The waiter nod and looks at me. I can see his eyes start to follow my neck before darting back up to my face. “And you, ma’am?” he asks.
“I’d like the spicy shrimp and pasta,” I say.
“Of course.” The waiter bows his head, as he takes our menus, and he leaves.
I share a smile with Eli. If he’s being sincere, I’m positive he’s on the verge of professing his love to me. Maybe he just needs a little encouragement to draw it out of him, I think. “Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Assuming you’re telling the truth, and I’m the only woman you’ve seen more than once in a long time, I want to know why that is.” I take a long sip of my wine, watching Eli’s face over my glass. My heart is thudding with anticipation.
Eli’s eyes drop down to the tablecloth. “I don’t want many friends,” he says at last, so quietly I almost mistake his voice as part of the soft music playing in the background.
I’m startled by his answer. I had been anticipating more of a romantic statement, not a sincerely reserved, almost pained answer. He’s being really honest with me for once, and I don’t know what to make of it.
“Why?” I ask.
The wall returns to Eli’s face, and he leans back, holding his wine glass between him and me as if to use it as a barrier as well. “Unlike you, Ruby, I’m not interested in people knowing everything about me,” he says, his tone a little distant. “I like being private.”
Shocked by the way the conversation is going, a part of me wants to just drop the matter and talk about myself, fix the awkwardness, and hope that we get back to the romantic evening.
“I get that, but you’re more than just private,” I hear myself say. I cringe inwardly. That was anything but romantic.
Eli’s green eyes narrow on me a little. “Am I?”
I’m trying not to ruin the mood that Eli’s set for the evening, but I can’t help but lean a little closer, making sure I have his full attention. “You don’t like to talk about stuff that shouldn’t bother someone normally. Like about your family, or your work,” I say. “I feel like I’m prying teeth out when I ask you questions.”
“Is that so bad?” Eli’s tone has become cool, and I know I should stop. It’s his warning that I’ve gone far enough. However, I can’t stop reaching. The truth is so close I can almost touch it.
“No, it’s not bad,” I say. I want to reassure Eli, and I hope I can get this conversation back on track. “Whatever issues you’ve got to work through, that’s cool. I get it. No hard feelings about past junk. But don’t pretend that it’s just because you’re an introvert or you don’t like to talk about yourself or you’re picky about your friends. It’s more than that for you. I think you’re afraid of getting attached to people, so you keep everyone at arm’s length from yourself.”
Eli’s eyes freeze on my face, and I blink in surprise, as I realize what I had said. It was honest, but it definitely wasn’t the nicest thing to say. Or the best thing to say for such a romantic setting.
A few seconds pass, and I self-consciously smooth out some of the folds in my dress and take another long sip of my wine, waiting as Eli stares at me. Our waiter arrives with our salads, and Eli finally looks away from me, thanking the waiter, and we eat. There’s an uncomfortable silence over us as we avoid each other’s gaze, but I hold my tongue, afraid of what I’ll say next, and desperately hoping that Eli will fix our conversation.
We finish our salads, and Eli gives a heavy sigh. “Why are you so concerned about me?”
I frown a little. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you care?” Eli asks.
“I want to know you better,” I say. “I know some of you. And I really like what I know,” I add. I crack a grin, and Eli finally smirks. “But I want to get to know you even more, and I’m not satisfied with learning more at an arm’s length from you.” I hold out my hand on the table. “I really like you, Eli. I…I think I love you.”
I close my eyes in surprise. The admission had spilled out by accident, but it was done. My heart is on the table, and I wait.
There’s a long pause, long enough that at last I open my eyes and look up at Eli. His brow is drawn a little, and his eyes are locked on me. His arms are crossed, and I’m pretty sure I can see the muscles in his jaw working a little. I can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking, but it doesn’t look good, and I start to feel anxious in a bad way.
“You don’t love me,” Eli says, almost matter-of-factly.
I feel like I got punched in the gut I lose my breath so bad. “I—”
“And I don’t want to get any closer,” Eli says. His tone isn’t threatening, but I can’t help it, as I stiffen my back and pull my arm back to myself.
