by Tribue,Alice
“Yeah, awesome choice—whore myself out to you or leave my mom jobless.”
“No one said choices were easy to make, but they’re yours nonetheless.” My patience is slipping. This conversation has dragged on long enough. I’ve never had to go to such lengths to get a taste of someone before, and I’m not accustomed to working this hard for something I’ll likely tire of quickly. As far as I see it, she comes out winning in the end. She spends a few nights with me, and her mom ends up with a better job than she started with.
“Fine.” She huffs, looking sad and defeated. “I’ll do it.”
This girl does nothing for my ego. I’ve never met a woman so appalled by the idea of being with me; in fact, I normally have the opposite reaction. I’m not hard to look at; I have more money than I know what to do with and the last name to prove it. It’s a winning combination in the eyes of most women. Maybe that’s why Riley is so appealing. She’s not like most women.
“You don’t have to act like I’m sentencing you to life in prison. You might actually enjoy yourself if you let go a little.” I push off the desk and take a step in her direction as she takes a step back. The way she retreats is amusing to me. She won’t win this game, but I’ll enjoy playing it regardless.
“I doubt that,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “When do we start?”
“Do you work tonight?”
“I have the lunch shift today. I’m off at four.”
“Then we can start with dinner,” I suggest with a nod. “I can pick you up at six.”
“I’ll meet you here.”
“Riley—”
“I can’t have my mom seeing you,” she interrupts.
“Fair enough. Meet me here at six sharp. You have my cell phone number on the business card I gave you the other day. Text me your mother’s name and I’ll have someone in touch with her by this afternoon regarding the job.”
She says nothing, but her eyes stay on me. I’d pay a small fortune if I could only decipher what she’s thinking. I’m about to ask her when she turns away abruptly and marches out of my room. I can’t help but smile as I watch her go. Clearly, she has a penchant for dramatic exits.
CHAPTER FIVE
RILEY
It’s pure luck that I still have a job. I fumbled my way through the lunch shift with mistake after mistake. In all of my time waitressing, I’ve never made that many mistakes, not even when I first started. All I could think about was Oliver and all the disturbing things that have happened with him. The most upsetting, perhaps, is the reaction I had to seeing him with another woman in his hotel room because it certainly says a lot about me and what I had been feeling for him. For a moment there, I actually felt hurt and jealous, which is beyond ridiculous. It’s just that the way he kissed me—as if I was breath and he was holding on with everything that he had—I guess a part of me hoped that it was true, that he was actually taken with me and that my initial impression of him was wrong. Now, I know that I was just like any other woman to him. Now, I know that there was nothing special about me to Oliver Parker.
What he thinks of me doesn’t exactly matter anymore. Not after he actually had the audacity to bribe me in order to give my mother a job. I agreed to it, though, so maybe I’m no better. But what else was I supposed to do? I just hope I can go through with it.
I park my rusted Toyota Tercel on the street just outside our tiny two-bedroom house, dreading going inside. When I step through that door, I’m going to have to get ready for dinner with Oliver, and I really, really don’t want to have to spend any time with him at all. I don’t want to have to see his face ever again, actually, but I know that’s not an option. Not if I want to give my mother the chance to keep this roof over our heads. Every day, with every late or missed payment, we get closer and closer to foreclosure, and it’s not even her fault. She thinks I don’t know how bad it’s gotten, that maybe I haven’t seen the notices on our door or heard the missed calls from the bank. She needs the chance for a better job; she needs the opportunity to get ahead, and if Oliver can give that to her, I can give myself over to him. It’s only for a little while; I’m sure he’ll tire of me quickly. Especially when he realizes how inexperienced I am.
“Riley?” my mom calls as I enter the house. I can hear the excitement in her voice, and I know that, true to his word, Oliver’s delivered his end of the deal.
“Hey, Momma,” I call from the entryway. I head to the kitchen where she stands at the counter making what appears to be a shopping list. “What’s going on?”
“I’m so glad you’re here. You would not believe what happened today.”
“What happened?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“I got a call from a woman named Misty.”
“Misty?”
“Yes, she’s the assistant to Oliver Parker.”
“The Oliver Parker who just fired you?” I ask, trying to sound surprised.
“Yes. Turns out Mr. Parker reviewed my work history and felt that I would be a good fit for the housekeeping management position.”
“Management?”
“Yes, baby.It pays more than double what I was making as a housekeeper … Double! And it comes with a full benefits package, paid vacation, and 401k.”
“Oh my God, that’s so amazing, Momma.”
“You know what that means?” she asks, gently pushing my blond locks behind my ear and stroking my cheek. I try to contain my emotions and not cry because her happiness makes me happy.
“No, what?” I question.
“It means you can quit that job, Riley. It means you can go back to school.”
“We can’t afford that.”
“No, but you could get financial aid, and maybe you can reapply for your scholarship.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree noncommittally. She catches it instantly.
“Riley.”
“I’ll look into it, Momma.”
