Overlooked

by Lulu Pratt

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come with me and you’ll see.”

  Skye takes my offered hand and I lead her through my house and into the home office I dedicate to my charity. The walls are lined with photos of people the charity has helped, along with all the awards it’s won.

  I’m not sure why I’m showing her this room. The only other people who have seen it are my sisters. When I first told her to come with me, I wanted to show her up, to stop her anti-rich bullshit. But by the time we’re halfway down the hall, I realize it’s not that. I want her to like me, to approve of me. And know me.

  “Don’t tell me, it’s your own charity,” she says, looking at me sideways. Figures she wouldn’t approve of a rich person’s charitable foundation.

  “Of course. I want to be sure the maximum amount of money is reaching the people I want to help.”

  While I stand still and watch, she examines the photos on the wall nearest her, walking along the wall after she’s satisfied with each one. When she comes to an award, she reads out the certificate.

  “The Heywood Foundation. It doesn’t say who all these people are.” She pauses. “Cancer?”

  “Orphans,” I say, smirking.

  “Ah, orphans. Of course. Everyone wants to help the orphans.”

  “Actually, you’re wrong. Everybody feels for an orphan, but there’s a shocking lack of actual help. My foundation helps by providing counseling, income support, scholarships, funding to keep siblings together, apprenticeships, vacation camps. You name it, we provide it. I give the charity half of my profits, and that will increase once Kelso goes.”

  “How noble.” It’s impossible not to notice the sarcasm in her voice.

  “Don’t you want to know why orphans? Why not all the other good causes in the world?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” she says returning to me and grabbing my hand.

  I take her to the far wall, to a photo of my two sisters and me standing in front of a huge group of people of all ages.

  My breathing is shallow. I’ve shared my story a thousand times at events for my charity, but I’ve never spoken about this to a person in private before.

  “This is a photo of all the orphans I’ve helped.”

  Skye squints her eyes as she examines it.

  “Isn’t that your sister?” she asks, pointing to Julie.

  “Yeah, she’s the first orphan I ever helped.”

  Skye’s eyes widen. She swallows as she moves all her attention from the photo to me.

  My eyebrows arch and I shrug. “My parents were killed in a car accident when I was sixteen. There weren’t any relatives to take us in, so I quit school to support my two younger sisters.” Though her face falls as I talk, I carry on.

  “When I left school, I got a job as a hotel bellhop. I did every job at the hotel, from valet parker to bookkeeping. It ended up being an amazing apprenticeship. By the time I turned twenty-one, I had so much experience, I was ready to open my own hotel. But I didn’t have any money. That’s when I met Kelso.”

  She shudders when I say his name. So do most people who’ve met him.

  “He proposed building the hotel for a cut of the profits. Sounded great to me, it was the only way I’d ever be able to have my own hotel. It was a massive success, so Kelso kept on building them and I kept on running them. Until I got fed up with the asshole.”

  “That’s why you’re splitting?”

  “Yeah. I should’ve done it years ago.”

  Skye pushes her body close to mine, wraps her arms around me and nuzzles her face against my T-shirt. I smooth her hair back and kiss the top of her head.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She looks up at me, her eyes welling with tears.

  “Say you know Kelso’s a fucking asshole and you’re not going back there.”

  “I meant about you, not him.”

  “Then say you know I’m right about Kelso, and that you’re not going back there.”

  A tear escapes her eye and she says, “About your parents. It’s heartbreaking.”

  “It was half my lifetime ago now.”

  “That doesn’t make a difference. How can that sort of trauma ever go away?”

  “Life presses on. The world keeps spinning, and you have no choice but to spin with it.”

  “Spinning doesn’t mean leaving your trauma behind.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” I clear my throat. There are some things in life that I don’t want to think about.

  “I can’t imagine what must’ve been going on in your head.”

  “The only thing going through my head was taking care of my sisters.”

  “But who took care of you?”

  “Me,” I push out through my constricted throat.

  Skye grazes my cheeks with her fingers, silent tears still dragging down her pretty face. I hate making her cry. Maybe I’m being too cold to her. Does she even understand what a big deal telling her all this shit is? This wasn’t at all how I thought it would be. Why can I give all these speeches about it to roomfuls of people with ease, but telling her feels like I’m ripping my fucking ribcage open?

  All I can do is squeeze her tighter. To drink in the comfort her body against mine brings. We stand like that until her breathing slows and the tightness in my throat lessens.

  “Sorry for giving you a hard time,” she says, wiping away her tears.

  “I’m not sorry for giving you a hard time last night.”

  Before she can call me an idiot, I press my lips against her and kiss her hard enough to forget everything I’ve just told her.

  Exposed

  (Skye)

  We’d ended up in a room near the charity room he showed me. Our clothes are wherever, scattered between here and there. It’s a cozy room, with a couch and fireplace. I suppose it’s just another room of several in his mansion. It’s difficult to know if it even has a purpose or gets used.

