Below Unforgiven

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  “I’ve been just fine for the past ten years since Granddaddy passed, and I’ll be just fine again. In fact, I have a date tomorrow evening.”

  Gaping in disbelief, I turned to Keaton. He was fighting back a grin, those eyebrows bouncing up and down again like they were attached to springs. “Are you sure you don’t need anything from town, Mrs. Hale?” Keaton asked. I widened my eyes as he downed the coffee in seconds.

  “No, no, I’m fine sweetheart. Just take care of my Vivie. I’m so excited she’s going to the wedding. I told your mom the trip to Pittsburgh was just too long for me. Jane understood, sweet dear. Oh, please tell her that mass has been changed to 11:30 starting next Sunday.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, squeezing my shoulder. His fingertips dug into all the right muscles. Pleasant chills raised my skin into a layer of goose bumps, and I moved uncomfortably in my seat.

  I was getting pretty fucking annoyed at my body.

  “You need a sweater for the convertible,” he said.

  Thoughtful.

  Close. So close.

  Shifting away from him, I gathered my plate and carried it to the sink. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  Ten minutes later, seated in Keaton’s Ferrari as he drove down Hoss Pike, I reveled in the beautiful interior of the convertible. “I really can’t believe you’re driving this thing around. Did you drive here? From California? Or fly?”

  “I drove. I left my car at my mom’s.”

  I nodded, reading Robin’s text as it chimed on my phone.

  My brother is insane. You know which brother I’m talking about. Run away Viv!

  I laughed, and Keaton shot me a sideways smile, his eyes masked by aviators. “Texting again? Boyfriend?”

  Flicking my eyes his way, I blanched. Boyfriend? “You think if I had a boyfriend, he’d just be okay with you paying me to spend the weekend as your girlfriend?”

  He shrugged, reaching for the radio. The entire dash on the Ferrari gleamed, and I couldn’t help running my hands along the smooth leather. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  “What kind of question is that? Did I ask you why you’re divorcing your wife?”

  Settling on some kind of metal, slasher-screamer noise, he turned to me. “What, you didn’t read about it on E! Online?”

  “Watch the road!”

  He swung back over the double yellow lines, and I caught my breath, shaking my head and turning away from him.

  “So you know cars,” he said, and I shrugged.

  “My dad’s thing. I just paid attention.” I cringed at his music. “What is this?”

  He laughed. “Nine Inch Nails? Not a fan?”

  “Nope. It sounds like you’re repeatedly hitting an animal in the road.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. He laughed again, all one-dimply and disarming, reaching for the radio.

  “Let’s see… Vivian Hale, Vivian Hale, what would Vivian Hale listen to on her first ride in a 1962 Ferrari,” he was in that mode again, director mode, and I was beginning to recognize the wild gold in his eyes when it took over. “Quintessential driving songs. But she’s with this tall, dark stranger, and can’t stop admiring his rugged physique. She feels a twinge of danger, uncertainty, but her guilty eyes keep wandering to his wedding band.”

  I glanced at the platinum ring right away, raising my brows. Am I doing that?

  “Got it.” He flashed me a crazy smile, and I watched, stunned, as he tugged his wedding band off and threw it into the highway.

  “Keaton!”

  “Stones.” He typed into his phone, and “Honky Tonk Woman” began. I turned back to him, gripping the dash in shock.

  “Are you going to soundtrack our entire weekend?” I demanded, irritated that I’d made a mental note of where he threw the band. I could have pawned that ring for at least a hundred bucks.

  He grinned in response, replying by singing at the top of his lungs.

  Off key, but admittedly entertaining. And charming. A whole lot of charming.

  I hid my grin by turning away and focusing on the lush, green mountains. Truly, I loved New Florence more than anywhere in the world, even given the small-town atmosphere. The hills burst with summertime, and the natural spring water ran down the rocky cliffs and darkened the stone. I’d spent summer weekends there with Gram for most of my life.

  He sang along, bobbing his head to the music, and I finally laughed and rolled my eyes at him. God, he had a terrible voice. It amazed me that someone so sexy, with a tone that turned everything on inside my body, couldn’t carry a tune to save his life. I laughed, though, reluctantly enjoying the contagious energy pouring from him.

