This was probably one of the more difficult and frustrating parts of the relationship for her – never knowing exactly when Nick would call, not being allowed to contact him, and having no idea where he was or what he was doing at any given moment. She didn’t even know where he lived, for he’d never mentioned it and she knew better than to ask. Given his familiarity with San Francisco – all the restaurants and shops he seemed to be recognized in, how smoothly he navigated around the streets – she assumed he lived here in the city and most likely in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods – Pacific Heights, the Marina, Nob Hill.
As for how he occupied his time when he wasn’t at the office or with her, Angela could only guess. He was in such incredible physical condition that she knew he’d have to spend a great deal of time at the gym. She assumed he had close male friends, people he knew from football or work, but he’d seldom mentioned any of them by name. Of his family she knew absolutely nothing, just that his parents were divorced. She had no idea if he had siblings or kept in close touch with his family or even where he’d grown up. She had come very close on a number of occasions to researching him online, figuring there had to be at least some basic information about his background from his NFL days. But she’d always resisted, partially from the fear that Nick would find out somehow and be annoyed at herfor prying, but mostly because she wanted him to be the one to tell her about himself, instead of reading some statistics about him on Wikipedia.
In the few short weeks they’d been seeing each other, Angela had more or less been living on tenterhooks. She was constantly afraid she’d break one of Nick’s rules, whether by asking him a question on a forbidden topic, or innocently mentioning him to a co-worker, or, worse, betraying her ever-increasing feelings for him. And because she never knew when he would call and want to see her, she’d stopped making plans of her own and was never without her phone. He’d called once when she’d been out on a run, and she had had to swiftly turn around and almost sprint the rest of the way back to her apartment. If she had to do laundry or go grocery shopping, it was usually on a day after she’d been with him the previous evening, for he hardly ever saw her two days in a row. And while it was still too soon in the relationship to establish any sort of pattern, at least for now Nick usually saw her two to three nights a week.
Thus far there hadn’t been any family events she’d felt obliged to attend – and thereby find a way to blow off - but the holidays would be here very soon, followed by a slew of birthdays – her father’s, sister’s, niece’s, brother-in-law’s – and the pressure would be exerted on her to be present. Even though her mother and sisters still shunned her as much as possible, the three of them lived by some ridiculously outdated sense of protocol that called for keeping up appearances and maintaining the farce of a close, happy family. How many times had she heard her mother tell her briskly. “What would your aunts think if you didn’t attend Uncle Aldo’s retirement party? I’d never hear the end of it, Angela.” Or it would be Marisa whining that “Of course you have to be here for Samantha’s eighth grade graduation. It would look terrible to Joe’s family if my own sister didn’t show up.”
Angela rarely bothered to point out that the three of them didn’t even acknowledge her presence at any of these events, that they didn’t really want her there but that it was expected, that it would look bad to the rest of the family if she wasn’t in attendance. And so she’d gone, every single time, with the futile hope that her willingness to be part of the family would finally make them accept her, make her feel wanted. But of course it never had, and she had yet to wise up and realize that her relationship with her mother and sisters would probably always be fucked up.
She applied her makeup in between sips of coffee and bites of buttered toast, her phone in easy reach as the time crept gradually past the noon hour. She didn’t dress yet, in the event that Nick had a specific outfit in mind, but mentally chose a dress, a pair of shoes, a jacket, some jewelry. Her closet had been ruthlessly stripped bare after his clean-out project last night, and just about the only things left were her business suits and the clothes Nick had bought for her.
She paced around anxiously after that, willing the phone to ring, and feeling too unsettled to pass the time any other way. She was so far ahead of everyone else in her training class at work that studying or reading seemed pointless. Desperate to find ways to occupy herself when she couldn’t be with Nick, she’d been spending ridiculously long hours at the office, and was only one module away from completing the entire training program. She’d studied for the licensing exam until her head hurt, and had already assembled a sizeable list of potential clients to contact once she was approved to do so.
But she couldn’t work all the time, and running or other forms of exercise weren’t always an option given that a night in bed with Nick usually left her too wrung out and achy in too many places to count. She didn’t have many friends yet in San Francisco, since most of her old college chums had scattered all over the country after graduation. Julia was living in New York, and Lauren seemed to be constantly flitting between her cabin in Big Sur, staff meetings in Manhattan, and assignments in every corner of the globe. Not that she was overly anxious for either of the twins to call more often, or worse, to pay a visit. The McKinnon girls knew her far better than anyone else ever had, certainly much more so than the family she was like a virtual stranger to, and Angela wasn’t entirely confident around her best friends about her ability to keep her relationship with Nick the carefully guarded secret it had to remain.
