by Lola Darling
What is he playing at?
Thursday lunchtime, he comes striding out of his office just as I get off the elevator. My assistant rushes to help with the armful of fabric samples, design prints, laptop bag, and coffee I’m trying to balance.
“Thanks, Meredith,” I say, focusing on her so I don’t look at Dom. From my peripheral vision, I see him walk by me. He greets someone in a smooth tone that drips with flirtation. It’s almost seductive. I’ve never heard him use that tone with anyone… except me.
Who is he talking to like that?
Dominic is leaning next to a female intern sitting at one of the secretary desks. His face is turned toward her, his lips close to her ear. She’s blushing, her eyes lowered as a sneaky grin tugs her lips. He says something in a sexy, bedroom tone, and she laughs.
I can’t tear my eyes away.
After everything we shared—Paris, planning the gala, the intimate moments when he opened up to me—this is what he does all over again?
I swallow back my hurt. I should be glad he’s making this easy for me. I said I was moving on, and clearly, that’s exactly what he’s doing too.
“Juliet, darling. There you are.”
Lillian appears and loops her arm through mine. “Let’s chat over lunch. I’m dying to know how the renovation planning is coming along.”
An escape? I never thought of Lillian as my savior, but right now she’s giving me the perfect excuse to get away. “That sounds great.”
We walk a couple of blocks to a restaurant she loves. Lillian makes small talk, but I don’t hear much of what she says. My brain keeps replaying the scene from the office, Dom leaning in close to that girl – just like he used to do with me.
I follow Lillian up to the roof terrace and take a seat, still distracted.
Lillian flags down a waitress. “Mimosas, please. And keep them coming.” She looks back at me. “No offence, but you look like you need a drink.”
“Is it really that obvious?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “You’re forgetting, I’ve been on the other end of Dom’s tantrums. It’s not a pleasant place to be. Let me guess, he’s started flirting with everything in a skirt?”
I nod.
Lillian rolls her eyes. “It’s so juvenile. He’s doing it just to make a point. He doesn’t mean any of it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Dominic Rexford may be many things, but a cheater isn’t one of them.” Lillian takes a calm sip of her water. “He wouldn’t screw around when he’s still in love with you.”
What?
I stare at her in disbelief. She smirks. “I know my ex-husband. Trust me, you’re the only one he cares about right now.”
“But… why are you telling me this?” I can’t figure her out.
“You mean, I’m supposed to be a jealous bitch hell-bent on stealing him back?” Lillian gives a little laugh. “Please, darling. We’re both adults here. And I have no interest in reliving my marriage with Dom. We tried it, it didn’t work, the end.”
I’m still reeling. She seems so calm. So mature. Everything I’m trying and failing to be right now.
The waiter arrives with the mimosas. I take a gulp and look around. It’s a gorgeous terrace, with potted topiaries and fresh flowers growing along the edge of the roof.
. “So… what, um, what happened with the two of you?” I ask.
Lillian shrugs lightly. “We were a good match. Our families knew each other, I saw him at a lot of the same events, and we had a good time. We were a team.”
Despite everything, I feel a pang of jealousy.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” Lillian gives a nostalgic sigh. “But then. Well, Dominic is a hard man to tap. Emotionally, I mean. He’s… aloof, contained. He never let me in, never let me see the real Dominic. I needed more of a connection than that.” Her smile turns softer, vulnerable.
She’s more like Dominic than she realizes. Inside her classy, cool exterior is a human being craving love and affection. They just couldn’t give that love to each other.
Lillian smiles cheerily, the melancholy on her face suddenly gone. “Anyway, consider it a cautionary tale. Dom doesn’t know how to open up, and you need to ask yourself if you can settle for that.”
I hear her, but I don’t believe her. I’ve seen Dominic loosen up. I’ve seen him crumble. As much as he’s hurt me, I can’t imagine that it was all in my head.
“He’s opened up to me,” I blurt. “He let me in, a little bit.”
