by Arell Rivers
“That’s good, Ems. Talk to me. What happened?”
His use of my nickname wraps around my heart. Closing my eyes, I replay my call, “Jaci—a model from Atlanta—broke her leg skydiving. I have been called in to be her substitute on a shoot in the Caymans.”
“I’ve heard the Caymans are beautiful.”
He brushes hair off my face, causing me to lift my eyes to his. His lips quirk upward, and my eyes zero in on the bit of stubble he missed shaving. That stubble felt delicious rubbing against my skin in the elevator. Was that only minutes ago? Perhaps after I tell him about the call he will better understand why I needed this meeting with my attorney.
“The islands are wonderful.” I force a smile. “I just do not want to be there tomorrow.”
His eyes wander off in the distance for a short time, then snap back at me. “Tomorrow?”
I nod. “Oui.”
“But you’re flying out to Las Vegas tomorrow.”
I rub my palm over my nose. “Not anymore.”
His fingers wipe the trail of tears off my cheeks. “Oh, Ems. Can’t you change the date?”
“No. This is how the cookie dough crumbles in my industry. I must take the photoshoot that my Agency scheduled. Otherwise, my reputation will go down the hill and I will be passed over for future jobs.”
He rubs his hands up and down my arms. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell them no?”
I scoff at his idea. “The Agency did not ask, they told me. This is how it works.” The corners of my mouth turn downward. “I have no control.”
Gentle hands cup my face. “When do you leave?”
“Sometime tomorrow afternoon. Monsieur Price is sending me my flight details.” Shiny car keys attract my attention on the pavement, and I step away from Wills to retrieve them. “Here you go. Please take me home.”
I turn my back on the man who has been shouldering my burdens—not to mention exploding my synapses with his kisses and challenging me to be more reflective about my own professional goals—and head to the passenger door of the Jeep. As I approach, a beep unlocks my door.
Before I touch the handle, his large one opens it for me, just like the perfect gentleman he is. I settle into the seat as he grabs the seat belt and crosses it over my body, clicking it into place. Our breaths mingle as I inhale his fresh, clean scent. The heat emanating from his body provides the strength I seem to be lacking.
Instead of closing my door, Wills grabs my hand. “I’m sure Rose will understand.”
I swallow over my hurt. “She should not have to understand. I missed her birthday party a few months back because of a shoot. Who knows? I may miss her wedding, too.” My hand forms a fist, which I drop to my thigh. “No. This is the last important event that I will miss.”
“I believe you.” He remains at my side. “I’ll go with you.”
“What?”
“I’ll be your bodyguard for this trip. You shouldn’t be alone for it. Or be assigned someone you don’t know.”
“But Complete? How can you get away again?”
“I’ll explain the situation to David. He’ll understand.”
Warmth infuses my cold limbs. “You would do that for me?”
The backs of his fingers rub my cheek. “I want to see you smile again. I know how much this party meant to you. Yes, I’ll go with you.”
I want to hug him, to thank him for doing something so selfless for me. But, I do not want Wills to be with me out of some sense of pity. My body temperature drops, and I rub my hands on my arms.
“You do not have to go. I am sure the Agency already has someone new lined up anyway.”
He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his cell phone and presses a couple of buttons. “There. I just texted Price that I’ll accompany you as your bodyguard for this trip. It’s done.” His eyes lock with mine. “Got it?”
I like it when he gets so bossy. I shift my legs, a movement not lost on him. “Oui. Got it. You are my bodyguard again.”
He surprises me by bending down and giving me a gentle kiss on my lips. “Sealed with a kiss.”
His words make me both smile and tear up. “I do not deserve you.”
“Ha,” he says, closing my door. “You’ve got that backwards, Emilie.” He walks around the front of the Jeep and slides into the driver’s seat.
We begin the trek back to my house in silence, my mind a jumble. I mentally prioritize the tasks from repacking—my bags are ready for the shower—to calling McKenna and telling her the bad news.