Wistfully she couldn’t stop herself from hoping that one day soon things would change – that she and Nick could have a normal relationship, one where she knew exactly when they would see each other every week, where she was free to call or text or email him when she felt like it, where she could proudly introduce him to her family and friends. It was hard, much harder than she’d thought it would be, to abide by all of his rules. Already there had been numerous occasions where she’d had to force herself not to call the emergency only number he’d given her, or to ask him when they would see each other again, or drop hints about him spending the night or taking her to see his home. And she was constantly having to restrain herself from blurting out how she felt about him, biting her lip in the throes of orgasm not to cry out how much she loved him. Any of these transgressions – and especially the latter – would be the end of it. She knew all this instinctively, and also knew she’d have to continue to wage this internal battle for as long as their tenuous relationship lasted.
She consoled herself with the fact that she’d lasted longer than any of the other women he’d dated in the past, including the three he’d fleetingly mentioned the night he’d first set down his list of conditions. She didn’t fool herself into believing that Nick might actually have feelings for her. He was too tightly controlled, too set in his ways to be the sort of man who’d ever admit to loving or needing someone. And no matter how intense the sex was – she wouldn’t permit herself to think of it as lovemaking since any semblance of love between them was strictly one-sided – Nick never, ever lost control. Whereas she was a quivering, emotional basket case each and every time they fucked, he remained cool, detached, always holding part of himself back. And it was that aspect of their relationship that bothered her the most – that she could feel so much, could be so deeply affected by their physical closeness, while it seemed to have little to no effect on him.
Angela closed her eyes, forcing back the tears she so desperately wanted to shed, and told herself firmly to be grateful for what she did have. She reminded herself of how many women would kill to trade places with her, that what she’d shared so far with Nick was much, much more than he’d ever give to another woman. And that if she wanted to remain in his life in any sort of fashion, she would have to accept things as they were and stop wishing for what couldn’t be.
Her phone rang and she snatched it up immediately, the caller ID telling her it was a blocked call and most a
ssuredly Nick.
“Angel.” His voice was a throaty purr that made her knees weak and her nipples hard even as she listened to his instructions about where and when to meet him and what he wanted her to wear.
***
Lauren McKinnon was very seldom caught by surprise, and could count on one hand the number of times in her twenty-two years that she’d gone so far as to be shocked. But as her best friend walked inside the funky Noe Valley café where they’d arranged to meet for brunch, Lauren’s jaw dropped open and she realized she’d have to start using her other hand to keep the tally up to date.
She’d known Angela for more than half their lives, had grown up with her, considered her another sister. They had played sports together, shared confidences, pulled some admittedly evil pranks on girls they had hated at school, and given each other advice on a wide array of subject matter. Lauren had felt more than a little guilty these past few months over the lack of contact between them, given the demands of her new job. She’d hardly been home at all what with the time she spent in New York attending planning and follow-up meetings, and actually being on location for assignments. Communication with her best friend had been infrequent and brief. And, based on the startling physical changes she observed now, a whole lot had happened to Angela in the interim.
“Wow.” Lauren stood and gave her a fierce hug, noting that Angela had to bend down even lower than usual, given the four inch heels she was wearing. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
Angela laughed and took a seat at the cozy corner table Lauren had secured for them. “Sometimes when I look in the mirror I think the same thing. Does this mean you don’t approve?”
Lauren inspected Angela thoroughly, taking in the shiny smoothness of her jet black hair; the tasteful but dramatic way she’d applied her makeup; the new curves to her formally wand-thin body – the fuller breasts, hips and ass that Lauren had to admit looked fantastic on her. And the way she was dressed – in a close-fitting V-neck sweater of cream cashmere, a short, tight skirt of dark brown wool, ribbed tights, and sexy brown ankle boots with those stiletto heels – was a far cry from the laid-back jeans, T-shirt and flip flops Lauren was used to seeing her in. Her classy, fashionable outfit was the exact same sort of ensemble Lauren’s twin sister Julia favored.
And while Lauren was nowhere near as fashion obsessed as Julia, she was savvy enough to recognize Angela’s attire as being designer from head to toe, including the diamond and gold jewelry that adorned her ears and throat, and the exquisite gold watch that circled her wrist.
Lauren grabbed hold of that same wrist and raised a brow. “Holy crap, where the hell did you get the money to buy a Piaget? Julia was looking at these watches in Barney’s when she dragged me along the last time I was in New York. When she noticed the price tag she started to wonder if she ought to snag some rich old sugar daddy to buy her pretty things. Looks like you had the same idea, Angie.”
Angela’s cheeks flushed beneath their expert application of bronzer. “I don’t have a sugar daddy. It’s – er, not like that.”
“Ah, so there is someone,” exclaimed Lauren triumphantly. “Okay, girlfriend, spill. I want all the details – name, age, occupation, net worth, and most important how big his equipment is.”
“Lauren!” Angela admonished her in hushed tones, looking around the crowded café to make sure no one had heard her.
“What?” Lauren grinned. “Come on, Angie, it’s me. We watched enough porn together back in the day that nothing should be able to shock you. Tell you what – you can save all of the juicier details for after we eat and just fill me in on the basics now.”
