by Alam, Donna
‘Meaning you intend to keep on despising me.’
‘I wouldn’t say despise exactly,’ she demurs, trying hard to hide her grin. ‘But if you’re ever run down by a bus, they should check the steering wheel for my fingerprints.’
My deep peel of laughter reverberates through the space.
We settle into an amiable dinner—a ribeye for me and a burger for her—while enjoying champagne and a cocktail or two. Then Olivia decides it’s a good idea for us to order the other a cocktail.
‘After all, husband, a good wife is supposed to know all the things her man likes.’
‘After tonight, I think you’ll be a little closer to grasping that.’
‘That’s what she said.’ She sniggers, but I don’t respond as I catch the attention of one of the waitstaff. ‘He’ll have . . . ’ She runs her finger down the cocktail menu. ‘A high flyer, I think.’
‘And for you, a blackberry cobbler.’ I close the menu when she smirks.
‘I thought for sure you’d order me a jockey club and make some joke about being ridden well later tonight.’
‘A gentleman would never utter such a thing.’
‘That makes you either a liar or wrong.’
‘How so?’
‘Because I’ve heard you say much naughtier things.’
‘Naughty? I don’t think I’ve ever been called such a thing. At least, not since I was out of short trousers. Remind me, what did I say?’
‘Ha! Good try, but no. Not in a million years. Not unless you want me to burst into flames for such wickedness.’
‘You’ve thrown down the gauntlet now. You know what that means,’ I add suggestively.
‘Yeah, that I’ve thrown it down and stomped on it—trashed it! So not happening,’ she says flushed and giggling.
I like this version of Olivia. A little unguarded and suggestive. Truthfully, I like the combative Olivia just as well, but a little champagne buzz suits her. I wasn’t at all sure how today would play out, given the circumstances of our union. Hell, given the circumstances of our last meeting when the tension between us in my office resulted in her knee in my crotch and my balls in my throat. Not to mention earning us a cleaning crew audience. If at all possible, I’d prefer for us to get to the point of nakedness without any injury this time, and if that means a little champagne-aided relaxation, I’m happy with that.
Our drinks arrive, and we both decide we prefer what we ordered for the other. I’m more than happy to let her fly high tonight even if she does tease me mercilessly for preferring the sweet-tasting concoction.
We talk about everything and nothing. Or nothing important, I should say. Despite our teasing, she accuses me of being reticent, which is the least of it.
‘We’re doing this the wrong way around,’ she murmurs softly. Her eyes glitter in the ambient light as she stares at the contents of her glass.
‘Is there a prescribed way to do these things?’
‘Well, yeah.’ She scoffs. ‘People tend to get to know each other first. You know, before getting married.’
‘Not always. What about arranged marriages? Besides, I tend to believe we should make our own rules. But feel free to tell me all your secrets.’
‘There’s not much to tell.’
‘I don’t believe that. What about school?’
‘I have a degree in communications.’ She shrugs like the topic doesn’t interest her.
‘Is the degree for talking?’
‘Ha. Very funny.’
‘I remember when you used to get a degree in an actual subject like science, humanities, or the arts.’
‘So old,’ she taunts. ‘I bet you don’t even use a calculator. You have an abacus, right?’
‘I’m much more holistic in my approach. I take off my shoes and use my fingers and toes.’
‘What happens when you get to the bigger numbers?’
‘I make everyone in the office take off theirs.’ As she laughs, I come to realise this is my new favourite sound. At least until tonight when my body will be over hers.
‘You find that amusing?’ I quirk a brow as though to suggest she’s laughing at my very existence.
‘Yeah,’ she replies on the breath of a sigh. ‘But that’s okay because it was always in my plan to marry an older man.’ If possible, my brow arches higher. ‘You know, so I can watch him die and stuff.’
Plates are cleared away, and more cocktails are served.
‘What were you like growing up?’ she asks. Elbow propped on the table, she cups her pink cheek in her hand, thoroughly animated. Though it could be the champagne.
