Desire Me

by Kayla C. Oliver

  “You bet I am,” I replied.

  Chapter Three

  Gareth

  I was swirling my third red wine in a glass, listening for the way the glass tinkled against the metal strap of my watch. I didn’t want to admit that I was bored, but that was the truth. These events were less about art and more about networking and showing off, and I resented it. However, I had no other choice but to attend it since I was one of the society’s most giving patrons.

  There were lots of photographs to be taken, and even more hands to be shook, and after an hour of standing around making conversation with people I didn’t like, I had had enough of it.

  Someone caught my eye, who I smiled at and then quickly turned away from in the hopes that he wouldn’t come up and try to strike up a conversation. These conversations always went the same way; the point of them was always to try and extract some money out of me or get me interested in a new investment opportunity.

  It was exactly people like these who’d bullied me in high school, and now they frothed at the mouth at the sight of me. They hoped against hope that they might be photographed with me so that they could form a connection amongst their own peers. I knew them. I knew how their minds worked, and I also knew that they wouldn’t have the time of day for me if I didn’t have all the money I now did. I didn’t care for any of it. I was aware of how bitter I sounded in my own head, but I didn’t know how else to feel about it.

  When I turned, I had a clear sight of Rhett Larkin and Owen Rivera. The wine I had just sipped nearly rose right up in my throat. They were the last people I was expecting to see, although that was foolish of me, given that everyone wanted a piece of the C Scape men now.

  I could sense my mouth souring as I glared at them. They were all smiles and shaking hands with some of the people who had shaken my hand just minutes ago. I clutched my wineglass even tighter in my grasp. I couldn’t believe that they were here, in my domain! I had to fight every urge to not just storm up to them and punch them in the gut. They had no right to be in my territory.

  In an effort to control my rage, I took a large gulp of my whisky and whipped around. It was only when I heard the crash of the glass on the floor that I realized I had knocked my elbow against someone. My enraged glare cleared, and I saw a woman standing in front of me.

  It was like a slo-mo moment. The woman’s hands rose up to her mouth, and I looked down to see that my wine had spilled all over her beautiful white gown. There was terror in her eyes as our gazes met. My first thought was, she was enchanting. For a moment, I had forgotten about what I had done or that I had completely ruined her dress now. All I could think about was how mesmerizing she looked.

  “What have you done!” she screeched, and her voice broke through my thoughts. Some people had turned to look at us now, and at a loss, I looked down at the broken wineglass on the floor. One of the servers had rushed over and was clearing the mess off the floor.

  I looked up at the woman. There was a bright, quickly spreading red stain on the front of her dress, covering her bodice and trickling all the way down the skirt. Her hands were still clutched to her mouth, and she was glaring at me like she could have killed me.

  Spilling wine on someone’s white dress was bad enough, but someone who looked like her looking at me the way she did—I felt like I had committed the most atrocious crime of the century. Like I was the biggest, clumsiest oaf from back in my high school days when I didn’t know how to act around girls. I felt self-conscious and nervous again; that was the effect this woman had on me.

  I stepped toward her, reaching for her because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. She stepped back.

  “Stay away from me!” she snapped, and I drew my hand away.

  “I apologize. I didn’t see you there,” I said, and she pulled her hands away from her mouth. Her nostrils flared. I couldn’t think of the last time I had seen the wrath of a woman like this before. I was still at a loss.

  “Of course you didn’t. You just pushed me—you didn’t look!” she hissed, and I clenched my jaws. She had large green eyes, and I could feel myself beginning to drown in them—even though the only emotion emanating from those eyes were those of hostility. Her hair was flaming red, just like her luscious lips. She had tied her hair in a sleek shining bun on the side of her head. Her lashes were thick and long, and they fluttered angrily on her cheeks now. Her complexion was lightly tanned, and her bare shoulders were slender and softly curvaceous.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I tried again, and this time, she said nothing. I noticed her quivering lips. Was she going to break into a cry? No, she wasn’t. She broke into a run.

  My brows furrowed as I watched her whip around from me and make a run for it. She was weaving through the crowds and running in the direction of the restrooms. I wanted to call out to her—that was my first instinct—but I didn’t know her name. All I could do was run after her too.

  ***

  She disappeared into the ladies’ restroom before I had a chance to catch up with her. I couldn’t believe she had outrun me in that dress and in those heels.

  At the entrance to the restroom was a female attendant, who looked as surprised to see me as annoyed as I was to see her. Chances were that she knew who I was.

  I stuck my hand into the pocket of my pants and pulled my wallet out. I pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. It could have been five of them, way more than I should have been tipping her.

  “Could you please disappear for a while?” I said to her as politely as I could, and she hesitantly took the cash from me. When she stepped aside from the door, I barged in. My hope was that the restroom was empty, save for the woman in the white dress.

