by Jane Keeler
Her conflicting feelings threatened to almost overwhelm her. Everything had been a lie. How could she have felt a connection with someone that she knew absolutely nothing about? She fell asleep in front of the screen, tears streaked down her cheeks.
The next morning, groggily waking up and looking at the laptop, she realized there was a new email blinking in her inbox. She opened it without thinking, then almost dropped the laptop with a gasp. It was from him. She read it three times over, trying to sort out everything from the day before in her head.
Hey Syd,
Sorry again that I had to rush off. Sometimes work just won’t wait. I would love to see you again. Can you get time off this weekend?
B
That was it. Nothing else. No indication that he was anyone other than a simple hiker. No acknowledgement of what she had just seen. And he must have known – must have noticed her standing in the street and staring as he flew away.
She didn’t reply for two days. At first she was hurt, then angry. What was she, a plaything to him? Someone whose mind he could mess with for a fun weekend away? Finally she settled back to confusion again. At last she sat down, ready to write a reply.
Branson,
Why didn’t you tell me?
Syd
Even after the two-day gap, his reply was quick. It was like he had been waiting for her to say something. She wondered briefly if he had even written the email himself, or asked some stiletto-heeled assistant to do it for him.
Hey Syd,
I’m sorry. I wanted to get to know you first. It’s not easy to connect with people when they know you have money. I didn’t want to be Mr Raine for a few days. I just wanted you to meet the real me.
B
She didn’t know what to say. Half of her – maybe more than half of her – wanted to forgive him. But she was still hurt. Somehow it all meant less if he was a billionaire. A starving artist or a regular Joe really had to make a financial decision to take time off work, had to weigh up their life choices before deciding to spend time with her instead. Branson had an army of people at his beck and call to take care of things, and if he lost a few thousand dollars or so, so what?
She tried to concentrate on work. At least if she made enough money to get out of here, she could move somewhere new and forget about the whole experience. It had unsettled her, and broken her routine. Worst of all was the fact that it had made her feel, just for a little while, like she had finally found her moment to be something more.
She ignored her emails for the rest of the week, and came to work on Saturday just like normal. She was surprised to find, however, that Melvin was behind the bar.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I got a call to cover your shift,” he said, shrugging. “Apparently you have the night off.”
“But I didn’t want the night off,” she protested.
“Well, someone wanted you to have it,” he said, nodding towards the door. She turned, and heard it too: the sound of helicopter blades. She could barely decide what to do with herself all of a sudden. Run? Hide? Go out there and confront him? Check to see if it really was him and not just a rescue?
The door of the bar opened before she had a chance to make her mind up, and then it was made up for her. Branson stepped inside, dressed again in a casual green shirt and jeans. Looking at him now, she suddenly noticed how everything he wore was so well-tailored, like it had been made just for him. Even his hiking jacket had probably been designer. How could she have been so stupid?
“Syd,” he said, gently, putting his hands up in front of himself in a calming gesture. “I just want to talk. I don’t feel like we left things the right way.”
She nodded, her head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton wool, and sat down at the nearest table. That was about as far as her legs would carry her anyway.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked, sitting opposite her with a worried look.
“Yes,” she admitted. She could barely breathe enough to say it.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “It was thoughtless of me. I know I was being selfish. The whole of last weekend was an exercise in selfishness. That was how it was meant to be at the start, and I didn’t take you into consideration when I carried on pretending.”
“Why?” she asked after a moment. Even after reading his email, she still wanted to know. She needed to hear it in his words.
He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I just felt trapped,” he said. The way his voice sounded, she knew he was telling the truth. “It’s a wonderful life I lead, I know it is. And I’ve worked hard for it. But that’s part of the problem. I wanted to get away from all the pressure, just for a couple of days. More than that – I wanted to get away from being me. When people talk to me, I never know if they are actually being genuine or not. Are they talking to me, or the money? Do they really want to be friends, or do they have a business deal they want me to back? It sounds stupid, but I thought if I just didn’t mention it, we’d have a real conversation. One that wasn’t influenced by who I am. I wasn’t really thinking ahead. I didn’t even expect you to find out who I really am, until the satellite phone went off.”
She stared at her hands. She understood everything he was saying. She did not want to forgive him, not yet. But there was something she could empathize with in his dilemma. “And now?” she asked.
“Well, now you know who I am. And I know I hurt you,” he reached for her hand, tapping it gently before pulling away almost guiltily. “I know you probably don’t trust me anymore. And that’s fine. But I’d like to see if we can still be friends.”
Sydney hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. Sighing it out heavily, she felt all of the parts of her body realigning themselves, becoming less defensive. “I think we’re going to need some drinks,” she said, nodding.
He grinned, and leapt up like an excited puppy, rushing to the bar. Sydney picked at one of her nails, still a little conflicted. The depth of anger and hurt she had felt would take a while to fade. In the meantime, though, she could understand that forgiving him was possible.
