I laugh with him, looking out at the sea. I can’t imagine how beautiful this would look during the day, but the night brings a certain peaceful air to it. It’s incredibly relaxing.
“I love it,” I told him, not taking my eyes off the sea.
“I know...you kind of got thrown into a lot since you’ve been here, Cassidy. I’m sure it’s overwhelming and strange and we probably should have prepped you a bit before throwing this all on you,” he admitted. “But you’ve handled this with such grace and such strength that it’s admirable.”
“It has been a lot,” I admitted to him. “But I knew this was going to be a hell of a job when I signed up for it.”
“I don’t think you expected any of this,” he told me quietly. Silence passes between us, silence that has moved from being uncomfortable and strange to semi-comfortable. The type of silence that you can relax in.
I spent that time overlooking the sea, focusing on what appeared to be a buoy way out in the distance. I watched as it bobbed and rocked with the waves, yet still remaining strong each time it was hit. It would be far too cocky to compare how I’m handling this job to that buoy, way too into myself, but I agree with what Oliver had said. I’m doing a damn good job at all of this.
“I didn’t,” I finally said, breaking that silence. “But I don’t regret any of it. It’s a new adventure, finally something exciting in my life. A chance for me to really prove my skills.”
“How do you do that?” he asked. “How do you look at everything like a challenge? Like a test? How do you not let it get you down?”
“I learned at a young age that if I let everything that took me by surprise get me down, I’d never be able to get back up. My parents divorced when I was a kid, my dad never came back and never showed up. I don’t even remember him. My mom stepped up and worked her ass off to make sure I had a good life. She taught me that I can’t let the challenges that rock me take me down completely.”
I glance over at Oliver and notice how his face has changed. Even in the faint starlight around us, I can see the change in his features. His brow is narrowed, lips pressed together. With his features like that, he looks so much like a younger version of Alan. The resemblance between them at times is uncanny.
“My mom left when I was younger. Allison was just a baby; I think I was five. I don’t remember anything leading up to it. I don’t remember her fighting with my father or ever mistreating me. But I remember that she left, abandoned us. I remember hearing her tell my father that she ‘just couldn’t do it anymore’, whatever that meant. She was a great mother, and then she was gone,” Oliver explained. “After that, my father went through a slew of girlfriends and a wife or two. I didn’t get along with any of them, Camille is the worst."
I don’t know what to say, although I know I’m not expected to say anything. I know that I don’t know much about the Windsor family, aside from my teenage crush on Oliver and what the tabloids reported. I can’t imagine what would make a woman walk away from her children, from her family.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, knowing it’s not the right thing to say. Apologies mean nothing in these situations, they don’t change a damn thing.
Oliver shakes his head.
“Don’t be. I’ve dealt with those demons a long time ago. I’m sure you’ve read or heard all about the phases I went through, how shitty I was. I know my behavior is my own and all that bullshit, but I was trying to deal with those demons anyway that I could.”
“I think we all deal with our demons in our own way,” I told him.
I can’t sit here and dismiss his younger antics. Punching paparazzi, breaking hearts, blackout drinking. The world knew all of this man’s demons. It wasn’t my place to demonize him further.
“I guess so,” Oliver said. I expect more silence to fall between us, instead, Oliver shook it off and said, “So, how about dessert?”
I raised an eyebrow in his direction, “How can you possibly think of dessert?”
The grin he gives me leaves my stomach back-flipping, my heart pounding. As cliché as it sounds, it makes my knees weak and makes me feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the hood of his car.
“I always save room for dessert,” he said. “Trust me, I know the best place.”
Back inside Oliver’s car, the radio is on and we’re casually chatting. We’re not talking about anything important, no deep conversation topics or secrets, just chatting to keep there from being silence between us. Oliver drives down the long, straight, tree-shrouded highway as I look out the window. We’re driving by the coast, I see the dark sea out in the distance and with my window down, I can taste the salty air.
I don’t know how long we’ve been in the car, but I know it’s been a while.
“Where is this dessert place?” I asked. Not that I’m minding the quality time, or the beautiful drive. “We do have to work tomorrow,” I told him.
“You’ll be fine for work tomorrow. Trust me,” he said.
I hate that I do.
The scenic trees turn into iron gates with long driveways leading up a hill, but I’m unable to see what’s beyond the hill. I see one of these gates, always a different style but always iron, every few miles. I see more trees, although they’re further away from the road. Oliver takes a turn before he pulls up to one of those iron gates.
Just beyond the gate, I see a small building. A man pokes his head out of it, sees Oliver’s car, and presses a button. The gate opens and Oliver drives the car up the hilly drive. Over the hill, it leads to professionally landscaped grass, although I can’t see the details in the night.
Then I see it, the same house that was featured on the news the day that Alan was arrested. It was large, stretching out in front of me. I can’t see all of the details at night. I see lights on in numerous windows. There’s a round driveway that Oliver drives the car to, coming to a stop in front of a well-lit, white wooden porch. I turn to look at him, trying to gather all of my thoughts, trying not to sound like an idiot when I speak.