She looks surprised and I shut up before I say too much. If he never shared that side of himself with Lillian, it’s not my place to do it for him.
“Well, maybe he can change.” She gives me a supportive smile. “Either way, you shouldn’t let him walk all over you at work. You can’t build your world around a man like that. You never know when the walls will give way.” She looks like she’s going to say more, but the waiter arrives with Caprese salads and salmon. I realize how little I’ve been eating lately. Maybe it’s stress, or the mimosas, but I’m suddenly ravenous.
“There she is! Lillian!”
I look up in time to see Blaine Prescott heading right for our table, knocking a waiter aside in his haste to come greet Lillian. “I didn’t know you were back in town,” he smarms, looking like a reject from a Ralph Lauren ad with his blond hair slicked back and a white seersucker suit. “You should have returned my calls. We must have dinner!”
“Blaine, so nice to see you,” Lillian says without conviction. He’s smiling widely at her, adoration clear on his face. Lillian returns to her meal as if she hopes he’ll just go away. Instead, he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans in.
“You look stunning as always. Dom never did know a good thing when he had it.” He laughs again.
Ewww.
“There’s a new French restaurant opening tomorrow night. I could make us reservations—”
Lillian puts up a hand. “I’m sorry, darling. I really can’t tomorrow.”
Nonplussed, Blaine leans even closer, his armpit in perfect alignment to Lillian’s face. “The day after, then.”
“Blaine,” Lillian’s voice snaps before it sweetens. “I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”
Blaine’s face changes. He takes a slow breath through his nose and I feel like I’m waiting for an explosion. Lillian is tense, but she doesn’t look at him, just keeps on cutting her tomatoes and mozzarella into tiny bites.
“So this is where the Rexford’s beauties wandered off to.”
The tension is broken by a familiar flirty voice. Xander saunters over, his crooked smile and good looks turning heads. Lillian lights up when she sees him, clearly relieved. Me too.
Xander takes in the situation with one look, then extends his hand to Lillian. “Emergency at the office, sweetheart. I need you back right away.”
“Of course.” Lillian gets up, moving to put Xander between herself and Blaine. “Sorry Jules, you’ll finish up here? Take your time.”
She quickly places a credit card down, gives Xander a grateful smile, and lets him whisk her out of the terrace.
And just like that, I’m left alone with Blaine.
Of course, then he notices me. “What’s Xander doing back anyway? I thought he was off fucking supermodels.” He sits with a thud.
“He’s back for Lillian,” I hear myself say. “You know, to help her out. They’ve always been close.”
I have no idea if that’s true, but maybe if Blaine thinks Xander and Lillian are a thing, he’ll back off and stop acting so creepy.
Blaine scowls. “I didn’t know. Huh. She should have learned her lesson after the first Rexford screwed her over.” He mumbles something after that, but I don’t wait around. I grab the credit card and my purse and stand.
“If you’ll excuse me. Back to work.” I don’t care if it’s impolite. I don’t even care if he responds. I hoof it inside to the bar, pay my tab, and get the hell out. An uneasy feelin
g follows me, and I hope that’s the last time I have to deal with Blaine Prescott.
If only I could be so lucky.
By lunch the next day I’m so stressed I can almost feel my hair falling out. From the moment I walk into the office, I duck through one emergency after another. If this is some kind of ‘welcome to the corporate’ world initiation, I’m pretty sure I’m failing it. Add that to the general whispers that still follow me around the building, and the fact the other interns all hate my guts, and I can’t wait to get away from the drama. The minute the clock hits noon, I’m out of there. At first, I don’t know where I’m going. The sun is shining and it’s beautiful outside. Then I remember an exhibit at the art gallery a few blocks away that I want to see, offering a collection of photography and paintings of old buildings in Chicago.
The place is almost empty when I arrive. Air condition wafts over me, cooling my skin and my nerves. Suddenly, the stress of the Rexford seems a hundred miles away. I may only have a short break, but I’ve earned it.
