“And you’re Mr. Wentworth?”
“Ahh, you have me mistaken for my colleague, James Wentworth.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’m Mr. Huntington, but you can call me Roger.”
The way he says his own name makes me internally cringe. He’s the perfect amount of sleazy and faux gentleman to fool the general public into thinking he’s a decent person, but not me. I’ve been dealing with entitled assholes like Roger for far too long.
“Why don’t we get you a drink, Eliza?” Roger says suggestively as he begins leading me toward the overly stocked bar.
“Actually, I think I’ll find my date first and let him get me a drink,” I say with a slight edge in my voice, but not enough to get me into trouble. I begin to pull away, but Roger leans close and speaks into my ear.
“I’ll hope to see you again, Eliza,” he says with a mischievous grin that would flatter an average woman. Too bad for him, that’s not me.
The night drags on until one a.m., and Viv and I don’t get home till past three. We automatically go to our beds and crash without even attempting to remove our makeup. It isn’t until I see a mirror the next morning that I realize how wrecked I truly look.
Now I’m late to my English Lit class, and my hair is so tangled I can barely get a brush through it. I run into my room and throw on the first thing I see, a black tank with pale blue jeans.
“Ugh, why don’t you just stay home? Missing one class won’t kill you,” Vivian says, her voice muffled. Her face is smashed into her pillow, and she’s still wearing her now-crushed satin dress.
Missing class has never been an option for me; I’m on a partial scholarship I need to maintain. “You know I don’t miss class, Viv, not even when I feel this tired,” I say as I search for my purse in our cluttered apartment. As soon as I find it, I’m out the door.
I bolt down to my black Jetta, realizing I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and my stomach is not happy with me. I don’t have time to stop for food, so I decide to just suck it up until class is over.
I drive quickly to class, going way over the legal speed limit, praying that my professor will be tardy, yet knowing full well that’s unlikely. As soon as I park, I sprint to class, swinging open the great wooden doors with copper handles that weigh more than I do along the way. I race down the narrow hallway that leads directly to the Bosworth Conservatory, where my class is held.
While walking toward the doors of the conservatory, I pause to collect myself. Although I hate being late, I know there’s nothing worse than being a late mess. I take a few breaths to tame my heartbeat and proceed to slowly open the door to the great room.
“Why Miss Ivy, how nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Professor Stein says with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile.
Shit!
I give an apologetic shrug, heat flooding my cheeks while I look for the first possible chair to escape to. I see an open seat and slowly sink into the chair, pretending to be preoccupied with my notebooks until I pull myself together. Just as I’m beginning to regain some form of composure, I hear Stein say the word I hate most when it comes to schoolwork.
Partners.
I’ve never been one to branch out in terms of making friends. Since I first came to Breslin University two years ago, the last thing on my mind has been expanding my friend group. Don’t get me wrong, I’m friendly with a lot of people, some more than others, but no one gets in far enough for me to be open with them.
“Now, class, if you’ll turn to the person next to you, you’ll find your partner for our upcoming project studying and recreating the works of famous novelists.” Since our seats are arranged in twos, there’s no escaping my partner.
“Get to know them, because you’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next month.” Stein says this as if she knows half of us will hate our partners, and she seems to take a small amount of joy in it.
Sick bastard.
I turn to see whom I’ve sat next to, and I automatically wish I had stayed home. It’s none other than infamous playboy, hockey player, and womanizer, Jess Parker, with a huge smirk on his face.
Stand Back
There are some people in this world who you associate with trouble. Jess Parker is one of those people. His carefree, does-whatever-he-pleases attitude is adored by many and envied by the rest. Where do I fall on this scale, you may ask? Well, the answer is simple: nowhere. The Jess Parkers of the world are the issues of the world.
As I sit here, I can’t believe the one class I actually give a crap about is going to be ruined by this asshole.
When I look at Jess Parker, his beauty is unfortunately undeniable, with piercing hazel eyes and luscious deep-brown hair.
Oh god, I need to get ahold of myself.
“So, uh, are we going to get started, or are you just gonna keep staring at me for the rest of class?” he says as his smirk grows wider.
Oh. My. God.
This day just keeps getting worse.
“I wasn’t staring,” I snap back.
Oh, I was so staring.
“I was just thinking about how unfortunate it is for me to be stuck with a partner like you.” I’m not usually this snappy with people, but there’s something about Jess that brings out the ugly in me.
“Well, who says I’m keen on working with the likes of you, Ivy?” he says with cocky arrogance, as if tasting my name on his tongue.
I clench my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “It’s Eleanor. Ivy is my last name, Parker,” I say. Ugh, what an idiot. Who names their child Jess Parker? He has two first names! I’m pretty sure Jess is a girl’s name in other countries, too, but knowing him, he’d use that to his advantage.
“I know your name, Eleanor Ivy. I was just trying out a nickname. I’ll take Ivy off the list,” he says with a smirk.
“I’ve spoken maybe one word to you over the past two years we’ve been at this school. I’m surprised you even know my name.”
“Oh, Eleanor, I know the names of all the pretty girls.” He laughs, giving me a wink.