She squints her eyes at me in skepticism. “You promise?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You know, I was thinking. If you don’t to go back to Duke, then maybe you can find a local culinary school. You’re so good at baking; maybe you can do that? Start your own business.”
“I do that for fun, Momma. Do you know how hard it would be to open my own business? We don’t have the money for that.”
“No, but maybe you can start small? Try to sell your stuff at different bakeries in the area. The restaurant loves your stuff, and they don’t pay you nearly enough, Riley. It’s worth considering.”
“I’ll consider it,” I say even though I know it’s far-fetched. “I’m real happy for you,” I tell her, pulling her in for a hug. I am happy for her, that much is true. Her jubilation makes this arrangement with Oliver a little easier to take. She’s beaming when we pull apart, and she can barely contain herself.
“Anyway, I’m running out to the store to pick up some things I’ll need for work. Do you want to come with me? We can grab some dinner.”
“I wish I could, but I promised Noelle I’d have dinner with her,” I lie, using my best friend as an excuse. I can’t exactly tell her my actual plans.
“Riley, that’s great. You need to get out more and act your age for a change.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to go get ready,” I tell her, needing to get away from her. I’ve never been a good liar, and I’m not used to having to lie to her. We say goodbye, and I lock myself in my room. Plopping down on my bed, I try to get my emotions in check. Oliver wants me to sleep with him, and I agreed. Sex is not something that I take lightly; I believe that sex should come after love, and what I’m going to do with Oliver goes against those beliefs. I can’t back out now, though; there’s no way out of this. At least, he was gentleman enough to ask me out to dinner first. The fact that he wants to take the time to get to know me before jumping into bed with me is something. It’s a stay of execution, at least. I’ll get through tonight and
worry about the sex later.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but before long, I’ve drifted off, and the sound of my cell phone wakes me up.
“Hello,” I answer groggily.
“Where are you?” Instantly, my body goes on alert. The only thing that registers is the sound of a very irritated voice.
“Oliver?”
“Yes, Riley, it’s Oliver,” he says in a clipped tone. “Where the fuck are you?”
“What time is it?” I push myself up into a sitting position, looking around the room and trying to snap out of my sleepy haze.
“Six fifteen.”
“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I dozed off and lost track of time,” I tell him, sounding as apologetic as I can.
“You do understand …”
“I do. I understand.” I know what he’s going to say. That he holds all the cards; that my mother’s future lies with him. I don’t need to hear it, and it’s not necessary for him to threaten me or hold it over my head. “Oliver, I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Riley.” There’s an unmistakable warning in his voice. I think I may actually hate him.
“Twenty minutes, I promise.”
“Fine,” he clips before hanging up on me.
Twenty minutes is pushing it, but I move as fast as I can, grabbing one of only two black dresses I own from the hanger. I strip out of my work clothes, not caring that I haven’t showered or shaved, and throw the dress on over my head. It takes me a minute, but I find a pair of midnight blue strappy heels in the back of my closet. They hurt like hell when I put them on, but I have no time to look for a comfortable pair. Instead, I head to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and do my best to make myself look presentable. Once I’ve finished my makeup, I pull my hair out of the ponytail that it’s been in for the majority of the day and comb my fingers through it, attempting to give myself a purposely tousled look. I take in my entire appearance in the mirror and decide that, though I’ve looked better, this is the best I could do for now. With my keys and purse in hand, I head out to my car and drive like a bat out of hell to Oliver’s hotel, parking in a nearby garage.
By the time I sprint to the hotel and make my way into the lobby, I’m out of breath and want nothing more than to take off my shoes and toss them in the middle of the road. Oliver is waiting for me, hands across his chest looking nowhere near pleased with me.
“On top of being late for our original meeting time, you’re now late for your proposed amended time.”
I pant and lie through my excuse. “There was traffic.”
“Let’s go,” he says, rolling his eyes and grabbing my arm. I shudder at the feel of his hand on me as he pulls me out of the hotel. It’s not a bad shudder, and it should be bad. His hold on me is firm, equally gentle and forceful as he ushers me into his car, which is sitting right out front. My body is lit up around him, like it knows the power he has over me, but something tells me I’m still safe. My body is clearly in denial. Oliver gets in the driver’s seat, and before long, he’s driving through the streets of Savannah.
“I’m sorry about being late. It was a long day, and I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Maybe you should slow down,” he retorts, never looking at me.
“Easier said than done.”
“I suppose.” He sounds less abrasive, like maybe he actually understands that the concept of slowing down isn’t quite that simple. I glance out the window and notice he’s traveling further and further away from city limits. When he jumps on the highway, I instantly go on alert, turning my body to face him.
“Where are we going?”
His gaze travels momentarily off the road ahead and onto me. He relates his displeasure with just a quick look; that’s all it takes for me to know he’s not thrilled with me. If his look isn’t enough, he confirms my suspicion with a dry response. “Dinner.”
“Why are we on the highway?” My tone is accusatory, though it shouldn’t be. I know it’s just a dinner, but the further away from Savannah we get, the longer I have to spend with him.
