Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1)

by Noelle Bodhaine

  “Of course!” Olivia proclaims with another toast. “Then we will head back to the hotel. I have dinner with Matthew and his parents tonight. Will you be alright to entertain yourself? I know the girls want to meet you. Kylie and Melissa, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember and I will be fine. I will most likely have to sleep off this champagne!” A champagne fueled giggle pops out. I love being back with my girl. There is such comfort in friends that you have known your entire life.

  ***

  Once at the hotel, I get checked in and Olivia and I head up to my room. The hotel is beautiful, light marble floors and walls accented by dark wood and heavy furniture. Elaborate blown glass chandeliers hang throughout the lobby. Tall palms and other tropical foliage are fed by the sunlight that filters through the glass walls and ceiling of the inner lobby. The elevator is glass and looks into the lobby from one side and out onto the white private sand beach from the other. Everywhere I look I am overwhelmed by beautiful things and beautiful people. When we arrive on the sixteenth floor, we turn down the hall and find my room. The furnishings are light and airy, as you would expect in Miami. The entire back wall of the room is windows hung with gauzy curtains blowing in the warm salt air. The room overlooks the private beach. A terrace, three floors down, has a bar and chaises with private cabanas and an infinity pool. I turn to Olivia completely speechless. I have never been anywhere like this.

  “I know, it’s amazing and it is only going to get better! These next few days are going to blow your mind so just take it in and enjoy, ok? You deserve this trip, Sophie, and I want you to enjoy every minute.” She hugs me tightly and turns to go. “You will be surprised at how fast you get used to all of this,” she says, waving her hand about the room. “I have to go get ready for dinner. If it’s not too late when we get back I’ll call you.”

  “Sure.” I try to sound reassuring. “I’ll be fine, go. I am just happy to be here and I am so happy for you, and a little wiped out.”

  “I am so happy you are here, too, I love you! Wish me luck!” And with that she was out the door.

  ***

  “Rhys, I am so glad I caught you.” She breezes through my closed office door like an unwelcome draft, a heady cocktail of Chanel No. 5 and stale cigarette smoke. Just her presence in this office sets my body on high alert. To think of all the memories, all the surfaces we have fucked on. She is everywhere. I need to redecorate.

  “You didn’t, Nadja. I am out the door, I am on a plane. I am in Miami.” I grab my duffle, slip my phone into my pocket and walk past her to the elevators. I was called away from the wedding festivities once already for this bullshit. I will not miss another minute of Matthew and Olivia’s celebration. Not for Nadja, not for her father, but I know her too well to think she will let it go. And as predicted when the elevator comes, she slides in next to me, thinking she has me trapped, no doubt. She needs some new tricks.

  “Rhys, please.” Her faded Russian purr rattles down my spine like nails on a chalk board. “You know that this company is everything to my father. You cannot let this happen. Help him. Help him and I will do whatever you want.” She sidles up to me, her breath sickly sweet, an attempt to cover the smell of cigarettes and vodka, no doubt. I put my hands in my pockets and stare forward, determined not to give her an inch. “Please, for me?” Running her fingers down the lapel of my jacket, her eyes glow with an unearned triumph. I hate her ego, I hate that look. Batting her hands away, I push her into the corner and loom over her slight, stick like figure.

  “You stay there,” I demand, glaring at her. She lowers her eyes, as she should. Straightening herself, she presses her hands against the cool, stainless steel walls of the elevator and waits. I back against the opposite wall and drop my bag. Scratching at the stubble along my jaw rouses the blood in my fingertips, it’s coarse and soft. Not my usual look, but I need a change. She raises her head, looking me dead in the eye, defiant little wench, watching me with those piercing blue eyes, and an inscrutable expression on her face. Narrowing her eyes at me, she rakes over my new scruffy face, wrinkling her turned up nose at the tight, dark, two day stubble that covers my jaw.

  “You need to shave.” Her disgust is palpable, that alone makes me want to keep it.

