by Melinda Minx
“Did you love her?” He asks me. “I need you to answer.”
I meet his eyes. Did Dmitri send him? If I tell him the truth, will it make Dmitri’s victory even more sweet?
No, I can tell from Aiden’s look that he’s not here representing Dmitri. He’s here as himself.
“I love her,” I say.
“I was with her last night,” Aiden says.
I lunge toward him, but he quickly adds, “Not like that, Eric. Dmitri sent me to keep tabs, to get her drunk enough that Maya wouldn’t confess to her until tonight.”
I hold up my glass to him. “Well, your plan worked. Cheers.”
“You know what he told me to do now?” I ask.
“I take it you’re at least not supposed to be here talking to me.”
Aiden shakes his head. “He told me to go be Ruth’s rebound. To get with her and hurt you more.”
I laugh. “So it’s not just about the accounts for him, is it? He just wants to see me suffer?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Aiden says. “I don’t have it in me to be so cut-throat.”
“You also don’t have enough money to retire yet,” I say. “And get your farm.”
Aiden grins. “Which is why I want to work for you. But first we’ve got to win Ruth back.”
“Jesus, farm boy,” I say, shaking my head and taking a drink. “You really are naive. She can’t be won back—I don’t even deserve her—and why work for me? I’m all but ruined.”
“My reputation isn’t tarnished,” Aiden says. “I can recover a lot of your accounts, steal them from Dmitri before he steals them from you.”
“Alright,” I say. “If I actually cared about the money or the accounts, I’d say it’s a brilliant move, but I only care about the one thing I can’t have.”
“Listen to yourself,” Aiden says. “You said you love her, and you’re going to give up on her so easily?”
“How could she be with me after hearing the truth? What kind of monster makes a bet like that?”
“Everyone fucks up from time to time,” Aiden says. “This was a bigger fuck-up than most, I’ll give you that. I figure Dmitri blackmailed pretty hard though, so it’s not like you could have just told the truth?”
My jaw tightens.
“Sure, it would have been better than what happened here,” Aiden says. “But you were ultimately trying to protect Ruth, weren’t you? At least for most of the time you were with her.”
I start to feel a glimmer of hope, which is probably the worst thing I could feel right now. I wave my hand at him as if to dismiss him. “Shows how good my protection is. I ruined her.”
“What if she loves you?” Aiden asks.
I let out a dry laugh. “Then I’ve hurt her even more.”
“Love doesn’t just go away,” Aiden says. “Even if you fuck up... bad.”
It sounds almost too manipulative to consider. If Ruth has feelings for me still, then I could get her to forgive me—against her better judgement.
But dammit, it wouldn’t be bad judgement on her part. I made my mistake already, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t let her down again. I have to show her though, words aren’t enough.
“You want to sell how much?” Ben, my broker, asks.
“All of it.”
“How much of the money do you need... we can—”
“That’s just it,” I say. “I don’t need any of it. It got in my way. It made me choose wrong.”
“So you’re going to…”
“Give most of it away,” I say, grinning.
I’ll keep enough to provide for Ruth and any future children. I laugh thinking about children. It’s not like Ruth is even speaking to me right now, so we’re pretty far away from that. Still, I’ll keep enough to be well off, but I’ll donate enough that it’s not weighing me down anymore.
“I’m sending you a list of charities,” I say. “Distribute evenly between them once you’ve liquidated.”
“What about your stake in the cooperative?” Ben asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “Just... don’t let Dmitri buy it up.”
“If you leave and liquidate that, he’ll be free to buy it up. You’d have to transfer it to someone.”
“I’ll transfer it to Aiden then.”
“Who?” Ben asks, sounding exasperated. “Eric, you sure you don’t want to sleep on this?”
“Get it done,” I say, “I’ll give you Aiden’s number. Make it happen.”
I hang up the phone, and I sigh relief. It’s not all gone yet, but enough weight has been lifted from me that I can talk to Ruth.
30
Ruth
I feel a bit weird agreeing to have lunch with Aiden. It’s not like I owe a fucking thing to Eric, but I still have feelings—very strong feelings—for him, and unfortunately I cannot have those feelings surgically removed.
Aiden has promised me that it’s not a date, but he also promised me a surprise, so I really don’t know what to think.
“I don’t really like surprises,” I tell him as we turn the corner.
I wait for him to tell me that I will like this one, but he avoids looking at me.
“I got Dmitri to fire me,” Aiden says. “In case you’re worried about that.”
I smile. “Look, I know you’re not like him, or like Eric. You shouldn’t be in that game at all.”
“That’s why I’m getting out,” Aiden says. “As soon as possible.”
“I’d rather be covered in bike grease all day than have the kind of dirt that Dmitri and Eric have on them. That stuff doesn’t wash off.”
“You’re being a bit…”
“Unfair?” I ask, stopping in front of him and turning to face him. “You know what he did to me.”
“I know,” Aiden says. “But Eric isn’t like Dmitri. You can’t compare the two—”
“Watch me compare them,” I hiss. “Let’s go. I don’t want to talk about Eric, if you don’t mind.”
He looks worriedly at me, but nods and continues forward.