  His phone rang, silencing the song, and he glanced at the number before pressing it to his ear. “Hey-Frank. Hold on. Wait-no, I told you, Monday. Bullshit- he knows I’m leaving Monday. V, reach in the back and grab me that binder,” he ordered. I narrowed my eyes, turning in my seat to fish for the black binder in the tiny back seat. Really? Am I his assistant now?

  He’s paying me three grand. I’m anything he wants me to be.

  Opening the binder, he proceeded to read the pages. I reached for the wheel, glaring at him. “You’re going to kill us. Can I handle something?” I demanded, trying to keep the car in a straight line.

  He froze in mid-sentence, suddenly grinning. “Frank, hold on. I have a new assistant. V. Ask her,” he shoved the phone at me.

  My mouth fell open, dumb, and I pressed the phone to my ear. A man’s voice shouted urgently into my brain. “…the figures. What? Who the fuck is V?”

  “Can I help you?” I managed, taking a shaking breath.

  A belly-deep voice snickered through the phone. “Oh, I get it. V for vagina-of-the-week. Nice. Okay, listen, V, I need the figures on page five. Round up.”

  Vagina? “V is for Vivian. Hold please, asshole.”

  I flipped the pages, cutting him off by dangling the phone away from my ear. I was overly conscious of Keaton’s eyes shifting to me as he watched the road. Finally, I found the neat numbers penciled in on page five of the binder, moving the phone back to my ear. Frank was still spouting off at the mouth, and I interrupted him with the amount. “$19,540. And I rounded. Have a nice fucking day.” I disconnected before he could respond, tossing the phone into Keaton’s lap. “Ugh-who in the hell was that?”

  He burst out laughing, yielding onto the main road through Johnstown. “Nice. You don’t take shit, do you?”

  “Shit is a give and take situation. Frank sounds fun to work with.” I shook my head at him. “I still can’t believe you’re Keaton Thane.”

  To my surprise, he powered down his phone, tossing it to the back seat. “You’d better text Robin back before she goes looking for you in my mountain rape cave.”

  I couldn’t hold back a smile.

  “Oh, my gosh, you have your very own mountain rape cave? Oh Keaton Thane!” I squealed, and he raised his eyebrows, digging his chin into a suggestive nod.

  “The address is on my business card.”

  Groaning, I rolled my eyes and tightened my ponytail. “How’d you know it was Robin?”

  “She tore me a new one last night when I told her I was taking you to the wedding.”

  “She was mad? About the store?” I suddenly felt like puking. “Oh my god, did you tell her that you’re paying me?”

  “Of course not,” he snapped, and then softened. “She was worried for your… virtue.”

  It took a few seconds for his words to compute, and then I burst out laughing. “My virtue?”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be twenty-one tomorrow,” I said, drafting a quick text back to his sister.

  I’m fine-and I don’t mind crazy. Don’t worry ;-)

  “Tomorrow? Jesus, Vivian, you should have told me. And you still agreed to this?”

  I shrugged. “A birthday’s just a day. And I’ll be getting paid three grand to dangle on your arm and annihilate the open bar. Win-win.”
r />   “Annihilate? Remember, you have a responsibility.”

  “Right,” I corrected quickly.

  “Of course, we’ll celebrate with a drink,” he promised, nodding. “I like this. This is getting better and better. Now you’re not only gorgeous, you’re young, you’re legal… well, barely… and you’re going to be the envy of every woman there.” He nodded. I could see his mind running. “You’re what, 5’5”? 115, 120 pounds?”

  Still reeling at his flippant use of the word ‘gorgeous’ to describe me, I shivered beneath the thin, white cardigan. I knew my self-confidence had wavered after everything that happened, and I had to admit his flattering words were working their magic on me. “128. And a half.”

  He turned to me sharply, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. My heart thumped against my chest.

  “Don’t ever lie to me again. Do you understand me? Not about anything. For that, I will fire you.”

  I swallowed and kept my eyes on his. The severity of his glare forced a nervy breath from my chest.

