by Vivian Wood
Taking another breath, he pressed send and waited for an answer.
29
Smith sat in his light blue classic Mustang convertible, unsure where he should go. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, exhausted beyond measure.
The last few days had been shitty, to say the least. He had called the police on his own father, but when they had arrived… he’d opened the door to his father’s office, only to find it empty.
When Smith had checked the security cameras, they showed his father being smuggled out of the building by one of the security guards. The guard and Smith’s father had slipped away. Later a recording emerged of his father getting on his private plane, bound for the Maldives.
He spent the next three days surrounded by Calloway Corp’s expensive lawyers, answering questions from the police and dodging angry employees and journalists. The media quickly caught on to the story The Daily News had written, and turned it into a maelstrom.
The reporters had turned every moment of downtime into a siege. He was on the run from the press, going from his building to the Escalade in a whirlwind of people shouting and cameras flashing. Things got to the point where he was staying at a hotel, rather than at his penthouse.
To top off a week's worth of utter bullshit, he’d received a message last night on his personal phone, notifying him of Charles DuPointer’s death.
“He passed quickly, in his sleep,” the lawyer handling Charles’ will said. “There is something that he wanted you to have. It’s small, so I messengered it over to you per his instructions. You should receive it in the morning.”
Smith had hung up, not knowing what to feel. Charles’ death was just one more stick on the funeral pyre that was his life.
This morning, he’d woken late. He’d received the parcel that Charles’ attorney had spoke of, a box no bigger than a grapefruit, wrapped in plain brown paper. He couldn’t deal with opening it just yet, so he took it with him when he left the room.
Slipping out of the hotel unseen was tricky, but he’d managed to do it. He called his car service and asked for his car to be brought around to the block he was at, hopping in it the second he saw his distinctive car. He dropped the package in the back seat.
After dropping the chauffeur off a few blocks away, Smith just drove until he was way outside of the city. He’d stopped for a bite to eat at a roadside diner, then sat in his car, head down. He was out of ideas, out of inspiration.
He thought of the last time he was this far outside the city, when he was with Cameron. They’d gone to the beach, her private place. He considered going there; after all, he had driven them back last time. He remembered how to get there perfectly.
He could just drive there, maybe get a hotel room. No one would be looking for him there, at least.
That last thought decided it for him. He put the car in drive, pulling out of the parking lot. He drove for about an hour before he pulled up in front of the rickety old sign that said “Owl Point.”
Smith got out of the car and walked down to the beach, looking at the waves. The water was mesmerizing. He sat down close to the place where the tide came onshore, shielding his eyes from the sun.
He thought of a young Cameron, coming here to work through her troubles. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see her. Long, coppery strands of hair wrapped around her small frame. Her freckled face emotionless, contrary to what was going on inside. The waves crashed again and again, reflected in her bright blue eyes.
He opened his eyes, blinking away the vision. The waves kept coming, glittering as the sun hit them.
He wondered what the hell Cameron had been thinking when she started this whole thing. Maybe she’d been offered something juicy in exchange for betraying him.
I never planned for any of this to happen, she’d said. I care about you.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew her words were true. But at the moment he was so angry that it didn’t matter. Angry at her, angry at his father, even angry at Charles for putting fanciful ideas in his head.
He was angry at the whole world, because no one that he cared about was on his side.
Cared about echoed in his head. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He had really started to care for Cameron, to fall for her even, and then she’d gone and done this.
He stared at the ocean, trying to make sense of it all. Nothing came to him though, no revelation to make him feel better.
He remembered Charles’ package, sitting in the back seat of his car. He stood up, brushing himself off, and jogged back to his car. He picked up the package from the back seat, then sat on the hood of his car.
He inhaled deeply, realizing that he held one of the very last things Charles had touched. His friend had been eccentric, that much was certain, but a certain amount of gravitas was due in this moment.
Smith unwrapped the parcel slowly, wondering what Charles could have given him. He found a box, with several things inside: a note, a velvet ring box, and a collection of photographs.
He looked at the photos first. They were of Charles as a very young man. In some he was dancing with a beautiful blonde girl. In others he was hanging out with a larger group of people, but the blonde was there, too.
He picked up the letter, opening it.
Smith,
Her name was Eloise. Pretty, was she not? She made the stars shine more dimly, so beautiful was Eloise. I wish I’d known then that I felt love, not something ephemeral.
I never told you the end of our story, because I am something of a coward. You see, Eloise was your grandmother. Your grandfather knew that I’d passed Eloise over, and swooped in to snatch her up. Clever man!
It wasn’t until she was gone, until I read her death notice in the paper, that I could bring myself to call upon your grandfather again. We became friends once more, bonded over losing the only woman we’d ever loved.
She died in a car crash. Nothing could have been done to prevent it, but your grandfather and I both mourned nonetheless.
I suffered in silence, knowing that I had missed out on her life. Maybe if I’d married her, she wouldn’t have been in that car. But even if she was, I would have had her in my life for twenty years, and had the children she bore after that.
