by MJ Fields
Last night, I took her to Jack’s Oyster Bar and finally got her to try some. I don’t think I have ever laughed so much in my life, watching her swallow them down. Luckily, I learned she liked them much more with a healthy squeeze of lemon and mignonette. After we were done with dessert, we rushed back and had the longest, slowest, deepest lovemaking session of my existence. We were soaked with sweat by the time we were satiated. I can barely believe it myself, but we both fell asleep in short order when we were done. I slept in until seven o’clock in the morning. For me? It may as well have been midday.
I look up from my computer as she bounces down the stairs fresh from the bath I drew for her. She’s in leggings, a white tank top, her hair in wet waves, and makeup free.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks curiously, sitting beside me.
I sit back from the table and link my fingers behind my neck and look her over slowly before responding. “You look too clean. I want nothing more than to make you sweaty and fill you with my—”
She holds her hand to my lips. “I am going to grab my bag from my car where I left my laptop and attempt to hack Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts system so I can see if the potential vacationers I spoke to this morning are ready to book.”
“Can brains get erections?”
“What?” Shaking her head, she laughs as she walks toward the door.
“You just did something no other woman has done. You made my brain hard.”
She leaves the house, and I don’t bother looking back down at the document I’m working on. As soon as Sarah comes back in, I’m bound to have a fight on my hands.
The door flies open, and she steps in, her face an interesting shade of red.
She shuts the door behind her, turns back, and crosses her arms.
Voice shaking, she begins, “I’d really love to know where my car is. And then, Beckett, I’d love to know why a freaking white Land Rover is sitting in my parking spot, with my plates on it.”
“I’m not sure how to answer your questions without the possibility of your head exploding. Which would be a shame, as you have such a lovely face.”
She doesn't reply, but her skin is getting redder by the second. I sigh in annoyance as I stand and walk toward her.
Again, she holds up her hand. “I am not a violent person, but I am asking you not to come any closer to me. I have managed to keep my shit together regardless of my circumstances, but if you come near me, everything will come to an ugly head.”
I don’t stop walking toward her. “Caile, you—”
She makes a timeout sign with her hands. “Right now, I’m not playing this game. I feel like nothing more than a high-priced hooker.”
Her face is now turning purple, and I know that I have to lower the tension. “I will allow your little timeout for a moment, but don’t insult me. It’s a Land Rover Sport and extremely utilitarian at that. If you were a high-priced prostitute, I would have already gotten anal, and you’d have gotten a Range Rover with all the bells and whistles.” I can’t help it, my face cracks into a smile.
“This is not funny, Beckett!”
“No, it’s not.” I look at my watch. “It’s a waste of time arguing on my part and a waste of effort on yours. It’s done. Accept it and move on.”
“Accept it and move on! What will people think?”
“A better question is why do you give a damn what people think? What bearing do they have on who you are?”
“I’m fucking the boss!” she yells.
“We both know that’s untrue. You fucked me before I became your boss. If you’d like me to announce that during my exit meeting, prior to me returning to Ireland, I’ve no problem clearing the air.”
She throws her hands in the air. “You’re impossible.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
She huffs, “Why bother saying anymore?”
“My thoughts exactly.” I look back at my watch again. “We have an hour before the chef arrives. I’d like to fuck you again. Now.”
“I have a better idea,” she says, walking past me.
“And what’s that?”
“How about you go fuck yourself.”
She’s faster than I anticipated and makes it up the stairs, slams, and locks the door before I reach her.
Sitting in the hallway outside of the locked bedroom door, I flex my hand, the one I want to pinken her hot little arse. I could easily kick it in, but she already thinks I have control and boundary issues, and I’d prefer to fuck her after dinner than hit the gym for cardio.
Like a beaten dog, I knock on the door again.
She screams, “I want my vehicle back!”
“I traded it for a full tank of gas,” I call back.
“I want the payment book!”
“What the hell is a payment book?”
She huffs, “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Not much for jokes, so no, I’m not.” We’re talking through the door, and it’s getting ridiculous. But if this is what she needs, so be it.
“I want to make payments to pay off the damn vehicle I know I can’t afford.”
I pull out my phone and send a message to HR at headquarters and instruct that Sarah be given a raise and another to Alfred to make some sort of agreement for payment—which is preposterous—and hit send. “You can afford it. You’ve been given a raise.”
The door flies open, and I manage to move away just in time. I could have been knocked unconscious by the force of it! She looks down at where I’m sitting, smiling. “Fast reflexes.”
“I could have been a pro footballer, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure you could have.”
“Don’t believe me?”
“Unfortunately, I do.” She exhales and finally sinks down to where I’m sitting, so both of our backs are against the wall. “You can’t just give me a raise, Beck—”
“I absolutely can. As a matter of fact, I already have. And before you turn purple again, you’ve yet to receive a raise, and you deserve one. You’re the lowest paid employee in the reservations department and bringing in the most guests. This raise was due.” I push up off the floor and stand, putting my hand out to her to lift her up.
