Scarred Beautiful

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Scarred Beautiful Page 3

by Michele, Beth


  He chuckles, wiping away my tears with his calloused thumb. “No, baby, we’re not dying. We’re very much alive and about to make our presence known to all of Los Angeles.”

  My mouth hangs open and I immediately cover my face, the sheer idiocy of my actions washing over me. Ryan reaches over and pulls my hands into his lap.

  “It’s okay, Fran. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I get it. I used to be deathly afraid of heights. I’ve since overcome it, but it hindered me for many years.”

  “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” I ask, relaxing under the soothing touch of his fingers.

  “I do want to make you feel better, but no, I’m not just saying that.”

  A smile edges the corner of my mouth. “Thank you,” I say quietly, noticing how his eyes have sailed down to my lips. For a split second, I want his mouth on mine. I’m silently willing him to kiss me, needing a connection, but he doesn’t.

  The voice of the pilot comes over the speaker: “Welcome to Los Angeles. On behalf of Delta Airlines we hope you had a pleasant flight, and we hope to see you again soon. Enjoy your stay.”

  Ryan reaches up to the overhead rack and pulls both of our bags down. Unable to help myself, I take a quick glimpse of his ass in the worn jeans he fills out so completely, licking my lips that suddenly feel parched.

  I stand up, stretch the kinks from my arms and legs, and stuff the notepad back in my purse. There’s a line forming in the aisle and Ryan ushers me out before him. We follow the crowd inside the terminal to the baggage area without a word, only periodic glances at one another.

  He sees his luggage and pulls it from the conveyor belt then heads back over to me, stopping just a few feet away. “It was really nice meeting you, Fran. Hope you enjoy your trip,” he says, popping the handle of his suitcase up and turning to leave.

  “You, too,” I reply, but then realize I need to say more as he’s walking away. “Ryan, wait!”

  He stops instantly and spins around, his dark hair falling over his questioning eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I answer, smoothing the sides of my skirt. “I just wanted to say thank you.” I reach out and place my hand on his arm. “For what you did on the plane, for calming me down. I really appreciate it.”

  He eyes my hand and then raises his brown eyes to my green. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He lets out a small laugh. “And alive.”

  I smile, the recent memory of my ridiculous behavior painting a layer of red on my face. “Yeah, me too. So I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “See ya, Fran.” He flashes me that brilliant smile before he disappears, and I smile right back.

  I steer my Aston Martin up to the circle drive of The Ritz Carlton and Caleb and I step out, heading to the back of the car to retrieve my suitcase and his portfolio. As I hand my key to the valet, Caleb quirks a brow and shoots me a quizzical look. He doesn’t have to say anything, I can already read his mind. That’s what happens when you’ve been friends for twenty-five years. Caleb Brody knows everything there is to know about me, including the simple fact that I don’t trust anyone with my baby.

  “Are you seriously valet parking your reason for living, your one true love?” he asks, keeping his voice down so he doesn’t offend the guy looking at my car like he just won the fucking lottery.

  “Caleb,” I say, raising a hand in gesture at the display of wealth and understated elegance behind us. “Does this look like a place where I need to be worried about my car?”

  He looks back at the hotel, nodding his head and chuckling softly. “I guess not. It’s just that I think this might be a day to go down in history.”

  I shake my head as I walk over to the valet attendant and slap a fifty in his hand. “Take care of my baby,” I instruct, forcing a laugh, but my underlying tone says there’s nothing funny about it. He smiles, knowing he’s about to get in my car. The moment he pulls away, I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  I look over my shoulder one more time, watching until the last remnants of black disappear from my vision. We enter the hotel and Caleb stops short beside me, taking in our surroundings: the ultra-modern lobby with rich, dark wood and warm, leather seating, modern artwork in muted ocean blues hanging on the walls, and a soothing waterfall built into one of the side panels.

  “Holy fucking shit,” he mutters, and a middle-aged, smartly dressed woman reading a newspaper looks up, pursing her lips and tossing him a sneer before becoming engrossed in her paper again.

