The thing is that I'm not sure about anything, and Gaige most of all. And I'm definitely not sure Gaige feels the same way about me.
"You will get on the next flight back to Manhattan," my mother says. "I've hired someone who fixes these things, someone who will do damage control. You're ill and you're going to rehab. And you're never going back to your father's place again. You will not see that boy again. Do you hear me?"
I can't help but hear her. Her voice sounds unreasonably loud on the phone, ringing in my ear as I stand there motionless. A couple passes me, the man and woman holding their young daughter's hands. "That's not going to happen, mother," I say. "I'm not coming back to Manhattan. I'm not going to rehab. And I'll see whoever I want."
My mother screeches and I hang up the phone, feeling strangely disconnected from everything, as if I'm having an out-of-body experience. In the cab on the way to my father's house, I feel oddly numb as I watch the scenery fly by in a blur.
When we arrive at the house, I don't even register the location for a moment. I'm tempted to tell the driver to leave the car running, because I may be back out the door in a few minutes. Fired and probably disowned.
But I don't. I walk numbly down the hallway, and one of the housekeepers greets me with a terse look. "Ms. Marlowe," she says. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow morning."
"I'm back early," I say. As if that offers an explanation for everything. "Is my father here, or at the office?"
Teresa shakes her head. "It's not so good," she says. "He's in the study, but you shouldn't - "
Crap. So he's heard, and if the staff already knows, that means it's even worse than I thought. I smooth the fabric of my skirt as if doing so will make me somehow presentable and professional.
As if that will somehow erase everything that's happened.
I walk down the hallway to my father's study, resigned to my fate, and knock on the door.
"Come in," he says, and I can tell his voice is strained even before I pull open the door. He's sitting in the corner of the room in his leather armchair, drinking a glass of scotch. Just sitting there. No work, no book, no computer, nothing.
My heart sinks. This is a lot worse than I thought.
"Delaney," he says. The way he looks at me, disappointment and pain in his eyes, makes my heart break. I've never seen him look at me like this.
"I know you've heard what happened, but I can explain," I say, my voice rushed and rambling as I step inside the office. As soon as I open my mouth, my words gather momentum, spiraling out of control. "Chelsea set us up, told Akira-san something, I don't know what, that we were sick maybe, because she wanted a job with him, I think? I'm not sure. She hates me. She's hated me since the beginning and I didn't want to say anything because I wanted to stand on my own at Marlowe. Even if it's your company, and you're my father. And then we walked off the elevator and Chelsea and Akira were right there and it was –"
My father holds up his hand, halting me. "I know," he says. "Gaige told me the whole story already. He explained everything."
"He did?" I ask. "But – I don't understand. He's still in Tokyo. Or…on a flight. I came back early."
"He sent an email," he says. "It was all in the email."
"Do you hate me?" I ask. "You hate me, right? You hate Gaige."
Beau sighs. "Of course I don't hate you."
"But you're – you're sitting here in the office, with the lights out, drinking scotch, and you're – not happy, obviously."
Beau looks at me as he takes another sip of his scotch, his face tired. "Anja left," he says. "We're divorcing. I finally told her to leave."
"Oh my God." I stand there, motionless, my heart pounding in my chest. Shit. It's our fault. "Because of Gaige and I?"
My father's brow furrows. "What? You and Gaige?" he asks. "Don't be ridiculous."
"But – it's not because of us."
He waves his hand dismissively. "She left last night," he says. "I didn't even read Gaige's email until this morning."
"But…what happened?"
Beau looks at me, his head cocked to the side. "It was obvious, wasn't it? It's been coming for a long time. She was an alcoholic, and…well, not a very good person at all, as it turns out. She'd been cheating on me. With the yoga instructor. Who's twenty-three."
My hand flies to my mouth. "Dad. I'm so sorry."
Beau smiles sadly. "I sure can pick 'em, can't I?"
"Dad, I – I don't know what to say."
