Owen shimmied over to the far end of the limo as the driver opened the door. A tidal wave worth of noise swept into the car, people honking and chattering and shouting. Beyond the door, lights flashed. Owen climbed out right into them. Steeling myself, I followed by scooting across the seat.
Owen extended his hand into the limo. I took it, the warmth of his touch becoming an anchor. No matter what happened that night, at least I would be close to him.
Cameras flashed all around us, nearly blinding me. I kept my eyes focused on Owen. He smiled down at me, seemingly undeterred by the sudden attention.
“Why are they taking our picture?” I asked.
“They take everyone’s picture,” he explained. “Just in case a random person happens to be a someone.”
“Ah. Too bad they’ll be disappointed over here.”
His eyes shone as he gazed at me. “Their loss.”
My heart thumped loudly. I wanted to look away from him, to break the intensity of our gaze, but the scene around us intimidated me too much. I had no choice but to hold onto the man next to me for dear life.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, and his palm moved from my hand to rest against the small of my back. It was a barely there touch, but enough of a presence to guide me. Owen steered me down the middle of the red carpet, around small groups of people dressed in suits and gowns. I did a double take when I recognized a television actor whose name escaped me. A second later and there was Madonna herself, talking to a reporter on the edge of the carpet, several burly security guards hovering nearby.
I snapped my eyes back to the front of the museum, determined to not stare.
The more I focused on the red carpet in front of me, the more everything around and on it blurred. A reporter called out to Owen, using his name and asking him to come over. Owen just waved the woman off, though, and continued to walk forward with his hand on my back.
I peered curiously at him. “So you are famous.”
He scoffed. “No. Not quite.”
I hoped he’d elaborate, but the incident seemed to embarrass him so I didn’t press. We were at the entrance to the museum anyway, and what was in front of me quickly garnered all of my attention. Though I’d been there several times before, I’d never seen it in the state it was then. The doors were all thrown open, and beyond them, a wonderland like nothing I’d ever imagined existed in real life had been erected. Golden statues of brawny men, playful cupids, and sensual women peppered the area. Behind them, all banners with paintings of various mythical creatures hung from the ceiling.
Owen gave our names to someone at the door and from that point on the night passed at warp speed. We were introduced to the several chair members. Just like Radha had suggested, air kissing was involved — air kissing with Beyonce, at that. I had to fight the urge to pull my phone from my clutch and send my friend a text message right then and there.
Hundreds of people swarmed the space, and I recognized nearly half of them from television, magazines, or movies. We were ushered into a space set up for cocktails, during which Owen and I engaged in conversation first with an architect and his wife, then with an actress from a medical drama. I impressed myself with my ability in the second conversation to act like I hadn’t seen every single episode of the woman’s show. Owen himself schmoozed like a pro, picking the conversations up whenever they lagged and carrying them in new and exciting directions.
I found myself feeling proud to be seen with him. Not only handsome, Owen was engaging and charming. Several times I caught other women checking him out. Their gazes would inevitably float over to me, and I would imagine them wondering just who the blonde with the handsome and suave man was. In each instance, I sat a little higher, making sure to keep myself composed. I could have been royalty from another country for all they knew, or an heiress to Tiffany’s. Being at the Met Gala was like being at the fanciest tea party in the world. You could dress up and play pretend, have everyone thinking you were anything but what you really were.
After cocktails, it was time to walk around and admire the costumes on display. Then came dinner. What might have been the largest room in the museum had been cleared and set up with dozens of tables. A server came to lead us to where our name cards had been placed in the middle of one of the long, white clothed tables.
Then came more guests to join our area. A pop star Gwen was a fan of. A movie producer who was responsible for a dozen of the biggest blockbuster successes in the last decade. An editor at Vogue. Champagne was poured into each glass at our table all at once, by twelve waiters standing behind our chairs.
Cheers. Chatter. Live music. On and on it went.
Owen kept glancing at me, checking in to see how I was faring. I smiled at him each time, letting him know everything was good. There was more than enough to talk about at our table. The food and drinks were delicious, the number of celebrities casually walking by mind blowing.
It only seemed minutes after getting there that the dessert plates were cleared, and the last drinks served. The mass containing hundreds of people began to thin, and soon it was only Owen and me left at our table. He caught my eye and scooted his chair a little closer. The candlelight caught in his eye, giving him a mischievous look.
“Are you having a good time?”
“I’m having a fantastic time. And I only had one drink.”
He grinned. “There are after parties, remember.”
I traced my finger along the rim of the glass of white wine I hadn’t touched. “I do.”
“Care to check any of them out?”
I licked my lips and hesitated. The night so far had been marvelous. It could get better too, I knew. Anything could happen at one of the after parties.
It was the “anything” part that scared me. I’d already spent enough time around Owen to know that we had crazy chemistry. It was something that couldn’t be helped. My body responded to his in a primal way that just couldn’t be fought.
And the more my body craved him, the more my heart cried.
Because he reminded me of Peter. Hell, every man reminded me of Peter in some way or another. That’s why it was best for me to just keep my distance from them, or at least to keep my time spent around them short. More than a few hours and there were sure to be water works.
