by Sienna Ciles
As obnoxious as he was, I was kind of interested in what he was saying. “So, he's a specialist suit designer? Or does he branch out into other areas of fashion as well?”
“Oh, he does it all—men's stuff only, though. He's given me advance previews of his spring collection, and man, he's gonna blow the competition right out of the water. I guarantee it, this guy is gonna be as big a name as Versace and Armani in a couple of years. And I'll be riding those profits all the way to the bank.”
He smiled arrogantly and sipped on his glass of whiskey. “This is actually decent whiskey,” he remarked. “Obviously single malt, you can't expect people like us to drink blended. Ugh. So, what is this, eighteen-year-old? Older? Very smooth, just the right hint of a piquant, woody aftertaste . . .”
I wondered if he was trying to impress me like this. It really wasn't working. I was happy to talk about business and investing, but if he thought that showing off about his taste in whiskey or clothes was going to charm me, he was way off the mark.
“It's twenty-one-year-old whiskey, actually,” I said, hoping that he would pick up on the coldness in my voice and take the hint that I didn't really want to talk to him. “Single malt, yes. Now, if you'll excuse me—”
“Hahaha,” he chuckled, “I should have known it was twenty-one and not eighteen. This whiskey is old enough to drink itself!”
I chuckled politely, even though it was a lame joke. How was I going to get rid of this guy? He really didn't seem to be able to take a hint.
“Hey, I saw you using Quickchat,” he remarked. “Cool app, huh? Who were you talking to?”
Now here was an opportunity to get this guy off my back. “I was talking to my boyfriend,” I said. “His name is Jax. And his friend Peter was in a bad car accident tonight, so if you don't mind, I need to keep an eye on my phone and not chat to people in case there's an update.”
I knew that Jax wouldn't mind—or at least guessed that he wouldn't mind—if I told this creep that he was my boyfriend to get him off my back. It seemed to work, because as soon as I said that, a curious expression came over Chad's face. It was part anger, part jealousy, part aggression. Overall, it was pretty frightening. Still, it got him to get off my back.
“So, Peter White was in a car accident huh,” he muttered. “Cara is going to be very interested to hear about that.”
That was weird—he seemed to know who Jax and Pete were.
“Well don't go spreading it around,” I said, now a little worried that my big mouth was going to cause some problems.
“Ha,” he smirked. “It's a bit late for that now. You've already let the cat out of the bag. Well whatever, I have more interesting people who I can talk to. Mm, like that hot model slash investor, Sara. I think I'm going to go and pick her brains about some up-and-coming software companies . . . and maybe I'll get to pick something else of hers too.”
Ugh. This guy really was a gross, pervy creep. I was glad that mentioning Jax had gotten rid of him. He drank the last of his whiskey, left the empty glass on the table and stormed off.
A while later I got a message from Jax. He said that he was really too worn-out after the evening's events to talk anymore, but wanted to know if I was free to meet up and have dinner the following evening.
I typed out a reply, “Of course, I'd love to. There's a great little Italian place with really authentic, lovingly made dishes a couple blocks away from where I live. It's called Massimo's. Meet you there at seven?”
The reply came right away. “That sounds wonderful. I'll see you there at seven.”
* * * * *
I felt a little under-dressed, at least compared to the previous evening, but it was nice to be dressed more casually. I really did enjoy getting dressed up for black tie events, but getting your makeup right and your hair done perfectly took a lot of time and effort, and it wasn't something I wanted to do every day. This evening I was just dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a tight T-shirt, as Jax and I had agreed to a “jeans and T-shirt” dress code for the evening. The first time I'd met him he had been in running gear, and last night we'd already seen each other dressed to the nines—so there was no need to play the game of continually impressing each other.
I arrived before him and took a seat at the table we had reserved. Just as I was about to check my phone, he came strolling through the door. Even dressed as casually as he was—in slim-fit jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt, he looked immensely dashing. His tanned arms were very chiseled and powerful, and his chest was broad and the muscles pronounced. His hair was styled perfectly, and when he saw me he flashed a bright white smile.
I smiled back at him, feeling the unmistakable flutter of butterflies in my stomach.
I stood up as he got to the table and gave him a quick hug. It was great to feel his body against mine, if only for a second or two. I sat down, still smiling.
“How are you Jax?” I asked.
“I'm all right. A little tired after all the stress of last night, but I managed to get some decent sleep, so I'm doing okay. You?”
“I was also pretty stressed out with running that whole ball last night, but it was a runaway success in the end. So, I too managed to get a good night's sleep. How's your friend Pete?”
He sighed and shook his head slowly. “Pete's not doing that well, to be honest. I just came from the hospital now. He hasn't woken from his coma yet, unfortunately. I sat by his bed and talked to him. I don't know if he could hear me or what, but I figured that he would feel better if he could at least hear my voice near him.”
That struck me as being incredibly sweet. “You obviously care for him very much, huh?”
He nodded. “He and I are much more like brothers than friends. We've been best friends since we were, hmm, like, twelve years old.”
“Wow! That's quite a long time to be friends with someone,” I remarked.