They started to talk again, like before, but this time Branson was actually able to talk about his life and the things that came with it. He told her about women who had slept with him just to get their hands on his money, and the ways they had betrayed him, even after spending months together. He explained the way a best friend from high school had reconnected with him after ten years, only to start hassling him for money to support his start-up business. The more he talked, the more she understood him.
The beer loosened her tongue, and she started to talk too. She told him about the people from high school who had made it out to go and do something with their lives, even if it was only to work in a different town. She told him about the girls from the next town over who had ended up getting married and pregnant already, and how she was afraid of wasting her life in the middle of nowhere. After the third glass he was no longer afraid to put his hand on top of hers, and by the fourth they were touching constantly, casually. It happened so naturally and so gradually that Sydney barely even noticed how it built up, even when his touch warmed her skin and made her feel somehow safe.
Finally, it came time for last orders, and Melvin was a little more diligent with timekeeping than she had been the weekend before. Reluctantly they both stood up to leave, Sydney wobbling slightly and grabbing Branson’s shoulder for support as she found her feet.
“You’re flying back now?” she asked, a little sadly.
“No, it’s a little late,” he said. “I’m going to get a room at the hotel again.”
“Alright,” she said, “Well, I’ll walk you over there and argue with Marge for you.”
For some reason, though, Marge just gave them a knowing look and charged him an extra half again on the room, for the late check-in fee. It was late; she was probably about to finish her shift, and had no interest in arguing with a difficult customer.
“
Why don’t you walk up to the door with me?” Branson suggested, and that was reasonable enough, so she did.
“I’m so drunk,” she said when they reached the door. “Maybe I should come in and have a cup of coffee before I go home.”
“Water is best,” he said, unlocking the door and letting her in.
After she had drunk two glasses of water, there was no longer any reason to pretend. She leaned over and kissed him, and like a flood released from a dam, he gratefully kissed her back. Before she even knew what she was doing she started unbuttoning his shirt, and then he reached over to lift hers over her head. His chest was smooth and muscled, the body of someone who had both the time and the money to work out every day. She knew hers was only average, but when her bra fell to the floor he kissed and caressed her breasts as though they were the first he had ever seen.
She pressed her whole body against his as they kissed again, wrapping her arms around his head and twining them through his hair. He was so warm to the touch, heating her from head to toe with a soft glow that made her feel luxurious. She wished there was a way to get even closer to him, to have him on every single inch of her skin at once. He gently picked her up and laid her down on the bed, and they made love with a euphoric emptiness of everything that had troubled them before. Their problems and fears, all confessed, littered the floor with their clothes. For the rest of that night, there was only the heat of togetherness, and then the bliss of afterglow, followed by a deep and satisfying sleep.
Chapter 4
She woke up in the late morning, almost at lunchtime. The night before had been a long one, and she could still feel the alcohol hammering through her head. She was wrapped in the cotton sheets of the hotel, still naked, and cast around quickly for something to put on.
His clothes were gone, and he was not beside her; she got up and tiptoed to the bathroom, wondering if he was in there and how long he would be. She needed to relieve herself, the beer from last night making its way back out. After a moment, she pushed the door, and realized it had only been resting on the frame. There was no one in there.
She looked around the room again, and belatedly noticed a piece of the hotel’s notepaper half-hidden under the sheets next to where she had slept. She grabbed it, hands starting to shake as she realized where he was.
Syd,
I’m really sorry – I have to head out. 10am meeting. You look so peaceful, I don’t want to wake you. I had a really great night.
B
She read the note again, then hurled it at the bed with an annoyed yell. The paper fluttered down quietly – not the dramatic gesture she was hoping for – and she covered her face with her hands. So that was it, was it? He was just trying to get her into bed all along? She doubted she was ever going to hear from him again now that he had what he wanted. She told herself she was nothing but a stupid small-town girl, easy pickings for someone like him. She kicked the bedpost and then hopped away, clutching her toes in pain, before finally gathering her clothes up and getting dressed. The room was only rented for the night, after all. It was time to check out.
She tried to pick herself up, but it was hard. She felt like she had let Branson in and started to trust him, only to be betrayed all over again. She walked back home, trying not to feel like everyone was staring at her in the same clothes from yesterday.
She sat in her bedroom, glad that her father was up the mountain giving another tour and not there to ask her why she had not come home. She was still there when a knock came at the door, and she had to really convince herself to get up and go downstairs to answer it.
There was a courier standing outside the door, looking around impatiently so that he could get to his next delivery. He had a large box in his arms with her name on it, that he asked her to sign for and then dropped at her feet. With that he was gone, leaving her to retreat back inside with the mysterious parcel.