  When I entered the lavish restroom, she was the only person in there, and I nearly breathed a sigh of relief. She was standing in front of the mirror, a wad of tissue papers in her hands and some scrunched up on the floor. She was trying to rub the stain off her dress, and I could see that she had been crying. That stain wasn’t coming off, not without some chemicals; however, she looked desperate enough to try.

  “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here!” she screeched, glaring at me in the mirror. I was standing behind her, looking at her, and I pushed my hands into the pockets of my pants.

  “I know, but I paid the attendant to take a walk,” I said to her in a low, deep voice, and she looked like she was trying to catch her breath.

  “That doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?” I could see that her shoulders were heaving. She was angry at me, or at herself or at something else. Either way, these were not the most conducive circumstances for two people to meet under; and yet, I couldn’t pull myself away from her.

  “I wanted you to know just how sorry I am, and I also want to help,” I said and took a step toward her. Her green eyes were focused on me through the mirror, her red lips were quivering, and in her rush, some of her hair had escaped from the bun so that it now looked more messy than sleek.

  “You’ve said you’re sorry, and it doesn’t fix my problem. Also, I have no idea how you could possibly help in this situation,” she hissed again. Now I was standing directly behind her.

  I got a whiff of her scent. She didn’t smell like most of the women I met these days. Namely, she didn’t smell of expensive perfume. There was something way more natural about her. Like she belonged in this art museum, like she deserved to be surrounded by art.

  “I don’t know how I can help, but I didn’t want you to deal with this by yourself,” I said, and I looked at the red stain on her pristine white dress. Maybe it wouldn’t have looked as bad if her dress wasn’t so white, but I didn’t want to make matters worse by proclaiming that.

  She threw the tissues that were in her hand to the floor. She was still angry, but it seemed like she wasn’t directing her anger toward me anymore.

  “There’s nothing you can do. I can’t do anything about this. The dress is r
uined, and so is my night,” she said, and shaking her head, she looked away from me. I thought I saw her eyes welling up again.

  “Listen, let me pay for the dress or the dry cleaning or whatever it takes to fix this problem,” I suggested, and her eyes fired up as she glared at me again.

  “I don’t want your money. I’ll clean the dress myself—I just can’t do it here, not right now. I’ll have to go home for that,” she cried, and this time, she wasn’t even trying to hold back the tears anymore.

  The more I looked at her, the more I felt like I had never seen a more beautiful woman in my life before. I knew that was a ridiculous thought. Ever since I’d made my money, I met some of the most gorgeous women in the world, and yet this crying woman in a ruined dress with flaming red hair seemed more appealing to me than anyone had before.

  “I’ll take you home, then,” I said, and she shot me another look. “I mean, I’ll drive you home, or rather my chauffeur will drive you home—unless you’re here with someone else,” I said, and she shook her head gently.

  “It’s okay, I can find my own way home. What’s the point in sticking around anyway,” she said, and she pouted her mouth, which suddenly made her look childish. All I wanted to do in that moment was to pull her into my arms and hold her close. I wanted to make her feel less miserable, even though it was over a dress.

  “Can I ask,” I began, and she looked up at me again. Our eyes met and I could feel my strength melting away. “Why this is so upsetting for you? Something tells me that this isn’t just about a ruined dress,” I said, taking a chance.

  She looked away from me and refused to meet my eyes. Her lips were quivering, and I could see that I had hit a nerve. I almost wished that I had said nothing, that I hadn’t asked her for an explanation. After all, I wasn’t anyone more than a rude stranger who had spilled red wine all over her dress.

  I heard her gulp and then take in a deep breath.

  “No, it’s not just about the dress,” she replied.

  Chapter Four

  Aubrey

  This gorgeous man was standing in front of me, whom I should have still been mad at but just couldn’t be. And the worst part was that all I could do was blubber and cry like a little girl.

  I wasn’t expecting him to follow me into the restrooms; in fact, my hope was that I would never have to see him again. My attraction toward him when he had looked up at me after the spilled wine had been instant and electric. I had never met a man who looked like him in real life before.

  He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and a power tie. His hair was blond, as was his neat beard. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen on a person, and it matched his cold stare. He was tall, much taller than me, broad shouldered and well built. It didn’t take my imagination long to wander to the territory of what kind of muscles he was packing under that innocent-looking suit of his.

  Now he was alone with me in the restroom, and I couldn’t hold him to a fault. He was being nothing but kind toward me and seemed to be deeply apologetic about the wine he had spilled that had ruined Ira’s dress. I had just never imagined someone who looked like him and dressed like him to also be a concerned human being. There was something about this man that seemed genuine. Like I could tell him things about myself, and he wouldn’t judge me for them.

  He was staring into my eyes now, waiting for the explanation that should have followed my last sentence. How was I supposed to describe to him how I was feeling? How was he ever going to understand what missed opportunities felt like? This man looked like the kind of person who had everything handed to him on a silver platter, who didn’t know what failure tasted like.