We reach the restaurant—some Italian place—and go inside.
I notice immediately that there are no customers, which is odd for a place right off Central Park during lunch time.
“Don’t get mad,” Aiden says.
I look around, wondering what I’m supposed to get mad at, and then I see him.
Eric.
He’s tall as ever, and dressed in a suit. He looks at me with an anguished expression, opens his mouth as if to speak, and then closes it.
“I’m mad,” I say, my voice cold as ice. “That you would trick me into meeting him. But I’m more mad that he’d dare to bring me here.”
“Ruth,” Eric says, finally.
“Oh? So you’re speaking now? It better not be to me. I told you I never wanted to see you again.”
From the corner of my eye, I half-notice Aiden tiptoeing backward out of the restaurant.
“Let me tell you my side of what happened,” Eric says. “It won’t excuse anything I did, but I want you to at least hear it.”
I cross my arms and listen. Not for his benefit, but for mine. I want to know just how stupid and naive and gullible I was—so that it never happens to me again.
“Will you sit down?” He says, sliding out a chair.
“I’ll stand,” I say icily. “Talk.”
“Again,” Eric says, “I’m not trying to absolve myself of wrongdoing, but I need you to know what was going through my head. Dmitri and I made the bet in the car, before I even walked into the shop.”
“And your penis and balls sap too much blood out of your brain, making you incapable of calling off a childish bet? Once your brain realizes how stupid it is?”
He listens to me, takes a deep breath, and continues. “Once I saw you, I... it wasn’t love at first sight. Nothing like that. I was interested though. I half-hoped Dmitri would choose you for the bet, just so I’d have an excuse to go for it—”
“A cocky asshole
like you wouldn't have had the balls to ask me out, really?”
He frowns. “I just wouldn’t have. You were too far outside my comfort zone. The other half of me though... I prayed he wouldn’t choose you. After you helped me, I didn’t want to have to make you the subject of the bet. I already regretted making the bet, but I didn’t back out.”
I feel my tears welling up, and I bite my lip to stifle them.
“It was the other half of me, the half that just wanted to ask you out. The bet gave me a reason to, and I did. After that first date, I was thrilled to have found you, but the bet loomed on the edge of my awareness. I tried to pretend it wouldn’t matter. That we’d win the contest and you’d never know. Of course, it didn’t feel good knowing that there would always be that lie between us. Still, it gave me a mental device to keep dating you and tell myself that I wouldn’t hurt you.”
He’s really this fucking full of himself? How could he think I wouldn’t ever find out?
“I realized,” he says, “that if I told you the truth too early, you’d just be done with me. You’d write me off as what you thought I was all along: the asshole playboy.”
“Yep,” I say, glaring at him.
“So I had to go longer,” he says, “It was the only thing that made sense. I had to show you what we could have, I had to get close enough that when I finally told you, you’d realize there was more to me than what you initially thought.”
He shakes his head. “Of course, by the time we were that close, I realized it was way too late to tell you the truth. Part of it was just cowardice on my part, but I also worried what Dmitri would do if I backed out—”
“So it was his fault,” I say. “He forced you to do the stupid bet?”
“No,” Eric says. “It was all my fault. I knew that Dmitri could decimate my business and my fortune with the bet as leverage. I knew you’d get hurt in the fallout, but ultimately I wanted to have it all. I wanted to keep you, and my fortune, and my status—and I still wanted to win the stupid fucking contest.”
“You’re talking in past tense,” I say, “As if you still don’t want that. Why are you here telling me this sob story if you don’t want me back? You don’t want to give up anything, not really. You just want to make it sound like—”
“I gave it all up,” he says. “I liquidated ninety-nine percent of my fortune. It’s being transferred to charities as we speak. Trying to cling on to everything was what made me lose you. I should have only been holding tight to you.”
“You got rid of…” I say, not quite believing it. “Everything?”
“I have enough left to support us, if that’s what you’re worried about. I haven’t sold the penthouse yet either, but Ruth, you’re all that matters now. Say the word, and I’ll get rid of even the little I’ve got left.”
I shake my head in disbelief. If he hadn’t gone to such an extreme, I’d almost suspect he was playing some angle. But there’s no angle to be had here, if he got rid of everything he’d worked for, there’s nothing he could be trying for at this point... beyond winning me back. He hasn’t shown me his hand exactly, he’s discarded the rest of his hand, and he’s just holding one single card.
“I’m going to go,” I say.
“Ruth…” he says, reaching for my hand.
I step back from his grasp. “Remember last time, I said I never want to see you again. I’m not saying that this time, but I need some time to think.”
He nods. I can tell he wants to grab hold of me, and I almost want to let him, but I have to regroup and compose myself first.
I cry when I finally get outside, and I don’t look back at all, not until I’m in the subway and waiting for my train.
31
Eric
I could have asked Lana to clear my office out for me, but I didn’t want Dmitri to think I was afraid of him.
He’s in there on a conference call when I arrive. I see him through the glass walls of the conference room.
Everyone looks at me nervously, but Aiden gives me a knowing smirk.
