by Lauren Snow
“Hey there.” I’m the one that breaks the ice again. The gut jitters subside a little.
“Hey,” she responds, smiling giddily. I can tell she’s got a thing for me. That much is obvious from the amorous glint in her eyes—those calm, casual icy blue eyes. Her ginger curls seem to shine redder under this bar light. She’s as pretty as I remembered, if not more.
“I was right,” I say.
“About?”
“That we would see each other again. Remember when I said that at the hospital? And here we are.”
Wendie laughs and wags her finger at me. “You are absolutely right. What are the odds?”
“Under these circumstances, it’s a bit awkward, though,” I add. “So you’ve got the journal?”
“I sure do.” She unzips her purse and reaches inside. My heart thumps against my chest like a kick drum. I can’t shake the thought that she’s seen all the ugliness contained in that little tiny notebook. She probably thinks I’m a total basket case.
“Here you go,” she says, smiling awkwardly as she hands it over.
“Thank you very much.” I stare at it for a long time, then tap it against my palm. “Hey, how much of this did you read?”
My question takes her aback. “Uh, I didn’t—”
“C’mon, Wendie. Be honest. I know you’ve peeked at it at least.”
She deflates with surrender. “Okay. I’ve read all of it. Every last page.”
All of my internal organs rearrange themselves. So she’s seen the suicide notes, the bombing plots, the gruesome drawings—everything. That’s not good.
“Wendie, can you promise me something? Here, have a seat.” I let her have my barstool and I take the one next to it.
“Sure, what?”
“Please promise me that what you’ve seen in this journal, you never tell or show anyone else.”
She freezes for a moment and I get the horrible feeling that she’s already done the exact opposite. I’d like to hope not.
“Sure, Pearce. Of course. You have my word. But can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you write those things? I mean, some of that stuff was—” She looks away, likely to gather her feelings about what she saw.
“Okay, well the truth is, the journal isn’t mine,” I reveal. “It actually belongs to my friend, Kyle, the guy who raised hell yesterday in the waiting room.”
Wendie covers her mouth in shock. I see her begin to put the puzzle pieces together in her head.
“Kyle’s mentally ill,” I explain. “He went crazy after he lost everything from a real estate investment gone wrong. Have you heard of the real estate tycoon, Hadley Frances?”
“Yeah, I have.”
“Well that’s the guy who bamboozled my friend. Suckered him into a terrible deal and everything Kyle worked for just went to shit. That’s when he went over the edge. This journal is basically a manifesto of his most screwed up thoughts. I took this from him, because I was scared he’d actually go through with some of the crazy shit he wrote in here. Probably wasn’t a good idea to carry this with me in public.”
“How long has Kyle been writing in it?” Wendie asks.
“This is two years worth of stuff,” I tell her, holding up the notebook. “And I sometimes wonder if he’s hiding another one somewhere. If I find it, I’m confiscating that one, too.”
“Have you ever tried to get him help?”
“Of course I have. For a while. Nothing works. Therapy doesn’t work, meds only keep it suppressed for so long, staging interventions get nowhere. But I don’t wanna give up on him. I think there’s still hope.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Sure there’s still hope,” I tell him. “And the fact that you think that way shows that you’re a good friend. You don’t just give up on people you care about.”
“Thanks, Wendie. I try to be. Even if I have to suffer a devastating blow to the hand with a liquor bottle.” He holds up his still-bandaged hand and chuckles.
I make a puppy dog face at his injury. “Aww. How does it feel?”
“It still stings like hell when I move it a certain way, but the pain has gone down quite a bit,” he says. “They removed all the glass shards that were stuck in there—”
I hiss with sympathy for him.
“—and cleaned the wound thoroughly, so I’m good. Just gotta wait it out. Take antibiotics to prevent infection.”
“You’re a good one, Pearce.”
“How so?”
“That fact that you got this badly hurt and didn’t retaliate. That takes a great deal of restraint.”
“Yeah. But you’ve seen him. I’m almost twice his size,” Pearce says. “If I had decided to actually touch him, it wouldn’t have been pretty. At all.”
“Well, you were merciful in sparing him an ugly fate,” I tell him. “You’re a good friend for that, too.”
“I’d never hurt him,” Pearce says. “That’s not what a real friend does. And I’d never take advantage of someone who’s clearly not mentally right.”
Warm tears bubble up behind my eyes. Painful tears, the kind that burn your nose. A flood of emotion overcomes me.
“You okay?” he asks me.
I sniff back the threat of tears and force a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, Pearce, it’s just—I wish I had someone like you in my corner when I needed it most three years ago. Someone who’d understand me. Someone who was willing to not give up on me, even if I looked like the most disfigured person in the world.”
“What happened, Wendie?”
The question makes me tense up inside. I really don’t want to divulge this part of myself, but he asked, so I might as well.
“Three years ago, I went through a very dark depression,” I reveal. “At the time, I was very insecure about my weight. I was extremely self-conscious in public. My friend, Karlie, would try to get me out the house, but I would just sit up all day and draw the curtains so no one would see me. I did all kinds of diets, I tried getting my jaw wired shut for a month so I didn’t eat as much . . .”
