by Mia Asher
I stop walking, pointedly looking at him. “I wish I could say the same, but I’m not a liar.” Then, I slide across the beige seat, look out the windshield as I cross my arms, and wait for him to start driving.
“Guess that makes me one then,” he says bitingly before closing the door behind me. Anger gathers in my chest. His answer hurt, but I deserve everything I have coming my way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him make his way toward the driver’s seat as he removes his sunglasses. My thirsty eyes drink him in after going for so long without seeing him. He’s even more beautiful than I remembered, but he looks different, too. Older. Harder. There’s a dangerous edge in his face that wasn’t there before, and it only makes him more attractive.
Once he’s behind the wheel, he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. “Where to?” he asks rudely.
“The Plaza. And if I were you, I’d watch your tone. Because remember, Ronan,” I pause, “I’m fucking your boss and I can get you fired.”
He chuckles. “I don’t give a fuck, Blaire. But I’m pretty sure that Mr. Rothschild doesn’t give a shit how I treat you, or talk to you. To him, you’re just another pussy amongst many. And trust me, I’ve driven many before you. So you better enjoy it before he gets tired of fucking you and discards you.”
I laugh, crossing my legs. “You didn’t.”
We stop on a red light, our eyes connecting in the rearview mirror war wordlessly.
“That’s because I was a fucking idiot, too blinded by your beauty and your lies to see that there wasn’t anything worthy underneath your flawless exterior other than just a good fuck. And, yes, you hurt me, Blaire, but in the grand scheme of things you were just another pussy I had and got over.”
My heart cracks, but I smile brightly. “Bravo, Ronan. Cruelty feels good, doesn’t it? But, at least, you finally seem to have seen the light.”
“I have, haven’t I?”
“And let me guess, you’re moving on to better things?” I ask sarcastically.
“That isn’t hard, Blaire. Not when anything is better than you.”
Our eyes lock for a moment and that moment feels like it’s filled with slow passing seconds that, together, form an eternity. Too much said and not enough. When the red light turns green, he focuses on the road once more and I turn to look out the window. I notice a woman in a red dress walking her Maltese, the mundane action soothing as I try to rein in my emotions. Digging my nails into my palms, I try to numb myself with pain. But it isn’t working.
I can still feel.
The rest of the trip is taken in an uncomfortable silence. When he pulls up to the famous curb of the Plaza, I focus on the flags hanging above the awning, the large columns, and the red carpet covering the front steps that lead to a world full of opulence and castles in the air. A world where people like Ronan and I don’t belong. Yet here I am, an intruder, about to invade it in my Chanel shoes. A doorman walks toward the car and opens its door for me.
I address Ronan. “You can go. I won’t need you later.”
“My orders are to wait for you.”
“But I’m telling you that I don’t need you,” I say peevishly, close to stamping my hands on the leather seat.
“You might be fucking Lawrence, Blaire, but you aren’t my boss. I don’t have to follow your orders.”
“Whatever, Ronan. Stay or go. I don’t give a shit what you do.”
“I’ll be here,” he drawls, unbothered.
I get out of the car without looking at him, and if it weren’t for the polite doorman holding the door for me who’s watching us with a perplexed look on his face, I would slam the door behind me. You know … for effect.
It isn’t until I’m greeting the real estate agent helping me today that I realize that we didn’t discuss my call from last night. Good. He’s obviously moved on or doesn’t care. I should be happy about it, but the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach.
His name is William Dowling. Attractive. Medium height. Expensively dressed. Real estate agent to the rich and famous. As we shake hands, his eyes size me up, probably wondering how I caught Lawrence Rothschild’s attention. I feel exposed under his inspection. Briefly, I wonder if he knows what I am to Lawrence. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Rich men buying love nests for their lovers is probably a big part of his business.
Unsmiling, I let go of his hand. “Shall we go look at the apartment?”
