by May Sage
"Calling to cancel on me?" he asked.
Was she? She most definitely didn't feel like attending any kind of fancy party right now.
"I don't think so?" It was still early, maybe in a few hours she wouldn't feel like hiding under her blanket and pretending that the world didn't exist. "Are you busy right now? There's something I'd like to talk about."
"No, I'm on my way back to the city. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Where are you? I hear cars."
"On Fifth. I was meeting my mom for a drink when...." That wasn't a discussion she wanted to have over the phone. "Something came up."
"You're close to my apartment. Do you remember the address?"
How could she forget anything about the night he'd brought her to his place and changed her world?
"Sure."
"Head over there. I'll tell the concierge to let you in, in case I arrive after you."
"See you in a few."
She finally started to relax, joining the crowd walking down the wide paved streets of the city. She got to Desmond's building in good time, but the unfairly gorgeous man in white was waiting in the lobby, right in front of the concierge's desk.
His easy expression morphed into a troubled one the moment he saw her, so she must have looked as distressed as she was.
"What's the matter? Are you all right?"
His eyes took her in from bottom to top in one sweeping glance, as if to assess the damage.
"I'm...." Fine, she wanted to say, if only to appease him, but the easy lie just wouldn't come out. "Panicking. Shall we go up? I need to explain a few things."
"In a moment," he replied, waving her toward the concierge's desk.
A handsome man of her age smiled at her.
"Kathryn Woodrow, I take it?"
She nodded. "That's it."
"Mr. King has cleared you for entry at any time. I just need to take a picture, if you wouldn't mind? In case one of my colleagues or a new concierge is behind the desk next time you come in."
Oh. He hadn't just asked the concierge to let her in now, he'd set it up so she could drop by his place any time. Ryn guessed that the process was easily revocable in case they ever stopped hanging out, but part of her wanted to ask how many of his friends were granted that privilege. This proved an easy distraction, diverting her train of thought.
They rode in the elevator in silence, as they had so long ago. The apartment was just as white and pristine as she remembered it being. The black cat was still around, and still hated her guts, as he promptly showed by hissing before running as fast as his little legs would carry him.
This time, she asked, "What is it with you and white?"
Ryn headed to the sofa where she'd cried and held on to him for dear life and sat there.
Desmond laughed. "I used to share this place with both of my brothers. We have very different tastes, so we kept the common areas plain. Once they got their own places, I told myself I could start decorating, change curtains and stuff. Ten years later, I still haven't."
She rolled her eyes. What typical male behavior.
Just as he had back then, Desmond went to his bar and filled two glasses with wine. She took the one he offered her, although it was early in the afternoon.
"That can't be it. You also wear white clothes. Your office is entirely white and...."
He shrugged. "I do find it calming," he admitted. "Simple, free of distractions. Somewhere along the line, it became a personal signature of sorts, and my wearing anything else seems to be seen as a statement."
Ryn remembered the sight of him in Maverick's too tight dark tuxedo, and decided that it was for the best. The man was too delicious in anything else.
"And here I thought it had some sort of deep, spiritual meaning or something. Just laziness and convenience. You know, the place would be quite cozy with dark curtains, a bit of color here and there, maybe even a leather armchair."
"So change it," he said, appearing amused and exasperated all at once. "I'll give you a credit card, knock yourself out. Enough about this, Ryn. Tell me what's the matter."
She'd delayed the inevitable as much as she could, but now it poured out of her. She told him everything about Natalie, her drug addiction, the assholes she hung out with, how she'd begged for money, and then Ryn moved on to Wallace and the blackmail. The words came out in waves without her stopping to breathe for more than a second.
"They had an agreement, she and Wallace," she said finally. "A tight contract. Natalie knows better than to go against a contract; we have some family history that didn't end well. If she's sniffing around me now? He somehow contacted her and told her it was okay."
Desmond had listened in silence, and without touching his drink. Now he asked, "That contract. Have you read it?"
She shook her head. "Wallace told me she wasn't allowed to impersonate me again, ever. He wanted to be the only one with leverage on me. We have different hair; it’s our only difference. Hers is straight. If she goes for the curly look? It's definitely to pretend to be me. I haven't heard from or about her in years and now, weeks after Wallace is imprisoned, she's asking about me?"
Desmond nodded. "Yes, he's reached out to her, and they'll make a move against you soon."
He got up from the sofa and headed to the window overlooking the city. For quite some time, Desmond observed his view without a word. She felt like each second lasted an eternity.
"Come here," he finally said.
She tiptoed her way to him.
"How do you like the view?"
The randomness of the question took her aback. "Sorry?"
"You like the apartment. How about the view?"
She shrugged. "The park, and the city skyline in the distance. What's not to like?"
"Good. You'll stay here for a while. Before you protest on principle, that's non-negotiable. I don't want your sister or her charming friends to be able to reach you. A bodyguard will take you to and from work, as well as anywhere else you want to go."
She could see he expected her to object, and his jaw was firmly set as he prepared counterarguments to anything she might say.
"All right."
