by Leigh Lennon
Mom: Are you back?
Mom: Molly, where the hell are you?
Mom: Do I need to contact the police?
All of them were at various stages of frenzy. I can’t talk to her. I first need coffee and to find Marcel. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me. I look outside, through a small window in the foyer, and am greeted with his Aston Martin.
Typing out a quick text, I hit send, sharing with my mom that I’m fine, having stayed the night with Janine. A reply text greets me, but again I’m not in the mood, not until I find Marcel.
“Um, Marcel?” I call out, walking back down the hallway. I knock on the only closed doors. The same ones I walked by right before the kitchen.
I’m a little louder, now concerned. I’m not sure why but I’m in a strange house and can’t find the man I slept with last night.
“Marcel,” I call again. Footsteps are heard behind the door, and he opens it up as though he’s just woken.
“Good morning,” I singsong, but after last night, it’s how he makes me feel.
“Um, hey, Molly.” He’s acting strange again, as if I’m putting him out.
“I woke up alone. Where were you?” I attempt to pull the matching robe he’s wrapped himself in toward me, but he pulls back.
“You fell asleep, and I decided to let you have a good night’s sleep. And I returned to my master.”
My heart plummets. “You mean, you didn’t fuck me in your room. Just in a room where you fuck every stupid person who falls for this. I can’t take any more of your shit.”
I turn on my heels, my phone still in my hand. The Lyft app has come in mighty handy since meeting Marcel, and I pull it up, sharing my location. I strip in the hallway as he storms in, stopping at my appearance. He’s already seen me in various stages of nakedness, and I’m not wasting any time getting ready to rid myself of him, for once and all.
“Molly, let me explain.”
I’m attempting to zip the back of my top.
“Let me help,” he offers.
“Stay the fuck away from me. But if you want to explain, you have”—I look at the Lyft app—“four minutes.”
He rakes his hands over the silver in his hair. “I don’t do this. I don’t bring girls back to my house. I don’t take them out for dinner. I don’t care for them, and with you, I do. It scares me because I can’t do commitment.”
I pull on my skirt, and again my heart falters. “I don’t need a commitment to be treated like a human being from you. So you’re a Dom, you need certain things, I’ve given them to you. Control, respect, and in essence, a fuck ton more of me than anyone ever gets. I asked you not to treat me like a number, like one of your employees, a business transaction. I’ve given, and you haven’t.”
He grabs my hand, but I yank it away. “But I have given so much,” he claims.
There’s a beep from the driveway. “Well, it’s not enough. Goodbye, Marcel. Lose my fucking number, and if you ever see me again, act as if I don’t exist. You’re apparently pretty good at it when you get what you want.”
I open the door, and his hand on my shoulder stops me. “I’m sorry, chéri, but this is who I am.”
Opening the door, I turn my body around as I’m on his driveway. “Yeah, well, this is who I am.” And I slam the door in his face.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. A week has gone by, and I can’t stop thinking of the two beautiful nights where Marcel explored my body. My heart aches, and I can’t explain why in the world only two times with this man has evoked so much emotion from me—coupled with the fact that he also infuriates me like he does, after the fact.
I’ve blown off this weekend’s game in Seattle because I found out the city isn’t big enough for Marcel and me last week.
A knock on the door has me turning from my reflection as if the part of me in the mirror can explain why I’m so heartbroken.
“Come in,” I call.
Thinking it’s my mom who hasn’t let my unexplained absence of Sunday night go, it’s my father who enters the room.
“Hey, Dad.” My father and I are close. We share a deep love for sports in general, and he’s always been easier to talk to, whereas my brother found it simpler to chat with my mom.
“Hey, kiddo, mind if I come in?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer and makes a beeline for my bed, patting the seat next to him. We’re apparently having a heart to heart. This is his way. When I’d been caught sneaking out to my best friend’s house when I was fifteen, this is what my father had done. When Jeffery Parsons broke my heart when I was seventeen, this was what he had done. And when my grandmother passed away when I was eighteen, again, this is what he had done. There are so many other times, and I know this is serious.
A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. “Oh, no, who died?” I ask, expecting the worst news.
“No, sugar, it’s not that.” Again, my father is a creature of habit, reverting to calling me what he’d called me since I can remember.
I sit next to him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Molls, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been like this since your trip when you arrived home early without an explanation. And it’s been worse since this past weekend, after leaving for the night and returning with no explanation that would appease your mother. I have my suspicions, but I was hoping you’d confide in me.”
“Yeah, Dad, I don’t think it’s something you want to talk about or think about.”
“Ah, as I expected, boy problems. But if we’re thinking of the same boy, I’d not call him a boy at all? Am I correct?”
I swing my head so fast to his, I wonder if I’ve given myself whiplash. “What?”
“Oh, sugar, I saw how you stole glances with the Frenchman at Leela’s. It didn’t go unnoticed on my part when you both disappeared together at the game, and the googly eyes you both exchanged after that disappearance, or how your mood had changed so quickly after your night away. I’m old, but not dumb.”
“And you’re not upset?”