Ignoring him, I decide it’s time to keep moving on the project. The shorter amount of time I’m with this guy, the better.
“Fine, call me whatever you like. I really don’t care. Let’s just get started,” I say with a huff as I pull out my English Lit book, which I swear weighs around two hundred pounds.
As I start listing possible authors for us to work on, assuming Jess has no idea who any of them are, he does the unthinkable and touches my hand. Before I have time to react, he shuts the book and pulls it out of my grasp.
“What are you doing?” I say through clenched teeth. “I was looking at that!” Irritation pricks at my skin like a thousand pins as I glare at Jess Parker.
“Okay, so I can tell you think I’m an idiot who has never read a book before. And usually I would be offended, but since you’re cute, I won’t take it personally. Instead of listing off every author in the history of the world, I think we should go for a classic, either Charlotte Brontë or her sister Emily.” He pauses, waiting for my response, but I’m too shocked to even speak.
“Um, let’s go with Charlotte. Jane Eyre is a personal favorite of mine,” I say, attempting to mask my surprise.
“Perfect. I’ve always felt a special bond with Mr. Rochester,” he says with a grin, letting me know he has indeed read the book. I know his “special bond” with Rochester is most definitely just him teasing me, as Rochester was a white asshole who locked his his wife in a room for years. But then again, maybe that’s Jess Parker’s thing.
“Good to see you acknowledging your barbaric tendencies,” I say with a fake smile, one which he reciprocates.
“This is going to be fun,” he says right before Professor Stein calls for the class’s attention.
When I get home that afternoon, I’m feeling even worse than I did in the morning. Not only do I feel as if there are little men tapping away at my head, thanks to last night’s terrible s
leep, now I have Jess Parker to add to my plate.
After class ended, Jess cornered me in the hallway about meeting up to work on our project. He suggested my apartment, which I immediately shut down because I hate having school friends come over here. Viv and I are very strict about people knowing where we live. You could even say we’re paranoid, which would be true.
Between the lives we left behind and the ones we’re currently leading, we can never be too safe. Ever since we each left home, there has been a fear that someone from our pasts will eventually find us. It’s been nearly five years for me and seven for Viv since we left, but I guess the fear never goes away.
As I contemplate my Jess Parker situation, I rummage through the refrigerator to make some lunch. I was too preoccupied on the drive home to stop for food, so I’m famished. I rustle up some leftover grilled chicken and grab some bread to start on a pretty mediocre sandwich.
“Ooh, will you make me one of those?” Viv asks as she leaves the cave she calls her bedroom. I haven’t seen Viv since I left this morning, and I’m guessing this is her just getting out of bed.
“I’ll make you one if you promise to make your incredibly delicious chocolate-chip cookies this afternoon,” I say with a wink. Viv’s cookies rival those of my own mother, and that’s saying something.
“Deal,” Viv says with a grin. She picks at a piece of bread on the counter. “So, how was class? Still feel like crap?”
“Let’s just say I feel as good as you look, and that isn’t saying very much.” I laugh with a mischievous grin. “Have you really been in bed this whole time, Viv? God, I envy you.” I hand her my crappy attempt at a sandwich.
Viv grabs the sandwich from me and devours half the thing in one bite. Mouth half-full, she begins to talk, but it’s more like half talking, half gibberish.
“I needed my beauty rest. You had the option to stay home too, but someone hates missing class,” she says, then starts to polish off the crumbs on her plate.
I begin to eat my own half of the sandwich, but it’s so dry it gets lodged in my throat.
“Honestly, Ellie, for someone with such an adventurous job, you really don’t take a lot of risks,” she says with a knowing look.
I stare down at my half-eaten sandwich and wish I didn’t start up this conversation. I hate talking about our job and the effect it has on my actions outside of it. I think Viv gets the memo because she automatically changes the subject.
“So, who was that hot old guy with you yesterday? Because I know that wasn’t Mr. Wentworth.”
“He says his name is Roger, but who knows with those guys. He’s no one, just some random who took a fancy to me,” I say while I pack up the leftovers. Viv stares at me with curious eyes, and I know she isn’t convinced. Before she can get another word out, there’s a knock at the door.
Help Me Lose My Mind
“Shit, it’s Dean,” I say as I look through the peephole. “What the fuck is he doing here, Viv?” I spin around with a pleading look.
“Don’t look at me! I didn’t invite him,” she says, and I can tell from the look in her eyes that she definitely didn’t know about this. As we debate whether to answer the door or not, we hear a familiar voice.
“I know you’re both home, I can hear you through the door,” Dean says.
I give Viv an apologetic look and open the door. In front of me stands the man who has given me everything but also has the power to take it all away. Dean looms over me, wearing a blue button-up shirt with the top much too open and a pair of jeans that probably cost more than my rent. His long black hair is slicked back with way too much gel, and he has a smug look on his face. A face, I might add, that looks like a serial killer’s.
“Oh, Dean, do come in,” I say, clearly faking enthusiasm. He gives me a fake smile and strides into the apartment as if he owns the place, which pisses me off. Even though Dean is the way we make our money, I never let him buy us anything. Viv and I use the money we make to pay for all of our stuff and school, yet it still feels tainted, probably due to Dean’s association.
