by Katy Regnery
He lets me go but takes my hand, leading me to the couch by the windows. “Then follow me, Faye Findley.”
And I think to myself,
Anywhere.
Chapter 9
Faye
When I wake up the next morning, it’s still dark, but I’m very warm and cozy, and for a moment, I think I’m back at the North Pole Inn, except I’m not.
My subconscious insists that I’m not.
My eyes flutter open slowly, and I realize that I’m not alone—there’s an arm thrown over my hip and a strong, steady chest pushes rhythmically into my back with deep, sleepy breaths.
Trevor.
Sigh.
We must have fallen asleep watching the northern lights last night and have somehow ended up—both still fully dressed, of course!—spooned together on his couch.
And. It’s. Heaven.
I should probably wake him up and make him drive me back to my hotel, but instead, I snuggle closer to him, savoring the warmth of his body pressed intimately up against mine. The dead weight of his arm over my hip and his hand flattened on my stomach feels possessive in a way that thrills me. I’ve never slept a night with a man like this, but I could certainly get used to it: surrounded by his scent and warm body? Yes, I could get used to it very quickly, given the chance.
But then I think about what today holds, and my heart sinks a little.
I tried to write an email to Mr. Fairbanks yesterday—to let him know that I needed to back out of our agreement. But around three o’clock, I got a message from him, confirming that he’d meet me in the lobby of the Chalet Blanche this evening, holding a red rose. And suddenly, I knew how cowardly it would be to cancel our plans via email and not show up to speak to him in person.
That said? I dread it.
I’ve had to fire many people over my ten years as the head of Findley Imports, but it’s never gotten easier or more palatable to me. I don’t like delivering bad news. But who does? Letting someone look you in the eye as you hurt them, I’ve learned, is an important nonverbal way to take responsibility for your decisions and actions.
Mr. Fairbanks didn’t do anything wrong—he deserves an explanation from me, and he has the right to share his anger and disappointment with me.
Thank God I have New Year’s weekend with Trevor to look forward to. Thinking of those three days with him will give me the strength and composure I’ll need to let Mr. Fairbanks know that I am entirely in the wrong and very sorry that I’m no longer able to meet the terms of our agreement.
In regard to my financial responsibility to him, I’ve decided to offer to reimburse him the cost of the suite at the Chalet Blanche—about $1,500 for three nights—plus the cost of the ad he placed and any medical tests he paid for out-of-pocket. It’s the least I can do for ruining his New Year’s celebration.
It feels like cold comfort, to offer him a check for $2,000, but the feelings I have for T, new though they are, make it impossible for me to be intimate with Mr. Fairbanks...or any other man, for that matter. I only want to be with Trevor. I know we just met. And I don’t know what will end up happening between us. I only know that for now—right now—he’s what I want.
“Are you awake?”
His sleepy voice rumbles close to my ear and makes me smile.
I turn in his arms to look at him, our noses almost touching, the fronts of our body flush against each other.
“Yes.”
“You think very loudly,” he says, leaning forward to press his lips to my nose.
“That’s impossible,” I inform him. “Thoughts have no sound.”
“Yours do.” He glances at my lips and sighs before sliding his eyes up to mine. “I like you a lot, Faye Findley.”
My heart. Oh, my heart. I don’t know that it’s ever been quite this full.
“I like you a lot too.”
He grins at me, tightening the arm that’s still around me. “Do I recall correctly that you promised to spend New Year’s with me? Here? In my home?”
“You do.”
“For said weekend together, would you like to avail yourself of my guest room or...?”
I stare at him for a second, a tiny smile dying to turn up the corners of my mouth. “Or?”
“Share my bed with me?”
My stomach explodes with butterflies.
“Option two,” I say, “please.”
This time, he misses my nose when he leans forward to kiss me and presses his lips to my mouth instead. It’s quick and it’s sweet, and it leaves me wanting so much more.
“That’s my preference too,” he says. “Though...can we very quickly touch on something you mentioned last night?”
My stomach drops and my smile vanishes. My fucking virginity. Damn it. Why the hell did I blurt that out?
“Faye,” he says, capturing my eyes with his. “It’s a big deal.”
“It’s not. There are many things I’ve never done with my body. I’ve never bungee jumped. I’ve never taken drugs. I’ve never stuck a Q-tip in my ear.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “And I get that it’s personal and you don’t want to discuss it, but I just wanted to say...I just wanted you to know...that nothing will happen unless you want it to, okay? If you want to sleep like this, fully clothed, I’m cool with that. If you want to be more...intimate, that’s fine with me too. You’re in charge, Faye. I’ll follow your lead.”
I’m so touched by this short speech, unexpected tears burn my eyes, and I blink them back, leaning forward to touch my forehead to his.
“Thank you,” I say. “Whatever happens, thank you for that.”
“How about some breakfast before I drive you back to your hotel?” he asks, sliding his arm from my hip and leaning up on his elbow.
“Sure,” I say. “I’d love it.”
