“Don’t be so dramatic. You came back in one piece.”
I slam my silverware down on the table. “That’s really what you think? I have all my fingers and toes so everything was ok? Have you just erased my time in the ward from your memory?”
“Certainly not.” My mother looks at me with raised eyebrows. “You’ll never know how hard we had to work to keep that under wraps. Having a son who’s a Navy Seal is impressive. When he cracks under the pressure, it’s not.”
It’s too much. I knock over my glass in my rush to get up from the table.
“I didn’t crack under the pressure. I broke into a million pieces. But I’m finally picking them all up and putting them back together. And I met someone great who’s helping me. And I’m done living under your thumb.”
My chair slams to the floor when I back up from the table, and it echoes when I slam the front door.
I sit on the front stoop and wait for Nash and sob. Because any hope I had for this relationship working has just been extinguished. And it hurts, because I had started picturing us together in the long run.
The front door slams and it scares the shit out of me. I jump to my feet.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He reaches for me, slowly, like a trainer approaching a wild horse.
I shake my head. “This is never going to work.”
“Don’t say that, Evie. We have a real chance.”
“No we don’t. We have nothing. I need to get out of here. I’m sorry.” I’m shaking so much I can barely stand. He grabs me and holds me tight in his arms, burying his face in my hair.
“I’m sorry. I was so stupid bringing you here. I should have known how horrible it would be. I just thought things would be different when they saw that I was really happy.”
“Will you take me home?”
“Of course.” He kisses my forehead.
Our ride home is a somber affair. I cry and dab at my eyes with tissues. He holds the steering wheel in a death grip and gives me anxious looks. I think he can sense what’s coming, the impossibility of this affair.
“I don’t think we should-“
“Please don’t leave me.” He pulls the car to the side of the road and takes my hands in his own. “I’m begging you. You’re it for me. I can’t go back to how I was before you.”
“But we can’t go forward, either. Where does that leave us?” My voice breaks again.
“We’ll go forward without my family.” He’s so certain. I wish I could feel the same way.
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
I throw my hands up. “It will cause all sorts of problems.”
“Like what? My grandfather put my portion of the money in a trust for me when I was born. They can’t touch it.”
“I don’t care about the money. They’re your family, as horrible as they are.”
“Are you telling me you really want to spend Christmas with them? Brunch every Sunday.”
“No, but-”
“God, now that we’re talking about it, I don’t know why I didn’t do this years ago.” He seems totally relieved as he rakes his hands through his hair.
“That doesn’t solve the problem.”
“Yes it does.”
“Other people are going to react the same way.”
“Who the hell cares? Is that really going to keep you up at night when you’re sleeping next to me?”
“It not that easy.”
“Just promise you won’t make a decision right now. Think it over for a few days.” I nod my agreement, but only to get him to start driving again. I’ve already made my decision.
***
I treat myself to a rare late arrival at the shop. It’s hard to hop out of bed with a broken heart. Luckily, Jordan was willing to take my place just this once.
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” I announce as I throw open the door to the workroom, trying to feign excitement for my business partner’s sake.
I look up and the shock of it makes me gasp; the entire room is covered in peonies. There must be thousands of them.
“Just for the record, I would not have told him peonies were your favorite flowers if I’d known he was planning this foolishness.” Jordan gives me a deadpan look as she hoists another bucket of the fragrant blooms onto the table.
“He had all these delivered?”
“Three wholesalers showed up at the crack of dawn. They were hustling, too. I imagine he threw a lot of extra money their way. Dinner with his family must have been worse than I imagined.”
“It was horrible,” I say as I kneel down and pluck one perfect stem from a bundle. I lift it to my nose and inhale deeply. “He’s desperate for me not to leave him. I don’t quite understand.”
“What’s there to understand? You’re a funny, passionate, sexy businesswoman. Why the hell wouldn’t he be crazy about you?”
We spend the next half hour sorting the unexpected delivery. And then it’s time to open.
“I’m going to tell you two things that I’m certain of right now. Number one: you don’t let go of a man who pulls a stunt like this. He loves you.” She heads for the front of the store to open for the day.
“What’s the other thing?” I say.
“Every customer today gets a free bouquet of peonies.”
“You’re pretty sure nobody is going to notice us, right?” Evie asks as I open the car door for her and help her out.
“As sure as I can be.” I take her hand in my own as we cross the street to Bistro Margot. It’s sprinkling out, so we duck under the black awning at the earliest opportunity. “This place is usually locked down tighter than a prison. No press. Very discrete.”
“It sounds lovely,” she teases.
“I left out the part about them having one hell of a wine list. And steak that melts in your mouth like butter.”
The security isn’t the reason I brought her here. It was a consideration, but only because it’s important to her. I brought her here because I’m falling harder than I care to admit and I desperately want to impress her. I’m hoping a reservation at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city helps her to realize how serious I am about her.
