by Sara Celi
I laughed into the phone. “Let me guess. You know someone for that, too?”
“You could say that. My friend Aaron uses a woman over at Andres’ Salon. He likes it there. Call over there and see if Tonya can work you in.” He paused. “And I’ll pay for that, too.”
“Again, I don’t think I deserve this.” I stretched out on the futon in my apartment, which doubled as my couch and bed. “You’re being too kind.”
A moment of silence passed between us again, and my thoughts wandered back to what really bothered me. I had no idea how I would pay for anything if he didn’t agree to give me money. My credit would be ruined, and I’d probably never get a credit card, mortgage, or bank loan again. I’d have to go back to Kissimmee, and only god knew what kind of work I’d be able to find there. Maybe I’d be able to drive a car for hire. Maybe I’d be able to work as a barista. Or maybe I could get a job working for Mickey Mouse…
“What’s really going on?” Luke’s question brought my attention back to the phone call.
I cleared my throat. “What do you mean?”
“You sound distracted.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Whatever it is—if there’s anything I can do, please tell me.”
I started to tell him the truth, then thought better of it. It still wasn’t the right time to bring up all the problems facing Aunt Helen and me. “I’ll let you know. Let’s just concentrate on tomorrow night.”
“Consider it done. I’ll set up your appointment.”
Tonya had a last-minute cancelation at four the following day, so a half hour before the appointment, I drove over to the island, parked my car on a side street, and checked in to the salon, which featured long rows of tan chairs overlooking The Brazilian Court Hotel’s interior courtyard full of palm trees and flowers. The receptionist offered me a glass of chardonnay, and Tonya regarded me through the large mirror in front of her styling booth.
“What are we doing today?” She picked up a few strands of my hair and twisted her mouth to one side. “Luke said you need makeup and hair for the Children’s Fund Gala?”
“That’s right.” I exhaled, regretting my decision to show up at the salon in yoga pants and a gray zip pullover. I didn’t appear as polished as the rest of the clients in the room. “I need something to complement my dress. It’s designer—Le Petite Chambordeaux.” I mispronounced the name again, but if Tonya noticed, she didn’t flinch. “Black.”
“Body con?” She laughed once. “Not that they make much of anything else.”
I nodded as if I knew this already, even though I didn’t. “It’s tight and flairs out below the knee. The top has cap sleeves and is sheer across the neckline.”
“Sounds beautiful.” She continued examining my hair. “Any jewelry?”
“No. I was thinking of keeping it simple to show off the dress.”
Plus, I don’t own any expensive jewelry…
“Simple is always better.” Tonya took a hairbrush from the middle of the beautician tool belt around her waist. “Earlier today, I heard a few people talking about the gala. Sounds like it’s going to be almost as big as the International Red Cross Ball. Twelve hundred people? Something like that.”
“Wow.” I hadn’t thought about the size of the event; I’d been so focused on trying to keep my emotions in check after the bad news about Yoga Ohm. Twelve hundred was a lot of people.
“And Luke Rothschild is a big part of tonight. You know that, right? They owe him a lot.”
“They do?”
“Yes, he’s…” Tonya grinned, showing off perfectly straight teeth. “Anyway, most women around here would kill to go with him to this.”
“He’s a great guy.”
“Can’t disagree there.” She began brushing my hair, working through a few of the tangles in the back. “You have beautiful hair. Is the color natural?”
“Yes, I don’t really do much to it.” I couldn’t think of the last time I’d had it cut—couldn’t really afford that, either.
She stopped brushing my hair and grinned at me again, meeting my gaze once more in the mirror. “I think with a little bit of work, we’ll have you looking perfect for tonight. This gala won’t know what hit it.”
What I saw when Natalie answered the door took my breath away—and for a moment, I considered skipping the gala altogether in favor of throwing her on the futon and having my way with her for the rest of the night.
She looked that gorgeous.
My eyes roamed over her body, the dress, the way the light caught the tendrils of her hair…
“What are you looking at?” she asked when it became obvious I was at a loss for words.
“You,” I said. “I’m looking at you.”
“Good.” Natalie stepped through her doorway and shut it behind her, then locked. It. “Tonya does fantastic work.”
“It’s not her. It’s all you.”
“Do you really like it?” She stepped away from me and looked down the length of her body. “The dress works?” The long, black gown accentuated her small hips and the swell of her bust. Natalie paired it with nude heels, long diamond earrings, and a small red clutch that matched her lipstick. Her hair tumbled down one shoulder, swept to the side in a long cascade of curls.
She could have walked any red carpet and dominated.
“That dress does more than just work. It defines every curve of your body.” I pulled in my lower lip. “God, I want to be inside you right now.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Not yet. We’ve got a gala to go to.”
“Too bad.” I closed the space between us and put my mouth to her ear. She smelled like roses and jasmine. “I could make you come five ways from Sunday.”
I imagined that Natalie’s delicate flesh at the apex of her thighs swelled at my touch, and I knew my words were turning her on.
“Who needs a gala when I’ve got you?”
“Later, Luke.” Natalie gave me a quick kiss. “Some things are worth waiting for, right?”
