Talent’s eyes dart away, and he scratches the back of his neck. “No.”
“Is that why he wasn’t at the gala?” I cut into my French toast. “Because when I met you at the coffee shop, you told me he meant well. Now Hush is in trouble, Naomi tried to run me over, and Phillip seems to have disappeared.”
“Why do you think they’re connected?” he asks indifferently, as if the idea is ludicrous.
“I didn’t say they were.” I push my plate away and bring my knees to my chest, turning to watch the ocean fourteen stories down. “Inez won’t talk to me, you’re being cryptic as fuck, and I feel like my life is spinning out of control.”
“Lydia, look at me.” Talent reaches over and rests his hand on top of mine. “Inez is trying to protect you from something, and I think you should let her. When I go into the office tonight, I’ll ask about Naomi and see what I come up with. If she’s trying to hurt you, I’ll make sure she’s stopped. And Phillip Vogel is not a problem. Our friendship went bad and it has nothing to do with me, you, or Hush. He’s been a fuck-up for a long time.”
I search his eyes for signs of mistrust, but I don’t find anything and take his word for it.
“Take this time to figure out what you want to do with your future,” Talent continues. He slides my plate of food back in front of me. “You’re not an escort anymore, Lydia. Now’s your chance to be anything you want. Go to school. Don’t go to school. Build a fucking empire or destroy one. You have my full support.”
“It’s not that easy, Talent.”
“Lydia, there’s going to be a lot about our relationship that isn’t easy, but never selling your body again isn’t one of them. No one is ever going to touch you again.”
“You sound sure of yourself.”
He sits back in his seat and smirks. “I’ve never been so fucking sure of anything in my life.”
A life full of possibilities isn’t one I ever dreamed of, and it’s hard to accept good fortune with grace because good fortune has never given a fuck about me. I’m overlooked by chance and disregarded by destiny. Struggle and misfortune are my longtime companions, so why would they suddenly abandon me now?
Because Talent Ridge is incredibly easy to love?
Because I haven’t heard from Inez in two weeks?
Because for the first time in ten years, my body belongs entirely to myself?
I feel like I’ve spent the last fourteen days walking across a frozen lake, and it’s only a matter of time before the ice breaks and I drown. I’m not on solid ground despite what Talent believes.
Talent and I spend as much time together as we can, which involves me working around his schedule because he’s a big-time businessman and I’m a high-end escort on furlough. Talent disagrees, but until I can meet Inez face-to-face, I’m still one of her whores.
“I didn’t realize lawyers worked so many nights,” I say to him one afternoon while we have lunch in his office. We spend most nights together, either at my place or his, but twice in the last week Talent’s been at the office well after normal business hours.
“We have a client who requires unique accommodations,” he says without further explanation.
Camilla has gone on more dates without incident, and she doesn’t need advice from me beyond what outfit to wear. Without my clients, guiding Camilla, and while Talent’s at work, I find myself reaching farther and farther outside my comfort zone without committing to anything too life-altering, like going back to school.
I start small.
Instead of running on the treadmill, Dog and I run around the neighborhood every morning and even try Dog Mom’s coffee. Yael drives me to the shopping district one afternoon, and I buy clothes a slut wouldn’t be caught dead in. And on an evening Talent isn’t stuck in the office with his brother and dad, he teaches me how to drive.
“Put the car into drive and take your foot off the brake and slowly press on the accelerator,” he encourages patiently. “It’s an automatic transmission, so the car will practically drive itself.”
With both of my hands on the steering wheel, one foot on the brake and one on the gas, the car does not drive itself. We lurch forward so quickly, I panic and forget which pedal is the brake and which is the accelerator and press both simultaneously. Talent’s BMW groans like it’s in pain and comes to an abrupt stop, but the tires spin until the smell of melted rubber scares me and I take both feet off the pedals.
Talent is half-laughing, half-shouting, “Lydia, steer the fucking car.”
We’re not moving very quickly, but we’re headed straight for a light pole.
