Five Parties With My Worst Enemy

by Sharpe, Elle

  She scoffed.

  I took the risk of moving in closer, and let my knee knock against hers.

  “So instead of being like either of them, you choose to do nothing?” I asked, gently. “Or, at least, something you consider to be nothing. Except it actually is something.”

  She twisted her head around to pierce me with her eyes.

  “Oh, come on. I don’t think you really believe that. Nice of you to give me the pep talk, but you and I both know that I’m basically just a silly carnival performer. As soon as people get bored of the ‘schtick,’ I’m done for. My mom is right. It’s not a real thing.”

  “No, Norah. You’re wrong.”

  I hadn’t realized just how much I believed that until I started speaking. But now my voice was firm with conviction, because I realized that what I was saying was entirely true.

  “People aren’t responding to the ‘schtick,’ Norah. They’re responding to you. Your creativity. Your bravery. You get up there and take whatever’s thrown at you, and you treat every challenge like an adventure. I think you make people remember that creating music—that creating anything, really—is supposed to be fun. And that it doesn’t matter if you make mistakes, because it’s worth it for the times when things click together. Like magic.

  “What you do is really unique, Norah,” I insisted. “It is a real thing. Even if you don’t treat it like it is, it is. And you are unique. And interesting. And exciting to be around. And-”

  I wasn’t able to say any more. All of a sudden I found Norah’s soft, tear-stained mouth on mine.

  Norah

  I kissed him. Again.

  I always seemed to end up kissing him. Maybe kissing him was actually my natural state of being, and I’d just never realized it before now. Maybe my body was constantly poised on the end of a tense, coiled spring, and every now and then the spring released and pushed my lips forwards towards his. Maybe the rest of the time I was holding myself back.

  But this kiss wasn’t like the ones that had come before. It wasn’t a kiss to dominate, or prove, or punish. I found myself pressing my mouth tenderly into his. Like saying thank you. Like saying, “Yes, please. More.”

  His hand came up to cup my cheek. I felt my whole face relax into the supportive hold of his fingers. His mouth opened to return each kiss I gave. We entered into a gentle dance of presses and tugs with lips. It felt like he was savoring me. Like I was some kind of fine wine, and he wanted to roll me around on his tongue and bring out every nuance of flavor.

  He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me into a close embrace. I was melting into him, slowly and leisurely. Like chocolate left out on the counter on too warm a day. Slow, seeping sweetness was erasing the boundaries between us.

  His body felt achingly familiar now. I felt like I should be allowed to touch it, as naturally as I might touch my own. I recognized the feel of his stubble on my hand as I stroked his face. I remembered the shape of his strong shoulder, the firm swell of chest muscle under his shirt.

  I stuck a hand up underneath his t-shirt. I wanted to remember what the smooth skin of his back felt like. I had a right to. That sensation was something that belonged to me.

  When my fingertips grazed his taut, firm belly, I felt him give a little jolt. He pulled away from the kiss. But he kept his hand on my face, cradling me, while the first spark of something more intense than tenderness flashed into his eyes.

  I leaned forward to press a delicate kiss at the pulse point of his neck. By now I knew he liked to be kissed there. I expected the repressed groan that rumbled through his body.

  I pulled back, searching his face. I wanted to see if he understood something, but I wasn’t even sure what it was.

  He leaned forward and returned my kiss, pressing his mouth into my neck, just below my ear. We traded kisses back and forth—some soft and caressing, others just a little deeper, designed to make the other person shiver. His forehead. My cheek. The corner of his mouth. My eyelids, still wet from tears. The base of his Adam's apple. The edge of my collarbone. That inch of chest that his v-neck left exposed. The very beginnings of my cleavage, poking out from beneath my top.

  I’d been repressing thoughts about him for weeks. And now they were all creeping through my body kiss by kiss, becoming too strong to ignore. Like the proverbial frog in the pot of slowly-boiling water, I didn’t realize what an overheated mess I was becoming until it was too late. I barely even realized that my hands had grasped the hem of his shirt and started trying to lift it over his head.

  That is, until he grabbed hold of both my wrists and held my hands down by my sides.

  “Norah,” he asked, gently, “What exactly are you doing?”

  “I…” I fumbled. I’d assumed that what came after taking clothes off was fairly obvious. But then I remembered that we were in my childhood bedroom, with my parents just a few rooms over, and it would make sense for him to feel uncomfortable. Of course, he had no idea what I’d gotten away with in this very room as a teenager.

  I leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry, I can be quiet if you can.”

  He laughed lightly, which I found slightly annoying. I was sure I’d sounded sultry and irresistible.

  But then his voice went serious.

  “No, I mean, is this going to be another one of those times where you act like you want me, and then you immediately draw away?”

  Oh.

  “Do I do that?” I asked. It was a totally fake question. And he could tell I knew that by the evasive way that I asked it.

  Of course I did that. Every time.

  “I thought you asking me to meet your parents might be a positive sign. I thought it might mean that you actually wanted me to get to know you better. That you didn’t just want a casual hookup. But I think there’s a part of you that’s hoping you can use them to scare me off entirely. And if that’s the case, well, that’s not going to happen. But this back-and-forth thing between us can’t keep happening either. I-”

  His voice faltered, and I felt the rush of my heartbeat in my ears.

