by Susan Stoker
“Oh, sure. I'll just…” Motioning at nothing, I stood and hurried to the bathroom. The buzz of alcohol had made me unsteady. I wasn't drunk, just loose in my knees; grateful for my sneakers. I'd seen the heels most of the women in this place were wearing. I'd envied them until now.
Wasting time doing nothing, I looked into the silver, sleek toilet in the restroom stall. It spoke to me in a sweet voice that had my hair standing on end. “How may I serve you?”
Even their toilets drip money, I mused. Facing the gigantic mirror, I tried to fix my hair. I really needed to clean up—did I smell like sweat? Was that why they were reluctant to go out with me?
Washing my face, I tied my hair back and decided that was good enough. Whatever Bishop and Corriane wanted to do, I'd go as is… or I'd just head home. It was late, anyway.
Returning to the main restaurant, I saw that Bishop was standing—hunched over Corriane who was still sitting, the two of them talking in coarse, low tones. I spotted the golden bag his mother had given me. It was sitting, forgotten, on the table. Picking it up, I stood across from Bishop, wondering what was going on.
Corriane saw me first. His glare was poison, his tone dismissive. “Is it because of her? Is that why you won't go?” He made a rude noise. “Send her away. She's your woman, she'll listen.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, so stunned it took me a second to register his comment.
The vein along Bishop's throat pulsed. “Stop it. Don't you dare.”
“What?” he laughed, pushing his chair back but not standing. “Are you scared of her? You? Bishop Callehurst, the man who could get any one of the women in this place to bend over for you in public if you just say the word?”
“Leave it, Corriane.”
“Pathetic. I'm nowhere near as rich as you, and do you think my fiancée would dare to talk back to me? Now, take me to one of the local strip clubs. You're supposed to show me a good time, like your father said. This farce is over with.”
Bishop had steadily grown more crimson. Sweat shone on his forehead, his body so still, so coiled, he could have jumped through the damn ceiling. He was furious.
It wasn't Bishop who exploded; it was me.
The wooden box in the bag was as good a weapon as any. Bunching up my muscles and wishing I'd taken baseball lessons, I threw it right into Corriane's chest. He caught it, grunting in pain, his face draining of color—I was sure he'd vomit and was disappointed when he didn't. “You asshole,” I hissed. “A strip club? You're engaged! How disgusting could you be?” I was seething with anger for this woman I'd never met. How could he disrespect his fiancée so much?
Slowly, so slowly, Corriane lifted his head. His grimace twisted his handsome face into something monstrous. But that was nothing compared to his smile. “Oh ho,” he wheezed. Coughing, he gathered himself, speaking more steadily. “You chose a girl with fire in her, Bishop. Or… did you actually choose her? There's been no wedding, surely, or I'd have been invited.”
I knew Bishop was staring at me; I didn't look away from Corriane.
He kept speaking. “You're no one, Nellie Pinewood. Not Bishop's wife, not even his fiancée. Certainly not someone with any right to tell me how to treat my woman. I'd warn you to watch your back, because I could make your life with Bishop's family quite terrible, but I suspect that I won't have to bother. Hopefully his next girl knows her place.”
I was shaking furiously.
Corriane went to stand, but the wooden box shifted in his lap. He grabbed it, squinting at the silver ribbon, seeing it all for the first time. “Thank your mother for me, Bishop. No, wait, I'll do the honor myself.” He didn't know what the gift was—he didn't care. He'd probably throw it in the trash once he was alone. He was simply driving home the fact that he would be talking to Miss Callehurst… telling her what happened here tonight.
Bishop gripped the back of his own chair, toppling it over. The noise drew the attention of the last people in the restaurant; the two body guards jerked awake, having dozed off in their seats. “I knew you could be a cheat,” he growled, “But I didn't know you were such a shithead. How dare you talk about Nell like she's nothing?” His arm shot out; I thought he was going to hit the other man.
So did everyone else.