Angela’s full mouth – glossed over in a shiny mocha – tightened into a thin line and an expression that looked an awful lot like fear appeared in her eyes. She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t, Lauren. I’m sorry, I know I’ve never kept anything from you before but this time – no.”
“Huh?” Lauren stared at her best friend in utter bewilderment. “I mean, forget about how good this guy is in bed for a minute. Why don’t we start with something simple like – oh, I don’t know – his name?”
But Angela only gave another stubborn shake of her head. “Not even that. He – we – want to keep this private. I shouldn’t even be telling you I’m seeing someone.”
“Are you shitting me?” Lauren was incredulous. “What’s up with that load of bull? Is this jerk married or something, and you’re just his booty on the side?”
“No, he’s definitely not married. And, well, he has his reasons. He’s just a very private person and doesn’t want me talking about us to anyone. Even to you, Lauren,” she added contritely.
Lauren was primed and ready to launch into another tirade when their waiter appeared with menus and a pot of coffee. Lauren, who’d already had a cup while waiting for Angela to arrive, eagerly proffered her mug for a refill. She’d only arrived back in San Francisco less than two hours ago after a multi-stop seventeen hour journey home from Chile, where she’d been doing a feature on Torres del Paine National Park. Most people would be in a zombie-like state right about now, but Lauren had never been like “most people” in any aspect of her life, including the uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere and with very little effort. She was the envy of her fellow crew members and figured that she’d probably slept for a good nine hours on the flight. Even so, she had an unapologetic caffeine addiction and was rarely without a heavily creamed and sugared, extra-large cup in her hand.
After the waiter took their orders – crème brulee French toast with a side of bacon for Lauren, a veggie egg white scramble with whole wheat toast for Angela – Lauren was right back in attack mode.
“Now, I don’t know if this is some really bad joke you’re trying to play on me, but if so I’m definitely not laughing,” Lauren told her sternly. “I cannot think of any other reasonable explanation why you can’t at least tell me this guy’s name. The only other reason that comes to mind is that he’s some sort of international spy, or works for the CIA or Interpol or something.”
Angela laughed. “Nothing quite that mysterious. And I think you’ve been watching too many of those espionage movies you love. Tell me the truth – what movie did you watch on your flight home?”
Lauren had the good graces to look sheepish. “Okay, I admit it. The latest Bourne movie was playing. And on the flight out I watched Bond and Mission Impossible. But you’re trying to divert the subject here, Angie. Why can’t you tell me anything about your mysterious – and apparently filthy rich – new man? I mean, I’m no fashionista like Julia or my aunt Maddy but I’ve had my ass dragged along on enough shopping trips to know that outfit you’re wearing is probably worth two grand – not counting the watch or the jewelry. And – Jesus – is that a Fendi bag down there? Add another thousand – at least – to that total.”
Angela fidgeted, clearly discomfited by the direction their conversation was headed, and stared down into her coffee mug. “Julia would be pleased to learn that you actually paid attention during all those shopping excursions.”
Lauren scowled. “Julia would be as pissed off – and worried – as I am about this whole mess. Or she would, if she wasn’t involved in a questionable relationship of her own. You know I was never the biggest Sam fan all those years they were together, but he’s a prince compared to this asshole Lucas she’s dating now. There’s something fishy about that guy, I knew it from the first minute I met him. And it sounds like he’s not the only bad smelling boyfriend I need to worry about. At least I know his name and met him face to face. Unlike your mystery man. So, come on, spill the beans, Angie. You know you want to, I can see it in your eyes.”
“I can’t.” Angela sighed. “I’m sorry, Lauren, I really am, but this is one time in our lives when I can’t share with you. Just know that he’s a great guy, he treats me well, and, most importantly, I’m happier right now than I’ve ever been.”
“Hmmph. Sounds to me like you’ve been br
ainwashed. Or drugged. Let me see your arms.”
Angela gaped at her in shock. “No! I am not doing drugs, you idiot, and you are not checking my arms for track marks. I admit all of this sounds a little suspicious, but you’re going to have to trust that I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Famous last words, Angie. I’ll reserve judgment on that, if it’s all the same to you. Has he met your parents yet?”
“Are you high? Smoked something wacky down in South America?” inquired Angela in disbelief. “Even if I wasn’t supposed to keep all of this hush hush, my parents are probably the last people I’d want him to meet right now. As usual, they have no idea about what goes on in my life and are quite content with that state of affairs.”
“Well, I want to know,” insisted Lauren. “Sorry, but this whole situation sounds creepy to me. I mean, you can’t even tell me his fucking name? What’s it like – Beetlejuice – where you say his name too many times and bad stuff starts happening?”
Angela shook her head in frustration. “God, you are just like a pitbull sometimes, you know? The main reason he wants to keep it quiet is because we work together. Not directly, but at the same firm, and the gossip mill in that place grinds round the clock.”
“I guess I can understand that,” admitted Lauren grudgingly. “But that doesn’t explain why you can’t tell your family and friends.”
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