Chasing Vivi

by A. M. Hargrove

  “We are.” I usher her into the building and then to the elevator.

  When the doors close, she folds her arms over her chest. “I won’t live with you.”

  “Did I ask you to?”

  She clears her throat, then fidgets with her coat sleeve. I watch her out of the corner of my eye and see her stiff posture relax when I press the button for a floor other than my own. She follows me out of the elevator to the vacant apartment. She’s not very good at hiding her love for this one. Her gray irises gleam and those still puffy lips curve up in a smile she tries to hide.

  “You like?”

  “Yeah,” she breathes. “It’s lovely. It really is. Did you furnish it?”

  Nodding, I say, “I offer it sometimes as a corporate rental. But it’s yours for the taking.”

  Her soft eyes turn to mine as she says, “I can’t. This roommate situation is too good to pass up.”

  Anger clouds my vision. “How can you think about that other man when I’m offering you this?” I jab my arm out in front of me for emphasis.

  She laughs. A good solid belly laugh.

  “What the fuck is so funny?” I ask.

  She’s doubled over and can’t speak. This is not cool. Her finger comes up in the air. At last, she stands, and for the first time in my life, I get a look at Vivi in a state where she’s having fun. And she’s fucking perfection. A brilliant smile graces her face. She’s relaxed, which has erased the constant lines that reside on her forehead and in the corners of her eyes.

  Damn if I don’t want to wrap her in my arms and kiss her. Softly, passionately, and even sweetly.

  “Eric, my soon to be roommate, is gay. He thinks you’re hot. Not me.” And she erupts into another fit of snorting laughter. Oddly enough, I laugh along with her.

  “Oh my God, this is so hysterical. I can’t wait to tell him you were jealous of him.”

  “You will do no such thing.” I laugh out my response.

  “Yeah, I will. This is too good to pass up. My God, he practically tripped over his tongue when he saw you. And you were jealous of him.” She lets out another snort-giggle. Until now, I never considered her the giggling type. But for whatever reason, it doesn’t annoy me. In fact, it’s charming.

  “It’s not that funny.” But it really is. I think about what Weston and Harrison would say and I laugh right along with her some more. When the funny passes, we stand and stare at each other awkwardly.

  “Well, I think I should be going,” she says.

  “Yes. We’re going to dinner. Come on.”

  She stops and looks me square in the eyes. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  “Never.”

  “It’s Friday night. You don’t have plans?”

  “Yes, dinner. With you. Come on.”

  We get on the elevator and when it goes up, she asks, “What tricks are you playing?”

  “No tricks, just dinner. I promise.”

  We get to my place, where my cook has prepared us a meal. It’s nothing fancy, just simple Italian fare.

  “It smells delicious in here.”

  “I have a great cook. His name is Gerard and he spoils me. He’s been here all day cooking things for the weekend. We’re in luck. Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “Wine would be nice.”

  I bring her a glass of one of my favorite Tuscan chardonnays. “Have a seat.”

  We sit in the living room and I ask her about her new job. She explains it’s a means to an end. “I’m still looking, but I hope to find something soon.”

  I want to tell her I can help, but if I do, I know she’ll refuse the offer, just like she’s refused everything else from me. When her stomach lets out a huge gurgle, I ask her if she’s hungry with a smile.

  “Starved.”

  “Vivi, do you ever eat?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every time I see you, you’re starving.”

  She tucks her chin in. “Well, that’s because you catch me when I’ve been super busy. Like today, I didn’t have time to eat because I was working all day.”

  “Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been too busy.”

  “I appreciate you’re concerned over whether I get nutritious meals every day.”

  I want to smack that rear end of hers for being so damn sassy. Instead, I reach for her hand and pull her to her feet. Then we head into the kitchen where I take the dinner Gerard prepared out of the oven. It’s some kind of a chicken dish. There are salads in the refrigerator too. I set up places at the counter and we dig in. By the sounds Vivi makes, she loves it. I’d rather hear her making those little mmms with my dick between her legs, but I’ll take what I can get … for now.

