by Elise Sax
Holy cow. He does great feet.
We walk outside hand in hand. A few steps away from the building, the only lights are the bright stars above us. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” I say.
“I often ride out to a place near here where I can even see the Milky Way.”
“I love to ride,” I say, which is a total lie, but I’m setting up the tee for him to hit. He doesn’t hit. There isn’t even a swing and a miss. He doesn’t take the hint or refuses to take the hint and doesn’t make a comment. Not a peep. No invitation to join him for a ride. So, what is happening here? Is this a one-off? Is this a hit and run?
It’s a short walk to the inn, and we stop at the start of the driveway. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, gently. “Thank you for a lovely evening. You’re an interesting woman.”
There’s that “interesting” comment again. I don’t really know what it means. Is it like telling a fat girl that she has a pretty face or an ugly girl that she has a nice personality? I’m not built or pretty, or have a nice personality. I’m interesting. Like the History Channel.
In other words, I’m a Hitler documentary.
“Good night,” he says and turns around, leaving me.
What the hell?
My brain works overtime, trying to figure out what he’s playing at. What is his play? I have to replay his play. I take a deep breath and think back to everything pre-kiss.
1. Mr. Perfect walked me away from the party into a deserted hallway.
2. Mr. Sexy God pushed me up against a wall and kissed me until my liver melted.
3. Mr. Hubba Hubba Hot Hunk walked me almost back to the hotel and said goodbye.
Nope. The replay isn’t helping at all. All I’m getting is the goodbye part. I want to ask him where this is going. I want to ask him if our kiss didn’t mean anything to him. I want to drop to my knees and beg him to be mine.
Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me?
Oops. I might have some issues. Perhaps I’m a tad too clingy. Could that have something to do with why men leave me and take my appliances?
So, I hold back my desperation and let him go. Goodbye, Prince Charming. Goodbye Aerospace King. Goodbye six-foot-four of I-want-to-have-your-baby.
But just as I drop my head to my chest and decide that a chocolate overdose is the best way to commit suicide, Cole stops and turns back around. “Have you noticed that black van?” he asks.
He points a few yards down the road. A black van with tinted windows and its motor revving is parked in the middle of the street. “No, I didn’t,” I say, honestly.
“Well, it’s followed us from the party. Do you have any idea who it is?”
Of course I do. It’s Olivia and Rosalind making sure that I don’t set fire to the ranch and to make sure that the plan goes off without a hitch. “Followed us? That’s weird. I didn’t notice.”
“Just to be safe, I’ll watch you get back in,” he says.
He’s almost chivalrous. He’s walked me almost to my door. I mean, almost to the inn’s door. He’s not even on the pavement of the driveway, but I guess that’s far enough for him. Now I have to walk the rest of the way with him looking at my ass. I should have worn Spanx.
I’m so eating through Diane’s Toblerone stock when I get in the room.
Fifteen minutes later in our suite, the kids are asleep, and the babysitter has left. Diane is lying on the chaise longue, watching reality TV. Olivia and Rosalind are still dressed in their all black, ninja spy outfits and ski caps, slumped exhausted on two armchairs. I’ve got my own armchair, and my dress is hiked up and my shoes are kicked off so I can get comfortable.
It’s grueling chasing a billionaire.
“What do you mean by ‘interesting’?” Rosalind asks.
“You tell me.”
“But he kissed you with tongue?” Olivia asks.
“All kinds of tongue.”
“All kinds of tongue. I bet he has a great tongue,” Olivia says.
“He has a great tongue,” I agree. Diane handed over a Toblerone when I came back dejected and rejected, but I’m too tired to eat it.
Rosalind is gnawing on a fingernail, deep in thought. “So we need to graduate you from interesting to va-va-voom.”
I’m too tired and disappointed to muster up any va-va-voom. I guess it’s better to be kissed and dumped than not to be kissed at all, but there’s no getting around the reality that he wouldn’t even walk me to my door. My va-va-voom has vamoosed. I gather up my energy and unwrap the Toblerone.