“But of course. The elevators are this way.” He steps to the side, allowing me to walk ahead of him. As we near the elevator, I notice people looking at me with clear judgment in their eyes. The way they stare at me makes me recoil on the inside, but I’d rather be dead than allow them to see how affected I am. So I straighten my back, reminding myself that their opinion means nothing to me, and walk as though I own the fucking place.
My eyes land on a young woman who looks like she was born and raised in a country club, cream-colored cardigan and all. She stares at me as she grabs her boyfriend tighter by the arm, pulling him closer to her. I want to tell her, “Honey, no need to be scared of me. He’s probably already screwing someone else behind your back,” but I don’t. Instead, I turn to look at country club girl, smile saucily at her, and wink at her boyfriend as I walk past them, leaving them both with their mouths hanging open.
It isn’t until we get on the elevator and its doors close in front of us that the smile evaporates from my face.
We’re now inside the empty apartment. Emotionally wrung out, I walk around the spacious area lost in thought, seeing everything and absorbing nothing. In the background, I hear William describing the different features that the place has to offer, but I’m not listening to a word he’s saying. I’m looking at the view of Central Park. And as my eyes adjust to its beauty, all I can see is Ronan smiling at me, talking to me, and laughing with me once more on that fated summer day.
“I’ll take it,” I whisper.
“Excuse me?” William asks.
“I’ll take it,” I say louder, my voice firmer this time. I turn to look at him. “I want this apartment.”
He smiles affably. “Exquisite taste.”
I nod and go back to look at the view, searching for something—someone—who isn’t there.
“Shall I send the paperwork to Mr. Rothschild’s assistant?”
His question reminds me of Lawrence. I bite my lip and stare at my shoes as guilt and shame flare inside of me. “Yeah, I think that works,” I say without meeting his gaze. I’m afraid that I’ll see what he thinks of me reflected in his eyes.
This time, I won’t be able to pretend that I don’t care.
As we’re getting ready to leave, he stops right in front of me, blocking the exit. “One moment.”
“Yes?” I ask coolly, raising an eyebrow.
“I just wanted to give you this,” he says, handing me his business card.
I frown. “Lawrence’s assistant already has your information. She’s handling everything with the purchase.”
He smiles again, that affable smile, but this time it sends a shiver running down my spine. “For the future. When you’re no longer with—”
And then it dawns on me. “Ah. I see what this is.”
“Maybe we could come to some sort of arrangement. An arrangement that a woman like you wouldn’t pass up.”
I shouldn’t be upset. I should be used to this. Lies. Lies. And more lies.
I scan the area around us and notice that we’re standing close to the sleek grey marble kitchen island. I walk to the edge of it and sit on top of the flat surface, spreading my legs open invitingly. Wantonly. Because why not? This is what I am—who I am.
“How about now? Why wait until I’m done with Lawrence?” I reply, surprised to sound so calm. Our gazes locked, I lift a hand and deliberately bring it between my legs, rubbing my pussy through my jeans. “Is this what you want?”
His eyes leave mine briefly to follow the motion of my fingers, flaring with lust, and I re
alize that I’ve never felt this cheap before. He moves, coming to stand between my legs. This close, I grab his jaw and pull his face toward mine, fooling him into thinking that I’m going to kiss him.
When our lips almost touch, I slightly draw back and look at him in the eye. “Even if Lawrence dumped me, I would never fuck you.” I smile. “I don’t fuck the working class.”
I push him to the side and get off the counter, my feet landing softly on the wooden floors, and leave the apartment behind me. As soon as I’m standing outside, I rush toward the elevator. Pressing the button for my floor repeatedly—urgently—I realize that it isn’t coming anytime soon. Not wanting to spend another minute here, I search for the fire stairwell. I locate the door to my right and sprint in its direction, slamming it open, and running down the stairs as fast as my feet will allow me. The pace frantic, I miss a few steps and fall down on my knees at the foot of the stairs. Stunned inside out, I recline my back against the wall and raise my hands, watching them tremble uncontrollably. The emotions that have threatened to spill over from the moment Ronan dropped me off finally let loose and come crashing down on me, making the room swirl around me.
