by Alexa Wilder
“Do you want me to order breakfast in, or would you rather go out?” he asked, still holding the phone in his hand.
“I, uh, I can’t have breakfast. I have to go,” I stuttered out, backing away from his suddenly narrowed eyes.
“Where do you have to go?” he asked, in a smooth, calm voice that didn’t match his eyes. “Did something happen?”
“No. I just…have to go.”
I backed away as he rounded the coffee table. In my head I was berating him for making me a cheater, for betraying a woman who’d put her trust in him, for being just another asshole. The angry words rattled in my brain, unable to reach my mouth. They felt too vulnerable, as if I’d let him hurt me when we didn’t have that kind of relationship. He’d never promised me anything other than a date for the weekend, and so far he was delivering on that. I didn’t have to stay and be party to his cheating, but I wasn’t sure I had a right to my anger or my growing sense of hurt. That was for the girlfriend he’d betrayed. I didn’t want him to know he’d gotten to me. I might have unwisely developed some feelings for him, but I was going to keep them to myself.
“Tell me why you have to go, Leigha,” he said, stalking closer.
“I…I can’t stay.” I took another few steps backwards, toward the door.
“Are you alright?” He’d reached me by then, taking my arms in his hands, halting my backward progress.
“I’m fine. I just want to go home.”
“Why? And don’t tell me you’re fine. You look miserable. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I was looking for my clothes,” I said, yet again unable to refuse a direct order from this man.
“And?”
“And I found her things. Your girlfriend’s clothes.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, the side of his mouth curling up. The sight of his amusement was too much. I tore myself away, stepping back until my shoulders hit the door of the penthouse.
“I did. I’m not a cheater. I’m not going to stay here with you like this while there’s another woman out there thinking you’re hers. I can’t. The deal is off. Thank you for last night and everything, but I’m going.” On the tail of my little speech, I whirled to open the door.
“You’re leaving like that? Practically naked? No purse?” Now he sounded like he was laughing at me. I fumed, frustration and disappointment welling in my chest until I felt my eyes fill.
“Where are my things?” I demanded. He reached for me, but I slapped his hand away. “Tell me where my things are so I can leave.”
“What if I told you my girlfriend wouldn’t care that you were here?” He asked, reaching for me again. I ducked away, retreating into the living room where I could get some space from him.
“I care,” I said, humiliated by the tears coursing down my cheeks. Why wouldn’t he just give me my things and let me go? “Please just give me my clothes and my purse so I can leave.”
I remembered bringing my purse up with me, but it was nowhere to be seen now. It was going to be bad enough to go to the rehearsal dinner and wedding dateless after showing up with Dylan last night. I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be if I had to call my Mom from the lobby, wearing nothing but a towel, and ask her to let me in her room. Too late, I wished I’d asked her for her room number the night before, but there hadn’t been a reason to think I’d need it.
“Give me my things, Dylan. Please,” I asked again, wishing I could have done this without crying. I wanted to be strong and fierce. Righteous. Not defeated.
“No,” Dylan said. He was across the room before I could think up an escape route. He grabbed for my arms again, this time catching hold before I could push him away. He held me still with one hand while the other snatched the end of my loosening towel and tugged it free. Fresh tears spilled from my eyes. As if this hadn’t been humiliating enough, now I was completely naked. Dylan pulled me close, plastering me to the length of his body, his arms a steel cage around me. His heat was a discordant comfort, the last thing I wanted touching me and yet somehow soothing. I yanked back against him, to no effect. I was trapped.
“You’re not leaving me,” he said, bending his head until his lips reached my ear. “Not until I decide you can go. And I’m not done with you yet.”
“You are. I’m not staying here with you. I didn’t want it to be this way. I thought you’d tell me if there was someone else before we started this.” I hated the hitch in my voice. I’d never been an easy crier, but frustration always got me. The added hurt and disappointment of realizing Dylan was a cheating asshole didn’t help.
“I would have,” he said. “There isn’t someone else.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I whispered into his chest. I was losing my fight. It was over, so why couldn’t he just let me leave? He couldn’t think that after all this, I was going to give in and stay.
“I’m not lying.”
Before I could stop him, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me to his bedroom, holding me as if I didn’t weigh anything. I hadn’t been carried by anyone since I was a child, and the novel sensation was so shocking it slowed my reaction. He had me in his room before I began to push at his shoulders. His grip was rock solid. I wasn’t getting down until he put me down.
When we reached the small section of women’s clothes in his closet, he returned me to my feet. Hands on my shoulders, ready to stop me if I offered further resistance, he said,
“Look at them.”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t understand. I was looking at them. They were beautiful clothes, so who wouldn’t look? He let out a low growl of annoyance.
“Don’t move,” he said, and reached for a navy blue sundress splashed with brightly colored flowers. Pulling it off the hanger, he folded back the bodice and tore out the price tag before unzipping the dress and dropping it over my head.
I couldn’t quite catch up. My eyes focused on a little black dress beside the empty hanger. I saw a flash of white and realized it, too, still had its tag. So did the jeans. I’d missed that before. Embarrassment and hope tangled inside me as I let Dylan lead me into the bathroom. He zipped the back of the sundress, drawing the fabric snug around my torso.