The guards tried to jump to their feet. Too slow, too wasted, they tripped on their own legs. And Corriane… I squirmed with delight at the fear in his face. Sensing danger, he pin-wheeled his arms, falling backwards and sprawling on the floor.
Bishop's hand didn't come close to him—it scooped mine up instead, pulling me away from the table. It thrilled me to have him hold me so securely.
Corriane was shouting, red faced as he tried to untangle his coat from the chair's legs. His guards bent down to lift him, and instead, they all fell back into a pile. Bishop's eyes flashed to mine, bright with a humor so contagious we started laughing.
I couldn't stop cracking up, not even as he rushed me from the Elephant Room. Definitely not in the fresh air of the busy Hollywood street. It wasn't until he tugged me around a corner, into the alcove of an alley where he captured me with a kiss, that I finally quit laughing.
The joy was still there. The fire, the light, the rush—all of it existed. It buzzed through my cells, reminding me I was alive and here with a man who burned for me, defended me, like no one ever had.
Is Gigi right? Are soulmates real?
I didn't believe in that stuff. I couldn't afford to.
Yet somehow, as Bishop's lips glided over mine—his palms searching my ribs for a secret door to my heart—I began to wonder if I could afford not to believe it. What else could explain my growing infatuation? This desire to seek him out?
Careful, I told myself, fighting to think around the fog in my head. You've picked the wrong kind of men before. Well. One man, but once was enough when it came to heartbreak. Be cautious… be wary. A burst of shame struck me. Be realistic.
Everything Corriane had said in the restaurant came back to me. The bits about me being tossed aside, the part where he'd expected Bishop to take him to a strip club. Expected—like they'd done it before.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing his hands as they moved down my legs. He'd undone my top button and some of my zipper before I could stop him. “Bishop, just wait. I need to know… I want to ask about what Corriane said.”
He winced, as if a shard of glass was moving through his guts. “I can't believe the balls he has.”
“But is it true.” I hesitated, tasting the moment—fearing the answer. “Am I going to get thrown aside, like this is a game for you?” A game I fell for so damn easily.
“Fucking hell.” He stood taller, his powerful grace so natural that I sensed for the first time the royal blood in his veins. “Weren't you listening to me the other day? I want to be with you.”
“Because you have to be with someone.”
“No,” he said, biting the word in two. Holding my cheeks, Bishop kissed my temples—one, then the other. “Because you drive me wild. Because you make me breathe easier, and I can't tell you how long it's been since I've felt so relaxed.” He fixed me with an intense stare, searching me for… something.
Shivering, and not from the cool air, I said, “He spoke about you the way he did because this has happened before. Just tell me.”
“What Corriane said—that bastard.” His chuckle was pure pain. “The things I used to do, they were things expected of me. The number of calls from my father, emphasizing how I'm supposed to entertain every single important person he sends my way… they're in the hundreds.”
He'd started squeezing my face. It was unconscious, bordering on painful, so I grabbed his wrists. He snapped back into the present. “Bishop…”
“Sorry. It's only that, I never realized how much I hated entertaining all those people for a man I barely knew until I suddenly had a reason to say no.”
Relief bubbled in me like freshly poured champagne. “I can't believe I threw that box at him.”
La
ughing in that warmed-honey way of his, Bishop nuzzled my throat. “It turned me on. I love how you don't take anyone's shit.”
“Will you get in trouble for what happened? Corriane looked upset.”
“Probably. But who cares? My father can't do a thing to me, not when I'm on the verge of giving him what he's always wanted.” He touched my stomach—I inhaled. “You respond to everything I do with so much enthusiasm. It makes me rock hard, Nell. Feel me.”
He went to guide my hand, but I was way ahead of him. Grazing my palm over the front of his dress pants, I discovered how stiff his hard-on was. Stroking him from base to tip, I thrilled with his thick groan. “Where's your car?”
Heat flashed in his eyes. Wordlessly he pulled me down the alley, straight to the garage where a bright white Mustang waited. The car doors opened, blue lights illuminating the leather interior, a rhythmic pop song thumping softly through the speakers. When I touched the backseat, I knew they were the kind that heated up.
