by Kimmy Love
“Ah, here we are,” Ben said with relish. “Finestra, and what a fine restaurant it is.”
She said nothing as she entered the small bistro with its warm interiors and smiling servers. They were led to a cozy corner by the window. The sun was happy and Ben looked happy, but she didn’t look happy.
“Order anything you want,” he said with a smile.
Was he for real? She was angry and humiliated and hurt. In truth, she felt like his very own prostitute. They’d had sex earlier and he had the aplomb of pretending things were all right between them. Well, things were all right, weren’t they? Only she was feeling this way. Only she was feeling like a petulant child who was confused about what she wanted.
“You order,” she finally said. Sierra saw his jaw harden a little.
“Fine,” he sighed and beckoned for a pretty brunette waitress.
Sierra looked at his face, his angelic features that hid harshness well. The waitress grinned and flirted a little, which annoyed her.
“You’re mad,” Ben said as the waitress left.
She frowned. “Mad?”
“I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure this out,” he said nonchalantly as he took a sip of water.
“I’m not mad,” she told him.
“Then what are you feeling?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“I-I don’t know,” she admitted, hating herself for being feeble. She found herself playing with the table napkin on her lap, trying to ease the tension by touching something else other than his hand…
He sneered at her. “God, you are so easy to read, do you know that?”
“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
“Of course. I made you sign a contract; your discomfort shows easily.”
“That doesn’t make you better than me. You’re just highly egotistical,” Sierra found herself saying. “And just because I’m honest with what I feel, that doesn’t make me weak nor does it make me easy to read.”
“Look, you can say what you want. You still signed that contract. Now, pretend that we’re bickering like any normal couple.”
“We aren’t normal,” she said through gritted teeth, suddenly wishing she hadn’t signed that contract at all. No, she’d needed to sign it so she could get her master’s, and he would help her land a huge contract, too.
“Of course we aren’t, and that’s why we’re perfect for each other,” he told her. “Ah the meal’s here. As they say in Italy, Buon Appetito!”
He ate with gusto, enjoying his chicken parmigiana with spaghetti Pomodoro. Sierra had lost her appetite, but she forced herself to take a few bites.
“You know, you shouldn’t play with your food.”
“I’m not.”
“Kids in Africa would kill for your meal.”
She glared at him.
“What? It’s true. No racism there.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to starve,” she snapped.
“What, and you think you do?” Ben told her, “Sierra, I went to Africa for my gap year. I worked with Unicef, and I saw kids starve to death. I told myself that it shouldn’t keep happening. Orion’s been working with Unicef for three years. We’ve provided nutrition and food for more than a million children since.”
She was silent, unable to believe his story. Well, it was more of not wanting to believe in him. “Is this a joke?”
He stopped eating, and he put down his fork. He fished into his pocket for his phone, scanning through his files. He then held up the screen. There it was, a thinner Ben Eriksson, smiling with children of different ages in some rural setting in Africa.
“Cat got your tongue?” he teased her.
Unknown to Ben, Sierra was starting to see him in a new light. He hadn’t been that proud when he was showing off his cars; he was proud when he showed off his humanitarian work with children.
“They still keep in touch with you?” Sierra found herself asking.
He nodded. “Some of them are in high school now. We Skype at least once every two months, well those kids that are close to me do.”
“How many are those kids that are close to you?” Sierra was more curious than ever now.
“Well, not counting the entire village I spent a month in, I’ve kept contact with ten of them. They live in neighboring villages, and they go to the largest village. It has a children’s facility and library we donated, and there’s also internet connection.”
He didn’t say “I,” he said “we.” He wasn’t as narcissistic as she’d thought he was. Men like him always liked to be in control, to be the center of attention.
The rest of their lunch time went fine, the conversation had been light yet insightful. He walked her back to the building.
“Listen, I’m sorry I was upset,” Sierra began, “this whole thing is confusing me.”
“Sierra Whittaker, are you falling in love with me?” he grinned.
She flustered. “God, no. What? No. Hell no.”
“Gotcha there. See? You’re easily stressed when you’re cornered. Makes me wonder how you got honors when you get strained just like that. What’s confusing you?” he asked, looking into her eyes, “The sex? I liked it. Didn’t you?”
“It was wrong.”
“What’s so wrong about two people having consensual intercourse?” he said coolly. “The way you moved tells me you’re far from a prude.”
“I’ve been single for three years,” she said, “and you’ve been single for two weeks.”
“That gave us time to move on, and I think we did so splendidly. Look, if it’s bothering you that much, let’s not do that again. It’s not like I can’t handle celibacy for a few months.” Then he paused and a smile grew on his face. “Wait, I get it now. You think you’re just some whore, huh? You think you’re getting all this because it’s what I want in exchange.”
Her ears reddened.
“Am I right? Ha, you really are easy to read.” He waved her off. “One more date for this week. See you.”
One more date. There were designated time for their dates. Three dates a week, for visibility. She had begun to enjoy his company during lunch, awed at how he wasn’t the spoiled brat she’d thought he was.
