Traded for Love

by Michelle Hughes

  The smell of Katherine's baby shampoo calmed me. “I think I'm going to go back to the bookstore,” I decided out loud.

  “Again? I see.” She smiled. “Did you find something there that … captured your interest?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  The suggestion she made was entertaining. “What? No.”

  “Are you sure? You look awfully interested to me.” The baby reached out for Donna, and I obliged Katherine's wish by passing her into Donna's lap.

  “That's not exactly the word I'd use,” I picked at my own fingernails even though they were perfectly manicured. The truth was, I didn't want her to smell my lie. And it was a lie. The stranger was fascinating.

  I mean, how often did a girl run into a gorgeous man reading about sex for research and not for jacking it to? Not often. Well, at least in my experience it was rare.

  He'd piqued my curiosity. How often did he read about sex? Was it … effective … in his personal relationships? Were there any books that could help me with Jack?

  I couldn't begin to imagine asking him. That'd be way too embarrassing.

  The stranger's handsome face and devilish smile flashed into my head. Maybe he'd smile at me like that again if I asked.

  My heart sunk. Maybe he'd laugh at me, at my naivety, my lack of knowledge on the subject.

  I shouldn't go, I thought after a moment.

  'See you tomorrow!' he'd said as I'd gone down the escalator.

  I swallowed hard. How did he know I'd eventually want to go back? How had he guessed how I felt?

  Bringing myself to my feet, I realized I'd already made the decision. I wanted to go. I was going to.

  “Well, I think I'll go. Have a good day, girls!” I called as I headed for the door. Katherine giggled musically behind me.

  Suddenly, a sad thought occurred to me, one which stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Had Jack ever heard our little girl laugh?

  I turned on my heels. “Donna?”

  “Hm?” Donna answered, holding the baby up so she could stomp the blocks under her tiny feet.

  “When is the last time Mr. Duncan came in to see the baby?”

  The nanny looked unsure, her lip pursing has her mind churned. If she had to think about it, it couldn't have been recent. The same realization I'd come to seemed to pass like a shadow over her face. “You know what?” She licked her lips, her eyes shifting to the carpet. “I don't remember.” She chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I have such a bad memory, though. I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “Right.” I tried my best to put up a front. “Well. Have a good day. Thank you, Donna.”

  I felt like running, from that house, from our marriage, from his neglect of not just me, but of our baby.

  Grabbing my purse, I headed for the front door, but just when I put my hand on the doorknob, it turned and Jack stood there barring my exit.

  “Oh … Emily.”

  Awkward, I thought. “Jack. Did you forget something?”

  “Forget something?” He had no idea what I was talking about.

  “You're here instead of at the campaign office. Did you forget to take something with you?” I tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

  “Oh. Yeah. My iPad. It has some important information for a meeting I'm having with my advisers.” I couldn't tell whether he was lying, but I couldn't say I cared whether he was or not.

  He went past me, leaving the door open.

  “Jack?”

  He stopped and turned.

  “When was the last time you went in and saw the baby?” I probably shouldn't have asked him, but it bothered me that he hadn't.

  “This morning.”

  His answer had been short, and too quick for my comfort.

  “Was Donna here at the time?” I asked.

  “I … don't remember.” He shook his head. “I don't have time for this. Is something wrong? Is Donna performing badly?”

  I couldn't hide my incredulity. “Performing badly? No. She's great.” I folded my arms over my chest. “She's always great.” I frowned. “You should see the baby more often.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I should, should I? You telling me what to do with my time now? That's a new one.”

  “She's both of ours. We made her together, or don't you remember? Don't you play with her? Don't you feel any connection to her at all?”

  “Spare me, Emily. I know she's ours. I'm constantly reminded she's ours.”

  I gasped. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed, his ice-blue eyes dropping to the marble floor. “That didn't come out the way I meant it to.”

