by J. Sterling
“You look very nice tonight, Miss Lyons.” A driver dressed in a black-and-white suit offered me a hand as I reached the last step.
I glanced down at my black cocktail dress. It fit me snug and hugged my curves in all the right places without looking trashy. That was what happened when people made dresses based off your measurements. You would end up looking like a walking piece of art each time you stepped out of the house.
“Thank you. You look nice, too…” I paused as I waited for his name.
“Thomas,” he said as he held open the car door for me and I scooted inside.
“You look nice, too, Thomas. Any idea where we’re headed?”
He smiled as he fastened his seatbelt and started the engine. “Of course. We’re going to Atherton. Have you ever been there?”
“No. Is it a hotel?”
“It’s a city—well, a town actually. It’s the richest one in the nation.”
My eyes widened. Aside from San Francisco and Napa, I hadn’t been to many actual cities in Northern California, so I wasn’t familiar with the area. “In the nation? Seriously? How come I’ve never heard of it?”
“You wouldn’t know it if you weren’t from here. You’ll love it though. It’s beautiful. The houses are incredible. Even the older homes tend to have spectacular yards.”
“It sounds like something out of a fairy tale.” My mind recalled a script I’d read recently, describing an affluent town filled with lush green trees, large houses, and good-natured people.
“Wait until you see it.”
His eyes crinkled in the rearview mirror, and I knew he was smiling.
My phone pinged, forcing me to look away from Thomas and at my phone. Glancing down, I noticed a text message alert from Barbara. Part of Barbara’s job description required her to be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. That wasn’t atypical for someone at my level, and I honestly tried to never use her that way unless it was an emergency. It was one thing that I chose to devote all my time toward work and climbing the studio ladder, but I believed it wasn’t fair of me to put those expectations on my assistant.
Are you there yet? How’s Daniel? Give him my phone number.
I chuckled to myself as I read her text and quickly typed out one of my own.
Not there yet. I’ll not only give him your number, but I’ll also write it on the bathroom wall. Wouldn’t want to limit your options.
The businesswoman in me wanted to chastise herself for being so loose and carefree in a text message. I’d witnessed firsthand how anything in writing, in any form, could come back to haunt you.
When I’d worked in the writing department, one of the more senior writers had informed the entire room that he had been keeping every email from his superior and had printed and compiled them into a binder in case the messages ever got lost mysteriously on the company server. He’d eventually sued the studio for wrongful termination and he’d won a shitload of money. It was all because of, literally, a few measly sentences that had been written via email in the heat of a disagreement. Had they been inappropriate? Sure. But hadn’t we all done something as innocent as that to one another before? I knew I had, and the thought terrified me.
It was that day when I’d realized that I would have to be careful about every single thing that I ever put into writing, in any form, to anyone. I’d censor my thoughts and my ideas, and I’d spend more time constructing HR-appropriate responses to each email. When words that could be misconstrued via email were required, I’d make sure they were only spoken in face-to-face conversations. It had been hard at first, and I had grown lax about it with the handful of people I trusted, people like Barbara.
3.
ELIZABETH
“Miss Lyons?”
Thomas’s voice broke through my past thoughts.
“We’re almost in town. I thought you might want to look around. It will be dark when we leave, and I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
“Thank you,” I said as my eyes fell upon oak-lined streets.
Most of the homes were set far enough back from the roadway that I couldn’t see them, but I could tell when one was special. It was as though the trees knew it, too. They had grown tall and lush to protect all the magic that lived here, keeping it well hidden from prying eyes.
We pulled up to a gated drive, and Thomas checked a Post-it note stuck to the side of the passenger seat before punching in the required code. The wide gates swung open without a sound, and I audibly gasped at what appeared before us.
“Jesus, Thomas, this is stunning.”
I looked around at the perfectly manicured garden with fountains and small sculptures adorning it. The front lawn alone was bigger than most of the lots in LA—unless you lived in Beverly Hills or Bel Air. Honestly, I sort of felt like I was in one of those cities as we pulled onto the stone-paved driveway.
The home itself was two stories, but it was wider instead of taller. The windows were lit up in every direction, nary a curtain or covering to be seen. The entire second story had a balcony edged in ornamental iron mixed with miniature cement columns. Gas lamps, all glowing and flickering in the softening daylight, hung evenly across the front of the first and second stories.
If one could fall in love with a house, I thought I did right then. “This is unbelievable,” I commented to Thomas as he opened my door for me and offered his hand.
Upon exiting the car, I was met by another suit-clad gentleman carrying a silver tray of three champagne flutes. He offered me one before gesturing toward another well-dressed gentleman, who had suddenly appeared and moved to the car behind us.
“Good evening, Miss Lyons. I’m Shane,” he said with a smile.
I noted that I hadn’t told him my name yet. Impressive, I thought to myself.
“If you’ll follow me,” he jutted his elbow for me to hold before proceeding to walk me toward the entrance of the house.