One day we won’t need him. One day we won’t need this bullshit job and his bullshit money to stay afloat. We’re hoping that day is coming soon. With the savings we’ve steadily built up over the years, we can get out soon. Probably even by the end of this year if we are lucky. I’ve never liked being told what to do, especially by a man.
I catch Viv’s gaze circling the apartment and avoiding Dean. She begins pulling at the stray thread on her sweater, and I can tell she’s nervous. Feeling the same as her, I decide to get to the point and avoid chitchat.
“So, Dean, what are you doing here? I mean, as charming as you are, I can imagine you have better things to do than spend time with the likes of us.” I eye him up and down. “I mean, aren’t there some children who need scaring or cats to be killed?” Dean’s the kind of guy who needs to be challenged every once in a while.
“Funny,” he says without an ounce of humor before moving on to other matters. “Firstly, I want to congratulate you both on your excellent job last night. Your dates were highly impressed. Secondly, I wanted to let you know that a man named Roger Huntington took a particular interest in you last night, Eleanor.” Dean says this with a smug look on his face, letting me know he isn’t finished, but I cut him off before he can continue.
“Listen, Dean, I can already tell where this is going. I’m not interested. Viv and I made it perfectly clear that we’re cutting back after last night, and you agreed. You keep your word, don’t you, Dean?” I say the last part with particular venom.
I notice Viv looking around the room and keeping her eyes anywhere but on us. Dean takes a step toward me and places a hand on our mahogany bookshelf, which we got last year at a flea market.
“Three thousand,” is all he says. Unease pools in my stomach at the number. “Roger wants you to be his regular girl for the next two months, and he’s willing to pay three thousand a week.”
Shit.
How in the hell am I supposed to pass up that kind of money? I think Viv realizes the value too, because her gaze is now glued to me.
“Say I agree to this. What would it entail?” I ask, attempting to hide my interest.
“He would want to see you three times a week, for a minimum of three hours at a time, and you would get three thousand. Then he would pay you extra for the nights that exceed your required time. Also, he may want you for a fourth night, but that can always be arranged later.”
I don’t need this money right now, but I will eventually, and three thousand a week is a hell of a lot of cash.
Nausea fills my stomach at the predicament. What kind of man would pay so much over my usual rate just to spend time with me? I am smart enough to know the deal is too good to be true. This man must want more, but maybe he thinks if he is patient I will change my mind.
I knew this shit was going to happen, and I was determined to not let Dean keep pulling me back in. Realizing that I can’t give this up, though, I know I’m going to agree, but not without first setting boundaries. If I do this, I need to know I can get out, especially before this guy tries to get more out of me.
“Okay, Dean, I’ll do this, but for six weeks and that’s it. If, for some unearthly reason, I decide the guy isn’t a total sleaze and I want to keep going after the month, I’ll let you know, but don’t hold your breath.” Feeling in control, I continue.
“There will be no sex, like, at all. You know that isn’t how I play the game. I don’t know why this guy is willing to shell out that amount of money for me, but he better not be hoping for something other than what this is. Also, if at any point I get a bad vibe, I’m out. I mean it, Dean. These are my conditions. Take them or leave them.” I shoot him a look so he knows how serious I am about this, and by his reaction, I take it he does.
“You play a hard bargain, but you have yourself a deal. Here is his card,” Dean says with a huge smile as he places a business card on my coffee table. Realizing that De
an really wants me to do this job, I add one more thing to my list of demands.
“Oh, and Dean, one last thing. Viv gets the next three months off without any hassle from you, unless she herself asks to work.” I hear Viv gasp in surprise but don’t take my gaze off Dean. By the look on his face, I can tell he doesn’t like my last demand, but I know he will consent. I don’t know why and I honestly don’t care, but Dean really wants this job and won’t back down on account of Viv.
What I don’t tell him is that Vivian isn’t actually coming back. This job is just what we need to pull out of this business. Once it’s done, we are too.
Dean’s smile slowly vanishes, and a forced one creeps across his lips. He eyes me, then Viv, giving me the answer I already knew I had.
“Fine, but that’s it, Eleanor Ivy,” he says, reverting to calling me by my full name, a sign that he’s not pleased. But honestly, I don’t care as long as I get what I want from him right now.
“Fine,” I say right back as I show him the door. After I close it on him, I turn around to see a shocked Vivian staring at me.
“We already have enough savings, Ellie.” Viv’s voice is filled to the brim with fear, but I overlook it.
“We can always use more.”
“But we can do it another way. We can work retail and start saving for next year that way,” she practically pleads.
“I’m doing this. Eventually, our savings will run out. We may have our tuition for the year paid and the next few months of rent taken care of, but eventually we will run out of money. I’m doing what’s best for us.” I tell her this with a strong voice, praying she understands where I’m coming from.
“Oh, Ellie,” she says, her tone filled with worry. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
So do I.
You can do this.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself as I get ready for my first “date” with Roger, or, as I have come to call him, Mr. Brando. Viv and I think it has a cute ring to it.
Brief Encounters_The Encounters Series Page 2