“Yeah, it is. But you know, sometimes you just meet a buddy who gets you, and who you get, and that's how it goes. You're friends for life.”
I nodded. “I don't have any friends from my elementary school days, but I am still friends with one of my besties from senior year of high school. She lives in Portland now though, so we don't get to see each other that much.”
“Hey, at least you're still in contact,” he said. “That's more than I can say for most of my school friends.”
“Well I really hope Pete is okay after that terrible accident,” I said. I meant that, and I think that he could see the sincerity of that statement in my eyes.
Just then a waiter came along and asked if he could get us any drinks.
“How about a little wine?” Jax asked me.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said.
“All right,” said Jax to the waiter, “could you bring us a bottle of your best dry red?”
He nodded. “Certainly sir,” he replied, and then hurried off to get the wine.
Jax and I chatted some more, mostly talking about our respective pasts. I was surprised to learn that he had grown up in New York—he didn't sound like a New Yorker at all. I was equally surprised to learn that he actually knew who my Dad was, and seemed to know a little about my Dad's investment firm.
“Good, honest traders,” he remarked. “At least that's what I've heard about them.”
We ended up talking about baseball, of all things. I had always been a huge baseball fan, and had played Little League when I was younger. I had been a bit of a tomboy, well, up until adolescence anyway. He had also played Little League, but had continued to play throughout high school.
“I really think that if I had put a little more effort into it, I could have gone pro,” he said. “Okay, well . . . maybe a lot more effort. I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet or anything, but I was pretty good. I could pitch one mad curveball. I had that raw talent that a good player really needs as a foundation to build upon. I had it, Lanie, I had it . . . but in my teenage years I unfortunately got much more into getting wasted and partying and pulling
stupid pranks than practicing baseball. I always wonder what would have happened, though, and where I would have been if I had taken it a little more seriously when I was younger.”
The wine came, and then the food, which was absolutely delicious. By the end of the meal I found that we had managed to finish the whole bottle of wine, and I was feeling a little tipsy. Not drunk, just a little buzzed. And I also found myself looking into Jax's sexy eyes for longer and longer periods . . . and he seemed to be enjoying staring into mine as well.
“Should we get out of here?” he said.
“We should . . . but I think I want to go home. I have to meet my boss early in the morning, so I should go to bed soon. You can walk me there if you want though.”
He smiled. “Of course. A little stroll under the stars sounds great. Let me just take care of the bill.”
He went and paid the bill and then we headed out. We kept talking, just about random things: movies and shows we liked, music we were fans of, silly memories . . . all sorts of stuff. Along the way, somehow my hand brushed against his—and then we were holding hands, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His big, strong hand encircling mine just felt amazing. I could feel the heat of his energy and power through the gently applied strength of his grip.
Eventually, we got to my place.
“Here we are,” I said, and we both laughed, a little awkwardly.
“Here we are,” he echoed.
“It was a beautiful evening,” I said. “I'm sorry I had to cut it short like this . . . but I really, really enjoyed myself tonight.”
“I did too,” he said quickly. “I'm serious, I really did. I . . . I had an amazing time with you.”
“I'd love to do this again,” I said. “Whenever you're free.”
“I'd love to do it again too. Soon. But there's also something else I'd like to do, if you don't mind . . .”
I knew what he wanted to do—and I wanted to do it as well. We stared into each other's eyes, and then, suddenly, our lips were together, his tongue parting my lips and exploring my mouth with eager enthusiasm. Liquid fire shot through my veins as we kissed passionately, and I moaned softly into his mouth. Arousal coursed fiercely through my veins, setting every nerve ending on fire, and I found myself wanting him—wanting more of him—with a desperate hunger.
I wasn't, however, one to go all the way on the first date. It just wasn't my way . . . And as much as I liked Jax, I wasn't about to break that rule.
I broke off the kiss and smiled at him.
“That was . . . that awesome,” I said, smiling at him. “And I hate to break it off . . . but I really do need to get some rest. I have a very early start tomorrow.”
“I understand,” he said. “We'll talk soon. Have a great evening, Lanie.”
I kissed him again quickly. “You too, Jax.”
He nodded, smiled, and turned and walked off, his hands in his pockets, and I watched him go with a smile on my face.
I headed inside, and as I was locking up, realized that we had never actually gotten onto the topic of what we each did for a living. I had told him a little about what I was doing with Bill Wallace, but he hadn't really said much about what it was that he did. I guess I would find out in time.
I had a quick shower, climbed into bed, and got my iPad to check out the news before going to sleep.
In the financial section of the online newspaper a headline caught my eye. “Co-Founder of Software Company that Brought Us Quickchat in a Coma After Auto Wreck.”
That was weird. It seemed that a lot of people were getting into bad car accidents these days. I opened the article, and started to skim through it.
“Multi-millionaire Peter White, co-founder of the software company that brought us Quickchat—”
Whoa. Whoa! Peter White—Jax's friend?! This article was about him?! I kept reading, my heart starting to beat faster and faster. It turned out that the other founder was a man called Ernest J. Cooper IV. I knew that name—it had been on the guest list of the ball! I scrolled down, and then almost jumped out of bed when I saw a photograph of Peter—with Jax! Under the picture was a caption, “Co-Founders Peter White and Ernest J. Cooper IV.”
