Rhodium

by Elise Noble

  I might have loved old movies, but I barely watched that one. Emmy’s news had rocked me to my core, and although she said to act normal, how could I when everything had changed? Before, I’d assumed Oliver suffered from a wandering eye and my only job would be to tame him, but the truth was so much worse.

  Tragic.

  A lost daughter and a man who’d never managed to find himself again. Would he ever?

  All I could do was stick around to help him search.

  CHAPTER 35

  AS THE FURORE surrounding Carter died down, I could get on with my life once more. Not so for Oliver, who still had to prosecute the man responsible for disaster number three as well as sort out the last of my Landon mess.

  “Everything’s dropped, so you’re free to leave the state again,” he said one evening over dinner. “Landon Bishop won’t be so lucky, though. He’ll do jail time.”

  “Thank you.” Doing naughty things with a lawyer sure came in useful sometimes. “But I don’t want to leave Richmond anymore.”

  “Glad to hear it, princess.”

  I took Emmy’s advice and acted normal, or as normal as I could now I knew what I knew. I was determined not to turn into a Kelly, someone who relied on Oliver for cash and couldn’t stand on her own two feet. And that meant I needed to get a second job.

  “Rhodium?” Imogen suggested. “I could speak to Louis.”

  I recalled what Dan had said about Louis, and I didn’t want to cause Oliver any more stress. “No, not Rhodium. I might ask Giovanni if he has any openings.”

  “I don’t think Il Tramonto gets celebrities.”

  “I don’t care about that. In fact, it’s probably easier that way.”

  “Plus it’s right underneath Oliver’s apartment.”

  “I can’t deny that’s an added bonus.”

  And when I broached the subject with Giovanni on our next coaching session, he was only too happy to give me two waitressing shifts a week, with the possibility of more if an opening came up. I loved the whole team there, and the extra money sure would come in useful, so I couldn’t have been happier.

  Even more so when I broke the news to Oliver as we snuggled on the sofa one evening.

  “I know you’ll do a good job there, Steffie.”

  “Giovanni’s a wonderful manager, and I’ve learned a lot.”

  “If you have to work late, feel free to stay here.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “It’s your room, princess. But I might not be around. I’ve been sleeping at the office on the nights we’re not together.”

  “Is it the new trial?”

  “It’s tougher than the other one. When the defendant’s got a legal team of piranhas as well as being one himself, I can’t leave anything to chance.”

  “Can I help in any way? Bring you coffee? Or lunch?”

  “I have an assistant for all that.”

  I rubbed my foot along his thigh under the table and lowered my lashes.

  “Do you need me to sign anything in your office?”

  Despite his obvious tiredness, I got a smile. “I’m sure I can rustle up some papers.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Any day you like.”

  So from that day onwards, we added lunchtime sex into the mix. Once a week, I’d stop by Oliver’s office with some sort of excuse, and we’d do dirty things over his desk. The day I hid underneath while he joined a conference call was particularly entertaining. I have no idea how he kept his face straight as I licked the head of his cock. Sheer willpower, it must have been.

  And every day I spent with him, I loved him a little more, and every night we spent apart, the ache in my heart grew. Emmy said he might never change, and I began to think she was right.

  Don’t get me wrong—Oliver could be sweet, like on the day we celebrated my birthday. I thought he’d forgotten, seeing as he hadn’t mentioned it, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he didn’t, seeing as he had a memory like an elephant and punched the date into his elevator every day.

  I turned up at his place at six o’clock, expecting to chat with Bridget for a few minutes then curl up with a movie, but I found Oliver in the kitchen instead.

  “What are you doing here so early?”

  He opened his arms wide, and I stepped into them.

  “Taking you out.”

  “Like out, out?”

  “Happy birthday, princess.”

  I looked down at myself in the jeans and tank I’d flung on before I dashed out of my apartment. I never spent much time in clothes when I stayed with Oliver, so it didn’t usually matter what I wore. But with Oliver in a freaking tuxedo, I began to panic.

  “I’ll need to go home again and change. I’m sure I’ve got something that’ll fit.”

  At least, I hoped so. I’d put on a couple of pounds recently, what with Bridget’s cooking and leftovers from Il Tramonto. I started mentally cataloguing my wardrobe.

  “No, you won’t. Bradley brought over a selection of gowns, and they’re in your room.”

  Oh, this was too much. I didn’t think I’d have much of a birthday celebration this year. Imogen had offered to take me out for cocktails, but she’d understood when I said I’d rather have a quiet night in with Oliver. And Mom had wanted me to go back to Georgia, but I couldn’t face the travelling. But Oliver planning something? That was something I hadn’t expected.

  So much so that I sniffled by accident, and Oliver wiped away the tear that ran down my cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  He kissed the path the tear had taken. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” His fingers twined in mine as he led me towards my bedroom. “But you need to change or we’ll be late.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  To be honest, we could have gone to the dingiest bar in town and I’d have been happy because I was with Oliver, but when I saw the dresses, I knew that wasn’t what he had planned.

  A figure-hugging black bodycon, a dusky pink empire-line, or an asymmetric red number with a floaty hem. Which one should I pick?