  I, on the other hand, who had so much riding on this night, had barely had a chance to talk to a single person. I’d been running late, because Ira had spent hours fussing over my makeup and my hair. It was only minutes after I’d walked into the ballroom that this man had knocked his own wineglass all over my dress, and now I was locked up in the restroom.

  There was no way that I could go out like this. My first impression in front of potential buyers and patrons couldn’t be one of being a complete mess. There was no way that any of these people would take me seriously looking like this, and I didn’t have the time to go home and change and come back. New York traffic would make sure of that.

  “If it’s not the dress, what is it, then?” he urged me on, and slowly I moved away from him to go and stand by the open window. Suddenly, I was beginning to feel claustrophobic and trapped. Like I couldn’t breathe anymore. Reality was hitting me hard. It wasn’t only Ira’s expensive beautiful dress that was now ruined, but it was also her favor that I couldn’t make full use of. The one thing I was certain of was that I would never have an opportunity like this again.

  While I should have been feeling shattered and miserable and more angry with this man, I couldn’t wipe that feeling away of being attracted to him. Now was not the time to crush on a stranger!

  Silently he followed me to the window, and I wanted to ask him why he was being kind to me. Was it just the guilt? Something told me that if he knew who I was—that I was a nobody, just a lucky girl to get a pass to the ball—that he wouldn’t be this kind to me anymore.

  “I don’t want to burden you with my problems,” I said, facing him squarely now. His eyes were boring deep into my skull as he stared at me. He had a strong, confident gaze, the kind of gaze that probably always got him what he wanted. He was standing over me, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

  “Try me,” he suggested, and a soft smile creased my lips before I could even stop myself. I was flattered by his attention, but I had the feeling that it wasn’t about to last long. Once he found out how messed up my life was, he was going to be out of here in a split second.

  “Look, you’ve been kinder to me than you needed to be, and I appreciate it,” I said, and he furrowed his brows, already resisting me pushing him away.

  “But this isn’t necessary. You don’t need to stand here and listen to my sob story,” I added, and he smiled softly too.

  “You have a sob story?” he asked. I pinched my nose and looked away from him.

  “It’s probably not as miserable as I think it is. I don’t know what it is—I just pictured this night to go very differently,” I told him, and he stepped even closer to me.

  I wasn’t thinking then about how strange it was that only half an hour ago I didn’t even know that this man existed, and now I was about to spill all my pent-up frustrations to him.

  “How did you picture this night to go?” he asked, and I noticed how encouraging and soft his voice was. When I looked at his face again, I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. His perfectly chiseled face, his smooth tanned skin, his dangerously intelligent-looking beard, and those sea-blue eyes.

  I couldn’t resist telling him everything. In that moment, I would have told him anything he asked me.

  “I thought tonight was going to be my night, my lucky break, but now everything is ruined,” I said to him, and I saw a look of guilt wash over his face.

  ***

  “You’re an artist,” he stated, rather than asked. Just those few words of mine had been enough for him to connect the dots.

  I gulped and licked my lips.

  “And this was supposed to be your big night for networking, and now I’ve ruined it,” he added and then he turned away from me. He was guilty, and the last thing I should have been feeling was sorry for him, and yet that was exactly how I felt.

  “No—no, it’s not your fault,” I said, and he turned to me again.

  “I’ve spilled wine on your dress—you can’t go out and mingle looking like that, and your chance for forming connections is gone. How is this not my fault?” His blue eyes were on fire, and his face was beginning to turn red. For the first time, I could see that this man had some deep-seated anger wedged inside him somewhere. Up until now, he had seemed calm and collected, and now I was seeing a different side of him. Someone who wasn’t
as self-confident as they portrayed, someone who was just as racked with self-doubt as I was.

  “You didn’t do it on purpose, and neither did you know what my situation was. Either way, what has happened, has happened and there is no point in you feeling guilty or me feeling miserable. It’s over now,” I said, and I hoped that he would see reason. I didn’t want him to be mad at himself, even though he was right—he had ruined everything.

  “I’m sorry. I know I sound like a broken record right now, but I want to do something to fix this. I want you to have another shot at this,” he said and rushed toward me. Even though he was less angry now, he was still feeling guilty.

  I smirked and tried brushing off that dreadful feeling in my bones.

  “You can get me a pass to next year’s ball,” I said offhandedly.

  “Done. What else?” he asked, and his every word sounded sincere. If he wasn’t being this obliging and polite, I knew I would have felt insecure and inferior around him. I didn’t know who he was, but I felt like he was the kind of man who everyone knew. The fact that he looked like a million dollars didn’t help either.

  Every time he came closer to me, I felt like he was touching me, like he was holding a part of my body, like I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe I was in the presence of someone like him. The fact that he was being this nice to me was beyond my wildest dreams.

  “I don’t think there is anything else to do. I should just go home and forget all this ever happened,” I said, looking up at him. Our gazes were fixed again, and he was standing dangerously close to me. As much as I wanted to look away from him, I couldn’t.