by Maya Rose
“That you’re worried Warren’s darling daughter is going to fuck us over.”
That hypothesis is so off the mark, my vision blurs red. At the us-versus-her line Selena’s drawing. At the insinuation that we can’t trust her. Ariel. My body thrums with furious energy begging for an outlet.
“Yeah. Can’t let that happen.” Eyes on the floor, my mouth lies tersely, too embarrassed of the truth.
“All we need to do is cover our bases. Put it in writing and have her sign it.” She grabs her open laptop from the center table. It’s fifteen past three and she was working. Jesus, on paper we could be twins. “That once Warren makes it official, regardless of what’s in his will, she’ll give up her rights over the business. We’ll give her funds but she can’t ask for a slice of the business. How does that sound?”
Appalling. Nauseating. Chafing. I want to punch something hard. Hear my knuckles crack. Anything to get this pain in my chest to settle somewhere else.
“El?”
She’s asking me, but she’s already started typing on the keyboard, sitting criss-cross on the couch. Damn. Was she always this...lifeless, or am I only seeing it now?
“We can contract this as a monthly stipend.” She keeps telling me how it’s going to go down. “Thirty five or forty thousand per month should cover it, right? It's more than generous. What do you think?”
Fuck fuck fuck. Goddamn hell. I should have thought of all of this. My dick is addling my brain, and my brain is giving it right back to my dick. And my heart’s in overdrive because of the two fuckers. She’s a burden. Ariel whatever her last name is or will be. Not my responsibility. Except she sure fucking feels like it. This is purely transactional. Except there’s no numbness. I’m trusting instead of suspecting. Feeling instead of thinking. I’m involved on a level that’s dangerous in my world, and in this situation. On a level I’ve never had to deal with before. So this is what I need right now. Somebody’s impartial judgement. Because I can’t fucking rely on mine to protect my interests. So even though every drop of blood in my body fights against what Selena’s suggesting, I count to ten and sit across from her.
My voice is surprisingly tranquil when I answer her. “Let’s go with forty. We can readjust and renegotiate the amount every year taking into consideration inflation and any other factors. And let’s put a clause in--if she blabs any of this to Warren, the deal’s off. She won’t last a day without me and she knows it.”
Chapter 7
Ariel
◆◆◆
It’s pin drop silence that stirs me awake. No hurried feet running around in the hallway, or Mrs Leeds knocking to make sure I’m okay. Wait, she moved back to Idaho last month to live with her son. I sluggishly grope under the pillow. First thing I always do. But my knife is missing, and that’s when I sit up with a start, eyes flying wide open. I lift the pillow, continuing my pillaging, but it’s not there. Oh God, did I forget?? How could I forget? Oh God, what if the human shit-stain in 5B finally managed to break in? How long have I been sleeping? Did I sleep through my 2am alarm to check the deadbolt?
My eyes run everywhere they can, looking for an alternate weapon to arm myself with, but shit, I’m in legit kosher-land. Quiet. Clean. Lying on a goddamn cloud, cozy and warm. Surrounded by pristine fortified walls, no chipped paint anywhere. And this room...place...is just...expanse all around me. Bigger than my entire apartment. With furniture straight out of some designer catalog. And honest to God abstract art on the wall. What is this place--freaking hell, where am I? What did I do?!! Who did this to me??!
Oh God. Oh my God. Good God.
It happened. Yesterday was not my overactive imagination. My father, in that haunted house. That woman who opened the door for me and Eli—
Oh God. Oh my freaking God. I’m in his home. Eli King brought me home. No, he was bringing me home. I don’t remember walking into this room. Or his house. Or out of his car. Did I have another attack? Why can’t I catch a freaking break?!! And after the weirdest day of my damn life, I thought sleeping through the night in as long as I can remember would be a great idea? But it was so relaxing...the car...him, next to me...
