by Harlow James
I suck in my lips to hide my smile. “Maybe.”
Cassie claps her hands with excitement. “Alright, who is this mystery guy that put that ridiculous smile on your face? You’re not giving me any details and I’m dying.”
“I’m not a liberty to say,” I reply, filling shots of rum in the glasses for the mojitos I’m making.
“But you’re taking tomorrow off to go to some event with him? What kind of event are we talking about?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but he called it a gala. But after tomorrow night, I’m pretty sure you’ll know who he is.”
Her eyes bug out of her face. “Holy shit! Is he famous?”
“Kinda,” I answer before muddling the mint leaves.
She shakes her head at me. “I can’t believe it. You agree to go out with a guy and he ends up being a celebrity.”
“Not a celebrity. He’s just… high profile.”
“I’m so jealous.”
I huff out a laugh. “Don’t be. It’s actually quite nerve wracking,” I explain as my stomach gurgles with nerves yet again. Actually, I’m pretty sure I haven’t eaten much at all in the past few days with the impending gala tomorrow hanging over my head and I’m probably starving.
I knew agreeing to go to this event with Wes was an inevitable start to crossing the thick line that separates my private life from a life of dating Wes Morgan. But now that it’s the eve of said event, I’m second guessing myself and whether or not I can do this.
Cassie rests her hand cautiously on my arm, pulling my eyes to her. “Hey. If the man wants you on his arm, then he knows what he has. You’re a catch, Shayla. Don’t stress. Just make sure to look smoking hot so that camera does you justice, girl.”
Her bout of confidence in me makes me smile. “Thanks. So, what about you? If I recall you were supposed to ask out Slater as part of our deal,” I say, trying to shift the focus onto her so I can deal with my nerves on my own. “He looked mighty happy when you went over to talk to him earlier.”
Her smile almost blinds me as she bounces on her feet. “Well, guess who has a date next week?”
My mouth drops open. “Shut up!”
“Nope. And get this. I went up to talk to him, debating whether I should just ask him out and get it over with already, and he beat me to the punch.”
“Oh, my God! I’m so happy for you, Cass. I knew he had a thing for you too.” I flick my eyes up to see Slater serving a drink, and then back down to Cassie’s elated face.
She finds the floor with her eyes as I see her cheeks pink up even in the dim lighting in the club. “I’m so excited. I think I might barf.”
I huff out a laugh as more customers come up to the bar, effectively ending our conversation. “Me too, Cass. Me too.”
My eyes veer toward the booth in the corner, the one where Mr. Suit sat all those weeks ago, and for a moment I wonder if that connection I felt to him is the same one I feel now for Wes. The obscurity of that thought startles me, and I shake my head back to the present, pushing myself to focus on work and not all of the foreign feelings and thoughts that have pelted me since that night.
***
There’s nothing like a fight breaking out in the club to make for the longest shift ever. After security escorted the inappropriate man from the dance floor, apparently another group of guys saw that as an opportunity to stir up their own drama. Something along the lines of one man dancing with another man’s girl sparked a fight, and soon the club had to be evacuated to clean up the mess and damage made when what seemed like half the crowd got involved in one way or another. Luckily, it was close to closing, but it still made for an intense and frustrating night.
It was after three in the morning when I left and almost four by the time my head hit my pillow. When my alarm to go running went off, I turned it off as fast as I could and then rolled right back over and went back to sleep. Even though my Saturday morning runs are something I look forward to each week, sometimes sleep trumps everything else.
But now the buzz of my phone on my nightstand is waking me up again, and since I was already half awake, I guess it’s time to join the land of the living.
“Hello?” I answer without looking at who was calling me. And that was my first mistake.
“Shayla!” My mom’s voice rings in my ears and suddenly my eyes pop open and I’m very much aware of reality.
“Mom?”
“How are you, my girl?”
I blink a few times and then shake my head to make sure I’m not dreaming. “Um, I’m good. What do you need, Mom?” I ask, trying to hide my annoyance but failing miserably.
I hear her sigh and then snicker. “What? A mom can’t call her daughter to check on her?”
“No, a mom can, but it’s just been a while.” Three months to be exact.
“Well, I’ve been busy. Gerald left,” she spits out, but all I can do is roll my eyes. Of course he did. They all do.
“Wow,” I reply, but she cuts me off.
“But then I met Bob at the car wash. He’s the new owner. He extended his franchise to the one by my apartment that closed recently and took it over. He’s been very attentive and sweet.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s nice. So he’s the new boyfriend?”
I hear her huff at me. “Why can’t you just be happy for me, Shayla?”
“I am, Mom. I was just asking a question.”
“Well, I can hear it in your voice. You don’t like him, do you?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I war with how to direct this conversation. It never fails—every time she calls me, she picks a fight with me about not being happy for her new relationship, or she cries to me about the last one that failed and then gets angry when I don’t feel sympathetic for her.
“I don’t even know him, Mom. How am I supposed to make that decision?”