  “I like you a lot, Norah. Sometimes I think I could put up with it for ages, just because I like you so much. The hot and cold thing. The...games. But I can’t. I know you think I’m just a rich asshole. That I’m somehow above it all. But I am still a person, Norah. I have feelings.”

  He cast me a wary look, like I might try to deny it. No, Ronan. No feelings for you. You’re just a sexy hunk of meat with no heart.

  He looked genuinely distrustful. He didn’t trust me.

  I felt my face flush, as a realization hit me: he was probably right not to trust me. After all, it hadn’t even really occurred to me that I might be able to hurt him. But it was true: even billionaires had feelings.

  I looked down, and picked at the fabric of my old flowery bedspread.

  “Okay, look. I’ll end the trial run after today. By the end of the night I’ll tell: you yes or no. No more back and forth. We’ll either be together, or we’ll stop seeing each other completely. Does that work for you?”

  A voice inside my head was screaming at me: You’re still being an idiot, Norah! You already know what you want! Just say yes!

  But another voice said: Wait a little longer. Just a little longer.

  The second voice didn’t defend its position. It didn’t provide any arguments. It just kept repeating “Not yet, not yet,” in a panicky circle. Not ready for comforting touches and tender kisses. Not ready to feel like I belonged to someone else.

  I wanted all of it. I wanted him. But there was something about him that I still didn’t trust completely. I just needed a little more time...to...figure something out. To be sure.

  Ronan gave me a long, lingering look.

  “So this one night is my only chance to prove myself, huh?” he asked.

  I swallowed hard.

  “I mean, wasn’t exactly thinking about it quite like that…”

  “Don’t think I can handle the pressure?” A small smi
le rose to his lips. “You’ve forgotten how much I enjoy a challenge.”

  He grinned at me, giving me his classic Ronan Baylor look: full of confidence. I realized that I could only sense the nerves underneath because I’d gotten to know him better.

  I forced myself to smile back.

  “Okay then, hotshot. Show me what you’ve got.”

  I’m rooting for you, I wanted to tell him. This was the game to end all the games, and for once it seemed like we might be on the same team.

  Go team Ronan, I thought. Don’t screw this up.

  Ronan

  When we returned to the table the fight had ended. Norah’s mom and dad were each gazing silently down at their plates at opposite ends of the table. The rest of the family talked amongst themselves, politely pretended that nothing had happened.

  Norah took her same seat next to her mother. But I decided that my current seat was less than ideal, and it was time to make a trade. If this was potentially the last night that I was going to spend with Norah, I was damn well going to sit next to her.

  Her words echoed in my head: We’ll either be together, or we’ll stop seeing each other completely. Trust Norah to go for an extreme ultimatum. But then, I had sort of asked for it. And if she decided that she really didn’t want me, a clean break was probably best for both of us. No use chasing a deal that didn’t want to be made.

  But these were thoughts for the future. I wanted to stay focused on the present moment. I had one chance, and I wanted to make it count.

  I tapped the shoulder of Norah’s Uncle Jeff, who was sitting to her right. I’d spoken to him earlier, and we’d developed a good report, so that worked in my favor. I asked if he would mind swapping seats. He agreed. Point to Ronan.

  Norah’s mother scowled as I sat down next to her daughter. I didn’t let it bother me. I felt like one obstacle had been cleared out of my path. I was now in a strategically superior position for effectively proving my worthiness, and I could begin the next phase of strategizing. If Mrs. Green was the next obstacle, I could find a way around her too.

  “The food is delicious, Mrs. Green,” I said sincerely. “Thank you for putting this event together. I know it took a great deal of work. Thanks for letting me be a part of it, even though I was an unexpected guest. I really appreciate it.”

  Her expression softened a little. I congratulated myself. It looked like I’d successfully walked the line between flattery and sucking up.

  “Yes, well, that wasn’t your fault,” she said, kindly. “Norah should have told me you were coming.”

  “You would have only said no,” Norah mumbled.

  “Norah was very excited for me to meet all of you,” I said, trying to smooth things over. “Especially you. She said her mom was the best at throwing parties.”

  “Did she indeed?” Mrs. Green didn’t sound like she believed this. She looked over at Norah skeptically.

  “I said you put a lot of thought into throwing parties,” Norah said, creating a more plausible version of my lie.

  “Hmm.”

  She still wasn’t entirely convinced, but she was at least looking at me like I was a full person now, instead of an annoying intrusion.

  “So...Rodan, was it?”

  “Ronan.”

  “What is that you...do...Ronan. Are you a ‘musician’ too?”

  I could hear the air quotes around the word “musician.” It was like she thought “music” had been invented as a cover story for criminal activity. I became eager to assure her that I had nothing to do with it.

  I glanced at Norah, wondering if I had permission to reveal my “shocking true identity.” She gave a tiny shake of her head as she slipped a bite of lamb into her mouth.

  Since that didn’t leave me many options I said, lamely, “I’m, uh, in business.”

  It sounded like a lie, even to me.