Had I misunderstood this whole evening? I thought that Eli feels like I do, but I am wrong. Eli doesn’t love me, and apparently he doesn’t even have feelings for me, nor does he want to.
This was all made worse by the fact that even a week ago I didn’t mind the “strictly professional” relationship we had set. I had just been happy that Eli even wanted to see me again. But now I had professed my love, and there was nothing in return. My heart had gotten involved, and I can’t hide my disappointment and hurt that, clearly, Eli’s heart hadn’t.
“So this is it?” I ask. My voice trembles a little. “Hikes, fancy dinners, a couple of drinks, and we make love? Lovers, and nothing more?”
“Ruby,” Eli says, his voice stern. “I told you it would go nowhere.”
“I-I know,” I stutter.
Our waiter arrives at this point, taking our empty salad bowls and setting our entrées in front of us. He avoids looking at us, and as soon as he refills our wine glasses, he leaves. We start eating, the silence hovering over us again.
“So, nothing at all? You’re not interested in anything more?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and even.
Eli watches me for a minute. “I like you, Ruby,” he says. “But I’m not ready for anything that serious.”
I nod my head in defeat. I knew that going in. Eli wanted me as a lover, nothing else. That’s what we had agreed on when we first met. I tell myself I need to take the fact that Eli even wanted me as a lover as a compliment, considering his earlier claim of never seeing a woman more than once.
“Alright,” I make myself say. My heart is aching. Why’d it have to go and break the rules and get so attached? However, if I don’t play Eli’s little game, I know it’ll hurt even more. “I’m sorry,” I say.
The little light in Eli’s green eyes disappears, his face becoming expressionless. “Very well,” he says.
Confused, I watch his face. “I’m fine just staying as lovers,” I say quietly.
Eli shakes his head. “No. No, it’s better if this doesn’t continue.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I just got confused; it’ll be fine.”
“I think,” Eli says, “that it’s for the best if this stops now.”
Panicking, I look for some sign on Eli’s face that he doesn’t mean it. “Please,” I say.
“We’re done, Ruby,” Eli says. The finality in his tone sends my heart sinking, and I lose the rest of my appetite.
We finish dinner without a word, me just pushing the food around on my plate and trying not to cry. Eli declines dessert from our waiter. When the waiter then bids us a good evening and leaves, Eli stands up, and I wonder if I’m in charge of the check.
“The check has been handled,” Eli says to my questioning face.
“Oh.” I stand up, avoid looking at Eli, and we head downstairs, walking beside each other without touching. Eli at least has the decency to wait while I get my coat on, and Lee bids us a good evening when Eli and I head outside.
There’s a slight nip in the air, the sun having set, and I shiver as I clutch my coat closer to me. I wonder if Eli’s going to have a cab take me home, but he escorts me to the limo, which has pulled up when we walk out. We’re quiet on our drive back, and I look at everyt
hing except Eli. Eventually Eli leans over and turns the dance music off, and I close my eyes at the pain of the silence.
I want to say something, but I don’t know what to say. I finally find love, but I find it in a man that doesn’t want to be close to anyone. What do I even do? What do I say? I stare at my hands as the limo drives on, wondering if I should argue with Eli that I can do it, that I can stay in the “lover zone” with Eli, and persuade him.
Before I can parse through all of my thoughts and emotions, the limo stops and the driver opens the door. Eli steps out and helps me outside. His touch is distant and polite, nothing more.
“Have a good evening, Miss Jennings,” Eli says.
That he’s switched to calling me by my last name hurts me, deeply. “Please, Eli,” I say. I want to say more, but Eli’s already gone, slipping into the limo. The door shuts, and the limo drives away.
Now that I’m away from Eli, I’m aware of how lonely and rejected I feel, and I fight the urge to sob in public, as I make my way back to my penthouse. Once I close my door, I manage to get some headache relief pills into me before I lean against the counter, put a hand over my face, and weep like a heartbroken little school girl.
