I love the entitled asshole that’s sitting beside me on this plane. And I’ve never been like this.
He’s sleeping soundly, even snoring once in a while. To me, the sleep just won’t come, even though I’m incredibly tired and I’ve had too many beers last night. I haven’t been able to sleep at all. I’ve been kept awake by troubling thoughts like this: I hate Theo Lambert, I despise Theo Lambert, but I love Theo Lambert as well.
I look inside me in search for the strength to take my revenge, but all I find is a craving for his sweet caress. I’ve been taken over. It doesn’t matter how hostile the process was. It’s done.
I’ve been bought, in more than one way.
When I was a kid, my mother took me to an aquarium. We stood in front of a huge tank where a majestic shark came and went, turning around in the blue water, coming at us, then receding, paying no mind to the other creatures swimming around beside him. There was plenty of fish in the tank, and all of them could be his prey, but he was content just swimming around looking important.
“Mom, is he not a bad shark? Won’t he eat the other fish?” I asked.
Mom explained it to me.
“If this tank was the sea, and this shark were swimming among all these other creatures, they wouldn’t last long,” she said. “He’d eat them all in a few minutes, and the water would turn red. But here in the aquarium, they keep the shark well fed. In fact, they give him more food than he wants. They stuff him with food every day, to make sure he’s never hungry. That’s why he doesn’t want to eat any more fish.”
I opened my mouth wide as I looked at the aquatic monster.
“So he’s bad? Like the other sharks?”
“Sharks are not bad, sweetie. Sharks are sharks,” mom said. “They have to eat a lot. They need to kill. They’re predators. It’s their instinct. They wouldn’t be sharks otherwise. If they stopped stuffing this one with sea food, you’d see how savage he can be. He’d eat all the fish in the tank in an hour. Even though they feed him every day, his instincts are still there. He will always be a shark.”
Years later, I came to realize that mom was not just talking about literal sharks. People had instincts too, and beneath the mask of civility that we all wear, some people were hiding the essence of a wild beast. They would hunt, break, kill and conquer as soon as nobody was checking on them. They would live by the laws of society, like the rest of us, but deep inside they would always be like sharks. The way of the shark is to take what he wants, no matter what it costs or who gets hurt.
What have I done? I ask myself as tears run down my face. I’ve been stupid, stupid and blind. I’ve fallen victim to the most dangerous predator in the world. He’s bitten me, and he’s going to keep chewing on me until there is nothing left.
And why do I crave for it? Why is this torture so sweet?
There’s only one thing to do now. What I set out to do in the first place. Destroy this man, somehow, even if it feels like I’m destroying myself.
And then this will all be over.
17. THE LOCKET
He booked the Ritz.
And then, he left.
I’ve had dinner alone in the restaurant of the hotel, I’ve meandered a bit around the hall, and then I’ve come back to our suite, where I’m now lying on the bed. It’s well past midnight and I’m sleepless again. I’ve slept a bit before landing at Heathrow, but it was not nearly enough. I’m still tired, but sleep won’t come. And I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
I guess Theo will have a busy day tomorrow, with meetings all over the city, like he does every time he comes to Europe. But he hasn’t told me anything about it, and the trip came as a surprise. He hasn’t given me any instructions on what to do once we arrived here, so all I can do is lay here and try to sleep, while I wait for him to come back.
During our flight, when he woke up, I asked him about the our agreement. More than two weeks have passed since he offered to cancel the takeover, but things aren’t moving, and the few members of the board who still answered my calls invariably tell me there’s nothing new going on.
“I can’t worry about that right now, sorry,” he told me, and fell silent for the rest of the flight. I hated him more than ever then.
Now I’m here, waiting for him to come back, wondering what’s the use of my being here in the London Ritz, why Theo Lambert brought me to England if there’s nothing I’m supposed to do. As I drift off, his clear blue eyes seem to stare at me mockingly.
