“You changed your name legally. You’re not lying.”
That’s true, technically.
“You didn’t lie to me, either. The man who hurt you is dead. You were talking about your father.” He takes a breath. “I’m not interested in using this information against you, Vivian. I want you to know you’re safe with me. If anyone understands taking on a new identity and living a life a world away from where he came from, it’s me.”
Reassurance is a strange sensation. I haven’t been able to count on anyone for a long time.
“I lied to you though.” He spills a bit more wine into his glass. “My mother is alive. After my dad OD’d, my mom started using. I was fifteen and in juvie at the time. One of the counselors there had a brother who owned a shopping plaza built by the Owens. That counselor saw an opportunity for me to win the foster-kid lottery. I could have a new life with the Owens, who were looking to adopt a teenage boy. We’re the hardest kids to home.”
I stare at him, envisioning an angry fifteen-year-old Nate, and my heart squeezes. He’s suddenly a whole person, not only the object of my infatuation. The shift is jarring. I wanted what we had to stay on the surface, to be a release valve for the pressure building inside me like a dormant volcano for years. He’s just proven he’s more than that. I’m not prepared.
“I went to my mom and asked her to give up her parental rights. It wasn’t hard to convince her, especially after she was offered a hefty sum of money.” He looks away as he mumbles, “Hell, I guess she’s still alive. She was three years ago. I stopped checking on her. It hurt too much.”
His pain echoes in the caverns of my soul. I can relate to feeling rejected. To feeling like you don’t matter.
My thoughts circle to the sum of money he mentioned. I don’t have to wonder where that came from. The Owens. Obviously. Rich people pay to have their way, or to weasel out of any predicament that doesn’t serve them. I know all too well.
“How very lucky for you.” My voice is hard. Nate’s one of them and he knows the truth about me. I have to maintain my guard, for my own safety. Why else would he tell me what he knew if he didn’t want something from me? I doubt he’s merely commiserating.
“You’re running from yourself,” he says. “I recognize the tactic. Thing is, you can’t escape yourself. Wherever you go, there you are. I’m still a street kid from Chicago who’s had his nose broken three and a half times. You’re still a wealthy woman from the same city who believes she has to suffer for the sins of her father.”
“My father stole from good people.”
“Yes, but you didn’t.”
“I worked for him.”
There’s a pause while he soaks this in. “Did he share his plans with you? Did he tell you what he was doing?”
I shake my head. “No, but I didn’t notice, either.”
“You were twenty-three years old.”
Same thing my therapist told me. I sensed disdain in her voice. I don’t think Marissa blamed me, but she had a hard time looking me in the eye knowing what my dad did.
“You deserve a life not defined by Walter Steele, Senior. Making thirty thou a year in a city building isn’t going to right the scales.”
“What about you building live-works to house and employ others when you couldn’t keep a roof over your own family’s head? I’m not the only one attempting to right my family’s wrongs.”
He drinks his wine instead of commenting.
I gesture around at the house I’m standing in. “How is this you being true to your roots?”
“My having has nothing to do with others not having. I’m not your father. I didn’t steal to gain. I earned my wealth. I worked for it. I’m hustling my ass off, and in case you haven’t noticed, I work for the good guys.”
“The Owens, who paid your mother to go away? Are they ‘good guys’?” I’m lashing out, and a ping in the center of my chest warns I’m being unfair. I don’t think I care. Anger feels better than fear.
His eyes darken. Pointing at the floor to make his point, he steps closer to me. “The Owens paid my mother’s rent for a year, stocked her up with groceries. She took it like a severance package and had no problem saying goodbye to her son.” Pain ekes into his voice. “There are good guys in this world.”
The Owens sound like good guys. I’ve never known a rich person not out to build his own portfolio. Which says a lot about the people my parents consorted with.
“I care about you.” Nate’s proclamation is simple. He doesn’t wait for me to respond or act like he’s expecting one. “You can trust me. No matter what happens. I wanted you to know.”
The finality of his statement hints the ball is in my court. I can stay, basking in the company of one of the few people in my life who knows the truth and doesn’t hate me for it, or I can walk away and leave the most exciting, intriguing man I’ve ever met.
Funny, both sound like arguments to stay.
Nate
Vivian talks between bites during dinner. Once I blew up the dam, she had a lot to say about the Steeles. About the trial. About her position at the company that eventually folded under a mountain of falsified financials.
I listen, rapt, while eating the finest piece of beef I’ve had in a long time. Could be the quality of the meat, could be the company. This woman is under my skin, and I can’t say I don’t like it.
And yes, I hear you accusing me of saving Vivian for my own selfish needs. That my savior complex is a beast and it needs regularly fed. Proving there is good in the world is my mission as much as housing people. I refuse to believe the world is shit. I like to think the people who selfishly take and take until they die in prison are the exception, not the rule.
I want Vivian to know there are good people. That I am one. Hell, maybe that is my savior complex talking. But is it bad if we both stand to gain from it? Insight. Sex. Connection.
“I held a few jobs as Vivian Steele,” she’s saying, “but inevitably my character came into question when my coworkers and higher-ups figured out whose daughter I was and stopped trusting me instantly. I didn’t have a choice but to start over.”