“He’s different, Shayla,” she insists, but this is not the first time those words have come out of her mouth. “Gerald wouldn’t leave his wife. He said he would leave her for me, but he lied. And now Bob is sweet and wants to take care of me. You should be happy for me.”
“Okay, Mom. I’m happy for you.” I close my eyes and wonder how many times I’ll have to have this conversation with my mother in my life.
“Thank you. So, how is work? And school? I don’t know why you bother with that nonsense when you’ll never finish. You really just need to find a good man to take care of you. The good ones will.”
I roll over in bed and sit up, dangling my feet on the floor. One look up in the mirror on my dresser and I can see the irritation on my face. I glance at the time on my phone and realize it’s almost one in the afternoon. I don’t have time to convince my mom about the decisions I’ve made in my life. That was part of the reason why I left. She and I are two very different people with very different aspirations.
“Well, I’m actually in my last semester at UCSB, Mom. So I’ll be done soon. And work is good, but hey, I need to go. It was nice to hear from you.”
“Don’t end up alone, Shayla. Every woman needs a man.”
“Bye, Mom. Talk to you soon,” I grate out, ignoring her comment.
“Bye, dear. I love you,” she says, even though her selfishness makes me question it sometimes.
“Love you too.”
I hang up the call and then fall back on my bed, groaning at how that was the conversation I had to wake up to today, of all days. When I get control of my anger, I stand and head for the bathroom to shower, knowing that Wes will be here to pick me up soon to make the drive down to Santa Monica for the gala tonight. He told me we’d be staying at his house down there since the event will end late, so I needed to pack an overnight bag as well.
But as I choose clothes to sleep in and something to wear home tomorrow, I let my mother’s words eat away at me more than they should. A part of me will always wonder if my draw to Wes is a subconscious need for a man to take care of me, like she always has searched for. Can I trust my head and heart th
at our connection is real? Or am I inclined to make the same choices because that’s all I’ve ever witnessed?
I mean, I didn’t know who Wes was when I met him, so at least I have that going for me. But that doesn’t negate the fact that the man has gobs of money and a life that is vastly different than my own. As much as I feel myself falling for him with each passing moment, I can’t help but feel like the other shoe is about to drop, and this roller coaster of emotions is making my stomach bottom out with each hill I encounter.
Once I’m showered, dressed, and packed, I grab my dress hanging off the back of my door, and head out into the living room.
“I was beginning to wonder if I was going to see you at all before you left,” Chloe says as I set my things down on the couch and then move into the kitchen. She’s sitting at the counter dipping some pita chips into hummus, munching away. I reach for one and pop it into my mouth before taking a seat on the stool next to her.
“Last night was insane. I didn’t get home until almost four.”
“Yikes.”
“And then my mom called and woke me up around one.”
Chloe’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “And how is mommy dearest?” Her mouth forms a teasing grin because she knows better than anyone how conversations with my mom go.
“Oh, the usual. The old boyfriend left, the new one is already in place, and apparently I’m wasting time going to school and should just find a man to take care of me.” I roll my eyes before grabbing another chip and then realizing I should probably eat something with more sustenance before we leave since I haven’t had breakfast or lunch.
“I love that she feels fit enough to offer life advice,” Chloe jokes as I hop off my stool and head for the fridge. Although Chloe’s parents weren’t even around while she was growing up, so I guess I should count my blessing where I can.
“Right?” My eyes scour the shelves and I see some chicken left over from dinner a few nights ago. I pop off the lid and put the container in the microwave to warm it up.
Chloe must be able to sense the turmoil on my face because her next words are exactly what I need to hear. “Hey, don’t let your mom ruin what you have going on with Wes, alright? We’ve already had this conversation, but I will keeping beating it into you until you believe it. I bet I know exactly what your internal dialogue sounds like right now and you need to knock it off.”
Letting out a resounding sigh, I nod my head. “I know. I just feel so on edge right now. The last twenty-four hours were insane and now I have to go to this gala and act put together and… it’s a lot.”
“What are you wearing?” she asks as the microwave beeps. I turn around to open the door and test the food, deciding it needs another minute. I program the time and then twist back around to face her.
“Some old dress I had hanging in my closet. I think it was my prom dress from high school,” I answer on a shrug. “That should be alright, right?”
“Shit. You still have that?”
“Yeah, and surprisingly, it fits me. It’s a little tighter around the boobs, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” I shrug again.
“I’m sure you’ll look hot as fuck once you’re all dolled up.”
I swallow down the feelings of inadequacy that have been threatening my excitement all week and then take my food out of the microwave once the timer goes off again. “Yeah.” I take my seat again as Chloe turns to face me.
She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Promise me you’ll have a good time tonight, okay? I know this event probably seems overwhelming, but just try to focus on Wes.”
I arch my eyebrow at her. “When did you become so wise, huh? Lately I feel like you’re the relationship whisperer when it comes to me and Wes.”
She grins in my direction. “Believe me, the last person who should be giving out relationship advice is me, since I don’t really have much experience in that arena. But, I know you, and I can sense your self-sabotaging tendencies before you can. Plus, if you ruin your chances with a real life billionaire, I might as well just throw in the towel when it comes to love, because you’re getting to live out an actual fantasy, and all I have is porn and my vibrator to keep me satisfied at night.”
