“Um, sir?” I call out to the man before he steps into the elevator car.
“Simon,” he says by way of telling me his name. “Yes, ma’am?”
I close the box and shove it into Simon’s hand. “Kindly inform Mr. Hayes that I will not be accepting any gifts from him.”
The man stares at the box in his hand, hesitating; but the intense, no-nonsense scowl I give him sends the message loud and clear, that no matter what he says, I will not be taking the box.
“Ma’am.” He gives me a curt nod and a tight smile before disappearing into the elevator.
Closing my door, I start feeling bad. What if Ben chews his head off? Or worse, what if Ben fires him for not following his instructions? Poor Simon. That’s why he hesitated. If Ben fires him, that would be so draconian and asinine of him…and also my fault.
I plop down on the couch and pop my phone out of the bag it came in. Thirty-one missed calls and two messages. I open the call log. Three of the missed calls are from this morning from Rachel, and the rest from last night. Three calls are from a number I’ve never seen before and twenty-five from Ben. I ogle his number. Twenty-five? What the hell?
I check the messages. One is from Rae saying that she hoped I was feeling better and that I enjoyed my stir-fry. I type a quick response:
I loved it, Rae! Sorry I missed ur calls, didn’t have my phone. Will explain l8r.
Butterflies flutter through my stomach as I open the other message. It is from Ben:
I’m sorry.
I squeeze the phone in my hand. I feel a tightening in my chest and I know I’m going to cry. Why? I don’t know. Forcing myself not to respond to him, I decide on calling the unknown number.
“Fielding House Business Enterprises. Simone Lawson speaking.”
“What the fuck?” I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. It was just a thought. “I’m sorry.”
“Sullivan?” Simone says.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Sull, what’s going on with Mr. Hayes?” she asks, sounding worried.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I really don’t. He shouldn’t be the one in a funk. He dissed me, not the other way around.
“He’s been snapping at everyone all morning. He practically chewed through one of our heads of department this morning. He called Jamison a fucking coward because he couldn’t land a small-business account they’d been pursuing. An account that they didn’t really want anyway. He gave Jamison the day off and told me to cancel all his appointments. Everyone’s been tiptoeing around him all day,” she explains. “He’s been great these past few days, now he’s back to his old self. What happened?”
My throat becomes dry. What is his problem?
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I tell her. “He’s a powerful Chief of Operations. Aren’t men of his prominence entitled to mood swings?”
I quickly change the subject, “Hey I gotta go. I’m heading to the spa with Mrs. Wade.”
“That hot, old divorcee on your floor?” she asks.
“Yup, same one. She’s treating me.” I giggle, excited that I am going to be doing this after the night I had.
“Girl, I would give anything to go to a spa and escape this sour mood Mr. Hayes is in. Have fun girl.”
Hanging up, I contemplate calling Ben to ask him what was up his butt, but I decide against it. He’s no longer on my radar. I shouldn’t even feel this way. I’m a love ’em and leave ’em type of girl, aren’t I? Or am I upset because I didn’t get to say it first? He was a good lay after all.
Or maybe…
Nope. Not giving that another thought. I don’t want him. Nope. I don’t.
I get a quick shower then slip into a knee-length white, Grecian style dress, flared at the waist with gold banding cinching under my breasts. I put on gold, Grecian wedge-heeled, thong sandals with crisscross ankle straps to round out the look.
Outside, I await Mrs. Wade as I’m five minutes early.
“Darling!” she calls from behind me. She air kisses me as she nears. “You look lovely, darling. Like a beautiful, dark tan Grecian goddess.”
I blush. “Thank you, Mrs. Wade. Just trying to rival you.”
“Why, thank you.” She gives me a twirl, showing off her outfit.
“Hayes,” she drawls happily as she faces me, her eyes looking beyond me.
I freeze. Please don’t let it be Ben. Please don’t let it be Ben, I pray.
“Hello, Mrs. Wade.” It is Ben. His voice caresses my ears. I let out a quiet, shuddering breath as his voice warms every part of my body. Oh, dear God.