“Are we at your house?” I asked in disbelief.
He grins over at me, opening the car door to get out. He climbs out but sticks his head back in through the window.
“Well, yeah. I told you I knew where to get the best dessert. I’d get out of the car unless you want the valet to park you with it,” he said, pointing to a man standing behind me.
This man.
The valet opens the door for me, and I climb out, thanking him with a smile. Oliver joins me and leads me inside the mansion. Stepping through the front door, I’m greeted by slick wooden flooring, a staircase with glass railing, and a table in the center with an elaborate flower bouquet on it.
The décor in the home looks like it’s straight out of a magazine or a well-staged TV show. I don’t realize that I’m staring until a sudden warmth envelopes my hand. I look down just in time to see Oliver securing his grip on my hand.
My heart is pounding.
“Come on,” he said. He doesn’t give me a chance to obey as he starts to drag me off to the right. I try to take in everything as I pass it. The house is spotless, the décor is expensive and gorgeous. Pictures hang on the walls, most of them looking like they belong in a museum. I do notice there aren’t many family pictures in the house, like you’d find with a normal family.
We pass through a fancy dining room, with a long rectangular table that could fit at least twenty people. It’s dimly lit, only by wall sconces equally-spaced on the walls. Then we enter the kitchen, it’s large with stainless steel appliances and white marble countertops. The island in the center has three stools toward the end of it for seating. If I close my eyes, I can only imagine what this looks like around the holiday time, bustling with more people and more dishes being prepped than I can think of.
Although, right now, there’s only one person inside. It’s a stout, older woman with greying hair pulled into a tight bun. She turns to look at us and the minute she sees Oliver, her eyes light up.
“
My baby!” she said.
Oliver lets go of my hand and steps towards her. She pulls him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. He stands at least a foot taller than this woman. When they part, he looks over at me with a smile.
“Cassidy, this is Helga. She’s worked for our family since I was a baby.”
Helga smiles over at me.
“I was slapping his hands to keep him out of the cabinets when his damn nannies weren’t doing their job,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cassidy.”
“Cassidy’s our new PR person. She’s been handling father’s mess.”
Helga clicks her tongue.
“It’s a shame. I knew one day your father would get himself into more trouble than he could handle.”
She leans back against the counter. I have a feeling that Oliver is the one family member that she would feel comfortable doing this around.
“Anyway, I hate to bother you, Helga...but I was wondering if you could make Cassidy and I one of your ice cream sundaes,” he said with a pout, just like a child. In the same instance, I watch Helga melt.
“Of course I will, sugar,” she tells him before turning around to start.
Helga’s ice cream sundaes are to die for. I’m unsure how she makes them so damn good, but I have to commend Oliver’s taste in dessert. When Helga tries to leave the kitchen after serving us, Oliver tells her to stay. I sit there, eating my ice cream, and watching them chat.
Helga is eager to retell Oliver’s childhood stories, all the trouble he ended up getting into when nannies weren’t around. He smiles at each one, shaking his head and looking down. I think a few times I see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink in the dim lighting of the kitchen.
Most of all though, I see a different side of Oliver now. I’m so used to seeing him as some enigmatic figure. My teenage crush, a celebrity, my boss. I always see him on a pedestal, someone who is untouchable and unattainable. Despite the comfort I’ve began to feel around him, I still view him that way.
Until now. Now I see Oliver as relatable. As a person, touchable, flawed. I see him as a human, instead of this god among men. We finish our sundaes and Oliver offers to do the dishes for Helga. Before she can agree, he jumps up and grabs them from the island, bringing them to the sink.
Looking back at me, Helga smiles.
“Don’t let him fool you. He doesn’t do this often,” she said as if it were a playful joke, not a jab at his entitled upbringing. Then, in a much quieter voice, just between the two of us, she added, “I’ll probably have to go back and redo them later.”
We share a laugh.
With the dishes done, we bid Helga goodnight and she disappears to the guest house, where she stays. Oliver and I leave the kitchen, this time not hand-in-hand. We walk in silence until we reach the entryway. I glance up, catching the time on the giant black clock on the wall.
“It’s late,” I said, smiling over at him. “I appreciate everything tonight. It’s been great. It’s definitely not what I expected out of New York, but I should probably get home.”
Oliver looks at me for a minute and then I see it, that mischievous grin. I know I’m in trouble. When he doesn’t say anything for a moment, I push.
“What? What is it?”
“You’re not going home tonight, Cassidy.”
It takes a moment to fully process his words. I blink up at him, confusion crossing over my face. I feel like my first instinct should be to panic. Here I am, going off with a man I hardly know, I just assumed I knew him because of his celebrity status. His father is on trial for murder right now with no definitive proof that he didn’t do it. And I thought it was fine to just waltz into their house and have ice cream like it was nothing.
When I open my mouth, all that comes out is, “Excuse me?”
The amusement that was previously reflected on Oliver’s face fades. I think the same realization dawns over him just like it had me.
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Not like that. I just mean...I’d rather you stay here tonight and not go back to your apartment. In a guest room, of course. Not my room. It’s just...I don’t think you should be sleeping on the floor. It’s not good for your back.”