‘Lonely,’ I reply in a moment of honesty that surprises me. ‘Mostly. My parents were older and not really interested in me. I went to boarding school at age eight and things improved.’
‘That’s, that’s awful. Boarding school was an improvement?’ she repeats tenderly. But there really is no reason for her sympathy unless it makes her feel better. ‘I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.’
‘I imagine the exact opposite of your perfect childhood.’
‘I wouldn’t say my childhood was perfect.’
‘I don’t believe it wasn’t an idyllic experience.’
The way she conducts business says there’s an innocence about her. And innocence is the result of a lack of exposure to the real world. ‘I’m sure yours was a halcyon experience full of trips to the ice-cream store, teddy bears, and cuddles on demand.’ Because who could resist hugging her? Having her. There’s just something about this woman. Something enticing. Alluring. Something I can’t help but want to own. I’m sure my childhood sounds like a Dickensian novel in comparison, but I need to remember that, despite the way she’s looking at me, she’s here because I gave her no other choice.
‘Not so. I come from a broken home. My dad left when I was very young. I barely remember him.’
‘Daddy issues?’ I ask with a gleam.
‘Ha. You wish.’ She picks up her glass, though seems pensive for a beat. ‘My grandfather was a father figure for me. He owned a chain of drug stores until he retired. He was the best kind of man. Loyal and honest, he taught me the value of hard work. It’s to him that I owe E-Volve—his passing gave me the capital.’ She makes a noise that can only be described as disparaging. ‘I guess I didn’t pay enough attention to the advice he gave, or maybe I wouldn’t have fucked it all up.’ She takes a deep swallow, but I refuse to allow her to become maudlin.
‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that three out of every four start-ups fail. Are you saying seventy-five percent of all start-up owners are losers?’
‘No, it’s just—’
‘Just nothing. Sometimes the cards are just stacked for failure.’ Her expression hardens. I’m sure she’s thinking about Luke. Good. ‘Failure is not final. What’s important is having the courage to continue, no matter what else.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’ Her words fall in a rush, determined to steer the conversation elsewhere. Also good. ‘Tell me, where did you go to college?’
‘Oxford.’
‘Naturally,’ she deadpans. ‘And you have a law degree, Mr Fancy-pants.’
‘Jurisprudence,’ I correct, adding, ‘I’m more interested in your fancy pants. Pants meaning lingerie in my neck of the woods. I wonder, are you a lace or a silk kind of girl?’
‘Maybe I’m neither.’
‘That also works for me.’
‘What I mean to say is maybe I’m a plain cotton girl—like the tent kind of cotton kind.’ She makes a comical charade of pulling her underwear up her torso.
‘Also not important to me. You were at UCL?’
‘Yes.’ She narrows her eyes suspiciously. ‘I see you’ve done your homework.’
‘Would you expect anything else?’
‘So,’ she adds in a forthright tone, her hands clasped on the table, ‘you went to the kind of swanky-ass school that’s so special they can’t call a law degree a law degree.�
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‘The topic of underwear is so much more appealing than our schooling.’
‘I’m not sure granny panties count as lingerie,’ she mumbles quickly. ‘But yes, moving on. So Oxford, huh?’
‘I suppose some people would say Oxford sounds quite pretentious.’
‘I suppose some people were trying to be polite,’ she deadpans.
‘There’s no need to on my behalf.’
‘Ah, yeah. I forgot you can’t be insulted. My opinion is so irrelevant, as I recall, you can’t even be bothered to take offence.’ My reply? A wry smile as I watch her reach for her glass. ‘You’re not even going to defend yourself or apologise?’ she adds, piqued.
‘My, you are emotional.’
‘It’s kind of hard not to be when you’re so personal.’
‘The issue was that you were determined to take it personally. If you hadn’t been so ready to be offended, you would’ve heard what I actually said. Which is that I choose not to become emotionally invested in people’s opinions of me. Their words have no power; therefore, their opinions are insignificant. It’s a thought process.’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said.’