I could get used to this kind of treatment.
Chapter Nine
Nellie
In the three weeks since I'd begun working for the Callehursts, I'd learned several things about the rich and famous. Stuff like how they spent too much on Instacart when it'd be much easier to go to the store themselves, or how they'd never be caught dead wearing the same outfit twice. But chief among my lessons was this:
Being royalty doesn't mean you have any manners.
Miss Callehurst was a queen, but that didn't prevent her from shooting withering looks at me. She'd stopped hiding her distaste, though she was polite enough not to tell me what was under her skin.
I knew, of course.
I knew because Bishop had bluntly told me when I'd asked what was going on.
“Oh. I let her know I was seeing you.”
“You what?” My headache was instant. This meant she knew we were sleeping together—she had to know—and she'd bit her tongue and not said a word to me about it. I'd been sneaking around with Bishop, thinking we were staying under the radar, and she'd…
He poked me. “Are you angry? I thought you'd be relieved. You're not a secret, Nell. I want everyone to know you're mine.”
Swimming in a sea of pride, I smiled at him. “You're better at this flirting thing than I ever gave you credit for.”
He clicked his tongue and stretched back out on his bed. “Please. You loved my technique from day one.”
Okay. I had—but he didn't need to know that.
Checking my phone, I frowned. “Speaking of your mom, I should go find her. It's pay day.” The last week, when she'd written my check, she'd stabbed it at me so violently I'd expected her to slice open my throat.
Bishop rocked onto his side, his lowered eyebrows casting a slyness to his features. “ 'Pay day.' You do know I'd take care of you and any of your bills.”
“That's nice, but I'm… I still have to think this marriage thing through.”
“You don't get it.” He sat up, the springs shifting with his weight. “Even before we marry—”
“If.”
“—Before, I'd still happily help you.”
“Oh.” Chewing my lip, I considered my words. “I appreciate that, but I'm one of those modern day independent woman. Plus, I like your dogs. I'd miss them if I wasn't walking them.” Giving him one more quick kiss, I dodged his arms that wanted to hold me down and do way more to me. His playful scowl made me grin. “Be back up in a bit!”
I was mostly down the curving stairs over the foyer when I heard the voices. I recognized Miss Callehurst easily, but the second one… I had to concentrate.
“Thank you, Cathleen. I really appreciate you putting in a good word about me with your son.”
Iris. The girl who'd thought I was a maid.
Leaning against the banister, I peeked over enough to see the tops of their heads. They couldn't see me from their angle. Bishop's mother was dressed in her usual draped shawl and pencil skirt. Iris had on something so low cut that, from where I was, I could tell she didn't have on a bra.
Miss Callehurst said, “It's nothing, dear. I only want my son to be happy, and someone like you is the right match, the only way to give him a joyful future.”
I grit my teeth. She knows Bishop wants to be with me. He told her! And still… she kept on parading women under his nose. Under my nose, too.
Their talk blurred as they headed into the kitchen. Perching on the step, I debated running up to Bishop to tell him what I'd heard. But when I started to move, my skull became weighted. I was overwhelmed by the realization that two people were actively working against me.
Wanting some air, I stumbled out the front door. I forgot about my paycheck, I didn't care about anything but escaping the crushing sensation taking over my insides.
Crouching by the huge bird of paradise bushes, I heaved. Blood pounded in my ears, so loud I nearly missed the sound of the door opening behind me. Not wanting anyone to see me sweating in despair, I moved out of view next to the thick red flowers.
Iris had her phone to her ear, talking softly. “Yeah, it's going perfect. He'll definitely pick me, and then I'll do like we said. It'll be easy to—” Maybe she heard my shaky breath, because she whirled, stepping towards me with narrowed eyes. “Hey! What… oh, it's you.”
Swallowing my bile down, I stood straight and forced a half smile. “Funny meeting you here.”
