A Collateral Attraction

by Liz Madrid

  “You mean your interests?” Ethan counters. “After all, thanks to you, you greedy bastard, you own majority of the company. So think about my offer, Heath. Her letters for her shares.”

  “And if I refuse, would you really expose those letters to the public and shame not just her but all of us? Even Jessica and her kids? You and I are their godparents, Ethan.”

  Ethan doesn’t answer, his attention now directed to someone right behind us. It’s Harris, and he is livid, his face a bright shade of red.

  ”Harris!” Ethan exclaims, a forced smile on his face. “So nice of you to join us. We were just having a nice conversation about Mom’s letters.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ethan,” Harris snaps angrily, though his voice is hushed. “Are you aware that people have been watching you make fools out of yourselves the entire time? Probably even recording you? If your father were here-”

  “But he’s not, Harris,” Heath says, “and this is between Ethan and I.”

  “As long as you boys are in a public event that Kheiron Industries is sponsoring, you need to remember that nothing is between you and Ethan — not when everyone’s watching, and they’ve got ears everywhere,” Harris says as Ethan and Heath continue to glare at each other. I’m reminded of kids fighting on the playground, before being separated by an adult. “Not only that, but you should be ashamed of yourselves, arguing in front of a lady.”

  They all turn to look at me, as if realizing for the first time that I’m actually there. But I ignore them and face Ethan. “Where’s Blythe? You said something about her not feeling well.”

  “Jet lag,” Ethan mutters. “Jackson and Charlene are with her.”

  A red-haired man wearing a white blazer over a blue shirt and white pants appears behind Ethan. “The press is waiting for you, Ethan,” he says, eyeing all of us curiously, though his eyes widens when he sees me. “Blythe, I thought you were back at the hotel-”

  “Her name’s Billie,” Heath says as Richard leans between the brothers to shake my hand, now peering at me with amazement.

  “Seriously?”

  Ethan rolls his eyes. “Seriously.”

  “Wow,” he exclaims, his grip on my hand tight. “I’ve seen twins before, but not like this. You and Blythe should have a pictorial together, a fashion shoot! Shouldn’t they, Ethan? Maybe we could call Elle or even Vogue? They would love that!”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes, my smile frozen in my face. “So nice to meet you, but no, I’m not a fashion person.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Richard grins as he scans my outfit. “Is that Isabel Marrant?”

  It takes me a second to figure out who Isabel Marrant is till Heath nudges me. “Yes, it is!” I exclaim, remembering the dress. “Heath picked it out for me.”

  “Excellent choice!” Richard beams. “Though I’ll need to remember the cut in case Blythe ends up buying the same thing and you’ll both end up with matching outfits. It would be awkward.”

  “Nice to see you again, Richard,” Heath says, shaking Richard’s hand. “I hope all is well.”

  “Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Richard replies. “Much better than you, I presume.”

  Before Heath or I can say anything, Richard adds, “Did you know even the hottest models are here? We met them all last night, remember, Ethan, even Allorah-”

  “Oh, look!” I exclaim, pointing towards the polo field that’s slowly being overtaken by a sea of people in polo-friendly attire. “It’s divot stomping time! Guess that’s where you’ll find me!”

  And with that, I’m off. I don’t care if I’m walking to the field alone, but I can’t be among that much testosterone flying around. And just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, with everyone else having their own agenda in full force, but Allorah is there, too. And that only means one thing – Andrew Tennyson is with her.

  I need some fresh air, and thankfully, there’s one right in front of me, three times the size of a football field for men on horses to chase a wooden ball around. It’s now filled with people who are much happier than the group I just walked away from, men with their light-colored trousers and white shirts and women wearing bright-colored dresses and wide-brimmed hats, stomping divots with their wedge heels and sandals while holding glasses of champagne, and laughing, and taking pictures which some of them immediately post online. I wish I were holding a glass of champagne, if only to look like I’m having fun like everyone else, but I’ve also had enough alcohol for one day. I’m buzzed, if not drunk from the wine I’ve just had along with the mimosas — four glasses and it’s not even sundown. I also just want to get the hell out of here.