  “I see,” Norah’s mom replied.

  “He’s very successful,” Norah put in. But she didn’t provide any further details, and her mother didn’t look impressed.

  “And what do you think of Norah’s little ‘career’ then? As a ‘successful businessman?’”

  Norah’s mom certainly seemed like the sort of person who didn’t let go of an issue. I dreaded the same argument starting up again. But I also felt compelled to defend Norah.

  “I think Norah’s very talented,” I told her. “I’m sure everything will work out for her.”

  I reached under the table and gave Norah’s hand a squeeze as I said this. I wanted her to know that I thought it was true.

  If Mrs. Green had been skeptical of me before, she was outright suspicious of me now. The way she looked at me, I might as well have been a demon leading her daughter down the garden path.

  But that mattered less to me than the fact that Norah softly squeezed my hand back.

  Maybe I was going about this all wrong. Maybe it was impossible to win Norah’s affection and win over her parents at the same time.

  “What sort of business are you in, exactly?” Mrs. Green prodded.

  Her tone was really beginning to annoy me. I have to admit I was not used to being interrogated, or having my qualifications doubted. Feeling defensive, I let slip a little bit of the truth.

  “Hotels,” I said.

  “Ah.”

  I could tell from her tone what she was thinking. I must be a porter, or a concierge at best. I must be throwing around the term “business” like it could mean literally anything.

  “Luxury hotels,” I added, as if that made it any better. “I’m in a management position.”

  As I kept trying to defend myself, I felt like I was just embarrassing myself more and more. Digging myself a bigger and bigger hole. It was disconcerting not to have my title or my well-known name to fall back on. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been fixed with a look full of so much scrutiny and disdain.

  Norah’s mom was just a short woman in her mid-sixties. She was dressed in pastels, for goodness sakes. But she was looking at me like I was some kind of disease. And damn it, she was scary.

  “A very high up management position.”

  Norah let go of my hand under the table and pinched it hard instead. She was telling me to stop talking. And she was perfectly right. This wasn’t worth getting worked up over.

  “I’m actually the head of the company,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  Norah turned at me and scowled hard. But I wasn’t worried. I’d known she didn’t want me to reveal my identity. That she considered it cheating. But I had just realized that bending the rules might be worth it. I had thought of a killer move. A move that might solve everything. Please Norah, please her parents. Game over.

  “Are you?” Norah’s mom started looking at me differently after I said that. She scanned me up and down again, like she was re-evaluating all of her previous assumptions. She still didn’t seem completely sure that she believed me. “Which hotel is that you work for?”

  I thought of Norah’s face, red and puffy from crying. I could put a stop to all of that.

  I gave her hand a firm squeeze. Trust me, I’ve got this.

  “I’m the head of the Baylor hotel group,” I told her. And the smuggest part of me couldn’t help adding, “You might have heard of us?”

  It was very rewarding to see Mrs. Green’s eyes go wide. Her voice slowed down in disbelief, like a record being played back on the wrong setting.

  “You’re Ronan Baylor,” she said, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

  “Yup.”

  Norah dropped my hand and stared at me. I winked subtly in her direction.

  “But...you’re famous,” Mrs. Green pointed out. As if this made it completely impossible for me to be in her home.

  “I have a reputation as a very shrewd businessman,” I agreed. I hoped Norah’s mother had heard something about that, and wasn’t just reacting to a notable name. And hopefully she didn’t associate the Baylor family with Barron’s recent exploi
ts.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “You do.”

  She looked over at Norah in complete disbelief.

  “And you two are...together?” she asked, doubtfully.

  By now the news had started spreading down the table. Conversations faded out as people turned to get a look at the celebrity billionaire in their midst.

  Norah looked...well, frankly she looked a little bit ill.

  “We’re…” she began. “I don’t know that I would say…”

  “We’re working together,” I cut in, before Norah could say anything about us not being together. I had a sinking feeling that if she let those words out once they could never be taken back.

  This was it. My winning move. I could see that it caught Norah’s mother completely off guard.

  “Norah...working with you?” she asked.

  “She performed at a fundraiser for the Baylor Scholarship for Artistic Excellence a few weeks ago. She was a big hit. So I got the idea to offer her a performance residency at the Baylor Prestige. I want her to perform her act there once a week.”

  Mrs. Green’s expression became hazy as she took in this new information. It seemed like her face had forgotten how to respond to good news. She recovered herself as quickly as possible, and plastered on a sunny grin.

  “Norah, that’s fantastic! What are you going to be paid? Er..if you don’t mind telling me, that is…”

  “I’m offering her…” I turned to meaningfully Norah, to communicate to her that this offer was completely real. “Well, my starting offer is $15,000 a month, but we’re still in negotiations.”

  All the color drained out of Norah’s face.

  “That’s...quite a generous rate for a hotel performer, from my understanding,” Mrs. Green said.

  “Yes,” Norah echoed. “It is. Very generous.”

  “Well, Norah isn’t just any performer. She’s an internet personality with her own following. I think this arrangement will be mutually beneficial. Norah will build her audience and her brand, and she’ll attract a younger customer to the hotel.”