  “You have it made with your own personal cook. This is amazing.”

  I stare at her mouth as she speaks. One day, that mouth is going to be mine, and no one else’s.

  My gaze is riveted on her lips as I answer. “I know. He cooks a bunch of stuff ahead of time, so all I have to do is heat it up.”

  “You’re so spoiled. Who has their own personal chef?”

  I eventually look back at my plate in order to eat unless I want food all over me. When we finish, she tries to clean up, but I don’t let her. “You wait tables, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “My turn to wait on you. Go.” I point to the living room. Much to my surprise, she doesn’t sass back, but goes and takes a seat. Then she fumbles with the remote control, trying to turn on the TV.

  “How d’ya turn this thing on?” she calls out.

  “Hang on.” When I get in there, she’s eyeing the remotes with confusion. “Let me get that.”

  “Why are there so many?”

  “Ah, the curse of too many devices.” I hit the right buttons and we have action on the big screen.

  “Way too complicated.”

  “You’re IT. You would’ve had it figured out eventually.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  I stare at her as she flips the channels. After about an hour of watching some show where I have no idea what’s going on, she announces she has to leave.

  “I have to work tomorrow and I’m going to move tomorrow night. I need to get my stuff out of that apartment in Brooklyn.”

  This grabs my attention and my possessiveness flares. “I’ll help you.”

  She shifts her body to face me. “Why are you doing this, Prescott? Is it just for the sex? I need you to come clean with me.”

  “I thought we’ve been through this already.”

  “We have, but all I get from you is the old ‘we’re friends’ thing. But see, this is what bothers me—I’m not that different from the girl who did your homework at Crestview Academy. Some things have changed, sure, but not all of them. I wasn’t good enough for you then, but now I am all of a sudden. The only real difference is that I’ve shed some pounds. From my perspective, though, the inside of me—my heart and my mind—are the same. I’m much stronger and assertive, yes, but my emotions still run deep. So you can’t possibly understand how that makes me feel to think you only want me now because I’m no longer fat.”

  “Vivi, I—”

  “Let me finish. I’ve moved past how shitty I was made to feel at that school. I forced myself to rise above it and crawl out of my shell at MIT. I knew if I didn’t, I had no chance of ever landing in a career. It wasn’t easy, but in the long run, it made me a better person. And maybe that’s what you see, maybe that’s what you want, but underneath my tougher exterior, the same Vivi you knew is still in here.” She pats her chest with an open palm.

  “Vivi, what happened in the past is done and there’s nothing I can do about it now. I was a sex-crazed teenager who went for the girl who was throwing herself at me that week. I can’t change what I did a decade ago. I know you’re the same person. Actually, the truth is, you’ve impressed me with the way you’ve changed. The old Vivi would’ve never stood up to anyone. But I liked you then as I do now. I just have my head out of
my ass now to see it—to see you.”

  “But you really didn’t like me. I was your means to an end. And I have to be honest with you. You’re not looking so good these days. I’m not sure what happened between then and now, but it must not have been good. I’m sorry for that. I am. It still doesn’t change things. I really don’t want to get involved with you. I think we need to go our separate ways. You have your life and I’ll have mine.”

  “Fine—if that’s how you want it. But if you believe the lie you’re telling yourself, Vivi, the one that has to do with not wanting anything to do with me, then you have changed. You’ve changed a lot since I knew you. The Vivi I used to know wouldn’t have lied.”

  I leave her sitting on the couch and make a call to my driver. “A car will be waiting for you downstairs. You can let yourself out.” Then I walk toward my bedroom without another glance at her.

  She’s made up her mind, so I’ll let her go … for the time being. She can lie to herself until she’s blue in the face, but I know want and desire when I see them, and Vivi Renard wants me. One day soon, I plan to give her exactly what she craves.

