“I’m fine, Mom. Just tired, I think. The new job is mentally challenging, but I’m up to it. Really. Please don’t worry about me. Focus on Charlie, on Eva. That’s what matters now.”
Sloane could hear her mother stirring her tea. The sound was a comforting bit of home.
“Okay, if you say so. But remember that I’m here for you, and you can call me anytime.”
“I know, Mom. I have to go.”
“Have a good night’s sleep, Sloane. I love you.”
The words stabbed at Sloane’s chest. How she longed to hear those words from David.
Sloane had always expected too much too soon. She had been so loved, was still so loved. Her family wanted only the best for her, but they couldn’t give her the happily ever after she craved. Only David could do that.
Sloane finally admitted to herself she had fallen in love with David the minute she met him back in that bar two years ago. When he looked into her eyes and held her for those few minutes, he won her heart. And now, she’d lost him, had told him to leave and never come back. She was the biggest dolt in America, and she knew it. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all: that’s what Shakespeare said. She sure hoped it was true.
“Good night, Mom.” Sloane closed her phone and buried her face in her pillow. She thrashed around on her bed, unable to get comfortable, unable to sleep. She kept wondering what David was doing, why he hadn’t called.
“Don’t come back,” she’d said, and she hated herself for being so impetuous and cruel. And after he had been so thoughtful, so kind. Sloane remembered how he’d been so tender with her after the car accident, how generous he’d been with the clothes and cosmetics, how easy it’d been when they made supper, and finally how vigorous sex had been over and over again. How could she have sent him away?
She considered taking another hot bath, to scald away the memory of David’s hands on her breasts and between her legs, of his long, lean body pressing so deeply into hers. She recalled how he fit inside her like a missing puzzle piece, and how when he wasn’t inside her, she felt empty, bereft even, a feeling she’d never had before.
Peter had made love to her many times, but never once had it been the epiphany David’s body evoked. David had brought her to climax more times in one night than she had ever experienced with Peter. Poor Peter. He’d been a fine lover, a caring and gentle lover, yet she had never been wowed by his caresses, had never lost herself to his body. She’d often faked great passion with him, and she regretted doing so, but with David it was real.
She threw the covers off her legs, and then pulled them up again when she began to shiver. She wondered if David was thinking about her. Was he as agitated, as bereft, as besotted as she?
No. David hadn’t been rash or indiscrete. That was all on her.
He was probably back at Grant trying to make that next big deal. He had actually taken a night off for her. Sloane recalled how surprised Tony and Maya had been when he told them. He did it to please her, or maybe he did it to get her in bed. Sloane didn’t know what to think. Tumult and incongruity conspired in her overworked brain. Everything was so new, and so discombobulating.
Had she imagined his tenderness? She wanted him so much, maybe she had misinterpreted all that had happened.
It didn’t take long for Sloane to convince herself she had misconstrued the whole evening. After all, if David really cared wouldn’t he have seen how much she wanted him to fight for her, to stay despite her demands he leave? He certainly had given up readily. Maybe he was secretly relieved to be rid of her.
That was it.
He must have been glad to leave, or else he would have put up some kind of fight.
She convinced herself he didn’t care. She convinced herself she was not missing anything but heartbreak. If she let him get any closer, she would be enthralled for life. She knew it as sure as she knew her name.
Then why did she want to call him so badly? Why did she want to tell him she had made a huge mistake?
She knew if she gave in, called David and apologized, he’d be in her bed tonight. And she also surmised that if he were to come back, she would be lost. If he touched her soul with his, put his body atop hers, she would tell him she loved him.
Yes, she loved him, and he did not love her.
Sloane felt so tormented, she clenched her fists and beat her bed like a child at tantrum.
She knew love had to be a two way street. And the avenue she traveled with David was one way. She had to control her desire and keep herself from him, from seeing him, from reaching out to him. If she went to him now, she would be his until he tired of her or found some new toy, and then she would never have a soul mate.
Was it possible that he was hers, but she wasn’t his? Was it possible that she had been wrong about the concept her whole life?
Self doubt and melancholy flooded her mind and her body. She fell asleep fitfully only to dream about him.
In her dreams, they made love all night, so that when she woke the next morning, she was utterly enervated, bone weary, ready for nothing but a lousy day at Forster. Even the weather reflected her grief. The clouds gathered and rain poured as the whole sky seemed to share her woe.
She wanted to stay in bed and read, but she forced herself to get ready for work. She hurriedly dressed and called a cab, but when she opened the door to leave, a note fluttered to her feet. She picked it up and her heart raced. Was it from David?
The paper was a receipt and the “paid in full” told her David continued to take charge despite her demands he cease. The new car was parked in her spot under the balcony.
“Oh, David,” she groaned, looking at the bright red sedan she could never afford.
She walked around the shiny new car and thought it the prettiest thing she had ever seen next to David’s smile. She wanted to return it, but she also wanted to sit down in the gorgeous leather driver’s seat and fly down the road to thank its purchaser. It was a gift too great to accept, she knew, but sending the car back would only be ungracious. She decided to accept his gift until the insurance check for her old car arrived. She’d pay him back, she reasoned.