I rest my head on her shoulder as I take a bite of my chicken and chuckle around my food. “At least it’s a good vibrator,” I reply teasingly.
“Only the top of the line for my vagina.”
With a snort, I shovel a few more bites in my mouth, enough to kill the burn of hunger in my stomach, and then put the rest of the food back in the refrigerator, no longer hungry as a new wave of nerves rolls through me and I prepare for the ride.
***
When Wes said he was going to be picking me up for the gala, I anticipated actually seeing him. However, I am currently in the back of a black town car alone, sailing down the 101 freeway along the coast in Santa Barbara, admiring the ocean in the distance, but feeling disappointment mixed with my nerves and irritation now.
Sam, my driver, insisted that Wes sends me his deepest apologies for not being able to be here himself, but as I glance at my phone for the hundredth time since I left, I would expect to hear those words from him as I head to a city almost an hour and half away from my safe haven to step foot into his life. Sadly, the screen remains empty—no texts, no voicemails or missed calls. Just the imminent reminder that time is passing rather quickly and soon I won’t have my privacy in the same capacity any longer.
I’m sure he would have been with me if he could, but I imagine being the boss means having to put business before your personal life sometimes, a notion I will need to accept if this relationship progresses.
As the ocean drifts away and the car travels further away from the coast, I decide to close my eyes and see if I can’t relax and recuperate a bit more after last night and the conversation with my mom earlier. I must have drifted off because as the car comes to a halt, I feel my body jerk awake from the movement. I blink my eyes a few times to clear the haze that developed while I was sleeping, and as my vision sharpens, I take in the view of the house standing before me as Sam opens my door for me to step out of the car, offering me his hand in assistance.
I fight my jaw from dropping, but mentally that’s exactly how I imagine my face looking as my eyes flick up to the two story mansion of a home I’m standing in front of. Regal in all of the classic ways with white stucco and thick cylindrical columns framing the double doors in the front and tall windows letting in ample light through soft white curtains, the house screams money and is exactly the type of home I would expect someone of Wes’s stature to live in. His house in Santa Barbara is beautiful in its own right, but on a much smaller scale.
The car I arrived in is parked in a semicircle driveway enclosed by a wrought-iron gate, bordered by beautiful rose bushes in full bloom and shrubs that add pops of green and color against the completely white house. Several steps lead up to the front doors and a fountain trickles behind me, annoying me with the reminder that I need to pee.
“I’ll bring your bag in, Miss Mitchel,” Sam says, breaking me out of the spell I was under admiring the home in front of me. “Mr. Morgan is waiting for you inside.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving him a polite smile before tucking my phone in my purse as the echo of the trunk slamming rattles off behind me. I don’t even have the opportunity to knock before the doors that have to be twice as tall as me open and a lovely older woman who looks like a grandma you would expect on a television comedy opens the door, smiling wide at me.
“You must be Shayla,” she croons as she holds the door open and urges me inside.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“It’s so nice to meet you finally. I’m Grace, hun.” She reaches out to shake my hand, but then decides to pull me in for a hug instead.
“Uh, nice to meet you too,” I force out as she squeezes me tighter than I was anticipating. When she pulls back, she rests her hands on my shoulders and studies me intently with her dark blue eyes.
Shoulder length grey hair frames her face, and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes deepen as her smile widens.
“Oh yes, I see it,” she says softly as her eyes narrow even more.
“See what?” I ask incredulously, wondering why even though I know this woman is scrutinizing me with her gaze, I feel oddly comfortable in her presence.
“Everything,” she replies confidently. Then she takes my hand and guides me further into the foyer until we step out of a hallway and into a room with two grand staircases in front of me, black railing cascading down both sides of the off-white tiles.
“Holy shit,” I mutter as Grace chuckles beside me.
“Yes, well, this is the type of grandiose spectacle you can expect to see in the Morgan world, although Wes hates it.”
“He does?” I ask, turning to take in her expression.
She simply nods. “Yes. This isn’t him. Wes is much more down to earth than all of this,” she says with a wave of her hand. And in that moment, I couldn’t agree more. I know his wealth is something he can’t hide, but I know it’s not the most important thing to him either.
“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“Actually, I really need to use the restroom,” I say through an unsure smile and her chuckle surprises me.
“Of course. There is a bathroom right through there,” she says, pointing to a hall to our left. “And when you’re through, meet me in the kitchen.”
I follow her lead down the hall where she directs me to the bathroom and then points out where the kitchen is, leaving me alone as she steps through the entrance to the other side of the house. I do my business, making sure to check my appearance before I leave, and then backtrack to the archway that leads into a pristine black and white kitchen that reminds me of something you would film a cooking show in.
With tall ceilings and pots and pans hanging from a suspended wire rack above a massive island, the room fills with smells that instantly make my stomach rumble.
My eyes land on a platter of sandwiches on the island, and my smile widens in memory of the last time I tasted them.