  Chapter 13

  Vivi

  Prescott’s surrender hits me out of nowhere. Up until this point, he’s been so persistent, I wasn’t expecting this reaction at all. I watch his back, or his ass to be precise, as he retreats. It is a very fine one, too. Then I put my coat on and leave. The driver stands by the car, but I tell him no thanks. It’s not too cold tonight and The James is close enough to walk. On the way there, I call Eric.

  “Hey, I thought you’d be tied up.” He laughs at his little joke.

  “Ha-ha. I’m headed back to the hotel. Do you want to help me move out of my crappy apartment tomorrow?”

  “Um, we have to work. Have you forgotten?”

  “Nope. I meant after. I don’t have much and I’m checking out of The James in the morning. I’ll drop off my bag at your place when I stop by to look at it, but I’ve already made up my mind. The rest of my things can fit in a couple of suitcases.”

  “Wait. You don’t have any furniture? Not even a bed?”

  “I have an air mattress.”

  He doesn’t say anything for so long I think the call dropped.

  “Eric?”

  “I’m here. You just shocked the shit out of me.”

  I’ll have to explain everything to Eric later even though it’s not something I look forward to. But I need to know if he can help, because if he can’t, I’ll have to figure something else out. I don’t really want to do it alone.

  “What about your rich boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Is he available? As in, would he be—”

  “No. He’s not your type.” Then I laugh because I’m reminded of my conversation with Prescott.

  After I explain about how jealous Prescott was over Eric initially, we both crack up. That story will always make me laugh.

  “Anyway, will you answer my question about tomorrow night? Jeez,” I huff.

  “Oh, of course I’ll help. We can go straight there after work. An air mattress. We need to get you a real bed, Viv. That’s crazy as shit.”

  “Don’t knock it. It’s actually pretty comfy.”

  “Uh-huh.” He doesn’t buy it. “You can sleep with me until you get a decent bed if you want. And you don’t have to worry about me trying anything. I’m totally not interested in anything you have below the waist. Or above it for that matter. No offense.”

  “None taken. But my air mattress isn’t bad. Really.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll see you in the morning. Shout at me on the way.”

  We tell each other goodbye and I’m across from The James already. When I get to my room, I quickly change and crawl into bed. This is a far cry from my air mattress. Large and soft, with expensive sheets I couldn’t dream of affording, I decide to enjoy my last night in it.

  It’s a crazy notion to think of how much money Prescott must have. Those apartments we visited were all very nice—in high-end buildings with rent I could never afford on my own. Then I get to thinking about what kind of business he’s in. Pulling my laptop out, I look up his name again. The screen lights up. When I first looked him up, I was more curious about his general financial status. I’d had no idea he was so prominent in society. One of Manhattan’s wealthiest, like Vince or was it Joe said—I can’t remember which. I learned from my previous Google search that he’s the grandson of Samuel Whitworth, one of the founders of Whitworth Enterprises. But I didn’t go much deeper then, but now, that’s exactly what I want to explore.

  Dozens of pictures fill the screen of Prescott with beautiful women on his arm. He certainly doesn’t experience a shortage of dates and he looks like he owns the world. Every one of the women clings to him possessively, too. Interesting. They all appear to be from the higher echelons of society, wearing designer clothing. Doesn’t this make me feel more confident? I should’ve stuck to the business section of his life. Moving on.

  Whitworth Enterprises has its hands in all kinds of business holdings—real estate, hotels, restaurants, resorts, and they even own a film production company. One of their fortes is mergers and acquisitions, where they buy up or merge floundering companies and turn them into income-producing businesses.

  Damn, no wonder Prescott has all that money at his disposal.

