by Jade Webb
I sit back down on the couch and pour out two glasses, handing one to Yael. We each sip in silence. There is something in the air between us: a mix of awkwardness and attraction. It feels like I’m back in high school.
“Can you tell me about Isabel’s mother?” Yael asks me, breaking the silence.
I force back a choke and twirl the stem of the wine glass in my hand. I’m always thrown off by this woman and her bluntness. It’s a trait I am definitely not used to in my world of social niceties and passive aggressiveness. It’s refreshing, if not a bit intimidating.
“Sure, what do you want to know?”
Yael shrugs her shoulders. “Everything. Why is she no longer in the picture?”
I take a deep sigh before starting. “Isabel’s mother was very troubled. We had only been together a few months when she got pregnant. And she had some demons she was fighting. When Isabel was born, she was overwhelmed, and she bailed. She spiraled, and it was no longer safe to have her around Isabel, so I gave her an ultimatum. She ended up deciding that she would rather have a cash payment each month than be an actual mother.”
Yael doesn’t say a word as she watches me. Her eyes, almost hidden behind her thick lashes, hold no judgement as she listens. I feel comfortable sharing with her this story: one that few people, outside from my sisters, have heard before. It’s hard for me to own that for a period of time in my life, I was a bitter man who was angry at the world, and so angry at Fiona. I hated her. It had taken me awhile to unload all my anger. I had to learn that being angry didn’t help anyone: and I needed to focus on raising a baby girl. Getting over that heart ache was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.
“Anyways, Fiona was not willing to get help for Isabel’s sake. So, I offered for her to just take the money and go.” I take a long sip from my glass, then deposit the empty glass on the coffee table in front of us. “I’m worried the only memories Isabel actually has of her mother are of seeing her high or seeing her attacking me.”
“I didn’t know,” Yael says after a long pause. She looks genuinely upset, her brow furrowed slightly creating a small crease in the middle of her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. She made some really poor choices, but she also gave me the best gift.”
“Is it hard to be a single father?”
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I admit. “I was twenty-four when Isabel was born, and I was nowhere near ready to be a father. But when she was born, something inside of me changed and I committed to being the type of father she would need. And deserved.” I lean back and wave my hand around the room. “Plus, being a billionaire kind of helps, too.”
Yael chokes back a laugh and gives me a playful shove. “So humble,” she teases.
I laugh in return, finally beginning to feel more relaxed, and shrug. “I have resources that a lot of other people don’t have. I don’t know if I could have raised a baby girl without them. As much as I sometimes hate being a Monroe and all the responsibility and drama that comes with it, it has given me a lot of opportunities. But even all the money can’t buy you a family, someone to spend your days with. Money isn’t the solution to everything.”
Yael nods thoughtfully before taking another long sip. She opens her mouth to say something before quickly snapping it closed. I pin her down, my eyes locking on hers, silently challenging her to ask the question on her mind. She pulls her eyes away and perches the glass on the top of her knee, circling the glass rim with her finger.
She bites down on her lip as she stares intently at her wine glass. “And do you want a family? I mean, do you want a wife?”
I force myself to not exhale the breath I had been holding in, waiting for her question. I know that while she is one of the most blunt, honest women that I have ever met, there is also a part of her that holds back. Especially when it comes to things that she wants. And while I try to not feel too victorious, knowing that she is curious about me, and if I want a family and a wife one day, does send a surge of excitement through me.
“Yeah, I do,” I admit, realizing this is likely the first time I have actually acknowledged that this is something I want out loud. And I’m surprised by how good it feels to say it, almost as if a weight is lifted off my shoulders by feeling okay to admit that I want to try again. I want to find love again, find someone for me and Isabel to spend our days with. For too long, I thought it wasn’t something I had deserved. I thought I had messed it up too badly the first time, and I would never be able to have a second chance. Not to mention, I never wanted to introduce someone into Isabel’s life that might end up leaving. But now? Now I feel like I can finally give myself the permission to want to try again. And it feels good to finally say it out loud.
“Good luck,” Yael blithely responds, catching me off guard.
“Good luck?”
“Yeah, love can be great but it’s terrible, too,” she answers, her voice flippant, yet still revealing a layer of underlying sadness. “It can destroy people.”
“You sound like someone who knows from experience.”
Yael scoffs and takes a long sip from her glass, draining it. “That I do. My father was too in love with my mother and when she died, his world collapsed.” She shakes her head, as if to shake a sad memory away. “All men are pretty much idiots, anyways. No offense,” she adds with a playful smile.
“Bad ex?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
“So, what was his name?” I ask.
She lifts the corner of her mouth and smiles at me. “Rami.”
“Rami,” I repeat. “Sounds like an asshole.”
She bites down on her lip, suppressing a giggle. “Oh, he was. An idiot, too.”
I kick my legs up on the table and cross my legs at the ankles, wine glass in hand. “Okay, so tell me about this idiot asshole.”