He clears his throat and shakes his head, standing up to set his empty glass down at the bar, before walking over to me and drawing me into a hug. I stand here, my head against his chest for a moment, feeling like a kid again. Then, his big hands on my arms, he pushes me back and takes a long look at me. "My problems are not your problems," he says. "Your mother called here, by the way."
I exhale forcefully. "I know," I say. "I got her phone call."
"I tried to make her see reason," he says. "But you know how she is. I can only imagine what that call was like for you."
"I don't know if we're speaking anymore," I say. "Dad, I ruined everything. How can you not be angry?"
He waves his hand. "Akira Ito can pull out of the deal if he wants to," he says, shrugging. "There's a morality clause Gaige very well could have broken all on his own anyway. There will be other sponsors."
"You're not mad about the deal," I say.
My father walks over to his bar and takes out a cigar. He clips the end of it slowly, looks at me like he's about to impart the most profound wisdom ever. But he just shrugs. "You win some, you lose some."
"That's it?" I ask. "It's millions of dollars."
"Honey, there will always be more money to make. It's replaceable. Besides," he says, with a sly smile, "I had an insurance policy on Akira-san. And your boss Chelsea won't find she has the employment opportunities she thinks she has."
"What?" They sell insurance for this kind of thing? My father is having Chelsea black-balled?
"Not literal insurance," he says. "I had a back-up sponsor, someone waiting in the wings. Just in case. It's Gaige we're talking about here."
"But Gaige and I –" I start. "It's all over the news, the tabloids, supposedly. You're not upset?"
"I'm going to smoke this," he says, holding up his cigar and pointedly ignoring my question. "Come out onto the terrace with me."
I follow him outside and stand with him on the terrace that overlooks the grounds, while he lights his cigar, slowly and methodically, like some kind of ritual. He takes his time with it, and I wonder if he's even going to answer me. Finally he turns. "I've not been so lucky in the love department, you know."
"Dad, I – " I start, but he puts up his hand.
"Hush," he says. "I'm not asking you to reassure your father, or some such nonsense. I'm just stating the facts. My point is that I'm in no position to judge anyone else's relationship."
"We're not in a…" Relationship, I start to say. "Wait. So you don't care?"
Beau puffs on the cigar and then looks at me. "Let's not go that far," he says. "You're my only daughter. I'm not going to shoot off Gaige's kneecaps when he walks in the door, if that's what you're asking. Even though I could."
Relief washes over me, and I can barely suppress my giggle. Okay, that might have been exactly what I was thinking. "I'm glad you're not going to murder him," I say.
"Are you happy?" he asks.
"I think so," I say, nodding. "Yeah. I'm happy. Or, I was happy. I don't even know if we're anything, or – I mean, Gaige is Gaige. I'm not sure he even feels the same about me, or –"
"The printout of the email is on the desk," Beau says. "I'm going to finish my cigar. Take it with you, and then you can decide."
"Are you sure everything's –"
"Go," he says. "It's on the desk. Read it. I didn't peg Gaige for being so goddamned sappy, but if that's what you like…"
Sappy? I think. Gaige is anything but sappy. "Thank you, dad."
"And De
laney?" He calls my name, his back facing me as he blows smoke out away from the terrace.
"Yeah, dad?"
"I'm still your goddamned father," he says. "You should make sure to let him know that if he breaks your heart, I've got multiple shotguns and access to a great defense attorney."
I choke back a laugh, but mostly because I'm not sure my father is joking. "Thanks, dad."
"Now, get out of here and leave me in peace," he says. His words are gruff, but his tone is playful. "And for Christ's sake, try to stay out of the tabloids, will you?"
I carry the email up to my room, but I don't look at it until I've closed the door. When I scan it, my hands are shaking. I'm not sure if I'm even supposed to be reading it.
But when I do, everything in the email blurs together, the words fading into the background while the three most important ones seem to jump off the page.
I love her.
Gaige told my father he loves me. And I left him sitting at the hotel in Tokyo.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Gaige
A nearly thirteen hour flight back to Dallas and I've been on an internet blackout, of my own choosing. Before I even left Narita airport in Tokyo, my phone had been buzzing with text after text from people who'd seen the stupid story about Delaney and me on some gossip website. I'm sure that was all Chelsea's doing; the first call she probably made after quitting Marlowe Oil was a tabloid.