She wasn't going to disagree; Natalie had asked about her, and David had known enough to steer her right if she was determined to find her. Ryn quite simply didn't want her sister to be able to reach her.
"It's not a permanent solution, though. Eventually, she'll find me, and she'll blackmail or threaten me again."
"She will, and soon. We'll make it easy on her."
Ryn frowned in confusion.
"Natalie went to Wallace, your former boss. If she fails to reach you—"
"She'll go to Cal," Ryn guessed.
Desmond shook his head. "Oh, no. Not after tonight. We'll ensure that you're photographed next to me. She'll come to me, and I'll take care of the rest."
32
Chances
The dress fit perfectly, but Ryn couldn’t remember a time when she'd ever felt more self-conscious. It was too elegant, too showy, and too rich for her blood. She was pretty sure that the outfit could have paid for two or three months of care for Bex, at least. She dared not look at the price tag.
There was a discreet knock on the door of the purple bedroom Desmond had led her to after stopping by her place to grab a few suitcases of clothes.
"Come in!"
Desmond walked in ahead of two tall, bulky men, one bald, the other with short-cropped blond hair. They looked alike, with the same jawlines, mouths, and noses.
"Ryn, meet Fred and Taylor Donaldson. They'll be looking after you for the time being. Fred, T, Kathryn Woodrow."
Fred, the bald brother, nodded gravely, while the other one waved and said "hi," politely.
She waved back. "Hey. That was fast. I didn't know one could hire bodyguards within a couple of hours."
Taylor smiled. "It helps when your name is King."
Desmond explained, "They're with Knightley Security. We share a building, and their boss happens
to be one of my few actual friends. But, yes. Generally speaking, it helps to be me. That'll be all for now."
Fred nodded, Taylor waved again, and they were on their way. Desmond turned back to her, and leaned against her doorway. "That dress was made for you."
She turned back to the full-length mirror, shifting uncomfortably. "You think so?"
"I know so. Are you ready?"
She shook her head. "I don't have any makeup on."
Desmond shrugged. "It's not like you need it."
Typical male answer. She just rolled her eyes and started to apply her foundation, contour, and lip liner. He remained propped on her door, watching the whole thing.
"Are you going to stay there?"
"Yes," he stated. Then he added, "Unless it's making you uncomfortable."
It didn't. It felt intimate, somehow. She added eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick.
"There. Better."
"If you say so. And now that you've made us fashionably late, let us be on our way."
It wasn't Ryn's first gala, but it was the first one she was attending on the arm of Desmond King. Usually, she'd accompanied Wallace and his wife, standing two steps behind them in professional attire. Today, in the green velvet gown, and standing next to the one man everyone wanted to see, hear, and talk to, it was another story from the very start.
Members of the press had been gathered at the doors; they hailed every guest, begging for a word or even a look. Some stopped, others didn't. Ryn was pretty certain that Desmond was normally the kind of guy who waltzed straight past them, but tonight he stopped, holding her round the waist, close to him.
Some asked about his investments, others wanted to know whether his appearance at a Democratic gala meant that he supported their party, and their leader, Tristan McNamara. Most wanted to know her name.
Desmond gave a short reply to each question. Yes, they'd bought an organic farming factory. The project was close to their heart. No, he didn't support Tristan, he was a registered Independent. But he believed in supporting the cause the McNamaras were funding tonight. And she was called Kathryn Woodrow. He said little else of her, no doubt inciting more curiosity. They headed inside, ignoring the volley of questions shouted at them.
There was no doubt that Natalie would hear of this, if she still read gossip rags.
As soon as they'd stepped inside, they were surrounded by a crowd.
"Mr. King. A pleasure. I don't know if you remember, we've met—"
"Desmond. It's been too long, buddy!"
They shook hands, said hello, and progressively advanced further into the room.
Some people asked to be introduced to her, others didn't. Ryn felt like she'd been thrust into another world, another time. There was a King and everyone wanted his attention, his acknowledgment. She was a poor commoner who didn't belong here. Most of the haute hated her on sight. Some leered openly, others glared. There was the occasional smile, too.
Finally, finally, they made it to the bar.
There was a thick crowd around it, but people parted ways to let them through.
"Whoa. That was intense. May I please have something with vodka?" she asked the bartender, who nodded and started working without a word.
Desmond laughed. "I thought you had enough of vodka after yesterday."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, then Natalie happened. Plus, whatever that was with all those people," she said, waving behind her.
Desmond said, "I'm successful. It comes with a price. Funnily enough, most of them don't really want to talk to me. I'm their way to Maverick."
She lifted a skeptical brow.
"Your younger brother?"
He explained, "Callum, Maverick, and I are all on the Forbes list, like at least a dozen people around us right now. But Callum and I are in the middle of the pack. Maverick makes the top ten. He's Midas incarnate. Whatever he touches turns to gold. But he left the country half a decade ago, and he hasn't socialized much since. He's more interested in spending time with his fiancé than with prospective business partners."
Ryn smiled. "He sounds like a nice guy. I've only seen him in passing here and there."
"We'll have to introduce you. You'll like Lexi. She's very down to earth." He tilted his head. "And a little kinky around the edges, but then again, she's marrying a King."