We had about a twenty-minute drive from her apartment to the Phillips estate, and I could hardly stand it as I drove. She was too gorgeous, too sensual, and too right-in-front-of-me. I wanted her, and when the drawbridge raised on the Southern Bridge, trapping us on it so a few yachts and a fishing boat could pass on the Intercostal Waterway underneath, I got my chance.
My hand found her knee, right where it met the slit on her dress. Her bare legs felt smooth and moisturized.
“Hey there, killer,” she whispered. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re not going anywhere for a little while.” I threw the car into park. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Whatever it is, I like it.”
“Good.” I jerked my chin toward the side of her seat, closest to the passenger door. “Lean your seat back.” My gaze met hers. “Now.”
She complied and elongated her body on the seat.
“Spread your legs.”
Natalie hesitated.
“You heard me,” I ordered. “Do it.”
“You’re in control, huh?”
“While we’re on this bridge, I am. And I get what I want in life.”
She nodded, then adjusted her feet on the floorboard of the car and relaxed a little further. “Go for it, then.”
I pushed the heavy fabric of her dress to one side and walked my fingers up her knee, then her thigh. When I reached the seam of her panties, she groaned and opened herself up to my touch. I hooked my index and middle finger around the edge, then slipped them underneath. Gently, as we waited for the boats to pass and the bridge to reopen to traffic, I massaged her clit.
“You like that?” I asked as I increased the speed of my fingers, knowing that I only had a limited time to work her over. The bridge usually stayed drawn for less than ten minutes, and I wanted to make her come before we drove the final way into Palm Beach. “That what you want?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Please…don’t stop.”
I moved one finger from her clit to deep inside her as I heightened the sensation. Now I had control of her, inside and out, and damn, what a charge it gave me. I wanted to give this woman maximum pleasure, and she wanted it, too, moving her hips with me as we drew closer and closer to the apex
“Come on.” I leaned over and brushed my lips against her ear. “You know you need this. Give yourself over to it…”
“Yes.” Natalie gripped the sides of the seat. “I do…”
I nibbled on her earlobe as I massaged her deepest place, taking in the floral scent of her perfume and the elegant way the curls of her hair framed her sharp chin. Natalie Johnson had a way about her; I didn’t think she even really knew it.
“You’re almost there,” I said against her ear. “Come on, baby. Come for me…”
And then she did.
She bucked against my forearm, then let out a moan and shuddered against me, coming in ecstasy just as the drawn part of the bridge began to lower in front of us. While she gave herself over to the orgasm, I slipped my fingers out of her and put the car into drive. The vertical section of the bridge settled into place and the cars in front of us moved forward.
“You okay?”
She gave me an inaudible answer.
“Perfect,” I said, satisfied not only by my handiwork, but by her willingness to let me please her in a way that seemed both public and private. “That’s one way to start an evening.”
“It is.” She straightened her dress but didn’t raise her seat.
“We could skip the party.”
“And do what?”
“I can think of a few things.”
She grinned. “Nope. I’m all ready to go. This is a big night, right?”
“Okay, you win,” I said as I tapped the accelerator and gave the car some gas. “We’ve got an entrance to make.”
You couldn’t live in Palm Beach County and not hear about the Highball, the Phillips family estate. People alternated between loving it and hating it, mostly because they had strong opinions about its owner, Roman Phillips, some minor Europe aristocrat who’d made most of his money in semi-shady real estate dealings. To me, though, it was always one of those fabulous places that I thought I’d never get a chance to see on the inside. A place I’d driven by more than once, but not a place for me.
And yet, that night, I walked in to the party on Luke Rothschild’s arm.
He pulled the car up to the valet stand just beyond the wrought-iron gate of the estate and hopped out as fast as he could, greeting me with an extended hand a half second after the attendant helped me out of the car. I smoothed my dress and hooked my arm around Luke’s.
“Do I look flushed?”
“You look great.” He kissed me on the cheek. “A little…glowing…maybe.”
Our gazes met, and we exchanged a conspiratorial look. Getting pleasured in the car on the Southern Bridge was a new one, I had to admit that. A very new one. Not that I’d refuse the chance to do it again if Luke offered.
“Right this way,” said a man in a tuxedo. He led us up a few stairs and into a two-story living room that could have been straight out of the Palace at Versailles. I’d never seen so much gold leaf or marble in my life.
“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” Luke guided me across the room.
“It’s…”
“Gaudy.” Luke leaned into me. “Roman Phillips is gaudy. Always has been. Always will be.”
“It’s still gorgeous, though.”
Luke laughed. “In a certain kind of way.”
As more people filed into the living room, he stopped to shake hands with a few of them, and introduced me. In fact, most of the people arriving seemed to want to make sure he noticed them.
“You’re very popular,” I murmured to him when we had another alone moment.
He waved a hand, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “I wouldn’t call it that at all.”
I stifled a laugh, surprised at how unfazed all of this made him. This whole place was bizarre—to say the least. “You act like you’ve seen this before.”