  “Well how the fuck should it have come out, Jack Duncan!?” I shouted. “Do you regret having a baby with me? Do you regret marrying me?” His gaze stayed glued to the floor. “You can't even look me in the face and tell me the truth, can you?” Bile rose from my stomach. “You're despicable.”

  Suddenly he was looking directly into my soul with cold regard. “Don't put words in my mouth that I never said.” He was calm, but I could tell he was raging beneath the surface. Part of me wanted him to lash out, so I'd have fresh ammunition against him, so he could prove my suspicions were correct.

  I ended the conversation by leaving him standing in the foyer alone. As I stormed out, I didn't close the door behind me.

  Savage Sweets

  (Emily)

  The world rolled by as Dante drove me to the bookstore. I didn't want to see Jack, or talk to him. I needed to cool off. It was nice to sit in the back of the limo and be able to think without seeing his gorgeous face clouding my perspective.

  He was so damn good at arguing. He always had an answer for everything I said, and demanded immediate answers from me. I was never good at arguing. Sometimes it took me days to figure out my position on something.

  That's why he'll make a great politician, I thought.

  The memory of his angry tone came back, about how he was irate at the fact that Katherine reminded him of something he'd rather not think about—our marriage.

  I didn't want it to be true. There were many things I thought about Jack, but that he didn't love our daughter? That wasn't one I wanted to believe. He'd shown such attachment to her in her early months and then it had dwindled into apathetic, minimal acknowledgment. It was something I hated to admit to myself, but his strong attachment to her in the beginning was one of the reasons I stayed with him when things were at their worst.

  That word, worst, was really starting to deepen in meaning as the months wore on. My thoughts traveled back to the odd messages I used to receive from that Julia person. Initially, I assumed she was a jealous ex, hell-bent on splitting us up with a bunch of lies about who Jack “really was”.

  There was part of me that regretted burning those letters and orange envelopes. What had they had inside of them? Photos? Love letters? I'd decided they weren't important at the time, why were they starting to be now?

  If I confronted him about where he was going at night, I knew he'd deny he was going anywhere sinister. He'd probably even say it was none of my business.

  The car came to a stop, jolting me out of my trance.

  I rolled down the partition. “We're here already?”

  Dante smiled. “Yes ma'am. Just a second and I'll let you out.”

  I chuckled. “No, it's fine. I'm good.” I undid my seat-belt. “I'll be a few hours, so go ahead home. I'll call you when I'm ready.”

  “You got it, Mrs. Duncan.” He closed the partition when I slid over the seat and let myself out.

  I really wish he'd stop calling me that. It makes me feel so old, I thought as I stepped out onto the street and brushed the wrinkles from my blouse.

  Had I dressed up? Maybe a little bit. Why? I wasn't sure. But for some reason, I'd looked into the back of my closet and found a dressy-casual blouse I'd bought months ago and hadn't had the occasion to wear. It was a sleeveless, collared shirt with a keyhole over my chest. I'd wor
n a push-up bra—and it showed.

  In fact, I felt just a tad ridiculous standing in the middle of a suburban strip-mall sidewalk with my girls pushed up to my collarbones and nothing to keep me warm, not even a scarf.

  Despite flushing from both the cold and mild embarrassment, I walked into the bookstore, hiking my Michael Kors bag over my shoulder.

  The girl at the counter smiled at me. Her erstwhile hot-pink hair had been died an electric-blue. I thought it looked nice, but I was sure I couldn't pull off something like that. For a moment, I imagined what Jack's face would look like if I ever tried. The thought of his jaw hitting the floor made me giggle.

  I ordered the same coffee I had last time, along with a cookie. For once, I was giving in and eating my feelings. After picking up my goodies, I headed for the stairs, but slowed to a stop at the first step.

  Even though I'd been prepared for the inevitability that the stranger would be there, I realized just how ill-equipped I was to see him. He'd been so forward the day before. He'd made me … blush. What if he did it again? Could I handle being embarrassed, or approached about something sensitive?