When your grandfather passed away, he left me the only thing he had left of hers. The ring he proposed to her with, the symbol of all the things I foolishly missed in my life. I kept it all these years, knowing that I would find a use for it.
If I’d married your grandmother I would not be where I am today, looking out over the impersonal city skyline of Tokyo, wishing for more. Instead, all I have are my loyal servants. I have so much, yet in the end, I lack the one thing worth living for.
I do not tell you this so you can pity me. You know me, I want much more than that. No, I want to encourage you to find that which I could not. I want you to find love, and hold on to it with all you’ve got.
I hope that you will be able to set aside your family, your status, and your position with the family company in your search. Love is always complicated, and never easy, but in the end it is undoubtedly worth having.
Hopefully, the enclosed jewelry will help spur you on your course. May it be better luck for you than it was for me.
With my deepest admiration,
Charles DuPointer
Smith set the letter aside, and opened the ring box. Inside was a glowing diamond ring, set with glittering sapphires on each side. The sapphires were the exact color of Cameron’s eyes.
He snapped the box closed, the set the whole package aside. He lay back on the hood of his car, his mind whirling. Charles had been in love with Smith’s grandmother, apparently.
The story of Charles’ complex friendship with Smith’s grandfather was a bit stunning, no doubt. The longing that Charles had felt… it had lasted his whole life.
Smith thought of Cameron. He thought of late nights in bed, of the way he felt when he held her. The image sent goosebumps across his skin, even now in
the warm seaside sunlight.
He cared for her. Hell, he loved her, if he allowed himself to admit it. But she had betrayed him, betrayed his trust.
Would that feeling just go away? Or would Smith spend the rest of his life thinking of Cameron as the one that got away?
He stared off into the glinting waves, wishing for an answer.
30
Cameron slumped on her couch, flipping through the five news-only channels that her cable subscription paid for. The news stations were obsessively covering the whole Calloway Corp scandal, talking heads shouting about corporate greed and personal liability. She had the TV on mute, because she couldn’t hear another minute of it.
She stopped flipping, watching the clip of Spencer Calloway heading out across the tarmac to his private plane. She’d seen it before. Everyone had seen it by now.
The clip was blurry, but she could easily make out the unmistakable sight of the senior Calloway leaving the United States. The words MANHUNT: WHERE IS SPENCER CALLOWAY NOW?? were splashed across the screen.
In the ten days since the story had broken, it seemed like everything had happened at hyperspeed. She pulled back from The Daily News the day after being fired from Calloway Corp, opting out of appearances about the story over Erika’s screamed objections. Then she stopped returning The Daily News’ calls altogether.
She tried to call Smith about a hundred times over her first three days of self-exile, then eventually she stopped that, too. Now she was just resigned and a little depressed. She'd made herself get up and shower today, but she was letting her machine and voicemail pick up all her calls.
She shifted on the couch as the landline phone started ringing. She looked over at where it sat on the kitchen counter. The machine picked up, her voice asking the caller to leave a message.
“Cameron! It’s Russ, at The Boston Chronicle. We met a couple years ago, when we were both interns? Anyway, saw your byline on the Calloway story. Incredible work! If you’re looking to move anytime soon, give me a call…”
He left his number and hung up. Cam moved so that she was lying down. It seemed like it was about the only activity she had energy for these days.
On the TV screen, the image shifted to Smith, talking at a press conference. Her heart squeezed painfully at the sight of him. His expression was pinched, his body language tight, like he was about to draw inward like a crustacean.
She’d done that. Maybe not the massive fraud, that was his father’s doing. But the media swarms, that was something she felt responsible for. She had to turn the station to something else so she wouldn’t cry.
She had made mistake after mistake with Smith. She’d been stupid, thinking that his forgiveness was something she could win from him.
Now, lying on her couch all alone, she knew that she had been beyond stupid. So, so stupid. She’d only really thought about herself, and expected him to be okay with that for some unfathomable reason.
If she could go back, she would’ve told Smith about her suspicions from the beginning. If she’d looped him in to what was going on, maybe he wouldn’t feel so betrayed.
There was a knock at the door. Cam made herself get up.
“Finally,” she complained to no one in particular.
She’d ordered Thai food forty-five minutes ago, knowing that she needed to eat. She padded over to the door, anticipating the scent of curry and rice. She opened the door.
To her complete shock, Smith stood on her doorstep, her Thai food bag in one hand. He was handsome as ever, dressed in his usual all-black outfit, his hair falling in his face. He pinned her with those dark blue eyes of his.
For a second, she thought she must be imagining him.
She stood there and gaped for a few more seconds, then gave herself a shake. He was real, and he was here. She realized that her expression must have been funny, because Smith smiled.
“I came up on the delivery guy,” he said, raising the food. “Thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”
“I— I tried to call you,” she said, taken aback.