He didn’t...we didn’t...do anything, did we? The laugh bubbles out of nowhere. Like I would forget him naked on top of me. Pushing into me till pain becomes pleasure. I have it bad, getting bothered as crap, still covered in his scent. All this even after he easily shut it down. That electricity crackling between us. He did, not me. Shit.
And I’m living with him now. Is he up? Waiting for me?
I get off the bed, totally out of my element, searching for the door. I clear my throat, so I’m primed to scream if it’s locked. But it opens like butter melting over warm toast. Smooth, noiseless.
Like inside the room, it’s deafening outside it. Nervousness hiking with every step, I make my way around a couple of dead end corners before my ears pick up on a humming noise. Coffee? It’s bright, so the sun’s already up. By this time every day, I’ve had two cups already, prepping the diner for customers. I hate that he’s at an advantage here. I was reconciled to being found dead at some point in my apartment in my future, but at least I was a free woman. He said he won’t interfere, but is that really realistic when I’m living in his freaking house? He better not be shirtless or something, is the last thing in my head, before both me and my thoughts come to a standstill.
He’s not Eli, whoever he is. Standing against the counter, near the coffee maker, holding a steaming mug, he seems as wary of me as I am of him. Crew cut blonde hair, short and neat. Navy button down, casual but classy. His rimless glasses do nothing to diminish the angles on a classically handsome face. He’s not big like Eli, but he’s fit and--why the hell am I comparing him to Eli?
His eyes go from wide to narrow so quick, he might have earned himself a headache.
I start asking him, “Who are--”
But he suddenly slams his cup on the counter, black liquid spilling, and turns his eyes away, like he would rather look anywhere but directly at me. “Unbelievable. After I told him a hundred goddamn times.” He mutters before increasing his volume and giving me a stinky side-eye. “If you’re done with your business, get the fuck out.”
With my business? What business? Where has Eli left me? “Listen, jerkwad! I don’t know what your deal is--”
He whirls on me, glaring irately. “Jerkwad? How old are you--fifteen?” Then he talks to the ceiling. “What the fuck is wrong with that asshole?”
I’m so confused, I’m immobile. This guy’s in a mood I’m not following.
“Why are you still standing here?!” He guns loudly in my direction with so much angry sickened emotion that I fumble back a step. “Get out!!”
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where Eli is. And I don’t know who the hell this is. So for a moment, I want to do just that. Follow my first instinct at the first sign of trouble. Go. Run. But my legs stay put. If you run now, I’m not coming after you. Did he really mean it? I detest that I don’t want to take a chance in case he did. And I detest him so much for making me care whether he lets me walk away or not.
“Jesus, can you go before he gets arrested for fucking a minor?!”
What???!!!
“I’m not a damn minor and I’ve never fucked anyone, crazy-person-I-don’t-know!!” I scream back at him finally. “Shut your trap for one minute and let me explain!”
He pauses, jaw open. It calms me down some, but not all the way.
“I’m…” But my brain doesn’t consent for anything to come out, because me and Eli never talked about what we’re allowed to tell other people.
“Did you just tell me you’re a virgin?”
What? I—oh shit. “I didn’t tell you--I blurted it because you wouldn’t let me talk.”
What I said has zero logic, and he looks at me like he’s trying to decide what planet I’m from. “Then what were you doing in Eli’s bedroom?”
I was where?!! “Wait--you know Eli?”
&nb
sp; There’s some major eye avoidance before he gives me an answer. “He’s my brother.”
Ohhh. I knew that. That he has a brother. Although he’s never in the news. And suddenly, I understand. He thinks I spent the night with Eli. Like spent spent. A defensive tick creeps up in my head. An urgent need to clarify my virtue, so his brother doesn’t slot me as one of Eli’s one million chicks. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
I was thinking about it, but wishes aren’t horses and mean jack-shit.
“But you want to.” He says dryly. He’s not even asking.
“No, I don’t.” I insist.