“Well, I have, in a way. It’s not… You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t take this for granted. We’re lucky to be at a party like this, on a night like this.” He plucked up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, handed it to me, and snatched another for himself. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
We raised our glasses.
“To…building bridges.” The corners of Luke’s eyes crinkled, and I knew he was thinking about what we’d just shared on the bridge. I kept thinking about it, too. “How does that sound? Bridges.”
“To building bridges.”
We clinked glasses and drank a sip before Luke led me past a bar stocked full of premium liquor shots, and into an ornate ballroom that doubled as the silent auction area for the event. Across a handful of tables, I saw auction items going for thousands of dollars—two vacation villas in the South of France, a diamond bracelet from Van Cleef and Arpels, a professional shopping getaway in New York City, a set of four box seats at the Super Bowl, a signed Andy Warhol print, and more. I shuddered when I added up the projected values of just a few of the items. I could have paid off my student loans, cut down my credit cards, and saved the business with the cost of just three of them.
Speaking of which…
“What’s wrong?” Luke stood beside me, reading a paragraph on a placard about a wine trip to Sicily. The trip included a private stay at a boutique hotel, dinner with a private chef, and the rental of a small yacht for sailing around the island.
“Nothing.”
He slipped his hand into mine and squeezed it. “I don’t buy that.”
“It’s…” I looked over at him. “We got some bad news the other day at the yoga studio.” I knew I had Luke’s full attention, and I sucked in a deep breath. I hadn’t planned on telling him this at the start of the evening, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. After all, like my mother often said, bad news didn’t get any better with age. “Someone bought out the strip mall, and all the businesses have to close. We have less than a month to get out. No appeal. No chance to change anyone’s mind. Nothing.”
“Oh, my god.”
“It’s terrible.” Shaking my head, I looked away from him and focused on the rest of the crowd as people browsed the auction. If I kept my attention on them, and not on Luke, maybe I wouldn’t start to cry. “We have no clue what we’re going to do. None whatsoever.”
“Surely you can contact the new owner. Work something out? Maybe see if there’s an appeal process…”
“No. Aunt Helen looked up the new owner. It’s some LLC registered in Delaware —a bunch of initials. Probably a shell company or something like that.” My shoulders slumped as I again realized the heaviness of the situation once again. “The eviction notice came from a real estate attorney in Miami, and when she called them, they didn’t give her much information, except to say that the new owners have plans for the area that don’t include a yoga studio like ours.”
“Jesus.”
“I have no idea how we’re going to pay the bills from all of this.” A server walked by with a few shots of rum on a silver tray. I grabbed one and downed it in a single gulp. “Between the bank loan and my credit cards…”
Luke released my hand, then gripped my upper arm, stopping me midsentence. “Let me take care of it. Let me help you.”
“But—”
“My offer still stands.”
I exhaled. “Well, I was thinking about what you said about the contract. If you still want me to—”
“Forget the contract. That was before…when I didn’t know you as well as I do now.” His gaze locked mine. “Whatever you need, I can help you. I don’t care about money—I have enough of it. How much is left on the bank loan for the business?”
“Twenty-seven thousand. Helen secured it from Wells Fargo.”
“And your debts?”
“Twenty-one.” I shook m
y head, thinking about how bitter it tasted to admit the full sum. “Just over twenty-one thousand.”
“I’ll pay if off. No problem. We can do it next week.”
“Are you—maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I said, but in a way, I didn’t mean it. Luke was giving me exactly what I needed, but I didn’t want to come across like I’d expected it. That didn’t feel right. “It’s too generous.”
“Trust me.” He nodded at the table, displaying the Italy trip. “If I can afford to bid on that trip or one of the necklaces in this room, I can afford to pay off your bank loan and your debts owed.” He moved his hand up my arm and cupped my chin. “So why don’t you let me?”
A moment passed between us. This was too easy, but I already knew my reply.
“Thank you,” I said. “You don’t know how much this means to me, and I probably can’t ever pay you back.”
“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “And I don’t even want you to try.” He wavered as if he wanted to kiss me, but he didn’t.
Instead, a pot-bellied man in an ill-fitting tuxedo tapped Luke on his arm. Luke turned, and his jaw went slack. Only then did I see the resemblance and take in my first sight of the curvy, much younger woman hanging off the other man’s arm.
“Dad?” Luke’s eyes widened.
“I’d ask you what you’re doing here,” Luke’s father said. “But I already know the answer.”
I couldn’t remember the last time my father had been in Palm Beach. Years. Certainly, before Faye’s death. Growing up, we came to the island many times, but my first stepmother loved it more than him, and my father gave it up once the ink dried on the papers ending their marriage. After she exited his life, he sold the house he owned on Australian Avenue, and the yacht he’d kept tied to a slip on the Intercostal. He never acted like he wanted to return.
So, I didn’t bother to hide my shock about seeing him at the gala that night.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted.
“What everyone does when they’re in Palm Beach?” A half-grin pulled at my father’s lips. “Enjoying the good life. Raising money for ‘charity.’” I bristled at the way my father said the world “charity”, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he turned to Natalie, extending his hand. “And you are?”