“Because Savannah is too crowded and I’ve made reservations elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“Jesus, Riley, can you relax? It’s dinner, not a homicide attempt.”
“All right, fine,” I relent, trying to tamp down the bitchiness, “but where are we going?”
“Tybee Island.”
“Why there?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Do you always ask this many questions?”
“Yes,” I snap. My attempts to keep the bitch away are failing.
“Well, stop.”
“Oliver.”
“I thought it might be nice to get out of Savannah and see someplace new. I’ve heard good things about this place. I don’t have an ulterior motive for everything I do.”
“Shocking,” I mutter under my breath but not low enough.
“I’m not as bad as you think I am.”
“You’re probably worse,” I retort dryly. He says nothing, but I swear I can see the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Jackass. Our verbal sparring match concludes, and I turn my attention away from him, letting myself enjoy the rest of the drive without letting thoughts of Oliver and what’s in store for me invade my mind. He takes us to an upscale seafood restaurant situated just steps away from the water. It reminds me of the weekend trips we’d take here with my father when he was alive and healthy. Money wasn’t such an issue in those days—when going away for the weekend, staying in nice hotels, and eating at great restaurants wouldn’t break the bank.
“You’re very quiet,” Oliver states some time after we’ve been seated, our orders placed, and my attention turned to the waves crashing just beyond the window. His voice invades my thoughts, breaking the memories that had begun flooding in and calling my attention back to him.
“I used to come here, to the island, when I was younger.” I can hear the nostalgia and melancholy in my voice, and I hope he doesn’t notice. He isn’t the man to help me work through those emotions. He has his own agenda.
“Not anymore?”
“No. Not since my father died.”
If he has any reaction to what I’ve just said, he doesn’t show it. Not even so much as a flinch.
“When did he die?”
I reach across the table and grab a piece of bread out of the basket the waitress dropped off. “About four years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking a bite out of my bread and avoiding eye contact. I don’t want him to witness the pain that still lives inside me whenever I think of my father. “Are you close to your parents?” I ask trying to shift the spotlight from myself onto him.
“I’m closest to my mother.”
“Why not your father?”
He looks at me for a moment with steel in his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or even angered by my question. I brace anyway, thinking that he might actually yell at me for asking yet another question.
“Because my father is all about the business. He wasn’t around much when I was growing up.”
“Are you closer now that you work for the family business?” I’m honestly curious. Something about the family dynamic is off, and I want to know what it is. Maybe because it will help me figure out why Oliver is how he is, or maybe I’m just nosy.
“Well, we certainly communicate more, but I wouldn’t say that we’re closer.”
I tilt my head to the side, his answer confusing me. “But you’re following in his footsteps. Isn’t he proud of that?”
“My older brother, Jacob, is the one following in his footsteps,” he says, leaning back in his chair and looking completely bored with this conversation. “He’s the next in line to head the company, and yes, my father is very proud of him.”
“Would you want to run the company?”
“No,” he declares firmly with no hesitation.
“Why not?”
&nbs
p; “Riley,” he clips, and I know the topic is no longer up for discussion. I think about it as the waitress delivers our meals, trying to figure out why the family dynamic is such a touchy subject for him. I come to no conclusions but decide instead that if he doesn’t want to talk about his parents, we’ll move on to other possible family members.
“Are you married?” I prod, with an almost disgusted smirk on my face. Oliver smiles as he reaches for his wine glass and takes a healthy swig.
“And why would you think that?”
“Why wouldn’t I think that? I don’t know … I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you.”
He looks at me disbelievingly, and he almost looks disappointed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t researched me?”
“I haven’t.”
“Even after you agreed to our arrangement, you didn’t think to take five minutes out of your day to look me up?”
When he puts it that way, he makes me feel stupid, small, as if I have no smarts or common sense when, really, what I’m lacking is free time.
“It’s not like I had a lot of time. This has all happened so fast.”
“I’m not married, for God’s sake. If I were, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
“You wanted to be here with me,” I toss out defensively. “Why are you so miserable about it now?”
He doesn’t even try to hide his look of amusement, and that only pisses me off more. The idea that he’s treating this like a game, when it is absolutely not a game to me, infuriates me. “Miserable?”
“Yes. Miserable,” I confirm.
“I’m not miserable.”
“You act it.”
“I just don’t have a lot of tolerance for useless questions, but that doesn’t mean I’m miserable.”
“Then you’re just mean,” I state, like it’s an ah-ha moment. Like a light bulb has gone off in my head and I’ve solved one of the many mysteries of the world.
“That’s true,” he confirms proudly.
“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”
“Eat your food,” he orders me, orders me, as if I were a child being told to eat everything on her plate. I want to get up and storm out of the restaurant, leaving him here all alone, but that would leave me stranded. “Don’t even think about saying whatever smartass response you’re concocting in that pretty little head of yours. I’ve had just about enough of you and that mouth tonight.”