by Blazie James
“Okay,” I said. I hung up the phone and felt a moment of sheer panic. Had I just said, “Okay.” or had I said, “Okay, I love you,” before I hung up? Did I just tell Hillary I loved her? Did I love her?
I texted my mom that I'd be there so I couldn't change my mind. She texted me back to let me know Karl would pick me up at five-thirty for the exact same reason. It had been two weeks since Vegas, and it felt really wonderful to remain in constant communication with Hillary.
I’d gone over everything in my head, every possible way I was misinterpreting my emotions. I just couldn’t convince myself I didn’t love her. On the contrary, it seemed like confirmation came regularly.
She didn’t want to talk about money unless it was to tease me about being rich and thinking that meant I could do whatever I wanted. She sent me gifts. Me!
She wasn’t one of those sycophantic women I deal with on a regular basis. Hell, there were women with a great deal of money who were still sycophantic. I dealt with them all the time.
The damned society of the rich, or at least the ultra-rich, demanded it. It was amazing to me how often an heiress worth millions was still a gold digger.
But not Hillary. God, that girl!
I headed to the shower to get ready for dinner and though I ordinarily dreaded family events, I felt good. I felt like I could handle anything at all just knowing I could call her the moment I was off.
I stepped out of the shower just as the hotel phone rang. It was the concierge calling to tell me my tuxedo was ready for delivery. I had him send it up and once I was dressed, I snapped a selfie and sent it to Hillary. Then, I felt like an absolute idiot sending selfies like that. Then, I felt like a high school kid with a crush because for five or ten minutes I kept checking my phone for her response. I was in deep, and I felt nauseous and exhilarated all at once.
When my phone chimed, I got a rush of adrenaline but that only made me feel stupid again because it was Karl letting me know he was here. I groaned and made my way downstairs. He nodded to me and we walked to the limo. “Try not to get angry tonight, Robert,” he said.
“I won’t start anything,” I replied.
“Your parents already started it,” he said. Before I could ask him to elaborate, the limo door opened and once again I was called Uncle Cousin.
I put it out of my head, which wasn’t all that hard because out of nowhere as I joked around with Terri and Tina while Uncle Thomas and Aunt Sylvia talked about remodeling their house; I started wondering what our kids would look like. Hell, I didn’t even know if she wanted kids. For that matter, I didn't even know if she felt anything close to what I felt for her. I didn't even know if she would marry me and that was a new feeling altogether.
For all my life, the idea that a woman would refuse me was almost ludicrous. It didn't seem so ludicrous anymore. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once.
When we got to the restaurant, I could see my mother fawning over the chef. He was a celebrity but relatively new at it. A documentary feature released a year or two ago made him the talk of the town and the attention was genuinely unwanted. Travis Hardaway and I were good friends. He’d been a doctoral student and my resident advisor. He got angry at his parents and threw it all away to tour Europe and learn from French and Italian masters.
We often joked that he’d rebelled against his mom and dad and ended up making them prouder of him than they would have been if he’d become a lawyer.
I imagined Mom fawning over him probably represented everything he didn't like about being famous. Mom was a handful but she was a kind-hearted handful.
She'd been raised with more money than she could spend in several lifetimes and had a skewed view of life because of it but I could honestly say she was the only person in that category I knew who treated everyone, rich and poor, the same way.
“Mom!” I called. She turned to me and rushed over, all smiles, and the look of gratitude on Travis’s face was perfect. She grabbed my hand and led me into the restaurant and then toward one of the private dining rooms. She paused right before we entered and said, “Don’t be angry with your father.”
“Why?”
She didn't have to answer because the door opened and Dad said, "Oh, there you are! Great." The twins rushed in and he ushered Mom and me after them.
And there was the reason.
Lena.
We'd been an item for about two years but that sounds a hell of a lot longer than it actually was. Most of it was spent with us apart.
I learned to love business travel during that time.
The relationship was arranged by my parents and hers. They hoped it would end in an arranged marriage but they didn't count on me being headstrong.
My mother and father wanted it because Lena had the right pedigree. Her parents wanted it because she was a handful and they hoped marriage would finally settle her down.
The fundamental difference between Lena and me was that Lena resented her father for his mistresses and her mother for accepting them.
She resented expectations and resented life in general. Mostly, though, she was just a spoiled brat. She rebelled to piss her father off. I couldn’t pretend not to enjoy frustrating my father but I didn’t start rebelling until after I got my degree and then made the stupid decision to allow myself to be pressured into working for the family company.
There was a power struggle between my dad and me. Lena was just a perpetual tantrum.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said. I smiled and nodded. It was hard to be coy when I’d seen her in every conceivable naked pose and experienced her in just about every position until I realized she was sleeping with me as part of her rebellion and not because she wanted me.
She sent explicit nudes almost every night when we were together and she sent them for a good six or eight weeks after until I finally told her firmly enough I didn’t want them.
“Lena,” I said. “Hello.” Mom was right. I was about as pissed as could be. I fought it down though and made my way to a seat some distance from Lena. The irritated expression on my father’s face almost made the situation worth it.