When I started getting texts before boarding the plane, I read the first message, a "holy shit" text from one of the guys on my team, followed by a snarky one from an old booty call. Then I shut off my phone and spent the entire flight not checking my email and not logging into the internet. Instead, I alternated between lying in my seat not sleeping and thinking of Delaney and watching shitty movies and thinking about Delaney.
Beau hadn't responded to my email when I woke up this morning. So when I get to Delaney's house, I could very well be walking into a fucking war zone.
The concierge at the hotel said Delaney flew back to Dallas, so at least that's something. She didn't go straight to Manhattan. Of course, that doesn't mean she's going to stick around in Texas at all.
I can't even imagine what Anja is going to say. This will confirm everything she's ever thought about me and the giant train wreck I am. I can picture her reaction now: "First, racing that stupid motorcycle of yours, and now this? Screwing your own sister? I knew you were white-trash, just like your father."
I don't even turn on my phone when we land. I should probably toss it in the trash and save myself from the thousand messages sure to tell me how disgusting it is for me to be screwing Delaney.
When my bag comes around the carousel, I groan. A big sticker reading "Notice of Inspection" is plastered to the front, and the entire suitcase is held together in the middle with a stretchy elastic cord because the zipper is broken.
Which is perfect, really. It's the icing on a shit cupcake.
A loud roll of thunder booms outside, a summer storm adding another layer of awesome to this goddamn day. Rain pours down through the uncovered spaces outside the terminal, and I just don't give a shit that I'm getting drenched as I'm walking down the sidewalk. Where are the fucking cabs around here when you need one?
A taxi slows down and pulls to the curb, and the driver gets out. "You're standing in the rain," he points out, not-so-helpfully.
"No shit," I say, handing him my suitcase. He looks at it distastefully. So now I'm getting the stink eye from a cab driver.
"Gaige!" Delaney's voice comes out of nowhere. I whirl around to see her running down the sidewalk, waving her arms at me like a lunatic. When she catches up to me, she's short of breath. "We parked right there," she says, pointing to a car ten yards away, its hazard lights blinking.
"What? We who?" It's the wrong question to ask, but I'm thrown by the fact that she's chasing me down.
"Daniel," she says. "One of my friends. He's – " She points to the guy a few feet away, who's wildly brandishing his plaid umbrella and talking loudly to an airport security guard.
"Yes, I know this is just an unloading area," he yells. "I'm not a complete imbecile. I can read a sign. My friend is right there and – oh, for shit's sake, I'm not even going to hear anything now."
"What is – who is that?" I ask. "I think he's about to assault that guard with his umbrella."
Delaney puts her hand on my chest. "Stop. Don't talk," she says. "I came here to say something. This is really not the place at all, in the middle of everything, with the fucking rain and this is probably the most unromantic place ever –"
"Look, do you need the cab or not?" The driver interrupts loudly, right at my side. "The meter's running."
"No! We do not need a cab!" Delaney yells, her voice sharp. "Will you just give us one fucking second?"
The driver curses at us, and my suitcase lands beside my feet with a thump.
"Oh my God," Delaney says, her voice exasperated. "I just wanted to say one thing –"
"Lady, if you and your boyfriend are done here, your friend there is about to get your car towed." The security guard calls over his shoulder
Now the whole situation is starting to become just ridiculous. Delaney is so clearly infuriated that I can't help but laugh.
Delaney holds up her hand without looking at the security guard. "No," she says. "I am not done here. We are not done here."
"Delaney, let's go." I put my hands on her arms and attempt to steer her toward her waiting car.
"I read your email to my father," she blurts out.
"You read my email?"
"He gave it to me," she says. "And he's not going to kill you. Or me. I mean, he might kill you, but only if you break my heart."
She's rambling the way she does when she gets nervous, and I'm barely following what she's saying, but it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen.