I smile again, which absolutely ruffles her feathers. ‘You should try it sometime.’ I reach for her hand as she sets the glass down. ‘A diamond doesn’t lose its value due to a lack of admiration.’ My thumb rubs over the sparkling stones I’d slipped onto her slender finger just a little while ago. ‘Value your own worth, Olivia. For it is great.’
Because, or maybe despite my honesty, I’d wager the words tumbling from her mouth are delivered without a lot of thought.
‘You mean try not to take offence when my spouse tells me they think I’m a grouchy ass?’
‘Your spouse would never cast such aspersions on your delectable arse. In fact, your spouse has some definite designs on the area in question.’ Very much so, in fact.
‘My spouse had better remove his head from his own ass. Because there isn’t enough money in the world for him to buy access to the area in question.’
‘Don’t do that.’ The bite in my tone is immediate. ‘Don’t make this out to be something it’s not. Something sordid and soiled.’
‘I-I think I have a pretty good handle on what this is.’ Her gaze slides away, her expression not quite pensive, but maybe preparing what she has to say. ‘I came to the truth, my truth, after a lot of soul searching and being in my own head. Could I do this? And what would it say about me if I did?’
I don’t speak but rather wait for her answers.
‘You’re looking at me like I’m a butterfly stuck under a piece of glass.’
‘Am I? I suppose I’m just trying to work out what conclusion you came to.’ While wondering if she’ll back out. No. She’s come this far.
‘I decided it doesn’t have to be black and white. Life is full of grey areas and lurking shadows. I decided that everyone does have a price—everyone.’
‘Just as the moon orbits the Earth, and the Earth reacts likewise to the sun’s gravitational pull, I’m sure more worthy truths will never be put into words.’
‘But what I also decided is that while you may have found my price, my price isn’t my worth.’
‘Congratulations.’ I raise my glass and toast the strength in her words. ‘As the aphorism goes; everyone wants to be a diamond, but few are willing to accept the cut.’
Olivia is a prize I will never deserve.
Deserve? Not.
Have? Certainly.
‘Would you like dessert?’ I ask in a careless tone. ‘Or are you ready to go back to the hotel?’
Chapter 21
OLIVIA
The car journey back to the hotel is tense. Or maybe that’s just me. And maybe tense isn’t the right word for the way I feel. I’m not exactly nervous but more excited. Jumpy and a little on edge.
Or maybe I just want to jump on him.
We don’t speak, and I dare not open my mouth for fear of where it might end. And I don’t mean with words but in actions. In destinations. In the places I want to test and taste. Don’t ask me why or how. I still don’t fully understand how I can be here today under these conditions and still want him like this.
‘This car has a privacy screen,’ Beckett murmurs as though reading my thoughts. His hand reaches out, his fingers entwining with my own.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I whisper back, turning to the darkened passenger window.
‘Why not? You were.’ Strange how I can hear the smirk in his words without even having to look. ‘There might be some symmetry in it,’ he suggests. Or dares.
I turn back to face him again. ‘You want the first time this happens to be in the back of a car? Maybe Reggie was right. Maybe you do have a fetish.’
‘I’m just teasing,’ he protests.
‘Such a boy.’
He reaches out to cup my cheek, bringing my face closer to his as he whispers, ‘But this man is going to fuck you in the car sometime soon.’ My insides begin to pulse in response to the image his declaration paints. ‘And you’re going to beg me to make it happen.’
‘Don’t build your hopes up too high,’ I whisper back as I slowly pull away. The push and pull, the taunt and the challenge—it’s like our foreplay. ‘The contract said consummation. In my mind, that happens just once.’
‘We’ll see,’ he purrs smugly as I turn back to my evening view.