I kept the conversation focused on my little cousins and had a fascinating conversation with Aunt Sylvia about the advantages of ebony trim against red silk wallpaper. I didn't say more than a few courteous sentences to Lena and the moment I could I left.
Dessert had already been served and enjoyed. I excused myself to go to the restroom and instead went to the kitchen and got Travis to loan me his car.
On the road I texted Karl to tell him I didn’t need a ride back and when I got to the hotel, I arranged for the concierge to get the car back to the restaurant. I poured a drink and called Hillary to bitch about the dinner.
I was still pretty steamed and I loved that she just wouldn’t let up, teasing me and laughing at me with every comment. Nobody ever challenged me! I loved it. We talked for a while about dinner and she wasn’t even impressed I knew Travis Hardaway although she said next time I was in town she wanted to talk about restaurant operations with him.
After about forty-five minutes, I needed to see her. “Hey,” I said. “Can you free up some time in the next few days? I’ll fly out and—no, I’ll fly you anywhere you want to go. Paris. Rome. You name it!”
“Really? Anywhere?”
“Hell yeah!” I realized I was smiling stupidly and felt that embarrassment that comes when nobody at all is watching but things still seem foolish.
“How about Minnesota? Darwin, Minnesota to be exact.”
“What the hell is in Darwin?”
She giggled. “The biggest ball of twine in the world.” I laughed and told her I was going to have to spank the hell out of her the next time I saw her. She responded with, “Big talker.” Then, she had to say goodnight because dinner rush was starting at The Mill.
I poured another drink and checked my phone. Naturally, there were irritated texts from my father. There was a text from Travis letting me know he got his car back.
Then, there were the texts from Lena. There was a comment about the way I ran out and then two pictures. They were just like the pictures from back in the day. She was just as attractive and it was just as unwelcome.
I dialed her number. When she answered with, “Hey stud. I knew I’d get you to call,” I cleared my throat to cut her off.
“No,” I said. “Don’t send me pics anymore. That dinner should never have happened. I’m seeing someone.”
There was a long pause and then she laughed. “God, your father’s face when he finds out. I’d pay to see that.”
I laughed, too, and when we hung up, I deleted the texts.
Chapter Five
I was pretty sure there was nothing I wanted more in life than another thirty minutes of sleep and my tone of voice when I answered the hotel phone probably made it clear I wasn’t happy about the ringing at six in the morning on a Saturday. “What?” I growled.
My mind was just registering that I’d need to get the girl at the front desk flowers to make up for the way I growled. It wasn’t the girl at the front desk though. All my irritation disappeared at the sound of Hillary’s voice. “Why hello there, Sunshine.”
“Hillary!” I said. “Why are you calling me on the hotel line and what the hell are you doing up this early. Isn’t it like four a.m. by you?”
She laughed and for the love of all that was good and holy that laugh was perfect. "The answer is the same for both, sort of. It's three a.m. in Arizona, not four a.m. But I'm not in Arizona. I'm calling on the hotel line because I'm at the front desk and they wouldn't just tell me your room number. I guess super-rich people get special treatment from the gatekeepers."
I laughed. “Only super important international businessmen who—wait. You’re here?”
“In the flesh.”
In retrospect, I probably should have said something else but I didn't. I just rolled off the bed, grabbed a robe from the bathroom and rushed out. Actually, in retrospect, I probably should have taken the time to get dressed.
If I had, I wouldn't have left my wallet and keys up in the room. None of this really occurred to me until I made it to the lobby and saw Hillary there. She smiled at me and then pressed her lips together. I realized she was trying to keep herself from laughing.
It was hard not to laugh at my appearance. When I came to my senses, I laughed. The third shift concierge was still at the desk. I told him I needed to get back to his room and told him I had a surprise guest and rushed down to greet here without my key. Five minutes later, I was on my way to the room with a bellhop in front of us and Hillary on my arm.
We got inside and as much as I wanted right away to sleep with her when I tipped the bellhop, I realized I had neglected to do the same for the concierge. I rushed to the phone and demanded he come up to my room. I didn't intend for it to be a demand but it came out that way.
He showed up in less than a minute and waved away my apology for my tone. It was amazing what a hundred dollar bill could do to mollify anyone in customer service. I apologized again and said I was just frustrated for forgetting to tip him earlier.
The moment he shut the door, Holly giggled and said, “Well, you didn’t have many places to put the money and my guess is he might not have taken it given the limited options.”
I laughed and rushed to her, tackling her to the bed and tickling her. She shrieked and then laughed and beat at my shoulders to get me to stop and before long she was on top of me, kissing me and holding me tightly. I thought it had to be the most perfect Saturday morning I’d ever experienced.
“Cartoons!” I cried. She looked at me like I belonged in an insane asylum. “It’s Saturday morning and it’s perfect and the only thing that would make it more perfect is watching Saturday morning cartoons with you.”
I rolled her over, kissed her and grabbed the remote. A moment later, the television flared up but since it was only six in the morning, I ended up doing stupid impersonations of the characters instead. There was more laughter and fun and for just a little while I forgot everything I was stuck doing.
