by P. Dangelico
Whatever points Scott earned by hiring a trans woman paled in comparison with all the points I deducted for all the crap he’d put me through.
After a brisk handshake, I stepped closer. “Nice to meet you. I need to see him now.” When Jan didn’t budge from the doorway, I went for broke. “Jan, is it? I’ve been living in a cabin for three weeks with no hot water or heat because Scott lied to me. He led me to believe that the cabin was his home, not”––I gestured to the mansion we were currently standing in––“this.”
Jan blinked her bright blue eyes. “He’s in the master suite. Down the hall and to the right. Boots off. Don’t get any blood on the carpets please. They’re Tibetan.” Jan stepped aside.
Jan and I were going to get along perfectly well.
Kicking off the muddy Hunter boots, I made a beeline for his bedroom and barged in without knocking. It was empty save for the expensive designer furniture. The simple dark wood softened by natural materials in shades of gray and beige. An enormous bed dressed in imported Frette linens and a Scandia goose down comforter.
Let’s not forget the famous Hästens mattress I’d heard so much about––there it was, chuckling at my expense. All those cold nights hunkering next to the dogs for warmth. All those cold showers…
Ironically, it was the sound of a shower running that threw a monkey wrench in the wheels turning in my head. Crossing the room, I blasted the bathroom door wide open…aaand regretted it instantly.
On the opposite end of a very large bathroom with a heated stone floor (A heated floor!), Scott stood in the shower rinsing his shampooed head. Water sluiced over an intricate tapestry of muscle and bone. Not a spare inch of fat to be found on him anywhere. I’m ashamed to admit my attention went straight to the forbidden. His penis lay thick and long amongst neat dark hair until it started to harden under my seriously thorough examination.
“Had a good look?” he said with way too much sarcasm in his voice.
My gaze climbed until it reached his narrowed indigo eyes. His lips shaped into a smug little smile.
“If I was a dude, I’d knock your teeth out!”
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Without thought, I rushed him, got in his face. Oops, bad idea. I was forced to backpedal or risk getting plastered to his wet chest. Which wouldn’t have been such a terrible idea if I wasn’t so enraged.
Stepping forward, he invaded my personal space as he reached for a towel hanging on the hook, inches separating us. Eyelashes beaded with water, lips moist, gaze…full of trouble.
“If you were a dude, I’d be gay.” He smirked, his eyes glazing over with lust as he took in my flushed face and the nipples poking at my cable sweater. My arms automatically crossed.
“If you were gay, I might actually like you!”
“If I was gay, I wouldn’t be tempted to do this––” Dropping the towel, he took hold of my face, cradling it gently but firmly in his hands, and kissed me.
Kissed me like he was into me. Kissed me like I was his to kiss.
I was too shocked to do anything other than stand there and let him, my anger neutralized by ah, well, a litany of different emotions––none that I was very proud of.
Water-soaked, he pressed his body against mine, his hips pinning me against the edge of the counter, and I melted against him, let him tease my lips apart and slip his tongue into my mouth because everything about him felt so good I wanted to cry tears of joy. It was as good as I remembered. Better, actually. Resisting didn’t even cross my mind.
Unable to hold back any longer, my hands lifted slowly searching for a place to land. They slipped from the hot moist skin of his collarbone to the curve of his powerful shoulders, finally coming to rest on his biceps. Wedged between us, his erection, now at full throttle, pushed against the inside of my thigh. A hand dipped under the hem of my sweater. Broad fingertips skated over my hard nipples and I went up on my toes practically begging for more.
If I moved to the left just a little––
“This what you want?”
He rocked his hips against mine and I almost went into a full-body shudder then and there. In some distant part of my brain, I knew this shouldn’t be happening. That it was madness and I should be trying harder to dismember him and hide the body parts in the vegetable garden. I just couldn’t make myself do it when his lips were so soft, and his hands stroked my breasts so tenderly, and the thick, hard length of him pressed between my legs at the right angle. I couldn’t think of anything other than having him inside of me.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, sighing like I’d granted a starving man his favorite meal. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this…” He took hold of my butt cheeks and picked me up, placing me on the marble counter without once breaking the violent delight of his kiss. And once he sensed that I was all in and in no mood to stop him, the gloves came off.
He pressed right into my sweet spot––in case I’d misunderstood what he intended––and I completely forgot why I’d come over in the first place, not to mention all the reasons this was the worst idea ever.
“We shoulda been doing this from the start. That mattress was killing my back…” he groaned in my ear. Which was basically equivalent to a cold shower. I mean…wtf?
Reality came charging back to pop the bubble of lust we were floating in. Stiffening, I shoved at his chest and jumped off the counter.
“Sydney––” he said, shaking the desire off his face. His gaze alert and unwavering. He took a step forward, and I automatically retreated two more.
Breathing hard, we stared at each other. “I knew you were immature and selfish, but I never, ever imagined you to be this…this shady.”
His shoulders fell and he briefly glanced away. It was as close to an apology as I’d ever get, indicating some level of genuine remorse but not nearly enough to appease me. Then again, I could be wrong. He’d fooled me one too many times already and I wasn’t about to give him another opportunity.
