He wants me to hook up with Isabelle but will be satisfied if we’re back to being friends. I guess it could be worse. Of course, our house in the Hamptons is a big, big place. She can end up spending the entire weekend avoiding me, but that won’t be on me.
11
Isabelle
“Do you feel like that sandwich place for lunch?” I hear Mom’s middle-aged secretary, Carol, ask from her desk across from me. She’s in a more chipper tone than normal and I don’t know why.
I shake my head instead of saying words. Just the thought of eating makes me nauseous for some reason. And it’s not because of the food. It’s been this way for a week now, or more specifically, since I sent my first text to Knox. It’s strange, that being in contact with him has brought about a physical reaction. But then again, maybe not.
We’re scratching the surface, when I’m used to the deep, authentic friendship that we used to have. Being superficial and shallow just isn’t me. But I brought this on myself. I sent him that text asking if he was okay, and he replied with ‘I will be.’ We may as well not be talking. We may as well be back in that limo, or back on my front steps from ten years ago, sitting in silence until he can bring himself to really share what’s bothering him.
Now, there’s nothing I can do to change what our friendship has transformed into. Not unless I see him in person, which I refuse to do. It’s bound to get physical. Probably because I’ve missed his touch this past couple of weeks.
I’m terrified that all I’ll want to do if I see him in front of me is have him pull me into his arms and guide my lips to his for a demanding kiss. Or run his large, rough hands down my body. Or cover my broad, hard body with his and take what I want to give him. All of me.
See, that’s a recipe for disaster. I don’t want my friend for how we used to be.
I crave him.
I lust after his body.
And that’s why I’ve been hiding. A couple of his texts have been questions like, ‘Can I see you?’ or ‘Are you free to meet?’ I pretty much do everything I can to ignore those or reply with ‘work is really busy’ or ‘I’ll be out with friends then’. If I wanted to see him the way he’s thinking, in the platonic way we used to be, I’d be at his front door. But that’s not how I want him.
Cutting him off except via text is draining my will, exhausting me one trivial sentence at a time. I’m sure people around me are starting to notice. Carol, for example. I’d come into work thinking about that sandwich place, and long before lunch we’d know what we planned to order. Now, I can’t eat. Same with my sister. I’ve called her in the middle of the night four or five times now, with nothing to say, and just let her babble on about Colorado to fill the time because I can’t sleep. And even right now, I am just sitting in front of my work laptop with these spreadsheets on my screen. Before this all started, I’d whip through these statements and reports like they were nothing. But I can’t think or focus for long enough to make sense of what’s on them.
Soon enough, Mom’s going to notice. She has a big fundraising event coming up for Labor Day, and relies on this donor analysis to come up with where to direct our telephone fundraising campaign in advance of the event. By now, these reports would be sitting on her desk, waiting for her to give her final approval. But not this time. All I can think about is how I’ll act when I see Knox, whether it’s by chance or this weekend in the Hamptons. I’ve already accepted his invitation. And I want to be there. I want him. I can’t pretend I don’t when I know I do. Which is the real crux of the matter. A weekend of bad judgment is in my horizon, yet I’m not willing to do anything to avoid it. Because I want what’s coming.
Carol stares at me from across the room. She’s a patient woman. She has worked for my mother for close to eight years, and she’s observant. Unlike Mom, who’s been caught up in countless outreach meetings and doing the circuit with Dad so they can schmooze with New York’s elite. I’m glad Mom’s got a packed schedule. It means she hasn’t noticed how I’ve been. But Carol has.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asks after a while. “I can get you the chicken salad, or something a little less savory like focaccia on cheddar, if you don’t have an appetite. You need to eat something.”
I notice her sweet, soothing tone and my eyes start to fill with tears for no reason. “I’m fine,” I tell her when I know I’m not, swallowing the lump in my throat. I pull a tissue from the box on my desk and dab the side of my eye. “Maybe it’s allergies,” I lie.
“So late in the season?” she asks, then gets out of her chair. Quickly coming to my side, she rests the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re so pale, and you feel a little warm. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”
“I don’t think so,” I tell her.
“You know what? I’ll get you some chicken noodle soup for lunch. It’s hot out, but I’m sure it’ll help. You need to have something in your stomach. You’ve not been eating at all this past couple of weeks. It’s not healthy. And trust me, I’m starting to feel guilty, stuffing my face every day by myself.” she jokes.
“Sure, I’ll have the soup.” I smile up at her. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Don’t mention it. Everything will be fine.”
I don’t know why she says that last part. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, or it could just be the nurturing tone in her soothing voice. My eyes start to well up again and this time, I grab a bunch of tissue from the box and hurry out of our shared office. But in the hallway, I run into Mom on her way back from a meeting.
Shit.
“Hi!” I greet her, swallowing down the wave of raw emotion. “You’re back. How did it go?”
“Not bad,” she answers, studying my face. “Actually, do you have a moment?”
I point down the hallway as though the gesture is enough of an explanation. Then I add, “One sec. Ladies room.”