* * *
It’s the next morning and he’s still not here. I get out. I’ve never been to London before so I guess some sightseeing is in order. I let the human current take me to Piccadilly Circus first, then I walk around and get to Chinatown, from there I go back to Mayfair and let the city fill me with sights and sounds. I drift off towards the river, trying to decide whether I should visit Westminster and the Buckingham Palace or go back and walk through Hyde Park. Hours pile up as I meander across the big city, talking to people sometimes, asking for directions, buying little things. Everyone is extraordinarily nice, or maybe it’s their accent. My anger starts to subside as I walk around peacefully, surrounded by people from all the corners of the world. I have lunch in some small downtown bistro (food is something the British could certainly improve) and I sit for a while in a bench as I wait for Theo to call.
When he finally does, his voice is soft, almost amiable. Which is certainly surprising.
“Where are you?” he asks.
I tell him I’m walking back to the Ritz. He tells me to take a taxi to Kensington Park instead. He has something for me, apparently. He doesn’t mention anything about business.
When I get there, he’s standing on the corner, waiting for me. It was a sunny day when I left the Ritz, but it’s cloudy now, and it looks like we’ll have some of that famous English rain. Theo’s face is cloudy as well, but his eyes keep their clear color, two blue spots in a greyish landscape.
“Hi,” he says. There’s something strange in his voice, but Theo is strange in so many ways that I don’t even think of mentioning it. “This is for you.”
He opens his hand to reveal the most beautiful locket I’ve ever seen lying on his palm. It’s shaped like a horse, and it shines with a mixed glow coming from the white and red gold strips composing its surface. A tiny ruby is located where the eye of the animal would be, and the tail and mane are peppered with emerald dust. The hole at the center of the thing is minuscule. The locket is attached to a silver necklace, so thin that it almost looks like a spiderweb, spilling over Theo’s hand.
It’s literally breathtaking. For a while, I can’t say anything because I’m out of breath. Theo stares at me, trying to decipher my reaction.
He reaches for my hand, grabs it, and gently deposits the locket on my palm. His touch sends an electrical current all over my arm, shooting pheromones directly to my brain. Talk about chemistry between the two of us.
I can’t allow myself to get sucked into this kind of thing. I remind myself that I was trying to hurt Theo Lambert, not give in to his charm. Yeah, I can’t deny that he means something to me; I’ve been mature enough to admit that to myself. But in the end, other things have to prevail. Family and honor are above mere infatuation.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally ask, and I feel as if I’m about to cry. “Do you always do this?”
He looks a bit offended. “What? Of course not.”
“Not even with Vanina?”
He buffs, annoyed. “That woman traumatized you,” he says. “She doesn’t matter. She never mattered at all.”
For some reason, I believe him. “Thank you, then.”
“Will I ever see it on you?” he smiles. I felt like I’m melting inside, and I hate myself a bit more.
“Please,” I whisper, too softly for my taste. This is wrong, I think, as my brain tries to hate him again. But in this instant, I just can’t. He takes the locket from my open hand and puts the delicate chain around my neck. The gentle to
uch of his fingers on my skin sends quivers down my spine and all around. I feel my nipples hardening under the delicate texture of my dress as his chest grazes mine in a most stealthy way. The tiny weight of the locket feels like an anchor that sets me on the ground, on this moment, right here and now, with him.
“That’s it,” Theo says, stepping backwards to contemplate it. “It looks fantastic on you.”
“So,” I ask again, “will you tell me why are you doing this?”
“Well, you’re here,” he says.
What does that even mean?
“I know I’m here. You brought me here. I’ve yet to discover why.”
“I’m so, so happy that you’re here,” he says, so out of character that I’m afraid he’s going to do something crazy, like killing himself.
“Why am I here, Theo?” I can’t wait to know the truth. “Are you having any meetings? Do you want me to go over a proposal or...”