I see Dmitri, his hands waving up and down as he speaks fast. He throws a palm up at Craig and Dylan, and he storms out of the conference room, right toward me.
He looks at me, then at Aiden. “Why the fuck are all the accounts who jumped off Eric refusing to talk to me?”
Aiden smirks, and I shrug.
“Aiden,” Dmitri says, locking eyes with him. “Did you take care of that thing I asked you to?”
“You mean did I go after Ruth to hurt Eric?” Aiden asks.
The office is getting quiet now, and everyone is craning their necks to listen in on the drama.
Dmitri’s face twitches as he draws the lines and connects all the dots. He realizes Aiden is betraying him on some level, but he’s not quite sure how it all went down.
“You useless, spineless fuck,” Dmitri spits at Aiden. “You’ll die poor.”
“It’s up to him,” I say. “I’ve transferred my stake in the cooperative to him. He’s taking over all my old accounts. Even if he retires in a year, I doubt he’ll die poor.”
Dmitri shakes his head in disbelief. “You what?”
“I’m out,” I say. “Money corrupts.”
I turn my back and walk away. Some part of me wants to see Dmitri go down in flames. But blaming him is looking at things all wrong. I have to own up to my own responsibility in all of this. Dmitri was a catalyst, but I was the one who hurt Ruth. Not him.
My move with Aiden will at least slow Dmitri down, and quitting after doing it will annoy the hell out of him. He’ll recover though, and he’ll trample hundreds of other people to claw his way back up. It’s what he does, and fighting against that—or clawing my own way back up—has lost all appeal to me.
I just need to get Ruth back. She’s what matters. The only thing that matters.
As I ride down in the elevator, I get an idea. God, it’s a stupid idea, but sometimes the stupidest ideas are the ones that end up working.
I stop at an art supply store on the way home.
“Can I help you?” The woman asks, raising her eyebrow at me. I can tell she recognizes me, but can’t quite place me as “asshole billionaire who broke poor girl’s heart.”
“Does this paint work on human skin?” I ask.
She looks at me like I’m some kind of crazy serial killer. Probably saying “human skin” wasn’t the best way to phrase it.
“Like, bodypainting, I mean,” I say, giving my best not-an-axe-murderer smile.
“Ah,” she says, and takes it out of my hand. “No, it will clog your pores up and do a lot of other nasty stuff. You want this.”
She hands me another tube. “You just want black?”
“It’s nothing too complicated,” I say. “I just want it to be visible. Some writing.”
“Is this for you?” She asks. “You painting yourself?”
I nod.
“You’re pretty tan,” she says. “I’d go for this bright blue.”
“Sure,” I say. “Give me both.”
I take the paint home, along with a thick brush.
I tear off my clothes and realize that my chest hair is a bit too much, so I shave it all off. I pop open the paint and start writing on my chest in huge letters.
Then I realize I can’t reach my back, so I barge into my chef’s quarters, shirtless and with wet paint dripping off my chest.
Jacob, my chef, is watching TV while he dices some onions, he looks up at me with a surprised expression. “Eric?”
“Can you paint my back?” I ask.
“I’m sorry,” He says.
“My back,” I say, turning around.
“I was just reading your chest,” Jacob says. “Why are you painting that you’re sorry all over your body?”
“To win a girl back,” I say, grinning.
Jacob winces, and I can tell he’s seen the news.
“You think it will work?” I ask.
I tell him the full plan, and he shrugs. �
�What do you want your back to say?”
“I love you,” I say.
32
Ruth
“Ruth,” Tracy says, knocking on my door.
“I’m sad and depressed,” I moan through the door. “I don’t want to do whatever it is.”
“Just come look at something real quick,” she says.
I groan and peel myself off the bed. It’s 1:00 p.m. and I’m still wearing my pajamas. My brain is totally exhausted, and my body along with it. Ever since seeing Eric, I’ve been torn apart by indecision. I want to believe him so badly. My gut tells me to trust him, but my brain is warning me to be careful. It’s reminding me of what he did, and that logically I should under no circumstances forgive him.
It’s almost like when you get a cold. The virus invades your body, and all of those classic cold symptoms that we know and love: fever, cough, runny nose, lethargy... those are all caused by the body trying to fight off the infection, not by the virus itself. My sad state right now is caused by my brain and body being locked in a deadlock, neither able to gain an edge and help me make a decision about Eric.
I open the door and look up at Tracy through what feel like bloodshot eyes.
“You look like shit,” Tracy says, confirming my suspicion.
“What do you want me to see?” She asks.
Dylan is laughing at the TV, and I move toward the couch and crane my neck to see. The first thing I see is some kind of helicopter footage of a man on a bike, and he’s being trailed by three police cars with sirens all lit up.
The footage cuts to the front view, and I realize it’s Eric. Then I realize he’s totally, fully naked. The TV feed has his dick all blurred out.
Written across his chest in bright blue letters, it reads: “I’M SORRY.”
“Is that for you?” Dylan asks me.
“Yes,” Tracy says, squealing, “He’s going to get arrested for streaking, all for Ruth!”
The cops are right on his tail—or his naked ass—and Eric keeps weaving in between cars in front of him to put distance between himself and the police.