by Emily Bishop
“I feel sorry for her.”
“You shouldn’t,” he says acidly. “She was a bitch. Had no integrity whatsoever. Just wanted to use me.”
“Sounds like a perfect match for you, then. No values. No real loyalty.”
He rocks back in his seat like I slapped him. “I know what right and wrong is. I just bend the rules to get the best out of life. But her? She thinks right is wrong and day is night. That’s different.”
“You really think you have the best out of life?”
“You really think you have the best out of life?” he shoots back. “If you had half a brain in your head, you’d take this money and start a new life, not pour it into the black hole of your father’s failures. You’ll never see a return.”
I feel like I could explode and my rage would blow up the whole airplane. “My father’s failures? How dare you talk about my father!”
“He’s dragging you down from beyond the grave. Save yourself. Jump ship. He’s dead. He won’t even know.”
I could reach over there and slap him. “Shut the fuck up, Grayson,” I whisper furiously.
“You just don’t want to hear the truth,” he hisses back. “Your father is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Why are you trying to keep him alive?”
I have to clamp my mouth shut to keep from screaming. Eventually, I muster up enough self-control to spit, “I really hate you, Grayson Fairfax. Now I remember why I hated you so much in school. I thought you’d changed, but I was wrong. Tragically wrong.”
“I’m remembering why I hated you, too. You’re stuck up and think you’re better than the whole world.”
I sneer. “Maybe not better than the whole world. But certainly better than the likes of you.”
“Aha, there it is!” He throws his hands up in the air and claps. A big fake smile stretches across his face. “It finally comes out. I knew you thought you were better than me. Well, don’t worry, Queen of Perfection, soon you’ll be away from this monster, clutching your fifty mil.”
“I don’t want your money,” I say. If we weren’t on an airplane now, I’d be walking. Someone give me a parachute, and I’m out of here. “I wouldn’t spend another second with you for a billion dollars. As soon as we land, I’m booking a flight. The deal is off.”
“Fine.” He’s gone eerily calm and pours himself yet another glass of champagne. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone or anything. Not even my father’s money. I’ve gotten through life fine by myself so far. Book your flight and scurry back to your sad little life. See if I give a shit.”
“Yeah, and you go back to your empty little life. Enjoy.” Then I flick on my Kindle, thrust the seat back to the lying position, and turn my back on him. Grayson Fairfax II can rot in hell, for all I care.
Chapter 11
Grayson
DAY 8
I can’t believe she’s leaving.
I watch her all through the immigration and customs lines and baggage collection for any sign of her changing her mind, but her mouth’s in this tight little knot and her eyes throw daggers. For fuck’s sake. Not only have I blown my chances for my father’s money, I’ve blown my chances with her. Until she got this angry, I didn’t think I’d care. But I want to tell her to stay. To tell her I’m sorry. To tell her to please give it another chance.
But feeling shit has never been my thing and never will be. I learned quick that caring brings nothing but pain and grief and who’s got time for that?
“I’ll buy your ticket for you,” I say as we’re finally free from all the lines and checks. We’re in the wide-open area of arrivals. “Look, departures are on the second floor. I’ll buy your ticket there.”
“With what money?” she says icily. “I’ll buy it myself, thanks. I’ll have to put it on the business account.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” I lead the way to the elevator. She stabs the button before I get a chance to press it. I keep taking covert glances at her. I realize that something she said was totally right. That maybe my life is empty after all. Because I feel like if she gets on that plane, I’m left with nothing. Like life would just be some hollowed-out piece of nothingness.
As we ride up in the elevator, dread churns in my stomach. I try to placate it by thinking of all the cool things I can do when she’s gone. Hit a couple bars. Flirt the night away. Make some new conquests. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be all right. But my limbs are heavy. My thoughts are heavy. Everything feels so damn heavy.
