know is you’ve seemed happier with Carter in this short amount of time than I’ve seen you in years.”
“That’s so cliché, Willa,” I huffed. “I don’t need a man to make me happy.”
She leveled me with her warm, brown eyes. “I didn’t say happy, Presley. I said happier. There’s a big difference. And you know what? Sex makes a girl happy, okay? That’s empowering—not something to use against yourself. Men do that enough for us. We don’t need that garbage,” she said, clearing our plates. When she came back, she stood over me for a minute, quiet.
“What, Willa? Spit it out. I know you have something else to say.”
“Did you ever stop to consider that with Carter, it was the first time you got out of your head and listened to your heart?”
I don’t know why the tear fell, but it did. I swiped it away.
“Then, at the first sign of doubt, you closed right back up and tried to go all left brain on the situation,” she pointed out. “That doesn’t work with love, Presley. To make this right, you need to soften a little. Listen to what your gut is telling you about Carter, and not what the pictures or the tabloids are. Then listen to what he has to say. Hear him out, girl.”
I considered what she said. I would have to sleep on it before deciding how to move forward, though. Because this heart was exhausted and battered. And I needed to make things right with the past before I could look forward to the future.
I MOVED UP my appointment with Dex since I was home early, but I had a few hours to kill. I needed to get out of the house, or I would be tempted to answer one of the dozens of texts from Carter. And I could not bring myself to read them quite yet.
I met Lauren at Lumières for lunch. She was running late, of course, which gave me time to read some of the articles and comments online. I shouldn’t have. More pictures had come out from the Sail for Freedom charity cruise. I rolled my eyes. Vivienne Vanderbilt needed some serious help with her marketing team. Though, I’m sure she and a group of her upper crust friends probably just sat around over tea, thinking themselves brilliant for coming up with their “clever” little title. Barf. Yeah, it was an amazing organization they were donating to. But did it really require a yacht full of drunk gamblers to help keep children safe?
I sighed, triple checking the time on my phone. If Lauren didn’t get here soon, I’d have to eat lunch alone so I could make it to Montague Enterprises in time. As if on cue, Lauren swept into the dimly lit French restaurant. I couldn’t overlook the irony of a café named after something that gives light being one of the most dramatically lit restaurants in all of New York. Fresh candles burned around the open room, lending little ambient light. Antique wall sconces added a little more, but not much.
“Really, Presley? Are we attending a funeral? What’s with the lighting in this place?”
I gaped at Lauren. “Have you really never been here?” I asked. “It’s rumored that Stefani Germanotta owns it.”
“And I’m supposed to know who that is?” she asked, shaking her cloth napkin and settling it onto her lap.
“Uh, yeah. Lady Gaga?”
“Oh lord. No wonder the dramatics,” she said.
“I think it’s cool,” I said, looking around and admiring the decor. “And, they have some of the best French food in New York.”
Lauren sniffed her nose at the menu. “I doubt that,” she muttered.
“Something bothering you today, Lauren?”
“No, why?”
“You don’t seem like a woman fresh off a honeymoon.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” she said, setting her menu down. She sighed. “We had to cut it short.”
“I know. I heard from Dex that there was some big finance summit or something.”
“Yes, for the charitable arm of Montague. It’s exhausting.”
I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps not more exhausting than how hard the people have it who need their charitable help?”
“Oh, Presley, you know what I mean.”
I didn’t. But I left it alone. “Well, it’s good to see you again,” I said with false cheer. Stress had gotten the better of me today.
“I know, darling. I’m sorry to be such a downer. I’m sure after lunch I’ll feel like myself again.”
We placed our orders and sipped wine over small talk. When the food came, we ate mostly in silence, savoring every bite. “I concede, it is marvelous,” Lauren said, pushing her half-eaten dish of shrimp and mushroom risotto aside. “The salad filled me up, though.”
I was still devouring my herb-roasted salmon and fingerling potatoes when the server brought a cafetière for Lauren to sip. That was a fancy name for the strong French press coffee Lauren preferred. I couldn’t help but remember the way Carter looked the last happy morning we spent together. He’d been in his cotton pajama pants, with bed head, and those piercing brown eyes gazing over the rim of his coffee mug at me. That was before shit hit the fan.
I missed everything about him.
“Presley?”
I glanced over at Lauren. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Where are you today?” she asked gently. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not. But it will be. I hope.”
“So, what are you working on right now?” she asked, switching gears.
“Oh
, do you mean the article about Carter that you basically bribed Sylvia to hand me on a silver platter?”
“Don’t be crass, Presley. It was simply a favor. And he did meet the criteria for their ‘Thirty Under Thirty’ list. Did you get the feature story?”
I sighed. “I don’t know yet, Lauren. I’m still writing the article, and—” How could I explain any of this to her?
I couldn’t.
“It’s complicated. But it’s still a work in progress.”
“Speaking of a work in progress,” she said quietly, “how about that Carter? He certainly grew up nicely, didn’t he?”
“Lauren!” I said.
“What? I’m married, dear. Not dead.” She sipped her coffee. “So, have you had a chance to interview him in person yet?”
I almost spit out my sparkling water. How did I unwrap that one?
Luckily, I was saved when my phone buzzed. I glanced down to see who it was. Unfortunately, Lauren did too. And it was Carter.
She smiled, lifting a brow. “I see you have.”
“No, he’s just trying to get a hold of me about something. Following up.”
“Well, why don’t you answer it then?”
“Because,” I said, slowly, “we’re still having lunch.”
“Okay, be evasive then,” she said as she paid our bill. She gathered her purse but paused before she stood. “Presley, it would be nice to see you smile more.”
“Thank you, Lauren. But I smile quite often enough.”
God! What was it with people? I hurried from the restaurant and caught an Uber to Dex’s office. While sitting in the back, listening to the driver sing along to the Four Tops, I checked my emails from Sylvia and some follow-up leads about the island sale. By the time I was dropped off in front of Montague Enterprises, it was hard not to have a pep in my step.
I hummed “I Can’t Help Myself” all the way up to Dex’s office.
“Hey, Presley,” he said, taking a seat at his desk after I sat down. “I have to make this quick. We’re kind of short in the finance department right now, and things are blowing up left and right.”