  What the hell?

  Finally, slowly, I relented. “I’m 118.”

  “Do you ever wear your hair down?”

  “When it’s not ninety-five degrees.” I automatically grabbed for my ponytail, twisting nervously. He’s a little neurotic. A lot neurotic.

  Maybe just fucking nuts.

  He reached for me, pinching my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger.

  As soon as his fingers touched my ear, I clenched my thighs together, exhaling sharply. I felt like he’d touched me everywhere at once, and I tightened my calves, squirming uncomfortably in the leather seat.

  “Your ears aren’t pierced. Are you opposed to getting them pierced today?”

  “What?” I jerked away from him. “I’m afraid of needles, and even more afraid of uneducated mall employees with nail guns.”

  “Aw, baby,” he reached for my knee, patting softly. “I’ll hold your hand.”

  “I’m not getting my ears pierced,” I growled, fighting the urge to drag his hand further up my leg and tuck it between my thighs. “And don’t call me baby.”

  “I need an endearment for you, something convincing.”

  “Oh Jesus.”

  “Sugar? Darlin’?”

  “Not even if you were Matthew McConaughey could you pull that off.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, you’re right. I need something that alludes to the nature of our relationship.”

  What relationship? I had to laugh.

  “That would be ‘employee,’” I answered haughtily, and he caught my finger in the air.

  “Your air-quotes are going to get you fired. Do it again, and I’ll bite your finger.”

  “Bite my finger? You’re a weirdo.”

  “I’ve got it!” He slammed on the brakes at the stoplight beneath the Johnstown Inclined Plane, his eyes lighting. “Bunny.”

  “Barf.”

  “Babydoll!”

  “Only if I can call you Daddy.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter. “V, help me out here.”

  I loved the way his hair blew over his forehead in wild pieces. Clearing my throat, I sighed. “It has to be natural, you can’t force it,” I protested. “Now, let’s talk about our… contract. I want this in writing,” I grabbed the binder again, remembering I’d seen blank pages in the back of the book. A ballpoint pen was attached to the cover, and I opened the cap. “What are your expectations?”

  He looked taken aback, but only for a second. Finally, he nodded. “Good. Contracts are good. Okay, first-I choose your clothes and hair. My decisions are final.”

  “Whatever. Agreed,” I scribbled his words. Ultimately, I didn’t care what I wore, as long as I could be as frugal as possible. I had zero experience in writing contracts, but I did my best to make what I was writing appear professional. Legal and Binding Contract Between Vivian Hale and Keaton Thorne…

  “Second-our story. Robin introduced us, and wholeheartedly approved of our relationship. Our first date was at Idlewild Park-you know, the Ligonier theme park-I’m negotiating a script and I want to film there. You came with me, we spent an amazing day, and then we drove up to the mountains to the waterfall. You begged me to take your virginity that very night.”

  “What the-I did not sleep with you on the first date! I’m not a slut-and I’m not a virgin,” I argued, turning away and refusing to lift my face to his. I struck through the sentence I’d begun to write, scribbling back and forth.

  He got off the exit, and I could feel his eyes drilling a hole into my head. “So sleeping with me on the first date equals slut. Interesting.”

  “You’re calling me judgmental?”

  “I didn’t call you anything, lollipop.”

  “Ugh.” I shook my head. “Alright, I can play a virgin in your little adventure.” I challenged, still not looking his way.

  “Well you were, until that night by the waterfall,” he quipped, turning into the parking lot of Fine Formals. “And now you’re an insatiable, sex-crazed lunatic, and I’ve created a monster.”

  “I’m the lunatic?” I cried, whipping my face to his, my jaw dropping. “Will you please be serious? You’re signing this,” I poised the pen over number two, fighting with a burgeoning grin. “New relationship, awakened sexuality. Got it. What else.”

  He scratched his chin thoughtfully, sitting back in the seat. “Nice. Awakened sexuality. I like that. And did you notice that I managed to say it without using irritating air quotes?”

  I lifted my face to glare at him, tossing the binder to the back seat and climbing from the convertible in a huff. He chuckled, skipping ahead of me to open the door.

