by Liz Madrid
Fraud and trespassing, for starters. And if I find the letters and take them with me, theft.
Sweat drips from my brow and I’m slowly losing my composure, and like a transformation serum losing its potency, I can feel old Billie coming back, fear making my hands tremble even more.
When my fingers brush against sharp paper edges, I start mumbling a curse word like it’s a mantra, if only to keep me going. It’s a stack of envelopes stored inside one of the shoe bags, beneath a pair of smart dress shoes. The paper has yellowed with age and the handwriting is neat and almost formal, complete with the flare of a confident pen. It’s addressed simply to Rosalie, and not mailed at all for there’s not a single stamp on them. But I can see that they’ve been opened, neatly cut along its long top edge with a letter opener.
I can’t remember if Heath ever told me his mother’s name but considering that these letters have been hidden where no one normally hides something they want seen, this must be the stack of letters that Ethan stole from his mother. Holding the letters in my hand, I quickly put everything else back where I remembered them, shut the suitcases and hurry to the living room. I stand by the writing table again, taking one last look at Blythe’s sketches, and lifting the sketchpad that covered her schedule, glance at the name she’d scribbled among her choices for her brand name.
Blythe + Billie.
The sound of a beep at the door makes me almost drop the letters and as I grab one of her sketches and loosely fold it around the stack of letters, the door swings open halfway and a woman steps inside the suite.
24
Deeper
Before my resolve crumbles, I straighten my back and clear my throat. The blonde woman looks up startled. She’s carrying a leather briefcase in her hand and as I pretend to glare at her, indignant that she dared enter the room unannounced, she stares at me like she’s seen a ghost.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. The only person I haven’t met from Ethan’s team is Charlene, Jackson’s wife. Unless Blythe has a friend traveling with her that Heath didn’t tell me about, it just might be the end of the charade right now because I barely remember any of the friends I’d met back in New York.
“I thought you were at the country club, Blythe,” she says, surprised. “What’s up with the dress change? I thought you looked just fine with whatever you had on.”
“Until someone else walked in wearing exactly the same thing,” I say, pretending to be indignant. “But I also had to draw out some…some new ideas. West coast fashion is just so different from East coast-”
“You should know that,” she says, walking as she walks towards me. “You’re a West Coast girl.”
“I’m a West Coast boonies girl, not a Santa Barbara girl — hello,” I say, making duck lips at her. “And here, the colors are much brighter, very Hamptons, in a way, but not quite like the Hamptons — if you know what I mean?”
I have no idea what I’m saying but the woman is nodding her head in agreement so I must be making sense.
“I was just done actually and I’m on my way out,” I say. “Was there anything you needed?”
“Well, Ethan sent me to get something,” she says, looking away.
“What?”
She shrugs. “Just…stuff. But anyway, while you’re here,” she rests her briefcase on the table, right on top of Blythe’s drawings and pulls out a stack of papers, “I need you to sign a few things. Just two of them this time. Sign and date them for me where it’s highlighted.”
“What for?” I reach for the stack she has in her hand but she pulls it back, looking at me strangely.
“Just the usual stuff, that’s all. I’m a paralegal, remember? Or at least was until I married Jackson,” she says, chuckling. “If you’re getting married to all of Ethan’s money, there’s always going to be things to sign. I thought we talked about this already, Blythe. I mean, he’s financing your fashion line for crying out loud.”
“It’s a loan.”
“Oh, please,” she laughs. “A loan, my ass. You and I know that Ethan won’t collect that money. He just wants you to succeed with your dream, though how you can do that with just a third of the original amount the accountant told you, I have no idea. Didn’t I tell you that a million was still way too low if you’re really serious about your clothing line?”
“I am serious about my-”
“It costs an average of two to three million to launch a ready-to-wear fashion line, Blythe, and Ethan would have given you four, heck, five million easy,” she says, and I figure now that I’m speaking with Charlene. Has to be. “Your one million is nothing. You’ll run out of funds in no time, if you haven’t run out already. And then you’ll have to ask Ethan for more money.”
I shrug. “Then I will ask him when the time comes, no big deal. But for now, I’m doing fine.”
She pulls out a pen from her briefcase and pushes the stack of papers and pen towards me again. “Whatever, just don’t come crying back to me and tell me, Charlene, I told you so. Anyway, sign here and date. And there’s another piece of paper in the bottom. I’ll have it notarized afterwards.”
“Shouldn’t I be present for the-”
The look she gives me is withering but I take a deep breath and give her the best smile I can give her.
“I can’t do that right now,” I say, making my way past her though she blocks my way. “Someone wanted to see my latest sketch and product ideas and I don’t want her to leave before I get there. I mean, angel investors, remember? I can’t just have Ethan. Can I sign it later, when I get back with Ethan? Please?”
I give her my best Blythe pouty face look though it doesn’t seem to faze her.