How could one man turn my world so inside out? I hadn’t meant to feel so strongly about Eli, but I had, and in one admission, I’d ruined even the possibility of remaining as his lover.
On the other hand, I feel immensely frustrated that Eli felt the need to be so cold and distant from me, even as “just a lover,” and eventually, I throw a pillow from my couch at the wall.
“That damn…hot….” I swear a bit more, throwing more pillows.
I don’t like to cry, and oftentimes I try to overcome tears with anger. This is one of those moments, as I pace back and forth in my penthouse.
“Why do I like such a cold-hearted man?” I ask the empty air. “Why Eli? Why couldn’t it have been someone else that at least would be okay with being lovers? And why did I have to open my damn mouth and confess to feelings that I only think are true?!”
When I don’t receive an answer, I collapse onto my messed up couch, twisting my hair strands around with my hands. That’s when I realize that Buttercup hasn’t come out. I lift my head, wiping my moist eyes with my sleeve, and look around.
“Buttercup?” I call.
My cat’s never not greeted me before, and I have an ill feeling as I go over to her bed, which is tucked in a corner of my room. Buttercup’s lying on the bedding on her side, and I crouch down and touch her. She’s cold, stiff, and unmoving. She’s dead.
“Shit,” I say. Tears pour down my face, as I start to pick her up, and then my hands shake so bad I set her down, the feel of her dead body unnatural to me. “Shit, no.”
I lean against a wall nearby, sobbing. I pick up my phone to call my mom, but my shaking finger slips and the selection rests on Eli’s number. I’d put it in my phone, hoping that he’d call. I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I click the call button and hold the phone to my ear. It just rings and rings before going to a voicemail that isn’t even personalized; it’s just a generic automated message. I hang up.
I don’t want to be in my penthouse. Not with a dead cat. I grab my clutch and rush out of the penthouse, barely remembering to lock my front door. And then I call a cab to Eli’s apartment complex.
I can’t think right, but all I want right now is to save something. I couldn’t save Chargene Jewelers, and I couldn’t save Buttercup. Eli is all I have left to save.
Before I know it, I’m in front of Eli’s door to his condo. I take a breath, shuddering with sorrow and knock at the door. “Eli?”
There’s no answer.
“Eli?” I call. “I need you.”
Still no answer.
I pound on the door. “Please open this damn door!” I shout, fighting back my tears.
The door suddenly swings open, and I step back as Eli leans into the doorway, watching me coldly, shirtless and in sweat pants, a glass of whiskey in one hand.
“Yes?” Eli asks.
I step forward and hug Eli. Eli doesn’t reciprocate—although he doesn’t push me away. “Let me in,” I whisper. “Please. I need to talk to you.”
Eli puts one hand on my shoulder and holds me back, separating us.
“Don’t push me away, Eli,” I beg. I search his face for some sign of emotion. “I’m sorry about earlier. But we can work this out, I swear. I’m fine staying as lovers, I promise. I need you, Eli. I need you right now.”
Eli’s face is still expressionless, his green eyes hard on me. “I don’t want to work it out. And I don’t need you.” Then, Eli closes the door, slowly but firmly, leaving me to sob alone in the hall.
***
By Monday morning, I had turned all of my sorrow into a rage that made me throw up a couple of times. I tremble with fury, as I drive to the Marnvell Jewelers corporate building. My phone rings multiple times, but I ignore it until I find a parking spot. A glance at the screen shows Larisa had called. She could wait. I need a word with Eli. Maybe a few words.
I clench my fists at my side as I storm into Marnvell Jewelers. Part of my anger is just trying not to cry all over again. I’d finally managed to find the strength to bury Buttercup in a nearby park. Even if it was illegal, there was no way I was just dumping her body into the dumpster like garbage. But then I’d returned to an empty penthouse that only reminded me of the emptiness inside of me, and I cried all over again. I was tired of crying now.
Marnvell Jeweler’s corporate building is as sterile as Eli’s room and as cold as he is, white-washed and nearly colorless, with a few faded blues and a couple of silver embellishments to just barely distinguish it from a hospital, and even then I’d seen pictures of cheerier hospitals.