I had thought it was the chill of the morning breeze making my hairs stand, but I should’ve known better. Only he can make my body react the way it does when he is close. It is locked into him somehow. I hate that shit.
“What brings you to these parts?” she asks.
“I’ve come to see Sullivan actually,” he says. Shit.
I cringe, wishing the ground would swallow me up.
“Good day, Sullivan,” he greets me.
I turn to face him, avoiding his eyes. “Good day, Mr. Hayes.”
“Would you care to accompany me for a drive and subsequent lunch?” he requests.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hayes. I have plans with Mrs. Wade,” I answer, with a snooty look.
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Wade exclaims. “We can reschedule.” Oh, come on! Work with me lady!
I sigh, shaking my head, “Mrs. Wade–”
“Darling,” she whispers through gritted teeth as she comes closer to me. “When a man as handsome and available as Benjamin Adonis Hayes asks you to accompany him for a drive and subsequent lunch, there is only one right answer.” She then smacks me on the butt and I leap with fright toward him.
Adonis? I want to splutter into giggles at how apt his name is and how much of a match we are…if only he knew, if only Mrs. Wade knew. She’d probably rush us down the aisle if she knew my middle name was Aphrodite.
Delilah Aphrodite. My birth mother was a real peach when she named me. A slut from the Bible and the Greek goddess of beauty together makes for one fucked up kid. Yeah, those two names should never be seen together.
Mrs. Wade makes her way back toward Ben and hugs and kisses his cheek. “Tell your mother I’ll be visiting soon.” She seems to know Ben really well.
“Will do, Mrs. Wade.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, making me fidgety.
Mrs. Wade hops into her waiting Mercedes and winks at me just before her chauffeur closes her door.
People flow around us, but I still feel like we’re the only two people on the sidewalk.
“Shall we?” He extends his hand and without hesitation, I take it. Way to put up a fight.
We ride in silence for fifteen minutes until frustrated, I ask, “Where are we…” I suck in a sharp breath as I turn to see Ben staring at me. “Going?” I release softly.
“Sullivan, I’m sorry.” I close my eyes and shake my head, not wanting to hear it.
“Please, Sullivan. I know what I said was wrong,” he pleads, pulling my hand to his lips. “I really am sorry.”
“You can’t imagine how I felt when you said that to me,” I say stone-faced. “Why would you say that?”
“I was an asshole. I felt bad because you said you wanted to leave and I was mad at the reason you wanted to leave. I guess I wanted you to feel the same way,” he explains.
“That’s childish, Ben.”
“I know, I know. And I’m sorry.” He brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
“It hurt me, Ben. I cried all night,” I confess – why, I don’t know – tears threatening.
“I’m sorry, Sullivan. I don’t mean to make you cry.” He pulls me to him and embraces me. “Please don’t cry.”
I feel his heart thumping in his chest. The tears trickle down my face as I place my hand over his heart and breathe him in. He breathes a relieving sigh and clutches me tighter to him. Once again we’re in sil
ence, but this time, the silence isn’t awkward. We are content in being in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER 10
We finally come to a stop. I look out the window to see an art studio. I turn to him, starry-eyed.
“We’re seeking to do business with these dealers.” He has a wry smile on his face. I wonder if he is telling the truth. “They’re a small company and they deal in contemporary art. We believe that with our name as backing, that they can go places, while extending our new market reach,” Ben says further, as if to answer my unsaid concern.
“I love art,” I profess.
He smiles at me and kisses my forehead. “Me, too.”
Inside the studio, we’re greeted by a pleasant gentleman who shows us around. The sculptures are at the front of the studio, basically ushering us further into the space. These sculptures are sensual and evocative, mostly of women or female body parts. In some circles, a sculpture of a woman touching her clit would be seen as lewd, but someone must have loved it if the “sold” sign is already on it. I’m a little jealous about that.