Yael rolls her eyes but curls her legs at her side, getting comfortable before she starts. “Well, in high school I wasn’t allowed to go out with boys. So, I only had my first date when I was in the army. It was with this guy, Rami. I had felt so lucky, because all the girls wanted him and he had picked me. He was smart, and funny, and handsome. So, he asks me out and we end up in his room, this tiny little closet with just a bed and a plastic chair. At this point, I was nineteen years old and had never been with anyone. I was on a mission to finally lose my damn virginity. And right before the critical moment, I hear this sound of like, clicking. I push away from him and see this blinking red light coming from this small table by his bed.” She takes a long sip from her glass. “The asshole was taping us! Luckily, I still had most of my clothes on, but I punched him right in the nose and I left.”
“What happened after?”
Yael shrugs. “None of the girls wanted to be with him after that. And I got a reputation as a, how do you call it? A ball buster? So none of the guys wanted me, either.”
“It’s hard to believe that none of them were interested.”
“Oh, they were interested. But I was too scary. Wasn’t worth it for them,” she responds matter-of-factly.
“It’s kind of a sad story. Makes you wonder how you can trust anyone again.”
Yael looks at me, a sad expression on her face. “But that is not even the saddest part of the story.”
I look at her, concerned. “What is?”
“I never had the chance to lose my virginity,” she answers.
I feel all the air escape my lungs as my eyes widen. I shift uncomfortably as I clear my throat, unsure of what to say next. After a few seconds, Yael’s face starts to break, and a large smile appears there.
When I realize she’s—as she so aptly described earlier—busting my balls, I let out a gust of air. “You lying—”
Yael holds up her hands defensively. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” she says as she laughs. “You just looked so sad!”
“Of course, I was sad!” I say. “That was a sad story!”
Yael smiles as she rolls her e
yes. “Lawrence, that isn’t a sad story.” She shrugs, her brow furrowing as she thinks. “Well, maybe for Rami, it was a sad story.”
A wide smile spreads across my face. “A damn tragedy.”
Yael smiles, stretching her arms above her head. The move causes her tight tank to ride up and I catch a tempting glimpse of a patch of bare skin right below her belly button. Her smooth, olive skin makes my dick jump in my pants, and I can’t remember any time when such a small peek of a woman’s skin got me so turned on, and so quickly.
When Yael catches my eyes on her skin, she rushes to pull down her top before standing up.
“Well, I should get to bed.”
I shake my head. I don’t want her to leave. Not yet. “No, you shouldn’t.” I tell her.
I see her breath hitch in her throat as her brown eyes look up to meet mine. We’re close on the couch. Close enough for me to reach out and touch her. So I do, placing my hand back on her thigh.
“You should stay here,” I tell her as I lean closer to her.
She looks down at my hand, and then back up at me.
“You keep touching me,” she says. Her words catch me off guard and I pull my hand back.
“You don’t like it? I’m sorry. I just thought —“
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I like it. I just don’t… I don’t want to like it.”
I look at her, admittedly a bit confused. She tears her away and looks down. “I don’t know what I want,” she whispers.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” I ask.
She looks up at me, her eyes almost completely shielded by her lashes. “Yes,” she says, the word just above a whisper, but all I need. Leaning forward, I capture her lips with mine.
And when I feel her soft lips under mine, I almost groan. I’ve been aching to taste these lips for weeks. My attraction to her is out of control. I can’t spend an entire day without thinking of her. She has become my complete fascination. She is everything I never knew I wanted or needed. And to have her so close all the time has been complete torture. I wonder if she can feel my desperation in my kiss, and how badly I have wanted to do this.
I bring my hand up to tunnel through her thick curls and bring her closer to me. Her own hands reach up to wrap around my neck and when her lips part, I take full advantage, dipping my tongue inside her mouth. Her tongue reaches out, touching mine, and we engage in a battle — each of us giving in to our temptations, giving in to each other.
My cock pushes against the fabric of my pants. I’m so turned on by just this one kiss, and by how eagerly she pulls me toward her, and how her tongue meets mine, furious and passionate as her nails dig into my skin, needing me closer. I say a silent prayer of thanks that she wants this — needs this — as much as I do.
When I pull her closer, and my hand sweeps under her shirt, making contact with her skin, I feel her body suddenly stiffen and she jerks away. Her cheeks are flushed a bright shade of pink as she catches her breath. She looks up at me, her eyes dark with desire, and shakes her head. “We can’t do that.”
I look at her confused. “Why not? I’m sorry if I went too fast. We can slow down.”
She straightens her clothes and jumps up from the couch. “That’s not it. It’s just… This isn’t…We just can’t.”
I stand up and follow her as she walks out of the living room, her pace clipped and fast. I grab her arm before she can rush up the stairs. “Yael, what’s wrong?”
“Please, we just can’t do that again.” She touches her fingertips to her lips, as if the memory of my kiss has been burned upon them. “Please don’t kiss me again,” she says, her voice just a whisper.
I don’t know what to say, or what happened to cause her sudden change and desire to run away from me. I’m desperate for her to stay, to not run away, but the words can’t leave my mouth. I simply don’t know what to say. So when she runs up the stairs a moment later, I let her.
17
Lawrence
Monroe to announce acquisition of the Seattle Sentinel.