“Which one is the gas again?” I ask, turning the steering wheel to swerve away from a collision.
“Baby, the one on the right.” He laughs, holding on to the roof handle.
The smell of burned rubber never goes away, but an hour later, I know the difference between the accelerator and the brake, I drive with my right foot only, and I don’t go near another light pole.
“Oh, my God,” I say, driving the BMW from one end of the parking lot to the other. “I’m driving a car. I know how to drive a fucking car.”
Talent rolls the windows down to trade the smell of heated rubber for the salty ocean breeze. Brisk summer night air cools my heated skin and fills my lungs, sweeping my hair off my shoulders. I’m filled to the top with gratitude and slow the car to a stop to wrap my arms around Talent’s neck, crushing my mouth against his.
“I want to hear it,” he says pleadingly.
Talent tells me he loves me when we’re together and when we’re not. He says it in weightless seconds before we fall asleep and in groggy eternity before we wake up. He calls me from the office in the middle of the day to remind me of his devotion, and he confesses his commitment on the card when he sends flowers.
Lydia, you are loved.
Lydia, you’re not alone anymore.
Lydia, no one loves anyone like I love you.
I’m not as liberal with my words, whispering that I love him while he’s inside of me, sometimes when I’m under his intense stare, and in the occasional quiet moments when I place my lips right beside his ear and say it softly and slowly. My fear is fate might hear me say it and take it away. I’m plagued by love for Talent—heartsick, lovesick, obsessed—but it’s not easy for me to piece the words together and give them sound. Afraid to be too defenseless in front of anyone, they stick to my tongue like thick honey.
“You know it’s true, Talent. You know I feel it just like you,” I say instead.
I’m emotionally defective, but he doesn’t take it personally. Talent’s patient as I navigate my way across the frozen body of water. If I don’t fall in, I’ll eventually meet him on the other side, frostbitten and cold. But I’ll be there.
“I’ve known for a while, Lydia. I’ve known since the bar with the band,” he says, speaking of the night we got drunk on each other and expensive bourbon.
“How did you know then?” I ask.
“Because you told me.”
“I did not tell you.” I straighten in my seat and return both hands to the wheel with a flirty grin on my face.
Talent relaxes with his elbow out the window, cool and calm and collected, and he says, “We’d come inside from the alleyway and you were sitting on my lap. I asked if you wanted to order another bottle and you swore you’d die if we did.”
I circle the car around to do one more lap. “I remember that.”
“And then you put your face really close to mine and asked, ‘Is this what falling in love feels like?’”
“I was drunk.”
“You were honest.”
Two nights later, Camilla sits at the end of my bed with her legs crossed, dressed in a baggy pair of sweats and an old shirt, while I get ready for one of the biggest nights of my life. My hair’s in rollers, my makeup is only half-applied, and I’ve tried on every dress I own, looking for the perfect outfit to wear to a private birthday celebration Talent’s asked me to accompany him
to.
Slipping my feet from a pair of metallic open-toe stilettos to a black heel, I do a quick circle for Camilla and ask, “Which pair do you like better?”
She chews on her bottom lip and points to the metallic Tom Fords. “Wear those with the gold one-shoulder gown you tried on before the black cocktail dress. The one with the split side.”
“His dad is going to be there. You don’t think it shows too much skin?”
She shakes her head and smiles, releasing her lip from between her teeth. “No, the color of the gown is amazing against your skin. You’ll look like a shooting star, Lydia. They won’t be able to take their eyes from you.”
I peel the shoes off and set them to the side before holding the gold evening gown against my body to look in the mirror. “I’m not sure I want that attention.”
She shrugs, pulling a loose string from the hem of her shirt. “I think Talent is incredibly romantic, and it’s really sweet he wants you to meet his dad after only a few weeks. If he’s secure enough to take such a big step, you should be, too.”
I hang the gown in my closet and sit at my vanity. Pulling the rollers from my hair one at a time, I admit, “It feels too good to be true.”