At first she considered not opening it, some kind of cowardice born out of nervousness, but then she got a knife from the kitchen and sliced open the packing tape. She lifted a cardboard lid up and off the main body of the box, and immediately saw a piece of folded paper with her name on it. Opening it up, she read what she now recognized as Branson’s handwriting.
Syd,
I want to make up for leaving you this morning. You helped me escape from my world. Maybe it’s time I help you to escape from yours. There’s a car coming tonight at 7pm. All you need to do is get dressed, and get in.
B
She put the letter to onside, examining the rest of the contents of the parcel. There was a small box on top of a swath of dark blue fabric, and she picked it up to open it first. A beautiful silver necklace, with a dainty and intricate heart suspended from it, sat next to a pair of matching stud earrings. They were not too flashy – no diamonds or rubies – but they looked gorgeous. Without a doubt, they were expensive.
The dress came out of the box next. It was a fashionable, figure-hugging number that clung or hung loose in all of the right places, with careful draping to cut a flattering form. She wondered how he had found out her size, but then, she had left her clothes all over the floor for him to examine. It, too, looked expensive. She didn’t recognize the designer on the label, but then again, she hadn’t even recognized Branson.
Maybe there was no harm in letting him take her out. If he really did have to run and was now wanting to see her again, perhaps her anger from the morning had been unjustified. It was late already, so she showered, dressed, and took time over her hair and make-up. She had to match the clothes, at least.
At 7pm, a knock on the door signified the arrival of the car. She rushed downstairs before her newly-returned father could answer it, shouted that she was going out, and stepped outside. A suited chauffeur was waiting, and he politely invited her to get into a plush and sleek car.
It took them just over an hour to arrive at the restaurant, in the city Branson said he worked in. Normally it was a longer drive, but the chauffeur was fast and didn’t seem to pay attention to speed limits. At least the wait was over; Sydney’s stomach was tied up in knots with nervousness, and there was only so much fiddling with her phone she could do to entertain herself in the silent car.
The chauffeur even led her inside, quietly speaking to the waiter at the podium. There were bouncers on the door, and everyone here was dressed impeccably. Sydney understood why he had sent her the dress. Anything she owned would have been horribly out of place.
With a nod and a curt “Madam”, the waiter led her on a winding path through rows of tables and out into a room at the back of the restaurant. Branson was waiting there, at a private table decorated with candles and flowers. He held a hand out to her and got up when she arrived, and kissed her on the cheek.
“I feel like all I do is apologize for my behavior,” he said. “But I really am sorry again. Work called and I had to answer.”
“I understand,” she said, starting to get the feeling that if she continued to see him, this was going to happen a lot. She hesitated before admitting, “I thought you had just run off on me.”
A look of concern flashed over his face. “I would never,” he said. “I meant what I said. I really enjoy your company.”
They sat and looked over the menu, and Sydney ordered something that she could barely pronounce or understand. When it came, it was so small that her face made Branson laugh out loud. They talked easily once again, being especially open without the other diners able to hear them. A waiter was perched outside their door at all times, but all they had to do was ring a little bell on the table for service. It was the kind of extravagance that Sydney had never even dreamed of before.
“So, what do we do now?” Branson asked, once the bill was paid and the food was taken away.
Sydney hesitated. “I’d like to go home,” she said. “Not that I’m blowing you off. I just don’t want to feel… bought and paid for.”
He nodded, though somewhat sadly. “That makes sense to me,” he said, his ey
es lingering on her necklace. “I can respect that. I’ll have you driven back home. And then?”
“And then you can email me in the morning,” she smiled. It seemed like she had forgiven him after all, without realizing it.
The silence of the car this time allowed her to reflect. Her thoughts could linger on the kiss they shared as she left, the touch of his hand on her back as she moved back out through the restaurant. People had been watching them. They obviously knew who he was. She thought about that, and decided she didn’t mind. If this was what it was like to no longer be a small-town girl, then she was all for it.
Chapter 5
They emailed a lot, back and forth every day. He made her laugh, and took away the monotony of serving in Flannigans when she was able to grab time to check her phone. She began to depend on their daily conversations. She became irritable when he did not reply within an hour or so, only to break into ecstasy again when it turned out he had been dragged into a sudden meeting and had no time to tell her. Her father grew exasperated with her, demanding why she didn’t just go and visit him, but she only shook her head. He was too busy for an impromptu visit. She didn’t want to interrupt his important work.
After a couple of weeks, she finally received another invitation. Her heart beat faster as she read his message, thrilled at the idea.
Hey Syd,
I have to attend a gala on Friday night. It’s very boring, but I’m expected to bring a plus one. Will you come and make it bearable for me? No pressure. Wear the dress again. It makes you look divine.
B
She smiled as she read his words, feeling incredibly excited. She had never even been invited to a gala before. She accepted quickly, and spent the rest of the week daydreaming about what it would be like.