The doorman greets me by name and whisks us inside. I haven’t been here in ages; the last time was for a family dinner. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is. Heavy leather chairs and thick tables draped in fancy white linens. Thick carpeting and lush drapes that help dampen the sounds of a restaurant. Simple low lighting and tea candles on every table. Everyone speaks in hushed tones and is dressed in their Sunday best. We are no different. I pulled out my best suit for the evening, and Evie looks especially fetching in her fit-and-flare cocktail dress that hugs her in all the right places.
I watch her as we approach the reception area. Her eyes light up as she surveys the room and a flush works its way across her cheeks. I squeeze her hand and she smiles at me. I feel like a damned teenager again.
I keep my grip on her hand as they escort us to our table. I want everyone to know she’s my girl. I’m so damn proud to have her on my arm.
They lead us to the best table in the house, in the center of the floor near a famous actress and a billionaire tech genius, but my girl has other ideas.
“I don’t mean to be any trouble,” she says. “But is there something a little more private?”
The host nods graciously. “Of course, madam.” He leads us to a lovely booth in the back of the restaurant, tucked away from most other diners. “How is this?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you so much.” She slides into the booth as he hands her a menu.
“So, what’s good here,” she asks once we’re alone.
“Everything. What are you in the mood for?”
“Steak.” She rubs her hands together in excitement.
“Then you’re in for a treat. The calamari appetizer is great. Do you want to split it?”
“Hell yes I do.” She opens the menu and begins skimming it.
“And what are your thoughts on wine?”
“Yes, I want some.”
“Do you have a preference?” I take a sip from my water glass. Why do I feel like a kid on a first date? I’ve slept with this woman. But my stomach won’t stop doing flip flops. I want her so bad.
“I trust your judgment completely.”
“Then I’ll just get us a bottle.”
“That’s the most romantic thing a man has said to me in quite a while.”
I wish I could lean across the table and kiss her. “Oh, they have a cheese plate. Want to try that, too?”
“Of course,” I say.
She settles on a petite wet-aged tenderloin, Oscar style. I go with the New York Strip with blue cheese sauce. Once the server takes our orders, my interrogation begins.
“The maître d’hôtel knew your name; have you brought a lot of women here?” she asks. I practically spit out my mouthful of water.
“Of course not.” I set my glass back down on the table. “He gets paid to remember my name, along with the name of every other rich and famous person who shows up at his podium.”
“Have you ever gotten serious with someone before?” Her eyes sparkle in the candlelight as she leans in.
“Not even close. Until now.” I slide my hand across the table and she slides her fingers between mine. “How about you?”
“My current record is five months.”
“And then you scare them off?” I tease.
“And then they scare me off,” she says as she swats at my hand playfully. “I never aspired to get married young, never even hinted at it. But they’d drop down on one knee and present that little jewelry box with this air of . . .” She waves her hands as she searches for the right words. “I don’t know. Like they were doing me some big favor or something.”
“Exactly how many men have proposed to you?” I raise one eyebrow.
“Exactly 3. Don’t worry, I said no to all of them. I’m not a secret divorcee or anything.”
The wine arrives just in time. I’m already a little jittery about securing a place in her heart. Hearing about the men who failed before me isn’t exactly a confidence booster. Then again, I don’t know how many of them made her scream like a banshee when they laid between her thighs. The thought brings a smile to my face.
“What are you smiling about over there?”
“I was just thinking about how much I enjoy your company.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she says as she raises her glass. “This is going even better than I imagined.”
I clink my glass against hers.
“Then let’s keep it going.”
“You should have started dating this man years ago,” Jordan says as she pages through the order book. “We’re going to have to hire extra help with all the business his family has been throwing our way.”
“It is nice. Maybe we’ll be able to open that second location earlier than planned.” I clear my workstation of debris and wash it down. I like to start each new arrangement with a fresh slate.
“I can work on the next one,” I say. “What it is?”
She runs her index finger along the bottom of the page. “Feminine and extravagant. Up to $300. No other restrictions.”
“I guess it’s time to play,” I say as I pull a large oval vase from the shelf. It’s nearly a foot wide and heavy as hell. I deposit in on my table with a groan and move to the buckets of flowers. I wait for inspiration to strike.
It doesn’t take long.
I stick with a pink and purple theme for the main flowers: hot pink ranunculus with tissue paper thin petals, deep purple snapdragons, delicate pink orchids, lavender tulips, and big stalks of lilacs. I weave in vibrant greenery and white accent flowers, making small adjustments until the final version is spectacular.
“What do you think?”
“I think you have the touch. We should take a pic of that one for the look book.” She grabs the camera off the shelf.
“What do I put on the card?” I grab a heavyweight card and miniature envelope.
“To Elizabeth. I was a beast the other night. Please forgive me. Let’s try again soon.”
I giggle. “Someone in the family must have been very naughty,” I say. “I hope it wasn’t Nash’s dad. That would be awkward.”
She doesn’t laugh, so I look up, thinking she didn’t hear me. But she’s still staring at the book, with her finger resting on the order sheet. Her face looks sad, and I feel raw panic rise up in my chest.