The door opens, and Bessie walks in. Somehow she’s gotten a key to the suite. “Where did you go? What happened? Are we on track?” She plops down next to Diane, shoving her legs aside.
“She crapped out after she got a dose of his great tongue,” Diane tells her.
“His tongue? That sounds promising.”
I tell her about the ‘interesting’ comment and not asking me out, but she’s not dissuaded.
“It’s a start,” she says, brightly.
“You know, Cole Stevens is way out of my league,” I say with my mouth full of chocolate. “Like way out. Like he’s Babe Ruth, and I’m in Pee Wee Little League.”
Silence. Nobody argues with my assessment.
“Let’s get drunk,” Rosalind says, as if that’s the solution to the billionaire problem.
“Hallelujah,” Bessie says. “I need to wash down the marshmallows. They’re wedged in my stomach like cement. I don’t have a chance of getting regular until August.”
Chapter 7
Beatrice
Our hotel suite looks like a multi-generational slumber party. Diane and Bessie are sleeping on the chaise longue, and Olivia and Rosalind have more or less passed out on large cushions on the floor after drinking the mini-bar’s selection of mini-booze. I’m the only one awake because I fell asleep before the drinking began, and now with the edges of my exhaustion sated, my mind isn’t letting me sleep anymore. Outside, it’s still dark, but the sun is about to rise. Through the windows, I can see the sun peeking over the mountains in the distance.
Peace.
Looking at the sleeping women, who only days ago were perfect strangers, touches me in a deep way. We’ve lied, saying that we’re family, but in some respects, we’ve become family. What else is it called when there’s so much caring and compassion involved between people? They’re working hard for me to be happy, and I can’t wait to be able to do the same for them.
Olivia has become a new person, more self-assured, even though she’s facing a very uncertain future. Rosalind has also changed during Operation Billionaire, moving her focus from how she’s been blocked from realizing her life’s goals to helping other in realizing theirs.
I’m grateful to both of them, but I need some fresh air. I need alone time. Quietly, I change into jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers and leave the hotel room.
Even though it’s July, it’s chilly outside. I can hear the soft whinnying of the horses in the distant stables, but otherwise the ranch is still bedded down for the night. I have the whole area to myself. I walk quickly past the paddocks and the rodeo arena and through the meadow toward the mountains.
I’m an L.A. girl, and I’m not used to the fresh, clean air, but I’m getting used to it pretty quickly. I stick my hands in my sweatshirt pockets against the cold and let my mind wander. In the face of such natural grandeur, I can’t help and reflect on how unimportant my problems are. After all, who cares if I’ve had bad relationships? So what if each man I’ve ever been serious with has left me? Maybe I’m just attracted to the wrong guy. Maybe I haven’t met the real Mr. Right yet. If that’s true, I can’t trust my judgment. If that’s true, I have to be suspicious of anyone I’m attracted to.
Like Cole Stevens.
Just because he’s an ultra-alpha, ultra-sexy, mega-rich guy, who makes my heart skip a beat, that doesn’t mean that he isn’t a low down, dirty dog. In fact, he’s probably a no-account jerkface who will play wit
h my heart and then dump me and steal my curling iron. Maybe not my curling iron, but he would probably take my Roomba. Oh, how I miss my Roomba. Stupid men.
Stupid men!
True, a billionaire doesn’t need to steal my Roomba, but he would probably do it just to hurt me. Because if I like him, he’ll probably hurt me. That’s my M.O. I attract men who hurt me…not in a Fifty Shades kind of way, but in an I-don’t-love-you kind of way and you-don’t-deserve-a-robot-vacuum kind of way.
So, Cole is doing me a favor. He’s sending me a signal, preventing another heartbreak. The message is simple: If I’m attracted to him, then it means that he’s no good. Oh, phew. I’m so glad I figured this out before we went too far. Not that he’s interested in me. “Interesting” doesn’t mean interested. “Interesting” means I’m great to study, to experiment on. Well, I’ve had enough of that! I deserve love. I deserve the perfect man to love me, perfectly.
