As a frenzy builds momentum, so does something else. It grows inside of me, wrapping around my bones and weaving through the fibers of muscle. It’s devotion, fondness, and respect all together and all at once, pushing out old feelings of disappointment and loneliness. It’s a word right on the tip of my tongue, bittersweet and lush.
I kiss Talent, hoping he can taste it in my mouth and tell me what it is.
He holds me in his arms and crushes me like he might. As his body prods and pokes the little bruises he gave me yesterday, the word on the tip of my tongue almost nearly has a sound. But when I try to push it out, all that happens is heavy breathing and humming. Talent pinches my bottom lip, smearing my lipstick, and my mouth falls open. I lick his fingers, wondering if he can see it and say it first.
He can say it aloud, and I’ll sound it out.
“Lydia,” he whispers like a secret.
Close, but it’s not the word I’m thinking of. But the shape of my name on his lips is enough to throw me over the edge, and I come undone. Now I’m the one throwing my head back and opening my legs as much as I can to get him as deep as he’ll reach. Talent presses his lips against the racing pulse point on my neck and carries me up and away.
I come down like a feather in the wind.
The word has spread from the tip of my tongue, down my throat, into my stomach and lungs and kidneys. It flows through my blood, coursing through my veins and pumping through my heart. It’s in the tips of my fingers and toes, and behind my heavy eyelids.
It’s between my legs, against my chest, and kissing the side of my face.
“I’m not ready to get up yet,” I say softly. Twisting his hair between my fingers, I rest my head against his and watch the waves crash against the shore from his office window.
“We don’t have anywhere to be but here,” he says. Talent runs his hands up and down my thighs, careful not to turn the chair away from the view.
An hour later, we leave Talent’s office hand-in-hand, freshly fucked and glowing. My dress is wrinkled, and my hair isn’t as wavy as it was when I arrived. Talent’s tie is in his back pocket and his suit jacket is unbuttoned, but we’re passable as a normal couple on their way to lunch.
Wilder Ridge is at the reception desk when we emerge. I hesitate for a split second before he spots us together, wondering if I should hide inside the office until Wilder fucks off. When eyes his own shade of gray look up and narrow, all thoughts of laying low until he’s gone disappear. Talent stops us to wipe lipstick away from under my lip, unconcerned with the implications going public can cause. Even if it is only his older brother and the receptionist.
Wilder’s warning from the gala is still fresh in my mind, but I’ve never been one to let the opinions of others stop me from anything. I won’t start now. Fake it until I make it.
“Is he going to be a problem?” I ask in a voice so low only Talent can hear.
“No,” he answers confidently.
I don’t want to be the reason family dinners are tense, but I won’t be terrorized by his judgment. Leveling the playing field can be arranged. One chance meeting with a counterpart, even something as quick as a hand job from a Hush escort, will guarantee Wilder’s interference ends with disappointed scowls and rigid body language.
No one turns down a hand job.
And I’m not above blackmail.
One step ahead of Talent, I don’t let years spent as Cara Smith go to waste. I’m the very essence of confidence. Standing tall, I keep my shoulders back and my expression bold, capable of controlling how this encounter goes because I’m the baddest person in the room.
The older Ridge brother isn’t easily swayed, but he leans against the reception desk with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his lips. He and Talent share a lengthy look that seconds as a silent conversation that I gladly eavesdrop on.
It says, you son of a bitch.
And, don’t fuck with me.
“I’ll be in sometime tomorrow,” Talent says. He squeezes my hand.
Wilder chuckles and says, “Are you going to introduce us to your girlfriend?”
The receptionist gives herself whiplash, looking back and forth between the Ridge brothers before her curiosity focuses on me. She’s a woman, so she notices the difference in my appearance from my arrival and can probably guess why I’m not wearing lipstick anymore. She blushes, and I wink.
“We’ve met,” I say to Wilder like an afterthought. “Or did you forget our talk at the gala?”
“Of course not, Cara.” Wilder steps away from the desk and offers his hand to shake. “I’m only surprised to see you here.”
Talent steps forward with the look of the devil in his eyes, like he might choke the life out of his own brother for insulting me. My mouth spreads into a smile that stops Wilder before Talent has the chance to. His hand hesitates in the space between us, unsure of himself.
“You must have me confused with someone else,” I say, shaking his hand. He’s physically stronger than me, but Wilder Ridge has never met a woman of my caliber. I allowed his weight throwing to go unanswered at the gala, but this is a brand-new day. “I’m Lydia Montgomery, and you won’t ever disrespect me again.”
The receptionist lets out a breathy laugh but straightens up and drops the smile as soon as Wilder, Talent, and I look at her. She holds her hands up in surrender and mouths sorry before making herself busy stacking papers and picking up the phone that wasn’t ringing.
“I’ll just check the voicemail.” She waves us off. “Nothing to see here.”
I like her.
“Are you done?” Talent asks his brother. His jaw muscles are tight, and he’s cutting off blood circulation to my hand.
Wilder shakes his head in disapproval. “You’re going to let this happen? If the wrong people find out who she is, Talent—”
“Let me handle it,” Talent answers in a clipped tone.