Lucky gal.
Her drink arrived, and Desmond asked for a glass of red wine. One didn't have beer at a benefit, presumably.
Ryn’s eyes caught an unmistakable figure entering the ballroom, and she followed her progress, marveling at her grace. She wasn't too much of a fangirl, but standing in the same room as Nessie was something. It wasn't just that the woman had the most amazing voice, and it certainly wasn't about the fact that she was dating a hot Hollywood star. Ryn admired her for everything she did quietly, without advertising it. Helping kids and artists. Showering money onto deserving causes. Some bloggers followed the rumors and money trails.
Journalists had asked her why she didn't publicly take credit for her social outreach efforts. Nessie had shrugged. "There are those who like to help and those who like to be seen helping. I like to think I'm behind curtain number one."
It was probably just an image she'd polished to garner the admiration of her fans, but in a world where everyone was out for themselves, she was a flower growing amongst weeds.
"Ah, Vanessa. You mentioned you were a fan. Shall I introduce you?"
Ryn shook her head. She didn't want to be like the sea of people who'd gathered around Desmond earlier. He might have been polite, but they were an obvious bother, obstacles between them and the bar.
The woman had come in alone, adorned in a gold sheath and with a ton of confidence sprinkled over her like fairy dust. She smiled, joked, and charmed her way through the room. Then she caught Desmond's eye and waved enthusiastically.
Of course he knew her.
Nessie's attention went from him to her, and she smiled. Ryn watched her excuse herself to the couple she was talking to, and advance toward the bar.
"Ah. Now may be as good a time as any to mention the reason why I took a picture of your art piece in the first place. I thought it was good, but I'm no expert, so I asked her to check it out."
Ryn's heart had never beat as fast. She was feeling a little sick, and numb, too. Desmond kept talking, but she didn't hear much.
"In my defense, I sent it before our conversation about your wish to improve before exhibiting your work."
The beautiful brunette closed in. "Desmond King."
She gave him her elegant hand and he kissed the back of it like they belonged to another world. Which, admittedly, they did.
"Vanessa McNamara."
"Tell me this is she," said Nessie, eager and enthusiastic.
"Indeed. Vanessa, meet Ryn. Ryn, Vanessa."
The singer reached out with both of her hands, holding hers. "So vibrant and full of feeling. I love your style. There's some technique, too. Primordial to abstract. Picasso's early works are full of technical studies before his blue period. You've studied art, yes?"
She nodded. "I mean, a little? I took it as a minor in college."
"And she's smart, too," Nessie gushed. "Desmond said it was your first painting after a break? I want to see more of your work. Promise?"
Ryn wondered if anyone had ever said no to this woman. Probably not. She was so sweet and irresistible. She found herself agreeing, and next thing she knew, Nessie was sharing her private contact details, making one fact of life abundantly clear.
Success wasn't about what you knew, as much as who you knew. If Ryn kept showing this woman pieces that she approved of? She'd make it as an artist. Sure, it was up to her now, but had she not known Desmond King, she would never, in a million years, have had this opportunity.
Soon the star had to go dazzle someone else, leaving them alone.
"I'm never going to be able to repay you for that," she told Desmond.
It might go absolutely nowhere, bu
t some people would have killed for an introduction to the renowned art patron.
"Good thing I didn't ask for any form of compensation. I don't pretend to be an expert, but that's not how friendship works, Ryn."
Nothing about their relationship felt like friendship. And for once, she called him out on it. "I'm no expert, either, but you aren't acting like a friend, Desmond."
There, she’d said it. And sure, she wasn't meeting his eyes, and she felt her entire face heat up, but the words were out of her mouth nonetheless.
Desmond made no answer at first. Then, he muttered, "I'm going to need another drink for this," and gestured to a bartender, who abandoned the drink he was pouring to take his order. "Bourbon, neat."
"And for the lady?"
"The lady needs to stay sober tonight," he said, speaking for her. Ryn opened her mouth to say she could damn well decide that for herself, but he added, "Because if she isn't, there's zero chance that I'll take her to bed tonight."
Oh.
Oh.
How was the whole thinking thing supposed to work again? And speaking. She needed a 101 video to explain all that in detail.
"Cards on the table. I like you, and I'm aware of the fact that you fancy me. But there's a very high probability that I'm all kinds of wrong for you, Kathryn. I'm not the indecisive kind. If I had no reservations, I would have told you weeks ago. Months ago. Years ago."
Years?
Her confusion must have been obvious, because after taking a long sip of the drink the bartender handed him, he repeated, "Years ago. Yes, you heard that right. I've wanted you from the day I first saw you and even then I knew that the likelihood of you and me working out was close to nil."
* * *
She bit her lip. "So, we're better off as friends?"
He smirked. "Well, I certainly tried that approach. If I had my way, you would have scratched the itch with an easier partner last night. Someone simple, affectionate, perhaps. But you didn't so much as look at your options. And now you're pressing the issue. That tells me one thing. You know who I am, what I am; you have a vague understanding of what I like, and yet, you're willing to try."