“Since when did you have a problem signing these things, Blythe? These all have to do with Ethan, and with you being his wife soon, it means there’ll be more papers to sign. It’s tiring, I know, but it has to be done and that last thing you want is to bother Ethan with it. As if you haven’t already bothered him with your personal loan as it is when you know very well we handle all of Ethan’s finances. You do want him to get to the top 20, don’t you? And eventually, the top 10?”
“Of course, I do,” I say, sliding past her since she hasn’t moved aside. “Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll sign them later, alright? I really don’t want to be late. This woman just might be one more angel investor I can’t afford to pass up, and I need all the help I can get. Besides, weren’t you supposed to get something for Ethan? What did he need again?”
She stares at me, like she’s surprised by what I just said. “Nothing important. Anyway, why don’t you wait a few minutes and I’ll ride back to the country club with you. I just need to get something from the bedroom. Just a sec.”
I don’t take a sec. I hurry to the door and step outside, stopping only when I realize that I’ve left my shoes in the bedroom. I also don’t remember which way will take me back to the lobby or Heath’s suite. And as if my luck isn’t about to luck even more, I see Jackson hurrying through garden towards the building and I head for the opposite direction. I only hope that I’m heading the right way, this time towards the suite. My wide-brimmed hat might shield my identity from Jackson, but I’m not taking chances being seen wearing the dress I’m wearing now that Charlene has seen me up close.
As I hurry towards the end of the hallway, I hear Charlene calling Blythe’s name, followed by my own name. Shit! She knows! Suddenly I’m running, praying I am heading the right direction, the hallways blurring in my vision for I’m in full panic mode though I keep running, my bare feet quiet against the floor.
Just make it to the suite, Billie. Just make it!
* * *
And I do make it to Heath’s suite, just as the door opens and I walk right into Fred.
“Miss Delphine!” he exclaims as I push him back into the suite.
“Shut the door shut the door!”
“Are you alright?” he asks, peering at me as I do a dance with my hands in front of me, my mouth in wide O a
nd my eyes probably bugged out. I must look and sound hysterical that Fred gently pulls me towards the couch and lets me sit down. Then his gaze travels to my bare feet.
“Where are your shoes?” he asks, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons on the keypad before slipping it back into his pants pocket.
“I left them behind! Oh, God! I left them at the suite,” I manage to squeak.
“Which suite? I can go get them for you.”
“Nonono!” I say, reaching out to stop him and as I do so, the stack of letters slip from inside the folded sketch and fall to the floor.
I bend down to grab it but Fred gets to it first, staring at it with a stricken expression.
“Where did you get this?” he asks, his voice hoarse as he stares at me and then back at the letters, his face turning pale.
The door bursts open and Heath strides in. Then he half-kneels in front of me, and grabs hold of my shoulders.
“Where the hell have you been? And why are Jackson and Charlene looking for you?”
His tone scares me even more than I already am. Still gripping my shoulders, he turns to Fred. “You had one job, Fred, and you failed. You were supposed to keep her safe.”
“She was holding this when she got here.”
Heath lets go of me and stands up, snatching the letters from Fred’s hand. Heath stares at the letters in his hand, before turning to look at me, his expression darkening.
“So that’s why they’re looking for you? What were you thinking, Billie?” he asks in an angry whisper.
Before I can answer, there’s a knock on the door and Heath pulls me up from the couch. “Did they see you then?”
“Charlene saw me,” I whisper and Heath pulls me towards the bedroom with Fred following right behind him. The curtains are still drawn, leaving the room lit up only by the desk lamp. The rumpled sheets on the bed remind me of what had happened between us last night, turning what once had been a simple arrangement now complicated.
“Don’t come out until I tell you to,” Heath says, handing me the letters before shutting the door. As I hear the knocking resume in the front room, I press my ear against the door, straining to listen.
“Charlene, what’s wrong? Is Ethan alright?” I hear Heath ask, his voice worried.
“No,” Charlene replies, “I…I was actually wondering if Billie is here.”
“She’s at the country club,” Heath says, his voice calm, matter-of-fact almost. “Fred dropped her off an hour ago.”
“Roughly an hour ago,” Fred says.
“Are you sure about that? I could have sworn she was still in the hotel. I saw her. I talked to her.”
“You’re mistaken then, because she’s not here,” Heath says. “Why? Is anything the matter? What’s going on?”
“No…nothing. I must have just imagined it,” Charlene replies, pausing as I hear movement. “Anyway, I’m going back to the country club and catch up with Blythe. I tried calling her on her phone just now, but she’s turned it off. She’s probably watching Ethan practice or something.”
I step away from the door, place the letters on the writing desk, and pull out my phone. Did I just put my own sister in danger? Of course someone like Charlene would have recognized that something was off with the version of Blythe she had met in the suite. It’s something I never bothered to think of that far ahead, and now because of me, Blythe is in trouble.
I pull up my messaging app and click Blythe’s name. I don’t know how to begin to tell her what I’ve done, but I need to let her know that Charlene ran into me in the midst of my deception. I might as well tell her the truth.
I was in your suite this morning and got what I needed. But I ran into Charlene.