“Or we could just leave,” Owen said.
I looked back into his eyes and guilt speared me from several directions. I knew by the look there that he hoped, after parties or not, that I would spend the rest of the evening with him.
I hated to let him down. He was a good guy.
I fumbled for words. “Um, leaving sounds good. I have work in the morning.”
Disappointment flashed across his face. It was quick though. One second and it was replaced with a smile. “I’ll call the car.”
The limo was parked down the street when we came out. One of the parking attendants motioned it over, and the two of us climbed in. Owen sat across from me once more — thankfully. Feeling his shoulder only inches away from mine would be even harder than having to sit and look at him.
“Thank you,” I softly told him.
I expected him to duck his head or do something else bashful. There were two sides to Owen though. The introverted, shy side and the commanding, extroverted side. “You’re welcome,” he murmured back, the deep bass tones of his voice filling the small space.
I studied him. “I can’t quite figure you out.”
He cocked his head. “Why’s that?”
I shrugged. “I just never know what to expect from you.”
Owen ran his tongue over his bottom lip. I quickly looked down at the clutch in my lap.
“Perhaps, I’m a little too secretive.”
That made me look back at him. “Why? Why would you be?”
He made a little guffaw and shook his head. “I’m embarrassed sometimes.”
I laughed out loud. “Of getting invited to the Met Gala?”
He smiled, the touch of
sadness behind the expression not lost on me. “Of not having a career. Of…” his voice grew thicker, “of riding on the coat tails of my parents and grandfather.”
“Your grandfather?”
He shifted his weight and gazed out the window. “I have an inheritance from him.”
“Okay,” I slowly said.
“That could last me not just my whole life, but my children’s and grandchildren’s whole lives.” He smirked. “That will include things like renting private jets and never working a day in their lives.”
I spoke before thinking. “Is that how you want your children to live?”
“No.” His face snapped back towards mine. “It’s not.”
“So you want to teach them to live in a way you don’t?”
He bit down on his bottom lip, a smile creeping around the edges of his mouth. “Yes, I suppose so. I never put it that way myself, but that’s how it is.”
“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my place.”
“It’s fine.” He gazed at me, something imploring in his eyes. What he wanted from me, though, I just didn’t know, but his look had me flushing all over again.
I prayed that the low lighting combined with my makeup hid my blush.
“I like talking with you,” he said.
It was a simple compliment.
“Thank you.”
Owen smiled more.
We were halfway to Hell’s Kitchen. Already conflicting emotions rose inside of me. On one hand, I wanted nothing more than to go out and spend the rest of the night at parties with a cute and charismatic man next to me. I probably wouldn’t even mind it when people thought he was my boyfriend.
On the other and heavier hand, I knew I couldn’t do that. The farther I tried to walk from my sad little place in the world, the more the ghosts would chase me. The memories would be there. Followed by guilt. If I followed this new path, it would be like saying “fuck you” to the old one.
What if one of the after parties happened to be at a place Peter and I had gone to?
Worse yet, what if I had such a good time I forgot all about Peter?
What if Owen couldn’t help himself and made a purely instinctive move towards me, perhaps brushing my hair to the side and leaning down to hover his lips dangerously close to mine?
What if we kissed… and I didn’t push him away?
I ground my teeth together, the burning filling me up. No crying. I can’t cry here.
I didn’t want to be at parties, talking about things that didn’t matter with people I would never see again. I didn’t want to be standing around with a man who wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t want to be kissing someone… unless that someone was…
“Are you all right?”
I didn’t look at Owen. “Fine,” I choked out, doing a terrible job of making it sound like I was okay. “I’m just really tired.”
“We’re almost to your place.”
I closed my eyes. “Good.”
The dark silence seemed to thrum. Did Owen know what was going on inside the woman seated across from him? If not, it was probably best that he never did. No one needed to suffer through the pain of being in my head. I got to do that all on my own. It wasn’t an experience that I wished on anyone else.
The limo slowed down. I opened my eyes to see we were on my block.
The car came to a stop, and Owen got out. He extended his hand, and I followed his lead, allowing myself to be pulled out into the crisp night air. It felt almost like a repeat of our arrival at the gala, except instead of photographers and a red carpet there was a pile of black trash bags on the curb.
Owen gazed down at me, his features dimly illuminated. He said nothing.
I said nothing.
Except inside of me I was saying everything. Go. Stay. Get away from me. Stay here; stay the night. I don’t want to be alone.
I needed comfort. I needed the feel of someone’s arms around me. But every time I thought of those things, guilt immediately followed.
Six weeks. That’s how long it had been.
But did time even exist, really? Because the last month and a half had somehow been the fastest and slowest of my life.
“Work,” I rasped. “I need to sleep so I can go to work.” I sounded like a doll you pulled a string to make talk. My words were emotionless and without any real quality.
Owen nodded. “It was nice to see you again. Can I call you next time I’m in town?”
“Mm hmm,” I answered, so I wouldn’t have to use real words — or explain to him how more complicated his tantalizing existence made my life.