  “No, I don’t think I will. Now, I just spent the last three hours in meetings with Viktor and his investors. I am doing what I can to help him, within reason. I cannot take on a sinking ship, it is not good business. I am waiting for the final financials to come back. Once they do, we will have a better picture of what needs to be done. In the meantime, I am on my way to Miami. I will not be taking calls or working. I am a ghost for the next four days. I do not want to see you until I have to, do you understand?”

  “What is in Miami, why go so early?” Her attempt to disarm me with her coy questions only fuels my frustration.

  “You know very well that Matthew is getting married.”

  “Oh yes, to that all American white bread girl. I don’t know how she managed to tame him. Do you need a date?” I watch her dull eyes dance and wonder about her motives. “Are you looking for white bread, too, Rhys? To be tamed? I can do that. Is that what you think will make you happy? These American girls that stand by their man, someone to follow you around like a devotee? Is that what you’re hoping for? Maybe you’ll find one of white bread’s Middle American friends. They are sure to be dazzled by all that you can offer, all that you have. Not to mention the things you can do.” She stalks slowly towards me. “Things we taught each other, remember?” Her hands are raised in surrender, but she is pressing in, ever the aggressor. I meet her in the middle of the elevator, clutching her arms. My hands wind easily around her small, bony wrists, her blood surges, pulsing against my grip.

  “Don’t!” I growl, dropping her arms to her sides. “Do you want my attention, Nadja?”

  “Yes,” she breathes, pressing into me, arching her back. She is so predictable, so needy. Like dangling a carrot in front of a trotting mare, she chases what she wants, blinded to anything else.

  “Then you shall have it. If you can follow my instructions, can you do as you are told?” A slight curve to her pouty mouth tells me she is game. “I don’t want to see you until Thursday. Do you understand?” She lowers her eyes and nods. “Nadja?”

  “Yes, I understand,” her voice is soft, her body curled into itself, passively waiting for further instructions.

  “Good.” I gather my duffel and make a beeline from the elevator, onto the curb and into the waiting Town Car, leaving Nadja in the dust. She infuriates me, her defiance, and her aggression. She is so manipulative, using her body to get whatever she wants. All of her lies, her utter betrayal. She made a fool of me. I was sure that I was her white knight, destined to save her from herself. But, I wouldn’t save her now if she was drowning in front of me. She has become so wicked and twisted, taking pleasure in other people’s pain in the extreme. She is predatory, but you would never suspect from the outside. Her beauty masks the vicious animal inside. The more fame and attention she gets, the more horrible she becomes. And now she has created this façade, this mask she wears. Always appearing to be on her best behavior, when behind it all, rages an out of control, sex crazed, selfish, sociopath.

  I rest my eyes and try to distract myself as we wind through rush hour traffic in Manhattan. Shit, I may as well take a nap, or do some work. Or maybe consider my pick for the weekend. Lord knows there will be a gaggle of willing ladies down in Miami this weekend for the festivities. Any one of them could help to distract me and occupy my time. Problem is, I have been with a good number of them already, and I don't like to double dip. As for the others, as I go over the catalog in my head my thoughts wander around to Sophie. Is that her name, Sophie? I'm not entirely sure. It is far too easy to tune Olivia out when she drones on. And, man does she drone on about this girl, Sophie, dropping none too subtle hints about me meeting Sophie ever since she invited her down to Miami. You are going to love Sophie. Sophie is so great!
I don't know what could be so great about a small town girl who graduated from a state school and works for a local paper. I would be willing to bet that she has never even left the country. What on earth am I going to have in common with this girl? Does it even matter?