***
Since I won’t be seeing Trevor for the rest of today, I decide to make the most of my hotel while I’m there for one more day and night. I have an eleven o’clock deep-tissue massage, and a delectable lunch of seared salmon, rice pilaf, and sautéed root vegetables is delivered to my room at one, with Baked Alaska for desert (which, I’m slightly disappointed to discover, is really just a fancy name for ice cream cake with browned merengue on top).
After lunch, I have a two o’clock conference call with Karl, my head of acquisitions, with whom I discuss North Star Spirits.
“It’s not that I’m backing off, Karl,” I tell him. “I’m just saying we can live without another craft vodka company on our roster right now.”
“You weren’t impressed?”
“I was. I am. The Starlings have a great operation and a terrific product. But Mr. Starling isn’t eager to sell, and I’m okay waiting until they need a partner for a cash infusion. At that point, we can offer to take them to the next level. But for now, at least, they seem content as is.” I pause for a second, then add, “Let’s leave it alone.”
“Okay. Got it.” I can hear papers rustling. “So this is interesting. Had a call from UNNW this morning.”
“United Northwest?”
UNNW, United Northwest Distributors, would be a major rival of Findley Imports except we’re located in Boston and they’re in Seattle. They do for the West Coast what we do in the East. But we are both privately owned beverage importation and distribution companies with a three-generation history; in fact, my grandfather was acquaintances with Rodolfo Castillo, who started UNNW.
“Yeah.”
“What did they want?”
“You know that old Mr. Castillo passed away several years ago, right? Well, his son, Santino, had a stroke last month and joined his father. It turns out the grandson, Florian, isn’t interested in keeping the family business going. He wants to sell. Anyway, his mother remembered her husband working with your father and asked him to call you before anyone else.”
“Are you saying that UNNW is for sale?”
Karl chuckles. “I’m saying that the perfect way for Findley Imports to have
a West Coast presence just presented itself on a silver platter, yes.”
I squeal in excitement, jumping off the bed I’m sitting on and doing a little jig in my hotel bathrobe. “Are you kidding?”
“Would I play with you like that?”
“My father always dreamed of us being bicoastal! This is big, Karl. This is huge!”
“So I take it you want to set up a meeting?”
“Whenever Florian Castillo is ready. I’m in Alaska for a few more days, so it’s no problem for me to get down to Seattle. Quick flight back and forth. Contact Carlene. She’s got my schedule.”
“You got it, boss.”
“And Karl, not a word to anyone. If we can manage a private sale, the acquisition and merger will be that much more seamless.”
“Alrighty, Faye. Sounds good.”
I hang up with Karl, brimming with excitement and...I have no one to share it with.
Although Trevor would certainly understand the fantastic implications of such a merger, I won’t see him until tomorrow. Hmm. Harry doesn’t take much of a role in the business of Findley Imports, but she is my sister, and I want to share this with someone.
I dial her number.
“Faye!”
“Harry! How’s Vail?”
“It’s great. The rest of the crew went skiing today, but I stayed behind to catch up on some school work. How’s Alaska?”
“Much better than expected. What happened with Austin?”
“Well...I thought about it and realized you were right. He didn’t really like me. I think I was just convenient. And I don’t want to make out with someone because it’s convenient for them. Not anymore. I want it to be...special. So I’ve been friendly to Austin, but not, um, available...if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean, and I think you made the right decision.” I pause for a second, remembering my conversation with Trevor this morning. “Harry...your first time. Was it...special?”
“Faye!”
“I know we haven’t talked about things like that in the past, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. For anything.”
She sighs. “No. It wasn’t special.”
This news hurts my heart in a way I wouldn’t have expected, and I wince, standing up and walking to the window, where I have a beautiful view of the white mountains in the distance.
“How did it happen?”
“I was at a party. Drunk. He was in my AP English class, and I thought he was sweet.”
High school. She’s talking about her junior year. She lost her virginity almost four years ago, and I had no idea.
“He wasn’t?”
“He wasn’t anything. We barely knew each other. It was sloppy and messy and over almost the moment it started.”
“But you gave consent!” I bark, worry making my heart beat faster. “Didn’t you?”
“I didn’t say no. I didn’t push him away. I just thought it would be different than it was.” She’s quiet for a second. “Stupid.”
“Not stupid.” Just...alone. I ache for Harry, who didn’t have a mother or a big sister to guide and comfort her. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Harry.”
“It’s okay,” she says. She laughs lightly. “It’s gotten a lot better since.”
“You’ve had many partners?”
“I wouldn’t say many. No more than most other girls my age.” She clears her throat. “Though I don’t think I’ll be adding Austin to that list. I liked your advice. I might move a little slower in the future, you know? I mean, I’m not looking for my forever someone right now, but a boyfriend might be nice, and I don’t think I’m going to find him if I make out with anyone who shows interest.”
“Whatever you decide to do,” I tell her, “I’m here for you. I promise, Harry. And I’m so sorry I haven’t been as available before now.”
“You’ve been busy,” she points out, “looking after Findley Imports.” She clears her throat. “You know, I’ve always thought of you as the guardian of two siblings: one older, with lots of special needs, and then...me.”
Again, that crushing feeling clenches my heart, because she never should have felt less important than our family’s business.