I look at her. I wish I knew how to fix that pretty face back into a smile. She taps, taps, taps on the top of her luggage, agitated. As soon as the elevator opens, she launches out of it, like she can’t bear being around me for another second. Fuck. You’ve really gone and outdone yourself in the arsehole stakes now, Gray. Well fucking done.
I push the trolley with all our suitcases and follow her to the Virgin Atlantic desk. By the time I get there, she’s already saying, “Tomorrow morning? Are you sure there’s nothing sooner?”
The man taps on the computer and shakes his head. “Sorry, madam. The flight to Seattle left half an hour ago. We only make two flights a day there.”
She sighs deeply, then scrambles in her handbag for her purse. “I’ll book it. I’ll be the first person on that flight, trust me.”
“I’ll pay,” I say. If that would make her happy, at least I could do that. It would be Eddie’s money, but still.
“No, thank you,” she says tightly. “I’ve got this.”
And I’ve lost it. Lost her. Lost the billion. Lost the plot completely. Looks like I’ve lost myself, too. All that imagining of partying and flirting and drinking didn’t make a dent in the way I feel. Feel? What in the hell has happened to me?
“Great.” The transaction goes through. It’s the first time she’s smiled in what seems like forever. She takes the ticket from the guy and turns to me. Her smile evaporates. “I’ll get a hotel room here. Feel free to go.”
My mind whirs. “I’ll stay with you.”
“Like hell you will.”
“Not in the same room. But I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I don’t see you off.”
“When have you ever been a gentleman?” she scoffs, then looks at her phone. “Anyway, I’m getting a budget option. It wouldn’t be your thing.”
“I don’t want you to stay in a budget room,” I say. “You deserve the best. I want you to at least stay at the Hilton. I’m going to book it now.”
“But I need to save—”
“With my money. Yes, I have enough.” Before she can argue, I’m scoping the signs. The hotels are in the airport, but I can’t remember exactly where. I’ve stayed in the Hilton here before. “Oh, yes, there it is.” I spot the sign for the hotels. “Come on.”
She sighs, but thankfully she does as I tell her. “You spend money like water,” she complains. “I’ll bet your father’s billion will be gone within a couple years.”
“Wait, let me load your case onto the trolley.”
She pauses and grips the handle like she’s not sure whether to let me or not. But she does eventually. “Just because you’re being nice to me doesn’t mean the deal’s back on. You’ll have to find yourself another girl. You can’t manipulate me back into it.”
The thought had barely crossed my mind. This isn’t a Grayson Fairfax game. I’m not standing back in my power, manipulating everything to get what I want. I’m actually panicking. But I’m not going to let her see that, of course. I don’t know what to say. I think about it as we walk. “I respect you too much to try to manipulate you,” I say finally.
She blows out a stream of air through her lips in a contemptuous way. “Yeah. That’s probably another of your manipulation tactics. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”
Fuck. That’s a sharp dagger. For a split second, I think about coming back with my own weapon, much deadlier than hers. But as I turn to look at her, I can’t. I say something I don’t think I’ve ever said in my life. “Well, I guess I’ll just have
to prove you can trust me.”
“I’ll walk on water before I trust you.”
Jesus.
Just about every man on the planet would give up on a woman with that kind of attitude. But I’m Gray Fairfax. When I want something, I do what it takes to get it. And I want her to trust me. “All right.” I’ll prove it to her. I will.
We walk along in silence for a while, the click-clack of her low heels rhythmic on the tiled airport floor. “The Hilton rates are probably extortionate,” she says. “Book one room. A twin room.”
“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable? Don’t worry about the money.”
She snorts. “That’s the kind of attitude that gets you broke. Book a twin room. Just don’t talk to me all night. Let me be. I want some space.”
And I just want to be close to you. I’m already imagining the room. How warm and cozy and clean and nice it’ll be. I want her in my arms, skin to skin. I want her riding my cock, her hair tousled, her breasts bouncing, her face enraptured with pleasure only I can give her. I want her to curl up into me in the night. I want her to be free. Like the time we fucked. I’ve never seen her look so… in her element. Powerful. Liberated. Like she could finally breathe.