  Oliver settled back in the armchair by the window. “Come on, I want a show.”

  Fine, I’d give him a show. I connected my phone to the small stereo next to the television and selected something slow. I used to have a client who wanted to jerk off while I stripped, so I’d had a bit of practice at this over the years.

  The music started, and I turned my back on Oliver and swayed in time. A low groan came from behind me.

  “What? You said you wanted a show?”

  “I wasn’t thinking straight. I never do when I’m around you. We’ve only got half an hour before we need to leave.”

  I undid the top button on my jeans and rubbed a hand over one breast.

  “Well, you’d better hurry up and come, then.”

  Shit, shit, shit. Twenty-five minutes later, I hopped around the room trying to zip up the black dress while Oliver dashed into the bathroom to sponge the white stain off the front of his pants. Why did a man in a suit have to be such a turn-on?

  “Darn it! This won’t do up!”

  Oliver appeared in the doorway with a cloth in his hand. “You think you’ve got problems? I look as if I’ve wet myself.”

  “I need to go on a diet.”

  “Believe me, you’re beautiful as you are. Fuck it. I need to change these pants.”

  Five minutes later, I’d stuffed myself into the empire-line and pinned my hair to the side in a hurried attempt at style, just as Oliver came back in a seemingly identical tux. How many of those did he own?

  “Ready to go?”

  I reached for my lipstick. “Two seconds… Right, done.”

  “Not quite.” He closed the gap between us and drew a small box from his pocket. “You need accessories.”

  In the mirror, I watched as he fastened a silver necklace onto me, the heart-shaped pendant n
estling in my throat. From the way it sparkled, I didn’t mind betting those were real diamonds. Holy hell!

  He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck. “Happy birthday, Miss Amor.”

  Another tear escaped, threatening my mascara. “You’re too darn sweet, Mr. Rhodes.”

  “Not many people would say that.”

  “I know better.”

  He handed me the wrap that matched my dress. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”

  Technically, this was my first date with Oliver. Despite exploring every inch of each other’s bodies over the last few months, we’d never been out anywhere, save for the occasional visit to Riverley.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” I asked him as we rode downstairs in the elevator.

  “Trial’s over; Carter’s dead. And I bet Morty Granville won’t put in a complaint.”

  I snuggled against Oliver, relishing the feel of his arm around my waist, his fingers hovering over my ass, hidden under the wrap.

  “Then let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  As first dates went, Oliver certainly delivered the goods. A limo waited for us outside his building, and as it swept into the night, he poured us each a glass of champagne.

  “Cheers.”

  He clinked his glass against mine.

  I wanted to say “to us,” but I didn’t dare. “Cheers,” I whispered back.

  We watched the city flit by for twenty minutes, and then the car slowed. I craned my head to see where we were.

  “The ballet?”

  “It’s the opening night of Gone with the Wind. I thought you’d like it.”

  Opening night? Wow.

  “You’re totally right.”

  All around us, couples glided along the red carpet, resplendent in evening wear and diamonds. Yes, I’d been to formal events with Rubies clients, but never anything as grand as this, and I’d always tried to hide in the shadows. Oliver seemed quite at home. He chatted easily with politicians and captains of industry, one arm around my waist keeping me grounded while I got bedazzled by all the opulence.

  Then we went into the auditorium and took our seats, front and centre. How did he get those tickets? I forgot to ask as I smiled and cried my way through the performance, leaving Oliver’s handkerchief blackened and streaky with the remains of my mascara.

  “I’m not sure whether you enjoyed that or not,” he said as we walked back to the car.

  “I loved it! Thank you for the best birthday ever.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  “It isn’t?”

  He gave me his wolfish grin, the one that meant he was planning something, and usually something dirty.

  “I’ve booked the private dining room at Rhodium. We never did test out that new buzzer.”

  CHAPTER 36

  AFTER MY BIRTHDAY treat from Oliver, I thought he might take me out again, but so far, we’d spent two more evenings in his apartment, and he hadn’t suggested venturing further afield.

  Sometimes, this patience thing really sucked.

  And just to put more of a downer on the week, my mom called.

  “You haven’t forgotten what’s happening next weekend, Pippi, have you?”

  The weeks and months had melded into one recently. I worked at Java Monday through Thursday morning, and then all day Fridays and Sunday evenings I went to Il Tramonto. The only exceptions to my schedule were my lunchtimes and nights with Oliver, which were burned into my brain, and the occasional Saturday night out with Imogen, although we’d both been too tired for those recently.

  “Er, what is happening?”

  “It’s Chester’s sixtieth birthday. We’re having that big party, remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  I’d completely forgotten. Mom had started planning it over a year ago, but since I hadn’t been home much, I’d avoided the constant discussions about party food and guest lists.

  “You are coming, aren’t you?” Her voice shook a little, and I heard the worry in her tone. “You didn’t even come home for your own birthday, and I thought…”

  I crossed my fingers even though she couldn’t see me.