After a few pieces, Ben excuses himself to find the owner. I stare at each piece in awe. The rest of the studio is filled with clay moldings, more sensual sculptures, drawings and photographs. But I am most intrigued by the paintings. One painting catches my eye in particular.
It is a large canvas painting of a woman clutching her lover’s foot as he walks away from her. Both are naked and the woman seems to be locked in an impassioned plea for him. I don’t know why the situation with Ben and me flashes across my mind. It isn’t the same.
“It’s called Her Impassioned Plea.” A tall, handsome dark-haired man in khaki pants and a white untucked linen shirt with brown stitching approaches me, echoing my sentiment.
Did I mention he is handsome? His smoky blue eyes spell trouble, but I manage to turn my attention back to the painting, as intriguing as he is.
“I love it. I can feel the woman’s emotion. The pitiful, degrading action of dropping to her knees and groveling is a powerful force in the painting. Especially with her head down almost touching the ground and her tears hitting the floor…the painting just comes to life. Looking at it, you just want to weave a story about it,” I gush.
“Wow,” he says, seemingly struck by my elaboration. “Are you an artist?”
“Me? God, no,” I snort, still entranced by the painting. “Did you paint this?”
“Oh, no. I’m only the dealer. This was done by an Italian painter, Paolo Rodini.”
“Do you have more pieces from him?”
“No, this is my only piece. A rare piece, like the rare beauty admiring it.” He takes my hand to his lips, kissing it and I feel the tingle in my groin. Whoa.
That’s when I feel it.
The hairs on my body stand. My ears perk up with awareness as I feel Ben’s shadow looming over me. I quickly withdraw my hand from the man’s grasp. Looking up at Ben, the man smiles ruefully.
“Hayes,” he says tightly, masking a smile.
“Hayes,” Ben retorts with a smile. What?
My mouth falls open, confused at the exchange between the two men who have the same last name.
“Sullivan, meet my younger brother, Matt Hayes.”
I gasp and look at Ben with disgust. “You’re trying to take over your brother’s business?”
“Is that what he told you, sweetheart?” Matt brings my attention back to him and continues, “It’s a ploy…to get you to have lunch with him. This place is an art studio with a garden restaurant. A hidden jewel from the hustle and bustle of the city. He practically begged me to close my doors during the lunch hours so he could treat you. In my estimation, big bro here must’ve fucked up pretty good to want me to do that.”
I turn a timid gaze back to Ben who is scowling at his brother. He must’ve felt me watching him as he lowers his eyes to me, immediately warming with a god-forsaken, heart-stopping smile that makes me squeeze my legs together to stop the ache between them.
We stare at each other for a moment, drinking each other in. I am speechless. A grand gesture, just to apologize to me. Wow.
“If you two lovely kids would stop ogling each other and pretending that I’m not in the room, please follow me,” Matt interrupts, breaking our gazes.
We both clear our throats, trying to bring ourselves forcibly back to the present, and follow Matt outside onto a smooth rock floor walkway. Bamboo trees are on either side and they stalk over us creating a bamboo ceiling. The sun peers through the leaves, lighting parts of the walkway romantically. Ahead of us is a hut-like building with a wooden sign that reads Garden Oasis. It is simply awe-inspiring.
Ben clasps my hand and runs his thumb smoothly over the knuckles. My heart swells and a knot forms in my throat, constricting my breathing. All of a sudden, my flight instincts kick in. This feels just too good to be true; too good to indulge in. My insecurities flash across my mind: What does he see in you? You’re nothing but a high-priced whore. If he knew your past he wouldn’t be here with you; he’d run as fast as he could.
My movements slow. Tears spring to my eyes and I start shaking. I am having a panic attack. My dark tan skin reddens and I start gasping for air. I haven’t had a panic attack since I first heard of Jared’s death.
Ben pulls me to him and lulls me; his even steady breathing commanding me to calm down.
“Shh,” he quiets. “You’re having a panic attack. Shh.” His voice is so soothing against my ear. He brushes my hair lightly with one hand while the hand he has on the small of my back provides me some much needed balance as I sink into him.
