Bought: A Bad Boy Romance

by Molly Thorne

  “Why are you doing this?” I finally ask, and I feel as if I’m about to cry. “Do you always do this?”

  He looks a bit offended. “What? Of course not.”

  “Not even with Vanina?”

  He buffs, annoyed. “That woman traumatized you,” he says. “She doesn’t matter. She never mattered at all.”

  For some reason, I believe him. “Thank you, then.”

  “Will I ever see it on you?” he smiles. I felt like I’m melting inside, and I hate myself a bit more.

  “Please,” I whisper, too softly for my taste. This is wrong, I think, as my brain tries to hate him again. But in this instant, I just can’t. He takes the locket from my open hand and puts the delicate chain around my neck. The gentle touch of his fingers on my skin sends quivers down my spine and all around. I feel my nipples hardening under the delicate texture of my dress as his chest grazes mine in a most stealthy way. The tiny weight of the locket feels like an anchor that sets me on the ground, on this moment, right here and now, with him.

  “That’s it,” Theo says, stepping backwards to contemplate it. “It looks fantastic on you.”

  “So,” I ask again, “will you tell me why are you doing this?”

  “Well, you’re here,” he says.

  What does that even mean?

  “I know I’m here. You brought me here. I’ve yet to discover why.”

  “I’m so, so happy that you’re here,” he says, so out of character that I’m afraid he’s going to do something crazy, like killing himself.

  “Why am I here, Theo?” I can’t wait to know the truth. “Are you having any meetings? Do you want me to go over a proposal or...”

  He looks down, and as his irises are hidden by his brow, it seems like the whole scene gets a bit darker. The air is chilly. Maybe it’s already starting to rain.

  “My father died,” Theo says.

  “What?”

  “My father died yesterday. He was living here in London. I’ve just come from his wake and burial.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. So this trip... there was no business to be done here. And yet... why has he brought me along with him? I look at the locket, its beautiful lines, the way it shines under the severe light of the cloaked sky.

  He just wanted me to be with him.

  There is my answer, clear as day. I needed to know if I was different from Vanina and the others that came before. Well, they’re not here now, and I am.

  Theo Lambert has played with toys for a long time. But I am no toy.

  I clutch the locked with my hand and press it against my chest. My other hand reaches Theo’s face and caresses it gently. It’s wet to the touch: my bad boy is crying. I soon realize I’m crying too.

  It’s like our tears are washing away all my anger and hatred. I no longer despise Theo Lambert. If anything, I feel bad for him. He’s had to come a long, twisted way to let himself go. Even now, he’s looking down, trying to hide himself from view.

  I hug him. A few moments ago, the contact between our bodies was pushing me over the edge, awakening my urges and desires. Now, that’s over. There’s no sexual charge in this hug, only feelings.

  This moment is so sad, but I wish it would never end. Am I a monster? If so, we’re made for each other.

  * * *

  “My father was never a happy man, which only goes to show that the old adage is true”, Theo says, as the boat slides across the Thames. Night has fallen again and the city is illuminated like a Christmas tree on both sides of the river. It all gets a bit dark when we pass below the Tower Bridge, and bright again when we come up the other side. “Money can’t buy happiness. Sometimes it buys you disgrace.”

  “How?” I ask, pressing my body against his, as a light rain falls over us. We’re both wearing totally inappropriate coats, and we feel chilly. We could go inside, where most people are gathered taking pictures and drinking tea or beer, but we like it here on the deck. Theo says that being outside in the rain makes him feel like a peasant. He looks more like a wet dog, to be fair.

  “He married a heartless woman (my mother) and then another,” Theo says. “He always felt attracted to this air of... sophistication, I guess? of European women. It was a French girl first, then an English wench.”

  “A wench?” I laugh, giving him a kiss on the cheek. His skin is freezing.

