by Emily Bishop
“It’s by far the worst part! She can slander my name as much as she likes. Anyone can think anything they want about me. I know what I am. I can defend myself. But my dad? He’s not here. She’s made his name look terrible. All over the country.” She plunges her head into her hands and wild dark curls stick out between her fingers. “And you know how much some Americans go for this English royal stuff. Maybe it’ll all come out over here, too.”
“I’m not a royal,” I say stiffly. The idea is just horrific. Duke is bad enough.
She looks up and stares at me with wet eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” she croaks. “I just can’t.”
“It’s all right,” I say softly. I’m ready to take her in my arms and reassure her.
“No, it’s not all right!” She leaps up from the chair and walks to the little window that looks over the city. “I can’t go back to England.”
“But—”
“I can’t, Gray. I had been thinking of not going back, anyway. What is it going to look like if I abandon all these people in the hospital? They’ll think I’m running away. We’re lucky to have escaped with not much press coverage of the accident. If I jet off to England, everyone’s going to think I don’t give a damn.”
The distress in her voice pulls me to her feet.
“I’ll be an incompetent loser one side of the pond,” she continues, “and a heartless bitch on the other. And my father’s business will be a joke on two continents. Let’s face it, Gray. This isn’t working. This just isn’t working.”
I go over to her and give a light touch on her arm. “We can make it work.”
“No, we can’t.” She pulls away. “Not even Isabella Price’s Ice Queen determination and Grayson Fairfax’s charm can pull us out of this.”
I laugh, but she doesn’t. I take her into my arms, and she doesn’t pull away. For this one blissful moment, she rests her head on my chest. She’s sinking into my comfort, depending on my support. But then when she pulls back and rests her hands on my shoulders, I know it’s not good news. “This is all too much, Gray.” Her voice is soft and sad, but it’s the undertone of absolute determination that unnerves me. “This arrangement. The fake part. The… somewhat real part. The whole thing. Maybe all these things going wrong are signs. One of my stores burning. Now Lilly’s story. Signs we shouldn’t be doing this at all.”
“They’re not signs,” I say, cupping her delicate jaw with my strong hand. “They’re obstacles.” I feel a power in my chest. A fierce conviction in what I’m saying. This must be what truth feels like. “They’re not signs to turn back. They’re signs to keep going.”
“No.” She leaves her face in my hand but her eyes flicker toward the ground. “It’s like… it might sound dumb, but I think my father’s trying to give me a message somehow with this Lilly thing. Maybe that the fake marriage isn’t honorable. That I should try to get the money through other channels.”
“But the bank wouldn’t hear you out,” I say, feeling desperate. The grip of my other hand tightens around her waist.
“No, but angel investors will. It was you who gave me that idea in the first place. I was so focused on banks I’d forgotten that side of things.”
She has this all planned out. A huge plan, all without me. She doesn’t need me anymore.
“Thank you for everything, Gray,” she says. “I’ve learned a lot about you. You’re a great guy. You’ll find another girl to impress Mr. Fink. He probably won’t like me anyway after this article fiasco. You’d probably do better with someone else.”
“I wouldn’t,” I say firmly. “I want you to come back to England with me and continue.”
She places her hand on mine and removes it from her waist. She shakes her head slowly. “This isn’t right. You know it. I know it. It feels too uncomfortable to be right.”
“No.” I can’t believe this is happening. But I try not to sound too desperate. “It feels uncomfortable because it’s new and strange. For us both. That’s normal. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. That doesn’t mean we can’t do it. For the first time, I’m in the right place at the right time.”
Isabella’s eyes well up. “But I’m not.” She shakes her head over and over, and plays with her hands, pushing her fingers of one hand into her other palm. “How do we work that one out?”
I put my hands on her shoulder. “We keep trying.”
“No.” Her voice is unexpectedly strong in the small apartment. “We’re making too many mistakes. We’re bumbling through this, like Lilly’s article said. I’m already dealing with the debt situation, and I just about know what I’m doing with that. I can do it through traditional business channels. Plenty of people before me have, plenty will do it after. This is too strange. Too unchartered. There’s no guide for this.”