  I tip a piece of turf grass side up, before nudging it lightly to its matching hole in the turf. Then like everyone else, I stomp a divot back into the turf, an act that’s both field maintenance to protect horses and their riders during the second part of the match, and a form of happy hour for spectators, though I’m far from happy as everyone else.

  “That poor divot hasn’t done anything to you, you know,” Heath says softly as I stomp the divot with my beige sandal.

  “Oh, them? We’re just having a conversation,” I say, as Heath reaches out to hold my forearm to keep me upright. “And they agree with me.”

  “About what?”

  “About how I got stuck in the middle of men arguing while my sister’s back at her hotel, apparently not feeling too well and I can’t help but be worried about her. Instead there I was, stuck in the middle of an episode of Men Behaving Badly.”

  “I apologize,” Heath says, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  I pull my arm away from his grasp and walk to another divot that I spot, nudge it back into place and stomp at it.

  “It wasn’t bad-bad,” I say, shrugging. “I just hated being caught in the middle of it.”

  “Stop stomping for a second, Billie,” Heath says, taking my hand this time, his fingers interlacing with mine. The divot’s back in the turf anyway so I stop. “Look at me please.”

  I raise my head though I don’t look at Heath’s face. Instead I focus on his shirt, and the nearness of him as he takes a step forward.

  “I’m sorry about Blythe not feeling well. I heard that they partied the moment they arrived last night. That, and jet lag must have been too much for her.”

  I look up at him, surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just heard about it from Richard, just after you rushed out here. They’re all hungover — except for Ethan, of course. He had practice this morning and like I said, he’s got his blinders on so everyone else can go to hell in a hand basket, but he’s going to make it back to the list of the world’s top 20 players,” he says, tilting my chin.

  “I’m sorry about what happened back there with Ethan. Harris is right. We acted inappropriately in public, of all places, and worse, in front of you.”

  “At least you got what you wanted. You got to talk to him,” I say. “You know where you stand.”

  “I still don’t have the letters.”

  “What will it matter now? For all you know, it’s probably already been scanned and there’s no guarantee that even if you sell him your mother’s shares that he still won’t expose your mother’s letters anyway, considering that he’s angry with her. Though why he hates her so much to do that, I have no idea.”

  “She sold me her shares — simple as that,” Heath says softly, his index finger still lifting my chin. “She could have picked Jessie or Ethan the moment she wrote her living trust, and every trust for that matter. But she picked me, and that’s enough to tell him that she favored me over everyone else.”

  “Jessica doesn’t run a holding company,” I say, “and neither does Ethan. And you didn’t almost run the company to the ground with bad investments.”

  “You’re right,” he says, “but this isn’t about the letters, Billie. It’s not even about the shares necessarily.” He lowers my chin and begins walking, still holding my hand.


  “What is this all about then?”

  “It’s about control of the company. I could be chairman of the board but if I’m not the majority shareholder, I won’t have as much control as I do now. I could step down as chairman right now but I’ll still control more than half of the voting interests of Kheiron Industries. By ensuring that I have more than 50% of the shares, it also stops the sharks from circling, the way they did when Ethan ran it,” he says, stomping on a divot with much more calm than I did earlier.

  “But I also made a promise to take care of her, Billie, no matter what,” Heath says. “If it weren’t for safeguards already in place that were designed to prevent Edgar to gain control of her family fortune — those trusts that had been set up by my grandfather, for example, and a fully enforced prenuptial agreement — we’d be in the poorhouse by now.”

  “Was he that bad an investor?” I ask.

  “No, he was just extravagant with his vices — mainly his women. He also loved to gamble, and while he was mostly lucky in his younger years, as he grew older, he became more careless,” he says, pulling me towards him and I find myself looking up into blue-gray eyes. “Talk about men behaving badly. Here I am doing it again, killing your buzz.”

