by JA Huss
“What are you talking about? We fucked last night, nothing more.”
“Really? That’s all it was? You didn’t feel any connection with me at all?” He pauses again, but I get the feeling he’s got more to say and I can’t help but be intrigued. So I stay silent. “Because I did. It was fun, Tiff. But it was more than fun. It was nice. And I was seriously hoping you had real feelings for me. Because I’d like to get to know you better.”
I don’t know what to say to that. A childish insult just seems wrong. What if he is sincere? Would I want him?
He’s definitely hot. So yeah, I guess there’s that. But his personality, God, what do I do with that? He’s a callous player. He thinks love is a game. He’s out for himself. And he’s a stripper, for Pete’s sake. How will a man like him care for me? He’s a I’m-gonna-walk-out-on-you kind of guy if ever there was one. I just know it. The minute I depend on him, those true colors will come through and he’ll leave me. Just like my real father did to my mother. Cole is the stable choice. Just like Randall was the stable choice for my mom. “It’s not about me being good enough for you, Fletcher. It’s whether you’re good enough for me.”
Silence.
And then hang-up beeps.
I just stare at the phone. What the fuck was that? Since when does he have feelings? Like any feelings? He’s Mr I Have No Feelings! And we have one night of great sex and I’m supposed to believe he’s changed? How the fuck does that make sense?
Just put him out of your mind, Tiffy. He’s no one. He’s using you. He’s the worst kind of player. Because maybe he does have an inkling of emotion in him beyond lust, but I just know he’s a flight risk. I can see it now. I tell him what he wants to hear, we have a few great weeks of hot sex, and then he’s on to the next project. That’s all girls are to him. Projects.
“Fuck that. I’m not a project.”
But I am. Because I made a deal with him to get Cole.
No. It’s not the same, Tiffy. Nothing he did helped me. Cole wasn’t interested in me when I was flirting. He was the opposite of interested. He only became interested when I was real. When I put myself out there without any help from Fletcher and made my move. I’m the one who got him excited about having dinner with me today. I’m the one who took a chance. And Fletcher had nothing to do with that. Cole likes me when I’m me. Fletcher just likes me when I’m naked.
I take a deep breath and pull on some shorts and a tank top. I’m going to the spa. I’m gonna relax for the whole day, and then get prettied up and meet Cole for dinner. I’m not gonna waste my chance with the possibility of a maybe from Fletcher Novak. No way.
Chapter Twenty-Six
My spa time is anything but relaxing. My conversation with Fletcher dominates my thoughts. Why now? Why, when life seems to be going just the way I planned, does he have to try to convince me he’s changed his stripes?
I don’t understand. I’m not equipped to understand, if I’m being honest. I’m not a player. I should never have gotten mixed up with Fletcher. He’s way out of my league.
And that thought stops me again. Do I really think that? Is he right? Do I think he’s too good for me and all that shit I spewed at him this morning was just a way to cover up the fact that I feel unworthy of a looker like Fletcher?
“Owww,” I whine at the masseuse.
“You need to relax, Miss Preston. Your neck is bunched up tight as a fist. Let go and let me help you.”
I let out a long sigh and try to relax my shoulders. God, even the staff thinks I’m uptight. “You know what? I’m just not into it today. I’ve had enough.” I sit up, clutching the towel to my chest. Marie, the masseuse, looks hurt. Like she did something wrong. “It’s not you, Marie. I just have too much on my mind. I can’t relax right now. How about I come back later this week and we try this spa day again?”
“OK, Miss Preston,” she says, gathering up her oils. “You just give us a call when you’re ready and I will clear my schedule for you.” She squeezes my shoulder. “But don’t let it go too long. Stress isn’t good for you.”
I smile, get up off the table, and let her walk me to the door. “Thanks. I’ll try.”
I leave the massage room and go back to the lockers to take a hot shower and wash off the oil. The water feels good, but it’s not enough to calm me down. My heart has been beating fast since I hung up with Fletcher this morning. I just can’t get his words out of my mind. What are the chances that he’s genuinely interested in me?
But then I hear my dad’s voice in my head again. You will never know if people like you for your money or just for who you are.
He’s right. Fletcher seems to be preoccupied with money. So much so that he took me on like a charity case to keep his job. There is a very real possibility that the only reason he’s interested is because of who I’m related to.
But I don’t know. That little speech he gave me out on the rocks seems to contradict all those assumptions. He’s scrappy, he said. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need my job offer and he’s got other jobs already lined up.
So how do I fit these pieces together?
I don’t know.
I just get out of the shower and tug a new pair of shorts and a tank top back on. I grab my purse and slip my feet into my flipflops and head to the stairs that will take me back to the main lobby.
As soon as I get there, I smell food from the bar and realize I haven’t eaten all day. Maybe that will ease my nerves? Some good old comfort food from the bar. I ease my way past the bustling waitresses and the customers and make my way to an empty booth in back. A waitress I haven’t seen before nods to me and holds up a finger, telling me she will be over in a minute.
I settle back in the booth and let out a sigh and then gasp.
“What the—?”
Cole is across the restaurant, sitting at a table with a beautiful blonde girl.