“Why here?”
“It isn’t Chicago, where everyone knows the Steele name. And Clear Ridge isn’t so small that everyone gossips.” She chews a bite of steak and swallows, her delicate throat working. “Why do you live here?”
I set down my fork and reach for my wine. “The Owens are here. I always wanted a real family.”
“So did I.”
We share a tender moment. The walls hiding her have fallen, briefly. Like me, she was once a scared kid who wanted to be loved. Instead she was disregarded. Used. Slotted as a cog in the machine fueled by her parents’ betrayal.
Also like me. Just in a totally different income bracket. Interesting how the tables have turned.
Walt, her brother, was a cog too, but he’s not as strong as Vivian. He cracked under the pressure while his sister achieved her way through a rebirth.
“What now?” I ask.
“You mean now that you know who I am?”
“Yeah. It seems like you to run.” I don’t like the idea of her leaving without a goodbye—a probability.
She laughs, maybe at my audacity. “Running is an interesting word. I call it survival.”
“Same thing.”
Her smile is tight. The shutters fall and her expression blanks. “I have to go.”
She stands and tosses the cloth napkin onto her plate. I wondered how hard I could push before she left. Now I know.
“Dinner was lovely,” she says. “I appreciate your discretion.”
She walks to the living room and I follow, catching her as she pulls her car keys from her purse. Rather than saying goodbye and fleeing, or “fuck you” and fleeing, she stares at me for a beat. Then two.
“I’m trying, you know.” Her jaw stiffens but her voice shakes. “I’ve fought for years to become strong. It’s harder than it looks. I wasn’t looking for anything, for
anyone. I was fine on my own. Then you gave me those damn shoes and I was reminded of my mom. You treated me like I mattered.”
My brow bends in sympathy. Of course she matters. And there should have been a line of people around the block telling her every day for the last six years how much she matters.
“My past is attacking. Walt is back. He seems okay and that’s even harder to trust. I’m so goddamn worried I can’t…” An exhale stutters from her lips and she finishes on a whispered, “I can’t hold everything together indefinitely.”
“I know.” My simple agreement causes her facade to crack. It’s a slow deterioration.
First her arm drops, then her shoulder. Her purse strap slips. She makes a grab for it and misses. By the time it hits the floor upside down, her face has crumbled with it. She lowers to her knees and I’m right there with her.
A quiet, but heart-wrenching sob ekes from her throat. I want her to know she doesn’t have to be strong all the time. It’s impossible to be strong all the time. As a tough kid with a thrice broken nose and an eyebrow full of stitches, I learned anger only masks pain. Everyone has their breaking point.
Instead of giving that speech, I reach for her. She comes with only a little encouragement. Her arms tighten around my neck. Her sobs are loud in my ears. I hold her, gripping her tightly as we stand together.
“I have you,” I tell her. Once upon a time I needed someone to count on desperately. The Owens were there for me.
Vivian needs someone to count on now. It’s me. And I just as desperately need her to count on me.
Chapter Fifteen
Vivian
The last guy I dated who I considered a serious boyfriend was Charlie Barnett.
Charlie was a lawyer. Slick, well-bred, good-looking. He’d made partner at his firm and we were both up-and-comers. When the news broke of my father’s lies, he told me I’d hang for my father’s crimes.
He turned his back on me so fast I was surprised he didn’t have whiplash. We were together a year and a half. We shared a lot of hopes and dreams and dinners and sex. We’d talked about marriage and moving in together at one point.
Even when things were good, Charlie never handled me as carefully as Nate handles me now.
When he scooped me off the floor I gave him the weight of my body and my grief. Instinctively, I knew he could take it. Honestly? I’m glad he knows the truth.
Usually I’d die before I let anyone see me cry—how weak. With Nate there was never another option. Like it was inevitable we’d have sex the night I came home with him, so was the breakdown after he learned from whose loins I’d sprung.
We’re on the couch, me on his lap, my nose against his neck. I like being here and not only because he smells like the ocean. I like his wide hands, hands that have fought and pummeled lesser men. On me they’re gentle. Careful.
I’m being held like I might break. To be fair, I just did.
I’m not crying now. I’m luxuriating in him. With my fingers in his hair. My lips resting against the strong pulse beating in his neck.
He turned on music while we were sitting here and the song playing has a soft, soothing beat. I don’t recognize the artist, but I like his voice. I like Nate’s voice too. He’s humming low in his throat and my lips tingle from the vibrations.
My plan was to move to Clear Ridge, find a job, find an apartment, and keep my head down. I wasn’t supposed to make friends or find a man who consumed my every other thought. I wasn’t supposed to connect with anyone. I did a good job for months, but now…
Now.
Pressing my lips against his pulse, I kiss and then suckle the skin of his neck.
His arms tighten around my body. His hum fades into a low growl. I open my mouth and taste him again, scraping my teeth along his neck. His hand slides beneath my dress to cup the back of my thigh.
We stay in that position for several minutes. Me kissing his throat, his palm on my leg. By the time his hand slides higher, I move to straddle his lap and press my lips to his.