  “This wench, for that’s how they call them in this fairy land,” Theo continues, “had something going for her: she wasn’t after his money. In fact, she had much more money than him. Had he been any poorer, people would have accused him of being after her fortune. Sadly, she was also a cold bitch, and she soon drained him out of all his... I call it childish joy. This thing he had that redeemed him and made people love him even when he was just a rich bastard, like me.”

  I want to protest, but I can’t, really. Theo Lambert is a rich bastard.

  “So,” he continues, “he turned into a cynical man. I was a teenager when this change happened. I was living with him at the time, since my mother, well, didn’t care a lot about children. So I saw his transformation. And it must be around that time that I swore myself that it wouldn’t happen to me. I’d never fall victim to a heartless bitch. I would become a heartless bitch myself.”

  “Oh, you’re incredibly self-aware,” I tease him. I´m trying to discern whether he’s joking or telling the truth or both. Probably both. He’s protecting himself, again, by telling the truth as if it was something to laugh at. “But if you become a heartless bitch, are you not turning more or less into your father anyway?”

  “Oh, no, no. He lost his soul completely. Deep inside, I still keep my heart of gold. You know that, right? Like in the movies. Also, even if I married a French girl, I would never name my son Theodore. There are limits.”

  It’s been less than a day since his father died, and he’s being ironic and cracking silly jokes. That’s good, I guess. I like to think it’s me who’s bringing a smile to his face.

  “So, now we finally know the story. The reason that you are such a fucking asshole. Your origin story as a supervilliain.”

  “Indeed,” he says, and he kisses me. His lips and nose are terrible cold and he’s dripping rainwater all over me. The water trickles down my neck, dampening my blouse and giving me chills.

  “Look at me,” I tell him when the kiss is over.

  He obeys. His blue eyes are inflamed by passion now. This is the moment. This is when the truth comes out. Even though I didn’t know it, I realize now that I’ve been waiting to say this for a very long time. I feel he’s been feeling the same thing, if his eyes don’t lie.

  “I love you”, I say.

  “You’re quite the thing,” he replies.

  * * *

  The trip back to the States is much more placid than the surprise trip to England. I’m resting on my seat, with my head resting over Theo’s chest, and I’m inexorably falling asleep. I feel so relaxed that I’ve forgotten all my problems for a while. Theo hasn’t been able to save Everwood Press, but he’s told me that he’s trying to help me, and I believe him.

  God, I hope he doesn’t turn into a good boy. I’d hate that.

  As I sprawl on the seat, my hand finds the chain around my neck and goes over it until it finds the locket. It’s a very light thing, almost ethereal. I wonder what’s inside.

  I notice that Theo is looking at it. He hasn’t given me the key that fits in the tiny hole; for that matter, he hasn’t mentioned anything about it since he gave it to me. So I must ask.

  “Where’s the key?”

  “I lost it.”

  “You lost it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” he smiles.

  “Theo, you lost the key for the locket you were giving me as a gift? The one that must have cost you thousands of dollars?”

  “Sadly, yes. It’s lost. I’m sorry.”

  “I know you’re lying, Theo.”

  “It’s
true. I’m easily distracted.”

  I give up.

  “Well, what’s inside?”

  “You’ll know. One of these days.”

  Will the games never end? You never know with Theo Lambert. For now, I am content. I let my head rest on him again and drift off into sleep.

  I dream of rain and blue eyes.

  18. THE PILL

  They call it the suicide pill.

  When a company is about to be bought in a hostile takeover, and there’s no turning back, sometimes the owners still refuse to allow the inevitable. They’d rather see it sink than change hands. So they poison themselves. Well, not literally. They poison the company, making it kill itself. They take lots and lots of debt, or sell the best assets on the cheap and use the money to buy other, worthless assets. They destroy the intangible property of the company, its goodwill, by putting it in a bad light before the public. Or they use other means to make its value drop below the point of no return, turning the company into an unsalvageable mess.

  It’s an irrational thing. But then again, actual suicide is an irrational thing, and people commit suicide every day.