  I took a deep breath and went upstairs, hoping that he hadn't come back.

  When I reached the landing, I stopped to check the seats where I'd met him yesterday. He wasn't there. Inwardly, I sunk.

  Disappointed. Why am I disappointed? My chest virtually swelled with it. This is ridiculous. Why would I ever want to see him again? He upset me! He … He … The memory of his gorgeous face flashed into my mind.

  He … That laugh, the way he'd tested me, all came back to me. He turned me on, not just my body, but my mind, too. I've hardly thought of anything else except when we met. And I'm ashamed, but I’m also desperate to feel it all again, even if it's just once.

  God damn it, I cursed in my head as my cheeks turned hot. I have a husband! What am I doing?

  I turned on my heels without looking or caring where I was going, and collided with someone else.

  My coffee cup exploded everywhere and my cookie flew through the air, rolling under a bookshelf where I could not follow.

  There he was. It was him, the guy, and he was covered in my coffee. We both were.

  As we stood there drenched in milky coffee, staring at each other, anxiety began to mount in my chest. Blood thrashed in my veins as I realized I'd forgotten to take my medication. Quickly, turned to panic as I tried to move my hands.

  His eyes—surely they could see into me. I clamped my hand over my mouth and my breath quickened. He had to know I came back to see him. I was wearing it on my face. Everything I'd felt about him and our meeting the previous day, everything that had happened between me and Jack, all the shame and the frustration seemed to pile together into one big monster.

  My body went into total panic mode and I started trembling.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  His face went in and out of focus as the nervous attack paralyzed me, made my lips quiver and my ears ring.

  He stepped forward and set his hands gently on my shoulders. “Can you hear me?”

  I couldn't answer. I was being swallowed by the world around me.

  “If you want help, nod your head,” he said.

  Somehow I found a way to tip my chin.

  Suddenly, his strength was mine as he swept me away. In what direction, I didn't know. All I could feel were his hands half-lifting me until a cushion pressed against my butt and I found I was sitting.

  Without acknowledging his help, or his questions, I reached into my purse. Tears were streaming down my face. I found my pill case and dropped four or five of them before finally getting one into my mouth. I swallowed it dry, which I never did.

  I guess this counted as an emergency.

  For a moment, the air around me was cold. He'd gone away. Just as soon as he was gone, he was back with a glass of water, which he held up to my lips.

  I sipped it and the remnants of the pill slid down my throat.

  The next few minutes were a blur. I remembered the doctor telling me it would take at least fifteen minutes for the medicine to take affect. Finally, things began to make sense. I could hear concerned voices around me.

  When I looked up, the handsome stranger had his hands braced on either side of me as I sat in the chair. The blue-haired girl was standing there looking frazzled. An older man with a self-help book tucked under his arm stood nearby. His eyes were glued to me.

  “I'm okay,” I managed to say.

  “We were just about to call an ambulance,” the blue-haired girl said.

  “No. No ambulance, please.” I glanced down at him. “Are you okay?”

  “Me?” He narrowed his eyes. “Seriously? You looked like you were about to pass out and you're worried about me?”

  “Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital or something? There's an urgent care right over the bridge,” the old man said, stepping forward.

  “No, please. I'll be okay. Thank you.” I mustered up a smile. “My medicine helped.” I was recovering faster by the minute.

  “I'll watch her. Thanks, Ingrid,” the handsome stranger said to the blue-haired girl.

  After a minute or two, the old man wandered off, too, leaving us alone.

  I groaned. “I'm sorry. You're soaked.”

  “It was my fault. I should have looked where I was going,” he replied.

  “If you get your clothes cleaned, I'll pay for it,” I volunteered.

  A smile broke over his face. “I don't care about my clothes. I care about you.”

  I chuckled drowsily. “Me? You don't even know me.”

  “You don't have to know somebody to have compassion for them.” He lifted a napkin and wiped my chin, but quickly retracted his hand. “Sorry, here.” He handed it to me. “I might have kept your face dry while you were freaking out.”