‘Fun Olivia fact for you.’ I rub my lips together nervously as, a little later, we make our way to the elevator. I don’t know what’s making me more nervous; being in the tight scary space with Beckett or what will follow afterwards. ‘I hate these things; elevators, I mean.’ I bury my nose in my bouquet as if I could hide from him.
‘I know.’ The doors open, and he takes my hands as we step into the empty compartment. ‘Heather told me the day I turned up in your office.’
‘Heather.’ I pull an unhappy face in an effort to fight my smile. ‘Don’t laugh. Her social media skills are vast. Plus, she doesn’t cost me a lot of money, payroll-wise.’
‘I wouldn’t presume to make fun of your talent management skills,’ he replies, tugging me closer and wrapping his hands loosely around my waist. It’s like we’re already familiar with the ebb and flow of the other’s body. Sure, the cocktails have helped, but it seems more than that, almost as though it’s on a cellular level.
‘Sure, that’s why you want the veto on all new hires.’
‘I just want to help you get the best out of E-Volve. It certainly has nothing to do with a lack of faith in you.’
Somehow, I don’t believe him despite the apparent sincerity in his words. After what happened with JBW, let’s just say my confidence has been rocked. It’s like I no longer trust myself. Take what’s happening now as I lean into him with my cheek on his chest. When you dine with the devil, aren’t you supposed to take a long spoon? I should be maintaining a distance, not leaning on him.
‘Heather tells me you take the stairs every day. Sensible, if you ask me. The lift looks like a death trap.’
‘It’s not so bad. And climbing the stairs up three floors isn’t too bad. Plus, it’s good for the glutes.’ As he slides his hand down to the muscle mass in question, he makes a noise which kind of suggests he agrees. ‘It’s even better when you do it in heels.’
‘Yes,’ he almost groans. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘I didn’t thank you for the shoes.’ I’m going to fuck you in them. I push away the memory of his words. ‘You have good taste.’
‘You know what would make them look better?’ I angle my head to better see him. ‘If they were around my shoulders.’ His words and his expression render me speechless for a beat, but as the doors slide open to our floor, we step out.
‘Allow me.’ Key card produced, Beckett suddenly bends and sweeps me up into his arms.
‘What are you doing?’ I might have even squealed a little, then laugh as I notice the card now clenched between his tee
th.
‘I would’ve thought that was obvious,’ I think he says, and I almost ask him why. This isn’t supposed to be a real wedding night experience. Is it? We’re not supposed to feel swept away by giddiness and passion, so why is my heart galloping like the hooves of a runaway stallion?
‘Would you mind?’ Again, I think that’s what he says. I take the card from between his teeth, and he lowers me a little so I can reach the keypad. Before I can do so, the door clicks and swings open, and we’re met by a man in a pale grey suit. About my age, he looks completely unperturbed by our arrival, which is more than I can say for my reaction.
‘Allow me.’ He pulls the door wide, and Beckett angles our way through the doorway into the suite. ‘On behalf of the St. Regis, may I offer you our congratulations, Mr and Mrs Beckett.’
Oh, that sounds so strange.
‘Thank you,’ we seem to answer in unison. Beckett’s tone is solemn while mine is more a hysterical giggle.
‘I don’t think we’ll be needing any assistance this evening, will we, darling?’ Beckett’s gaze sparkles with challenge and the unspoken. Are we going to need his help while I fuck you? I can’t find the words to answer either of them, so instead, I shake my head.
‘Then I’ll just wish you a good evening.’ And with the sincerest of smiles, he removes himself from the room.
‘Why was there a man here?’ I squeak as I’m lifted sharply into the air, Beckett adjusting his grip under me. ‘Put me down! My legs work perfectly fine, as well you know.’
‘The butler,’ he answers succinctly. ‘And your legs are more than fine, but allow me to play my manly part and carry you over the threshold.’
‘This isn’t even—’ a proper marriage, I almost say as his gaze dares me ‘—a proper threshold!’ I say instead, throwing my arm out somewhere behind us. ‘We already passed that.’