I stared at the oversized double glass doors as we stopped in front of a giant of a man holding a clipboard. He looked like a bouncer who stood guard outside of dance clubs.
“David, this is Miss Lyons,” Shane announced before removing my arm from his.
David scanned down his list and scribbled something with his pen before greeting me with a tight lipped smile.
“Miss Lyons, it’s nice to see you. Please come in.” He waved a hand inside. “Is there anything else you need?”
“The powder room?” I asked with my clutch tucked firmly against my side.
“Make a right after the Monet, and go through the double doors at the end of the hallway. It will be on your left.”
“Thank you.” I touched his arm in a polite gesture while trying to remember all the directions.
I swore, I looked down at the flooring for only a moment before I crashed into a hard body and spilled part of my drink.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said before looking up and meeting light hazel eyes that instantly hypnotized me. Why did they look so familiar?
“I’m not.” His voice was deep and throaty as his eyes raked me from head to toe with no shame.
Wiping the frown from my face, I regained my composure. “I was looking at the floor and not where I was walking. Did I get champagne on you?”
“I’m fine.” He brushed a single droplet from his jacket sleeve. “I’m Daniel Alexander.”
He extended his hand, and I forced myself to shake it.
“Of course you are,” I said, slightly tossing back my head.
Barbara would love to hear this story tomorrow.
“Oh, you know who I am? I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. My assistant did all the research and then forced me to read it.”
He laughed, and his face crinkled in a way that showed he did it a lot—laugh that was. Lines around his eyes creased like they were always there, and I found them charming. I stared at said lines as if they were magical beings, and I wondered what it was, or who, that made him laugh so often.
“See something you like?” he teased, breaking the spell I was under, as he cocked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, the floor,” I said before glancing back down at it.
“Italian marble. Every inch of it was flown in from this tiny town in Italy. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
How the hell did he know that? “It is. I was thinking about how it looks exactly as I pictured from a script I recently read. It’s almost like the story was talking about this particular house.”
“Maybe it was,” he offered simply.
“Or maybe I’ve just found my perfect location for the interior and exterior home shots,” I bit back with more fire in my tone than I had intended.
His mouth upturned into a cocky half smile. “You talk to your boyfriend with that mouth?”
I shook my head at his ridiculous question. “Is that your way of asking me if I’m single?”
“Are you?”
“Why do you care?”
“’Cause I want to know.” He blinked once before refocusing his hazel gaze on me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, and I’m not looking for one either—you know, if that was your next question.”
Daniel laughed again. “Feisty. Most women aren’t feisty around me.”
“Let me guess, they drop their panties at the mere sight of you?” The thought had crossed my mind.
He leaned in close to me, his mouth nearing my ear. “Usually.”
“How charming and wonderful for you to get off so easily—pun intended.” Normally, I wouldn’t behave so crass at a professional event, but Daniel’s ego seemed to bring out the best in me. Instead of berating myself for being so cavalier around him, I made a mental note that I never planned on seeing or speaking to him again, so my attitude couldn’t hurt. I turned away to find the powder room, suddenly remembering where I was headed before running into Mr. Super Hot Distraction.
My forward movement stopped with a jerk as he tugged on my arm. “I never ask them to act like that. They just do. And I never said I take them up on it either.”
“Oh, I’m sure you sit at home every night with your dick in your hands, wondering what on earth to do with it.” I rolled my eyes, not believing a word he’d said.
“I never said that either. I fuck, Elizabeth, and I do it often. But it’s with women I trust and have known for years.”
“Wait, what? How do you know my name?” I stumbled through my question.
“You’re not the only one who did the homework.”
Cute. Damn it, he’s cute.
“As I was saying, I only sleep with women I’ve known for a long time.”
“I don’t remember asking,” I halted his declaration in a desperate attempt to make him stop talking so that I could force my gaze away from his mouth.
He laughed. “You wanted to know.”
I did.
“I really didn’t,” I played.
“Well, just for future reference, I never sleep with any random panty-droppers I meet out.”
“Like I said before, how charming. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I pulled my arm out of his grasp and walked straight ahead, pretending that I wasn’t flustered and completely turned on by his touch.
“Don’t I get credit for having friends with benefits?” he shouted at my retreating back.
I stopped mid-stride. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. I mean, isn’t that better than screwing whatever walks?”
“It’s funny because I bet you think these women don’t have feelings for you. Do you have any idea how we function?” I found myself growing more and more flustered with each word he’d spoken.
He stepped toward me as his eyes roamed down the length of my body. I stopped myself from shivering, and I crossed my arms in front of my chest instead.
“I have a pretty good idea about how you function.”
“Then, you’re an even bigger idiot than you look. Bet you a hundred bucks that at least one of them is in love with you.” I smacked my lips closed and jutted my hip.
His head drew back slightly as he frowned. “No way. Feelings are not in the arrangement.”