Oh my . . . Oh my! His name wasn't Jax! It was Ernest J. Cooper IV!
I couldn't believe this . . . I really couldn't. How could he not have mentioned something so gigantic?! And if he was lying about this . . . then what else was he lying about?
I turned the light off, feeling like I had slipped into a state of shock. And that same question kept running through my mind repeatedly.
If he was lying about this . . . then what else was he lying about?
CHAPTER 14
Jax
“Did you hear me, Ernest?” snapped my aunt. “I said, you have two choices here, two options only. You cut loose the deadweight—or you let it sink your whole ship. This is your warning from the universe, God, whatever you believe in. That man, that Peter White, he's holding you back and dragging you down! Now you have a day, two at the most, to make a decision about this. And you already know in your head what the right decision is, Ernest. You have to let him go. You have to. If you don't, you can kiss everything you worked for goodbye. I promise you that. I've been in this game long enough to know this. You can disregard my advice if you wish, Ernest—at your peril, to your own detriment. And that's all I have to say on this matter. You sit down, and you have a really good think about what you need to do here. Good night and goodbye.”
There was a click on the other end of the line as she cut off the call. I sighed—a long, slow sigh of sadness and indecision—and slipped the phone into my pocket, and then pulled up a seat next to Pete.
“What are we going to do, buddy?” I asked him, not knowing whether he could hear me in the state he was in, not knowing whether he could understand my words. “Seriously, what are we going to do?”
He just lay there, utterly still except for the slow rising and falling of his chest as he breathed, shallowly, in and out. I could hardly look at his face; it was so swollen and grotesque, as if someone had inflated a balloon under his skin.
“You could have killed yourself Pete,” I said to him. “What were you thinking? You don't get into a car like yours, with all that speed and power on tap, after even one drink. And the cops say you were three drinks over the limit. Man . . . if you come out of this coma okay, I swear I'm gonna kick your ass for being so stupid.”
A tear rolled down my cheek as I said this though, and obviously, I didn't mean it. All I wanted was for Pete to wake up and be okay. And, of course, for this to never happen again.
One of the nurses, an older woman perhaps in her fifties, saw me sitting by the bed as she was walking past. She stopped and chatted with me.
“Hi. I saw you earlier—you've been here with your friend at least an hour now, huh?”
I checked the time, and saw that it had indeed been around an hour.
“Oh, wow yeah,” I said. “I have been in here for a while.”
“Take some advice from me,” she said, “because I've worked in this hospital for almost thirty years, and I've seen it all.”
“All right,” I said, “what advice do you have for me?”
“Go home. Go out with your friends, take your wife or your girlfriend on a date. Don't stay here. Your friend isn't gonna wake up any time soon. I'm sure he can feel your presence, and that he's grateful that you're here, but he probably realizes that there's nothing you can do to help him. Nothing. And all you're gonna do if you stay here is burn yourself out. And that's the worst thing not only for you, but for him. He's gonna need your help when he does wake up, and what do you think, is it gonna be better for him if you're happy, well-rested, and full of energy, or a zombie who hasn't had more than an hour's sleep after sitting all night in an uncomfortable hospital chair three nights in a row?”
I nodded. What she was saying did make sense. I hated to leave Pete like this, but she was right. I would be in a much better po
sition to help him if I was well rested and full of energy.
“You're right,” I said as I got up from the chair. “I will be able to help him better if I take care of myself. Thank you.”
She shrugged and smiled. “Just telling you how it is, stranger, just telling you how it is. Go home, try to forget about the tragedy for a while, and get some rest.”
She walked off and I watched her go, wondering what she had seen and experienced in this place over thirty years here. She must have seen it all, really—and I knew that her advice in terms of what I should be doing right now was gold.
And immediately, I figured out a fantastic way to get my mind off this and to relax. I sent Lanie a message asking if she wanted to go out tomorrow evening. She promptly replied that she would love to, which at once sent a boost of good feelings coursing through my veins.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Pete,” I said, and walked out, looking forward to the following evening, and trying to do my best to put all of this out of my head.
* * * * *
The next evening, I walked back from Lanie's place feeling like I was on cloud nine. My mouth was still tingling from the awesome intensity of the kiss we had shared—the first kiss of many, I hoped. It had been such a perfect evening; the conversation had flowed so smoothly and naturally, and it had really felt like we were old friends who had known each other forever, instead of being two people meeting only for the third time ever.
Earlier in the evening I had spent an hour with Pete, just talking to him about old times and good memories. Even though he was still in a coma, it felt as if he was listening, as if he could understand me. And while that had felt good, it had also been something of a sad experience, and I had felt weighed down and kind of depressed afterward. When I met Lanie for our date, however, all of that had changed.
Still, by the time I got to my car, the high from being with her had started to wear off, and cold hard reality had slowly started to set in again.
As I climbed into my car, my phone rang. I smiled, thinking it might be Lanie calling to wish me goodnight, but instead I saw that it was my aunt. I watched the phone ringing in my hand for a while, debating in my mind over whether I should take the call or not.
