by C. L. Donley
Baby Sam was born premature, and they had quite the scare with Amara’s sudden onset of pre-eclampsia. They got married at the courthouse once their legal teams could agree on the prenup. Grayson advised Amara to find her own representation, but the gesture turned the entire matter into a legal torture session. They deserve a ceremonious and over the top destination wedding to remind them what it was all for. It makes me happy to see them so happy.
I rub my eyes as I think about my workload. Grayson called me the night before feverishly talking about an idea inspired by Amara: a think-tank conference featuring all the most successful and influential men and women in the world as keynote speakers that would be streamed entirely online, from morning to evening and entirely free. Like all his great ideas it sounded exhausting so I knew we should do it.
“I don’t think I’m gonna make it to dinner tonight,” I say.
“Mya will be there,” he replies.
I slowly nod as I am oblivious to what Grayson could possibly mean bringing that up.
I’m not quite sure why, but Grayson seems to think that Mya and I make a good match.
She’s… not my type. I’m super social and mega extroverted, and finding a girl that can keep up with me is a top five non-negosh. Mya, on the other hand, is a total ice queen, that rules over a cold tundra full of Debbie Downer landmines.
The more Grayson brings her up to me, the more I wonder if Grayson knows me at all. I’ve never dated a woman of color, so I’m not sure if Grayson is trying to induct me in some sort of fetish club, or just goad me into making a fool of myself. I’m guessing the latter. Ever since I pulled that prank bringing Amara to the Malibu party— as well as it may have turned out— I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Though I do have to admit that I notice black women more, now that Amara’s around. Not that I didn’t find them beautiful before, I simply didn’t find them at all. Now I notice them everywhere. I’m surrounded by them. It’s a curious bout of synchronicity.
Mya’s also African American, a bit darker with the same doe eyes as Amara, but fuller lips and hips. She’s petite for a dancer, beautiful but reserved to a fault. I wish I could say that Mya seems pleasant, but she doesn’t. Why Amara is her best friend I hardly understand, since Amara is funny and fun-loving and loves to laugh. I can’t even picture Mya laughing.
Not that I make a habit of picturing Mya.
True, Mya’s a ballet dancer, as my mom was before she settled down with my dad, but other than that, I don’t see the connection. She seems to have a quiet disdain for all of us, including Amara at times, it seems to me.
“Well, if you want me to be there tonight, you have to leave. I can never get any work done while you’re here,” I admonish him.
“We leave in three days. You’re not going to be productive, just let it happen, bro. Let Claude handle it.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think… Claude is working out. He can only work on one thing at a time.” I continue in a hushed tone as if there’s any hope of Claude hearing me otherwise. “I’m like, dude, Grayson’s autistic, so what’s your excuse, exactly?”
“High functioning being the keyword.”
“Well, he’s not a high functioning anything. It’s been a year,” I mutter.
“I totally remembered him being a badass when we were at Magellan.”
“Dude, me too. Fucking system architecture.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. We should’ve hired within.”
“No one here could do your job,” Grayson says.
“Maybe not, but we could’ve spent the year just training someone and at this rate, we’ll likely lose another year.”
Grayson feels for me, I can tell. We’ve taken each other for granted. And it looks like Webster’s productivity might actually suffer for the first time since we formed it.
I’m not the dashing, visionary guru type that Grayson is, but I’m a billionaire for good reason. I’m the same age, smart as fuck, brilliant you might say, innovative, competent in my own right, and Webster is as much my baby as it is Grayson’s.
People seem to appreciate me as the new face of Webster, thankfully. I’ve seen the market research. Not to brag, but the terms “likable,” “approachable,” and “relatable” were thrown around. Even though I have two degrees and a 150 IQ. But I’m a woo personality. Grayson is a dropout and has no degrees whatsoever, and is not a woo.
And of course, there’s the glaring fact that I’m wealthy, young, reasonably attractive and still eligible.
