by Stella Rhys
London, asshole.
Emmett knew exactly where Sara was going. He’d gotten it wrong on purpose to bait me into talking, but over a week later, I wasn’t interested. It was easier to let Emmett assume the reasons I offered Sara the job in London. Like everyone else, he figured it had to do with my particular relationship with work.
I preferred that than telling him about Turner.
He’d find out eventually anyway, once he realized that no deal went through, I still owned the resort in Biarritz, and the stadium was not partnering with Roth Entertainment, now or ever.
Thanks to Turner’s drunken 4AM calls that pulled me out into the hall during that last night in Biarritz, we were right back to where we started.
“For such a hard ass, you don’t have proper control of your subordinates, Hoult.”
“Do you even hear yourself, Turner?” I asked as we stood down the hall from my room. He was wasted, and I shouldn’t have considered meeting him out here for this conversation, but the last thing I wanted was for Sara to hear this. “Do you honestly believe that I would ask this of anyone who works for me?”
“You could. You know well that you could,” Turner slurred. He was swaying, red-eyed, and reeking of every liquor in existence, but he stuck fervently to his point. “You’re Julian Hoult. You’re like me. You have resources. You have money, possessions and connections that people won’t ever get in their lives even if they work their hardest,” Turner sneered. “Now, come on. Think of one thing you can hold over Sara’s head. It could be as simple as her job. Just tell her you’ll fire her if she doesn’t say yes. I mean for fuck’s sake, I’m asking for a weekend. One weekend. And I’ll be taking her somewhere nice. I’m not going to fucking lock her in a dungeon – I’ll wine and dine her and all that jazz. You just need to make it clear that I expect her to reciprocate.”
“You are out of your fucking mind, and that’s not going to happen.”
“Then I’m pulling out of this deal and blacklisting Empire Stadium from all future Roth Entertainment events,” Turner grinned like the fucking Joker. “Don’t believe I’ll do it? Try me,” he laughed. “But before you do that, ask yourself if it’s really worth it for some girl. I’m not fucking buying her from you and turning her into my sex slave. I want to fuck her a couple times over a weekend and move on. You know me. I like the chase.”
“Then you’ll love the fact that you’ll never in your life lay a finger on Sara.”
“Hoult. Don’t talk about her like she’s some precious little sweetheart. Trust me, she has experience in this kind of thing. You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
Evidently, Turner’s curiosity had compelled him to give Sara’s name to someone at his office in New York. And apparently, that person had found the article detailing Sara’s arrest when she was seventeen.
I felt fucking sick when I realized it.
I knew well that I was solely to blame for putting Sara on the radar of someone like Turner. His obsession with instant gratification was dangerous on its own – combined with his wealth, entitlement and resources, and you had this fucking shitshow.
It was revolting, and it took everything in me to keep from strangling him right there, especially when he called Sara an “itch” he needed to scratch. For his own fleeting want, he was willing to send her hurtling back to the most painful time in her life.
Then again, he didn’t know about her past.
But I did.
I had opened that old wound of hers that night in the Hamptons. I’d made Sara face the past she had swept under the rug because I needed to know more about her. I needed to protect her.
And in sending her to London, I hoped I was doing just that.
Even if he tracked her down, Turner’s impulses were unlikely to follow Sara to London. I had a hunch that that gratification wasn’t quite instant enough for him.
I also had a hunch that between Turner and myself, the worst was yet to come. He was unlikely to just forget and move on from the fact that I’d knocked him out during our last night in Biarritz, and left him to be tended to by hotel staff. He was proud, way too egotistical to leave things where they were, and whatever bullshit he had planned for me, I didn’t want Sara around to see it.
I didn’t want her to feel guilty the way I knew she would – like she had something brand new to repent for. I just wanted her to be blithely oblivious, like Lucie.
And if that meant the end of us then I’d have to deal. She would eventually move on. Her new life in London would make sure of that.
I would move on as well.
I’d go back to focusing on my work with everything I had in me. I would hunt for new ways to launch my stadium to the top, and I would fall back into my routine of spending every day at the office, some nights out with Emmett and Lukas, and every Sunday with my family.
I would transition seamlessly back into that reality.
That was what I told myself at least.
39
SARA
Three weeks in, and I was still stuck in a cruel loop. I waited every day for it to be different, but every day it was the same.
From the moment I woke up every morning in my little flat, I felt disoriented.
Some days, I jolted up from bed, my heart pounding at the prospect of being late for June Magazine. Other days, I rolled over expecting to see out my hotel room window overlooking Biarritz.
Those mornings were obviously worse. They never failed to start my day off all wrong, throwing me off so badly I’d have to sit at the edge of my bed for five minutes, taking in my surroundings so I could fully grasp where I was.
I blamed my dreams.
They were so damned vivid, and they refused to let me forget either New York or Biarritz, or the man who, at this point, felt like another one of my fantasies. Even after particularly good days at work, I’d come home, have dinner, watch some TV, then sleep and promptly dream again about him. It was ridiculous considering how many wonderful new things I had going on.