His mouth.
So much better than any I’ve ever had on mine. So much headier. So much more powerful. Irresistible. Not that resistance was an option. Either I’m not that strong or he’s that good.
There are good guys.
His words echo through my mind as I tangle my tongue with his. Is he a good rich guy? An exception to the rule?
His fingers unknot the tie holding my wrap dress closed. He flattens his hand on my stomach and lays me on my back. Then I lose his mouth. I’d complain, but he roughly moves the cup of my bra and takes my nipple on his tongue—so much better. When his hand slips into my panties, I’m wet and ready for him.
I arch my back and shut my eyes.
Whatever happens, this makes everything worth it.
He knows who I am. And he wants me. Still. It’s a superpower I haven’t possessed before.
“We never make it to the bedroom,” I mumble as he kisses a trail down my belly. He yanks my panties down my legs.
“Next time,” he promises, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of my stomach.
I smile. I like the sound of next time.
His tongue delves into my folds, seeking and finding the perfect spot. He remembered. I widen my legs to accommodate his shoulders, giving myself over to him. He knows what he’s doing. He’s talented at making me come, at making me feel on a deeper level than I’ve allowed for a long, long time.
I’m naked with him, even when I’m mostly dressed. I’m slightly skeptical about trusting him implicitly, but I shelve those worries in favor of momentary bliss.
He takes me there in record time. The shimmer of my orgasm washes over me like summer rain, leaving me damp and panting.
“I like those yeses.” His voice is low and reverent as he makes his way to my breasts again.
I didn’t realize I spoke. I laugh, and that feels as decadent as the orgasm.
Nate is over me, hooking my leg over his hip. His lips first kiss one of my eyelids, then the other. Then my nose. He smells like musk. Like sex. Like me. How strangely erotic.
“Open your eyes.” His tone is commanding. When I do, I am assaulted by his.
“Your eyes are so blue.” Dumb, right? But that’s what I say.
“Don’t look away.” He rolls a condom on without breaking eye contact. I do as he asks and keep my gaze on him. Not a hardship. He’s nice to look at.
“Watch me.”
I nod and nearly break my promise when he slides into me. I accept him inch by inch, reveling in the way he fills me—to the brim, just like last time. Unlike last time, his pace is slower. More intentional. His expression is pained like he’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.
We could shut each other out and blindly take what we need. This degree of intimacy isn’t what either of us bargained for.
He squeezes my hip, sucks in a breath. His release is on the precipice. I clench my inner muscles around his glorious cock and watch a struggle erupt on his face.
Power. I have it.
After he shuts his eyes briefly, they land on me again. There’s a resolve that wasn’t there before. Slowly, he draws out of me and then plunges in slower.
“Vivian,” he warns when my world goes black. “Eyes on mine.”
I wrench my eyes open and hold his in challenge. Rising to meet him. He’s all I see. He’s all I hear. The beats of the music blend in with his labored breaths and my quickened huffs of excitement. I barely hear the lyrics beyond the sound of my own heartbeat sloshing in my ears.
His control slips. I place my hand on his cheek. He’s moving frantically, his teeth bared, the tendons in his neck tight. He’s a beautiful sight.
“Give it to me,” I breathe.
He takes one of my wrists and then the other, trapping them over my head.
“You first.” He ducks his head and suckles my nipple while stroking into me. Harder. Faster. He holds me down and I feel powerless and safe at the same time.
&n
bsp; I like it.
A few more deep strokes is all it takes for him to wring another orgasm from me. It flows like warm honey, spilling out and leaving me drained yet full. He’s not far behind. A low groan works its way up his throat. He’s coated in my pleasure, and I squeeze him again, milking his release from him easily. The hand around my wrists releases.
Spent, he sags on the couch, his arm shaking as he holds his weight on one elbow to keep from crushing me.
I skim my fingernails down his back and he gives me a little more of his weight. The pounding of our pulses slam our chests and where we’re still connected. He drops a slightly sweaty kiss on my neck and I wrap him in my arms.
“Thank you,” I whisper. For knowing me. Believing me. For sticking with me. For making sure he gave me what I needed when I needed it. Emotional after that soul-crushing act, a tear trickles down my cheek and into my hair.
He presses a firm kiss to my mouth, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Anytime.”
I smile as another tear falls.
We lie there for a long, long while, neither of us in a hurry to pull apart. Or maybe, not capable of it.
Chapter Sixteen
Vivian
Once again I wake in darkness in Nate’s bed.
Like last time, he’s not next to me. He was, though. I have memories of rolling over and bumping into his big body. He took up a good portion of the king-sized bed we slept in, and nudging a thigh or an arm every so often was nice.
After our interlude on the couch, I sent a text to Walt letting him know I keep the coffee in the freezer and wouldn’t be coming home. He texted back, Got it.
Walt is safe. I am safe. What a strange synchronicity.
Maybe we’re due some good luck.
I sit up and my foot kicks something at the bottom of the bed. I fumble on the nightstand for the remote and press a button to raise the black window coverings. The room fills with light and my eyes slowly adjust to focus on the item at the end of the bed.
Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1 Page 11