by Maya Rose
“So how much time is this going to take?” Eli cuts in.
Her eyes rake over me, and I’m getting this distinct lamb-being-led-to-slaughter vibe.
“Flawless skin. Good figure. Healthy hair.” She appraises, and I want to splotch her mascara all over her perfect cheeks. She turns to Eli. “Maybe an hour. Assuming I can find a dress and shoes that coordinate.”
He nods. “You’ll find everything in her walk-in closet. I’m assuming your chauffeur drove you?”
“Yup. Why?”
His glance darts at me before settling back on Selena. I just know he’s about to say something I’m not going to like. “I’m going to go on ahead. She can ride with you when you’re done, and I’ll see you two there directly.”
“Sure.” Selena says, over the pounding of my heart. He’s just going to leave? I’m scared. I’m so freaking terrified of being thrown out there, and he’s just abandoning me? Not for a second did I think he wouldn’t be at my side for this, his strong arms at the ready if I need them.
Look at me, Eli. Freaking look at me, I urge his blue eyes. But they’re busy checking the lawyer out. “You look beautiful.” He tells Selena and she grins again.
Then she winks. Freaking winks, and leeringly asks him, “Is that code for you want to meet later tonight?”
I flee to the attached bathroom inside my room before the stream of moisture overruns from my eyes. I’m furiously splashing my face with water, when Selena comes up behind me. Shit, there was a time less than a month ago when I used to sleep with a knife under my pillow, sometimes with a chair blocking my apartment door for added security. Now I don’t even lock my bedroom door. I wish I had never met him. I really wish I’d never--
“Jesus, sweetheart, are you nervous?”
Her voice is kind, genuine, her hand gentle on my shoulder, and honestly, she doesn’t seem like the bitch I’d hoped for her to be. But right now, she’s the woman who has had more of Eli than I ever will, and I hate her guts.
“Don’t call me sweetheart! I’m not your sweetheart!!” I circle back around to face her angrily.
Part of me wants her to fight me. Say mean things so I can keep hating her. But the other crazy part? I just...I want her to tell me it’s going to be fine. This evening. My life. My heart. I want someone to tell me I’m not going to die alone and broken and inconsequential. So I lurch and cast my arms around her and hug her for dear life, the sobs just flowing, without thought for decorum or shame or who she is. And they double when she holds me as tight, if not tighter, making soothing shhh sounds in my ears, stroking my hair, and murmuring “It’s okay. Let it all out.”
I don’t let go of her for an embarrassingly long time. When I do, I can’t meet her eyes. But when her thumbs come up below my eyes, wiping the wetness away, the gentle act makes me lift my chin up. How long can I look at the floor anyway?
Her grey eyes are filled with pure compassion. “You don’t strike me as the crying type. So is it Eli or the party?”
“Both.” My mouth tells her, my spirit defeated. What’s the point in hiding it?
“Fucking men.” She mutters. “What did he do?”
“Made me like him.” I reveal, because what have I got to lose at this point? “Then didn’t like me back.”
Sighing, she takes my arm and leads me outside the bathroom, to the simple three seater next to the window of my room. “Sit.” She says, and herself sits next to me. I see that she closed the door of my room when she came in. Damn it, that’s thoughtful. “Okay, now you listen to me.” She continues, voice resolute. “So what if Eli doesn’t like you? He’s not the only man in the world.” She rolls her eyes, like she’s remembered something. “Plus, don’t even get me started on his restrictions with sex. I mean don’t get me wrong--it’s hot, but he won’t do oral ever, he doesn’t like looking at my face when he’s fucking me, he won’t even take off his clothes...just pushes his pants down enough, he never switches his phone off, and he--aaaaaaaahh!”
I follow the trail her eyes have taken and if I grab her arm any harder, her skin’s going to come off with my hand. I force my hand away from her with a jerk.
“Shit--I’m sorry, Selena! It’s just...can you not talk about him and you?” Or make me realize that he didn’t have sex with me, but he definitely ate me out, and looked at me while he did it. Switched his phone off so we could talk and cleaned cum off my thighs without any pants on. When he doesn’t seem to have done any of that with you. What does that mean? Damn it, what does that mean?