This is so fucking weird. I’ve never cared about this kind of shit before. I don’t think I’ve ever really noticed, to be honest. You know, what a woman feels, or what’s going on in her head. It never crossed my mind to consider it. But now I’m trying to find the key to her mind. What’s she thinking? What’s she feeling? How do I make her feel better? How do I make her feel happy?
She’s still pissed as we enter the automatic doors of the Hilton and approach the front desk. I deal with it all and pay, and she can’t keep still. She walks up and down and looks at all the modern art prints on the walls. Then she walks to the elevator ahead of me.
“We’re on the third floor,” I say. I try to think of something that will break through her hard exterior, but nothing’s coming to me.
“Thank you for that enlightening piece of information. Fascinating.”
She has dark circles under her eyes. The look on her face tells me she just wants to shut the whole world out. Me included. I know that feeling. Sometimes after a long party and sex binge, I get it for days. I hole myself up in my room in my mansion and pretend the world doesn’t exist.
When we get to the room, she practically runs to the bathroom, her cases discarded on the floor. The only thing she takes is her Kindle. “I’m going to soak in the tub,” she says. “Don’t expect to talk to me tonight. Don’t expect anything from me, OK? Just pretend I’m not here, and do whatever you’re doing.”
“Tell me if you need anything.”
She sighs, then leans against the doorframe. I think one of her walls has come down, somehow. She looks into my eyes, and her own are weary. But for the first time in a good few hours, she looks like she doesn’t hate my guts. “Just time alone,” she says.
I nod. “All right.” I find a smile somewhere and hope it’ll ignite hers. “I want you to feel better.”
She pauses, and her face changes. Her head cocks to one side. Her eyes look like they’re asking a question I can’t read. “Thanks, Gray.” The unspoken question infuses those words, too. “I’ll be a while.”
I nod. “Take your time.”
Chapter 12
Isabella
DAY 8
Now this is what you call a tub. It’s one of those big corner ones, with jacuzzi jets and lovely rounded corners that hug your body. The hot water is like liquid bliss around me and all is right with the world. I can literally feel the stress melting out of my brain and floating away in wisps along with the steam.
This is one of the luxuries I’ve missed in my current apartment. I used to have a lovely tub in my old place. Now I’ve got a tiny shower stall that makes me want to wash at lightning speed. That’s where I’ll be going back to. But it’s OK. I’ll be taking my integrity and values with me. I won’t be selling out myself and falling into a black hole in a distant, messed-up part of the universe where Grayson Fairfax II is a decent guy. I’ll be in my zone. Where it’s comfortable and safe and predictable. Where everything is black and white and straightforward.
I get lost in a novel and soon the water’s turning lukewarm. I feel so much more relaxed than when I slipped in. I get out and wrap myself in a towel. I don’t want to change back into my old clothes. They’re full of stress. I stare at them on the floor, and it’s like they pulse with it.
I look at myself in the mirror and feel strange. My hair’s piled up on the top of my head, a messy but somewhat pretty nest of dark curls. My skin’s pink from the bath. My eyes look soft. I look softer than I ever remember seeing myself. It’s like… I try to figure it out. I’ve been so strong and independent for such a long time. My energy’s been my own. I’ve been walking around in my own little bubble. I’m a soldier, the only one in my regiment.
But somehow my energy’s gotten all mixed up with Gray’s. That’s what’s been getting to me. When I look in the mirror, I see how he’s changed me. I look different than I did before we reconnected. On the plane, I was sure the change was a bad one. But as I watch my soft self in the mirror, I’m not so sure. I turn away from the mirror with sadness. Even if some things about Gray make me feel safe and beautiful and not so alone in this world, it’s just not sustainable. And it’s too confusing to pretend. The lines between make-believe and reality get too fuzzy. I have to go. I have to.