  “Caleb! Keep your voice down,” I scold. “I don’t feel like being kicked out of here before I’ve even checked in.”

  Caleb is like a brother to me. We grew up together in Pleasantville, New York, starting with elementary school all the way through college, where we both received a Master of Architecture from Parsons. I moved to California immediately after, while Caleb stayed on and landed a job at a firm in Manhattan. With the financial help of a family friend, I started my own company, which I ended up selling to our current CEO three years ago. After Mr. Brody was transferred to California and Allison ended things with him, Caleb was ready to move here to be closer to his family. Once a position opened up, I immediately had Caleb flown out to interview and the rest is history.

  It may sound strange, but in many ways Caleb has been like a lifeline for me. When Mom and Clara passed away from breast cancer, it was Caleb’s family who was there by my side, and Brad’s, every step of the way. With my father’s lack of presence in my life, it was Caleb’s parents who supported me, his family who I drew strength from when I needed it the most.

  “Okay,” he says quietly, raking a hand through his dark, cropped hair, “so now I get why you want to stay here. Why am I not staying here? Oh wait, I am staying here. I’m staying in your room.”

  “Caleb.” I smirk, foolish me thinking that I could actually have a week to chill out. “I booked an extra room, and you’re more than welcome to stay. We’ll just need to get your clothes later.”

  “Fuck, yeah!” he calls out, slapping me on the back and earning another dirty look from the lady with the newspaper. “You need to loosen up…and we’re going to have some fun!”

  I look over at him, my brows rising and a half-smile crossing my lips. “I have one condition, though.”

  “What?” he asks innocently, popping a mint in his mouth.

  “Well, that you keep whatever roses you decide need watering in your room with the door closed.”

  He grasps my shoulder and lets out a hearty laugh. “I will, man. I promise.”

  The ride in the shuttle from LAX to The Ritz Carlton is nothing like I expected. The traffic in LA is crazy yet the driver seems relaxed, his arm leaning against the open frame of the window, his fingers gently tapping the steering wheel to the beat of a song I can’t quite make out. I wrestle the cell phone from my bag to call Peyton, but her phone instantly goes to voicemail so I send her a text.

  Arrived in LA, safe and sound. Call when you can. xox

  Everything around me is at a low hum. There are no horns honking or drivers screaming out their windows like I’m accustomed to in Manhattan. It’s a welcome change and I feel an unusual sense of calm. As much as I didn’t want to come on this trip, I desperately needed to get away. Work has been absolutely insane since my promotion and I’ve barely had time to go out and have any fun. Gabby moved in with Brad so I rarely see her now. My heart squeezes in my chest as if it’s trying to escape. Happiness seems to be floating all around me, yet it doesn’t stop to land on my shoulders.

  What happened to that girl? The girl who fearlessly passed out watermelon Jolly Ranchers in elementary school knowing full well what the consequences would be once the teacher inhaled the sweet smell wafting through the air; the girl who smiled as she got thrown off a jet-ski, the wind whipping through her hair, only to get right back on and ride it again; the same girl who told Gabby to get her head out of her ass and live her life when her fiancée
died. I want that girl back.

  I close my eyes and steady my breathing. I refuse to continue down this path, so I make myself a silent promise. I’m going to have a great time on this trip and get back to being fun-loving Fran, tucking away all the painful memories that threaten to steal her from me.

  This hotel is fucking amazing. For the second time today, I have to close my mouth for fear the drool is pouring from my lips. I look up at the massive skyscraper, beaming, visions of basking in elegance and massages from seriously hot men in my future.

  The driver helps me out and pulls my suitcase from the back. I give him a twenty-dollar bill and have absolutely no idea if that’s too much or too little, but I’m guessing from the grin on his face that it’s just right.