“That’s not going to happen,” Wilder says, but the fight drains from his body. “You’re my brother.”
As irritated as Talent seems by Wilder’s refusal to mind his own business, I’m envious of the solid relationship they share. Family is an unknown idea to me, not only because I was born an only child or because my mom has been dead for ten years, but because I haven’t shared a vulnerable connection with anyone in a long time.
Inez does her best to make me feel like family, but we’re lonely wanderers who built an unlikely alliance on a foundation of convenience. I needed guidance, and she needed a successor. Our relationship is precious to me, but it lingers along the edges, susceptible. I trust Inez with my life, but I can’t confide in someone who sells my body with my whole heart.
She can’t be my mother and my pimp.
But Talent might be the start of something new.
If he can stomach me after he knows the entire truth about who I am.
“Don’t forward my calls, Sonya,” Talent tells the mousy girl behind the desk busying herself with voice messages that may or may not exist.
Wilder steps out of our way, sliding his hands back into his pockets. He regards his brother with warm regard, but his expression is icy when turned on me.
“Tell her what she’s in for, Talent. It’s the only way to keep this from going bad,” he calls out as we pass through the double glass doors. “If you trust her, you’ll tell her.”
We stand on opposite sides of the elevator on the way down, non-stop and alone together thanks to Talent’s bypass code. The time to clear the air has arrived, and we both know we can’t continue to dance around the truth any longer.
“Talent, even if I stop now, it won’t change who I am.”
“I can protect you.”
“You can’t protect me from myself. You’ve said so yourself,” I remind him of the night he showed up at my apartment with my favorite Chinese food and I turned him away. “I am who I am.”
“I won’t let you sabotage what we have, Lydia,” he says, exasperated. Ignoring the truth must feel li
ke constant running.
“How come your brother can see where this is headed, and you can’t?” There’s nothing I’d like more than to cover my mouth with my hands to keep the reality of our situation behind clenched teeth. My arms stay at my sides, and I say, “Go ahead and tell me what I’m in for. Will we have to keep our relationship a secret, so I don’t ruin everything you’ve worked for? Your family will never accept me, because if Wilder knows who I am, we can assume your dad does, too. He called me Cara, Talent.”
Exhaling, Talent closes his eyes and scratches the back of his neck impatiently. “My brother knows everything about you, Lydia, but that’s not what he was referring to. He’s more concerned for your wellbeing than you realize.”
Taken aback, I ask, “What the fuck does that mean?”
Before Talent can explain, the elevator comes to an abrupt stop and the doors open to the main lobby. A group of people waiting to board the elevator recognize Talent right away and make a path for him to walk by. He motions for me to go ahead of him, and the magnitude of the gesture is not beyond anyone waiting to get on the elevator.
Like a deadly virus, their gossip will spread through the entire building at an unprecedented speed, and there isn’t a vaccine available that will shut them the fuck up.
Talent places his hand on my lower back and follows me out, and that’s all it takes to introduce ourselves to the world.
I’m disappointed Talent drove his BMW to the office today, but I’m more disappointed in myself for being a person who’s disappointed I don’t get to ride in the Lamborghini again.
I’m unrecognizable.
Opening the passenger side door for me, Talent’s lips are terse, and his stare is grave. A better person would be intimidated by his obvious unhappiness, but apparently, I’m the type of person who snubs her nose at a BMW because she’d rather have a life-altering argument in a Lamborghini.
“Lighten up, Ridge. This is only the unraveling of your life,” I say, lowering myself into the seat. He tries to close the door for me, but I grab the handle and slam it closed myself.
The valet driver who drove the car up watches our exchange and doesn’t stick around long enough for a tip, giving Talent plenty of room to get into the car unbothered. Let that slice of gossip make its way through the building, too. We may as well give them something good to talk about.
“Take me home,” I say as he merges into traffic.
Talent drives with one hand on the steering wheel, and he rests his other elbow on the center console with so much style and swag, I nearly demand he forget my first request and invite him to take me to his bed instead. But now that he has me trapped in his car, he keeps his eyes on the road and ignores me entirely.
We’re not heading in the direction of my apartment or his, and I ask, “Where are we going, Talent?”
“I’m hungry,” he answers in a short manner. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
We go through the McDonald’s drive-thru and order enough food to eat our feelings. I haven’t had chicken nuggets in years and dig for my ten-piece after Talent drops the bag of hot food in my lap.
“I said I wanted honey and mustard. Not honey mustard.” I hold up the tiny cups of honey mustard like they’re live grenades.
We’re too far from the drive-thru window to go back, but still in the McDonald’s parking lot to remedy this travesty. Talent jams his straw into his large Coke, groans, and pulls the car around to the front of the restaurant. He takes the handful of honey mustard from me and opens the car door, kicking it open wide only for it to rebound shut quickly on his leg. He comes back with honey, mustard, and a vanilla soft-serve cone.
“For your troubles,” he says.
We smile.
We can’t help it.
And we share the ice cream cone on our drive to the beach.
