by ANDREA SMITH
“How about ‘Pink’? You sort of remind me of her.”
“Yeah?” Gina asked, obviously flattered. “You know I’ve heard that.”
“You kind of have an attitude like hers, too.”
“I’ve heard that said as well.”
I placed the CD into the tray, and it automatically slid back into the player. In a couple of seconds, Pink’s song, ‘Fuckin’ Perfect’ was playing. I loved this song, a rare side of Pink. Gina pulled off the road into a Dairy Queen.
“Really?” I asked.
“I’m in the mood for a slushy,” she said. “How about you, my treat?”
“Sure, blueberry,” I replied.
“Got it.”
She left the car running while she went to the order window, coming back with two giant slushies, blueberry for me, root beer for her. We sat in the car, slurping our slushies, reflecting.
Gina hadn’t mentioned Ian at all since yesterday when her aunt told her he wasn’t coming in from Atlanta. I knew she was still pissed and had turned her cell phone off for that reason. She probably wanted him to worry about what she was doing. I knew that she was thinking about him when she got quiet like this.
The next track was a perkier tune, ‘So What.’
“Oh, I love this one!” Gina screamed, pushing the volume up button. She immediately started singing along; and surprisingly, Gina had a really good voice. Coupled with her resemblance to ‘Pink’ and us being in this car, it was conceivable someone could mistake her for ‘Pink.’
But who could I be…maybe her agent? I looked over at Gina thinking how much fun that would be to pull something like that off, but she was singing away, using her cup as a giant microphone.
I joined in with her on the chorus because that was the only part of the lyrics I knew by heart. She seemed to be getting her frustration out, which was good. I was also feeling more liberated and less depressed. I was glad we had done this.
Singing away with the stereo blasting neither of us heard the black stretch limo pull up beside the passenger side of the Lamborghini. Gina noticed it before I did when she suddenly stopped singing, leaving me to do the chorus solo. I followed her gaze, still singing away as I turned to see the limo. The tinted window in the back seat electronically lowered and I was greeted by those incredibly blue and incredibly angry eyes.
(Oh shit!)
“Ladies,” Trey greeted in his smooth silky voice. “There has been a slight change of plans. I will drive Tylar back to the house. Gina, you can make yourself comfortable in the limo which will be right behind us."
There was definitely an edge to his voice that neither of us challenged. The limo driver got out, opening the door for Trey; Gina was already scooting out of the Lamborghini, giving me a look that said ‘good luck, it was nice knowing you.’
Trey slid into the driver seat, electronically adjusting it to accommodate his height. The driver closed the limo door after Gina was settled inside. I was afraid to look at Trey. I smoothed the ball cap down; trying to lower the bill enough to shield me from the glare I knew I was getting at this very moment. Someone had to say something.
“Trey,” I started to speak, humbly. “I know—"
“Not a word, Tylar,” he breathed, having difficulty containing his seething anger.
“I’m too angry with you at the moment. I don’t want to risk saying anything to you that I may regret later. For now, please stay quiet and put your seat belt on.”
I scrambled to comply. The drive back to the manor was extremely long despite the speed at which Trey was driving. I crouched as much as I could in a two-seater car away from him, but I could feel his anger burning through me.
He had every right to be. I had abused his generosity and over-stepped boundaries by taking his expensive sport car out like that. He would never forgive me, I knew that. Perhaps it was best having things like this between us. It would make it much simpler leaving.
As soon as he pulled his car into the garage, I opened my door, anxious to exit the car and put distance between Trey and me.
“Hold it there,” he ordered.
I jumped, startled by his unsuppressed anger now that we were back on his turf.
“I want you to go inside and go up to your room. As soon as I calm down, I will be up there and we will be having a discussion. Is that understood?”
(Yes, dad.)
I nodded affirmatively, hating the fact that he was treating me like a child. I raced across the yard, seeing the limo with Gina inside winding up the drive.
I was humiliated on all fronts. The omnipresent Thatcher was there to open the door as I bolted in and up the stairs like a child waiting for the paddle. I slammed the door to ‘my room’ immediately; grabbing the suitcase out of the closet and throwing it wide open on the bed. I opened all of the dresser drawers, tossing the contents onto the bed until each drawer was emptied.
There was a soft knock on my door.
(Sweet Jesus). I knew he could not have calmed down already. Might as well get this over.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and Gina peered in the room, tentatively. Seeing that I was alone, she came in, closing the door behind her.
“How pissed is he?” she asked.
“Oh, he is monumentally pissed! Let me put it this way, he needs time to calm down so that he can get to just being pissed!"
“What should I do, should I go?” Gina asked.
“Don’t you dare leave me, Gina!”
“I don’t want to Ty, but I can tell that he does not want me here.”
“Gina, please!” I begged.
“Just do this, go to your room and get your stuff packed and ready. I have a feeling I’m about to be banished back to my cottage, that is if I still have a job. You know I can’t stay in that cottage by myself. Please you can’t leave until I know where I’m going.”