“Sure. I’ll be in my office.”
“Great!” I tell her and hurry to make my getaway before she noticed the redness in my eyes.
In the restroom, I splash some water on my face, thankful that I rarely wear makeup to work so there’s nothing to reapply. I take a moment to settle my nerves, then head to Mom’s office. As it’s so close to our lunch hour, I decide that if she probes too intensely, I’ll make something up and leave the office so she can’t have too much time to press any further. It’s the last thing I need today.
“What’s up,” I ask from her office door.
Mom gives me a concerned look. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course. I’m great. Can I help you with something?”
She glances at the computer monitor on her desk, then returns her gaze to me. “Well, aside from the reports I thought I’d have by now, no. It’s not work-related.”
I’m not in the state of mind to listen to what’s on her mind, so I focus on the job. “Oh those. I’m working on the analysis reports now. I’ll have them in your inbox by tomorrow morning.”
“All right. So… about this weekend…”
And there it is. I start to feel a little sick as I stand there. I’m not prepared for a lecture or personal discussion. My brain and stomach can’t handle it.
“You don’t have to go over that, Mom. If you’re talking about the Hamptons, don’t worry at all. I already told Knox that I’ll be there.”
“It’s not about that. Well it is, but there’s more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look, we don’t have all the details, but Morris may be ill. I think he plans to talk to us about it on the weekend.”
“Ill? How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. But you know how small this town can be. Louise Denali swears that she saw him leaving the oncology unit at Mount Sinai.”
I brace my hand against the doorway. Rumor mill in their circle can turn out to be nothing, but my belly does a flip. Maybe this is what Knox was trying to tell me about that night in the limo.
“I think we need to hold off on diagnosing Mr. Steele until he says something,” I tell her, even though deep down, I believe the rumor might be true. “Anyway, duty calls, Mom.” I push off the doorway and begin to turn. “We’ll have all weekend to speculate.”
It takes all my energy to get back to my desk without looking like my knees are about to buckle. As I take a seat, my cellphone lights up on my desk with a text from Knox.
* * *
Knox: How’s your day going?
* * *
My heart tightens in my chest as I unlock the screen to reply.
* * *
Me: Hi. Good! You?
Knox: Busy lately.
Me: Can’t wait for the long weekend.
Knox: So, you’re coming?
Me: To the Hamptons? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Knox: Great. That’ll give us time to talk.
Me: Awesome. Gotta get back to work. Ttyl.
* * *
I drop the phone on the desk and take the entire box of tissues with me as I leave for the restroom again. Dread overcomes me. It’s going to be a long long weekend.
12
Isabelle
I press my palms tightly together between my knees and try to ignore the knot growing in my stomach. The universe has been conspiring hard to get Knox and me together. By universe, I mean my parents, and in all likelihood, Knox’s grandfather. I know this because of where we are right now—in his Mercedes convertible, driving together to the Hamptons on the night before the long weekend. Mr. Steele left a day early, and my father had an unexpected event to attend upstate, so Mom suggested—strongly—that I’d be better off catching a ride with Knox tonight.
Better off.
Right.
I glance over at him as he focuses on the mostly dark freeway, lit up by only his headlights in some sections, and wonder if I can take another mile of silence. My chest is weighted down, tight with anticipation, heavy with uncertainty.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
Sliding my seatbelt past my shoulder, I duck my head down between my legs and hope I won’t puke. Not that there’s anything that’ll come up. I barely ate at lunch, had no dinner while I packed, and now, it’s after nine at night. Maybe it’s hunger.
“Hang on, I’ll pull over.” He flicks on the turn signal, checks his rearview mirror, and changes lanes from the fast lane to the right shoulder, the wheel grumbling as they roll onto the gravel for the last few feet. After stopping, he gets out of the driver’s side and comes around to my side, opening the door. He reaches down and stretches an arm over me to undo my seatbelt. Then he stands to his full height and stretches his arm out to me.
“Come with me. Let’s get you some air.”
I unfold myself and timidly take his hand, letting him use his body weight to help me stand, and as I do, he gathers me in the warmth of his chest and holds onto me, one arm at my upper back and the other close to the tip of my spine. I relax into him, my head buried in his chest, which is probably a good thing, because I’m not sure if I can find the words to share what I feel.
“I need to apologize,” he says out of the blue as we stand there.
“Why? Were you a part of this whole ‘get Knox and Isabelle on a road trip together’ plan?”
He chuckles low. “No, I didn’t have any part of that. And no, I’m not saying sorry for that either.”
“Why then?”