For starters, the job at Una was good. Great, in fact. I adored Grayson and all the other women at the office. We brought each other snacks and coffee, and stuck notes and doodles on each other’s computers. We helped each other with research and writing, and we waited for one another to walk out of the building at the end of the day. At the bar after work, we happily continued talking shop because we genuinely loved what we did.
It was a stark contrast to the competition and cattiness that June Magazine fostered among its staff, and it was technically everything I’d ever dreamed of in a job.
I even had my mother staying in London indefinitely. She didn’t tell me how she afforded the hotel room so close to my studio. She didn’t talk about how much it cost for Dad to fly in and visit us last weekend, and she told me not to ask, so I didn’t. I was just grateful to have her, and to feel some sense of home since there was so damned much I missed about being back in New York.
I missed Lia, obviously. Even at my busiest at June Magazine, I still talked to her every day, and saw her at least once a week at our little coffee shop on 18th Street.
I missed my apartment in Little Italy. I’d lived there for so long, and had personalized every inch of it to my liking. Breaking the lease I’d had since graduating college at twenty-two was, as dramatic as it sounded, kind of horrifying. But Lia did her best to comfort me on that front.
“It’s okay, because when you move back, you can live with me,” she had said at the airport, acting as if her bright smile disguised the tears actively streaming down her cheeks. “Lukas will move into the Hamptons home full-time. He won’t even mind. And if he does, then tough. That’s what he gets for staying friends with that guy.”
She refused to say his name, like he was Voldemort. She encouraged me to follow suit, and I did.
But it didn’t stop me from seeing him everywhere I went. In the busy streets, during the early rushes, I convinced myself daily that I saw him. On the tube, I fantasized that the wisp
of brown hair behind the trio of women was him. When my phone rang, at work or at home, I imagined I’d pick up and hear his gorgeous voice.
I was pretty sure my refusal to say his name was what drove me to dream of him so vividly. It was like my mind rejecting Lia’s idea to forget him. It felt as if it was working harder to produce images of him when I was asleep, unable to distract or defend myself.
Hence the disoriented mornings.
But I was only three weeks in. I told myself to wait it out till five. That was how long I’d been at his office, working his job, and sometimes going to bed next to him. Five weeks was apparently what it took for my body to adjust to a new reality, so in five weeks, I promised I’d check up on myself and make sure that I was doing just fine.
After all, he had probably already moved on.
He was probably working hard every day, and seeing Lukas and Emmett at night. While I had not even gone on a date, he had probably slept with at least half a dozen new women.
It killed me to think about, which I hated, because that meant I still cared. It meant I still pined for someone who didn’t want me. It was the same as pining for approval from the kids who tortured me in high school, and the girls who ruined my life in college. It was completely fucking wrong, and against everything I stood for in order to respect myself.
So I made myself hold out.
Five weeks, Sara. It was my magic number, and the star of my new fantasy that someday soon, everything would fall into place and be perfectly fine.
40
SARA
“I heard a thing,” Lia said cryptically as I dried my post-dinner dishes. Polishing a plate, I narrowed my eyes across my tiny kitchen counter, at the stool I’d put my phone on. We were on speakerphone, but Lia’s voice was oddly hushed.
“Can you talk louder?” I asked.
“No. I’m at Lukas’s office. He was in the conference room, and I was right outside the door when I realized he was talking to Julian.”
“Oh my God, you said his name.”
“Omigod! Shit,” Lia cursed. “Damn it. We had such a streak going.”
“It’s fine,” I said with a laugh – or at least my attempt at a laugh. I hadn’t succeeded at a real-sounding one in awhile.
Five weeks in, and I wasn’t feeling better.
I slept fewer hours now, but I wasn’t seeing him any less in my dreams, in the streets, on the tube – even in the elevator at my office.
According to my mom, my voice was weary these days. I had bags under my eyes from staying up late at night. The women at work whispered about me in the corner, racking their minds to brainstorm ideas with which to cheer me up. Three days in a row, they took me somewhere beautiful for lunch. When that didn’t work, they took me to a male strip club in hopes of at least making me laugh, which I remember kind of doing.
But they knew I was breaking.
I had arrived in London with some hope of starting over. There was a bit of brightness in my eyes. But over a month later, I had officially withered like a new plant that had been watered only once. I’d run out of energy. I missed home, and I still felt thoroughly disoriented – like I didn’t know what was real or not.
Since our daily calls continued, I knew Lia could tell. She could sense a difference in me from just how many rings it took for me to pick up the phone. So when she said that she had “heard” a thing, I knew it was more likely that she had, for my benefit, “deliberately eavesdropped” a thing.
“Did you know…” she started, keeping me on edge.
“Did I know what, Lia?” I asked.
“What was the name of the place you went to in France again?”
“Biarritz,” I replied, my heart giving a twist. “Why are you asking about Biarritz?” I asked, my pulse suddenly uneven.
“You were there to sell Julian’s resort to those guys, right?”
“Yes. They’re in negotiations now. They’ll probably finish soon,” I mumbled, going back to polishing my plate. I heard Lia rustling on the other end.
“Um…”
“Lia. What?”