“Good night,” he whispered, then took my hand and raised it up to plant a kiss on it. A thrill traveled through my body, swirling in my stomach and making me weak.
“Good night,” I replied.
Not allowing myself to look at him again, I turned and headed for the door. My keys fumbled as I turned the lock. Behind me, the limo’s engine hummed as Owen waited for me to get inside.
The heavy door slammed at my back. Safe around the corner, I ran up the stairs, scrambling the whole while for the apartment key.
Somehow, though my vision had blurred thanks to a slew of tears, I found the right key. Throwing myself in the apartment, I slammed the door and then sank onto my couch.
Sobs mixed with heaves racked my body. I shook my head, telling the whole world “no.”
I’m sorry Owen, was all I could think. I’m sorry.
In another life, we might have had a chance, but in this one our percentages were nil. I’d already fallen in love. I’d already found my soul mate.
And then I lost him.
For Claire Lawrence, the game was as good as officially over.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Owen
July…
With one last huff, I killed the treadmill. The machine slid to a stop, and I reached for the towel draped over the end of it. I’d just beaten the lunch rush, and the gym was close to empty. The place was big, holding more ellipticals, benches, and weights than a small town like Crystal Brook probably needed. Only a few other people were working out, which was nice. I liked my space while in the gym so I intentionally came at the hours that were most likely to be slow.
I wiped my face and took a deep breath, letting the oxygen fill up my chest and flow through my veins.
To bench press or not?
Truthfully, I wasn’t feeling it. I’d already been at the gym for close to an hour and was starting to get tired. But what would I do once I left the gym?
A sick feeling filled my stomach. It was an all too familiar one. It was the sense that my existence was purposeless. Wake up. Work out. Put on a hard hat, help build a house. Hang out with friends. It didn’t matter which city I was in. The itinerary was the same.
Except for the friends part. That could vary. Due to not having spent much time in Crystal Brook, I didn’t really have any friends there yet. I’d gone to a meet-up in the next town over the other night. The website had said it was for twenty and thirty somethings looking to make friends. There had been a couple of cool people there, but in general, the whole thing ended up feeling forced. I’d gotten the sense that a lot of the women there were actually looking for dates. One of them had been cute, sure, and I’d briefly thought about asking her out, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it. It had been months since I’d dated, and it just didn’t feel as easy as it used to.
Maybe being twenty-nine had something to do with it. Pushing thirty had a way of making you reassess the way you lived your life, right?
Or maybe that wasn’t it at all.
It was my third day in Crystal Brook, and my third day wondering just what the fuck I was doing there.
I could have been in California with Mom and Dad. I could have been visiting my friend Charlie in Toronto. He’d been asking me to come see him for weeks. Or I could have been anywhere else.
I could have been almost anywhere in the world I wanted to be, and somethin
g about that sucked hardcore.
I wiped the sweat off the back of my neck and headed for the showers. It wasn’t Claire. I knew that much. Or maybe it was. Maybe I was just trying to be as close to her as I could without freaking her out and without making myself too disappointed.
New York was off limits. I hadn’t been there since five weeks ago when we’d gone to the Met Gala. She’d said I could get in touch with her the next time I was in town, but I wasn’t a dumb ass. Her mood had been easy enough to read. Despite any fun we’d had, she didn’t want me calling. She didn’t want me texting. She didn’t want to — or couldn’t allow herself to want to — see my face.
Perhaps I’d pushed too hard. I’d tried to keep my distance that night. The times I’d touched her on the back it had only been to guide her through the crowd. Of course, I couldn’t lie and say I hadn’t enjoyed touching her. It had been painfully difficult to stop myself from doing more than just brushing my fingers against her back.
Maybe I was just another schmuck who couldn’t keep his hands off a beautiful woman. And of course, Claire hadn’t taken my advances well. She’d practically been in tears when I dropped her off at her apartment.
I turned the shower on as cold as I could bear it and stepped in. The icy chill took my breath away but also invigorated me. There was nothing like a cold shower to help hit the reset button.
I needed to stop thinking — well, obsessing about Claire. No matter what kind of stupid reasons I came up with.
There’s no such thing as love at first sight, I repeated to myself. There’s no such thing as love at first sight.
I said it so many times I almost believed it. While I was getting dressed and on my way out to my Jeep, and while I was driving down the main street and through downtown. It became my mantra, the whole truth that I had searched so long for.
There’s no such thing as love at first sight.
By the time I pulled into a parking spot behind McCarthy’s, the local mom and pop bakery, I really did believe it. Hell no, there wasn’t such a thing as love at first sight. In fact, I was so convinced at that point that I was already concocting a new plan and a new purpose for my time in Crystal Brook. I was going to head into the bakery, buy that mini baguette to go with that night’s ravioli, go home, cook up some dinner, and then call that pretty girl named Hayden from the meet-up. I would ask her out. We would go to dinner and maybe bowling or a movie. It would be a great time. Perhaps we’d go out again and perhaps we wouldn’t.
Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) Page 8