  The moment I walk inside, I take it all in and can’t help but smile. I love the ultra-modern touch of this hotel. It’s totally my style with muted dove grays, browns, and relaxing creams, abstract art lining the walls, and various leather chairs and couches sitting beside rich, wood tables scattered throughout the lobby. I check in at the front desk and grab a keycard for my room on the twenty-third floor. Rolling my suitcase over to the elevator, I wait for it to ping and then step inside. The walls are covered with mirrors and I glance at my reflection as the car ascends. Dark blue circles rest below my eyes and my clothes are slightly wrinkled, evidence of the stressful journey I endured today. But, I’m alive and I conquered one of my fears, albeit with a little help from Ryan. The thought makes me smile.

  The elevator doors open and I drag my suitcase into the hallway, looking for room 2301. I follow the arrows, taking a left and heading straight down the corridor until I find my room. Once the keycard is in the door, I push it open, my mouth forming a huge smile the moment I enter. The place is stunning. Again, there’s a contrast of light and dark wood and soft lighting. A king-sized bed sits in the center of the space covered in luxurious white fabrics. There’s a gorgeous abstract painting of the ocean in an array of blues hanging to the left of the bed, and against a wall of windows is a white couch decorated with pillows in various shades of orange. I step further into the room and walk toward the glass. The view is absolutely breathtaking. You can see all of Southern California. I’m sure once night falls, it will be even more spectacular, the city bathed in a sea of twinkling lights.

  I kick off my heels, let out a huge squeal and jump on the bed. Excitement causes a rush of adrenaline to spread through my body, the thought of having fourteen days away from the hustle and bustle of New York is suddenly incredibly appealing. I venture into the bathroom to wash my face, letting out one more happy chirp when I see the extra-large tub and Jacuzzi encased in cream and orange marble. My bathroom is nice, but it pales in comparison. At the rate I’m going, I may never go home.

  I make my way back out to the suite and grab my cell phone to call Peyton, but again it goes to voicemail. Where the hell is she? She always answers my calls. It occurs to me that maybe she’s indisposed. I hope she’s indisposed doing something naughty.

  The bed is inviting and I flop back on the comforter, exhaustion completely overtaking my limbs, the softness cradling my entire body. The next thing I know, I’m startled awake by tapping on the door. With a gentle rub of my tired eyes, I try to get my bearings, noting that darkness has fallen but unaware of what time it is.

  My legs feel heavy from sleep but I manage to swing them over the bed and trudge to the door. I pull it open, yelping loudly at the sight of Peyton standing on the other side with a huge smile on her face and a suitcase by her feet. I throw my arms around her, relief and happiness flooding me all at once.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, an edge of excitement mixed with surprise in my voice.

  “Nice to see you, too.” She winks, entering the room and pulling her bag behind her. “Fucking wow,” she comments, dropping the handle of her suitcase to the carpet with a thud. “This place is fucking unbelievable.”

  “I think you need one more fuck in there,” I joke.

  Peyton looks ridiculously gorgeous every day of the week and today is no exception. With her skintight black dress, perfect curves, almond-colored eyes, and bouncy waves cascading over her shoulders, she is the picture of perfection. Then I look down at her feet. “Hey, are those my shoes?”

  She laughs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You said I could have them once you were gone.”

  “Interesting interpretation of my words.” I laugh and pinch her arm as we take a seat on the bed. She kicks off my shoes and leans back on her elbows. “I’m really glad to see you but I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

  “Lisa was supposed to be the one coming on the trip,” she begins, “but the VP called me shortly after I left you at the airport. Apparently she woke up with a wicked stomach bug this morning, so the boss lady asked me if I’d take her place.” She huffs out a sigh, and I know there’s something else she’s not telling me. “Plus, I didn’t say anything earlier, but my mom came to visit me in the office yesterday. She never comes by there, but I guess she came to gloat about my sister. Apparently, she’s been made Vice President of the hedge fund she’s working for, so they’re having a big party tonight to celebrate.” The wide smile she had when she entered has all but disappeared. “You know, when she was in my office, she walked around and eyed all of my drawings and not once did she say they were good. Not once has she ever given me one compliment about the work I’ve done.” Her eyes cloud with emotion and it’s the first time I’ve seen her like this. “And they’re good, Fran. They’re really good.”