  “Of course I’m coming. The date’s been blocked out in my schedule for months. I’ve just been tired lately, and my head’s a bit fuzzy this morning.”

  “Tired? Are you looking after yourself?”

  “I’ve had a busy week at work, but the overtime money’s great. And I can’t wait to come home and see you and Chester.”

  Hopefully, she couldn’t hear the deceit in my voice. Mom didn’t need to know about the man keeping me awake at night in more ways than one, or the real reason I was avoiding Georgia.

  “That’s wonderful! I’ll air out your room and make sure the sheets are fresh. We’ve got a full house, and it’ll be lovely to have everyone in one place. Will you stay all week?”

  “Uh, I hadn’t really thought about that.”

  “Oh, say you will? We hardly ever see you anymore.”

  A week? A week of keeping my head down and avoiding gossip and Randy Bose. He’d undoubtedly be angry that I’d run back to Richmond after the obscene suggestion he made on my last visit to Hartscross, and I didn’t suppose Darly was thrilled about me leaving the salon without notice either. But Mom was right—I couldn’t make my family suffer for my mistakes, and I needed to spend some time with Mason too.

  “Okay, a week. But I can’t afford to take any longer than that off work.”

  “You’re still waitressing?”

  “At the moment. The tips are good.”

  “I should hope so. And you can put all that practice to good use and help serve up the food at the party.”

  I tuned Mom out as she started listing the menu choices and mentally rehearsed what I’d say to Oliver. I knew we’d agreed at the beginning there would be nothing serious between us, but things had changed, for me at least. Now, the thought of a week without him made my heart plummet.

  “Do you need a ride to the airport?” Oliver asked after dinner the next night when I told him about my trip back to Georgia.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m going by bus.”

  He shook his head. “The bus takes, what, ten hours? I’ll book you a flight.”

  “I’m still tight on money right now. Besides, I’m used to the bus. I’ve taken it plenty of times before.”

  “I’ll buy you the plane ticket.”

  “Honestly, I’d rather pay my own way.”

  I didn’t want to turn into a Kelly, expecting him to fork out for everything.

  Oliver slid his chair back then motioned me to come over. When I reached him, he hitched my skirt up and pulled me forwards to straddle his lap. His hardness rubbed against my nub and made me squirm.

  “Princess, if you’re not here, I’ll have to go a week without coming inside you, and if you fly rather than taking the bus, that gives me six extra hours to fuck you senseless beforehand. So I’m buying you a ticket, and I’m doing it for purely selfish reasons. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, feeling my panties getting damper.

  “I’ll ask again. Do you need a ride to the airport?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Is the right answer.”

  Well, Oliver kept his promise, and I staggered to the gate with two minutes to spare, dragging a hastily packed suitcase. I hadn’t even had time to comb my hair.

  A smartly dressed attendant gave me a condescending look as I thrust my ticket at her, and then her eyes widened.

  “You’re flying first class?” She sounded surprised, and quite frankly, so was I.

  “I am?”

  She checked the ticket again and plastered on a smile. “Yes, you are. Turn left when you get on the plane.”

  First class? Oliver had booked me a first-class ticket? The flight would only take an hour, for goodness’ sake. I was damn glad I’d sucked and swallowed this morning.

  “Champagne, ma’am?”

  The cute male flight attendant beamed at me. Obviou
sly, he’d read the memo about customer courtesy.

  I longed for a glass of bubbly, but I needed all my faculties to deal with my mother, who’d promised to pick me up at the other end. If I couldn’t think straight, I’d get roped into making tiny penguins out of boiled eggs, black olives, and toothpicks like I did the last time.

  “Do you have orange juice instead?”

  “Of course. With or without pulp?”

  I gorged on canapés for twenty minutes then took a nap for the rest of the flight. I’d been exhausted lately, and being woken at five by a horny Oliver hadn’t helped. But I still couldn’t stop smiling. The man certainly knew how to use it.

  Not that I could tell Mom any of that when she flung her arms around me in the arrivals hall.

  “Right on time, Pippi! You must be doing well on tips if you didn’t take the bus.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ve put you down for napkin folding and hanging paper garlands. We’ve got no time to waste.”

  “But the party isn’t until tomorrow.”

  “Some of the guests are staying over tonight, and there’s always something we forget.”

  Like the time she forgot roast beef for the main course at her own birthday bash a few years back. She’d prepared all the trimmings, the decorations, and the party games, then suddenly remembered the meat. One of our neighbours had dashed out and shot a cow. Hartscross was that sort of place.

  Back at the house, Chester was grumbling in the hallway.

  “That boy’s disappeared again.”

  “Mason?” I asked.

  “Who else? I told him to stay put, and the moment I turned my back, he upped and left.”

  “I’ll track him down.”

  I’d bet my favourite lip gloss Mason was at Reggie’s, and the walk to his house and back would get me out of the house for at least half an hour.

  “Don’t take too long,” Mom chirped. “We need to blow up balloons and finish frosting the cookies.”

  Mason was indeed at Reggie’s, and I found both of them out on the back porch drinking beer without a care in the world.

  “Chester’s gonna go mental if he catches y’all doing that.”