“Yeah. Funny.” Into the phone she mumbled, “Call you later.” She buried it in her gigantic rose gold purse, never looking away from me. “I guess I'm not shocked to see you in the dirt. But where are your animal friends?”
Ignoring her jab, I did my best to keep the quiver from my voice. Why did I feel so sick? “You're wasting your time trying to kiss up to Bishop's mother. He's already picked me.” Though, I didn't completely decide if I want to be picked yet. I didn't say that part.
She looked down her nose at me, which was easy in her six-inch heels. “What do you mean, he picked you? That's the first I've heard of it.”
“Miss Callehurst has her sight set on you, for whatever reason, so I'm not shocked she didn't warn you, but Bishop—”
“I mean,” she snapped, shutting me up, “Why hasn't he told me this?”
I pulled up short. “He'd have no reason to talk to you.”
When she laughed, she threw her hair over one shoulder. The sound burrowed through my bones and brought the nausea back. “Right, no reason. Especially not when we're chatting over coffee, or sitting in his kitchen. Nope, no chance to tell me to bug off because he's picked some random side piece to be his wife.”
The ground was sliding out from under me. I pictured them, sitting like he and I had, talking over the kitchen island… laughing… flirting. Not once speaking about all the promises he'd made to me.
She was smiling so her teeth showed. “Bishop will never marry you. You're nothing. It's sad, really.”
I wanted to tell her she was wrong. The urge to scream, to cry, to rip out the damn flowers I'd been hiding behind—all of it was buried under my rush of hot-sickness. Recoiling, afraid I'd puke, I took off stumbling across the yard. Iris called something out to me, but I didn't turn back to listen.
All I could do was run.
He didn't tell her. Yanking at the driver's side door of my car where I'd parked it on the steep hill, I dove inside. Bishop didn't say a word about us. Frantically I rolled my windows down. My car's interior was sweltering, sapping away the last of my strength. I slumped in the seat with my eyes shut, desperately trying to stop my stomach from eating itself.
Calm down. Breathe. Cranking on the AC, I drove my car slowly down the road. I hadn't gotten my paycheck; I hadn't even told Bishop I was leaving. Right now, I needed a moment away from that whole damn money-sick world.
I was feeling ill from Iris's cruel dash of reality. It was so bad I started to shake. Is this really from talking to her? No, it's got to be something more. Low blood sugar, yeah. And if not, when was it ever a bad time
for chocolate?
Heading around the corner, I parked my car outside of a small gas station. Just get a snack, some water, and then you can think straight. Before I could get my purchases to the counter, another wave of nausea—this one so sharp it made me ball up on the spot—hit me. “Fuck,” I gasped.
“You okay?” It was the man running the register. His chubby face was slack with nerves, like he expected me to drop dead and he'd be left to clean up the mess.
Licking my dry lips, I said, “Fine. I'm totally fine.” This is more than nerves or fucking blood sugar. A live-wire tingle of fear inched up to my brain, lighting it up with a terrifying guess about why I felt so off.
Turning away, I hurried to the small back section in the store. It was the spot they kept things like Advil, condoms, and… No, just breathe. It can't be that. Grabbing the box, I threw everything on the counter and waited impatiently as the man rang me up. When he handed me my items in a bag, I looked around quickly. “Is there a restroom I can use?”
He stared. Then he pointed, asking no questions.
Normally, I'd be relieved the bathroom wasn't a filth-hole. I was too focused on my task to care. Ripping open the box I'd bought, I went through the motions, reading the instructions over and over because I'd never done anything like this before.
How long has it been since my last… I didn't think too hard about the answer to that question. I didn't need to. Because right in front of me, held daintily between my fingers like it was a poison needle, was the clearest answer I could have imagined.
Were the two pink lines on a positive pregnancy test always that bright?
Chapter Ten
Bishop
My thumb rolled across my phone's screen. I kept checking it for new messages, wondering why Nell wasn't replying. After she'd driven off yesterday, she hadn't come back, not even to get the paycheck she'd been going on about.
Something had happened—I just didn't know what.