I think of the Kindle book she had about wrapping me around her little finger and can’t help but laughing. “A guide for snagging an inheritance? Or a guide for being far too fond of a loveable rogue?”
She manages a smile, in spite of herself. “You like that phrase, don’t you? Well, for both. And there’s no guide for dodging bitter aristocratic ex-girlfriends, either.”
It feels like a lost cause. I sit on the couch and see if I can sink into accepting this. But I can’t. Not even for a second. In a moment, I’m back on my feet. “There’s no guide for getting over your one chance at true love, either.”
She smiles wryly. “Oh, that one’s easy. Just move on in life and pretend it never happened. Maybe cry from time to time. The rest of the time, push those feelings down and soldier on. What else can you do?”
“But why? Why should we do that to ourselves? Just because of a couple of obstacles? I don’t give up easily. I know you don’t either. So why do you want to quit now?”
She can’t look at me again. She stares out at the Seattle cityscape. “Yeah, I like to win every race I put myself in,” she says quietly. “But you have to pick the races worth running.”
So, I’m not worth it, huh? “Bullshit!”
She whirls around, fire in her eyes. “It is not bullshit!”
“This is where life’s brought us,” I say firmly. “We should see it through to the end. We have to see it through to the end.”
She plants her hands on her hips. “Oh, really? Who says so?”
“I do.”
“Funny, I don’t remember handing unilateral control of my life over to you. When did I sign that paperwork?”
Chapter 26
Isabella
DAYS 17/18
This is all too much. I want Gray to go away. In fact, I want him to disappear. Poof, into thin air, like he never even existed. Then there won’t be any of the memories of this situation. No memories of lying in his arms and feeling the whole world might just be all right someday. No memories of holding his hand as we strolled in that quaint English town, feeling like a real couple. No memories of walking in the park and hearing him talk about the damage his father had done to his little heart all those years ago. No memories of watching him morph and change in front of my eyes from an irresponsible playboy, full of shit and arrogance, into a man who wants to do life properly.
“You should just go,” I say. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Oh, all right,” he says, ramping up his sarcasm. He sprawls in the chair even more comfortably, as if he’s never going to leave. “We made our agreement and went through endless shit together, and now you can just cut it off without me having any kind of say so. Sure, that’s fair.”
“I’m sorry!” I say. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” I feel like I’ve gone far too far down some dark mystery corridor, and now I want to run all the way back up it. If only I could reverse time to that fateful meeting in the bank. When he told me not to go to the meeting with the manager and to come with him instead. Why didn’t I just say no? Why did I let the Gray Fairfax charm machine draw me into its machinery?
“You’re the only person who has pain or feelings, c
learly. This isn’t a picnic for me either.”
I know that. Of course, I know that. If anything, that makes it worse. If you were a strong and competent, put-together and “completed” person, I’d feel safer. As it is, you’re a loose cannon. And I have no mental space to deal with that, even if I wanted to. I just can’t. I want to say all that. But all that comes out of my mouth is, “More like a meal in hell.” In a macabre turn of my sense of humor, I add, “We even have a fire to complete the hellish atmosphere.”
He chuckles. “See? We can do this. Let’s stop taking it all so seriously.”
That flips a switch in me. He’s still the irresponsible young boy he’s always been. “You know, Gray, adults have to take life seriously.”
He gets up. “Every time I think I see a new side of you, you prove me wrong. You’re still the Ice Queen of our school days. Nothing could ever melt you, could it?”
Right now, I agree with him. “No. Nothing could.”
“Well, I’m wasting my time, then.” He brushes down his suit like he’s brushing all traces of me away. “Forget you. Forget my father’s money. Forget all of it. I was right all along. I’ll make it on my own.”
“And just how are you going to do that with no money?”