I let the calm sink over me, and I slowly stroll the clean, white-walled rooms. My dad used to bring me here for special exhibitions all the time growing up. He would scan the weekend newspapers for fun, free things to do, then take me all around town: to art openings, library events, anything connected to our shared love of architecture and old buildings.
He would have loved the show today, photographs and old maps, all highlighting the architectural beauty of Old Chicago. A wave of nostalgia hits me. His passion for old buildings and history preservation are the main reason I have the career I do today.
My cellphone rings, breaking the moment. I check the screen. Xander.
“Seriously, I’ve been gone like fifteen minutes,” I sigh.
“Sorry, darling. My wonderful brother pulled together an investors’ meeting that he has no intention of attending himself. We need to present renovation updates at three.”
I groan. “I hate you a little right now.”
Xander laughs. “Good thing I’m used to it. Where are you?”
I tell him, and he says he’ll come pick me up in an hour. I shove my phone in the bottom of my purse. If it rings again, I won’t be able to hear it.
I continue browsing, and wonder if the impromptu meeting is what set Xander and Dominic off this morning. Xander, remarkably, is better at this hotel stuff than I would have thought. He has an energy about him that draws people in, makes them listen. Not to mention his ideas are fresh. He and I have collaborated more than anyone else, and I go to him first with new ideas. I wish his brother could see in Xander what I do.
If they’d work together, there’s no telling how far we could take the Rexford’s new direction.
I head around the corner to the back room – and come face to face with Dom.
What the hell?
“Juliet.” He freezes, looking as shocked as I feel.
“I—I didn’t know you were here.” He’s probably going to think I am stalking him now.
But instead of being tense and angry – his default setting these past weeks – Dom just takes a deep breath.
“What do you think?” He nods to a painting on the far wall. I realize that it’s the Rexford as it was a hundred years ago, painted in impressionist style with muted colors.
I wonder if he’s testing me. “I think it would look amazing hanging in the grand lobby.” I answer, cautious.
“I’ve purchased it for that exact reason.”
I sneak a look at him. He’s wearing dark pants and a white button-down, open at the neck. Good enough to eat. I flash to a memory of taking his cock between my lips, but quickly cut that fantasy short. Get a grip. If I let my thoughts get X-rated every time he walks by, I’m going to be frustrated as hell.
“Join me in the courtyard?” He asks, taking me by surprise.
“Sure,” I finally reply and hurry to catch up. He doesn’t say anything as we walk out to the small green space out back. There’s a bench and some sculptures dotting the lawn. Dom takes a seat at one end of the bench, and I slowly sit down too.
Silence.
“The new PR team is working out,” I begin to babble. “They booked a release party for some new pop star. I know you didn’t want any scandal, but it’s good publicity. And we’re talking to some location scouts about having the Rexford used in a couple of upcoming movies, too.” I keep my voice light.
“Fine.” Dom says curtly. He’s staring into space, looking troubled and tense.
“Are you…?” I pause. “Is everything OK?”
He turns to me. “What do you think?”
Is he talking about the hotel or us?
“I think you’ve been through a lot,” I say carefully. “But Lillian and your brother aren’t the enemy. They’re trying to help. You’re not in this alone.”
His eyes are unreadable.
“And what about you?” he asks, piercing me with a stare. “Are you just ‘trying to help’ too?” He’s still closed off, radiating power and control. He never gives anything away, no hints about his real feelings, but it just makes me long for the old Dom: wild and untamed.
. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. You have to know, I never planned any of this.” I reach for him, without thinking, and place my hand on his arm. The touch between us is electric.
I want more. Skin to skin. God, he’s so close.
“But it happened.” Dom breaks contact. “I’ve thought it through from every direction. You could have come clean the first day of your internship. If you’d told me about the set-up, I could have figured out the legal ramifications of what happened. Instead, you played along, and I was blindsided.”