  “We can always change the sub-” I pause, catching sight of a man a hundred feet away from us. He’d been holding his girlfriend’s hand as she stomped on divots gaily, the club photographer taking pictures of her, but now he’s standing stock still, like he can’t believe what he was seeing — or who he’s seeing.

  Heath turns to look at who I’m staring at, then returns to face me, his hands moving around my waist and pulling me closer. “Looks like you have an audience.”

  “I know,” I say. “Richard did say she was here with other models.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Allorah,” Heath says, his gaze moving down my face to settle on my mouth. “Do you think Andrew deserves a show?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. My mind is screaming, nonono! You’re better than that, but my heart is screaming yesyesyes! Do it! “What do you think?”

  Heath doesn’t answer, at least not with words, for he lowers his head and kisses me. He has to tilt his head a bit for there’s the floppy brim of my hat to worry about, but it doesn’t matter for his mouth finds my lips, and I’m more than ready to enjoy his kiss, even if it’s for the wrong reasons. For all I know, Andrew’s turned away and this kiss will be for nothing. But as Heath’s tongue sweeps along my upper lip, before nipping my lower lip playfully, I figure, what the hell, I might as well enjoy it. And I have to say I do, for it’s a long kiss, one that leaves me breathless and flushed when Heath draws his head back.

  “Is that good enough?” he asks.

  It takes me a few moments to answer him for my knees are threatening to turn into mush, but I manage to take a peek behind Heath’s shoulder as I hold on to him.

  “He may have to pick his jaw off the turf, so yes, I think that was good enough,” I reply, giggling, for Andrew is staring at us, his eyes wide and his mouth open. A thin woman standing next to him is glaring at him, her hands on her hips. She’s got legs for days, her mini-dress with spaghetti straps revealing the perkiest breasts I’ve ever seen, and I realize that I now know the meaning of the side-boob.

  “Why don’t we get out of here?” Heath asks, his gaze following mine.

  “Why? Where are we going?” I ask suspiciously. It was just a kiss, I almost tell him, nothing that should imply I want it to go further, like a bed — though I suspect I probably wouldn’t mind it. And I suspect that my hormones are going on overdrive from his kiss.

  He grins, his dimples making another rare appearance. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Billie. I was thinking more of a place where you can be yourself, where we don’t have to show off to anyone.”

  “Like where?” I ask, still suspicious.

  “It’s a surprise,” he says, grinning as he takes my hand and leads me back towards the tent. He even winks at me.

  20

  Sand and Sea

  As we return to the hotel so we can change into something more comfortable, I’m tempted to go to the front desk and pretend I lost my key card — or rather, Blythe’s key card. After all, I have her identification cards and can show it to them if they need it. But as Heath leads me across the hotel lobby towards the stairs, I know he would never allow it, not when he’s on a mission to take me somewhere else where he says I can be myself.

  I change into something more comfortable — jeans, a vintage t-shirt and a chambray boyfriend shirt that I tie around my waist, and wait for Heath who is getting dressed in the adjoining room of our suite.

  When he emerges from his room wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt under a denim shirt, looking way more relaxed than he’d been at the afternoon tea, we can’t help but chuckle at our matching outfits. I love that the dimples are also in full display, which goes along with our charade as a happy couple as we make our way downstairs to the lobby where Wally and Fred are waiting for us. Outside, we all get into a Land Rover and head west towards the ocean.

  It’s almost four in the afternoon when we arrive at a Mediterranean style estate overlooking the ocean, in a secluded community called Hope Ranch. Though I’m sure that the house is gorgeous inside, probably with beamed ceilings and spacious rooms, it’s the trail that leads to the private beach that catches my attention. It’s also the reason why we’re here.