His voice explodes out of him. “Since you’re going back on the deal, it’s none of your damn business! Worry about your precious father’s deadweight business instead.” Then he picks up his bag, leaves and slams the door behind him.
Part of me wants to collapse on the couch and cry for days. I want to sob into tubs and tubs of ice cream. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to shed tears for that irresponsible playboy. No way. I tug the engagement ring off my finger and toss it across the room. It bounces off the door and I can’t see where it lands.
I’m going to do something I never thought I’d do—take his advice. I’m going to go into the office first thing tomorrow as if nothing has happened and talk to Natalie. Not about Gray and this whole fiasco. But about how we can get in touch with angel investors. Maybe that’s what this all was, after all. A detour away from the banks, a nudge in the direction of angel investors. It was a bit of a heartbreaking detour, I can’t lie, but if I can restore my father’s business back to its former glory, it will be worth it. More than worth it.
I run myself a hot bath to soak all the Gray off me. While the faucets run, I sit on the toilet lid, and a bright new idea pops into my head—I can hire a consultant. An expert in helping businesses get back on their feet. Sure, they’ll be super expensive. But I’ll hire them for a set time, a couple of days. Just to draw me up a strategy.
Soon I’m sinking into the tub. The hot water against my skin. The frothing bubbles on top. It’s like bliss. I look down at my naked body and try to think of business. But my mind keeps tracking back to Gray. Gray taking my breast into his mouth and sucking my nipple. Playing with the other one at the same time. Gray sliding up inside me, filling me with his big dick.
Why is my body doing this?
Why is my mind doing this?
Why is my heart doing this?
Why can’t they all just fall in line and do what I want them to do? Shut down. Shut down so they don’t crave Gray. So they don’t want him around. So I’m not imagining him working his magic on my pussy. So I’m not wishing for him to come back through my front door right now and tell me everything’s going to work out. Everything in me wants to believe him—that these are just obstacles, and we can get through anything together. But life isn’t a fairytale. I know that by now.
I reach down to rub my clit with one last memory of Gray in my head. But I can’t do it. It doesn’t feel right. I let my hand go limp and cup my pussy and feel some kind of movement in my heart. A sinking feeling. For fuck’s sake. How am I ever going to forget him?
***
Today is going to be much easier. Today I’ve got this on lock.
“Inspiration for the day,” Natalie reads. She always likes to share these with me in the mornings. Sometimes I think they’re fluffy nonsense—and I say so, much to her amusement—but sometimes they’re really profound. The ache in my chest hopes for a profound one today. “Sometimes we limit our own happiness by making our lives small and staying in our comfort zones. Do something every day that scares you. Be brave enough to follow your heart, and see where it takes you. Your heart holds all the knowledge you need to live a fulfilled life.”
“Fluff,” I say scornfully, as I set up my laptop.
Natalie looks up with a glint in her eye and a cheeky smile. “Sounds like someone isn’t following their heart.”
“What does that even mean?” I say. I feel too uncomfortable to sit down so mess around with the coffee machine instead. “Follow your heart. Your heart doesn’t exactly take off in some random direction, does it? Oh, look, there’s my heart going to Chicago on a train. I’d better hurry up and follow it.”
Natalie laughs. “You are hilariously cynical. No, your heart doesn’t take off and go places. Although it might be a lot easier if it did. But it gives you, kind of, instructions. You know, like, you’re watching a tourism commercial for Chicago. And your heart whispers, ‘Yo, Iz! That’s where we need to be right now. Hurry up and buy a darn ticket.’”
“Are you telling me my heart talks now?” I decide to fix myself a complicated coffee and line up an assortment of flavor syrups and powder dustings for when the machine heats up.
“Of course! I listen to mine all the time. That’s how I get my info on what to do next.”
“That sounds crazy.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how I applied for this job in the first place.” She grins. “So, you have my crazy ass to thank for that.”
I turn and push my lips together for a moment. I can’t help but laugh a little as I talk, seeing her expression. “So, you’re telling me your heart got you this job? As opposed to, I don’t know, applying, your excellent resume, and me being the best interviewer that ever walked the planet?”