So go to hell, Mr. Aerospace King, cowboy sexy man with a fine ass and abs of steel. I don’t need you. I don’t care if I never see you, again. I’m finally free.
I snap out of my thoughts long enough to get a good look at the breathtaking sunrise. I’ve climbed up pretty high, and I can see the whole ranch from here. It’s bigger than I thought, and Cole probably owns a big chunk of land around it, too. It’s like he owns Yellowstone. I wonder what his property taxes are, and it must be crazy expensive to insure.
But enough about him. I’m a new woman! I’m empowered! I’m proactive! I’m other words that Gloria Steinem would use!
I’m lost.
Uh oh.
I’m standing on a rock. I can’t see any kind of trail, and I’m scared of heights. Turning around, I realize that I have to go through the forest to get back down, but I haven’t kept track, and I don’t know the way. “Take a deep breath,” I tell myself, and it helps. No biggie. Sure, I’ll probably be lost on this mountain for a few hours, but I’ll eventually find my way down.
I mean, I’ll make my way down if the giant bear doesn’t get me first.
I can hear its giant feet pounding the ground and ripping through the brush. I suck air, which I realize will probably be the last air I ever suck.
Boy, am I going to miss air.
Being eaten by a bear has got to hurt. I’m not good with pain. I mean, I needed general anesthesia to get my ears pierced. I don’t want to be Leonardo DiCaprio’d. I don’t want to become Purina Bear Chow. I take a peek below me, but it doesn’t look like I can survive the descent. I’m trapped like a rat.
Or a single woman.
I should have eaten the chocolate fountain at the party last night. I’m never skipping chocolate again.
Covering my head with my hands and closing my eyes against the sight of my untimely death, I don’t learn the truth until I hear him. “Beatrice Hammersmith,” he says, and even I understand that bears don’t talk.
In front of me, Cole Stevens is sitting high on top of his gorgeous black stallion, which is pawing the ground and kicking up dirt. I run my fingers through my hair, as if that was what I was doing all long and not shielding myself from getting eaten by a nonexistent bear.
“Hello, Mr. Stevens,” I say, as if I’m not lost, not scared of heights, didn’t think that he was a bear, and don’t care if I never see his Gerard Butler in 300 gorgeous body.
“You look lost. Be careful, there. It’s a long drop down.”
“I’m not worried,” I start to say, but of course I look down, and this time, I’m gripped with a good dose of vertigo and I lose my balance.
Crazy things come to my mind as I start to plummet to my death: I’m worried that hip-huggers are going to come back in style. I wonder how they get the tops of jars to vacuum seal. I flashback to getting my period on the Ferris wheel at the Del Mar Fair and farting during my confirmation.
And then Cole Stevens gathers me up from the rock with his arm around my middle, stopping me from falling, and pulls me up onto his horse, as if I weigh nothing at all. I oomph when he hikes me up, squeezing the air out of me…which comes out the other side, and I fart.
It’s my confirmation all over again.
He settles me on the saddle in front of him so that my butt is wedged between his legs. If I wasn’t totally over him, this would be awkward. “How about I take you back,” he growls into my ear, which makes me squirm against his how-do-you-do.
“Not necessary,” I croak. For some reason, I have a big frog in my throat, and I sound like Bill Clinton.
Cole ignores my response and gently kicks his stallion into a walk. He keeps one arm around my waist so that I don’t slip off and his other hand holds the reins. “That’s two,” he says.
“Two?”
“I’ve saved you two times.”
“I wouldn’t call it saving,” I say, trying not to give in to his sexy, knight in shining arm charms.
“The first time you were almost burned alive, and the second time you almost broke every bone in your body.”
Say bone again. Say body again. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, but I guess I should thank you.”
Look at me…I’m immune to his charms. I’m a cold-hearted bitch. Yay, me! I guess I’m finally getting some backbone. I guess I really am interesting. Or maybe I just don’t want to have my feelings hurt, again.
The horse treads down the mountain, carefully, stepping around bushes and over rocks. Cole doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to return. As time passes in silence between us, I begin to feel guilty about being a cold-hearted bitch. After all, he did save me twice, and he is hotter than Krakatoa. “Nice ranch,” I say, trying to bury the hatchet. “Big.”