I pause to swallow. The waterworks are trying to gush forth again.
“. . . I’d even considered going to get liposuction.” My voice begins to crack. I’m desperately trying to hold it together. “For the longest, I hated myself. I hated my body and cried to God about why he gave it to me.”
A few tears manage to trickle down my cheeks, despite my efforts to keep them bottled. Pearce is quiet for a moment, looking at me, soaking this all in. Then he speaks.
“Wendie, you are beautiful,” he says.
“Pearce, you’re just being nice—”
“No, Wendie. I mean it. You are. I wish you could see that about yourself.”
A swarm of butterflies fill my stomach.
“You want a drink?” he offers. “On me.”
“Uh, sure. Why not?”
He throws up his finger to get the bartender’s attention.
“What can I get you, sir?” the husky bald man asks while drying off a glass. He slings his towel over his shoulder.
Pearce looks at me.
“Just a cranberry and vodka, please,” I say.
“Alrighty, you got it.”
Pearce takes a sip of his own drink, relishes it, and gulps it down. The bartender slides my beverage to me and smiles. I cradle the glass with my hands as the ice quivers back and forth.
“You know this is the first time I’ve ever been here,” I tell him.
“Really?”
“Yep. And I pass this place all the time, but I’ve never stopped in to see about it.”
“I love this place. I come here all the time just to grab a drink and unwind. So is that your favorite? Cranberry and vodka?”
“Not really. It’s just a go-to when I don’t know what else to get.” I laugh and take a swig. Sweet with a kick. Just what I need.
“Hey, let
me ask you.”
“Yeah?”
“When’s the last time you’ve actually been with a guy?”
“Like, in a relationship?”
“Just in general.”
“If I’m being honest, it’s been at least three years. Around the time when my depression started.”
“Was it a relationship or just someone you dealt with?”
“Just someone I dealt with. I haven’t had an actual boyfriend since the ninth grade.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. So that’s been my life. But enough about me. What about your love life—or lack thereof?”
Pearce lets out a hearty laugh and takes another sip. “All dry over here. Haven’t been with anybody in years myself. My last relationship, I almost got engaged, but she left me for some rich bozo in Dubai, even though she had a perfectly wealthy billionaire right next to her.”
Billionaire?! I knew he was the CEO of his own tech company, but I didn’t think he had ten figures behind his name.
“Wow, I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“It’s okay. She was no good anyway. Incredibly unsupportive, vain, the list goes on and on. I don’t know what I was thinking when I considered proposing to her.”
I take another sip. “Well, I think she missed out on a great guy.”
Pearce’s mouth curves into a modest smile. “Thanks, Wendie. That means a lot.”
“So is that still a goal of yours? To be married?’
“Absolutely, it is,” he says without hesitation. “I want a whole family. A beautiful wife with at least two kids. I’m approaching forty, Wendie. The clock is ticking. You think I’ll be able to snag my queen before then?”
I blush at the idea of me being his queen. “Anything’s possible. Right?”
“That’s right.”
I hold up my glass. “Cheers to anything being possible for the both of us. Cheers to a positive future.”
Pearce smiles and raises his glass, too. We take a drink. The buzz is starting to hit me a little now. I feel light and comfortable. I feel like now, I can tell him anything.
“Can I be honest with you?” I say.
“Yeah.”
“I have a crush on you.”
Pearce’s eyes light up and he flinches with astonishment. “Really?”
“I do. I think you’re very handsome. And caring. And you smell nice.” I chuckle. “And those are absolute dealmakers.”
He laughs. “Well, since we’re being honest with each other, I ought to tell you that I have a crush on you as well. Actually, since the first time I met you. That’s why I made it my business to talk to you.”
“Ah, now it all makes sense. I was wondering why this stranger in the ER waiting room went out of his way to strike up conversation. But I’m glad he did.”
I ask the bartender for at least three more rounds of cranberry and vodka, and now the buzz has graduated to tipsiness. My head is sort of underwater now. I’m laughing at all of Pearce’s jokes, my eyes are darting back and forth between his face and his crotch. I’m having perverted thoughts about this man when I shouldn’t be.
My bladder is filled to capacity. I stagger off the barstool and look for the ladies’ room, almost tripping as I walk. Pearce grabs me before I land on the floor.
“Whoa, easy there,” he says. “I can take you home if you want me to.”
“No, no, no,” I whine. “I wanna be with you tonight. Please let me stay with you. I’ve never been with a guy like you before, let alone a billionaire. Not that I’m a gold digger or anything like that. I just mean that, you don’t dress or act like a billionaire. Had you not told me, I would’ve always assumed you were just a regular guy.”
He sits me back down on the barstool.
“Wendie, I think you’re getting a little drunk.” He chuckles.
“I am not! I’m just feeling myself, that’s all. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. There’s other things I’m dying to feel, but I think it’s too early to make that call.”