“I thought he said he had meetings?” I whisper to myself.
“Oh, he’s got meetings all right,” the waitress says. “Maybe this one will stick.”
“What?” I look up at her dumbly. “What do you mean?”
“He’s got a new meeting,” she says as she does a little upper body shake and stresses the word, “every afternoon.”
“You mean, with vendors?” I try, hopefully.
The waitress snorts. “No-ho-ho,” she says through a laugh. “At least I’ve never seen him kiss the vendors.”
“He’s been gone half the week—”
“Oh, he’s here all the time, Miss Preston.” She squints at me. “You didn’t know?”
I get that sinking feeling in my stomach. That one that comes when the doubts creep in. “Know what?” I ask, feeling the truth before the words ever come out of her mouth.
“He’s been coming here for almost three months. Except…” She pauses, like the thought just occurred to her that she should shut up.
“Except what?” I prod, looking back over at Cole and his blonde bimbo.
“Well…” She looks over at her shoulder at him as well. “We never knew who he was until you came together. Usually he’s just here for fun.”
“With that woman?” My heart is cracking.
“Oh, lots of them, I guess. At least a dozen meetings since I first started noticing him. And when he showed up with you I figured he was spying on us. He is, isn’t he? We were all told when the merger went through that the Landslide was on a short list for liquidation.”
Since when? I want to scream. My father gave me control over the Landslide as soon as the deal went through. But I hold my cool so she doesn’t realize how my tension is ramping up and my heart is beating even faster than it already was. “Hmmm. I’m not sure. Maybe my father sent him.”
“I bet that’s it.” She smiles at me. “At any rate, I hope he’s found what he’s looking for in this one. He’s met with her three times already last week. And each time they get a little more cozy. I guess Fletcher really does know what he’s doing.”
/> “What?”
She cocks her head at me with a quizzical look. “I thought you were working with him?”
I stare dumbly at her again.
“A matchmaking deal. Sorry.” She laughs. “I’m nosy. And Fletcher is so interesting the way he works. I can’t help but take notice every time he meets a girl for lunch. That girl there with Mr. Cole is Fletcher’s last week’s client. Fletcher works fast, right? Did he find someone for you yet? If he does, you can bet he’ll be a keeper. My girlfriend swears by his pick for her. She’s already engaged.”
I want to throw up. But I take a deep breath and say, “Can you get some water with lemon?” instead.
“Sure, Miss Preston. Be right back.”
She gets distracted with other tables, and I take that opportunity to slip out of the restaurant and make a dash for the elevators. When I get to my room, I hope and pray that Claudio isn’t there. He’s been gone a lot with that stripper, Steve, and my luck holds. Still out from last night, probably.
I lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower, just in case he comes home. I am in full-on hiding right now. I need to come to terms with what I just saw and heard.
Cole has been coming here for months.
Rumors of a selloff.
Either he was sent by my father to spy on the operations, which is highly unlikely, or he’s been using the Landslide as his personal fuck palace.
Jesus Christ.
And Fletcher. He said he was helping me get Cole’s attention, but the whole time he was setting up his other client with Cole?
I feel sick. So sick, I lift the lid of the toilet and dry-heave into the porcelain bowl for several minutes. I wait out the revulsion, the cramps in my stomach and the hurt in my heart. I wait until the knotted-up tension in my neck becomes a full-fledged ache in my head.
Fletcher set me up. He used me. He played me. Like a fucking chess piece.
And not only that… he humiliated me. How many other people here know about our deal? How many other people here know about Cole and his women?
I sit back on my butt and wipe the sweat off my forehead.
How stupid do I feel right now?
I have no words to describe it, but crushed comes to mind. Broken, maybe. Mortified. Embarrassed of my naivety, ashamed of my trust in men.
And not just these two men. All men. My mother was right to marry my father and forget about the worthless piece of shit who couldn’t get out of the picture fast enough.
She was right. Love is a dream some people were never meant to have.
I don’t cry, and that surprises me. Instead, I get up off the floor, take a deep breath, and go looking for Fletcher Novak.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I head to the elevator and take it down to fifteen. The walk down the hallway to his suite—his free suite that my hotel provides for him—feels longer than it should considering it’s only thirty feet. But by the time I pound on the door, my heart is racing, my armpits are sweaty, and my mouth is dry.
No answer. I press my ear against the door, almost afraid I’ll hear the moans of women in the throes of passion. But there’s nothing but silence from the other side.
He’s not here.
Well, he’s here, I bet. Somewhere in this hotel. And I’m gonna find him.
I go back downstairs and peek into the restaurant, but Cole and that blonde woman are gone. Thank you, God, for small favors. I cannot see him yet. It’s not his fault he was a pawn in Fletcher’s game. I mean, we weren’t a couple, right? Cole was just doing what men do. Trying to get as much as he can from as many women as possible.
I can almost forgive him for that. It’s in their nature, after all.
But Fletcher is something altogether different. Fletcher is a conniving liar, a conman, and a grade-A scumbag for what he did.
And he needs to pay.