Never have I ever imagined hearing Oliver stumble over his words like that. It would be endearing if I wasn’t so annoyed with him, making decisions for me. Still, I have to give him points for the care and the rather adorableness of his confession.
“I appreciate the thought, but you should probably check with someone before you decide what they’re going to do next time. This could be construed as kidnapping,” I snapped.
“I...I didn’t think of it like that.”
Of course, he didn’t. He’s a rich man who’s never known consequences in his life or people to tell him ‘no’.
“I know you didn’t,” I said more gently this time.
“So, will you stay?” Oliver asked. “I’ll drive you back to your apartment if you really insist on it.”
I should tell him ‘no’. Not out of the need to put boundaries between the two of us, nor out of the need to be on some moral high ground. Mostly just to teach him that he can’t make decisions for people. Truth be told though, the idea of sleeping in an actual bed sounds amazing. No matter how much I tried to pad the floor of my apartment and use an overstuffed bag for my head, it was hardly comfortable lying on the hardwood floor.
“I’ll stay,” I tell him. “I’ll stay this time.”
“I won’t kidnap you again.”
“Maybe we don’t make jokes like that?”
“Got it,” Oliver grinned. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.”
He leads me up the staircase with the glass bannister and I follow. The upstairs hallways are just as nicely designed as the lower floors. He leads me through the relatively straight pathway. He points out each bathroom, in case I need it, before coming to a stop in front of a door.
He turns the knob, pushes the door open, and I get a good look at the room. The décor matches the general color scheme of the house, white and grey with the occasional pastel color tossed in here and there. In this room, it’s a soft blue. There’s a giant bed in the center with a padded headboard in the shade of blue that’s common in details around the room.
“If there’s anything you need, my room is down the hallway,” Oliver said. “I’ll leave the door open in case you need me. All right?”
Looking around the room, I don’t think I’ll need anything. The room is an exceptionally large upgrade from my pile of clothes on the floor. The décor is immaculate, with a fireplace off to the side and a gorgeous chandelier hanging above the bed.
“All right,” I tell him with a nod. “Thank you, Oliver. For thinking of me...in a very roundabout way.”
He shrugs a shoulder.
“I tried. Give me credit for that.”
Turning his full body towards me, Oliver gives me a smile. Not a grin or a smirk. Just a smile.
“Goodnight, Cassidy.”
He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. I think he’s going to kiss me. This is the moment, in most movies and romance novels, that Oliver would kiss me. If he were to kiss me, I’m not sure what I would do. Would I kiss him back? Would I quit my job and flee back home to Georgia? I don’t know...but a part of me really wants to find out. I want to experience it.
But he doesn’t. Oliver drops his hand to his side, and I’m left wanting what I can’t, shouldn’t, have. I’m left like a damned fool who cannot control her hormones. But is it all my fault if he continues to lead me on like this? To make me think something’s going to happen between us? Would that be such a bad thing?
I swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush in my cheeks, hoping he doesn’t notice the look of disappointment that I’m sure was on my features for a moment or so.
“Goodnight, Oliver,” I said – and then he leaves.
I watch as he disappears down the hallway, to the room that he had pointed out as his. As s
oon as he disappears into the doorway, I close my own door and decide to settle in. I crawl under the lush duvet and into the silk sheets. The minute my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep.
Chapter Seven
“You whore!”
I wake up to the sound of shouting and glass shattering on the floor. I jolt up out of bed, my heart beginning to pound. Anxiety is racing through me. What in the hell is going on?
Rubbing my eyes, I get my feet on the ground and stumble out of bed. I go to the door, open it, and the yelling only gets louder.
“I let you in my house! I gave you everything and this is how you repay me? I can’t believe it!” More shattering glass.
I walk down the hallway, past Oliver’s room which is already empty. When I reach the stairway, I lean over the bannister on top because everything I need to see is unfurling right in the entryway.
Camille is still in pajamas, a silk nightie with a robe tossed over it. Her hair is wrapped, her face makeup-less. She’s crying, tears staining her cheeks. In front of her is Alan, already dressed for the day. His features are clearly distressed, although he’s not crying.
At the bottom of the staircase are Oliver and Allison. They’re sitting together, Oliver’s arm around her shoulders.
“I know how it looks,” Camille cried. She wipes the tears from her face and tries to straighten herself up. “But I assure you that I would never betray you like that, Alan! It’s fake. It is. I swear!”
“There’s video proof of you fucking someone else, Camille!” hollered Alan. “The whole world has seen it now. And you’re still going to stand here and lie to me about it? How is that video fake? Do you really think that family has enough money to pay someone to fake a video like that?”
Camille’s crying harder now, and I feel like I’m not supposed to be here. I feel like somebody spying on something that they should not, an interloper. I am, I realize. This is a family moment, and I’m watching it like it’s a daytime soap opera...but I can’t look away.
Camille has stopped trying to argue with Alan, instead, all she can do is cry.
“I’m sorry!” she said through tears.
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