  Apparently Samuel Whitworth is a gem, too. There isn’t a bad thing anywhere to be found about him. Prescott’s father, Jeff, is a different story. He’s been around the block with a few wives and, though Prescott is right that there’s nothing particularly bad out there about their relationship, I noticed the absence of one. Especially in the recent articles, they aren’t ever in the same picture. Not like Prescott and his grandfather, who always seem to be together. Credit, that could mean nothing, but coupled with his “daddy issues” comment, it makes me wonder. Hmm. Maybe Prescott does have a turbulent relationship with his father. If that’s true, that could be the reason for him looking rough and haggard these days.

  Digging a little deeper, there’s nothing on Prescott’s mother. Where is she? Why isn’t she in any of the pictures? Was it a nasty divorce? And how old was he when it all happened? My hand rubs a circle over my heart as it’s prodded by a sudden burst of emotion. I can certainly understand the loss of a loved one. Shutting my computer down, I try to sleep but a troubled man with golden eyes keeps me awake for a very long time.

  In the morning, Eric meets me at the entrance to his building. “You look hellish.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t sleep so well.”

  “Hate when that happens. Well, come on up to the casbah.”

  Eric wasn’t exaggerating when he said the space was small. It looks like a one-bedroom they threw up a wall in the middle of to make it a two-bedroom.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. That’s why I require you to be neat. This place would be out of control if I had a slob for a roommate.”

  Holding up my hand, I say, “No, I get it. The place I’m in now is a slum. And super tiny. This is definitely an upgrade.”

  “Not compared to what fancy pants showed you last night, though.”

  “Fancy pants. I don’t think he’d appreciate you calling him that.”

  “With the way he looked at you, he’d probably kill me for it.” Then Eric laughs. “He’s a serious dude, isn’t he?”

  That doesn’t even come close. “Yeah, I guess so. This is a recent thing, though. Or at least since Crestview.”

  “Crestview?”

  “That’s where we went to school together. He was carefree back then—or he acted like it anyway.”

  “Hm. What’s his name anyway?”

  “Prescott Beckham.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. The Prescott Beckham—like the billionaire?”

  I sigh. “Yup, that’s the one.”

  Eric leans back and grins. “So you went to high school with the famous Prescott Beckham.”

  “I just
said that, didn’t I? And junior high, too. It was a boarding school.”

  “Whoa, girl, you’re secretly a fancy britches bitch yourself, aren’t you?”

  Choosing to ignore his comment, I move past him into the tiny living room and inspect the place closely. Then I walk over the where the bedrooms are. They are of equal size and each have a tiny closet. Across the hall from them is a bathroom that has a shower stall only.

  “Sorry, no big spa tub for you to take your long soaks in.”

  “I’m lucky to have hot water where I live now, so as long as you have that, I’m happy.”

  “I’m a little scared to see where you live, Viv.”

  “Yeah, you should be. Just wait.”

  “Why’d you move there?”

  I explain my lack of funds and how I rented it online.

  “Ew. Never ever do that again. Very unwise. And you’re so smart.”

  “Hey, we need to get going.”

  On the way in to work, we talk about sharing expenses. Then Eric lets me know what his pet peeves are. It’s been quite a while since I’ve had a roommate, since college to be precise.

  “It annoys the hell out of me when I grocery shop and go to the refrigerator to find all my shit is gone. If you ever do that I’ll beat your ass.”

  “Duly noted, but I wouldn’t be that inconsiderate. On that note, do you want to do completely separate groceries or joint dinners? I realize you have your life and I have mine.”

  “Separate. If we decide to cook one night, we can just grab what we need then,” he says.

  “What about stuff like coffee, tea, and other staples?”

  “We can buy those jointly. And cleaning supplies,” he suggests.

  I click my fingers. “Is there a laundry room in the building?”

  “Yeah, on the third floor. It’s really nice, too.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome. There’s one in my building, but I’m afraid to use it.”

  We get all our details ironed out by the time we make it to work. Before we walk in, Eric stops me. “This is your final training day and then you’re on your own. You good?”

  “Yeah. I need another job, though.”