“I know,” he acknowledged, ducking his head. “I was angry. I couldn’t get a grasp on what was happening, on what… on what my father did, so I directed all my anger at you.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her throat felt swollen suddenly, as if too many things needed to escape at once. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes.
“I betrayed you,” she blurted out, then put her hands over her mouth. She started to cry, the tears breaking free to roll down her face.
“Let’s… can we go inside?” he said, looking over his shoulder. He didn’t say so, but Cam thought he was looking for the reporters that were likely following him everywhere.
“Of course,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. She wiped at her face, feeling ridiculous.
He moved inside and put down her takeout, and she closed the door. She felt silly standing there in her Big Bird pajamas, especially when she looked up at Smith. He looked back down at her, his eyes so serious.
“I’m so sorry, Smith. The whole situation just snowballed on me. I didn’t mean to be deceitful—” She broke off with a gulp. “I tried to be honest with you. I even tried to tell you it was your dad that was stealing…”
“I know,” he said simply. “I needed some time to digest it all. But I’m done with that. That’s why I’m here.”
He reached out and brushed a tear away from her cheek.
“I really am sorry, Smith,” she said, trying not to dissolve into tears. “It will never happen again. You’ll always be my first priority. Always.”
He looked at her with longing, his eyes dark.
“I forgive you,” he said softly. “I just… I…”
She’d never wanted to bury herself in anyone’s arms so badly, but she didn’t know how he would react. She made sort of a strangled noise, looking at him pleadingly.
He opened his arms, inviting an embrace. She barreled into his chest, knocking him back a step when she wrapped her arms around his chest. She hugged him hard, disbelieving. She couldn’t believe this was really happening.
When she pulled back to say so though, his mouth came down on hers like a burning brand. She moaned, running a hand up into his hair. He pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together. Just the pressure of his hips against hers had Cam wrapping her leg around him, grinding.
Her body missed his. She pulled at his jacket, wanting more of his skin showing. He shed the jacket, kissing her as he walked her back to the couch. He unlaced and kicked off his boots as she took off her pajama top.
She was bare underneath. She shivered as he fisted her auburn hair in one hand, pulling her head back as he kissed her collarbone. She gasped out loud when he found her nipple with his teeth, grazing it ever so lightly.
“This is mine,” he growled, kissing her other breast lightly. “And this…”
He kissed her bellybutton, her hips, the very top of her pubic mound. She cried out at that, her hips jerking, her pussy soaking wet.
“Smith, yes,” she said, hooking her thumbs in her waistline and pulling them down. She was bare beneath there, too.
He moved back up her body, kissing her savagely. She shivered when he pushed her thighs apart.
“Take this off,” she insisted, tugging at his shirt.
He complied, showing her a wealth of tattooed, muscular flesh. She ran her hands over the broad expanse of his back, raking her nails across it.
They kissed again. He touched her inner thigh, caressing his way inward. His fingers brushed her pussy as his tongue stroked hers in long, hard sweeps.
He found her core and slid two fingers deep inside. They both moaned as he finger fucked her hard and slow, taking his time in possessing her.
“Fuck, you’re so bloody tight,” he gasped as she started to clamp down on his fingers.
“Yes! Yes!” she encouraged him. She kissed and sucked on his neck, knowing full well that she was going to leave ma
rks.
He worked his fingers in and out, flexing them in a beckoning gesture. Normally fingering didn’t do it for her, but she thought she might cum just from the filthy look on his face, the way he bit his lip and watched her tits bounce.
He shifted in place. She felt his jeans scrape against her inner thighs. She loved everything Smith was doing to her, but she wanted more.
“Take your pants off,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “I want you inside me.”
He withdrew his fingers and picked her up, carrying her to the bed. He sat her down, unbuttoning his belt, then he hesitated.
“Cameron—”
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach and getting onto all fours.
He sat down on the bed, still partially dressed, and caressed her naked ass. “I want to ask you something, first.”
She collapsed, rolling over to look at him. “Anything.”
He lifted the ring box from where he’d tucked it away beside his leg. She looked at it and began to tremble.
“Cameron,” he said, sliding off the bed and onto one knee. “I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately. I’ve been thinking that I don’t want to be alone, that I want to spend my life with someone. And when I think of sharing my life with someone, I can’t think of anyone but you.”
She put her fingers to her lips, unable to speak. He opened the ring box, showing the dazzling diamond ring within. It was a large emerald cut stone, with gorgeous saphhires flanking it on both sides.
“I know we’ve both made mistakes. But I want to spend my life with you. I want us to figure things out together.” He paused and took a huge breath. “Cameron, I love you. Will you marry me?”
She burst into tears, nodding vigorously.
“Yes?” he said, smiling. He cupped her cheek, which made her cry even harder and cover his hands with hers.
“Yes! Yes.” She was crying and laughing at the same time, nodding.
He plucked the ring from its box. Taking her left hand, he carefully slid the ring onto her fourth finger. He looked up at her and she beamed at him, her tears receding.