  We’re on the couch, my naked body draped across his, his fingers playing with my hair.

  It was different this time, when he’d entered me. This time he was gentle and tender. I’m sure I felt the pain he’s been carrying around inside him. Instead of the frantic build of tension, there was a steady welling until my body quivered in his arms.

  Having lost his parents so young is terrible, but having to drop out of school and become a parent to his sisters is heartbreaking. It must’ve traumatized him. No matter how much he tried to play it cool, I know it bothered him, I could tell by the tightening in his jaw.

  “Do you ever talk to anyone about what happened to your parents?”

  “Nope.” He exhales sharply.

  “Why not?”

  “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know.” Because it’s a horrible situation that you shouldn’t have had to bear on your own.

  “I talked to you about it.” He did? He showed me the charity, he thinks that’s talking about it?

  “I’m glad you showed me your room. It’s really amazing that you help so many kids.”

  Lawson shrugs.

  “Did anyone help you?”

  “Not a fucking soul.”

  I press my body against his. As much as I want to know more, to know everything about him, he isn’t very forthcoming with the details. It’s difficult to know how much I can push the subject.

  “Well, I think your charity is amazing, truly.”

  “I’m glad I have your approval.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Give me your sarcasm.”

  “Come up here and kiss me.”

  Lawson drags my body up his chest. I scramble to move and end up straddling him. With his hands knitted through my hair, he pulls my lips to his and kisses me.

  “Didn’t we just do this?”

  “Doesn’t matter, I could never get enough of your lips.”

  I press my forehead against his and smile.

  “I never thought I’d hear that from a rich f
u…” I stop dead, I didn’t mean to call him that.

  “A rich fuck?”

  “Fucker, actually.”

  “I’m definitely a fucker, especially to you.” I throw my head back and laugh.

  “This is true. If only ‘getting fucked by the rich’ meant the way I do.”

  “It’s like that, is it? So what do you do to help the less fortunate, besides sit around and bitch with your artist friends?”

  I’m not sure how to react, my body is stuck halfway between laughing and being offended.

  “It’s hard to change the world when I have no power,” I say, sitting up straight.

  Lawson’s hands move to my breasts, and he says, “You have no power, so you hate the people who have power, even when they’re trying to change the world?”

  I can’t respond to his comment. Especially because his thumbs are circling my nipples. His eyes bore into them, brightening when my nipples harden. I throw my body back against his.

  “Hey, I was enjoying myself.”

  “You were distracting me.”

  His hand slides up my back and grips my head, pulling it to his lips and kissing me softly.

  “From what?”

  “Talking.” Our lips are close as I speak.

  “What were we talking about?” His lips graze mine.

  “You were telling me about your life.”

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “How the hell you ended up with so much money when you started out the way you did.”

  “I busted my ass.”

  “Did you have family money?”

  “If I had family money, do you think I would’ve dropped out of high school?”

  “It’s amazing that someone like you built up all you did.” I want to tell him he’s amazing, but the words didn’t come out that way.

  “Thanks for your approval.”

  “I was trying to figure out who you were naked, the T-shirt or the suit. I’m leaning toward suit.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Lawson’s mouth presses against mine, parting my lips in a kiss. The kiss breaks, leaving our gazes locked. His dark eyes are enticing. I trace my finger along his brow, watching how his iris changes under my touch.

  “Can I draw you?”

  “What, now?”

  “Yeah, now.”

  “Above or below the waist?”

  I laugh. “Above the neck, perv.”

  “I thought you artists like painting nude body parts.”

  “Not really. I’ve had my fill of nude models, I prefer faces. But if you want to keep your clothes off while I draw, I’d be totally okay with that.”

  “As long as you leave yours off.”

  “Deal.”

  Invigorated, I spring off his lap and tug his hand to get him to stand.

  “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

  My face falls. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  Lawson smooths my hair. “I want to, I only meant it isn’t something I expected to be doing today.”

  My face beams. I’m so excited to draw him. Exploring someone with my pencil reveals them to me.

  “Where’re your pencils and paper?”

  “In my office.”

  Lawson leads me down the hall and into his office. The room is huge, almost as big as his living room, with a massive corner desk and a leather sofa and chairs set. One wall is lined with three massive windows, making the room bright and ideal for my needs.

  “Wow, this is impressive,” I say.

  “The paper and stuff is here,” he says, opening a drawer.

  “Sit there,” I demand, pulling out his desk chair. He sits, and I wheel it across the room to position it where I want the light to be. It falls on his face, illuminating him beautifully, and my breath catches. His face and body seem straight out of a magazine, and I struggle to understand how someone like him is interested in me.

  I perch on the edge of his desk, propping my foot on his trash can. Resting the pad of paper on my leg, I begin tracing the shape of his eyes in the center of the page.