“That’s because I was a fucking idiot too blinded by your beauty and your lies to see that there wasn’t anything worthy underneath your flawless exterior other than just a good fuck, Blaire.”
As my vision begins to blur, I whisper to myself, “You’re right, Ronan. You’re so right.” I cover my face with my hands as a sob escapes my lips.
And I begin to cry.
“BLAIRE?” I HEAR LAWRENCE ask as he opens the door.
I’m in the bathtub. The water has grown cold, but I can’t bring myself to move. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Naked and with my arms wrapped around my knees, I stare at the silver faucet, its curves and grooves blurring to one grey mass. I avoid meeting his gaze, look down at my body, and notice that it’s covered in tiny bumps.
“Hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”
“Not at all. I’m glad you came. Seeing you is the first thing that has brought me pleasure today.”
“You shouldn’t be, and you shouldn’t say those things to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you of all people shouldn’t lie to me.” Finally, I turn to look at him and our gazes instantly collide. “You want to know why I’m here? I’m here because I don’t want to be alone, not because I want to be with you.”
His eyes never leaving mine, he watches me as though he can see all the way to my core, to every broken, sharp piece inside of me. “What happened between the time I left you this morning and right now?”
Lawrence closes the space between us and kneels next to the tub. He lifts a hand and reaches for me. I flinch when he touches me, making him withdraw. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that same hand tighten into a fist.
I lean forward, resting my chin on my knees. “I sat on a bench and watched this little girl playing by herself. She was chasing her own shadow, trying to catch it. She seemed so ... happy, you know? I saw her laughing, heard her laughter, and I thought to myself that there was a time when chasing my own shadow was exciting, too. When I was naive enough to believe that life couldn’t get better than spending a day at the park. When I was good, and worthy, and innocent …” My voice breaks.
“I wanted to run to her and wrap her in my arms. I wanted to tell her to hold on to that moment for as long as she could because the world is cruel. Because the world is unkind, and eventually, it will swallow you whole, turning your hopes into shattered dreams, and your dreams into nightmares. Until one day you wake up and no longer recognize yourself in the mirror. That the little girl who chased shadows is gone, and in her stead is someone you hate, someone who disgusts you. Someone like me. So to answer your question, nothing happened. Nothing except a daily reminder of who I am.”
“Look at me,” he orders in that strong voice of his.
I won’t.
“Look at me, Blaire.”
I won’t.
He gets up from his spot next to the marble bathtub and walks away.
I close my eyes. I want to say that I’m glad that he’s left, but I’m too tired, too emotionally drained to lie to myself. Suddenly, two strong arms slide under my legs and back, picking me up. I open my eyes and absorb Lawrence’s beautiful profile as he straightens his back, not worrying that his suit is getting wet, before he puts me down on the floor. Wrapping a warm, fluffy white towel around my shoulders, he says, “You’re cold.”
I pull the towel tighter around me, thankful for the warmth. “Why are you being so kind to me?” I look him square in the eye. “Am I that fucking good in the sack that you can’t see how undeserving I am of you, of all this?” I know it’s illogical, but his kindness angers me.
His eyes darken. Lifting his hands and coming a little closer, Lawrence grips my towel-covered upper arms tightly. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Blaire.”
I throw my head back and laugh. It’s a bitter and hollow sound. Bitter and hollow just like me. “Oh, here comes the daddy complex.”
Letting go of the towel, I push myself flush against him. I rub my tits on his chest, kiss his neck, his jaw, breathing my poisoned breath on his skin and polluting him with my touch. “Nice old men like you love saving girls like me, don’t you? You think you can protect us, change us. Well, newsflash: I don’t need saving. I don’t need your protection. I just want your money. Nothing more, nothing less.”