As I click Send, the door to the bedroom bursts open and Heath enters with long purposeful strides towards me. He’s livid and I back away from him, hiding the phone behind my back. He stops right in front of me and reaching for the phone, snatches it from my fingers before the screen goes off.
Heath reads the message, his nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths in and out.
“She did see you,” he whispers, his eyes boring right into me. “She spoke with you.”
I nod, the words refusing to come out. An angry Heath is a sight to behold, a presence to be reckoned and I don’t know if I should be terrified or excited, though one thing is undeniable. His anger turns me on immensely.
Fred has entered the room behind him and Heath breaks his gaze from me and glares at him. “You can go now,” he growls as Fred, his face impassive, nods and leaves the room. Seconds later, I hear the front door shut.
“It’s not his fault,” I cry out. “Please don’t fire him, Heath. It’s not his fault.”
“His one job today was to watch you, Billie. Watch you and keep you safe. Now where did you get this?” he asks, taking the letters from the desk holding them in front of me.
“Promise me you won’t fire him and I’ll tell you,” I say. “It’s not like you don’t know where I got those.”
He chuckles drily. “Do you really expect me to promise you anything that will end up compromising your safety?”
“Yes, I do,” I say, “because it’s not his fault. I didn’t want to involve him-”
“Well, you just did,” Heath snaps, taking another step towards me and I’m forced to take a step back but the back of my thighs bump up against the chair by the desk.
“Now I will ask you again, Billie,” he asks. “How did you end up with this?”
“I don’t know why you’re so angry, Heath, when I got the letters back for you. You should be happy you have them now. I don’t understand why-”
“The reason I’m angry is because you put yourself in danger by getting these letters,” he says through gritted teeth. “Can you honestly go out there and pretend that Charlene didn’t catch you in Blythe and Ethan’s suite? Do you know what you’ve just done?”
I stare up at him, too stunned to speak.
“What don’t you understand, Billie, that this isn’t just a simple game of embezzlement of company funds or theft of letters? This is about power — control of a company that’s worth five million dollars. This,” he holds the letters up towards me, “is just a distraction, maybe unplanned on Ethan’s part because it was right there for the taking, but a distraction, nonetheless that’s being used against me.”
He steps away from me, running his fingers through his hair as he looks around the room, his gaze resting on the still-rumpled bed. “You could have gotten hurt,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Jackson was in the hotel, too. What if they both caught you in that room and realized you weren’t Blythe? What then?”
I stare at him, my mouth suddenly dry. Surely he isn’t thinking what he’s thinking — of the lengths Jackson and Charlene would go through if they found out what I’d done.
”I’m sure they wouldn’t do anything bad to me,” I say weakly. “You make it seem like they’re going to commit murder or something-”
“People have done worse things for way less than a million, Billie. How much more for $10 million?”
Everything he says seems to suck the air out of the room, and I’m gasping for breath. The look in his eyes sends shivers up and down my spine, the message behind his words hitting me like a punch in the gut. I’ve been so naive.
”I…I just thought if I could easily be mistaken for Blythe, then I could-”
“If anything would have happened to you, Billie, I-“
Heath is unable to continue, for a ragged breath escapes his lips and dropping the letters on the floor, he brings his hands to my face and pulls me towards him, enveloping me in an embrace. I can feel his heart beating through his shirt, and when he pushes me away to look at me, his hands on cradling my face, I see the tortured look in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “Can’t you see I’m fine, Heath?”
“But I’m not, Billie,” he says as he pulls my face towards him and kisses me hard, all tongue, te
eth, and pressure.
What happens next I can only blame on the adrenaline and fear still coursing through our veins, the emotions that send us both desperately clinging to each other as Heath lifts me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. Carrying me in his arms, he turns away from the desk, and pushes me up against the wall. Still kissing me hungrily, he lifts my dress up to my waist, and rips the delicate thong off me, tossing it to the floor.
When he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons the fly of his jeans, I bury my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and him, all male — and all mine. I bury my mouth against the skin of his neck, sucking and tasting him, hearing him rip the condom wrapper with his teeth and slipping it on. And then he’s deep inside me, so deep it makes me gasp his name.
It’s all wrong, the way Heath takes me, slamming into me as I cling to him, gasping for breath as his mouth descends on the skin between my neck and shoulder, leaving his mark while my own teeth mark him just below his ear, tasting the salty sweat and musk. It’s all wrong, but it also feels so right. In fact, nothing has ever felt this right before. It’s the only thing that makes sense — the way Heath holds me like he’s never letting me go, claiming me like I’ve always been his even as I know I’ve lost myself, and I can’t even begin to find my way back.
There’s desperation and anger in the way he takes me, even as his hand cradles the back of my head against the wall with each thrust that sends me to the brink and back. It’s a delicious mingling of pleasure and pain that I welcome, this lovemaking, if one could call it that. It’s so primal, with no words needed to be said, not when our bodies are saying the words we can never say, that we need this. We need each other.