He looks down, and as his irises are hidden by his brow, it seems like the whole scene gets a bit darker. The air is chilly. Maybe it’s already starting to rain.
“My father died,” Theo says.
“What?”
“My father died yesterday. He was living here in London. I’ve just come from his wake and burial.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. So this trip... there was no business to be done here. And yet... why has he brought me along with him? I look at the locket, its beautiful lines, the way it shines under the severe light of the cloaked sky.
He just wanted me to be with him.
There is my answer, clear as day. I needed to know if I was different from Vanina and the others that came before. Well, they’re not here now, and I am.
Theo Lambert has played with toys for a long time. But I am no toy.
I clutch the locked with my hand and press it against my chest. My other hand reaches Theo’s face and caresses it gently. It’s wet to the touch: my bad boy is crying. I soon realize I’m crying too.
It’s like our tears are washing away all my anger and hatred. I no longer despise Theo Lambert. If anything, I feel bad for him. He’s had to come a long, twisted way to let himself go. Even now, he’s looking down, trying to hide himself from view.
I hug him. A few moments ago, the contact between our bodies was pushing me over the edge, awakening my urges and desires. Now, that’s over. There’s no sexual charge in this hug, only feelings.
This moment is so sad, but I wish it would never end. Am I a monster? If so, we’re made for each other.
* * *
“My father was never a happy man, which only goes to show that the old adage is true”, Theo says, as the boat slides across the Thames. Night has fallen again and the city is illuminated like a Christmas tree on both sides of the river. It all gets a bit dark when we pass below the Tower Bridge, and bright again when we come up the other side. “Money can’t buy happiness. Sometimes it buys you disgrace.”
“How?” I ask, pressing my body against his, as a light rain falls over us. We’re both wearing totally inappropriate coats, and we feel chilly. We could go inside, where most people are gathered taking pictures and drinking tea or beer, but we like it here on the deck. Theo says that being outside in the rain makes him feel like a peasant. He looks more like a wet dog, to be fair.
“He married a heartless woman (my mother) and then another,” Theo says. “He always felt attracted to this air of... sophistication, I guess? of European women. It was a French girl first, then an English wench.”
“A wench?” I laugh, giving him a kiss on the cheek. His skin is freezing.
“This wench, for that’s how they call them in this fairy land,” Theo continues, “had something going for her: she wasn’t after his money. In fact, she had much more money than him. Had he been any poorer, people would have accused him of being after her fortune. Sadly, she was also a cold bitch, and she soon drained him out of all his... I call it childish joy. This thing he had that redeemed him and made people love him even when he was just a rich bastard, like me.”
I want to protest, but I can’t, really. Theo Lambert is a rich bastard.
“So,” he continues, “he turned into a cynical man. I was a teenager when this change happened. I was living with him at the time, since my mother, well, didn’t care a lot about children. So I saw his transformation. And it must be around that time that I swore myself that it wouldn’t happen to me. I’d never fall victim to a heartless bitch. I would become a heartless bitch myself.”
“Oh, you’re incredibly self-aware,” I tease him. I´m trying to discern whether he’s joking or telling the truth or both. Probably both. He’s protecting himself, again, by telling the truth as if it was something to laugh at. “But if you become a heartless bitch, are you not turning more or less into your father anyway?”
“Oh, no, no. He lost his soul completely. Deep inside, I still keep my heart of gold. You know that, right? Like in the movies. Also, even if I married a French girl, I would never name my son Theodore. There are limits.”
It’s been less than a day since his father died, and he’s being ironic and cracking silly jokes. That’s good, I guess. I like to think it’s me who’s bringing a smile to his face.
“So, now we finally know the story. The reason that you are such a fucking asshole. Your origin story as a supervilliain.”
“Indeed,” he says, and he kisses me. His lips and nose are terrible cold and he’s dripping rainwater all over me. The water trickles down my neck, dampening my blouse and giving me chills.