“Right, fuck, yes, sorry.” She strings random words that somehow make sense together. “Anyway, the point is...today is your day--you understand me? Yours. Warren spent more than 4 million to make tonight perfect for you. So everyone knows exactly who you are and how important you are to him. So chin up, hold your head high, and enjoy the fuck out of this. You’re Warren Walton’s daughter. The world’s already at your feet and you’re only nineteen!” She cringes. “Jesus, you’re half my age.”
“You don’t look a day over thirty.” I tell her grudgingly.
She flashes me a wide smile. “And you are going to look like every man’s fantasy by the time I’m done with you today. So are you ready to do this?”
I’m not entirely sure if I am, but I let her lead me to the walk-in closet. She rummages through the dresses for minutes, and finally seems happy with one. I gasp when I see the black strapless dress she has picked.
“Is that a slit on the leg or did someone try to tear it?” I gasp, scandalized.
She laughs and starts going through the shoes. An hour later, I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me in the mirror. Strapless black dress that fits my curves flatteringly, a thigh high split on one leg, my copper red hair falling in waves over my shoulders and breasts, instead of the ponytail I’m used to, bright red lipstick instead of the lip balm I hurriedly dab on several times throughout the day--God, who am I?
I look at Selena gratefully as she smooths a crease on the side of my dress. “Selena, I’m...thanks.” I round up, not sure what else to say.
She steps back and assesses her handiwork. “You sure you don’t want me to do anything with your hair? Might be more comfortable if it’s tied up or--”
“No.” I tell her quickly, nervous tingles churning in my stomach. “I’m still kinda nervous. I didn’t even go to prom and now...this.”
“So with the women, you want to talk about their dresses and their accessories. Doesn’t matter how smart the woman is, if you don’t ask her where she got her dress or at least ask if her shoes are Louboutins, she’s going to think you’re a bitch.” She tells me when we’re enroute in her car.
“And with the men?”
“Be playful, but not too flirty. Be interested in what they have to say, but not too much. Play hard to get, keep a mystery about you, so don’t talk too much, but overdo it and they’ll say you’re a tease. You seem smart, so definitely downplay that. You know how men are--can’t deal with a woman smarter than them.”
“That’s too much to remember.” I protest at her jet speed rattle. What is too flirty? How much talking is too much talking? How much listening is too much listening? What if I don’t even realize I’m being a tease? And how the hell do I not be smart?
“If you don’t remember what to do, just do whatever the hell you want.” She quips in a totally serious tone. “You’re Warren’s daughter, most people are going to shamelessly just suck up to you anyway. And it’s your party. What are they gonna do--kick you out?” And then she winks again. But this time, I burst into laughter.
◆◆◆
Warren’s really gone all out on this thing. Photographers stand outside, clicking frenziedly, as we pull up. Questions burst forth the moment we are escorted out of Selena’s car. Ms Walton, how are you feeling? Ms Walton, where have you been for the last few weeks? Ms Walton, you look amazing--what are you wearing?
“Ignore, smile and wave.” Selena whispers, as they walk us on an actual red
carpet that leads inside. ‘Inside’ is a big ballroom of the Walton Plaza, the most flamboyant hotel near Times Square. The buffet is massive, round the entire expanse of the room, drinks are flowing like tap water, and there’s so much bling in here that aliens can spot it from outer space. But the butterflies last for all of ten minutes after we get there. Because yeah, Selena was right. They’re all more afraid of me than I am of them. They all want me to like them way more than I give a crap about what any one of them thinks of me. Selena helps me mingle, making introductions and giving me encouraging glances when I do well, or when my hands start fidgeting nervously. I get it now. Why her. If I’m halfway there to loving her in a single evening, how can I blame Eli?
She tells me Warren will be here in some time.
But he’s not who my eyes are scanning the room for like a junkie, every few minutes. He can’t actually skip this, can he? His precious hotels, his precious job, his precious money.
Selena’s disappeared for a minute and I’m standing with a bunch of women I already can’t remember the names of, listening to them tell me how exquisite my dress is, when a sharp prickle creeps up over the back of my neck. I look all around, till my gaze hits pay dirt.