Just like that, I am calm again. This is what scares me. It is like he knows me. He knows how my body works. What stroke will make me come; when I am hot for him; what will calm me down. And my body responds all too well to him, like he owns my body and holds it under subjection in every way. I never give anyone the gratification of owning me body, mind and soul. Yet, it seems that he does. He owns me whether I want to admit it – accept it – or not, and I pray he never knows the power he has over me.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
“Closed space,” I lie. I can’t let him know what is causing my panic attack.
He doesn’t seem to believe me anyway. He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, but gives up when I don’t reveal anything else. Thank God.
The restaurant brings a further tranquility to my panicked soul. The hut that I saw on the outside was simply an entrance into the outdoor space the restaurant occupies. The space is shaded in supple green Lacebark elm trees and willow oaks. Each seating area has a wooden canopy – I imagine for warding off unwanted bird poop. The white wood seats sit neatly in front of shiny black wood tables that are decorated with candles in crystal holders. The birds that chirp around us make me feel as though I am in another world – a romantic version of Narnia maybe.
Matt seats us in the center of the garden restaurant.
“This place is beautiful, Matt,” I enthuse, gazing at my surroundings and feeling utter peace.
“Coming from you, I’m flattered…since you are beauty personified,” he flatters, bowing before me. “Grecian goddess.”
I blush shamefully. He has the same charm as his brother does but he is laying it on a little thick.
“I know you see me sitting here, Matt,” Ben finally speaks up giving him an amused raised eyebrow.
“Just saying what needed to be said, since you won’t say it, bro.”
“Go fetch our lunches before I have to call mom and tell her that you’re being an ass,” Ben orders.
“And I’ll tell mom that you’re threatening me again,” he shoots. “I can hear her now: ‘Benjamin, you know you shouldn’t be threatening your brother. It messes with his confidence’,” Matt mimics.
“A pity she doesn’t know that you have the confidence of the Greek God, Apollo himself. You’ve got her so tight around your finger.”
“Like you don’t? Let’s face it: we’re the
apple of our mom’s eyes. No wonder dad kicked us out.” Matt laughs wildly at his comment, causing Ben to do the same.
“Dude, he wanted to finally have mom’s attention,” Ben hoots then stops immediately when he sees me smiling at him. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” I don’t feel awkward that he and his brother are having this brotherly moment. It is actually very sweet to witness. “But I am hungry though.” I purse my lips and dart my eyes around, trying not to smile.
Matt’s eyes light up and perfect white teeth come into view as he flashes me an alluring smile.
“And she has a sense of humor. Have you ever thought about dating brothers, angel?” Matt jokes.
“Oh, we’re not –”
Ben shoots me a look that stuffs the rest of my sentence down my throat.
“Please stop trying to steal her away from me, Matt. Don’t you have a Svetlana, Anya…” Ben trails off.
“Katja,” Matt finishes Ben’s sentence.
“Ah, Katja. Aren’t you dating her this week?”
“Hey, I can always fit an even more beautiful woman into my repertoire,” he says staring at me. I flush. He continues, “But, alas,” he says with a faraway look. “I see she’s gotten away. I’ll go fetch your meals. I shall be your waiter for today.” Matt bows then leaves us.
“He wants to fuck you,” Ben acknowledges.
“And you don’t?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I recoil under his horrid stare, with his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.
His chest deflates upon exhaling then he states, “That’s not all I want. You know I want more Sullivan, but that’s not what you want. So, I’ll take what I can get.”
“Then why’d you say what you said last night?” The hurt of his words popping unbidden in my head.
He sighs. “I thought we dealt with this in the car?”
“It doesn’t stop it from still hurting, though,” I snap.
He exhales exhaustively as though worn. I am being unfair. I wince at my behavior.
“I’m being a bitch.” I am contrite. It is unfair for me to keep bringing it up when he has already apologized.
Tainted Love (Book 1) Page 9