Sloane finally sank into the driver’s seat and found the keys in the ignition. A key chain with an S hung from the keys. S for stupid, sad Sloane.
She almost wept.
Instead, she started the car. As it purred to life, Sloane shook off her self-loathing.
Work to do, she reminded herself with consternation. Sloane decided to drive straight to work, not even stopping for coffee or a strawberry muffin.
But then she found herself driving past Grant Oil on her way to Forster, and she saw David’s sports car in his parking spot. She was so glad to know where he was, to envision him in his spacious office, commanding his staff. She wanted to call and say thank you for the car, but she was afraid to hear his voice. She knew if she did, she would relent, would apologize and then he’d be back at her side. Then what?
Then I’d be happy, she thought.
Could she really be happy living with a man who could make love to her all night but never say the words? Could she settle for loving him, yet never be loved back?
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
Sloane rubbed her temples in confusion.
Pulling into Grant Oil, she stopped her new car behind his black Maserati. She plucked the receipt from her tote and penned a quick note on the back.
David, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us. Thanks for the gorgeous car. Be assured, I will repay you when I get the insurance check. I hope you have a great life and you get all the happiness you deserve. --Sloane
She got out of the car, and her hands shook as she went to put the note under his windshield wiper. Just as she lifted the steel arm, an ear piercing alarm sounded.
Chapter 10
From his vantage point on the top floor of Grant Oil, David saw Sloane driving away in the car he had bought her. His own vehicle screamed for a
ttention, and he wondered what the hell she’d done to his car.
“Nate, go check my ride. Make sure it isn’t scratched or dented, and turn off the car alarm while you’re at it,” David demanded as he took the keys from his pocket and tossed them at Nate.
Nate scurried toward the elevator.
David scowled at Nate’s back, at the window, at his car, at the world.
He was in a foul mood and it was Sloane’s doing. She was as unreasonable as any woman he’d ever known. Why he had thought she would be different, he didn’t know. Probably because she was better looking, had nicer breasts, the most vivid eyes, and had provided the best sex he’d ever had. David would only focus on the external qualities. If he started to list her real assets—the way she spoke so authentically and intelligently, the humorous things she said, the way she looked at him, the way her look made his heart crash against his ribs, he’d be even more frustrated than he already felt.
She took the car; and he smiled, despite his worsening disposition. Of course she did. What woman wouldn’t want a beautiful, new car? Still, her accepting his extravagant gift seemed to not gel with the independent nature that so provoked his ire.
Why had she driven it? Probably so she could use it to crash into his car. She read all those crazy books, so who knows what schemes the jilted heroines had taught her? David watched as Nate toured around the car and then got in and shut off the blaring alarm. It looked as if his assistant picked up a sheet of paper from the ground. David pressed his nose against the glass like a little boy trying to search out Santa. What was that slip of damp paper in Nate’s hand?
David strode to the elevator and waited impatiently as the numbers above the contraption lit up. Ding, the doors opened, and David snatched the paper from Nate’s hands.
“Is the car damaged?” he asked. Nate shook his head in the negative.
“Take a break,” David said over his shoulder as he stomped away with the car receipt.
He sat at his desk and read Sloane’s note over and over again.
Sitting there with a puzzled look on his face, he pondered the meaning of her words.
She was sorry. Check. Made sense to him after the highhanded way she had behaved when he visited the previous evening.
She liked the car, was grateful for it. Yes, so who wouldn’t love a new car and say thank you?
The part about paying him back was pure Sloane. Prideful, stubborn, driven Sloane. He knew she’d remunerate him no matter how long it took or how many hours she had to slave. Tony better be paying her well if she expected to reimburse him. He better check on that. The old skinflint might just be taking advantage of her youth and inexperience.
It was the last part of her note that made David tense his muscles and grit his teeth. He already had a great life, and he was plenty happy. Was she indicating otherwise? Did she actually think she was done with him, and he with her? No way. No how.
He grabbed his cell and stabbed out Tony’s number. As the phone rang, David shuffled the papers on his desk and scrolled through the emails on his computer screen.
“What’s up, David?” Tony answered and he sounded busy.
“Are you paying Sloane enough?”
“What?”
“You are giving her a decent salary, right? The woman is trying to support herself. She went to work the day after a car accident. You need to pay her what she’s worth.”
“What is she worth?” Tony asked. The sly fox.
“Everything,” David admitted.
Tony whispered, “Then tell her that. She’s here right now. Shall I put her on?”
“Hell no,” David groaned and Tony laughed into the line. David wished he could punch him.
“Just treat her right,” David said, and he began pacing in front of his desk.
“I could say the same to you. Hold on a minute, okay?” David could hear Tony mumbling to someone, probably Sloane, and he heard Tony shut a door.
“She’s gone. What did you do to her, David?” Tony accused.
“Nothing, man. I brought champagne, I bought her a car, and then she kicked me out of her place,” David protested. He could hear the confusion in his own voice, and it irked him further. He should be outraged!