What is he--holy shit. Holy. Freaking. Fracking. Shit.
Ivory colored T-shirt. Dark blue jeans. And a dark brown blazer. His hair isn’t gelled or styled, and the thick shiny dark blonde mass falls in panty melting waves, his hand running through it when tufts drop freely on his temple and forehead. Eli King is slumming it and my heart is going to need CPR.
Leaning his head down to talk to a platinum blonde, he lifts his lips at one corner when she says something, and her hand makes its passage down the lapel of his blazer. His eyes, dark from across the room, are pinned on me fiercely, unmovingly. It’s all it takes for electric arousal to rocket through every cell in my body, like I’m an open circuit connected to a power source that originates in his eyes. Can he tell that I’m not wearing a bra? And am wearing black g-string panties? Selena and her ‘a girl should feel sexy inside out’ argument.
“Doesn’t like you back, my ass. He’s practically stripping you bare.” Selena’s voice mumbles in my ear.
“You’re seeing his hand on her back, yes?” I hiss back at her, shooting lasers with my eyes at that hand, while the woman next to me talks about some kind of cookies she imports from Sweden. Then it strikes me who I’m talking to. I swing a glance at Selena. “This is not uncomfortable for you?”
“Why should it be uncomfortable for me?” She says, already on her third glass of something that I wish I could taste, but I know I won’t. “You’re the one he’s eye-humping.”
I can’t help my choked laugh. “How is this not bothering you?” I ask her, surprised at how well she’s taking this. “Shouldn’t you list the thousand different reasons why he and I won’t work?”
She sighs. “I would like to. But I don’t know you that well, and I thought I knew Eli--but for shit’s sake--look at the man. He’s dressed down and firing hormones and moony eyes at a teenager. What the fuck do I know what will and won’t work?”
“You don’t think I might try to make him fall madly for me and then trick him into giving me the hotels?”
“If that’s your plan, I would pay money to watch that.” She claps one eye again.
“You seriously wink too much.”
“Oh loosen up, princess. Life’s short.” She says, putting her arm around me, and her term of endearment has me scrambling to find Eli again. I do after a few moments, with two brunettes this time, his arm snaked around one bare waist, while the other woman tries to mount his leg. And he lets them touch him. One of them leans in so her lips are at his ear, her hand stroking his chest while she breaks into laughter like he’s said something really funny. His head is cocked to one side, his eyes trained on me during the whole exchange, opening up my sensitized nerve endings to the charged atmosphere. Same thing when I locate him several minutes later. Different woman. His hand holding hers, her head leaning against his shoulder, his eyes hooked on me.
Why is he doing this? He already told me nothing will happen between us, and I get the damn picture, so what more is he trying to prove by giving me so many reminders? The rolling undercurrent of jealous tension breaks me, and I open the clutch I’m carrying, drawing my phone out. Then I send my first text ever to him.
>>Me: I need to see you. Now.
I watch him, I freaking look and look on as he retrieves his phone without pushing the woman away, his eyes on the screen for a few seconds. But he just puts it back in his pocket, and goes right back to canoodling with the woman like her scent is an aphrodisiac. He doesn’t look at me again.
Then I’m distracted, gratefully, when a hush descends, and I see Warren being wheeled in to the center of the room.
I haven’t seen him since we met him in his house. We’ve talked on the phone, and I’ve seen him on video, and I repeat the term my father over and over in my head. But it doesn’t help. The man is a stranger to us, my heart confirms with a quake. He’s doing so much for me, when he could have done nothing, and no one would have been the wiser. But I just don’t feel...tethered to him. How am I this ungrateful? I’ve been checking up with mom’s doctor every couple of days, and they tell me she’s fine, and looking at Warren right now, I almost feel like I’m betraying her. Taking what he’s giving me, enjoying even a smidgeon of it. Why do I get this when she didn’t?
“Thank you all for being here today.” Warren starts talking to the room, and my mind shuts up. “Most of you know why we’re here, but let me take the pleasure of telling all of you in person.” Then he looks around, his gaze resting on me, his palm extended. “Ariel, come here sweetheart.”