She saw him get into his car and speed away. She wondered if he felt anything for her, some genuine kindness at least. She told herself this was all part of the contract, but she didn’t like how calculated it all was. From the number of their dates to the numbers that he racked up on his credit card… he’d probably planned the whole lovemaking all along. Love making. Please. There was no love there.
Inside his car, Ben was conversing with a friend.
“I saw you at Finestra,” the friend said, obviously curious. “Who is she? I’ve seen her somewhere.”
“I’m sure you have,” Ben said coolly. “She’s an up-and-coming model.”
“And there goes Denise.”
“Look, Rick, that’s old news. Anyway, I have to go, see you around,” he told his college schoolmate. Ben smiled, ending the call via Bluetooth. News was getting around fast, and it had been barely a week since the contract had begun. All he had to do was prepare himself to idolize Sierra Whittaker and then get his heart broken. He had to feel some part of it; his mother and grandmother knew when he lied, and he didn’t want to risk that.
He thought about it while driving back to work at quarter past two in the afternoon. There was a part of him that felt bad. He certainly didn’t want to lie to his family, but they needed to leave him alone. He needed a good excuse for them to leave him alone. He would never hear the end of it, unless his heart got broken. Sierra was too nice, but he hoped she would toughen up with the way he acted around her.
He did like to make her uncomfortable, and she hit some fine points with him, but he wouldn’t be deterred. He was the instigator of the relationship, and he had the budget for it. He saw the interest in her eyes when he’d mentioned that he had been to Africa and had done social work there. He was proud of that; it was
one of those rare moments when he’d truly felt he had a reason to live.
Marrying someone for the sake of having children and giving his parents grandchildren was definitely not a reason to live. He knew Sierra on file, knew about her supposed likes and dislikes. It wasn’t that thorough, but it was thorough enough for him. He knew she volunteered at the local animal shelter, knew her father’s record was squeaky clean, knew her mother had had a brilliant future as a model or a psychologist but had chosen to raise her children instead.
He also knew she’d had only one boyfriend her whole life, from high school until her first year in college, and that he had joined the military after they had broken up. It had all the makings of a “high school sweethearts” story, and Ben was glad they had broken up or he wouldn’t have been given this opportunity. He needed Sierra in his life; he’d met her that day for a purpose. Or maybe he just wanted to make it sound more interesting, more dramatic. From a woman’s perspective, more romantic.
Romance wasn’t dead; he just wasn’t privy to it. His parents were an excellent example, and he had been present to watch a happy marriage crumble into non-existence, all for his father’s other romantic endeavors. He didn’t want to end up like that, be it the giving or the receiving end of heartache.
***
Sierra looked at the glossy magazine ad with a smile. It was her first ad for Huntley Eyewear, and she nearly couldn’t believe it. She had seen her face twice that day as she walked around New York, one on a billboard and another in her hands.
Had Ben seen this already? Three modeling agencies had called her yesterday, alerted about this new model who had defined features and skin as smooth as polished onyx. She was getting there, wasn’t she? And these were no ordinary agencies, these were top tier ones, vying for her to represent their agency. She fought the urge to text him again, knowing she would look needy.
Should she? He was instrumental in this, after all. She dialed his number and his phone rang five times.
“Hi.” His voice sounded distracted.
“Did I call at a bad time?” she found herself asking.
“No, no,” he said, changing his tone. “What’s up? Where are you off to today?”
“I’m just walking around. I might buy groceries later,” she said. It had been two days since she had last seen him, and strangely enough, she wanted to see him. She really was needy, wasn’t she? “My ad’s out,” she blurted.
“Really? That’s great,” he said. “Let me guess, the billboard near Saks?”
“And a magazine ad.”
“Any other offers lately?”
“Three agencies,” she said. He was accommodating today, wasn’t he? Perhaps he woke up on a good hair day, or maybe a deal was in the making. Whatever it was, he sounded so amiable over the phone; the need to see him became greater.
“And you’re on a roll,” he told her. “I’ll call you back, let me just finish this meeting.”
“Oh shoot, sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” he told her with a laugh.
He put down the phone and smiled at the company assembled before him, comprised of his VP for marketing (a member at the country club), their engineering consultant (whose wife was a columnist for a New York daily), and a string of other managers from different sects.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, placing his phone down on the table.
They all smiled and laughed, seeing it was a first for the normally enigmatic Ben Eriksson to converse with his paramour during office hours, and especially in a meeting. The meeting ended with everyone in high spirits. The next project was good to go.
Ben was in higher spirits than everyone, though. He had sounded convincing enough to be in love with her. Ben knew that his ruse earlier had worked well. It had given their relationship enough mileage for society. Here came Ben Eriksson, surprisingly and perhaps “finally” in love with someone—something that not many had had the privilege to see.
He had make a promise to call her again, and he did. He was toying with a cream and gold invitation on his desk.
“Hi,” she said brightly, expecting the same amount of warmth she had gotten from him earlier.
“Hey,” he said, his tone bordering on cold. He took a breath, wanting to maintain the vivacity he’d had with her earlier. He knew there was almost none.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Listen, there’s a gala this Saturday. Wait, that’s tomorrow. There’s a gala tomorrow at six o’clock. It’s for my favorite charity.”