Pulling into my driveway, my mind is a whirl of details. “Oh la la,” I exclaim. “My gift and the sand! I need to get them to McKenna. I was going to bring the gift to the shower…”
“Plug the nearest UPS Store into your GPS. We’ll send all of it now.”
Since the sand is still in the back of the Jeep, I run into the house for the gift and we get underway. I observe his driving on the freeway, only to confirm that I am not yet ready for such traffic. As if to prove my point, a car cuts in front of Wills and across two more lanes before taking an exit. My heart speeds up as I release my foot from the imaginary brake that is not on my passenger side. No. I am not ready to drive out on this raceway. I sigh. Just another thing I am not in control of.
“We’ll make it. Don’t worry.”
I swivel my head against the headrest and smile at him. Even though he is driving and should have his eyes glued to the road, he is confident enough to glance at me and return my smile. We soon pull into the UPS store and send my present and the containers of sand on their way.
Back in the Jeep, watching the cars pass, I note, “At least the sand will make it to Rose’s shower. And my gift.”
Wills drops his hand to my knee. Just then, his cell phone rings over the Bluetooth. “MOM” shows on the screen. When he does not make a move to answer, I prompt him, “It is your maman. You better answer it.”
He sighs. Lowering his chin to his chest, he touches the screen. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, honey.” She pauses. “Are you okay? Your voice sounds funny.”
“I’m good. I’m on the Bluetooth. What’s up?”
“I’m calling because I still haven’t gotten your response about attending our anniversary party next Saturday. Not tomorrow, a week from tomorrow.”
She is rambling. Why is she nervous? Before I can catch his eye, his maman continues, “Can you stop by for a few minutes? It would mean so much to your father. And me.”
He grips the steering wheel so tightly that the veins on his wrists pop. “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Just wonderful. I knew you’d come. And remember, you’re welcome to bring a date.”
In a tight voice, Wills says, “Right. Well, I’m arriving at my destination now. I’ll text you later. Bye.” His mother starts to say something, but Wills kills the call.
Classic rock fills the silence. “Your maman sounds very nice.”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re not a close family.”
“Well, maybe if you go to the anniversary party, you will rebuild those damaging fences.”
A hint of a smile crosses his lips. “That’s ‘mend fences’—you ‘mend damaged fences.’”
Heat rushes from my shoulders up to my ears at his correction of my use of the American saying. After committing this new faux pas to memory, I nod in thanks but he does not see me because his eyes are on the road.
“Emilie, my family isn’t All-American apple pie.”
“That is okay,” I say. “I do not like apple pie anyway.”
Silence reigns between us as we each nurse our own thoughts on the final turns to my house. Wills is the first to break it. “What do you say we go grab a bite to eat before tackling the packing?”
“I am not hungry.” Besides, I need to call McKenna and let her know about my change in plans. My shoulders droop with the weight of my impending call.
Wills pulls into my carport. “Look at me.”<
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I will not cry again. I am not crying again. His hand shoots out and wipes a tear away. Merde.
“It’ll be alright. They’ll understand.”
“I do not want them to understand. I want to be there to celebrate with my friends.” I am sounding like a spoiled brat, I know, but this is how I am feeling.
“I know you do.” He pulls out his phone. “How about you go and call McKenna, and I’ll order us take-out. By the time you’re done, I’ll be back with dinner.”
“I really do not want to eat.” My empty stomach chooses this time to rumble its agreement with Wills.
“Hmm. Humor me.”
I cannot deny my hunger considering my stomach voiced its vote. Rubbing my hand over my tummy, I sigh. “Okay. I will meet you inside.” I climb out of the Jeep and trod up my stone pathway. Not even my flowers bring a lift to my lips.
Once inside, I pull out my cell and flop down onto my sofa. Bringing up McKenna’s contact information, I press send. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hi there! How are you doing? All ready for the wildest bridal shower ever?”