  The way Olivia described her I was expecting some pudgy Pollyanna, but she is beautiful, what I could see of her. Olivia definitely undersold her there. It was a fleeting glance as they walked into the lounge. Her short, dark hair bounced around her face as she laughed, her giggle is what caught my attention, but it was her curves that kept me fixed. Round hips and a narrow waist. It was clear from looking at her that she wasn't the kind to starve herself or fret over a meal, the word buxom comes to mind. If it wasn't for that round little ass of hers, I doubt she would be able to balance the weight of those beautiful, no doubt natural breasts. What the hell? Snap out of it, man. It hasn't been that long. Besides, this girl is not the kind of girl I am used to. Women have been willing to do almost anything for my affections and attention for as long as I can remember. I have been surrounded by bright shiny objects my entire life, most of which I could have at a moment’s notice. But I have a feeling that this girl may not be so easy. The way she looked at me in the lounge and so easily shook me off. No, I should set my sights elsewhere, on a more seasoned target perhaps. I wouldn't want to do anything to upset the balance, or God forbid piss off Olivia. I run through the catalog of others as we pull onto the tarmac and the plane is loaded. I switch off my business cell with a satisfying finality and slip it into the outer pocket of my duffel, with no intention of switching it back on until Sunday. From now until then it is all about Matthew and Olivia, no business, just pleasure. And I will find my pleasure.

  Chapter 2

  I wipe the sleep from my eyes in a darkened room, confused by my stark surroundings; my head fuzzy from the afternoon welcome wagon. Stretching out on the bed I realize I still have my boots on. I sit up to unzip them, but my head protests. The Moet is beating me. I run the zipper down from my knee and pull my feet from their prison. Rising from the bed, I turn on the bedside lamps, illuminating a note that has been slipped under my door.

  “Hi, Sophie! The girls are going to be in the hotel bar tonight. Please come down and have a drink with us, we cannot wait to meet you! Kisses xx”

  Oh geez, I exhale a deep breath and I am resigned. I will take a shower, go down and meet “The Bridesmaids” and immerse myself in Olivia’s new world.

  The shower does the trick, washing away the sins of the afternoon. My muscles are loose and my skin is soft and fragrant from the designer hotel soaps. Wiping the steam away from the wall size mirror, I step back and take a good look at myself. Same as always, short and soft, but perfectly round in all the right places. I wink at myself in the mirror, caress my skin and cup my breasts, all natural and proud. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The exercise is futile as my eyes search for flaws by habit. I know that this is when I should step away from the mirror, but I don’t. I watch myself comb thru my damp hair, curls already springing to life. I dry my hair quickly and decide to set it, having a glass of wine from the well- stocked mini bar while I wait for the rollers to heat up.

  Rummaging through my suitcase I find my favorite new sundress. It is pale green linen with hand-embroidering along the deep neckline with a full skirt and goes perfectly with my braided sandals. I splurged and bought all new clothes for this trip, light dresses replace my winter uniform of heavy sweaters and jeans. Cloaked in new threads, anxious to take in Miami, I swipe on some blush and ChapStick, and gulp down the rest of my wine. Pause in front of the weathered, floor length mirror that hangs from the back of the door, flip my head over, run my fingers through my new bob and I am out the door. When I decided to cut it, I said I wanted that ‘just fucked look.’ I can feel that my request was fulfilled as my hair swirls around me, bouncing about my crown as I walk down the hall. I feel confident and like a million bucks!

  My mood takes a nose dive as the elevator doors open on the ground floor, revealing my worst nightmare. A swirl of sequins, satin and labels surrounds me like an all engulfing storm. A unifying squeal brings them all to heel and a breathtaking blonde grabs my arm, pulling me in for a hug. My head is pressed into her buoyant bosom, as she is far taller than I am, even without those sky high pumps.

  “You must be Sophie!” She looks to me for confirmation, but I am speechless, taking in the sea of unnatural perfection that surrounds me. I have walked into a magazine spread, or a reality show. I look back at her offering an unsure smile.

  “I am Kylie and these are the girls. We aren’t all bridesmaids.” She waves her hands above the girls as if to remind some of them of their exclusion. “I am the maid of honor, Melissa is a bridesmaid, and then there’s you.” Her smile is forced, inspecting my clothing. My dress is far too loose and shoes far too flat. I can see her take the inventory in her head. “Let’s go in and get a table and then we can all get to know each other.” She locks her arm with mine and walks me to the bar. The other women look at one another with disdain, but quickly fall into line behind us.

  The bar is quiet and posh with dark walls covered with brocade and wood. The bar reaches to the ceiling and is surrounded by a large gilt mirror. All eyes are on our party as we walk in. Kylie motions to the Maitre’d and leads us to the corner where a large booth has been roped off and marked for the wedding party. The dance floor has yet to entice a crowd, creating a relative runway for the women to sashay their way across the room, clearly reveling in the attention that they must be so accustomed to. I prefer to fly under the radar. The whole scene makes me anxious.