I forgot about The Mill and I forgot that I was supposed to be the third in a long line of Roberts who would continue to expand the Fieldscom empire.
But I remembered Droopy’s last name was McPoodle.
I loved the look of her laugh. There was pure happiness on her face, and I wasn’t sure I had ever really seen it before. I wasn’t sure if I had ever felt it but I knew there on the couch in the hotel suite I was at least as close to it as I’d ever been. “You’re really beautiful, you know,” I said.
She giggled. “Say it in a chipmunk voice.” That led to another tickle battle but she used her biggest advantage. I still wore only a robe and my ability to tickle disappeared the moment her fingers wrapped around my shaft.
I was right in the middle of laughing and instantly stopped, almost holding my breath. She said, “What do you know? You’ve got an off button.”
“You’re wrong about that,” I said. “That’s an on button.” I reached for her blouse and pulled it apart, sending buttons flying everywhere.
“You’re lucky you’re rich enough to replace that,” she said right before my mouth closed over hers.
I ran my hands over her body and though I wanted to take my time, to explore her slowly and wonderfully, there was no way. I was beyond restraint, and I was already close to naked for that matter. The only bad thing about the situation was that her hand came off my shaft when I pulled apart her shirt. I didn’t mind. It would be taken care of soon enough.
I lifted her blouse up and off her, tossing it to the floor. I thought I tore it in the process. She put both hands on my chest and pushed me back. "Even if you can afford it," she said. "It's a hell of a lot more efficient if I just undress myself." She rolled off the bed and I rolled to my side, breathing heavily and eager for her to return. I watched her breasts come free of her bra, and even with the countless women I'd wasted far too much time exploring, I couldn't think of one with breasts more perfect.
I moved toward her but she held up a hand. “You wait, boss man,” she said. Then she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her slacks and shimmied them down. She hooked them right into her panties as she did and it only took a few seconds but it felt like the longest few seconds of my life. She really was lovely. She was sexy but not just sexy. She was pretty but not just pretty.
“Get out of your head, Robert,” she said. She laughed a little as she said it.
I smiled and pulled her to me. “Then let me get into something else.” She groaned like it was the worst pun she’d ever heard in her life but the groan disappeared in a sudden intake of breath and then a soft moan as my hand moved immediately between her legs and my fingers explored her folds.
She reached down and took hold of my wrist, not trying to stop me but trying to direct me. I used my free hand to grab her wrists and lift them above her head, pushing them into the pillow as I kissed her deeply.
She moaned and lifted her hips to meet my hand and I thrilled in the involuntary response. I kissed lower, and the moment she was able, she whispered, “Oh, God.” I kissed the hollow of her throat, still moving my fingers until she said, “I need you now.” She said it softly but it was still filled with urgency bordering on desperation.
I kissed her more and moved to her breast, kissing and licking at her nipple while she moaned plaintively. “God!” she said sharply. “Now! Please!”
I probably would have continued to torment her but she was remarkably strong and pushed, unpinning her wrists and grabbing my shoulders.
I gave up and moved on top of her, sliding into her warmth and almost instantly overwhelmed by the feel of her. I felt her lift one leg onto my lower back but then we slowed down and instead of the wild and hard-hitting sessions we'd experienced or one of the soft and romantic ones, we met somewhere in the middle.
She was alternately aggressive and responsive, leading and following. I couldn’t really understand how damned effectiv
e she was at getting me to respond to her, how desperately I wanted to explore everything about her and to keep exploring long after I believed I knew everything there was to know. She was beautiful. She was perfect. I moved faster and harder and she held tightly to me, moving in response so the way she enveloped my manhood seemed particularly strong and particularly powerful.
I moved my hands along her side I held her ass while I moved more aggressively and she tightened her grip on my shoulders. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” Then, she repeated herself but the words were louder. I moved hard and fast now, and when she cried out and shuddered beneath me, I was grateful because there was no way in hell I would have been able to wait any longer. I groaned as I came and almost let out a scream from the intensity of it. She moved beneath me like some kind of machine until I finally had to disengage myself, too sensitive to keep going.
I rolled over and she put her head on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. We lay like that for a moment or two and I finally sat up and headed to the shower. I told her to call the concierge and order anything she wanted for breakfast. She laughed and said something about caviar benedict and I couldn’t comprehend anything better than the life I had.
I made my way into the shower, an obscenely large glass-enclosed area about the size of a typical bathroom. It had jets that sprayed from every direction and as I let the heat fill me I decided I had to tell her.
I had to let her know I loved her. I didn't think about it. I knew it. I loved her. I had to lay my cards on the table. I just couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to tell her and hear her respond. She loved me too, didn’t she? God, I hoped so. There was nobody like her, nobody I’d ever known. I wanted her but far more than that, I needed her.
I spent a long time in the shower trying to come up with the perfect way to tell her. After about twenty minutes, though, I just gave up. The words weren’t coming and I’d just have to wing it. I wrapped myself in a towel and walked out.
Breakfast wasn’t there.
Hillary wasn’t there.