“Syd, wait––”
“I gave you every chance to back out…” I shook my head in disgust. “Who are you, Scott?”
I watched him pull it all back––the desire, the remorse. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, his features defaulting to neutral. “The man you blackmailed into marriage.”
I walked out of the bathroom, bid Jan goodbye as I exited the house overlooking the valley, and never once looked back when the Blackstone jet went wheels up two hours later.
Chapter Twelve
Scott
“How ’bout a burger?” Laurel shouted from behind her desk.
I barely heard her. I was much too busy staring blindly at the desktop computer screen in my office and thinking about my wife. At least, I hoped she was still my wife. She could very well have been filing divorce papers. My gaze slid to the iPhone resting on my desk. I owed her an apology. I picked it up, put it down. I’d been doing a lot of that lately.
“Scott! Burger?”
I hadn’t slept in ten days. Ten days that felt like a goddamn eternity. Remorse was a heavy weight to bear. I was practically suffocating under it. Moreover, my house was too quiet, it didn’t smell like freshly baked muffins, and there was no one waiting at home for me at the end of a long day. Even Jan was giving me the cold shoulder. The last made no sense and I made a mental note to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.
Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone without a word from her. Not even a text. I had no idea where or whom she’d spent them with and it bothered me, constantly nagging my conscience, a feeling which kept company with the restlessness that kicked in the moment Jimbo phoned to say the Blackstone jet was safely in the air.
Undermining her had been a crappy thing to do. With some distance, I could see it for what it was: petty and childish. Because, had my life changed for the worse? No, it hadn’t. My ego had taken the hit and it could sustain plenty without incurring any permanent damage. And she was right. It’s not like I hadn’t
“Scott! You deaf? What do you want for lunch?”
I had no intention of apologizing for what had happened in the bathroom. Hell no. I wasn’t the only one swept up in the moment. Whatever was going on between us was definitely mutual. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. It had been that way from the start, since Devyn’s wedding all those years ago. It made even more sense now. We were two hard people constantly striking against each other. Sooner or later we were bound to cause a spark. All I could hope for was that I didn’t catch fire. She could deny it all she wanted but chemistry of that magnitude didn’t come around often and deserved to be explored. Now if I could only convince her of that.
My finger hovered over the messages icon.
“I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were pining for her,” Laurel’s voice cut in. That brought my head up. I shot her my customary have you lost your mind look, and as usual, it did nothing other than encourage her to continue. “Oh my gee oh dee, are you?” A divot formed between Laurel’s brows. “I think you are.”
“He’s pining for her,” Ryan casually claimed while he dropped his ball cap on the coffee table and sank onto the couch. I hadn’t even heard him come in. He stuffed the last of the muffins Sydney had baked in his mouth while I struggled to contain a bout of possessiveness. “Damn, she can bake,” he muttered around a mouthful of my fucking muffin.
Twelve-year-old girls pined. I didn’t pine. “The only thing I’m pining for is some silence and employees that mind their own damn business.” I pointed to his face. “And those were for me.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Smirking, Ryan turned to face Laurel. “He’s definitely pining for her.”
“Don’t you two have something better to do other than worry about my love life? Like maybe some actual work?”
“Interesting that you call it a love life,” Laurel mused.
“I caught that too,” Ryan added.
It wasn’t enough that I was losing sleep over what had happened, that I felt bad enough to consider getting on the next flight to New York, I had to take shit from my friends too.
“Is somebody going to go pick up lunch or what?”
I wasn’t pining. I mean…maybe, I…well, no other way to put it––I missed my wife. I missed seeing her face. I missed knowing she was there at night, just beyond the wall, even though I couldn’t touch her. That being a particularly problematic aspect of the situation. I missed the wife I’d been trying to get rid of. God had a sick sense of humor, but there it was.
My cell rang. The Star Wars main theme played. I had little doubt that an ass chewing was coming for the way I’d treated Sydney and I deserved it.
“Hey, Dad.”
“On the second ring. I’m flattered. I’ll make this brief. I’m throwing a party next weekend to announce my retirement and celebrate your wedding. The entire board of directors will be there and so will you––needless to say, on your best behavior. The Public Library. Eight p.m. Don’t be late.”
Under normal circumstances I would’ve argued, which always led to an eventual albeit reluctant capitulation. I didn’t bother this time. I needed to see Sydney, wanted to see her, and Franklin had just handed me the perfect cover. Though I’d never admit it to him. Just because I loved the old man didn’t mean there wasn’t a constant struggle for the upper hand between us. I was still mad at him for muscling me into this arrangement and I wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll be there.”
First time in years those words felt good on my lips.
Sydney
“BLT or turkey club?”
I glanced up from the park bench in Bryant Park I was huddled on to find Frank standing over me looking as elegant as ever in his long navy cashmere coat. I needed to get out, get some fresh air even though it wasn’t particularly warm. Wyoming had spoiled me and being stuck inside all day had become nearly intolerable. I’d been back in New York for two weeks, and between all the work I had to catch up on and the holidays, we hadn’t had a single private conversation. And we desperately needed one.