  By the time I meet Heath’s friends, Bob and his wife Lorna, an older couple I vaguely remember seeing at the polo club, I’m barely able to contain my excitement. When they introduce me to a two thoroughbreds, Pie and Shadow, I’m dancing with such excitement I probably look like I’m about to pee my pants.

  “Have you ever gone horseback riding before?” Heath asks, a worried look on his face as he helps fasten the strap of my riding helmet under my chin. “I should have asked you before I sprang this surprise on you. For all I know you may never-”

  “I love riding horses,” I reply as he helps me onto my saddle, his hands tight around my waist. “It’s been three years since I’ve last ridden though, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike. You never really forget it.”

  “I’ll bring you up to speed in no time,” he says, grinning.

  Minutes later, with my shoes and my phone safe with Wally, I follow Heath along the trail leading to a private beach just below the bluffs. Behind us, Wally and Fred are riding their own horses as well, though as usual, they’re so quiet it’s easy to forget that they’re even there. At least this time, there are no crowds for them to disappear into so I know exactly where they are.

  After thirty minutes of slow walking along the surf, with a slightly worried Heath riding next to me making sure I don’t fall off the horse or injure myself — not that I’m helping since I’m having a wonderful time pretending I’ve forgotten how to ride — I spring my own surprise on him. I may never have ridden a horse on the beach before today, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never handled a horse in a full gallop before today either. Suddenly, I spur my horse ahead of a startled Heath, laughing as Pie takes off like the wind.

  Maybe I should have told him about those two years of English and Western riding lessons I had taken when I was 14 in neighboring Penn Valley, nor for the board and care of Butter, my horse, before I had to give up the lessons because I was attending college in Sacramento, and we couldn’t afford to pay for anything more than board and care.

  But even if I never got to tell Heath all that, he realizes it quickly, and before long, he’s riding right next to me, laughing with me as we race along the beach. It’s a beautiful feeling to ride a horse — even more glorious when galloping through the surf along a secluded beach with a handsome man riding alongside me.

  There are no words to describe how happy I am, how I feel like flying through sand and surf, the horse beneath me seeming to glide above the water. My thighs are going to be sore in the morning, but I don’t care. I’m having so much fun that I don
’t care if Heath and I are supposed to be part of a charade. Right now, everything I feel is real.

  When we return back to the trail almost an hour later, breathless and exhilarated, I discover that Wally and Fred have been busy. Lorna had packed a basket dinner for us and it’s all laid out on a blanket. Two place settings and wine glasses, with water bottles and white wine peeking from inside the basket. With sunset two hours away, we have some time, Heath says, unless I have other plans.

  Other than getting Blythe out of Santa Barbara, none.

  “This girl has no plans,” I say, as Wally leads our horses closer to the path leading back up the residential community and I take my seat on the blanket. “What about you?”

  “Just this,” Heath says, sitting down across from me. Then he opens the picnic basket and pulls out two square plastic containers and sets them in the center of the blanket. “I’m starving.”

  “Funny, I am, too,” I giggle as he opens each plastic container which contains a freshly made sandwich of chicken salad, walnuts, roasted tomatoes and pickled red onions on multi-grain bread. There are also two bags of chips and pickles packed in a mason jar.

  “This is all Lorna’s idea,” he says. “She never lets me come down here without food.”

  I find myself wondering if he’s taken some other woman down here before I remind myself that I really shouldn’t be thinking of such things. After all, this is all pretense. It’s my own defense, I realize now, from getting hurt even as I feel a stab of jealousy hit me.

  As we dive into our beach dinner, I learn that Lorna Crawford is a distant relative from his mother’s side, an Ettinger from the East coast, though she is now a Californian by virtue of her husband, Bob Crawford, a fellow teacher she met in Connecticut. They have three children, all of them grown-up and living close by, and every summer, their house is filled to the rafters with the grandkids, who love having their very own private beach to themselves every time they stay. The horses belong to her daughter, who lives a few miles inland.