His grip grows painful, and I love it. Punish me, Lawrence. Go ahead and be disgusted like everyone else.
I sneer, a scornful smile on my lips. “So come on, fuck me and stop pretending that you care. Show me how much you want me.” I grab his face with both of my hands, my nails digging into his skin as I grind my pussy on his growing erection. “You bastard. The thought makes you hot as fuck, doesn’t it?” I close the space between our mouths and kiss him. I kiss him as though I want to tear him apart, wound him, and destroy him with my teeth, with my tongue, with every soiled part of me.
Letting go of his face, I lower my gaze and unbuckle his belt.
“Stop it, Blaire.” He places his hands on top of mine, halting my every move.
“Shut up, and fuck me like a whore. After all, you’re paying for this and dearly.” My voice cracks as I push his hands away. I unzip his pants, and pull out his dick, wrapping it with my fingers and rubbing the head of his cock on my clit.
“Look at me,” he orders, his voice thick and soft. When I don’t, he lifts my chin with one finger and makes me look up at him. I hate myself for what he sees.
Lawrence cups my face gently in his hands, leans down, and begins to kiss each of my tears away. His lips, soft like feathers, land gently on my skin, warming me from the inside out over and over again. “When I first saw you at The Met”—kiss— “I watched you from across the room.” Kiss. “I could see that you were alone and uncomfortable. That selfish piece of shit that you arrived with had left you on your own while he went in search of his friends.” Kiss. “Yet, you stood there in a room full of strangers ready to condemn you, looking like a Queen. Proud. Brilliant. Then you were making your way to the other side, and as you crossed the room, I had never seen anything more beautiful than the young, brave woman with the eyes full of fire and pride. That girl took my breath away.” He stops kissing me to gaze into my eyes. “Bring her back to me, Blaire.”
“She doesn’t exist. That girl was just an illusion.”
“No, she isn’t. She’s here, in my arms, pretending to be someone else, letting bullshit get to her.” He tightens his hold on me. “My beautiful, wild thing. They are dust at your feet. They can’t touch you. Don’t let them.” Drawing back slightly, he smiles. “I won’t let them.”
Oh, Lawrence. “What are you going to do, sweet man?”
At that moment, as we stare at each other, understanding reflected in his green, green eyes, I know that I’ve found a friend—that I’m not alone.
It’s a simple thing, but how it unravels one so.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Just know that as long as you’re under my protection, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
My lips quiver. Who would have known that underneath that hard exterior, Lawrence Rothschild was such a good man? Usually, compassion would drive me away—I don’t want people’s pity—but I’m just too tired to fight it. All I want is some peace from my inner turmoil and the comfort that Lawrence’s arms bring to me.
“Come, let me take you to bed. It’s been a long day.”
I nod. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over my naked shoulders. He leans down, places an arm under my legs and the other behind my back, picking me up once again, and carries me to his bedroom. I recline my head on his chest and listen to the beating of his heart. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. You didn’t deserve that.” I look up as he looks down.
“Don’t apologize. There’s no need. Now tell me, darling. What happened with the apartment? Gina mentioned to me that you went to look at some today. Find anything to bankrupt me with?” he teases.
I break his gaze. “Nothing. I didn’t like anything.”
“You’re lying to me. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me the truth, Blaire.”
I smile ruefully. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“I’m afraid you can’t.”
I rub my cheek on his shirt, the silk tie soft against my skin. “And must you always get your way?”
“Yes. I don’t know any other way. And now I want you to stop avoiding the subject and tell me what happened.”
I sigh, suddenly feeling much older than twenty-three years old. “It was everything. I clearly don’t belong in The Plaza, and then the”—I pause, taking a deep breath—”and then the real estate agent, William Dowling … He, ah, he—”
His hold on me grows tighter, firmer, and stronger. “He what, Blaire?”
I shake my head and drop my gaze. “Never mind. It isn’t worth it. I really would like to just forget the whole thing.”