by Tribue,Alice
“It was a promise I made to my father a long time ago. Valuing myself and my body enough to wait for someone who would cherish it,” I say quietly. I look back at him staring at me intently and shake my head. “I mean he never told me to wait until I got married, that was me. That was self-imposed but still … it was my way of honoring him after he died.”
He shrugs his shoulders. For the first time, he looks truly contrite, almost sorry.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s a first,” I mock trying to lighten the mood even though I know it’s impossible to lighten.
“Riley.”
“It’s done, Oliver. There’s no going back now. Besides, it’s not the end of the world.”
“But you’re crying,” he says, stating the obvious. I use my free hand to wipe away the tears that stream down my face. He looks like a child, I think to myself. A child witnessing an adult crying for the first time and having no idea what to do about it. It’s almost endearing, almost makes me want to smile, but I don’t.
“I think I’m crying more because of my dad than I am about this. For some reason, I think about him more when I’m around you and—”
“And what?” he prods.
“I miss him. I miss him, and it hurts. There are days when I can almost make myself forget him, and how different my life is now that he’s gone. How carefree I was before he died. Then there are these moments where it feels like I’m missing something so vital, something I need so badly. It feels like someone ripped my heart out, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“It must be awful.”
“It is,” I confirm with a nod.
With a tug of his hand, I’m in his lap, engulfed in his arms, my head on his shoulder. It feels so. Incredibly. Good. Beyond good. I fight against that feeling because, in the recesses of my mind, I know the truth. I want him. Of course, I do—he’s arrogant, and has a bad attitude, and probably more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime. But I know there’s more to him. I can feel it. But he doesn’t want me, not in any way that would make this any less chaotic, and even if he did, he’s leaving. He’s going back to New York eventually, and those are the only certainties that really matter.
“Riley, I care about you. You must know that,” he says into my hair; his breath feels good on me, intimate, like real lovers. It’s not real, though. Nothing about this is real. He’s saying he cares, but those are just words. It’s not like he’s sorry for the way that any of this went down—the way he stole my virginity—even though he didn’t know it was his to steal.
“Tell me how to make this better. How do I make you feel better?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to push him away, but he keeps his hold on me. He allows me to lift my head up so that I can look at him.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. I want you to say nothing. I just want you to let me go.”
“Riley.”
“Let me go, Oliver. Let me get up, get dressed, and get the hell out of here,” I half yell, my mood shifting faster than I’m comfortable with. My desire for him and my anger at him are at odds, and I can’t deal with that while I’m around him. I can’t honestly come to terms with how I feel when he’s sitting here holding me like a precious doll that might break if he’s not careful. I don’t need him to treat me like I matter now—the time for that has passed.
He shakes his head at me. I can tell he’s frustrated, but I don’t care. I need to get out of here, and I don’t care what he thinks about that. I’ve kept my end of the bargain, and I’ll continue to do it, but this sharing and caring thing he’s trying to do now is unnecessary. The last thing I need is someone playing mind games with me, manipulating me, and that’s all this is. If he honestly cared about me, he’d tell me to forget his stupid deal. He’d tell me that he wants to get to know me on a different level, but that thought hasn’t even crossed his mind.
“Let me go.”
“Riley,” he calls through gritted teeth. It comes out as a warning.
“Let me go.” I try to pull against his hold on me, but he’s relentless, and I’m done with him. Nothing he can say at this point is going to make me feel any better.
“Let’s just …”
“Let me go,” I shriek loudly, so loud that I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve woken nearby hotel guests, and I don’t care. In response, he throws up his hands in irritation, maybe even anger. I take my chance and scramble off his lap and the bed, grabbing my clothes as I go.
“You want to go? Fine. Go. I don’t care.”
“Great,” I retort, sarcastically pulling up my shorts and bending down to grab my sandals.
“Get your shit and I’ll take you home.”
“What?” I spin on my heels to face him, watching as he pulls his pants on. “You don’t want to offer me cab fare like you did to Jessica?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Jennifer.”
“Whatever.” I finish pulling my shoes on and glare at him. “Save yourself the trouble, I have my car with me.”
“Fantastic,” he says as he walks over to the bar in the far corner of the room. I reach for my bag, opening it up to look for my keys, and come across the envelope full of cash Oliver gave me for taking him on the tour the day after we met. I remember not wanting to take it, not wanting to feel like I was some kind of charity case. Now, I look at the envelope, and I get a completely different feeling. I can sense his eyes on me as I pull the envelope out of my purse. I lift my eyes to meet his, and when they lock, something passes between us—it’s anger, it’s electric, it’s chemistry—but I don’t let that get the better of me. I wave the envelope flimsily before tossing it on the bed.
“I told you I wasn’t a whore. I’m not going to let you turn me into one. You keep your end of the deal, and I’ll keep mine, that’s all there is to this.”