And then she stops, inhaling deeply before she lets out the words in one giant exhale. The words. "And I think I'm in love with you. I am in love with you. I love you."
I don't even wait until she's finished speaking before I bring my mouth down on hers, muting those words. It's like something out of a damn movie, me kissing her in the rain, her hands on my shirt, pulling me toward her, and we're in our own private world.
At least, we're in our own world for ten fucking seconds before the security guard taps me on the shoulder. "What does this look like, a hotel?" he asks. "Get your asses off the sidewalk and get in the car before I have it towed."
Delaney looks back and forth at him and me, her eyes wide, before she bursts out laughing. "Come on," she says. "Let's get the hell out of here."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Delaney
"Obviously, you're required to parade him around shirtless." Daniel turns to me as he sips his margarita. "It's only fair, since I was the one to drive you to the airport for your dramatic reunion scene."
"Why are you talking about me like I'm not here? If you want, I'd be glad to take it off right now." Gaige reaches for the hem of his shirt and fakes pulling it up, flashing a bit of his abs.
"Don't tempt me," Daniel says. "I have to be good."
"Since when are you good?" I sip my margarita and glance over at Gaige, who smiles back at me, then squeezes my leg under the table. "You're never good."
"Since I have a boyfriend," Daniel says, looking smug as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"What?" I squeal. "Who is this guy? When did you start seeing him? And why didn't you tell me?"
"You're not the only one who can keep a secret, doll," he says. He breaks out his phone and shows us pictures, and I ooh and ahh appropriately as I listen to the details about his new love, while Gaige slides his arm around my shoulder.
It feels comfortable, being here with Gaige. It's only been a week since everything happened, but it feels like Gaige and I have been together forever.
When Daniel stops mid-conversation because the new boyfriend calls him, Gaige leans over and whispers in
my ear. "You're not wearing panties, are you?"
I slap him on the arm. "It's happy hour," I say. "I came from the office. Of course I'm wearing panties."
"Go take them off in the bathroom," he says.
"No," I whisper, glancing at Daniel across the table. "Stop. You're being bad."
His warm breath on my ear raises goosebumps on my neck. "I'm about to be very bad," he says softly. "Now, get up, go to the bathroom and take off your panties, and bring them to me. And I'll make you come on the way home."
His words send heat flowing through my body, just like every other time. "Fine," I say, sliding off my barstool. Gaige runs his hands along my hips and over my ass, giving it a playful slap. "We're in public, stop."
He leans in close, his voice gravelly. "We need to get out of public soon," he says.
"Are you leaving?" Daniel looks up from his cell phone.
"Restroom," I say. "I'll be back in a minute."
When I return, I slip my panties into Gaige's pocket and kiss him on the cheek. He pulls me against him and I can feel his erection through his jeans, begging for my attention. "We just paid the check," he says.
"Oh my God, you guys are like a couple of teenagers with the kissy face and shit," Daniel says.
"I've been around you and too many of your dates to even listen to you complain," I tell him as we walk out of the restaurant. "And you're much less tasteful than we are."
"It's true," Daniel says. "Happy hour next week and I'll bring the new boyfriend?"
"Definitely."
Gaige walks around to the passenger side of his car to open the door for me, but pauses with his hand on the handle. He spins me around and pushes me roughly up against the side of the car, running his palm down waist and over my hips. "I want to fuck you right here, right now," he says, his tongue flicking over the sensitive place just below my earlobe.
"In the middle of the parking lot of the restaurant?" I murmur. "That's not a way for us to stay out of the tabloids." A few days ago, my father's PR person issued a statement about me and Gaige's relationship, clarifying for the public at large that we had my father's support and that since we weren't actually related and hadn't even grown up together, it was basically a non-issue. It made a few more tabloids, and a few people stood outside of Marlowe Oil with signs protesting the fact that an "incest-loving" CEO was running the company, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Still, my father's expressed words were, "Please don't do anything that would cause public scandal for the next few weeks, at least, so I don't end up in an early grave."
A Very Dirty Christmas Page 47