He kisses my forehead with the affection only of a father. “Ah, kiddo, would I choose someone for you who’s closer to my age than yours? Truthfully, I would not. But at the end of the day, you are given so many chances to find a true deep love. And if you find it, grab it. Don’t let it go. I found it with your mother, and I’d never want to think what my life would be like without her in it.”
I cling to his words, but as he holds me, I think of what he’d guessed. “What? I barely know him. I don’t love him.”
He arches both his brows at me. “Are you sure? You are moody and irritable. You don’t sleep. You’re roaming the house at night, and you are not eating. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
He replies, only taking a second to articulate. “Is it the age?” he asks.
Oh, hell, if it had simply been his age, that’d be my last worry. “No, not really. It’s just one moment, he’s sweet and kind and as he looks at me, I’m all he wants. Then the next moment, he’s treating me like a business transaction.” I spare my dad the full details.
“I guess, if anything, what I can offer is that a man of his age is set in his ways. But, honey, I wouldn’t write him off quite yet.”
I sit for a long pause, thinking of the words he’s shared with me. “Can I really love a man that quick?”
“I certainly think you can, kiddo, but if not, it’s pretty damn close.”
He gives me a peck on the cheek, only to stand, leaving, and closing the door behind him.
I was ready to say goodbye to Marcel Lafitte until this little impromptu conversation with my dad. Now I’m just confused as hell. And to make matters worse, my text alert goes off and Zane wants to take me out on a date. Should I go? I mean, if it can help me get over Marcel, it may be worth it. Right?
Chapter 14
Marcel
I pop my head to the intrusion in my office, though I’m doing nothing. I can’t think straight. I can’t give my chér
i what she wants, yet Molly O’Hennessey is the only person invading my thoughts.
In my doorway stands Leela. She is certainly more wanted than the incessant chatter and annoyance of Connie Weston.
“Mind if I come in for a couple of minutes, old man?” she asks but doesn’t wait for my answer when she shuts the door behind me. Leela is one of the few that can get away with this because I think of her as a daughter.
“Sure, help yourself,” I retort.
“Yeah, yeah. You can call this a little bit of an intervention. Because according to most of the staff at this station, you are being difficult. And because you and I have always shot straight with one another, I’ll just call it you being a huge dickhead. So, what’s your issue in life? What has gotten you so twisted, so tight, that we all avoid you as you walk down the halls?”
I give her a noncommittal nod because I’ve been a little more of an asshole than I have ever been.
“Can I take a guess as to what has you acting like a douche?” she asks. I don’t answer her, and she takes this as an answer in and of itself. “You have something going on with Molly, don’t you?”
My stone-cold expression is yet another answer. “Okay, so I’ll take that as a yes. And because you don’t think you should be happy, you blew her off. Treated her like she was part of your corporation, she called you on it, and you don’t know what to do with such a headstrong woman.”
Her words stop me in my tracks. “What do you know about me?” I leave it vague.
“For crying out loud, I’m an investigative reporter. I see what you drive, your house. As a station manager, you make a good wage, but nothing compared to the wealth you exude. So, yes, I know your little secret. And I’ve told no one, just so you know. Now this should have gained your trust, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“I don’t do relationships, Leela. And if you dug that much up on me, you understand why I don’t.”
She sits down in a seat on the other end of my desk, facing me. “It wasn’t your fault, Marcel. Nothing that happened was your fault, but leaving whatever you and Molly share alone and not trying something real with her would be all your fault. Are you willing to walk away from her?”
The week wears on, and nothing keeps my focus. My schedule has me leaving for New York at the end of the week for a company-wide board meeting, though I can blow it off because I can do whatever the fuck I want.
I’ve only seen my sweet Molly a handful of time since meeting her, but her cherry-red hair and those fucking crystal gray eyes, I swear that can see down to my soul, are just a few traits that have me heading to a part of the building and to the one person I can glean information from.
Her office is on the other side of the building, and most have learned to vacate the hallway when they see me pass, except for one.
“Hey ya, Marcel. I have a scoop on a story I want to run past you.” She turns to follow me. Does she not get it? I don’t want to talk to her.
“Great, Connie, make an appointment with my secretary.”
She’s still on my heels. I turn around, stopping in my tracks. “Connie, I’m going to make this plain as day. Next time you want to talk about a scoop or even chat about the fucking weather, you will make an appointment with my secretary.”
I continue on my path, the destination is clear. I don’t knock. I should, but then again, I’m not for manners right now. I’m positive Connie is up in HR already, spatting about the way I just spoke to her. I’ve never sworn at an employee, but leave it to Connie Weston to bring the worst out in me.
“Yeah, Marcel, help yourself,” Leela says, and she’s staring at what I assume is the resolve on my face.
“Quick question, more of a personal nature.” I kick the door behind me closed, with the inquiry on the tip of my tongue.
“She’s not coming this weekend. But her parents are,” Leela answers my unarticulated question.
“Am I that transparent?”
“Um, first, duh. And second, as I’ve said, I’m an investigative reporter. It lives in my blood.”