Camilla jumps to her feet and heads toward the bedroom door, having learned quickly that I don’t handle togetherness well. She hesitates before leaving. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I can’t imagine it gets truer than that.”
Large curls tumble around my shoulders and down my back as the rollers come out. Camilla steps outside my bedroom door, but I call her back in. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, and I say, “I’m a terrible listener, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this on your own. When you decide you’re ready to talk about how you ended up here, let me know and I’ll do my best to help.”
She smiles, holding on to the door. “Can we make it a girls’ night and exchange sob stories about our screwed-up pasts over margaritas?”
“No.”
Camilla laughs out loud and says, “I had you going for a second.”
I smooth and shape my curls to vintage waves and pin half of it back, securing it with an antique barrette. My winged eyeliner is heavy, instantly making my eyes look darker and my eyelashes longer even before applying mascara. Twisting the tube of dark red lipstick, I lean close to the mirror and press my lips together before following my lip line with crimson rouge.
Nervousness creeps in as I step into the floor-length dress and slide it up my body, fastening it over one shoulder while the other stays bare. Camilla was right when she said the gold-colored fabric looks stunning next to my skin, and I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I smooth my hands down the front of the dress, touch the ends of my curls, and trace my lips with the tips of my fingers.
Hope is terrifying, but he walks in as I’m slipping my feet back into my shoes.
Talent closes the door with a small click and stares at me in the way only he can, deep down and devouring. He’s tall and sleek in a two-buttoned forest green suit that would not look good on anyone else, but he’s a fucking deity and I’m not worthy.
Throwing another dozen roses atop my dresser, he holds both of his hands over his heart and says, “You’re a dream, Lydia.”
I sit on the edge of my bathtub and lift my dress to my knees. “Can you help me?”
In his magnificent suit, Talent Ridge kneels on my bathroom floor and slips my shoes on my feet like I’m the princess in this story and not the damn pumpkin.
“You look nice, too,” I say, forcing the words out of my lungs.
He cradles my foot in his lap and fastens the strap around my ankle, peeking at me from beneath his long eyelashes. There’s no denying the affection I feel for this man. It’s stronger than the general contempt I felt until the day I met him, when everything flipped. Talent does feel too good to be true, but while I wait for fate to realize it’s made a mistake by giving me something good, I wrap my hand around Talent’s tie and pull him close to whisper, “I love you.”
My foot falls from his lap as he leans into me, careful not to smear my lipstick.
Love is waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Camilla’s standing at the kitchen counter mid-bite when Talent and I come out of my room hand-in-hand. She drops the spoon into her cereal and says, “Holy crap. You guys are so beautiful and it’s so not fair to the rest of us.”
The messy bun that was on top of her head falls free, and she smooths her hands over her hair like it’ll make a difference.
I manage a small smile, but Talent thanks her.
“Don’t leave. Let me take a picture before you go.” She runs past us in her too-large sweats and bare feet. She comes back with Dog under her arm and a cell phone in her hand. “This level of elegance needs to be documented. It feels like I’m a doting mother before the damn prom. I can’t believe I’m eating cereal for dinner when you guys look this fantastic.”
Camilla holds up the cell phone to take a picture and I automatically tense. No flash photography. No videography. I can’t remember the last time I had my picture taken, and this feels as dangerous as giving my heart to a man as prestigious as Talent.
Talent rubs my lower back, and I turn into him as she captures the photo.
“You kids have fun,” she says with a smile. “I won’t wait up.”
In the car ride over, Talent and I sit in the back of the limo and share a toast to a wonderful evening ahead. He drinks two glasses of champagne to my one, but I’m about to willingly walk into the lion’s den. As much as I’d love to drink straight from the bottle to lessen my nerves, I want to give the best first impression I can. Meeting David Ridge is a big deal.
“Remind me of whose birthday it is,” I say.
Talent sips from his champagne flute and forces a smile before answering, “A friend of the family.”