  As my pencil makes the first marks, I realize I haven’t drawn or painted anything since yesterday afternoon. More than that, I haven’t even thought about it. Which is huge, because I’ve spent every waking hour since I was a teenager obsessing over my current project and dreaming up my next one.

  Nothing and no one has ever taken my mind off it before. Weirder still, the realization didn’t make me want to get up and run home to my studio. I’m exactly where I want to be right now.

  He’s still while I work, and before long I’m happy with his eyes and move onto his nose. Each stroke allows me to examine him more deeply. His deep eyes, inviting lips and strong jaw. Occasionally, I reach out to touch him, sometimes to get a better sense of him, and sometimes to make sure he’s real.

  There’s a certain vulnerability in him, that only rarely peeks out through his outer shell. I know what it is, of course, but I wonder how many others do. The charity is no secret, but I wonder how many people who don’t need the charity even know it exists.

  Most of the time, his eyes are sparked with confidence. Even the line of his mouth as he rests is a display of confidence.

  As I’m smudging the pencil to create the sheen of his lips, he speaks, breaking the silence for the first time. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Since before I could walk.”

  “And you never get bored of it?”

  “Never. If anything, the more I do, the more I need to do.”

  “So you’re an addict.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that before, but maybe. I think it’s more a driving need to create and get all my ideas out there.”

  “And to change the world.”

  I smile. “That too, if I can get my ideas out, then maybe I can influence someone.”

  “What is it you’re creating now that’ll change the world?”

  “I’m exposing some rich fucker for what he is.”

  Lawson’s eyebrow raises. “What is he?”

  I chew my bottom lip a moment before saying, “Someone I really want to kiss.”

  Rejected

  (Lawson)

  I can’t believe she’s sitting on my desk naked like that. Most women wouldn’t have the confidence to hang out in the nude. Skye’s got confidence in everything, except her talent.

  Normally, I’d have been out of my chair, bent her over the desk and be balls deep in any woman who sat like that. But I’m completely content just to watch her, although it helps that we’ve been at it all night and morning.

  I love the way her brow moves and knits as she concentrates on her drawing.

  From my angle, I can’t see what she’s drawing and I’m curious to know what it looks like. Somehow I find the patience to wait. Right now, I’m happy to make her happy.

  “Ta-da,” she says, flipping the paper around for me to see.

  “Wow, you did that in twenty minutes?”

  “Obviously, you just watched me do it.”

  “It’s amazing.” It really is, it looks eerily like me and seems like something that should’ve taken hours to do.

  Skye purses her lips, fighting back a smile. She should allow herself to be proud of herself.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do I get to keep it?”

  She hesitates, “Sure, if you want it.”

  I stand, take the paper from her and tack it to my white board. It might be strange to have a picture of myself on display, but it reminds me of her.

  “Do you ever do self portraits?”

  “Ew, God no.”

  “Can you do one for me?”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’ll hold the mirror.”

  “If you really want one, I’ll do you one.”

  “Can it be below the waist?”

  She rolls her eyes and says, “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Come with me, I think I know a good pl
ace.”

  I hook my arm around her shoulders and lead Skye to yet another room in my house. This is one of the smallest rooms in the house, so one whole wall is mirrored to make it seem bigger. Which, to me, defeats the whole purpose of having a small room. I have a shitload of big and even bigger rooms, I wanted a small one.

  “There are certainly enough mirrors in here.”

  A black lacquered chest blocks most of the floor space in front of the mirrored wall. I shift it out of the way, exposing the complete height of the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

  “How’s that? Do you want a chair?”

  “I’m good,” she says, sitting cross legged on the floor.

  My eyes are drawn to the pink spot between her legs. It’s like she’s completely forgotten that she’s naked. My dick twitches, seeing her exposed like that. I clear my throat and move to the window, staring out it intently until it’s passed.

  When I turn back, I’m relieved to see she’s laid the paper across her lap, blocking my view.

  I flop onto the armchair and watch her. This was intended to be a quiet room, where I could go to think or reflect or read or whatever the fuck the designer had in mind.

  Skye moves with the same level of focus that she had when she drew me. Her body leans to the mirror while she studies herself, then straightens again while she transfers her findings to the paper.

  From my vantage point, this time I’m able to watch the creation as it takes place. The way it develops from a blank page to a virtual photograph is mind-blowing. She has more talent in the tip of her finger than most people have in their entire bodies.

  Though I suspect a lot of that talent was honed with years and years of hard work and dedication. I have nothing but admiration for Skye.

  “Okay, here you go,” she says, passing me the finished paper.

  I trace the pencil line of her cheek.

  “It’s good, but missing something.”

  “Huh?” Skye grabs the paper out of my hands.

  “It’s missing your spark. Can’t you see it in yourself?”

  “Whatever, you’re just mad I didn’t draw my boobs,” she says with a quick smile.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Never argue with the artist.”

  “I’m starving, come and get lunch.”

  “What time is it?”