“Thank you. Not a lot of people comment on the bigness of the ranch.”
I try harder. “And what you’re doing—you know, for the charity—is nice.”
“Nice is good. Thank you, again. And of course, now you’re a part of it. I wanted to tell you how much I like your ideas for the gala.” Oh. He knows who I am, that I’ve been working on the gala. So, more than cyber stalking me, he’s checked up on me with my bosses in a big way. Interesting. “Do you like being an event planner?”
He’s showing interest in me. Wow, I didn’t know men did that. “Yes, but I’m just a junior planner.”
“That’s not what I hear. I hear that you were instrumental in all of the plans for the gala.”
I swallow, and a red-hot heat crawls up my neck into my face. He’s complimenting me, and it feels like foreplay. I love being complimented, especially about my competence. But do I like being an event planner? It’s not exactly my life-long dream. I’ve never had a passion for a career like Rosalind has. I just want to be happy, to have love and friendships in my life. The event planning helps me feel useful, and I enjoy the socializing.
“I do like being an event planner, especially when it’s for a worthy cause.”
“The rodeo is a worthy cause. I’ve been hosting it for the past seven years. It’s a big economic boon for this part of the state, and a life-changer for thousands of horses. With the gala, we’ll be helping foster kids, too. Do you like kids?”
My heart stops beating. No man has ever asked me if I like kids. What does he mean? Is he joking? Playing with my mind? Is this some kind of test? Is liking kids indicative of being a good event planner? If so, I guess I should say yes. But what if he’s asking if I really like kids? Then the answer is, why are you asking me if I really like kids? I’ve fallen into some kind of Twilight Zone rabbit hole where a man wants to know if I like kids. Hold on. Does Cole want to have kids with me? Is that what this means? Kids mean commitment, if you don’t count Olivia. Commitment with billionaire hottie Cole.
Jackpot!
Thank you, Operation Billionaire!
The path gets steeper, and Cole pulls me tighter against him so that I don’t slip down on the horse’s neck. Wedged up against his crotch is like a sixties acid trip. I’m living an alternate reality. It’s almost like this isn’t really my life but just part of Rosal
ind and Olivia’s plan. I take a minute to come back to myself and take stock. Here I am, a junior event planner on a black stallion with a gorgeous titan of industry and a philanthropist who thinks it’s interesting to kiss me. And now he’s saved me for a second time. Is that a sign from the universe that he’s my savior? Is he the one to love me forever?
What did he ask me? Oh, yes… I like kids. I would like the kids he impregnates me with even more.
“Kids are good. I played Lego’s with Olivia’s kids yesterday in the hotel room.”
I bite my lip. What can I tell him about Olivia? That she’s helping me trap him to be my life partner forever husband? That she’s a virtual stranger I’m living with while I negotiate a future with another virtual stranger? Nothing at all?
“Your sister’s children?” he asks. “I heard that you brought your family with you.” I’m about to tell him the truth. Well, not the whole truth, but at least enough truth so he knows that Olivia is a friend and not a family member, but then he pulls the truth from me, and I’m stuck with the lie. “I like that you’re traveling with your family,” he says. “Family is very important to me.”
Family isn’t important to me. I’m the only child of over-achieving parents who’ve over-achieved in their careers and in their retirements, but not in parenting. I was kind of the forgotten thing in their lives. So, I left home at eighteen and have only gone back for Christmas and the occasional Thanksgiving since then.
“Family is very important to me, too,” I say, sinking deeper into the lie. “Love my family. We’re like the show Seventh Heaven except I’m an only child and my father isn’t an accused sex offender.”
We get down the mountain, and Cole kicks the horse into a canter across the meadow. As soon as we get to the ranch, he slips down and lifts me off the horse. We lock eyes as he lets me down, gently. I wonder if he’s going to kiss me again, and I wonder if I should take the bull by the horns and kiss him, instead. But in the pause due to the wondering, the moment passes, and nobody kisses nobody. My brains searches for something to fill the silence.