I listen, handing my clutch to Selena, and walking to where he is. I put my hand in his when I reach his wheelchair, my heart dangerously quiet, but really heavy.
“This is my daughter, Ariel.” He says to the room, like he’s not ashamed of me. Like I’m not a secret anymore. I feel all eyes shift on me, my nervousness rising, but I’m too afraid to search for the bottomless blue eyes that always keep me at the shallows. Because I don’t know if they’re interested in looking at me anymore. “Cutting to the chase, I had an extra-marital affair with Ariel’s mother. I loved Jenna and I never meant to disrespect either one of them, or complicate our circumstances, so I stayed away from Ariel and her mother’s lives until now.” He looks up at me, squeezing my hand with his frail one. “But she is my blood. She is Ariel Walton.” He turns to the room again. “And by extension, she is the future of Walton Hotels. As is Eli. Come on up here, Eli.” From my periphery, I see him walk up, and I resist facing him, choosing to stare straight ahead at a flower arrangement. “I called you all here today to tell you that Eli and Ariel will be running Walton Hotels when I’m gone. And I ask for your support to help them succeed. Eli has been breathing this company ever since I brought him in ten years ago, and Ariel has a great teacher in him. And in all of you. So I want to raise my glass and wish these two all the success in the world, and I hope you will all join me in doing it.” He raises a glass in his other hand, and there’s a lot of noise and glasses clinking, and someone has placed a full glass of water in my own hand. I go through the motions of raising and drinking the water, but my eyes are on Warren’s glass. I see that his is water too, and only a little. He can’t drink alcohol, and he can barely lift a glass.
How bad is his cancer? He said he only had a few months to live, now I’m wondering--is it even less? Is that why he’s like this man on a mission with a deadline?
“You look lovely, my dear.” His voice summons me again, and I bend my head to meet his gaze.
“Thanks. Selena did everything.” I tell him.
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I realize that everybody’s gone back to enjoying the party, and it’s just me and Eli standing with him, and the man who’s been pushing his wheelchair. “You did good, both of you.” Warren says to us. “And you still ha
ve a long way to go, Ariel, but Eli tells me you’re a fast learner.” The crinkle intensifies, and his lips part in a toothy smile. “He said you don’t have to be told anything twice and you have a ton of great ideas.”
I’m so confused that my eyes go looking for Eli’s. Not because he thinks I’m smart, which I am and I know it, but if this is all a farce, and why is he going to such lengths to keep it alive? In fact, why didn’t he just lie and tell Warren I’m not cut out for this? But his eyes, dark blue and deep, are a locked door.
Someone walks up behind us then, and Warren beams up at him. “Caleb. Good to see you, my boy.”
I turn around to find myself facing a younger Channing Tatum look-alike, wearing a fitted dark suit, and a glowing smile.
“Hey Warren.” He says, and then to my stunned expression, “I’m not Tatum, I swear.” He grins and I can’t help but grin back.
“Ariel, this is Caleb Thorpe. His grandfather, Dean, is on the board. Dean said you met him earlier today, right?” Warren asks me and I nod, vaguely recollecting. “Did he tell you that Caleb’s only twenty four but runs his own company?”
“It’s a startup, Warren. We’re hardly on the map yet.” Caleb corrects him, and Warren shakes his head.
“We all start somewhere, kid.” Then he looks at me. “Why don’t you and Caleb talk for a bit? Get to know each other?”
I can’t believe this as it unfolds. He’s sending me back to college, he’s leaving me a fortune, and now what--he’s trying to score me a husband? I look at Eli frantically, because of course I freaking look at him. His expression has shifted and gone dark, his jaw is clenched tight, as is one fist. The other is holding his glass and the tension in his knuckles is otherworldly. Say something if it makes you mad, I flash my eyes at him furiously. Get me out of this.
He stares at me intently. Then says, tone blasé, “Go with Caleb. I’ll keep Warren company for a while.”
Is he serious? Go with him? Go where? Do what? I’m not doing this damn meet-cute with this guy right now when the only place I want to be, is in Eli’s arms. Does he really not want me there too? I’m awash with feelings I don’t know what to do with. I’m upset and confused and I just...I want to go back home. Except it’s his home again. I don’t have one of my own.