I turn to take my leave, but her voice stops me. “So, I guess since you can, you’re not going to New York this weekend?” she asks.
I twist my face around, just enough to see her in my peripheral. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh, and by the way, old man, Kier’s parents are flying in tonight. So, do with that information what you might,” she adds for good measure. And because I can blow off the meeting at my convenience, I have my phone out, texting Gloria with implicit instructions to cancel my trip to New York and book me on the first flight to Vancouver.
Leela did me one better, as she’d sent Molly’s home address to my phone. I’d thought I’d have to get one of my investigators who’s on my payroll to help me out, but I smile at the welcomed assistance.
The only car Gloria could get for my rental is a Mercedes. But I’ll drive an old beat-up jalopy if that would get me to Molly. The trees lace the sidewalks of her neighborhood, as I would coin the quintessential all-American home. I arrive at her house, hopeful she’ll be home. I can call her unless she’s changed her number. And maybe she’s as miserable as me. I park in front of the sidewalk, exiting the car, to the cute little walkway leading to her house.
With a three-tap knock, I’m greeted with her voice through the door. “Hold on.” She pulls it back, and her grin falls to a frown. “Um, you’re not Roma’s Pizza.”
I give her a shrug of my shoulders. “Yeah, I’m French, not Italian, so I’m not much help to you, chéri.”
Her hands immediately fall on her hips. “Okay, Marcel, I think I was as clear as I could be.”
“Yeah, what can I say? I’ve never been good at not getting what I want.”
With her lips pursed in the slightest grimace, she doesn’t change her stance or invite me in.
“It’s been two weeks, chéri, and I can’t stop thinking of you and how you challenge me. I never thought I could live with a committed relationship, but you’ve blown into my life, and I can’t get you out of my thoughts. I’m miserable. And I’m old, set in my ways.”
There’s a voice behind Molly, which startles me. I swing my eyes to the figure who is now touching her.
“Um, sorry to interrupt,” the jackass says with his hand on her shoulder, an almost predatorial move. “You okay, Molls?”
I bypass Molly and direct my next sentence to him. “She’s fine, she’s always fine with me.”
His squeeze on her shoulder becomes a little more firm, and he places his other arm around her hip. “Let her answer my question, old man.”
I’m not a hothead. I never have been. I’d never get this far in my career if I lost my cool every time someone pissed me off. This however, is another situation.
“Um, Zane, could you give me a second please?” She’s talking to the asshole behind her but staring at me.
He takes his hands off of my chéri. Stepping onto the little stoop off of the front porch, she pulls the door behind her.
Another voice, this time behind me, has me swinging around to a pimply teen, holding a pizza box. “I have a delivery for Molly.”
I pull out two twenties from my wallet, slapping it in the hands of the boy. Staring at the money I slipped in his hands, he gives me a broad smile. “Thanks, dude.” He hurries to his car before I can change my mind.
“Fuck, Marcel, first you gave him like a twenty dollar tip.” She pauses, closing her eyes, exhaling. “And second, I can buy my own fucking pizza.”
“Well, I’d hoped when I got here, we could talk, or I could join you for the night.”
She stares at her socks, swaying back and forth on the balls of her feet. She doesn’t shift her attention back to me, but begins talking.
“My brother was hell bent on setting me up with someone. And after the last time we were together, I thought it might heal my broken heart.”
I wait for her words to fully sink in. A broken heart? Have I affected her like she’s affected me?
“I was an asshole. An absolute asshole. I want to share more with you, chéri, I really do. But…”
“I just don’t think we’re compatible.” She’s speaking to me still, but can’t look my way.
“Go out on a date with me tomorrow. We can do whatever you want.” It’s my last plea.
She shakes her head and I’m given my answer.
“You have my number; if you change your mind, call me. I’m here for the weekend.” I know this fucktard won’t be here the whole weekend, since he’s on Kier’s team and I assume he’ll need to get back for the game in two days.
I give her the pizza and slump to my car, defeated. In one of the cupholders of the console is a necklace, and a very valuable one by the looks of it. I’d brought it back for her, and sure I can use it as an excuse to see her again, but something inside of me shouts that it’s a bad idea.
Within eight footsteps, I’m back at her porch. I try to leave it on the handle and will text her that it’s here. I step from the stoop, just to hear a loud crash.
“Please, just go. I don’t owe you an explanation. And, I’ve been on one date with you.”
A masculine voice booms at her. It’s instinctual to try for the door, and somehow, it’s unlocked. I hurry through it where the jackass is planted on the floor, Molly standing over him. Her focus swings to me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and then look at the fool on the floor. “Or maybe I should ask you that, asshole?” I stalk over to him, shielding Molly, not that she needs my protection apparently. “I think you need to leave now.”
He rolls over and pushes up on his knees, slowly getting up. “You’re not worth the effort, bitch.”
I hurry toward him, because no one calls my chéri a bitch. With my approach fast toward him, he hurries slamming the door.
I twist my body around to check on her when she runs toward me, wrapping her arms tight around me, her quivering body not letting go.