  “This isn’t Sears,” I snapped.

  “Item number one-I’m your costume designer. I’ll need to see you in a variety of options. Hope that dress comes off easily.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you do,” I grumbled, pushing past him to the store.

  The Girl Can’t Help It

  K

  There were times in my life when I was so low, so fucking far gone, that I rationalized alcoholism really wasn’t that bad. I’d usually move straight to the liquor cabinet and wallow in a week-long binge, ignoring reality for as long as possible.

  The email I received while waiting for Vivian ranked number one on my list of fuck me moments.

  Keaton, I know we’re not supposed to communicate right now without the lawyers, but I need to tell you that I’m pregnant. It doesn’t change how I feel, but it changes my financial needs, and your obligations. Contact my lawyer immediately-stop ignoring his calls.

  -Kelsey

  The fuck?

  “This one is kind of scratchy.”

  Her voice interrupted my thoughts, and I shoved my phone into my pocket, sitting back in the overstuffed armchair. She was trying on the first of an armful of gowns, and I was ready for a fashion show.

  If I didn’t have my liquor cabinet, at least I had Vivian.

  A month and a half ago, Kelsey had shown up at my office, begging me to forgive her, to stay together, to call off the divorce. It was nearing drunk o’clock (three in the afternoon) and I was alternating between my new vices, a Saint Luis Rey Coronas cigar and a glass of Maker’s Mark and Coke.

  She dropped to her knees, and what began with a please-forgive-me-blow-job ended up with me fucking her from behind over my desk. When I didn’t hear from her again, I guessed she was just as angry with herself as I was with myself, but I should have known better.

  After I sobered up and realized I’d been unprotected, I got tested and held my breath until my results were disease-free. I had no idea if she was still with her boss, though I’d heard rumors that she was now fucking the actor-douchemattress Corwin Madsen.

  Either way, she was one mistake I wasn’t going to make again.

  Kelsey was all about the game, and if it came down to making her richer, then she wasn’t below groveling… or getting knocked up and locking me in for eighteen years.


  Vivian emerged from the fitting room, her shoulders thrown back as she did a quick spin in a strappy, gold gown with layers and layers of ruffles.

  I crossed my leg over my knee and my arms over my chest, leaning back and taking her in. Her perfect, rosy tits were pushed up just right against the plunging bust, and it took my every effort to drag my eyes away from them and really look at the gown.

  “Too many ruffles. Distracting. I can’t see your legs. Next,” I shook my head, and she rolled her eyes, moving back into the dressing room.

  If Kelsey was claiming that the baby was mine, there would have to be a paternity test. And unless Maury Povich was involved, she was going to drag it out as long as possible.

  What if it was mine? I was in no way ready to be a father. Not now, maybe not ever. And she would make a terrible mother. How much would it take for her to hand the kid over to me? Did I want that? What in the hell was I thinking?

  Christ.

  The dressing room door banged open, and she stepped out in a silver, one-shouldered satin gown that clung to every curve that I hadn’t been able to see through the ruffled wonder or Gram’s sundress.

  Fucking hell.

  She was gorgeous. Stunning. She took my breath away and gave me air to breathe. She belonged next to Ava Gardner and Natalie Wood.

  I shook my head once, lowering my voice. “You can’t wear that one.”

  “I think it’s because my hair is down. Look, if I put it up,” she added, sweeping her long, dark hair into her hands, and I climbed to my feet and walked to her.

  That wide, blue gaze fixed on my face as I lowered my mouth to her ear. I could feel her entire body react to my breath on her neck. “That dress makes me want to strip you naked and fuck you against that mirror. Since that will violate our contract, it won’t do.”

  As I pulled back, her expressive eyes watered, and her scarlet lips came apart, just slightly. I could see her skin reddening, all along her neck and chest, and I wanted to drag my tongue along her throat.

  I wanted to drag my tongue along her everywhere.

  “So, you want to see me, but not too much of me,” her voice shook, and she hurried to the rack of gowns she’d chosen. “You’re making this very difficult, Mr. Thorne.”