“Sorry, Evie. It says it’s from Nash.”
“Oh,” I say. I’m completely at a loss for words. So is Jordan. She stands there, hands hanging at her sides, struggling for the right thing to say as I sign the card, slide it into the envelope, and attach it to the floral arrangement.
“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” she finally manages.
“The only misunderstanding was mine. When I assumed a leopard could change its spots.”
“Evelyn-” She reaches for me but I brush her off. I need to get to the bathroom, where I can lock the door, cry for minute, and then pull myself together.
“It’s okay, Jordan. I just need a minute and I’ll be fine. I knew this day was coming.”
It’s a damn lie. I’m not okay. And I didn’t see this coming at all. In fact, I had started working with a costume designer friend of mine on a dress for the ball. Because I thought it was really my chance. To be loved by a man so wonderful I could hardly believe it. And now I realize what a fool I was for wanting it to be true.
I make it to the single-stall bathroom in the front of the store before the tears spill over. I lock the door behind me, flip the seat lid down, and grab a fresh hand towel from the cupboard. I bury my face in the soft cotton and wail as my heart breaks. It’s a full on ugly cry: my lips tremble, my shoulders shake, and snot runs freely from my nose.
I cry because I thought I found the love of my life and now I realize it was all a lie. And I’m a fool for believing it. I cry because I was so happy, and now it’s all gone, and I can’t imagine that I’ll ever be happy again. I cry because I still love him, even though I gave him everything and he destroyed me. I cry until I think I can’t cry anymore. But I do.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Go away, Jordan. I don’t want to talk.” I sound like I’m yelling from underwater.
“I know babe. And you don’t have to.” She tries the knob but the lock engages. “Maria is coming in to cover the front of the store today. I’ll take all your appointments. We open in 15 minutes, and I want you out of here before then. Go home and take care of yourself.”
“Okay,” I weep.
“Do you need me to call you a cab?”
“No, I’ll manage.” I rise to my feet.
“I’m worried about you. I want you to call me later.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” It comes out as a partial wail.
“Call me later?”
“Okay.” I look in the mirror. My face is a fucking mess. Blotchy, swollen, red. Mascara runs down my cheeks. I bend to the sink and splash cold water on my face. I blow my nose after I wipe away the dark stains of mascara. “You just need to hold it together long enough to make it to the car,” I say to my reflection.
I take a deep breath and open the door. Jordan is there with my coat and purse. Her eyes are watery but she puts on a strong face for me.
“You’ll be okay, hon.” She pats my back as she walks me to the door. “You’re stronger than you know.”
I manage a weak nod and I close the door behind me.
I flop on the sofa as soon as I get home. I’m too exhausted and emotionally wrung out to read or watch TV, so I just stare at the ceiling and feel sorry for myself. I cry until I’m out of tears. When I’m finally so thirsty I can’t stand it, I walk to the fridge and grab out a bottle of white wine. I was saving it for a special occasion, but it’s an emergency and I can’t be choosy. I debate drinking it straight from the bo
ttle in my despair, but my manners win out and I grab a large glass from the cupboard. And a pint of ice cream from the freezer.
My phone vibrates and I hustle back to the couch. I’m sure it’s Jordan, checking in on me. It’s not.
I’m missing you, babe. Want to grab dinner tonight?
Possible responses run through my mind:
Not if you were the last man on earth.
Why don’t you go fuck yourself.
If you can steal some time away from Elizabeth.
I hate you.
Instead, I decide to take the high road and just ghost him. I toss my iPhone down in disgust and grab my laptop. I need a distraction. Because I don’t hate him. I’m still fucking crazy about him.
I start scrolling through my usual websites. Reviewing the local news and the national news. Checking in with my favorite bloggers. And then, for a little guilty pleasure, my favorite celebrity gossip site.
My hand flies to my chest and I gasp as the page loads. Because the front page is me. I’m with Nash, of course, tucked in the corner table of the candlelit restaurant from the night before. I guess he wasn’t as good as avoiding the press as he thought.
Billionaire Playboy with Mystery Woman
They must have been working with one hell of a telephoto lens, because I can see every detail of the scene. And the more I examine the photo, the more confused I get.
I click on the link to see the rest of the photos.
They have every angle, every detail. And I just don’t get it, because, just like that text of the article points out, he does look totally enamored with me. He laughs at my jokes, gazes into my eyes, and doesn’t take his eyes off me once. We look totally love struck; I don’t think it would be a first page story if we didn’t.
How could he have me so fooled? Maybe I should just call him. Give him a chance to explain.
No.
I won’t give him a chance to hurt me again. Or to try to explain things away with some bullshit story. I’m suddenly exhausted from my emotionally draining morning. I snap my laptop closed, slide it onto the floor, and curl up with a pillow on the couch. Maybe things will be clearer after a little shut eye.
Body Worship: The Billionaire and the BBW: Body Heat Series Book 3 Page 7