“Look at me,” I tell him when the kiss is over.
He obeys. His blue eyes are inflamed by passion now. This is the moment. This is when the truth comes out. Even though I didn’t know it, I realize now that I’ve been waiting to say this for a very long time. I feel he’s been feeling the same thing, if his eyes don’t lie.
“I love you”, I say.
“You’re quite the thing,” he replies.
* * *
The trip back to the States is much more placid than the surprise trip to England. I’m resting on my seat, with my head resting over Theo’s chest, and I’m inexorably falling asleep. I feel so relaxed that I’ve forgotten all my problems for a while. Theo hasn’t been able to save Everwood Press, but he’s told me that he’s trying to help me, and I believe him.
God, I hope he doesn’t turn into a good boy. I’d hate that.
As I sprawl on the seat, my hand finds the chain around my neck and goes over it until it finds the locket. It’s a very light thing, almost ethereal. I wonder what’s inside.
I notice that Theo is looking at it. He hasn’t given me the key that fits in the tiny hole; for that matter, he hasn’t mentioned anything about it since he gave it to me. So I must ask.
“Where’s the key?”
“I lost it.”
“You lost it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he smiles.
“Theo, you lost the key for the locket you were giving me as a gift? The one that must have cost you thousands of dollars?”
“Sadly, yes. It’s lost. I’m sorry.”
“I know you’re lying, Theo.”
“It’s true. I’m easily distracted.”
I give up.
“Well, what’s inside?”
“You’ll know. One of these days.”
Will the games never end? You never know with Theo Lambert. For now, I am content. I let my head rest on him again and drift off into sleep.
I dream of rain and blue eyes.
18. THE PILL
They call it the suicide pill.
When a company is about to be bought in a hostile takeover, and there’s no turning back, sometimes the owners still refuse to allow the inevitable. They’d rather see it sink than change hands. So they poison themselves. Well, not literally. They poison the company, making it kill itself. They take lots and lots of debt, or sell the best assets on the cheap an
d use the money to buy other, worthless assets. They destroy the intangible property of the company, its goodwill, by putting it in a bad light before the public. Or they use other means to make its value drop below the point of no return, turning the company into an unsalvageable mess.
It’s an irrational thing. But then again, actual suicide is an irrational thing, and people commit suicide every day.
The suicide pill is a last option, a big fuck you to the prospective buyer. It avoids the takeover by destroying the value of the thing to be taken over. A Pyrrhic victory, in the best case. A failure, in the worst.
When I meet dad again, he’s just killed his dream.
* * *
“It was inevitable,” he says. “There was no way out, so I got out anyway.”
He shows me the papers. Debts taken for astronomical amounts. Invoices made for the sale of the publishing rights of the best books in the catalog at laughable prices. Invoices received for the silliest purchases.
He’s administered the pill.
Right when I was about to tell him I was saving the company.
“What have you done, dad?” I ask incredulously, as the printed numbers dance before my eyes, getting progressively blurrier until I realize I’m starting to cry. “What will you do now?”
“I guess I’ll try to enjoy life for once,” he answers, letting his hand rest on my shoulder.
“But this company is your life. I...”
“You,” he said firmly, “are my life.”
“Oh, dad.”
Everything has been in vain. The innumerable instances of abuse by that arrogant motherfucker, both before and after falling in love with him. The sleepless nights trying to devise a way to save Everwood Press. The constant calls to board members. Callie’s advice. The hate in Vanina’s eyes. All for nothing.
I hate my father for a second.
Then I forgive him. And hug him as if it was the last time.
19. THE DATE
“Get ready for tonight.”
I know what that means. I need to call the chauffeur and set aside a couple of hours to go shopping. I need to get a stunning dress, a pair of equally stunning shoes, and jewelry to match. We will go on a date, which means a fancy restaurant, one of those where you need to make a reservation several weeks in advance, and then, maybe, a surprise activity.
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 89