He stares at me like I’ve grown a head or a horn. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m...” I don’t really want to tell him. But who do I want to tell? Mom won’t remember. And if she does, she might get her hopes up about getting together with Warren. Stephanie maybe? But I know I won’t. She’s nice and I like her, but trust is stretching it. The thought filches a few beats of my heart. This big reveal was flung at me yesterday and I have no one to confide in. “I’m sorry...I…I’m not sure I...I won’t be in your way...I just...this is not what it looks like...can I just wait here till Eli comes back?”
He stares at me for a long moment with a frown that’s more of concentration than anything. Opens his mouth as if to answer me, then closes it. Then he finally queries, “How do you take your coffee?”
“Uhh...in a cup?”
His frown worsens, before he emits a half chuckle, half snort. Huh? “Milk, cream, sugar?”
God, I’m an idiot. “Black.”
He goes back and gets another cup started. Comes back with it and sets it on the table between us, sliding it in my direction. Then fills a bowl with cereal and pours milk in it. Places it next to the coffee. “We don’t have anything hot and I can’t cook.”
I’m not a fan of cold breakfast, but not like I’ve had a lot of choice growing up. I took the job at the diner partly because it promised free hot food in the morning. That I could cook for myself. “Thank you--this is great.” I awkwardly tell him, but eagerly take a seat and dig into it, because I’m hungry.
I notice a 3-D model of a house—no, a building with apartments—at the side of the table only after a few spoonfuls. “What’s this?” I ask him, unthinkingly. He seems to contemplate answering, so I give him an out. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just making conversation.”
But he takes the seat in front of me, and pulls the model towards us. “It’s my architecture project for the semester. Social housing. Utilizing space optimally. Shifting a bunch of trailer homes to a permanent residence that’s not as spread out.”
My eyes rove on it while my hands and mouth work, because there’s so much detail to consume. It’s a big circular building overlooking a garden area in the center. But there’s not a line that’s askew or a part that looks hurriedly added. It looks painstakingly put together. “You made this all by yourself?”
“This was an individual project. So yeah.” He answers slowly in a soft voice.
“How long did it take?”
“About four months.”
“Do you like working alone?” I look up from slurping the cereal when he doesn’t reply. He has an air of hesitation again. “It’s really okay...you don’t have to--”
He gives a slow shake of his head. “I’m sorry I...I don’t even know your name...and we’re having this chat like we’re friends...when you probably would just talk to Eli...it’s--”
“Ariel. My name.”
“Scott.”
I summon a small smile. “Do you have to do this...a lot? Entertain and serve food to strange women that your brother brought home?” And now will I have to? All that chunky granola threatens to make its way up.
“He’s not allowed to bring women home.”
Really? Damn it, this is so awkward for an introductory conversation. This guy doesn’t even know I’m going to live here. And while I’m relieved Eli won’t be able to rub the women he sleeps with in my face, I don’t want to cramp this guy’s style. “And you? Do you…”
His brows bunch, and he swallows. Shoot, why do I keep asking him personal questions that he’s uncomfortable answering? “Look, I’ll just keep my mouth shut now. Seriously, I don’t mean to--”
“No, I don’t bring anyone back here.”
“Umm okay...I--”
“Because I’m into BDSM and Eli doesn’t know.”
Did he just say that? Oh my God, did he just say that?!! Is he pranking me? He doesn’t look like he is. If anything, he looks slightly sheepish now.
“What...how…” Shit, way to be cool, moron. I scarf down the bite of food I’ve chewed on about a hundred times in the last few seconds. It’s probably digested right there in my mouth by now. Unscrambling my brain, I manage to ask, “Why are you telling me?”
He gives me an easy grin. “You told me you’re a virgin. Seemed like a fair trade.”
Oh God, I did. “About that...ummm...could you not tell--”
“I prefer working alone, yes.” He doesn’t make me say it, sipping on his own coffee. “I can take you through the model if you want. The units are true to scale and everything. But do you want more cereal first?”
I’m so damn grateful I want to launch at him for a hug. But I look down at the bowl in front of me, so I don’t completely botch this up. “I’m done. Show me.”