“If we’re dressed like this, they must be a big deal.”
He nods and says, “They are.”
The St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco is a one-hundred-year-old landmark and stands in the heart of the city as a symbol of elegance and history. It’s brilliantly lit upon our arrival, illuminated to display the long-slit stained-glass windows, semicircle arches, and grand pillars. Two mighty bell towers stretch for the night sky, like an ancient castle from another time.
“Ma’am.” A valet attendant opens the back door and offers his hand.
I step onto the sidewalk, overcome with the smell from the nearby chocolate factory, the ancient trees that surround the city, and the salty ocean. Talent comes around the back of the limo, refastening his jacket, and he guides me toward the massive building with his hand on my lower back. Unlike the gala, there’s no paparazzi or fuss leading toward the event. There’s a line of cars behind us waiting to unload guests, but we’re mostly alone on the short walk to the St. Francis entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside, and I can’t believe I’m here. My work with Hush never takes me out of Grand Haven, and now I’m at a birthday party in a real-life castle on a Wednesday night.
“Are you ready?” Talent asks, lacing his fingers with mine and squeezing my hand.
I smile and say, “Are you sure this is a birthday party?”
He chuckles and says, “Our work gets us caught up with some crazy motherfuckers.”
I’m not any less impressed by the grand ballroom, but I’m on high alert once Talent and I join the rest of the party. Scanning the room for anyone I may know from Hush, I’m pleasantly surprised not to recognize the normal company that attends high-profile events like these in Grand Haven. Until my eyes fall on Wilder Ridge, who’s at the bar, looking just as tortured as he did at the gala.
“There’s your brother,” I say, pulling on Talent’s hand.
“Where’s Dad?” Talent asks as we approach the older Ridge son. He pulls a chair out for me and I take a seat, turning to face the party.
“N
ice to see you, Lydia,” Wilder says with a drunk smile. He shifts his attention to his brother when he doesn’t get a reaction from me and says, “You know as well as I do that there’s always business to be had at these things. He’s in the first conference room down the hall to the right. They’ve been waiting for you.”
Talent pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Go show your face before they come looking for you.” Wilder asks the bartender to give me what he has. “I’ll keep Miss Won’t-be-Disrespected-Again safe until you’re back.”
Talent kisses the top of my head and walks away with his hands in his pockets. The bartender slides a glass of bourbon in front of me, and Wilder clinks his glass with mine.
“We’ve got to stop meeting up like this,” he says over the rim of his glass.
Inclined to relax a little, I take a sip of my drink and say, “How did you know who I work for?”
Wilder opens his jacket to retrieve his wallet from the front pocket. He flips through a few business cards before slapping one on the bar top for me to see.
It’s a standard black business card with the word Hush typed across the front in white. Inez’s number is on the back. “It’s my understanding that Inez Ricci has a monopoly on the escorting business in our area. These tend to get left around for me to find a lot.”
Merely glancing at the card, I look away and say, “You won’t get to me by calling the number on the back of that card, Wilder Ridge.”
He smiles, and I see a bit of Talent in him. It lessens how defensive I feel.
“I’ve never called the number. The Ridges are perfect, but you already know that.”
“Someone might want to give Talent the memo,” I say sarcastically. “I heard he’s fallen in love with a prostitute.”
Wilder chokes on his drink and laughs out loud, wiping bourbon from his lip. “Beautiful and funny.”
Holding a finger up, I include, “And slutty. Your brother didn’t stand a chance. I’m the motherfucking trifecta.”
“Got any friends?”
I roll my eyes. “You wish. Call the number if you’re lonely.”
Talent appears at the other end of the ballroom with a man I instantly recognize as Talent and Wilder’s father, David Ridge. His sons are taller than him, but like Inez, his very presence demands respect. He doesn’t have the swagger Talent’s adopted, and David doesn’t seem as rigid as his firstborn. His body language is somewhere in the middle, with one hand at his side and the other in his pocket.
Tramp (Hush Book 1) Page 27