  “Thanks.” I rubbed my face with the napkin, and looked down at my own shirt. Every hope of looking cute was out the window now. “God, what a disaster,” I murmured.

  “Don't worry. Spilling is just about all their coffee is good for.” He snickered.

  “I'm just so pissed at myself,” I said, drying my wet eyes. “It would have been fine if I'd just ruined my own day, but I ruined yours, too.”

  “Me?” He swatted his hand in the air. “I get dirty all the time. A little coffee is nothing.”

  Equating the word dirty (and all its implications) with the man in front of me really didn't help get rid of my blush.

  “I should get going,” I said, trying to stand up.

  “Whoa. Whoa.” He took my hand. “Do you think that's a good idea?”

  My knees wobbled when I tried to stand, sending me right back into the chair. “Maybe you're right.”

  “You know, if you let me, I'll show you what real coffee tastes like—once you're better of course.” There was those pearly whites again. God damn it, he was hot!

  “I'm sorry. I'm, uh, married.” I flashed the rock on my finger.

  One of his brows lifted. “I'm not asking you to sleep with me, just drink coffee. But,” he held up halting hands, “I'm not going to force you.”

  Wow … way to jump to conclusions, Emily, I thought to myself. “Sorry.” I laughed nervously. “You're right. Coffee would be nice.”

  “Are you sure?” He smirked. “I wouldn't want your husband thinking badly of you.”

  “Ha! My husband? He doesn't think of me.” The impact of what I'd said hit me immediately. “Sorry, that didn't come out right.”

  “I was about to say that that can't be right.”

  “Why?”

  “It's not my place to say. It's his.” He grinned and stood up.

  When I saw the extent of the damage my coffee had done to his sweater, I winced.

  “It's really fine,” he assured me.

  “I'm serious about cleaning your clothes for you.” I sipped the water he'd brought me.

  “If you insist, but I promise it's not a big deal.” He pulled the he
m of his sweater out so he could see the splashes. “You should see me after a day's work.”

  “What do you do for a living?” I asked.

  “I'm a patissier.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “A what?”

  “It's a fancy French word for a pastry chef. Pastries are my specialty, but I bake everything.”

  I smiled. “Oh, that sounds yummy.”

  He returned my smile. “It is.”

  The fire in his eyes, the passion, awakened the butterflies in my stomach. I couldn't believe what amazing luck I had to discover a guy who was hot and could cook.

  Not that it matters, since you're taken, I reminded myself. Right. I'm taken.

  “So, do you work for a restaurant or something?” I took leisurely gulps of my water.

  “I work for a bakery. My own bakery. And we serve some of the sensational coffee you've ever had.”

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Ever had fresh ground Moloka'i Coffee that's been put through a French press?” He was beaming with excitement.

  “No, but I can tell you have.” I laughed.

  “I'm addicted to the stuff.” His face glowed with enthusiasm. “It'll knock your socks off. Want to try it?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “But I'm still covered in coffee.”

  “Then you'll fit right in. Come on. I'll drive you.”

  “You know, I was always told not to get into cars with strangers.” Oh shit. That sounded way too flirty, I thought.

  “Hm. You're right. Well, if you tell me your name and I tell you my name, we won't be strangers anymore. I'm Drake.”

  “I'm Emily.”

  “So, now we're not strangers,” he said happily.

  “But we're still new friends.”

  “Well, how about we share a cab? That way, if I'm a psycho, I can't drag you down some dark alley.” He held out his hand.

  “It's not exactly reassuring to hear you say that.”

  He chuckled. “It was the most sinister thing I could think of.”

  “What if the address you give the driver is someplace rapey?” I gave him a mock look of suspicion.

  “You tell him the name, then.” His hand was still out, but I was pretending like I wasn't going to take it. “Come on. I'll give you a cookie,” he teased.