“Bonsoir, McKenna.”
“Uh-oh. Nothing good ever follows a French greeting. What’s up?”
Because I cannot contain my energy, I get up off the sofa and wander over to the drawing Maman sent of Paris. I can almost hear her urging me to share with McKenna. I draw in a deep breath. “I got a telephone call today.”
When I do not continue, she prompts, “And?”
“And, well, I cannot make it to the shower. I must go to the Grand Cayman for a photoshoot. I am a substitute model, as Jaci broke her leg.”
“Oh, no! That’s awful! We’re going to miss you so much! I take it you couldn’t postpone?”
Turning my back on the drawing, I wander into my kitchen. This calls for something stronger than tea or coffee. I open the cabinet and take out a tumbler, my attention focused on finding my vodka. “No. I had told the Agency that I needed this weekend off. That I had a very important event to attend. They promised me they would keep these dates free.”
When a quick search of my bar cabinet does not turn up a bottle of my preferred spirit, I place bottles of rum and tequila on the counter. Neither one calls to me. Wine does not either. I stamp my foot in frustration and return all the bottles to their rightful places.
“That sucks. We’re going to miss you so much! I want to thank you for all your help in planning, though. You really deserve to be here to see how everything fits together.”
“Believe moi, I wish I could be there. But Wills and I sent Rose’s gift and the five containers of beach sand to you via UPS. You will receive them tomorrow.”
She giggles. McKenna has an irrepressible giggle and, despite feeling sorry for myself, I join her. She asks, “Wills, huh?”
“Well, yes. He was with me when I got the call from Monsieur Price. He drove me to the UPS Store, actually.”
“Did he now? What else has he been driving? Do tell!”
I giggle again. “Well, we have kissed.”
“No way! Really? Do you think your timing is right this time around?”
My giggles come to a screeching halt. “What do you mean? We never were really together before.”
“I saw how you two looked at each other. You can’t tell me there were no stolen kisses when he was guarding Cole.”
Maybe tea will hit the spot after all. “Well, maybe just a few. Not like today.”
“Today?! You go, girl. He’s always been a quiet one. I bet he’s all into the take charge stuff. Gotta watch out for the silent types there, Em.”
I relive our interlude on the elevator as I put water into a kettle and place it on the stove. “He is not as silent as you might think.” I take a teacup down from the cabinet. “And he is quite the kisser.”
“Well, alrighty then. I’m happy for you. Maybe the next shower we throw will be for you!”
My hand falters as I reach for a teabag. “Do not get ahead of yourself, McKenna. I get the feeling he does not want me, really.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to want you.”
“Well, the only shower I want to be attending is for Rose on Sunday. And I will be in the Caymans.”
“I’ll let Rose know what happened. She’ll understand, sweetie.”
After a few more minutes, I disconnect the call. Speaking with her has made me feel better. While I wait for my tea to steep, I make my way into my bedroom, placing my suitcase on the bed. I hang up the cute floral dress I had purchased in honor of Rose when the doorbell rings. Wills.
Smoothing my hands down my trousers, I rush to answer the door. He stands tall and gorgeous, holding an overly large bag in front of him.
“Come on in,” I say, opening the door wider so he can enter without a problem.
“Thanks.” He walks directly into my kitchen, placing the bag on top of the island. As he unpacks whatever food he bought, he asks, “So, did you talk with McKenna?”
“Oui. She said she will let Rose know. The shower is a surprise for her, you know.”
He nods and opens a container. “I picked up Japanese, I hope that’s okay with you. I even got sushi with cauliflower rice.”
I lean over to take the opened container from him. “Wow. I love this. Merci!” Without even getting a plate, I pop a piece into my mouth and start chewing. “Mmmm. C’est magnifique.” I offer the container to him. “Want a piece?”