I dial his number, but it goes to voicemail. Does he know I’m on to him? That waitress had to know she said too much. So if Fletcher came by, she might’ve pulled him aside and given him a heads-up.
I try the front desk. There’s a young girl free at one of the computers and she greets me by name with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Preston. Are you having a nice day off?”
Her smile seems genuine, but I’m clearly not well-versed in the appearance of good intentions. I give her the benefit of the doubt anyway, and force a smile. “Have you seen Fletcher Novak? I have to talk to him about his schedule.” The one he will no longer have after I get done today.
“Oh,” the girl says, pointing at the door. “I think he just called the valet for his car. Try outside.”
Valet. It pisses me off to no end that Fletcher Novak thinks he can come into my hotel and—Later, Tiffy. Focus. “Thank you,” I say with my sweetest fake smile.
Then I power-walk over to the front doors of the lobby, searching the valet line for his blond hair and tall build.
I spot him getting into that classic red Camaro near the front of the line, and before I can even shout his name, he revs the engine and pulls out towards the street.
I whistle at a taxi that is just pulling away after dropping off guests, and he slams on his brakes as I run towards him and hop in the back seat. “Follow that red car, please.” I try to sound calm and not like some dame in a noir movie from the nineteen forties, but I’m not sure I succeed, because the driver shoots me a look over his shoulder. “I’m serious, don’t lose him!”
“Sure thing, lady.”
I sit back and try to keep the car in my vision. He gets ahead of us a few times as he turns corners, but we find him again on US-50 going north up the shore of the lake. The driver keeps glancing back at me, but each time, I just say, “Keep going.”
“What if he’s on his way to—”
“I don’t care where he’s going, we’re following him, understand? I’ve got a credit card, so you don’t need to worry about it. Just keep going.”
He shoots me the bitch look after that masterpiece of high-class manners. But I don’t care. We keep driving. We wind past the curve of Zephyr Cove, past Lake Tahoe State Park, and almost an hour later make our way into Incline Village at the northern tip of the lake.
He’s from here, I remember from our conversations. Hmmm.
I know very little about Fletcher Novak other than the few conversations we’ve had and the Wikipedia entry that may or may not be true. But I’m about to find out more.
We take a left onto Country Club Drive and then a right on Lakeshore Boulevard. The cabbie pulls over on a side street and we watch Fletcher’s car enter a gated community called Windshore Estates.
“Unless you got a house here, lady, this is the end of the line. That’s Billionaire’s Row, and it’s got security. What do you want me to do? Because I’m not going to jail for trying to get in.”
I take a deep breath and make a decision. “Wait here,” I say. “And leave the meter running. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
I don’t give him a chance to argue, simply slip out of the back seat and slam the door behind me. I’m looking both ways for traffic as I cross the road and then I walk up to the gate. I have an in, I realize. My father’s old friend lives in Incline Village, I know him well. My father even mentioned him a few times after the merger. Told me to look him up while I was up here. I just hadn’t gotten around to it. The guard is out of the gatehouse before I even get within ten feet.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his hand on his belted radio.
“Hi, I’m Tiffy Preston and I was down the street at a friend’s house when I remembered that Montey Silverman lives in this community. My father is an old friend of his and asked me to look him up, so I decided to take a walk and—” I giggle and put a hand over my heart. “Oh, he’s probably not home, but can you call him up and tell him I’m here and see if he’d like a visit?”
The guard eyes me. I’m sure walk-ups to this private neighborhood are pretty rare. But if what I say is true, then he’ll be in a lot mor
e trouble for refusing my request than he would if he discovers I’m an interloper.
“Wait right here,” he says, going back into the guardhouse, leaving the door open so I can catch the conversation. “Yes, this is the guardhouse. I’ve got a guest here for Mr. Silverman. Says her name is—” He looks at me for help.
“Tiffy,” I say. “Tiffy Preston.” I smile as he repeats my name and then begins to nod at whatever the person on the other end of the line is telling him. A few seconds later he looks at me. “They’d like to know if you need a ride up to the house? You can walk it, if you’re after the exercise, but they’ll send a golf cart.”
“I’d rather walk.”
He relays that back and then hangs up. “Just head left—” He begins to give me directions.
“I remember where it is,” I say quickly. “I’ve been here before when I was younger.”
“OK, Miss Preston. Come through the gate.” He motions to a walkway a few feet to the left of the guardhouse, and when I reach it, a buzzer sounds, letting me in.
I smile over my shoulder and set off at a brisk walk that turns into a run as soon as the pine trees block the guard’s view. God only knows where Fletcher is in this neighborhood. All I have to go on is his red car, and I’ll never find him if he’s got it in a garage.
I peek down all the driveways as I run. These lots are not too big. The lakefront real estate is premium. But I don’t see his car anywhere. There is a long hedge, easily six feet tall in height, that runs the length of several average-sized lots, and I peek down that driveway in the name of being thorough, not expecting to find what I’m looking for.
But my breath catches in my chest when the red paint flashes through a gap in the trees lining the driveway.
There is a gate at this house, but it’s open. Like a car just drove through. I slip past the invitation and creep up the pavement, looking over my shoulder.