The media has also turned their attention to this fact.
In the ten years of running Webster, I’ve gotten used to being in the shadows. I was jealous at first, but at least I could still go to the grocery store.
Ever since Grayson’s Montenegro meltdown, I’ve missed having him to take all the heat. Now, in addition to a larger workload, I have photo shoots, interviews, and appearances not to mention a personal assistant and a publicist, and having to worry about paparazzi and being recognized. And the sudden new obsession with me and Grayson’s “bromance.” Which does indeed exist, but isn’t “sudden.”
I’m starting to understand why Grayson checked himself into the hospital for five weeks. Jesus. After a year and some change, it’s getting to be a bit much, though I’m not quite ready to admit that.
“Let me come back,” Grayson offers.
“No way. You might be back in with the public, but the board won’t go back on their decision. Besides that, I don’t want you to, and the last thing I need is for anyone here to think I’m incompetent.”
“At least let me help you re-tool this thing,” Grayson pleads as I swivel in my chair, “as a friend. Don’t pay me. It’ll be like the apartment again.”
Baby Sam gives a deep sigh in his sleep that mirrors my own mood. The two of us smile.
I try not to feel the sharp knife in my gut as I watch Grayson living the life that I’ve always wanted.
I’m happy for Grayson, relieved for him that he’s found someone and won’t live his life alone.
Grayson never wanted to settle down. Or at least that’s what he always said.
On the outside, his life was a glamorous dream. But Grayson always seemed destined for a tragic end in my eyes.
I always lived life waiting to get a phone call in the middle of the night. Back when I was engaged (the first time, not the second time), I worried how my marriage might suffer if I had to constantly check on Grayson, constantly invite him to family functions so he wouldn’t be alone. Constantly go against my family’s wishes to leave him be, like when he became a good-looking billionaire who seemingly didn’t need my help anymore, for instance. I always knew better. Baby Sam’s impossibly fat cheeks snap me out of my bitter hypotheticals.
“I’m gonna eat that fuckin’ baby,” I suddenly whisper out of nowhere, shaking my head and gritting my teeth.
“Dude, that’s such a weird impulse.”
“I can’t help it. Your baby is fat and literally the color of a donut.”
“I have a baby,” Grayson suddenly says, as if trying and failing to wrap his mind around it.
“You have… a baby,” I repeat, slightly more astounded.
“And a wife,” Grayson says.
I stare at him in disbelief. Grayson huffs his own laugh of shock and shakes his head.
“How… how did you … manage that?” I say.
Grayson shrugs, a grin serenely tucked in the side of his mouth, a now common disposition.
“It just happens, man. Once you find the one, Dale, there’s no stopping it.”
Mya
I’m sitting akimbo in one of the plush chairs of the sitting area in Amara’s master bedroom suite.
The sitting area is basically on a cliffside patio that overlooks the water. Open the high double doors and you would officially be outside. It’s simply my favorite place in the world, and one of the many perks that comes with being best f
riends with the wife of a billionaire.
Although, with Amara’s 3% piece of Webster that Grayson gifted her, and her growing fame with her MeTv shows featuring her new celebrity friends, Amara’s net worth is now nothing to sneeze at either.
But still, it isn’t close to a billion, let alone a few dozen of them.
She certainly would have to use every penny she had just to afford this house by itself.
I’m sipping on coffee this mid-afternoon, a caffeinated no-no which I only allow myself on the occasions that I come to be sitting in this very chair.
Amara is packing, last minute, as usual.
“I can’t even think right now, because my mind is cloudy with all the sex that I’m not having.” Amara says, putting a hand to her forehead.
Grayson and Amara are on day 14 of no sex, in an attempt to make their honeymoon extra special. They still have five days to go.
I roll my eyes, though I can’t deny that Amara’s life is now 100% foreign to me.
Me, Kim and Amara are all virgins. Were. I still can’t believe that I lost my virgin partner in crime almost two years ago. It just doesn’t seem real. Out of all of us, no one pictured Amara being the first to crack.