  We all scoot into the adjoining booths and Kylie leads the introductions. There are sorority sisters, schoolmates and friends from yoga, I will never remember them all, if any. And then there is Melissa, who seems a little too eager to party. Her mocha skin and dark hair set her apart, but her dress is too short, her breast a little too big and she is very loud. She sneers at Kylie as she leads the conversation. There is a tension between them that feels almost comfortable, lived in. Thankfully, Kylie calls for a bottle of champagne. Drawing my attention away from Melissa, I welcome the beautiful flutes full of the golden bubbly elixir as the waitress places them on the table. Taking a deep breath, I swallow the lump in my throat and stand up with a glass in my hand, offering a toast.

  After all of the introductions, toasting and drinking, I am warm and comfortable, but rapidly fading. The travel and champagne are catching up to me and I am spent, a haze sets in over my eyes making them heavy, sleepy. Listening to the conversations around me about places I have never been, designers I have never heard of, a prickly heat climbs up the back of my neck. I need fresh air. I slide out of the empty half of the booth, as the majority of the ladies have taken their party to the dance floor. They hoot and holler, dancing in a circle. I take my glass with me and raise it to Kylie in salute as she gyrates on the crowded floor with some frat boy looking Adonis.

  I duck out of the lobby, through the revolving doors and into the fresh sea air. A deep draught of the thick night air relieves my rising heat and helps to clear my mind. Slipping off my sandals, I walk around the side of the building to a small patio that overlooks the private beach. There are chaise lounges, tables and chairs with striped umbrellas that have all been tied down for the night. I walk to a table at the farthest edge of the patio and drop my shoes. My body is heavy and I slump into the low slung chair with a sigh. My hands are drawn to my warm, moist skin. Wiping the dew from my neck and chest, I gently stroke my skin and revel in the gentle caress of the ocean breeze, contemplating the last time I was caressed, the last time my skin was on fire from someone else’s touch. My heart tightens, strangling the breath from my lungs. It has been too long. Gentle waves lap at the darkened beach, the moon shining off the water’s rolling surface. The air is different here, heavier, headier.

  With a deep exhale I turn and am caught by a bright orange ember, slowly growing then fading. A swirling plume of gr
ay smoke calls my attention and I squint in the direction of the smoke, trying to get a look at who I have disturbed. A man in a white linen shirt, cuffs unbuttoned and rolled to the elbow with dark pants, one foot slung over his knee, barefoot. Nice feet. He takes another puff from his cigar and leans forward into the light revealing a straight nose, full lips and dark hair, a faint shadow of which covers his chiseled jaw. He rises from his chair and makes his way towards me, the light from a dozen torches dancing across his form as he moves. He is tall, lean and lithe like a stalking predator. Coming to a stop a few steps away from me he sits, but says nothing. Rhys.

  From this close he is disarmingly handsome, striking cheek bones frame his dark eyes, hooded by heavy brows. His tongue runs slowly along his bottom lip before he raises the stub of his cigar to his waiting mouth. Slowly he pulls a deep hit and releases it in a long controlled exhale, deep and satisfying. I catch myself mimicking his actions, exhaling with him. He groans softly and sits up, turning his dark eyes on me.

  “Sophie?” The question holds contempt, and I swear he rakes me over for flaws. I can’t help but squirm in my chair, hot under his smoldering glare. Even in the dark his eyes sparkle.

  “I am,” I return trying to smile. “You must be Rhys.” I can’t tear my eyes from his full mouth and the thick cigar he continues to puff on. He releases another slim tower of smoke with a smirk and a chuckle.

  “Yes, I must be.” He is arrogant and smug, and oh, so sexy. My heart flutters like a hummingbird. I’m thankful for the darkness that shrouds us both, imagining my body’s telling betrayal. It conspires against me, releasing a torrential rush of blood through my heated veins, a flush I can feel down to my toes.