I don’t wait for a response because I don’t need to prolong this night any further. I’ve already had enough. I turn and walk out the door with my head held high, and I never look back. I make my way out of the hotel, hand my ticket to the valet, and as promised, Oliver has covered the bill. Getting in my car, I let out the breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, turn my car on, and head home. It’s only when I’m safe in my room, alone in the dark, that I allow myself to break down.
CHAPTER NINE
OLIVER
How the fuck this woman has gotten under my skin, I’ll never know. I didn’t sleep after she left two nights ago. All I could think about was how I watched in stunned silence as Riley threw the envelope full of money on my bed and walked out the door. The fact that she would insinuate that I had treated her like a whore is absolutely ridiculous. That money was payment for a fucking tour; it had nothing to do with what’s happened between us since. I’d like to say that if I could go back in time, I’d change things, that I’d try to pursue her like a normal man would have pursued a woman he was attracted to, but after she had run out on me the first time, I couldn’t say no to the opportunity that she dropped right into my lap. It was just too easy.
I know I shouldn’t have used her mother against her, but the deal was on the table before I could even think it through. I knew it was wrong, but how was I ever supposed to fathom that she was still a virgin? A twenty-five-year-old fucking virgin, of all things. I should have known; at the very least, I should have asked her instead of assuming. I let her have yesterday to herself, and the truth of the matter is I should leave her alone permanently, but I can’t. That sick, twisted part of my brain, the part that knows that I was her first … it got off on that. It got off on knowing that I was the only person who’d ever been there. It’s like a drug, and I want her now more than ever.
Part of me wants to offer her more, a chance at something real, but the pragmatist in me knows it would never work. I just met the girl, for starters, and I’m not about to make her promises I can’t keep. Even if we could connect on a deeper level, I’m a New Yorker, b
orn and raised. I have no desire to live anywhere else, and Riley’s already said that New York is not a place she’d ever want to be. Impossible situation through and through, yet it doesn’t stop me from desiring her and not just for the deal we made. I want to own her, even though I know I can’t. I want to make sure I’m the one and only man who ever lays a hand on her, even though she deserves way better than me. She deserves the kind of man who wouldn’t blackmail her into bed; she deserves someone who isn’t as selfish as I’ve proven to be at every single turn.
Despite knowing better, I make the decision to call Riley just as my cell phone rings. I smile when I see the name that pops up on the screen—the only person I’m ever happy to hear from.
“Hi, Mom.” I greet her with the first real sense of happiness that I’ve experienced in days, and I can hear the smile in her voice when she replies.
“Hi, baby.”
It doesn’t matter how old I get. To my mother, I’ll always be her baby, and we have the bond to prove it. While my brother, Jacob, is closest to my father, I’ve always been the most comfortable with my mom. Neither of them has approved of our bond over the years, and both of them, at times, have been jealous of our relationship. The thing is that I’ve always looked out for my mom, stood up for her when Dad was being overbearing, or when Jacob was just trying to get his way. They’ve always treated her as if she was someone they could manipulate and control, as if her role in the family wasn’t as significant as theirs was because she didn’t contribute anything to the bottom line.
“How are you?”
“Missing you,” she replies in her singsongy voice, but I can hear the melancholy intermingled within.
“I miss you too. Why don’t you come down to Savannah for a weekend, and I’ll show you around. It’s really beautiful here.”
“I’d like that,” she responds tentatively. “I’ll see if I can get that worked out.”
“What’s there to work out, Mom? You get on a plane, and you come down here.”
“Well, I need to run it by your father. Make sure that he doesn’t need me for any functions.”
“Mom.”
“Tell me about the new hotel, Oliver. How’s it coming along?”
I release a frustrated sigh because I know she’s deflecting so I won’t push her. I hate that she lets my father control her, and she knows that I’m going to tell her so. I should say what I have to say and get it off my chest, but upsetting her is not something I ever want to do.
“It’s a dump,” I tell her, letting her have her way. “But I’ll get it in order.”
“I have no doubt. You always do an amazing job.”
My lips quirk up at her easy compliment. “I’m glad somebody thinks so.”
“You know how Jacob and your father are. So high-strung and overbearing but they know you’ll get it done.”
“I don’t want to talk about work, Mom,” I say, taking a page from her own book in order to change the topic. Discussing Jacob and my father will only irritate me.
“All right.” Her tone changes, becoming almost playful. “Have you met any pretty Southern girls?”
I chuckle at her question because it’s typical of her. If it were up to her, I’d be married with a brood of children by now.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I know you. You’re a catch, so I know how the girls go crazy over you.”
“Not all of them,” I huff under my breath, but she unfortunately hears.
“Then she’d have to be blind.”
“No. No, I just made a less than stellar first impression.” Again, I open my mouth and give away more information than I intended to. Just more proof that this thing with Riley has really messed with my head. Of course, my mother doesn’t miss a beat, and she’s digging for info immediately.