Amara had never even been kissed until she was in her 20’s, when she did a study abroad in Italy. She had to leave the damn country to even get that. And we have no way of verifying that ridiculous story anyway.
Next thing I know, she manages to leave us all in the dust in less than a month. Now she’s having withdrawals.
“What did you guys do when you had Sam?”
“I don’t know, that was different. We had a newborn to deal with and Grayson was more obsessed with him than I was.”
“You got the dress, don’t you?”
“Girl, yes, of course,” replies Amara, double checking.
“Then you got everything. The rest is extra.”
Amara sighs. I miss the sight and sounds of my silly best friend. Living an hour away would’ve been nothing a year or two ago; but now with a full-time job, husband, and a six-month-old, she may as well have been across the world.
“You’re right,” Amara concedes as she flops on the bed, “I can’t believe I made it through. After a year of planning, I can’t believe in a couple days, the only job I have to do is enjoy myself.”
I scoff, “If I ever get married, destination wedding is officially off the list.”
“Don’t do it, girl. You would think having all the money in the world would actually help.”
“It’ll be worth it to get the band back together though.”
“Oh my gaaaaah when Kim gets her ass to Spain…”
I laugh. “You know she said she’s trying to get pregnant and she doesn’t care who it is.”
“As long as she keeps her hands off my man, I don’t care either,” Amara laughs.
“We’ll have to put a nametag on him,” I joke.
“At all times. Front and back.”
“Why is she trying so hard for the trophy wife, she’s at the top of her game right now,” I wonder aloud.
“It’s that ghetto girl dream, it’s embedded into her psyche.”
“Girl, gold digging is cross-cultural,” I correct her, “besides, don’t act like the guys don’t get off on it too in their own way.”
“Well if anybody can sneak attack a billionaire, it’s Kim,” Amara smirks.
“Excuse me, Pretty Woman, we will not be throwing stones,” I say.
“I wasn’t, I’m just saying,” Amara backs off, raising her hands in surrender. “The only reason I made the deal to be Grayson’s mistress is because I didn’t have an ambition. Yet.”
“The only reason?”
“Yes, girl you know that wasn’t about the money for me,” Amara rattles off, as if tired of defending herself.
I smile fondly. “I know.”
Amara smiles back. “He’s still paranoid that you hate him, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t have anything else to worry about but what I think of him?”
“He’s sensitive about stuff like that. He still feels guilty on some level, and you’re always there to remind him.”
“Well he should,” I say, “but that has nothing to do with me. If he feels guilty, that means he has a conscience, so for your sake I’m glad.” I put down my coffee cup and continue. “But if he’s expecting me to forgive him or something, he doesn’t need that from me. And he sure as hell isn’t getting an apology.”
Amara frowns. “I just want you to love him like I do.”
My eyes grow wide at the suggestion. “No you don’t.”
“Girl, you know what I mean,” she says.
“I really don’t,” I say.
In truth, I keep my distance from the man that took my friend and roommate away from me, because I can barely admit to myself, let alone Amara, how much he affects me.
I’m not hot for Grayson per se, but going from the real world to being in the presence of Grayson Davis is always an adjustment.
He. Is. Gorgeous. Well dressed, polite and charming, elegant even, at least with strangers and acquaintances like myself. From the moment the sex contract was conceived, I’ve been a bit suspicious of Grayson. That perhaps the transition from month long contract to marriage is just a sick, more permanent and binding leash of control over Amara. But up close and personal, he seems to genuinely be in love with Amara to her core, which only makes him hotter. And then him with the baby— volcanic.
Watching them interact is a complete joy, but I can’t help but suspect that it’s all too good to be true. I keep waiting for some Bluebeard shit. For Amara to be like, “Oh, by the way, Grayson says I’m never allowed to go into this room. Ever. So stay away from it, okay? Thanks, girl!”