“Calm, down, okay? You’ve got it. I’ll start packing my shit. You come and get me when you know what you’re going to do, okay?”
I nodded, giving her a quick hug.
“Thanks, Gina.”
I finished folding everything on the bed, and was arranging it in my suitcase when there was another knock on my door. ‘Showtime’ I thought as I went to open it. It was not Trey, it was Thatcher.
“Ms. Preston,” Thatcher addressed me warmly. “Mr. Sinclair has requested that you join him in his suite now if it meets with your convenience?”
I swallowed, nervously.
“Sure thing, would you please tell him I will join him there in just a moment?”
“Of course,” Thatcher answered kindly, almost as if he knew what was coming.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I would have to finish my packing after our “discussion.” I had removed the ball cap, and brushed my hair back up into a ponytail neatly – I recalled Trey saying that he liked me in a ponytail, so perhaps this would lessen the rage. Even a tiny bit would help.
I walked down the hall, my flip-flops making the trip none too quiet. I heard a “pssst” from behind me. Gina was peeking around the corner. I turned and hurried back to where she was standing.
“His majesty has summoned me to his quarters,” I said. “Here goes nothing.”
“I got your back, Ty, don’t worry. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but you never can tell with rich, spoiled guys.”
“Thanks, Gina.”
I turned back and continued my walk of shame, flip-flopping down the carpeted hallway to Trey’s suite. I tapped lightly on his door. I could hear his stereo playing classical music on low volume. I knocked harder this time.
“It’s open,” smooth and silky said, kind of loudly.
I turned the knob and went in, shutting the door softly behind me. He wasn’t in the bedroom part which still bore the remnants of my previous night’s sleep there. What was with this staff? Any other time the room would have been clean and sanitized before I had reached the bottom step. Great, now I would probably be yelled at in add
ition to everything else for leaving his room like a pigsty.
“I’m in here, Tylar,” Trey called out from the bathroom.
I flip-flopped over to the doorway.
“You may come in,” he invited.
He had evidently just showered, having a large bath towel wrapped around his lower half. I was curious as to why he hadn’t put his blue robe on. It was still lying across his bed where I had left it.
“Please have a seat,” he invited, the only one being the toilet next to the double vanity where he was lathering up his beautiful face with warmed shaving cream.
It appeared as if Trey hadn’t shaved today. I was curious as to why he hadn’t, particularly if he had given oral arguments this morning in chambers.
I hesitantly took my seat on his commode, turning to give him my full attention as he turned back to the mirror and started shaving. He must have a pattern established on how he shaved his face I thought.
I watched as he took the razor and pulled his cheek a bit with his left hand, while his razor cleared a path on the right side of his check, just below his natural sideburns. He dipped the razor in the warm soapy water in his sink, shaking the shaving cream off of it. He raised it back up, preparing to shave the dimple on his chin.
That part was probably tricky, I thought. I watched his reflection in the mirror as he forced a wide grin on his face that helped to smooth out the dimple making the area more accessible for his razor. He stopped suddenly, half-stroke.
“Son of a bitch!” he hollered, setting his razor down quickly, grabbing a tissue from the box and pressing it firmly against his now slightly bleeding dimpled chin.
“I just put a new blade in this the morning I left for Atlanta.”
Uh – oh. Should I fess up or not? How much angrier could be possibly get.
“I’m sorry, Trey,” I said softly, “That’s my fault. I used your razor a couple of times to shave my legs.”
“I should have figured you were capable of drawing blood, Tylar," he lashed out in an extremely irritated tone.
“I know I packed your razor with the rest of your things from the cottage. Why did you need to use mine?”
“I used your shower and forgot to bring mine in.” (White lie only.)
“I meant to put a new blade in it before you got back home.”
He eyed me warily as if he wasn’t sure he believed me. Like I would lie about using his razor? I mean it made more sense that a person would lie and say they didn’t use it as opposed to being forthright and admitting that they had. He grabbed a new blade out of the medicine cabinet, ejecting the old blade into the trash. He resumed shaving with no further incidents. I was starting to wonder when our discussion was going to begin.
He leaned over the sink, and rinsed his freshly shaven face with water, patting it dry with a clean hand towel. He put some of his aftershave lotion on, careful to avoid the razor cut. He stuck a small piece of toilet paper on it for the time being. I hoped his dimple didn’t scar because of me.
“So,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “Do you want to explain to me what the hell happened last night?”
His eyes were once again blazing at me. His hair was damp and tousled, totally distracting me from answering his question.
“I’m waiting,” he said, growing impatient.
He walked out of the bathroom still only dressed in his towel. I followed and sat down on the rumpled up bed while he disappeared into his closet. I heard drawers slamming, mumbled curses under his breath.
“It’s kind of hard to talk to you, Trey, when you’re out of the room.” I finally said.
He appeared in a moment evidently having put his boxers on and a pair of jeans that he was zipping up as he exited, still shirtless in all of his glory.
“I’m listening,” he replied curtly.