Pearce frowns with puzzlement. “Dying to feel what, exactly?”
“You know . . . good.”
“Feel good how?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, Mr. Ballot? I haven’t been satisfied in ages. That’s what I’m talking about. Women have needs, just like men.”
Pearce scoffs out an uncomfortable laugh. “Laying it on thick, aren’t we?”
“Well, you made me. You weren’t catching the signals. I really have to go to the ladies, so, if you’ll excuse me. Where’s the restroom? Can you show me where it is?”
Pearce’s face turns red. “I’ll show you, as long as you don’t try to pull me in there with you and do anything crazy.”
“I’m not, I promise! I know a big, strong man like you wouldn’t allow me to anyway.”
He smiles uneasily. “Wendie, let me take you home. Did you drive?”
“Yes, yes I did.”
“Well I will get your car picked up by Dave. You’re too toasted to drive yourself home right now. So c’mon, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Can I please go to your place?”
Pearce jerks his head back in surprise. I don’t think he expected me to be this adamant. But I want to spend more time with him, away from people. Just us. We haven’t had that yet. I’m afraid my desire to be alone with him is liquor-induced. But, if that’s the case, I’ll take it. I need him right now. He makes me feel secure, something I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Okay,” he says. “We can. Whatever makes you happy. Okay?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Here we are, Wendie. Welcome to Casa de Pearce.” I take off my coat and Wendie’s and hand them to my butler, Dave, who was standing at the door waiting for us.
“So what do you think?” I ask her. She steps into the foyer and looks around in amazement.
“This place is huge,” she says, her eyes beaming with wonder. “I’ve never been in a mansion this big. Heck, I’ve never even been in a mansion at all.”
I laugh. “Thirty-thousand square feet,” I tell her. “All this space for a solitary bachelor.”
Wendie walks around and takes everything in. “I’m sure you get lonely in here, huh?”
I tilt my head and nod. “Yeah, occasionally, I do.”
“So see? It’s a good thing I came home with you,” she says.
I smile at her. “Thanks for insisting on being my company. You want a grand tour?”
“Sure!” she says excitedly.
I take her to the living room first, then the dining room (or as I like to call it, the royal banquet hall), then the kitchen, the study parlor, and the back deck. We go upstairs where I then show her my bedroom.
“And here is where zero magic happens,” I joke.
Wendie laughs and makes herself comfortable on the love seat in front of my bed.
“Should I take my shoes off, or . . .”
“Oh no, you’re fine.” I sit down next to her. “I should’ve asked if you wanted anything to drink. You thirsty?”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks, though. So this is what being the boss of an IT company gets you, huh?” She scans the room.
“Yeah. I guess it is.” I try to maintain a modest tone.
“How long have you been here?”
“Just a little over four years. I love it up here in the Poconos. Hadley Frances’ grandson lives here, actually.”
“Really? Do you guys ever hang out?”
“Hell no. His granddad ruined my friend’s life, so I don’t want anything to do with the Frances family. Nothing at all. Loyalty first.”
“I can respect that. They don’t make too many men like you anymore. God, where have you been all my life? You’re perfect.”
My cheeks flush. “Loyal men are a rare breed these days, you’re right.”
“They sure are. The disloyal majority are the reason why I’m so insecure about life.”
“What did those guys do to you?” I crack my knuckles as if I’m
getting ready for war. “Tell me where they live so I can kill them.”
Wendie giggles and turns a shy shade of pink. “They just made me feel inadequate. Like I was never enough. Whether it was how much money I made, or how I dressed, or the way I talked, or the way I performed in the bedroom. It was always something. And hearing that constantly from guys began to screw with my head. I went through so much mental anguish. Pearce, the truth is, I’m a damaged woman. I come with a lot of baggage, and I just want a man who can understand me.”
I scoot closer to her and put my hand on her shoulder. “You seem like a great woman, Wendie. I’m sorry you had to deal with jackasses who couldn’t see that. But it’s their loss.”
Her eyes turn glassy. She shakes her head to keep the tears at bay. “Every man I’ve dealt with has verbally ridiculed me for my weight. They always told me that I have a pretty face, but too much meat. A lot of guys suckered me into having sex with them because they wanted a good time, only to leave me high and dry shortly after. And it’s the reason why I have huge trust issues with men. It’s why I’m so defensive around them. Most people would call me an idiot for allowing the pattern to continue. But it’s never me who makes the first move. It always starts with the guy approaching me first.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why were you involved with so many different men?”
“I don’t wanna come off like I’m a whore or something,” she says. “That’s not in my nature. But I felt I needed to have all these partners in order to validate myself. To convince myself that yes, I was enough.”
Hearing her speak her truth is honestly devastating. I can’t begin to imagine how she feels.
“I hate that you felt you needed to do that,” I tell her. “There is nothing wrong with you, Wendie. Not a damn thing.”
A tear slides down her cheek and I swipe it away with my thumb.
“I really like you, Pearce,” she says, staring down at her lap and fidgeting with her fingers. She looks back up at me. “Can you promise me something?”