“But—”
“I’m done arguing. You can make payments if that will end this insanity.” I take her hand, pulling her up. “This ends now. We are not wasting time arguing things that mean nothing when we could be fucking.”
I kiss her hard on the lips, and then I walk away. Doesn’t she realize how amazing she is? She fucking deserves this car. This house. A raise ten times higher. And not temporarily, either. She deserves it all forever.
It only takes a few minutes for her to find me sitting in the living room with my laptop. I move it away, making room for her. Turn on HBO. Laugh at old episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Not feeling close enough, I bring her onto my lap, so her head rests against my chest, and surprisingly, something that looks a lot like relief settles in my heart.
I don’t enjoy negotiating with her, but sure as the grass is green, I like this.
Chapter Seventeen
“Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.”
(A light heart lives longest. Someone who finds lasting love will live a long and happy life.)
- Irish proverb
Beckett
For the past two and a half weeks, I’ve been inside Sarah more times than days spent stateside over the last three years. Not least, we’ve been talking. Laughing. Eating. We’ve been spending every single night together, despite agreeing that we’d only see each other a few nights during the week.
Normally, the moment my flight lands in Colorado, I get my work done, spend time with Raff and Nathaniel, screw around with random women in the evenings to let out the energy that I couldn’t get out at the gym, and when I was finally spent, returned to my room—alone.
But watching Sarah now, eating fresh berries, granola, and yogurt in a bowl as she taps her Kindle to turn the pages, some
thing within my chest stirs. I rub the back of my neck. I’m staring at her, and yet, an acute feeling of missing her infiltrates me.
This feel of missing someone I’m staring at is confusing, and yet, it’s how I feel. I stand up abruptly, my chair grating against the wooden floor.
“You okay, Beckett?” She tilts her head to the side, blinking in that sweet way of hers.
“I’m fine.” I grip the back of my chair, standing straight, wanting to say a million things. But how does one articulate a feeling which makes no sense?
I’m going to miss this woman a lot more than I thought possible. But it’s also more than that.
She sets down her Kindle, stands up, walks to me, wraps her arms around my waist, and looks up. I look into her eyes—deeply.
“Sarah, I—” I cut myself off because I can’t even find the words. Hell, I’m not even sure what to say right now. But I’m feeling things I don’t think I have ever felt. Ever.
Tears fill in her large brown eyes, and suddenly, I’m on alert. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I sit back down, bringing her onto my lap, and she says nothing.
“This won’t work.” Lifting her into my arms, I walk us to the couch in the living room and set her down. Whatever that’s going on with her, I need to fix it.
I pause, waiting for her to speak. Still, she says nothing.
I walk to the fire and begin adding wood to it. It’s not particularly cold. It’s summer for fuck’s sake, but the mountains do stay chilly, and I enjoy the sound and scent of the crackling fire—so I add more wood on the fire and am glad there’s still a large pile left from what I brought in the other day.
Once the fire is stoked, I walk back over and sit beside her, waiting for her to open up about whatever is bothering her.
As soon as I take her hand, tears fall down her face in earnest, and I pull her back on my lap. “Beckett…”
“Go on, Caile, talk to me.”
“I know how.” She holds her hand over her heart. “How you feel about me. I can see it. It’s written all over your face and in your actions. You are falling for me. You’re worried about what will happen when you leave. But, Beckett, the truth is, this can’t happen. And not because of you. Y-you’re a gentleman and were from the start. But I don’t think I’ve been as honest…”
“Aye.” I swallow hard, my heart thumping as my mind races through scenario after scenario of what it means when a woman says, ‘I don’t think I’ve been as honest,’ yet I’ve never encountered it. “Tell me.”
“This thing between us was just supposed to be fun. I didn’t think that we’d get as close as we have.”
“Neither did I. But it crept up on us, didn’t it?”
Her face scrunches up like she may cry again, and her eyes scream guilt.
Suddenly, I feel angry. Very, very angry. What is she hiding? What is this fucking secret?
“B-but if you knew everything about me, you wouldn’t have wanted this with me. And I wanted you so badly.”
I grit my teeth. “Tell me.”
Her hands are shaking. “I-I know you’re set to leave next week, but I think maybe you should go sooner.”
I shake my head, confused, and maybe…hurt?
“No. Tell me right now what you’re saying. You owe me the truth.” I slide her off my lap, too agitated to have her sitting on me.
I stand and walk away as my hands turn to fists as I try to calm myself down. Could she have a husband? A boyfriend abroad? How could I have been fooled in this way? No. No, that’s not it. I looked into her. Alfred looked into her.
Fuck, this…hurts.
“I had cancer,” she blurts. “Ovarian. They had to give me a hysterectomy. I’ll never be able to have children, Beckett.”
I’m struck. I haven’t a clue as to how to react. It’s not something I can fix. My stomach knots as I stand here and simply look at her. She doesn't look like cancer. She doesn't look like sickness. She doesn’t look like a fucking dead end. She looks like…Sarah.