I never would have picked a dress like this for myself. I would have thought the straps too thin and the top too skimpy for my breasts. I would have been wrong. The sundress highlighted my curves without overexposing them, making the most of my breasts while my waist looked small in comparison. I met Dylan’s eyes in the mirror, unable to think of a single thing to say.
“Those are your clothes, Leigha.”
“What? Why? Where are my things?” When did he have time to buy me clothes?
“Your things are still packed in your suitcases,” he said, stroking my hair off my shoulders as we both took in the perfect fit of the dress.
“Can I have them back?” I asked. I liked this dress better than anything I’d packed, but I still needed my things. My wardrobe wasn’t big enough that I could sacrifice a whole suitcase of it.
“No,” Dylan answered. “I don’t think I trust you with it. If you’d had it, you would have snuck out on me, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “Maybe.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” He actually looked confused. For a man who seemed to have all the moves when it came to women, it was clear there were some things he really didn’t get. Maybe I should have felt bad about my false accusation, but I was pretty sure any other woman would have had the same reaction to finding another woman’s clothes in the closet of the man they were sleeping with.
I just shook my head in response. If he didn’t get why I’d been a little irrational, I wasn’t going to be able to explain it to him. Instead, I said, “I really don’t like cheating. The idea that you might have a girlfriend made me a little crazy.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. I kept thinking I wasn’t the right kind of woman for him, but the sight of us in the bathroom mirror, me cradled in his arms, his face press
ed to the top of my head - we looked like we belonged. Placing a soft kiss to the side of my mouth, he said,
“My father cheated on my mom so often he destroyed her. By the time she died when I was fifteen, she was broken inside. She loved him, and he just didn’t seem to care. I’m not an angel, but I don’t cheat, Leigha. I wouldn’t do that to a woman.”
I nodded in response, not sure what to say. He kept surprising me. I followed him when he took my hand and walked me back into the bedroom. “So when did you have time to get all of this?” I gestured to the clothes hanging in the closet.
“Pick a pair of shoes and let’s go out. I’ll tell you at breakfast.”
At the second mention of breakfast, I realized I was starving. I was also ready to ditch all these heavy emotions and go have some fun. After I put on some underwear. The top drawer beside the hanging clothes was filled with lingerie. Lace and silk panties, negligees, bras, and other bits of fluff overflowed the drawer. The dress had built in support, so I didn’t need a bra, but there was no way I was leaving the penthouse without panties. I wasn’t that bold. I slipped on a pair of lacy bikinis and pulled them up, taking my time when I felt Dylan’s eyes on my exposed legs and butt.
Now for some shoes. Beside the Louboutins, I spotted a pair of navy platform sandals with a flat bow at the toe and sexy ribbon straps around the ankle. They were sweet, sassy, and perfect for the dress. As I reached for them, I spotted the imprint inside the shoe. Kate Spade. Not quite as unattainable as the Louboutins, but still way above my normal shoe budget, unless I decided not to eat for a month. I slipped them on, fastening the buckles hidden beneath the ribbons. They were so cute. I was in love with these shoes. With the whole outfit, actually. I suspected I’d love the rest of what he’d bought me just as much. Resolving to push away my concerns and have some fun, I let Dylan take my hand and lead me from the room.
13
Leigha
Dylan brought me to Veranda at the Four Seasons, where we ate outside by the pool at a secluded table for two. Once we were seated, he explained,
“We’ll have more privacy here than at the Delecta. And I wanted to see you in that dress out in the sunshine.”
“I’ve always wanted to eat here,” I said, taking in the elegant surroundings, quiet on a Friday morning.
“Why haven’t you?”
“I keep meaning to, but I get busy with work and things that have to get done and I don’t end up getting out much.”
It was sadly true. I’d taken the job in Vegas after college mostly because Haywood and Cross was a great company. Partly, too, because I’d thought being in Vegas might give me an opportunity to have some fun. Instead, I ended up living the same life I’d always lived if you substituted going to work for studying and classes. There was so much to explore in this city and I was an expert on my neighborhood yoga studio and grocery store. When this weekend was over, I wasn’t going to crawl back into my shell. I was going to try to experience life a little more, even if it wasn’t on the same level as hanging out with a sexy billionaire.
Picking up the menu, I tried to figure out what to get. I wanted something decadent, but I thought I should order the fruit plate, or the Quinoa Muesli Cereal. That felt like a waste in a place like this. Dylan took over, asking, “Do you mind if I order for you? Is there anything you won’t eat?”
“No, you can order.” I put the menu down, relieved. Dylan seemed to like me as I was, but I still felt weird about ordering a fattening breakfast in front of him. It was stupid. I knew that. I was an adult woman and I should be able to eat waffles or a Danish if I wanted one. I’m not sure if the leftovers of childhood ever go away. Too many years of my sisters critiquing every bite I put in my mouth still left me weird about eating in public. I needed to get over it.