The parking lot is relatively empty, and the weather is perfect as the afternoon heat succumbs to a crisp evening. Talent gathers our bags of food, and I unbuckle my shoes before getting out of the car on bare feet. He pops the trunk open and asks me to grab the blanket all beach city dwellers with cars keep on hand for impromptu beach trips.
A black slip midi dress isn’t the best outfit to wear to the beach, especially when I don’t have underwear on beneath, but Talent softened me up with the vanilla cone and I let it go. Besides, I’ll follow those chicken nuggets anywhere dressed in anything.
Talent takes off his jacket and lays it down, setting our food on top of it before taking the blanket from me. He shakes the blanket open, letting the sea breeze unfold it midair before gently spreading it over the sand for us to sit. He’s ridiculous in his Armani slacks and leather shoes now covered in sand, and I can’t help but think this is a side of Talent not many people get to see. And here I am, seeing it.
He shoves ten French fries into his mouth at a time and can eat a double cheeseburger in three bites, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life.
“What’s wrong with the mustard?” he asks, nodding toward the small pile of unopened mustard packets.
Observing them apologetically, I admit, “I like honey and barbecue sauce. Not honey and mustard.”
With a full stomach and sugar high from the packets of honey and my half of the vanilla cone, I lie back on the blanket and bury my toes in the warm sand. Talent leans on his elbow beside me, and it’s not lost on us that we’re good at distracting ourselves from heavy conversation, be it with sex, alcohol, or greasy food. It’s a habit that can go bad fast.
“Talent.” I cup my hand over my eyes to block out the sun and to see his answering expression. “We don’t have a future unless you understand my past. Cricket is only half the story.”
With his eyes on the ocean, he nods and says, “As long as you understand that anything you say changes nothing for me.”
“Why are you so willing to put your livelihood on the line for a prostitute you never asked for?”
“Prostitution is what you do, it’s not who you are, Lydia,” he says, squinting against the sunlight. “I do business with worse people than someone who sells sex to get by. At least you’re fucking honest about it.”
“It will only be a matter of time before someone you work with recognizes me, Talent. I’ve done my best to keep my identity a secret, but no one forgets the face of the woman they pay two-thousand dollars for an hour of sex. And when they realize you’re not paying me for my time, they might not say anything to your face, but you better believe they’re saying it behind your back.”
A menacing smirk curves his lips. “Let me worry about that, baby.”
“I visit six different clients, in six different offices, six days a week, three weeks a month. I’ve kept this schedule for eight years, Talent. I’m not like the sluts picking up drunks in bars, because I’m high-end. My clients have much more to lose should their arrangement with me get out. These are the men you run with, and the consequence will follow us forever.”
Slate-gray eyes find mine, and his menacing smirk turns charming. “So, you admit we’ll be together forever?”
I throw sand at him and cover my face with my hands. “Why are you okay with this? You’re Talent-fucking-Ridge. There’s not a single person in this entire city—in the entire world—you can’t have. Why me? Why can’t you let me go?”
Talent suddenly rolls on top of me, blocking the sunlight with his whole body. He holds my wrists above my head and slowly, passionately kisses me with the taste of the ocean on his lips. The weight of our bodies sinks into the sand, and our blanket bunches under our knees and elbows, filling the dips with warm sand.
“I love you,” Talent whispers against my lips. “I won’t let you go because I love you, and I think you’re in love with me, too.”
He says it, and I sound it out.
Because that’s what the word was all along.
On the tip of my tongue.
“I love you,” I say with a sigh of relief. But most of all: “I trust you.
”
“Tell me more about the person who tried to hit you with her car.” Talent unboxes our breakfast to serve on glass plates, dressed in nothing but a pair of cotton boxers.
The black midi dress was ruined between our time spent in Talent’s office and after our trip to the beach yesterday evening. Clothes weren’t required once we returned to the penthouse, and Talent likes me in his shirts during the moments we come up for air. I still don’t have any underwear on, but that won’t be an issue until it’s time to go back to my place.
“I don’t know if she intentionally tried to hit me with the car,” I clarify, popping a sliced strawberry into my mouth. “Her name is Naomi. She started with Hush before I did, but she was fired a couple of months ago. We exchanged heated words, but I haven’t heard from her since. As far as I was concerned, I never had to see her again.”
To rationalize her exit from Hush as workplace termination is a gross understatement and a wild stretch of the imagination. It’s not like she was let go from a nine-to-five for insubordination and can find a new job or collect unemployment. Hush girls are welcome to go if they leave on good terms, but Naomi was blacklisted. She won’t find sex work in the state of California again unless she works truck stops or dive bars.
“Talent, she’s the reason why you and I are about to share this French toast,” I say, dipping my pinky finger into the powdered sugar. “She and your friend Phillip Vogel made the arrangement to put a hooker in your office, planning for it to be her, but Inez sent me instead. Our lives would be vastly different had you fucked Naomi instead.”
Talent rolls his eyes and takes our plates to the dining room table and pulls out a chair for me. “I’ll make a few calls and see what I can find out about her.”
“What about Phillip?” I ask, drizzling syrup over my breakfast. “Are you still friends?”
Tramp (Hush Book 1) Page 26