“After all I’ve been through, I promised myself to live life to the fullest. I promised myself I could be happy and take nothing for granted. I’ll never be truly happy if I hurt someone. You don’t deserve that. So please, this has to end now.”
We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, or maybe it’s a few hours—who knows at this point, until my body finally moves into action. I grab her, pull her up and against my chest, holding her head against my heart.
Meanwhile, I feel like I’m going to pass out. Sarah. My sweet Sarah. Cancer? “I only wish I could have been there for you then.” My head is spinning. This was the last thing I would have predicted. “But you’re okay now. You can live a normal life now.”
She looks at me, her face crumpling. “N-no, Beckett, you don’t understand.” She pushes away, her face red and lips puffy. “Being in love isn’t an option.”
“That’s enough, Sarah—”
“You should be dating someone seriously so you can have a family. You deserve that. I heard how much love and admiration you still carry for your parents and have for your brothers. I know you claim you don’t want it, but you’re wrong. You will want that one day, too.” She steps back and begins to pace back and forth. “I figured we’d have fun, and you’d leave, and that would be that. But things got deeper with us than I thought they would. Or could. And I have to stop it before we go any further.”
“I decide what I want and what I don’t want, no one else. You’re right about one thing. My feelings for you are —”
She turns and looks at me as if I am more frightening than cancer itself and demands, “Turn them off.”
“No, Caile. I won’t turn them off.” I grit my teeth.
“You will. I have to put my foot down. You deserve more than this.” She points to her own chest, and I can barely process what it is I’m seeing and hearing.
More than her? Am I dreaming this moment? There has never been anything nor anyone better than her.
“The contract is ending,” she continues, “and I think it’s in our best interest to end it now. We’ve gone too far.”
“Too far?”
She nods. “Yes. I couldn’t ever put you or me in a position where we fall in love. And at this rate, we’re headed there—all of our meals together, we’ve opened up to each other. Sex that was once simply explosive now has an added element. This path toward love isn’t the one we were supposed to take.”
“L-love?” With that one word, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. She knows. She knows what it is. I’m a decent enough man, but I’ve never done for a woman before what I’ve needed to do for her. Her warmth. Her kindness. Her laughter. Jesus, and all that is holy, this woman is exactly what I never wanted, but now the realization strikes heavy that it’s possible. I came back here to Aspen with intentions deeper than I’d ever considered delving into.
“Beckett, are you listening to me?” She squints her eyes, waiting for a reply.
I swipe my hand over my brow, ridding it of the sweat beading against my skin. The truth of what has become of us twists my insides. “Y-yes.”
My blood turns cold and then hot, my mouth drying out. The revelation is almost too shocking to bear.
“I p-planned on leaving. I have some work to finish up, and then I need to get back to Dublin. Maybe you’re right. We should cool this off for now. Let me just think about this.”
My words are automatic, my mind barely understanding what it is I’m saying. It’s all too much. I never planned on this, and I plan everything to a T. It’s only been a matter of weeks since I’ve been with this woman! And yet—she hit the nail on the head, this is…Love.
She nods, and I swear, I can see her heart break in her chest through her expressive eyes. Still, I harden myself. I need a plan. But before that, I need a ten-kilometer run on the treadmill so I can sweat out all this emotion in the hope that it will cause me to think clearly.
My transatlantic flight passed quickly
with aid from two Valium I swallowed the moment I buckled up.
Now in a car headed toward our family’s estate, all those thoughts, those nagging ideas, fuck with my head.
The last few days have been bloody hell. I still can barely process what happened. Amazing sex. Friendship. Love. Cancer. Frankly, I’m not equipped to deal with this sort of drama. Never in my life have I had a serious girlfriend. The only thing that’s ever truly mattered to me outside of my parents, brothers, and attending University was ensuring Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts continued being a premier choice destination for vacationers and travelers who valued and appreciated the luxury no one could provide like Hawthorne can.
My parents worked tireless hours to build this legacy for their family, and I took it upon myself to bear the responsibility, to learn the business, which gave me the control in which I covet.
It was never a burden that I allowed to fall on my shoulder. It was simply whom I was born and bred to become.
After my father's death and then my mother’s, my focus was widened, and the business’s growth became of utmost importance to me.
My brothers married and bore heirs. Heirs who would someday depend on the company to provide for them in the way they are already accustomed to. They allowed this thing they call love and the need to procreate to trump our family’s legacy. On the other hand, I focused on how to sustain not only their lifestyles but also those I am responsible for—our employees. I was never angry at them for making that choice, but I most certainly feel love weakens one’s focus.
And now I have felt it, the emotions involved in it. The lingering thoughts love provokes are utterly fucking distracting. I know for damn sure I was right, and it does not make me a happy man. As a matter of fact, I’m livid.
I unknot my already loosened tie, throw it aside, and then unbutton my shirt at the collar because it literally feels like it’s strangling me.
This is fucking preposterous.
How did I let this happen? How did I lose my fucking edge?