The waiter returned and my mouth watered as Dylan ordered the Limón ricotta pancakes for himself and the tiramisu French toast for me. It was exactly what I would have ordered for myself if I’d had the courage. When the waiter left, I picked up my coffee and said, “So, the clothes? Did you go shopping in the middle of the night? Or do you keep special fairies on staff who do your bidding at all hours?”
“The second, in a way. Not a fairy, my assistant, Melissa.”
“The one I met at your office last night? I thought her name was Cheryl.”
“It is. Cheryl handles my office. Melissa takes care of personal things.”
“Personal things? Like what? Does she pick your dates up for you?” I was half-kidding and half sure he was going to say ‘Yes’.
“Not usually. Though she has made an airport pick-up or two for me.”
“You fly your dates in? Like a lingerie model with a shoot in Bali coming to Vegas just so you can take her out to dinner?”
This time I really was kidding. I swallowed my amusement when Dylan took a slow sip of coffee, his eyes steady on my face, but said nothing. Of course he flew in models to date. Women around the globe were probably begging for the chance to go out with him. Again, I wondered what he was doing with me. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to talk about any other women right now.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about his other women either, especially after my embarrassing fit earlier. “So what else does Melissa do?”
“She coordinates my life. The past twenty-four hours aside, I spend most of my time working. I don’t have time to go shopping, make dentist appointments, or get my car serviced. I have to throw a number of parties and other social events that are mostly work and I don’t have the time, or the inclination, to handle those either. Melissa takes care of everything I can’t. Or don’t want to.”
“Okay, that actually makes sense. So when did she go buy all this? We only met last night. How did she know what to get?”
“I texted her to take a look at what you had, and if she thought I’d agree, she should open the boutiques downstairs and get you set up.”
“So she didn’t like my clothes?” I asked, not sure how to feel about a stranger going through my things and deciding they needed to be replaced. I wasn’t a fashionista, but I thought I did alright on my junior accountant’s salary. Dylan shrugged.
“Maybe. But Melissa likes clothes. She may have thought yours were fine, but taken the excuse to buy you new things anyway.” That made me feel somewhat better. If I had the budget to buy clothes like this, I’d jump on it, even if they weren’t for me.
“So you made her work late? What if she had other plans?” I knew I was being nosy, but the whole concept of him having a person who would jump to do anything he asked was fascinating to me.
“I pay Melissa extremely well to never have other plans when I need her for something. She’s on call twenty-four-seven and she makes enough money that she doesn’t mind her hours. Plus, she likes me.” He gave me a satisfied grin, teasing me.
“Yeah, I bet she does,” I said, smiling back.
“She’s happily married to a lawyer who works long hours, no kids, which is part of why she doesn’t mind me calling her in at odd times. She’s one of those people who needs to be busy.”
“Hmm,” I said, unable to relate. I suspected Dylan was like that, always on the go. Anyone who ran a business empire had to be. That was not me. I worked hard at my job, but in my off time, I was more than happy to lie around, reading a book and snacking on chocolate. Probably part of the reason I still hadn’t seen that much of Vegas.
The waiter returned with our plates, sliding in front of me a beautifully presented stack of the tiramisu French toast with a banana-apple compote and citrus mascarpone cream. Heaven. The scents coming off my plate were so delicious I wanted to cry with joy. Chocolate, espresso, cream, and powdered sugar scented the air. If it tasted as good as it looked and smelled, I was going to be a very happy woman. Dylan’s Limón ricotta pancakes with fig compote looked equally tempting. Reading my mind, and eyeing my French toast, he said, “I thought we could share.”
“Works for me.” He cut a bite
of pancake with his fork and brought it to my mouth. The taste of sweet lemon burst across my tongue. Withdrawing the fork from between my lips, he scooped up a bite of my French toast for himself.
“This place is always excellent,” he said. We ate like that for the next few minutes. I fed him a bite, he did the same for me. The intimacy was new. I’d eaten breakfast with men before, but this felt like we were in our own little island, just Dylan and me, with nothing to worry about but enjoying our meal and each other.
Our plates were empty before I knew it. Dylan sat back with his coffee, studying me. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, self-conscious again. Picking up my own coffee, I said, “What?”
“Just glad you ate all your breakfast. You’re going to need your energy today.”
“Why? What are we doing?” I hoped we were going straight back to his penthouse where he could strip this dress off and fuck me for the rest of the day. Not that I was greedy or anything, but I only had him until Sunday. I wanted as much of Dylan as I could get.
“We’re going shopping,” he said, drinking half of his coffee before setting the cup back in its saucer. He checked his watch and gestured to the waiter. “The shops should be opening by the time we get there.”
“Why are we going shopping?” I asked. Hadn’t he already bought me more than I could possibly wear this weekend?
“Because I want to take you shopping,” he said, as if that was the end of the conversation.
Maybe to him, it was. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of Dylan taking me shopping. We’d made a deal - he would be my date, and I’d sleep with him for the weekend. At the time, it had felt like an even trade. Five orgasms later, I was pretty sure I was getting the best part of the exchange. Fantastic, mind-blowing sex with a ridiculously hot guy, and a date for the wedding from hell.