“I overheard today that that deal never went through.”
I paused. “What?”
“The deal with the Perv Bros? It got nixed while you guys were still in, um, Bi… Buh… how do you say it again?”
“Biarritz.”
“That. Anyway, I may or may not have threatened Lukas for information when we got home, under the promise that I’d never tell you – ”
“Did he really believe you wouldn’t tell me?”
“No, it was probably for his own conscience,” Lia said hastily. “But anyway, what Lukas said was that Turner said something ‘indecent’ to Julian that resulted in Julian ‘knocking him the fuck out’ the last day you guys were there. And whichever Perv Bro he knocked out, that guy’s still harassing him. So I guess right now, Julian and Lukas are putting their minds together to fight fire with fire. I swear to God, you give those boys a grudge to hold against someone, and they’ll team up to annihilate you. Their brains together are scary.”
“Hold up, Lia – focus,” I pleaded, my heart beating fast. “So Julian hasn’t been doing business with the Roths this whole time I’ve been gone?”
“Girl, no. Unless by doing business you mean plotting ways to kill each other.”
“Shit,” I whispered, practically dropping the plate on my counter with a loud clatter that made her curse. “I’m sorry,” I apologized hastily as my mind tried to piece things together.
I couldn’t help but imagine that Turner had said something about me.
I remembered the rage in Julian’s eyes when he watched Turner whisper to me during that last dinner. I remembered thinking he might actually kill Turner when we overheard him trashing me in the men’s bathroom, and I had a strong feeling now that the Biarritz deal had fallen through entirely because of me.
“Fuck. I screwed him,” I whispered.
“You sure did, girl. On every surface at his office.”
“Lia.”
“Sorry, sorry. But please, please, Sara, don’t punish me for telling you this by blaming yourself and spiraling into some dark place. I know I’m biased here, but if this is anyone’s fault besides those nasty Perv Bros, it’s Julian’s.”
“Lia, stop – ”
“I’m serious. He chose to hire you when he already had feelings about you – even if they were just minor then, he knew the risks that came with this. He was just cocky that he could stay professional as always. He had no idea what the fuck he was up against with you,” she said, a grin in her voice.
“You’re taking way too much pleasure in this conversation right now.”
“Only because I feel the wheels turning in your brain right now, and it’s giving me this strange best friend ESP,” she said.
“Really. And what am I thinking right now?” I challenged.
“That you need to talk to him in person.”
“Fine.”
“In New York. Right?”
“Yes.” My stomach churned at the thought of going home. The idea alone snapped me out of the five-week daze I’d been in. “But just thinking about it scares me right now. I can’t handle the thought of going there, getting to his office and being told by reception that he has no time for me. Or worse, being told by Julian that he has no time for me.”
Lia sighed.
“Look, Sara. None of this would’ve blown up if Julian didn’t get emotionally invested in you. He could have closed the deal easy if it weren’t for the fact that he fell for you. Do you know how many other times he’s done business by looking the other way when someone got screwed? He’s a ruthless asshole,” Lia said.
“I don’t know where you’re going with this.”
“I’m saying he probably still cares about you. At this point, we both have reason to suspect that this deal fell through because he was in some way defending you. So why are you afraid to just fly home for the weekend and get yourself some real closure?”
“Because I’ve seen how easily Julian can flip the switch, Lia, and it’s as hurtful as it is scary. He can go from loving one second to completely unrecognizable the next. He acts cold and distant, like he’s never even met you. It’s not something you can forget easily, and I’m afraid to see it again. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt me all over again.”
“Well, you stayed at June Magazine longer than you wanted because you were afraid that no other job would ever take you. Maybe you’ll stay in London longer than you want because you’re afraid of ever coming back to New York.”
“Jesus, Lia,” I said, unsure if I was impressed or pissed over the tough love.
“You know I’m right.”
I clenched my jaw. “I also know you’re doing something sketchy right now. Why are you typing so fast?”
“Searching flights.”
“Ugh.”
“Humor me. Tell me one good thing about Julian. Your favorite memory.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I had floated over to the couch without realizing it. The dishrag was still in my hand. I tossed it aside and sat down so I could think.
There were actually too many good memories to choose from. I wasn’t even sure how we’d made so many in just a span of five weeks. I smiled just thinking about the way he cupped the back of my thighs as he leaned against his bike at that gas station. The sun was setting behind him, and he studied me like he was trying to figure me out. I thought about the nights we spent in bed, when I slept and he sat awake, tenderly stroking his fingers through my hair.
I wasn’t sure why those memories popped up, and I had a feeling Lia wouldn’t quite appreciate them the way I did, so I went with a different story for her – the first lunch he took me out on at the office. She said she was unimpressed with the story and asked for a new one. I rolled my eyes and told her, for the first time, actually, about the night Julian comforted me after the blowup at the fire pit.
“Does that suffice?” I asked Lia when I finished.
“You tell me. I was only asking you to tell me all those stories so you’d remind yourself what a surprisingly good guy he is,” she said, making my cheeks go hot. “Are you still convinced he’ll give you the cold shoulder if you come back?”