“You seriously think not one of your”—I cleared my throat and lowered my voice—“fuck buddies isn’t hoping you’ll change your mind about her eventually?”
“No way,” he responded with confidence.
“Girls always want to be the chosen one, especially with the type of guy who never settles down. We love being the one who you change all your rules for. We live for that shit. And if we think there’s even a remote chance in hell of that happening, we’ll stick around and wait for you to realize it. It’s in our DNA.”
“Now, who’s the idiot?” he said with a laugh, clearly not believing a thing I said.
“Still you ’cause you know I’m right. If you don’t, then you’re even dumber than I originally thought.” I turned on my heel and hustled to the bathroom before closing the door behind me.
4.
DANIEL
Elizabeth disappeared behind the restroom door. She was feisty with a foul little mouth, and she was a fucking eyeful. She’d stunned me in that little black dress that looked like it had been made for her. Her tits swelled out the top, and the way her hips curved had made my dick wake up and take notice.
I waited in the hallway, frustrated that she hadn’t let me respond to her ludicrous assumptions. Granted, she was probably right about the majority of women, considering she was one. But what did she know about the two women I was fucking? Nothing.
The women in my life knew exactly what we had between us—a no-strings, no-drama, purely sex-based arrangement. It couldn’t be classified as a relationship, and I never romanced them for the exact reasons Elizabeth had mentioned. You shouldn’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a dick to them or anything. I just didn’t do things like buy gifts or send flowers or shit like that.
Neither of the girls ever attended events with me. I always went to functions alone, solo, single, party of uno because I never wanted to give them the wrong idea or lead them on. I had been upfront from day one, and absolutely nothing had changed in the years since we’d been hooking up off and on—safely, I might add.
I always used protection.
Girls can be crazy.
So, Elizabeth’s assumptions pissed me off and riled me up—if I believed them, that was, which I didn’t. I convinced myself that her rant had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. She was wrong, so wrong, and most likely, she had projected a failed relationship onto me.
I bet she’d wanted to change a guy once before, and it hadn’t worked out in her favor. He had probably been upfront from the beginning, but she never wanted to hear it, or she’d refused to believe him. When it had finally ended—his decision, of course—her heart had shattered, and he’d walked away pain free.
Idiot.
From my research, I had noticed that she wasn’t married. Yes, I’d checked. When I’d double-checked her left hand to see if an engagement ring sat on the proper finger, I’d breathed out a fucking sigh of relief when I found it empty. Relief! I recognized this gut feeling in me instantly even though it had been years since I genuinely felt it.
I wanted her.
I fucking wanted her.
From the second she’d spilled her drink on me, I’d wanted to rip that tightly fitted dress right off her body and show her how well I’d fit her instead.
I should have walked away. The second she shut the restroom door, I should have bolted.
But I hadn’t.
I couldn’t.
5.
ELIZABETH
After blotting my face and fixing my makeup, I opened the restroom door to see Daniel standing there, leaning against the wall with his hand running across the scruff on his cheeks. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Why?” I asked, my tone annoyed. I headed back toward the grand ballroom—or at least the direction I assumed was the right way.
&nbs
p; “For such a smart girl, you sure ask a lot of stupid questions.”
I stopped walking and turned to face him. My finger poking against his taut chest, I said, “I never claimed to be smart, and you’re the stupid one. Go find some other girl who will give you her panties.”
“I told you, I don’t fuck strangers.”
“Then, what the hell do you want?”
“He must have really screwed you over.” Daniel’s breath was hot against my cheek, and I swatted him away, determined not to give in.
“He who?”
“The one who made you hate men.”
“I don’t hate men.”
“Then, why are you so angry?”
“Maybe you’re just annoying.”
“Maybe you just hate men,” he fired back, the words drawn-out and deliberate.
“I told you, I don’t hate men.”
“Just me then? It’s just me you can’t stand?” He smirked, and his laugh lines reappeared.
Who the hell is this guy?
“I don’t even know you, and you sure as shit don’t know me, so stop making assumptions,” I growled before practically sprinting away from him.
Was I truly that transparent?
I hadn’t thought about Ben for years, but the minute Daniel had mentioned the one who screwed me over, I’d seen it all fresh in my mind again as if it happened an hour ago—pink panties stuck on her foot, chipped nail polish on the table, his face covered in her, his mouth spewing those soul-slashing words. I shuddered at the memory.
That moment had defined me. It was in that moment, standing in the entryway of my apartment, that I’d decided I would never be the kind of girl who gave up her hopes and dreams for a guy. I’d realized that no guy would ever be worth that kind of self-sacrifice, and no guy of worth would ever ask that of me.
If even half of what Ben had spewed that day was accurate, I’d decided that I would rather be alone forever than be with someone who wanted me to change who I was. Accepting that the majority of men wouldn’t be able to handle me and my passion for my job, I’d convinced myself that I was perfectly okay with that.