“I didn’t tell you that first day because I was terrified of losing my job. But then things spiraled. And I didn’t want you to find out, not when I was falling in love with you.”
The words slip out before I can stop myself. I freeze, but part of me is relieved. I should have told him in Paris, and then I should have told him the truth.
Dom’s expression changes. His eyes blaze into me, I’m silently praying for him to say something. The silence stretches on, until, finally, he takes a deep breath.
“Juliet—“
Another voice interrupts us. “Well, look at you lovebirds. Finally kissing and making up?”
Xander strolls over, smirking. Dom tenses, and the shutters on his expression slam down.
“Jesus, haven’t I dealt with you enough today?” Dominic snaps. His face is stony now, and whatever he was about to say to me is history.
“I’m not here for you, brother. Juliet is the only one I want.” Xander winks, and I want to strangle him.
“Dom—“ I turn, but he’s already on his feet, looking brisk. “See you back at the office,” he snaps, and walks away.
“Whoops?” Xander offers, not at all concerned.
“You don’t even know,” I sigh, and follow him out to his car. It’s red – of course – and sporty, with leather seats and sleek, powerful body.
“You’re such a cliché,” I tell him, getting into the passenger seat and buckling up. I don’t want to think about what just happened – or almost happened.
“Me?” Xander laughs.
“The women, the yacht, the cars… If they looked up ‘playboy billionaire’ in the dictionary, your photo would be right there.”
“My good side, I hope.” Xander quips, starting the engine. With a wolfish grin, he throws the car into drive and whips into traffic.
“Are you okay?” He looks over at me – and away from the road.
“Xander!” I yelp. I grab the dash and watch the road, realizing I’ve been in this situation before. With Dominic. “You know, you drive like your brother.”
“Ha! You’ve got that backwards. He drives like me. Who do you think taught him?”
He downshifts and the little car bursts forward. I try to relax, but that’s not going to happen. The light turns red just as we cross an intersection. My heart slams into m
y throat. “We’re not in a race here.”
“Sorry.” He slows down, barely. “But what’s the point in buying a car that can do two hundred if you don’t let her rip?”
“Rip some other time,” I say, as we speed through another intersection. “Seriously, Xander, slow down!”
“I’m trying!”
Something in his voice makes me look over. Xander looks pale, he’s flooring the brakes but nothing’s happening.
“Stop kidding around,” I tell him, my panic rising.
“I’m not. Fuck—”
Oh, God. I spot the light go red before I see a truck barreling straight for us. For me.
I scream.
Suddenly, Xander yanks the wheel, putting the car into a spin. My body slams into the passenger door as the world tilts on its axis. There’s the sound of impact, shattering glass and groaning metal and screams.
Then everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
There’s a sharp ringing in my ears. I groan, pain throbbing in my ribs. I can’t move; it feels like I’m suspended in space.
What just happened?
I open my eyes. The world is upside down: broken glass, and twisted metal, and some kind of airbag…
Suddenly it all comes rushing back to me. The red light. The truck—no brakes!
From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of denim and blood.
“Oh God, Xander!”
He’s crumpled against the seat and the roof, his body folded like he’s been stuffed there. The airbag blocks my full view, but I spy his arm outstretched as if he’s reaching for me. With a cry, I desperately try to reach him. Pain courses through my neck and shoulders, making it harder to move.
“Xander!”
The seatbelt is cutting into my chest and belly, blood rushing to my head. Wave after wave of dizziness assaults me as I scramble for my seatbelt. Everything seems in slow motion. This is all taking too long.
Why can’t I find the damn belt buckle?
“Xander!” I scream again, praying for some kind of response. “Move your fingers. Xander, please!”
Suddenly, I find the seatbelt latch. I tuck my head instinctively as I slide down into a heap inside the tiny sports car. I grab at Xander’s hand, but his fingers don’t move. My vision is blurry, but I look over him the best I can for more bleeding—anything. Then I realize a low, gurgling sound is coming from his lips.