“A gala with the whole gowns and stuff?”
“The whole gowns and stuff, yes.”
“I don’t have those,” her voice faltered.
“Isn’t that why I gave you a credit card?” he asked her with a huff. “Black tie event. I hope you know what that means.”
Her cheeks burned. He made her sound like she had never set foot in a city, had never set foot in college, and had never had a formal event. “Uh huh.”
“I’ll pick you up at five-thirty sharp tomorrow. See you.”
He ended the call and she took a deep breath, standing by the pedestrian lane, watching the cars go by for a few minutes before she snapped out of it. It was nearly three in the afternoon, which meant she had to get an outfit before the stores closed and get an appointment at the poshest salon near her place.
She brushed off the thought that it was going to be expensive. She wasn’t paying for this anyway. Plus, it was a way of getting back at him—sky’s the limit, right? Well, he’d limited her expenses to $10,000 a month, around what she would have earned if she’d worked at Rushport Inn for another two years.
She set off to the nearest department store and began trying on clothes. This was going to be a revenge look, she told herself. Well, for what? Leading her on? She felt foolish, childish, but she really did want to see his jaw drop. If he had said she was pretty before, well, then he would see drop dead gorgeous tomorrow.
Chapter9
Ben yawned, sleepless from a long day at work yesterday. It was taking its toll on him, and it was barely five in the afternoon. He had gone home, showered, and changed into a tuxedo. He didn’t feel like attending this gala, but he had to. His family and the company had long been patrons for this cancer research center that catered to children. After all, it was only a $5,000 per plate event.
He and Denise had gone to this same event last year; he didn’t remember what she’d worn, but he remembered the champagne he’d drank to mask the annoyance that Denise had been making a big deal out of him not wanting to move in with her, or worse, her moving in with him. The rest of the night had been a blast, though…
His driver waited for him by the curb. He hadn’t put on his coat yet as he went up to her floor. The night was cold, and he hoped she had had enough brains to buy a shawl for herself at least. If she’d thought that far ahead. He knocked on her door but she didn’t open. Maybe she was still in the shower again. He was irked, remembering he had told her he would pick her up at six o’clock sharp.
He let himself in with his spare key, glad he had brought it with him again. He walked inside and saw the pillows on the couch all jumbled up. He shook his head. He heard a shuffling noise.
“I told you I’d pick you up by six—” he stopped when he saw her walk out of the bedroom.
He held his breath. It seemed so unreal. She wore a delicate, strapless, turquoise gown. Her hair was in soft, voluminous waves. The only accessory she had on was a gold cuff bracelet. Her makeup was done flawlessly. It didn’t make her look overdone or make her look like a clown; instead, it enhanced her features. He couldn’t say anything at first.
“I’m ready,” she told him.
He had to clear his throat to say something. “You look-you look nice.” He said that lamely and suddenly wanted to kick himself for it.
“Thanks, this look didn’t go beyond $3,000.” She grinned.
“Good to know,” he murmured. “Shall we?” He held out his arm for her to take.
She felt giddy at the idea of a formal event with him. It was her first big gala. With a designer dress and designer shoes and a designer bag. With someone very attractive. She had to admit that she stared at him, not realizing he was staring at her the same way. It was probably his hair, not too much wax on it; it was probably his freshly shaven face, he looked regal; but it was most probably the suit. He looked dashing.
The car ride was a slow one, and it made the car seem quieter than ever.
Say something, he urged himself, now is the time to act and talk like a boyfriend. “You picked that dress at the last hour?”
She nodded. “Ten minutes before closing time.”
“Looks good on you,” he said in a quiet voice as he checked emails on his phone.
“Thanks,” she replied, sounding unsure if he meant it or not. She resisted looking at him, instead concentrating on the sights that passed by her window. Her hopes hadn’t been dashed yet. She would make this night magical for herself, if not enjoyable for them both.
Ben had told her only a thousand had confirmed attending, a disappointing turnout for such a dedicated charity.
“Why do we have to dress up? Why can’t people just give money right away?”
“It makes the socialites look human. Partying for a cause,” Ben said with a chortle. “Pretty good excuse to stay relevant in society.”
She stared at Ben as he looked out into the world and she said nothing. The sarcasm was strong with him. It was obvious he did this for some degree of camaraderie in the business world, but most especially for the kids who needed it. He was a contradiction in many ways; he was an asshole, but he was kind to those who needed it. Did that mean she didn’t really need his kindness?
She saw lights dancing across the New York sky, lights that came from the gala venue, a newly renovated hotel turned high-end event area that could easily fit 3,000 guests. She saw other guests getting out of their limousines and expensive sedans. Ben got out first and held out his hand for her.
“Don’t forget to smile,” he said to her.
The moment she got out, flashes of light came from everywhere. The cameras were momentarily pointed to her, and she smiled as she held Ben’s hand. She saw other world famous supermodels on the steps of the hotel with their partners. She saw a few actors and actresses; there was also the mayor of New York, and a senator with his wife. It was no ordinary dinner, and she felt even more nervous.