Something hot and undecipherable crosses his face. His pupils dilate and his hand rubs the patch of stubble on his chin. “Nah. I bought some manly sushi for me.” He holds up a shrimp negamaki roll amongst the other containers that are scattered over my island. “Plates?”
Something inside of me surges, then retreats. Maybe McKenna was right that he does not want to want me. If so, how can I change his mind? I need to find a way.
He turns to the cabinet that I had pointed to and pulls out two of my dinner plates. Before he turns around, I grab a set of chopsticks from the bag and yank the sticks apart. Capturing a piece of his sushi, I raise it to his mouth. “Open.”
His lips break apart while his eyes track the progress of my chopsticks. His eyes flick from the sushi making its way to his mouth and my own eyes. Having spent several months in China and Japan for various photoshoots, I am somewhat of an expert with chopsticks. I drop the piece of sushi inside his mouth, and both his lips and eyes close. Chewing the morsel of food, he looks like a decadent god.
“So good,” he murmurs. He points to each of the take-out containers. “Help yourself.”
So much for making him want me, want me. Sighing, I put some of the food on my plate and head over to the breakfast table situated in the bay window. I sit and he settles across from me.
“So, tell me,” he says after eating half of the food on his plate. “How long will we be in the Caymans?”
I put my tea down. “Through Tuesday. We fly out tomorrow, and I will be fitted with Jaci’s clothes. I am about two inches shorter than her, so they will have to be altered. Sunday—Rose’s shower day—we will be shooting, with any remaining shots taken on Monday, returning back to LA on Tuesday.”
“Ok. I’m not taking over Complete until the beginning of September, so I’m good.”
At my quizzical look, he explains the terms of his purchase. When he finishes, I say, “I think it is good you are doing this for your family. Your brother-in-law sounds like he needs to get away and he is lucky you want to keep the business running in your sister’s honor.”
He shovels food quicker into his mouth, cleaning his plate in nearly two big bites. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he stands. “Yeah.” He collects his dirty dishes, strides to the sink and dumps the remnants into the garbage disposal.
“I am sorry to have upsetted you.”
His cheek ticks. “You didn’t. I don’t like to talk about my family, okay?”
“But your sister sounds like she was a fun person—”
“I should go.” He drie
s his hands on a paper towel and tosses it into the garbage can.
The disappointments of the day wash over me. I do not want him to leave on bad terms. “Wait.” I grab his arm. “I want to thank you for everything you did today. Driving when I should have been behind the wheel, helping me out with sending everything to McKenna, offering to go with me to the Caymans. I could not do this without you.”
Under my hand, his muscles tense. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve done this all before and you would’ve been fine without me.” He pauses. “Probably better off without me.”
I shake my head. I do not want him to backtrack. We made progress in the elevator. I know it. “Wills, you are making me see things in a new light. A better light. You mean more to me than I can express with words.”
I reach out to run my fingers over his stubble and bring my face toward his. Searching his unreadable face, I press a kiss to his lips. They do not respond, but he does not push me away either.
Stepping back, he shakes his head. “I’ll be here tomorrow before the Agency’s car service.” With those final words, he walks out of my kitchen. The front door closes behind him, leaving me with just the memory of the man who made this awful day bearable.
13
Wills
“Come on, Emilie. Again?”
The photographer—a woman this time, thankfully—stops shooting and calls in the seamstress for the third time. Apparently, Emilie’s dress does not fit correctly as the shoulder keeps falling down. Her bare shoulders don’t offend me any, although it’s clearly not the look the Maria Orro Fashion House wants.
Emilie’s not usually this fussy, though. She sailed through the fittings yesterday after we arrived. Well, that’s what she told me anyway. Not like I was in the room with her. I block out the image of her standing around in just her underwear as people make adjustments to wardrobe pieces prepared for another model.
Shutting off such images has become harder and harder for me to do ever since that kiss in her attorney’s elevator. The way her body fit so perfectly against mine. How much she seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. She makes me want to open up and share all of my deepest secrets. Warts and all.