  The suicide pill is a last option, a big fuck you to the prospective buyer. It avoids the takeover by destroying the value of the thing to be taken over. A Pyrrhic victory, in the best case. A failure, in the worst.

  When I meet dad again, he’s just killed his dream.

  * * *

  “It was inevitable,” he says. “There was no way out, so I got out anyway.”

  He shows me the papers. Debts taken for astronomical amounts. Invoices made for the sale of the publishing rights of the best books in the catalog at laughable prices. Invoices received for the silliest purchases.

  He’s administered the pill.

  Right when I was about to tell him I was saving the company.

  “What have you done, dad?” I ask incredulously, as the printed numbers dance before my eyes, getting progressively blurrier until I realize I’m starting to cry. “What will you do now?”

  “I guess I’ll try to enjoy life for once,” he answers, letting his hand rest on my shoulder.

  “But this company is your life. I...”

  “You,” he said firmly, “are my life.”

  “Oh, dad.”

  Everything has been in vain. The innumerable instances of abuse by that arrogant motherfucker, both before and after falling in love with him. The sleepless nights trying to devise a way to save Everwood Press. The constant calls to board members. Callie’s advice. The hate in Vanina’s eyes. All for nothing.

  I hate my father for a second.

  Then I forgive him. And hug him as if it was the last time.

  19. THE DATE

  “Get ready for tonight.”

  I know what that means. I need to call the chauffeur and set aside a couple of hours to go shopping. I need to get a stunning dress, a pair of equally stunning shoes, and jewelry to match. We will go on a date, which means a fancy restaurant, one of those where you need to make a reservation several weeks in advance, and then, maybe, a surprise activity.

  I’m not complaining, but Theo’s been acting a bit weird lately. It’s been weeks since don’t go on a date, and by day, at work, he barely talks to me. Is he tired of me? Has he set his eyes on a new toy? Sometimes I think bad boys will always be bad, and his behavior these days is not encouraging. Am I not enough to keep him on the right track?

  I’ve been acting impatient too, it’s true –there haven’t been any news about dad’s company, and I fear the recovery won’t happen, which would mean our agreement is doomed. This is unsettling, not only because I’ve realized I love Theo and I’m perversely OK with having been bought by him, but more importantly because I’m starting to suspect that he’s lied to me and is just manipulating my feelings to keep me by his side. Maybe he never had the intention to let my father buy back Everwood Press. Maybe he’s just trying to keep me around for a while longer.

  These gloomy thoughts fill my mind as I prepare for tonight. I get on the limo and start shopping around. I take my time to choose every item, more than usual. I’m always unsatisfied with what I’ve chosen (who isn’t, after all?), but today it’s worse: I can barely find any joy in this shopping spree. I send a message to Callie to see if she’s free to join the fun, but she’s out on her own date with her own billionaire boyfriend. Oh well.

  After a couple of hours, I go back to the Joker with a nice red dress, a pair of expensive shoes, and a pair of silver earrings. I’ve also bought a choker that I won’t be wearing at dinner but is sure to fuel his darkest and wildest fantasies in the aftertime. But at dinner, I’ll be wearing the locket he gave me.

  When the night comes, I get a call from Theo.

  “Go,” he says. “The limo is waiting for you at the door.”

  “The limo...? Is... is this not a date?”

  “It is,” he replies. “He’s waiting for you at the bistro.”

  “I’m sorry. Who’s waiting for me?”

  He talks to me slowly and deliberately, as if I were failing to understand a very simple concept.

  “Your date. Your date is waiting for you at the bistro.”

  I freeze in place. For a minute, I’m at a loss of words. If he’s not my date, then who? And why would he set me up with someone else? This is completely ridiculous. Also, insulting.

  “Are you pimping me?”

  “Of course I’m not,” he says, his deep voice grazing my ear like his hand grazes my arm sometimes above the elbow, with puzzling gentleness. “I’m playing you as a card. Does that make you horny, or what?”