“Oh, Harry. I’m so—”
“No!” she exclaims. “No, don’t apologize. I’m not trying to make you feel bad! I admire you, Faye. I remember Daddy’s devotion to the company—the way Mama would keep his dinner warm for hours and hours while he finished a long workday at the office. He worked long hours, and I had Mama at home. When they died, you were left alone with e-everything. The c-company...m-me...” Her voice catches. “I’m not m-mad at you, Faye.”
But she’s crying. I can hear it, and it makes my eyes burn too. I’m mad at me. I’m furious with me. I was left with her and the business, but I was an adult. She had only me. And she didn’t even have me. I was too busy for her.
“Oh, Harry.”
“I mean it, Faye! I’m not mad at you. I hope I can be half the businesswoman you are someday.”
“I just hope you can be a better human being,” I whisper.
“Don’t do that,” she chastises me. “Don’t devalue what you’ve been able to do. And Faye...you weren’t unkind to me. You weren’t mean. You made sure that I was safe and cared for. You were just busy.”
She’s right. I was just busy. But still...I could’ve done better. “I will do better.”
“You already are,” she says softly, sniffling. “I love you, Faye.”
“I love you too, Harry,” I tell her for the first time in years. And it feels good—so very, very good—to feel this closeness, this intimacy, this love between me and my only sibling. “I love you so much.”
She giggles through tears. “Me too!”
I join her, laughing through our tears and celebrating the fact that it’s never too late for family to forgive each other, to make the most of the time they have left with each other, whether it’s a little or a lot. And I hope—I fervently hope—that Harry and I have a lot of time left to love each other.
“I have to go,” she says. “This paper is due the week I get back.”
“Want to meet me in Boston next week?” I ask her. “Before you go back to school?”
“Definitely,” she says. “I need to see this new Faye in person.”
“New Faye?”
“Mm-hm,” she hums. “Everything about my big sister feels new this Christmas. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”
“Well, I’ll have Carlene book you a ticket to see New Faye before you go back to school,” I tell her. “Work hard. I’ll see you soon, little sister.”
“Bye, Faye. Talk soon!”
When we hang up, I realize that I didn’t tell her about the possible merger with UNNW, which was the entire reason for my call. I also realize that I’m one hundred percent okay with that.
I love you, Faye.
I love you too, Harry.
Business can wait.
***
At six o’clock, I take a deep breath, get in the shower, and start preparing for my unfortunate meeting with Mr. Fairbanks in the lobby of the hotel at seven o’clock.
With the picture I sent to him propped up on the bathroom counter, I blow-dry my hair upside down, freeing the natural wave and curl so that it looks like it did in the photo. He won’t really have seen my face, since I’m wearing oversized Chanel sunglasses in the picture, but I make it up with eyeliner, mascara, dark eyeshadow, and a redder-than-usual lipstick that I think Harry would choose. Because I was wearing a white bikini top and denim shorts in the photo, I pull on jeans and a white blouse, which I leave open to reveal a touch of cleavage.
When I check out my reflection in the mirror, I look nothing like myself—like Faye Findley with her hair pulled back in a bun and her drab, sensible clothes. I’ve done a pretty fair job of recreating the fun-loving, breezy girl from the picture, and as a result, I look a few years younger and a lot more carefree than I actually
am.
Checking the time on my phone, my heart bumps into a faster rhythm when I find an email message from Mr. Fairbanks saying he’s downstairs waiting for me whenever I’m ready to meet him.
“Get it over with,” I tell my reflection, checking myself out one more time and deciding I look as close to the picture as I’m likely to get. I shove my keycard in my hip pocket, put my white sunglasses on top of my head as a hairband, and slip out the door of my room.
***
Trevor
I’m standing in the chic lobby of the Chalet Blanche, a long-stemmed red rose in one sweaty hand and the other shoved into the pocket of black tailored business pants.
I couldn’t be more uncomfortable if I tried.
Every few seconds I glance around nervously, hoping that Faye Findley won’t suddenly appear, wondering why the hell I’m here. Because if that happens? I honestly don’t know what I’ll do.
First, I’d feel embarrassed for her to know that I placed the ad in the first place. Aside from acting as my own personal pimp, the very act of soliciting consensual, no-strings-attached sex with a stranger feels cheap and sordid now, though it seemed like a perfectly harmless idea a month ago when I placed the ad.
Second, I wouldn’t want Faye to think, even for a second, that I was cheating on her. I know. I know. Faye Findley and I are only in the very, very beginning of a relationship with one another and haven’t outlined what that means yet. But minimally, it means that I’m not fucking some anonymous woman I met through a personal ad while courting her.
The net-net of these feelings is that I’m uneasy standing here, and every snap and crackle of the fire in the übermodern fireplace just about makes me jump. I’ll be relieved once I’ve explained to Faith that I can’t honor our agreement. And once I’m in my car, on the way back to my house? I’ll be in a position to really explore the chemistry between me and a certain East Coast businesswoman who’s promised to be all mine for New Year’s.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
The sound of heeled shoes on the black marble floor alerts me to the fact that someone is approaching me from behind, and I turn slowly to find the woman from the photograph walking toward me.