I’m engrossed in seconds, mostly because the way he’s animated is infectious. He explains where he started, how many times he restarted because it wasn’t perfect, the parts that took the most time, the things he used to build it...
“The first model I ever built was approximate and crude--until a senior recommended Olfa and X-acto knives and glue syringes.” He rattles off, like they are everyday things.
“I don’t know what any of those are, but these little staircases—they’re so cute! Did you build them step by step? Ha! Step by step—get it?” I beam at him, my mind off money, sex, absent fathers, shitty jobs, and larger than life men—well, only one.
He cringes. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t.”
“But aren’t they too spirally? I mean around the corner here—oh shit!” My clumsy fingers cause the tiny model man pretending to walk down the staircase to go tumbling down, and he bumps his head a dozen times along the way before he hits the bottom floor.
When Scott picks him up, his hat has gotten knocked off and his legs are split wide apart. “Damn—you castrated my dude’s schlong. Or maybe killed him altogether.”
“He deserved it—he was cheating on you with that other dude on the third floor who’s making a show of reading a blank book.” I tell him with a straight face, and soon we’re both chuckling hysterically.
But the smile dies on my lips and the laugh gets buried in my throat, when Eli walks into the kitchen. I’m about to make a snarky comment about him finally making an appearance, when I see that he’s not alone. Some woman is right behind him.
The room plunges into silence as everyone just looks at each other. Then the woman steps aside and walks ahead of Eli, smiling and extending a palm in my direction over the table. “Hi Ariel, I’m Selena.”
I absorb her staggering looks, then leave her hanging and turn to Eli.
I was hoping it was a night and day thing. That in the brightness, when I wasn’t bone tired from shuttling between jobs or soothing my lonely heart or trying to convince myself that I’m fine, Eli King might just be another good looking guy. But when I lay my eyes on him, stately and masculine and radiating this strength I just want to bask in, my body chirps at his nearness. Soothed and thrumming at seeing him again. I could look in his eyes all day without blinking. God, why is he...him? And why is he on the other side of the table with some other woman?
“She knows?” I ask him. I waited to check with him before blabbing and he didn’t?
“She has a cousin who’ll help with your admission in NYU--I already filled in the online application. Her cousin will also g
et you set up with clothes and a phone and whatever other shit you need. Everything will be billed to the company account.”
His voice is tight, distant, unemotional. Aloof, all fire from yesterday gone.
“You’ll love Jenna.”
The Selena character talks again and I look at her stonily. “You don’t get to talk to me.”
“Ariel.” Eli starts in a warning tone, and I have this out of body experience when the woman places her arm on Eli’s and rubs pacifying circles on one spot.
“El, let it go.” She says to him, and he breathes out.
When he faces me, he’s cool again. “Selena will drive you to NYU and Jenna will meet you there.”
I’m sickened to my last atom by their interaction. By her calling him El. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night. Meaning he actually just came home. His hair is slightly tousled and fluffed up, the gel starting to wear off. Did he sleep with her? Is that why he’s all loosened up and business-like? Did he freaking sleep with her? He couldn’t even wait one night to pass on? I’m that forgettable? That insignificant? Stupid, stupid Ariel. If this isn’t a reminder of where I stand, and what I need to remember about men like him, I don’t know what is. “I already have clothes and a phone and shit, Mr King. I’ll go pick it up from my place.”
“No, you won’t.” He tells me sedately. “Warren needs you to be in meet--”
He stops when Scott straightens next to me. His brows knit as he looks at his brother, and then he throws Scott an incisive stare.
“It was nice meeting you, Ariel.” Scott suddenly says, lifting the model from the table.
What the freaking shit? He doesn’t want his brother to know? I grab Scott’s forearm, taking care to not accidentally hit the model. Then I give Eli a death stare. “Why is it okay for her to know and not him?”
His jaw locks. Grinds. I hope it turns to dust. “Selena’s our chief legal officer.” His glance drops imperceptibly lower and sideways for less than a second before moving up again. “She’ll keep it discreet.”