  * * *

  When I arrive at the bistro, my date is already there, just like Theo said. He’s sitting at the table, his hair impeccably combed, his shirt spotless, his smile wide and enthusiastic when he sees me walk in, escorted by the server. There’s no denying that Sandor Vandell knows how to make an impression.

  “Sandor,” I say, offering him my hand. He takes it gently in his hand and kisses it. I don’t say anything else because I don’t know whether to confess that I didn’t know who my date was or to feign that I had asked to meet him. I guess I will know in just a minute.

  “Lara,” he says. “Please.” He moves my chair so that I can sit in front of him. Then he sits down again. “You look wonderful.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I reply. “This is a nice place. Really nice.”

  “It is,” he concurs. “Are you hungry? We can order if you want, then we can talk.”

  I browse the menu trying to concentrate on all the fancy names for the dishes, but I’m really thinking about why I’m here, what Sandor wants, and why Theo set up this weird date. It’s true that I was eager to talk to Vandell, but here, now, in this way, it’s super awkward. I order a lasagna more or less randomly. Sandor orders some sorrentini and chooses the wine.

  “So, you want to talk about that one acquisition,” he says. “I want you to know that everything can be fixed.”

  Why is he making this offer so quickly? Now that I look at him with more attention, he looks a bit nervous. Well, more than a bit. I make a startling realization: he knows who I am. And if I must judge by his expression, he’s eager to make up for my loss.

  I shuffle several scenarios in my mind. Theo could have told him that I’m Lara Everwood and asked him to make the necessary amends to save my father’s publishing house. Or Sandor could have realized who I was when he saw me talking to Marcus at the coffee shop. If so, he must have been uncomfortable when he realized that I was now Theo’s right hand (or so he thinks). None of these scenarios explains why Theo wanted both of us to meet here and talk, instead of just making a decision and communicating it to Sandor, or just asking me what I wanted to do.

  “Everything?” I ask, hiding my cluelessness. “At this point? How would we do that?”

  He starts talking about timing, calls, procedures. He mentions his friend Ned, who knows everything about the business. He talks fast, too fast, and I notice h
e’s sweating a bit. Amazed, I watch as he tries to explain why Everwood Press has strategic value, even though the Lambert Group is not interested in the publishing business. He mentions buying and reselling assets, giving preferential options, and many other things that are too technical for me. When the waiter comes with my lasagna and his sorrentini, he’s still talking, and I’m letting him talk.

  “So,” I finally tell him, “you say you can fix it? But why? Did Theo told you to?”

  “Oh, Theo will be completely on board with this,” Sandor assures me, making ample gestures with his hands. “Don’t worry about it. He’s not that interested in Everwood after all. He...”

  “Is he not?”

  “Not personally,” Sandor explains, trying to sound cool, but his face is reddening now. “This was a strategic decision. He doesn’t always make those decisions. That’s what I’m here for. I evaluate the market and sometimes I advice him or buy...”

  “... without telling him?”

  Sandor stops dead and stares at me with his eyes wide open. His face is now turning pale at record speed.

  “Oh, no, no, I tell him about every operation, of course,” he protests.

  “But you don’t necessarily tell him what it means,” I say calmly. “You don’t tell him, for example, that Everwood is a publishing house, and has less than zero value for his business. You don’t tell him that you could get a piece of land in the same area in some other way. In fact, there’s a thousand ways to make a valuable operation, but you don’t tell him that. You just ask him to sign some papers.”

  “I— I will fix it, Lara, I promise. Anything to make you smile,” he says, leaning forward and giving me an ample smile himself, making wide gestures, and generally overacting. He seems to have forgotten his food. Also, is he hitting on me now? His hand is suddenly touching mine, and his blue eyes are fixated on my eyes.

  I take a sip of wine as understanding explodes inside my brain like a neutron bomb. My skin flushes as the enormity of what I’ve just heard takes hold of my brain. Theo never set out to take over Everwood Press. It was all Sandor’s doing. Why? I can barely consider the question. My whole quest has changed.