Kim, the front desk secretary at Marnvell Jewelers, eyes me warily as I approach. “Yes, Miss Jennings?” she asks.
“I need to speak with…Mr. Richardson,” I say. I’d almost said Eli, but that sounded too personal to say to the secretary.
“Mr. Richardson is very busy,” Kim says. “I can set you up with an appointment. How about next week Thursday, at two o’clock?”
“No, I need to speak with him today,” I say. “Can I just catch him in-between meetings?”
“I’ll let Mr. Richardson know you’re here and see if he has any time available to spare today,” Kim says.
“Thank you,” I say. I go to one of their blue couches with a gray square pattern, sit down, and try to make myself calm.
But two hours later, I can’t wait any more. I stand up and walk towards Kim, who’s on the phone now.
“I need to speak with Mr. Richardson,” I mouth.
Kim keeps a finger up to me as she chats with whoever is on the phone. “Wednesday?” Kim says. “Sure, I can book an appointment for Wednesday at three in the afternoon.”
What?!
Furious, and all the more hurt, as soon as Kim looks back down at her book I walk over to the elevator and punch in the number twelve. I feel incredibly sick. I’m wearing my long black jacket, and I tighten the belt buckle on it, cold, and then I lean back and close my eyes.
I’d tried all weekend to contact Eli. I called him; I texted him; I emailed him; and I had even stopped by his place one more time to try and catch him. He hadn’t responded once, and while I should have been thankful that he was making the break as clean and easy as he was, for some reason I was just mad and hurt all the more. Especially when I’d gone to him for support.
I’m not even sure I entirely blamed the guy for shutting me out. He’d warned me up front that he didn’t want to pursue a relationship, and then I’d gone and gotten all upset when Eli didn’t want to go any farther. He’d been upfront with me, and even just seeing him again had been wonderful. I had just refused to leave it there. So, from that perspective, I’m the one messing everything up.
On the other hand, I’m pissed. I had opened my heart, and I felt like he’d taken a stake to my feelings. On top of tha
t, I’d even turned around and agreed to just stay as lovers; I was willing to put my heart through hell just to stay close to him. But no, one little “slip up,” and Eli had acted like I was out to get him. I had never been hurt this bad before in my life. I had finally found a guy I really liked, maybe even loved, and he didn’t even want to acknowledge his own feelings, let alone my own.
How can Eli keep his emotions in a box? I wonder, and not for the first time. I start to grab my hair again and finally put my arms at my sides. I recall Eli clamming up at my questions, and I almost punch the elevator wall. Why do you have to make me so crazy?! I hate to lose, and with Eli I felt like I was losing a piece of me.
When I arrive on the top floor, I have to take a deep breath I’m so dizzy with fury and sorrow. I walk down the hall towards Eli’s office, but I stop as I hear Eli’s voice to my left. There’s a glass door, and I peer inside to see Eli sitting at the head of a table, talking to a bunch of men and one woman, all of them in suits, papers in front of them.
The warning bells go off in my head that now is probably the worst time possible time to interrupt Eli, especially about relationship stuff, but I grit my teeth and swing the door open anyway. Eli glances in my direction, and then he stops speaking, staring at me.
“We need to talk,” I say. My voice comes out stiff. Mostly, I’m trying not to cry at the sight of him, or throw myself into his arms.
Eli pauses. “You can set up an appointment with Kim.”
“Kim wasn’t exactly honest with me,” I say, failing to keep the bite out of my tone. “I need to speak with you now.”
“Very well, Miss Jennings. Give me forty minutes,” Eli says. He glances at his silver watch; it’s not even the watch I’d gifted to him as an apology after our first encounter. “You can wait in my office.”
I should just accept it. I should take his offer and wait there. But my control on my emotions slips, because I’m afraid that I’ll go to his office and wait the entire day only to find out he’d moved offices or, worse yet, he’d left the city, or the country, and I’d never see him again.
FRAGILE: A Billionaire Romance (Part Two) Page 3