  I suddenly feel the urge to comfort her. We typically don’t have that type of relationship, but she seems to need it now and I want to be there for her. I lean in and fold my arms around her. “They’re exceptional, Peyton. You’re incredibly talented and I’m sorry your mom doesn’t realize it.”

  She relaxes a bit before pulling back, resigned. “Anyway, the moment I got the call, I decided I was catching the first flight to LA, fuck my sister’s party. She doesn’t really care if I’m there anyway.”

  A twinge of guilt washes over me at her confession. I immediately feel like I need to tell her one of my secrets, but I just can’t. I’m trying to lock them away, not release them so they can stifle the air around me.

  She quickly recovers, sitting up on the bed with a new resolve. “I just want to forget about all that. My room is just down the hall so I’m going to go freshen up. Put something sexy on, we’re heading to the bar, sister. It’s time for some sin.”

  After Peyton leaves, I sort through the dresses I brought with me and finally decide on a green, knee-length satin number that squishes my boobs together, saying yes to cleavage, before sliding on my black heels. I freshen up my makeup in the bathroom, adding some under-eye concealer, a hint of blush to my cheeks, and a subtle shade of pink for my lips. With one last pucker, I glance approvingly at myself in the mirror and make my way out to wait for Peyton.

  I open the door just as she’s about to knock, and the dazzling grin on her face gives me a boost of confidence.

  “Wow!” she says excitedly, eyeing me from top to bottom and nodding in approval.

  “Thanks. You look hot, too.” I giggle as we link arms, a genuine smile encompassing my face. I feel like the old Fran, and it feels good.

  As I jerk my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans, I hear laughter in the distance. It momentarily distracts me, but I resume my focus on the bar and try to get the bartender’s attention. It’s hard to admit that Caleb’s right, but I’m a bit wound up and definitely need to relax. I thought that selling the company a few years ago would ease some of the tension I feel. Instead, it’s done nothing but increase it.

  I already know the exact moment the switch flipped, the final straw that had me deciding to sell the firm and slow my life down—right after Brad got beaten up and I came pretty close to losing him, too.

  He was on his way to Gabby’s apartment after leaving the gourmet coffee shop he
owns in Manhattan when he was jumped from behind, sustaining a serious head injury that left him unconscious for several days. At the time, the doctors were unsure whether he would pull through. I remember the crushing feeling that overwhelmed me, the desperate prayers and pleas as I bargained with the universe for his life. It had been hard watching Mom and Clara battle breast cancer, but the aftermath of Brad’s assault almost put me over the edge. My chest floods with relief and gratitude that he survived…even though he’s the only one who did.

  I shake it off and hope I can drown my sorrows for just a little while. “Hey, Caleb, what do you want to drink? Your usual?” I ask, and when I don’t get a response, I flick his shoulder. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Huh?” he replies, as if in a trance, his eyes focused on something or someone at the end of the bar.

  I step around him to see what’s caught his eye and notice two women deep in conversation and laughter. “Do you know them or some—” Just as I’m about to finish my sentence, the one with long, dark hair throws her head back on a laugh and I’m frozen in time. I know that face. “Holy shit,” I mutter, not realizing I said it a little stronger than I’d intended. I squint, trying to get a better look to make sure I’m not seeing things. I’m definitely not seeing things. “Holy shit!” I say again, but this time much louder, before I start walking in their direction.

  Caleb’s voice calls out from behind me but I keep walking. I shove one hand in my pocket, running the other one through my hair a couple of times as I get closer. Once those emerald eyes come into focus, I immediately know there’s no mistaking her. How could there be? She’s fucking gorgeous.

  I clear my throat to get her attention just before I speak her name. “Fran?”

  She looks over at me and her eyes widen in disbelief, while a slow smile creeps across her lips. “Matt?”

 

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