“I have no idea how any of that could offend her.” Silence. David plopped into his chair. “Maybe it was telling her brother we’d come for his wedding?” David balefully conceded.
“What?” Tony asked incredulously. “You got on the horn and spoke to her family without her knowing?”
“No, I did it right in front of her. She was online, doing the web conference thing, and I offered to . . .”
“Chicks hate that,” Tony interrupted.
“Hate what?” David thought Tony must be nuts.
“They don’t want to be told what to do, how or when. You broke a cardinal rule, my friend.” Tony sighed into the phone.
“I know,” David admitted, and he rolled his head around on his shoulders trying to ease the tension collecting in his neck. “Now what?”
“Let me ask Maya tonight, and I will get back to you on that one. Until then, dude, do nothing.”
“She left me a Dear John note on my car today. Yadda, Yadda, have a good life. Why do I even care?” David complained as he palmed a Waterford paper weight.
“Do you really want to know? I can tell you.”
David sat up. “Tell me.”
“Because she’s the one, man. Maya and I could see it right away. You’re just too pigheaded and dumb to notice what’s staring you in the face,” Tony surmised.
David felt like he’d been run over by a train.
“Bull,” he countered, but even he wondered if Tony could be right. Could Sloane Porter be the one? What was ‘the one’ anyway? David felt a long way from understanding the idea, and the words made his skin tighten at the temples.
“Okay, David. Whatever you say. Promise me you’ll hang loose until I get back to you.”
“Yeah, whatever. Bye,” David clicked off his phone and grabbed the note again. He read it ten more times before he threw it in the trash. He paced for a few more minutes before he got up and fished the paper from the trash can and folded it neatly, placing it in his leather wallet.
By the time the work day ended, David was ready to hear what his best friends had to say. He exited Grant Oil and drove straight to Tony and Maya’s place.
They listened to the whole, annoying story over a fabulous Italian dinner Maya prepared, and then they offered David their best advice. He really didn’t want to hear that he needed to be patient, that he needed to give Sloane time to think things over, time to miss him, that he needed to woo Sloane slowly, that he had to apologize or risk losing her for good. But he listened and told them he’d think about it.
What did make him feel better was Tony’s description of how miserable Sloane seemed. He was also secretly proud that she was quickly proving to be an asset at Forster. David knew the woman was smart, and that Tony was lucky to have access to her skill set. Sloane was being adequately compensated, as well, and that made David smile.
On his way home to the mansion, he drove past Sloane’s apartment. He could see the light on even though she had the curtain drawn. What was she wearing, eating, doing? It took all his strength not to stop his car and knock on her door, but he heard Maya’s voice, “Slow down, David. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Thank goodness she hadn’t mentioned “the one” like Tony had or he might have left angry and ignored all her well-intentioned advice. It seemed he despised being told what to do and when as much as Sloane did. Another thing they had in common. The thought did not ease him.
David went home, and for the first time in his life, he tried to write a letter. Sure, he’d written plenty of business correspondence, but an actual “this is how I feel” letter. Never. A novice at anything slightly related to getting the girl, he felt like a baby trying to learn to crawl. Everything he typed, he deleted. He tried it the old fashioned way, too. He got out a legal pad
and used a pencil. But, by the time midnight rolled around, he’d only managed to make a pencil erased mess of the entire project.
He rang her number. She answered on the first ring.
“David?” she said, and he could hear the sleep in her voice. He imagined her in her little bed, and he wished he could tell her this over the pillow, like they had spoken just a couple nights before. The thought made him go hard, and he tried not to let his desire sound in his voice.
“Yes, it’s me. How are you, sweetheart?”
No answer.
“I am calling to apologize for. . .”
He didn’t really know what he had done so wrong. What was it Maya said?
“. . . being so stupid and pigheaded last night. I shouldn’t have gotten into your business, and I won’t do it again.”
He heard Sloane sigh deeply.
“Yes you will, if I give you half a chance. You can’t help it, David. You’re accustomed to getting everything you want when you want. Well, that won’t work for me.”
He waited. Was that it? Was she done talking? She wasn’t.
“David, I need to focus on my new job, on growing up without the help of my parents’ checkbook or yours, on finding my . . .”
Now it was her turn to pause. David felt the tension on the phone thicken.
“Soul mate?” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she said, and he detected a note of wistfulness in her sultry voice. The hairs on his arms stood up. David wished he could say he would try to be her partner for life, but the words got stuck in his throat and all he could do was cough.
“David, I have to go. Please give me some space.” There was the word Maya used. Were all beautiful women reading the same damned dictionary?
“Okay, Sloane. I will. But don’t expect me to wait forever.” He hung up the phone. Good. The ball was in her court and she could hit it his way or forfeit the game. Either way, he would win. He certainly wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. But he would wait. He would plan his strategy carefully.
One thing was for sure. Sloane Porter would not get away again. Like he grabbed up stocks and bonds, like he gobbled up corporations, he would take her over. He smiled and turned on the TV to watch the business news.
The Billionaire's Bauble Page 9