Still, whenever Grayson’s attention turns to me, I simply do not know how to feel or what to do.
It’s obvious he just wants to be nice to his wife’s best friend, but he oozes sex appeal no matter what he does. He dwarfs any male I could ever hope to come across in regular life.
Simply put, he’s ruined my ability to settle the more occasions I’ve run into him. And I slightly hate him for that.
Especially since, as the big day draws closer, I’m seriously considering having a fling on this little once in a lifetime romantic trip to a castle, because nothing else makes sense.
This old virginity of mine is played out and starting to turn. It’s a total hindrance to my pursuit of happiness in the modern world.
All my embarrassingly low opportunities to lose it have been overwhelmingly gross and unceremonious. In the end, I always end up fleeing the scene and looking like a tease.
I’m the most introverted of us all. Kim the extrovert adopted me when we were both kids, and then we later adopted Amara in high school, the middle ground between our two extremes. I don’t much like or trust anything I can’t master or control. After a string of pubescent disasters, I figured out that I’m unnerved on a primal level with the amount of closeness that sex innately requires. I’ve beat myself up about it enough and the older I get, I’m starting to wonder if I’m just a late bloomer.
Now I’m 27 and I feel like I’m at the age that I can afford to make a grave mistake or two, especially in an exotic locale.
At any rate, it’s probably best to keep Operation Proper Virginity Sendoff a secret in case any of these guys decide to grow a conscience at the last minute.
“I’m checkin’ for that Bryan,” I suddenly say like I’m talking about dessert.
Bryan is Grayson’s tall, dark, and handsome personal assistant.
“Girl, good luck with that,” Amara says.
“I thought you said he was straight?” I wonder.
“He is, but… I don’t know if you can be gay for work, but if so, then he’s gay,” she jokes.
“I don’t know, I do like a challenge,” I grin.
“Myaaaah…” Amara whines.
“What?”
“Stop trying to
turn guys’ heads that don’t want to be turned,” she says.
Her words make me bristle.
“I love how you got banged by a billionaire and became Mr. Miyagi.”
Amara is quiet as she shakes her head.
We both know instantly the remark was a bit too caustic. But I know what Amara is doing. She is patiently waiting for the moment to pass. The wedding is days away and she is too excited, too happy to be with the people she loves to let whatever is bothering me bother her. She is resolved not to fight for the next seven days. She simply won’t have it. Naturally, I feel like shit.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing a weekend in Spain won’t fix,” says Amara.
“Bitch, you are 100% right,” I reply. I am absolved. No one forgives as fast as Amara.
“I’m seriously gonna turn up when we get there. Like, I’m scared for myself.”
I laugh. “Well as maid of honor it is my duty to hold your hair and keep your secrets.”
Twenty One
Chapter 21
Mya
Dinner is being served in the kitchen this evening around the massive island rather than the grand dining room table. Above the island are two giant pendant lamps on each side lit with ambient light. Lined by gorgeous mahogany boxed beams, a large skylight about the size of the island below lights the kitchen by itself during the day. Amara insisted on cooking and she makes salmon, my favorite dish of hers. Of course, Grayson is here being completely sexy with the baby on his lap. Rosetta, the nanny, is supposed to be taking a much-needed break but is instead cleaning, which isn’t her job.
Dale has also come, whom I’ve only met twice before: once when Amara had her engagement party and once when Sam was born.
Dale is the whitest white guy I’ve seen up close in a long time. The fact that he’s filthy rich makes him almost bioluminescently white to me. He has a bit of swag to him, that I suppose comes with being a billionaire and simply existing in the presence of Grayson Davis, who’s also pretty white. He seems like an underdeveloped character in a story, who’s talked about a little and shows up even less. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt with white cuffs, navy slacks, and an expensive gold watch. He’s grown his hair out rather long since I last saw him, and it’s kind of amazing. Full and sort of gravity-defying. He probably owned the 90’s.