“Well, Gina and I got a ride from Rodney over to the track to watch the quarter races. We both got a little drunk and – “
“Damn it!” I know that part!” he yelled.
“Who the fuck do you think arranged for your transportation home?”
I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say.
“Thank you for that Trey,” I offered.
“I apologize for creating the need for you to have to deal with that.”
“Tylar,” he said, with no patience left.
“I know you went to the races; I know you got drunk; I saw the little digital picture that came across on my Blackberry with you and the . . . the fucking Thompson twins with their matching erections. . . you are not telling me the rest.”
I wasn’t sure what the rest was except for what Gina had told me.
“I see that I need to interrogate you then, since you are not forthcoming with information. I will know what happened last night.”
(Go for it counselor. I was starting to get pissed now.)
“Who the fuck slept in my bed last night?”
“I did!” I answered truthfully.
“Who else?” he asked, practically screaming.
“No one else!”
He walked over to the bed now, bending over, and pulling his white shirt out from where it was laying on the floor, half of it underneath the bed.
“Who was wearing my shirt?” he demanded, then immediately grabbed his dark blue robe off of the bed, flinging it over at me.
“Who the fuck was wearing my robe?”
Tears sprang to my eyes. How could he think those kinds of thoughts about me? It was obvious he thought me a whore; a whore like my mom.
When I didn’t answer immediately, he took that as some sort of admission of guilt. He continued on his roll, going over to the side of the bed, eager to present more damning evidence to convict me.
“What have we here?” he asked in his attorney turned P.I. voice, once again bending down to retrieve something from the floor. Oh God, it was Gina’s unlit cigarette. It must’ve rolled off of the night stand onto the floor next to the bed.
“I’ve never seen you smoke, Tylar, and I know that I don’t. Whose cigarette is this?”
I’d finally had enough of his relentless badgering. I was prepared for him to chew my ass about getting drunk again; I was prepared for him to rip into me about having his car out without permission. But there was no way in hell he was going to turn me into a slut that would bring some random guy to his home and fuck him in his own bed.
I stood up and walked over to where he was standing. I looked up at him my eyes flashing, or at least they felt like they were.
“You want answers, Trey? Well I will give you answers. I’m the one that wore your white shirt last night. I wore it to bed after I showered because I wanted - I needed something of yours on my body. As for your robe? I’ve been wearing that all week as well. If you don’t believe me, please ask your cleaning staff because they have found it in my room numerous times and have hung it up on the hook in there. I didn’t want them to launder your robe. I wanted it just the way you left it on Monday morning. I wanted your scent on it and by wearing it, it felt like I had your scent on me which I realize, sounds a bit primal, but that’s the truth!”
“I used your razor for the same reason, so no other man was in here, Trey. No other man used your razor, or wore your shirt or robe. As for the cigarette? That belongs to Gina. She doesn’t smoke anymore, but occasionally likes to puff on an unlit cigarette with her morning coffee. Last night was the only night that I have slept in your room since you left. I just wanted to feel close to you. I can’t imagine why. Gina came in this afternoon to see how I was. We watched television in here. There was a Hitchcock movie called, “Marnie” on TCM; and an ‘I Love Lucy’ marathon on TV Land. That’s why the bed was rumpled and unmade. Any further questions?”
I was glaring at him but he was still fairly pissed.
“What about this body piercing you have evidently gotten in to?”
“A pierced belly button for Chrissake, Trey. It’s not as if I went and had my clitoris pierced, not that you would ev
er know!”
He ignored the implication of my last statement.
“Tylar, why would you want to desecrate your navel like that?”
This conversation was going nowhere. We were going nowhere. That was apparent when I overheard his dinner plans yesterday evening.
“Trey I’m not apologizing to you for anything other than taking your car out. That was wrong, and unacceptable, and I am so very sorry. I took advantage of your hospitality, and I hope that you can forgive me for that. As far as anything else you have accused me of whether directly or subtly, I won’t apologize for things that I did not do.”
I turned from him and calmly flip-flopped my way out of his room with dignity. As I turned the corner in the hall, I saw Gina waiting.
“I heard everything girlfriend,” she said. “You really handled yourself well, Ty. Where the fuck does he come off all possessive and accusatory like that?”
“Gina, I’ve got to finish getting packed. Do you think your aunt will object to my staying with you?”
“No, not at all,” she answered, “In fact, I was going to suggest the same thing.”
“Good,” I answered. I’ll come down to your room as soon as I’m finished and we’ll call her, okay?”
“Yep, no problem,” she said, retreating down the hall to the east wing.
I was able to fit everything from the dresser drawers into the suitcase. I still had my backpack to fill. I opened the closet and pulled the stuff on hangers out, taking the clothes off of the hangers and folding them neatly in stacks. There was a soft tap on my door.
“It’s open Gina,” I called out.
The door opened.
“It’s me,” Trey said.
I turned and saw that he had put a white tee shirt on. Only on Trey could a white tee shirt look haute couture.
“Why are you doing that?” he asked as I continued packing. “I didn’t ask you to leave did I?”