I reread the headline five more times, each time growing more and more outraged. It seems the author of the article is as dumbfounded as I am.
In a time when newspapers are taking their final, raspy breath, Monroe Industries has decided to move forward with their purchase of Washington state’s largest print newspaper, The Seattle Sentinel. Despite readership and subscriptions dwindling by more than 35 percent, Monroe is planning to acquire the struggling paper by the end of the year.
Why? Why the hell would we waste our money on this? I push out of my chair and walk across the hall to my father’s office.
“Is he busy?” I ask June.
“He’s with Peter,” she responds. When she sees my hands curled into fists at my side, she looks at my father’s office door and turns back to look at me. “But, it’s not a scheduled meeting. You can go on in.”
“Perfect,” I mutter under my breath as I walk into my dad’s office. Stepping inside, I see Peter sitting across from my father’s desk, a cocky smile on his face when he sees me.
“The Seattle Sentinel?” I ask as I remain standing by the door.
My father looks up, annoyed. “Yes, and I am assuming you have thoughts on that, too?”
“The newspaper industry is dying. We’re investing in something that will be defunct in a decade!”
“Lawrence, calm down. Monroe is the backbone of the publishing industry in this country. We have nothing to worry about.”
“Dad, it’s that kind of myopic arrogance—”
“Enough Lawrence! Your lectures are not wanted in this office!” my father shouts as he slams his fist on the table. “Now, both of you leave so I can work.”
I expel a frustrated breath before stepping out into the hall, my hands still in tight fists at my sides. Peter saunters out a moment later, the same arrogant smile still on his face. As soon as the door closes behind him and we’re back in the hallway, Peter stops, blocking the door to my office.
“Someone is a little fired up this morning,” he comments, his voice taunting.
“Let me guess, this was your doing?”
Peter shrugs. “If it makes the old man happy,” he blithely responds.
“‘If it makes the old man happy?’ This deal is shit and you know it.”
Peter’s features darken and the smile drops from his face. He leans toward me, his voice dropping. “This deal may be shit, but it’s what is going to get daddy dearest to see that I am the one who shares his vision for the company and convince him that I am the right choice for CEO—not his prodigal son, who wants to throw money at some bullshit teen girl magazine.”
“So, you arranged the deal to make yourself look good?” I ask, almost not able to believe how low my half-brother would stoop. “Even though you know this deal is a bad investment for Monroe?”
“So what if it’s a bad investment for Monroe? We have billions to play with. It’s a good investment in me, and that is what I’m concerned with.”
“You know, you’re a real piece of shit, Peter,” I bite out in disgust.
“Oh, and here comes the morality police. Lose the act, bro. Acting like you’re holier-than-thou is going to get you nowhere in life. If you paid half the amount of attention to Monroe and your interests as you do babysitting that little kid of yours, you could actually, maybe, make this difficult for me.”
“First of all, acting in the best interest of the greater company is not acting holier-than-thou. It’s just fucking smart business. And secondly, I don’t ‘babysit’ my daughter, I parent her. I’m her father and her mother, because your step-sister couldn’t keep her nose out of the powder long enough to actually do that goddamn job.”
“Don’t you dare talk about Fiona like that,” he warns.
I hesitate a moment when I see the quick turn in Peter. His blue eyes appear to have turned a dark, almost midnight black, and a dark, crimson red flushes up his neck. Seeing how quick he is to anger, I decide I
have enough on my plate—I don’t need his bullshit, too.
“Whatever, Peter. I don’t have the time to deal with you today. Get out of my way and go make some more ‘investments.’”
Peter makes a sound that I can only assume is a chortle, but he knows he’s outmatched here, so he slides away from my door. But because he’s a coward, he needs to have the final word.
“You know, when your precious Isabel was ‘abducted,’” he starts, air quoting the last word, “and the police came to question me and Fiona, I almost felt sorry for you. I mean, how pathetic would your life be without having that kid there to idolize you? Who else would worship at your altar? But to send the police my way? And to question Fiona after you ripped her daughter away from her? Low blow, bro.”
Though I try to fight it, his words send a chill down my spine. Say whatever you want about me, I don’t fucking care. But bring up my daughter? You’re dead.
I turn to glare at him and clench my hands into two tight fists at my sides. I’m done with this fucker. As if he can sense the change in me, Peter takes a nervous step back as I stalk toward him, closing the distance between us in a second.
“You keep your fucking mouth shut about my daughter,” I warn him.
I catch the flash of fear in his eyes. But he’s an idiot and he can’t resist taunting me. “You sure about that, Lawrence?”
“Sure about what, you mother—” before I can finish, the door to my father’s office is thrown open and my father steps out with June by his side. Reading the palpable tension between us and seeing my clenched fists, my father stops in his tracks.
“What is going on here?” he asks, his eyes darting between me and Peter.
I shoot one more threatening glare at Peter letting him know that this conversation is far from over. I thrust my hands into my pockets and step away from Peter.
“Nothing,” I tell him as I turn away, shoving the door to my office open. I stalk past Leila’s desk and only when I am in the privacy of my own office do I finally let out the frustrated breath I’ve been holding.