“Wait a minute. Is this more than hypothetical? Did you actually meet someone?”
“I don’t know. Kind of,” I say on an exhale. I already gave her too much information, so what’s a little more now? “I’m pretty sure I fucked it up, though.”
“So fix it, Oliver.”
I smile because she ignores my colorful language and moves straight to making her point.
“I don’t know if this is fixable.”
“What did you do?” she questions inquisitively. She must know me better than I thought because she sounds almost afraid to hear.
“You don’t want to know,” I tell her sheepishly, likely confirming her suspicions.
“Oliver.” She says my name as if I’m a child, and my behavior has outraged her. I can’t say that I blame her because what’s gone down with Riley is far from appropriate. “You have to find a way to fix whatever it is you’ve done.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then, at the very least, tell her you’re sorry. At the very least, tell her that you made a mistake, and you regret it.”
“I’m not sure I regret it. She may not have looked twice at me otherwise.” I answer honestly, but the words make me feel like an asshole. I should regret having sex with Riley, but for purely selfish reasons, I don’t.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because she’s beyond anything I’d ever deserve.”
“That’s not true,” she says defensively, as if by criticizing myself I’m attacking her personally.
“It is. I had a real opportunity to help her, and I took that information and used it for my own personal gain.”
“Relationships aren’t business negotiations, Oliver,” she says with a sigh, still trying to get through to me, still trying to teach me lessons like she did when I was a child. “They’re not about who comes out on top in the end. You need to learn how to distinguish between the two.”
“Have you met my role model?”
“Yes, but you despise your father for the way he is, and the way that he does business, so why are you trying so hard to be just like him?”
I don’t know how to handle the impact of those words. They hurt. They actually fucking hurt. And as much as I don’t want to hear them, they’re one-hundred percent accurate. I’m an asshole just like my old man. Exactly like him.
“Oliver?” my mom calls, pulling me out of a moment of intense clarity.
“I’m here,” I respond quietly.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
I snicker. “I suppose the truth hurts.”
“You can turn things around.”
“I’ll try, Mom.”
“That’s all you can do,” she says, seemingly satisfied by my non-committal response. “I’ll check in with you in a few days.”
“All right but don’t forget about coming down here. I’d really like to see you.”
“I won’t forget.”
We end the call, and afterward, I feel even worse than I did before, if that’s even possible. My initial thought of calling Riley flies right out the window. Instead, I impulsively decide to pay her a visit. I pick up my desk phone and inform my secretary to clear my calendar, doubting that she can even handle that much. I make a mental note to call the temp agency and have them send me someone else as soon as possible.
***
I pull up to the house and park behind a car that’s obviously seen better days. It has more rust on it than it does paint, and I’d be stunned if it actually started. I know that Riley’s mom is working at the hotel today, so I’m fairly certain that it’s her vehicle and that she’s home alone. I should probably leave her alone; that would be the right thing to do for sure. Unfortunately, whenever Riley is involved, I can’t seem to manage to do anything right. Keeping with that pattern, I get out of my car and take in the tree-lined street and the quaint house before me. Wasting no time, I ring the bell as soon as I reach the door. It only takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, I’m hit by how beautiful she looks. It’s no different than she looks any other day, but the memory of it would never be enough. It feels like it’s been a lot longer than two days, and even though she look
s completely pissed off at the sight of me, I don’t regret for one minute showing up like this. For the first time since the moment she walked out of my hotel room, I feel a sense of calm, despite the storm that’s raging within her pretty eyes. Her stance is defensive, arms crossed over her chest, feet apart, completely guarded. I want to change it; I want to break through her wall.
“What are you doing here?” she bites out, her eyes focused on something over my shoulder.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“How’d you know where to find me?”
“I pulled your mother’s employee file.”
“Great. Now, you’re using protected information to get to me. You obviously have no boundaries.”
“Riley, may I come in, please?”
Her eyes land on me, and I watch as she takes me in, looking me up and down with indecision. With an exaggerated sigh, she pushes the door open and allows me to walk through. Standing in the middle of a smallish living room, I quickly take in my surroundings before my eyes land on her again.
“How are you?”
Her lips purse into a thin line, and she shrugs her shoulders dismissively. The swell of her breasts looks inviting in the tight pink tank top that shows just a hint of skin. Her legs look elongated by the cotton shorts that sit rolled up low on her hips. It’s a struggle to keep my mind off stripping her out of all of that and focusing on other things.
“I’m fine. Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“You know why I’m here.”
“I don’t.”
“I’m here for you. I don’t like the way we left things off.”
“We left things off fine. We agreed that we would each hold up our ends of the bargain, so what’s left to say? Are you here to set up our next meeting?”
“You call what happened fine? Because to me, that was the farthest thing from fine. I took your virginity—”