Natalie preens. “Well, you do have good taste. But no, you can’t take all the credit. Neither can all the resume stuff. I didn’t actually like the sound of the job that much when I saw it online. But my heart just told me, ‘That one! That one! That one!’ And not matter how much I tried to scroll past and ignore it, I kept coming back to it. Like it even overrode what I thought I wanted, which was to switch careers and get out of retail altogether. But I’m so glad I didn’t.” She shrugs. “Sometimes I guess we don’t know what we really want.”
“I know what I really want.”
“And what’s that?”
“Caramel syrup and chocolate and cinnamon dusted coffee. Right now.”
She gives a huge dramatic sigh. “Subject changer. That sounds good though, I’ll have one.”
“All right.” I get another cup out of the cupboard and begin to prepare them. “In all seriousness, I do know what I want—to get this business back in the black.”
“Of course. You said you had something to tell me about that?”
“Yes.” I’m glad I can occupy myself with the coffee making and not have to look at her in the eye. “The thing in England fell through. We’re going to have to look for an angel investor. I’m going to hire a consultant.”
“Oh.” Natalie. “You don’t sound that upset about it.”
“It’s kind of a relief, honestly. The… demands they had in return for the money were pretty high. I’m confident we’ll get a new investor. A better one.”
“Well, all right,” Natalie says. “I trust you. And I’m still doing the cost cutting. Managing to squeeze pennies out here and there on the overheads. I’ve gotten better deals on some of the stock, too.”
I turn and give her a smile. I was playing much more confident than I really feel. Knowing she’s got that side handled puts me at ease. “Thank you for all of that, Natalie. Seriously. It’s making a huge difference.”
“You’re welcome,” she says with a smile. Then, the question I’ve been hopin
g she wouldn’t ask. “What happened with that guy, by the way?
“Oh, nothing,” I say nonchalantly. “It fizzled out.”
“Good. You made him sound like he was really controlling. I think you’re probably better off without him.”
I open my mouth to defend him then shut it again. He wasn’t controlling, but there’s no way I’m going to defend Grayson Fairfax II. For anything.
Chapter 27
Grayson
DAY 21
I’ve been living in a parallel universe. Before I stormed out, I felt strong. I almost felt like the old Gray, the Gray who wasn’t bothered by anyone or anything. The Gray who could do it all on his own, bankrolled by Eddie.
But nothing feels easy anymore. When I stepped out into the dark street, out of Isabella’s apartment building, everything assaulted me. The wind was too strong. The evening was mild, and I began sweating in my jacket. Then when I took it off, I was cold. Picking up the phone to get Eddie to transfer money into my account didn’t feel the same. Before I was cheeky, funny, confident. Yeah, I knew I was a sponge. But I was a charming sponge. This time, I felt like a loser. There was no other word for it.
When I walked into the nice hotel, I felt like a fraud. I couldn’t even look the receptionist in the eye. I kept fiddling with the zipper on my overnight bag. I looked at all the other people in the lobby. The suited men and women. The casually dressed men and women drinking at the hotel bar. I wondered if they worked hard for their money. Or if they were money-sucking leeches like me.
In the privacy of the hotel room, it got worse. I tried to do my standard “forgetting” routine, which is eating and watching action movies on TV. I ate two whole pizzas and watched three movies of car chases and gun fights and things exploding. But by the time it was all done, I felt worse. The worthlessness of my life was beginning to suffocate me.
I tried to wash it off me in the shower, but I soon realized it was inside me. Like a deathly parasite I couldn’t flush, even with all the water in the world. When I was done, I stepped out and stared at my fuzzy reflection in the condensation-covered mirror. My eyes were like lights, reflecting back at me. I hated it. Hated myself. In the old days, I would have marveled at my muscles. Proudly studied the handsome face that so many women fell for. Gazed into my dark eyes. Maybe even practiced some pick-up lines. But now all I could do was stare, looking at this shell. This pathetic shell.