He looks out at the darkness for a short while before speaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you when I left for college. I was a selfish prick. I’m still a selfish prick. One who didn’t and still doesn’t deserve a loyal, devoted friend like you. Then, I made things worse by using you at the engagement party. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed every second of hooking up with you...but friends don’t fuck their best friends. I might’ve ruined what we had. I broke us, Belle. That’s all on me. I’m deeply sorry and I hope you can forgive me. I wanted to get that out in the open before we spend this weekend together. And I want to start over. I’ll admit that I don’t have a clue what starting over looks like. Having you once, kissing you, getting hot and heavy at the engagement party, well I don’t know if I can stand not having you again...but if that’s what it takes to go back to being friends, so be it. Bottom line is I couldn’t have gotten through the last few weeks without you. Seeing you at dinner, those texts, they might seem like a small thing, but they weren’t. You always seem to know exactly what I need and when I need it. It’s like you see past all my bullshit and can read me from miles away. That’s why I need you. So however you see us, I’m in.”
I look up at him just as a car approaches us along the freeway. Its high beams hit his face so directly that it casts sharp lines and shadows along his features. Yet again I find myself in awe of how handsome my best friend is. I don’t want to hear his apology. I want his lips to do something other than talk, preferably on my mouth or anywhere along my body.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Do I get another chance? Maybe you need time to think about it over the weekend and let—”
“Kiss me.” My body sways into his chest and I lift up onto my tiptoes, meeting his awaiting lips.
He’s so gentle this time. He peruses the seam of my mouth, slowly parting them open. He takes his time as his tongue pushes past and connects with mine. He explores lazily, the tip running against the roof of my mouth as need builds all through my body. Just as slowly, he pulls from the kiss and presses his lips on my forehead.
“What are we doing, Belle?” he whispers onto my skin.
“I’m not sure I can go back to what we were,” I admit. “You’re right. You ruined us...and now, I want more. But promise me something.”
“Anything you want.”
“I’m not making out with you at your grandfather’s place this weekend. There’ll be too many eyes. Too much meddling is already in the works, and the last thing I need is my parents thinking their scheming is working.”
He rumbles out a laugh. “Pops is on the scheming train too. Maybe the three of them are colluding.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them.” My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that it needs food. “Hey, is there anywhere we can stop for something to eat when we get into town?”
“Sure,” he motions for me to return to my seat, and I lower into the car feeling relief. “Fast food it is.”
Knox clicks a remote in his car toward a massive wrought iron gate and it opens automatically. As he pulls up onto the long, circular brick driveway of their Hamptons mansion, I start to feel nervous. I know exactly why. We’re about to spend a weekend with a lot of life-long friends, family and acquaintances, some of whom will be sitting on the sidelines, hoping for a love connection between Knox and me. In addition to that, it feels like this holiday will be overshadowed by something dark and ominous. Like we’re waiting for a shoe to drop. Mom mentioned that Mr. Steele may be ill, and she believes this is the weekend he’ll come out into the open about it. It would be so much more convenient to know what I’m walking into.
Perhaps I could’ve asked Knox what it was about, but honestly, my curiosity was in no way stronger than my desire for calm. A long time ago, I came to the conclusion that people will share themselves in their own time, and not a second sooner. I also learned that I’m damned patient, and it’s not that I don’t care. It just feels better when friends are free to open up at their own pace, of their own volition.
In any event, whether he uses this weekend to break the news to us or not, I’ll be okay. Knox seems to be handling whatever it is, taking it in stride. And as it deals with his grandfather, it’s no one else’s business.
He stops the car in front of a large three-door garage and turns off the engine. “I’ll get our bags. Pops sent all the serving staff home for the long weekend this year.”
“I’ll help,” I tell him. He may be used to butlers and maids waiting on him hand and feet, but I do everything myself.
He grabs our suitcases before I can step out into the noticeably cooler night air. A light breeze is blowing, wafting in the scent of the ocean. The Atlantic is on the other side of this mansion.
I follow him down the side of the garage until we reach the back of the house.
“Is there a cabana waiting for us that we’ll stay in?” I ask, because normally, his grandfather would assign me and my parents to a guest room inside.”
“I made an executive decision. You’re staying in the pool house with me.”
“Uh,” I start, searching for the right way to put what I’m about to say. “Don’t you think that my staying in your room will play right into what our families are hoping for?”
“Belle, you know I don’t give two fucks about what people think. But relax. There are three bedrooms inside. You won’t be sleeping in my bed...unless you ask real nicely.”
“Tease,” I say, punching his upper arm as he searches his set of keys for the one that opens the front door of the pool house.
He rests a hand at my waist, motioning for me to go inside ahead of him. I step into the dark space and hear him as he flicks on a light switch to the foyer. My mouth drops open. It’s clear to me that someone has done a major renovation on this place. It’s no pool house. Not with marble pillars and gleaming granite floors, and massive crystal chandeliers sending beams of sparkling light through the space.
“This is nice,” I mouth.
“Yes, I had Pops’ decorator design it just the way I wanted.”
“You have good taste.”
He smiles down at me suggestively. “The best.”
My heart does a little flip in my chest, and I sort of wish I hadn’t asked him to kiss me on the way here. It’s bad enough there’s all this chemistry between us. Now that it’s in the open, he’s that much more comfortable pointing it out.
Beauty and her Billionaire Beast Page 8