I put on my lone soldier face and try to feel it in my heart, like I’m erecting a wall around it. Then I go out into the room, ready to rummage through my suitcase for a fresh outfit and not meet his eyes.
But he’s standing in the middle of the room, grinning. There’s a table to his left. A table to his right. Both are covered with plates with silver covers. “What the…?” I say. “Are you holding a conference?”
“Nope,” he says with a wider grin. “I’ve ordered all your favorite foods. Look.” He takes one of the covers off. “Spaghetti Bolognese.” Then another. “With garlic bread, of course. A double helping, because I know that’s one of your absolute favorites.” Then another. “A Caesar salad, with extra cheese.” He looks up with a knowing smile. How the hell does he even know that’s what I always order? “Chocolate pudding. And vanilla ice cream.”
Stunned, I sit down on the bed. “Have you been stalking me, Gray?”
“Forget about a little thing called St. Ernest’s Academy?”
That shocks me even more. “You remember all of this…from high school? But you despised my guts. How on earth did you notice all my favorites? And remember them?”
“Only the dickish part of me despised you. Because you weren’t like the other girls falling all over me and doing everything I said. You were kind of fascinating for that, actually. My big ego… what was it you called it on the plane? ‘Sick and twisted?’”
I duck my head, embarrassed. “Something like that.”
He laughs. “Well, my big, sick, and twisted ego wouldn’t let me show you any respect. But I had plenty of it for you. Still do.”
A nice, soft little feeling presses in my heart. But I have to leave. I have to. “You did a great job of pretending not to,” I say, trying to turn my words into glaciers.
“Well…” He sits down on the other twin bed. “Sometimes things I want to say get… well, stuck somewhere. Like a piece of food in my throat. Except the other way. That sounds gross. You know what I mean. It doesn’t come out properly. Or at all.”
I nod. “I get it.” Sometimes I feel the same, really. I haven’t told anyone how much stress it has been to try and salvage my father’s company, so I know all about holding things back. My closest friend is Natalie, and I can’t tell her. I’m her boss, technically. I have to inspire confidence.
“But… the last couple of days with you… I’m starting to say new things. Think new things. Even, god forbid, feel new things.” He laughs.
Oh, fuck. “Just a s
ec. This food smells so good, and I really want to keep talking. Let me just get changed.” I grab a bra and dress, hold the panties, and hurry into the bathroom. I’m back in a flash and pick up some garlic bread. He’s right—it really is my favorite. I’m ready to change the subject. I don’t want to know what new things he’s feeling. Not when I have to go. “So, who will you get to pretend to be your fiancée now? Do you think Lilly will do it? The solicitor will probably go for it, since you were together before.”
He looks at me like I’ve slapped him in the face. A jolt of shock, then his face clouds with confusion. Eventually, he rips off a piece of garlic bread with a little too much force. “How can you be so casual about this?”
“Casual about what?” Like my heart isn’t beating a little faster.
“About going. About breaking a contract, for one. I thought you were the kind of person who finishes everything they start.”
“I am.” I feel like I’m being tugged in two different directions inside. It hurts. “But this is a different situation. This is different.”
“How?” he presses, his voice full of weight.
“I don’t think you’re the best person to grill people on their integrity or determination or seeing things through.”
I expect him to shoot something back and shut this connection down. That would be ideal. But instead he looks down, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands hang down. “You’re right. But I’m willing to see this through. There’s a first time for everything. You’re giving up on me before I’ve even started. We can do this, together. I won’t let you down.”
“It’s not about you. It’s about me. I don’t feel right doing this. I don’t think I should have accepted in the first place.” I lean forward and pick up a fork to dig into the lasagna, but I just pick at it with the fork. The food smells so good, but my appetite’s not cooperating. “It’s not exactly honorable, is it? But I don’t know what I expected, after the way you treated me on the plane. What you said was… the farthest from honorable there can be. Grayson, I’m so done.”