He held up two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper.
“Turkey club,” I answered with a smile. Taking a seat next to me, Frank crossed his long legs and handed me the sandwich.
“Thank Christ––” He unwrapped his and bit into it, moaning. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if you said BLT.”
“I knew you wanted it.” Side-eyeing him, my smile grew wider.
“So…you haven’t said much since you got back. How did it go?”
This conversation needed to be handled with care. For better or worse Scott was a Blackstone and he would always be, and Frank loved his family more than anything. Even more than the company he’d built from the ground up. Despite what Scott thought.
I’d had time to cool off. To regroup, if you will. It had been a silly fantasy to believe that Scott would’ve eventually come around, that maybe we could’ve made a go of it. But as evidenced by reality, people don’t change.
Case in point, I spent yet another Christmas eating Chinese takeout and watching It’s A Wonderful Life. New Year’s was pizza and Wedding Crashers. Same as I’d done the last ten years in a row. People didn’t change. Still, a girl could dream.
“Not great.” I sighed. “He’s fighting me tooth and nail. This after I gave him the opportunity to back out.” Embarrassed, my face pinched. “He made me believe a five-hundred-square-foot run-down shack was his home.”
A bark of laughter shot out of him. “And you fell for it?”
“Umm, yeah.” Frank’s shoulders shook in mirth as he ate his sandwich. “I just spent three weeks living with no heat or hot water, Frank. It’s not funny.” Though a faint smile was forming on my face. “He’s a jerk.”
“You knew that when you married him.”
“I was hoping he’d changed…he has moments of decency,” I grumbled. “Did you know Scott can sign?”
Frank turned to examine me. “My son knows sign language?”
I nodded. “One of his employees is deaf and they sign.”
There were moments when Scott surprised me––in a positive way. That’s maybe why I’d kept hope alive as long as I had. The way he treated everyone who worked for him. His love of the land he had stewardship of. The dogs. Then I remembered that I was at the bottom of that totem pole.
“How’s the ranch?” Stuffing the last bit of sandwich in his mouth, he balled up the paper and threw it in the trash can a few feet from the bench. Nothing but air.
“Nice shot.”
“Played basketball with Jordan a time or two.” Frank winked at me. I didn’t doubt his claim. He had the pictures in his office to prove it.
“I don’t know much about raising cattle, but from what I’ve gathered from speaking to his assistant and ranch manager, his profit margins have been growing every year. He’s doing well, runs it tight.”
Frank’s face transformed. The mild amusement melted away only to be replaced by soberness. He looked tired all of a sudden.
“He loves it, Frank,” I said as gently as I could. It was obvious he was disheartened by the news. Whatever suspicion I had about Frank hoping for the return of the prodigal son was confirmed. “And it suits him. He doesn’t even look the same.”
He stared ahead, lost in thought.
“You haven’t told him you’re ill,” I said, hands flat on my lap, perfectly still. “I don’t feel right about keeping it from him. It feels like a lie…like I’m deceiving him.” With each day that passed, it bothered me more. It wasn’t right to withhold such information. And my gut told me it would eventually blow up, most likely in my face.
That seemed to shake Frank out of the trace he was in. “I need more time. Once I tell him, everything changes.” I didn’t understand “needing time,” but I wasn’t about to deny a dying man his wish.
“I’ll tell him soon. Promise me you won’t say anything, Syd.”
As much as it pained me, I nodded. I could never betray him. “I promise.”
Before I’d even decided how to deal with Scott––murder unfortunately not being an option––Frank’s party was upon us. At this point I figured if he wanted to continue being an ass, he could dig his own grave and Frank could bury him. I had neither the time nor the willingness to play games with him. Moreover, I was going to do my absolute best to pretend “the bathroom” never happened.
I stepped out of my building across from Central Park and into a sharp January chill. It had me wishing I’d worn something heavier than a cashmere wrap over the garnet-colored Carolina Herrera one-sleeve gown I’d bought for the occasion. If my grandparents could see me now.
“Ladies are demure, Sydney. Harlots like your mother wear jeans and see-through shirts.” My grandmother had imparted this wisdom on a shopping expedition to JC Penny. The trigger had been a pair of OshKosh B’gosh pink denim culottes I’d picked out and a t-shirt with a rainbow on it. Because I loved rainbows. I was eleven at the time.
A black Mercedes 500 was parked at the curb, Scott leaning against it with his hands shoved in the pockets of his tuxedo pants and his face tipped down like he was inspecting the shine on his shoes. Freshly shaved and with his hair parted and slicked back, he looked more like the playboy he’d once been than the rancher he’d become. Sensing me standing a few feet away, he glanced up abruptly and his expression put me in mind of an errant schoolboy who’d been caught doing something very naughty. Like gaslighting his new wife, perhaps? Jackass.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a little over two weeks and it felt like we were starting from scratch. Or worse. With a heavy amount of suspicion and distrust between us. He stepped away from the car and began to approach, but the look on my face brought him up short.
-->
