Thankfully, hearing Elle’s voice has a calming effect on me. “I’ll let you go, but only if you stop fighting.”
“You bitch!” Jimmy’s mother shoves at Elle, who releases her, and she stomps away to the exit. At the same time, I let go of the other woman, who trudges to the back of the hall and sits down at one of the tables.
Jimmy stands in between us, staring at the floor with his arms hanging at the sides.
Elle squats down next to him. “Hey, what happened just now?”
He shakes his head. “I dunno. They were having an argument over five bucks. Mom was holding it up and Marla snatched it off her. And then they started fighting.”
The poor kid’s voice is breaking, and I can tell he’s holding back tears, so I put my hand on his bony shoulder. “Will you help me clean up this mess? We’ll put the tables and chairs back.”
He nods, his gaze still fixed on the floor, and I guide him to the overturned chairs. While we are putting them upright, Elle emerges from the kitchen with a broom and a dust pan and sweeps up the cookie crumbs and the shards of the broken plate.
The dining hall is soon back to its original state, and Jimmy seems to have recovered, although he still hasn’t said a word yet. An idea comes to me that is going to wreck all my plans with Elle for tonight, but this is more important—that little boy needs us right now.
I ask her, “Are there any leftovers from dinner?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I point at the table next to me. “We can eat here.”
She furrows her brow. “That’s what I normally do after work. But are you sure you’re okay with that? It’s not exactly gourmet food, you know. It’s very basic, not the type of food you’re used to.”
“It smelled pretty good. I don’t mind staying here a bit longer and trying it out.”
I wink at her, and she responds with an understanding nod. “Alright, why don’t you two sit down? Jimmy, would you like to have another plate?”
He nods his head, and Elle makes her way to the kitchen. “I’ll bring it out to you.”
The moment we sit down, Jimmy pulls out a bright-blue toy car from his pocket and runs it across the table: to and fro, to and fro.
“It’s a Porsche,” he says proudly.
God, he reminds me so much of myself when I was his age. I used to play with a red toy Ferrari that I found in a dumpster; it was my most precious treasure. My vow to buy my own one day kept me going all these years until I realized my dream, and now I own six.
“Have you ever seen a real one?”
“Yeah, I once saw a white one on the street. It was so awesome!”
Smiling from ear to ear, he waves at Elle, who is approaching with a tray. She puts down three steaming plates of rice with a chicken curry, and plastic cups of water. The three of us start eating in silence, and I realize I’m hungrier than I thought. The curry isn’t too bad at all; I’ve had worse in restaurants.
Jimmy finishes first, and he runs his toy car to Elle’s plate. “When I grow up I’m going to buy this car and then I’m going to go to your place to pick you up for a drive.”
“Oh yeah? Where are you going to take me?”
“To the mountains. Because that’s where you’ve always wanted to go.”
“Hey, hey, hey, you can’t do that,” I say jokingly. “I have to take her there first. She’s my girl.”
Elle looks at me in a strange way before her mood shifts and she narrows her eyes at me.
“I’m not your girl. I don’t belong to anyone.”
Slowly shaking my head, I lower my voice. “You. Are. Mine. If you want to or not.”
The red-hot fire flashing in her eyes betrays her intention of laying into me, and I tell her, “And I am yours, beautiful. You know that, don’t you?”
Her expression softens, and we gaze at one another for a few long seconds until Jimmy breaks the silence.
“I don’t mind if he takes you there first. I kinda like him.”
Elle continues staring at me, a sly smile touching her lips. “Hmm. I think he’s kinda obnoxious, but I guess he isn’t so bad. At least he seems to know how to clean dishes.”
While Elle and Jimmy burst out laughing, I pretend-scowl, but secretly I enjoy seeing the mirth on their faces.
“Jimmy! Get your ass out here!”
On hearing the piercing shriek, Jimmy startles, and his face falls. “I have to go.”
Elle presses a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
I put up my hand and he high-fives it. “I’m counting on you to help me out again next time,” I tell him before he dashes to the gaunt figure by the door.
It’s heartbreaking to see him go. I have to do something. I have to.
Elle takes my hand in hers, and it’s like she’s read my mind. “Hey. You’ve done enough for him already just by staying here and giving him that bit of attention that he needs.”
“Well, Jimmy’s a great kid.”
“Yeah, he is. And I can tell he really likes you. He hasn’t had any positive male role models in his life. He’s never known his dad; I doubt if even his mom knows who his father is.”
It’s a familiar story that I can relate to all too well.
Elle trails her thumb along the back of my hand. “And I really appreciate you staying. I’m sorry we didn’t go to that Korean place you had in mind tonight. But I’ll make it up to you. Come over to my apartment on Saturday night and I’ll cook you a meal.”
Damn, this is the first time she’s ever asked me out. And Saturday is the only day I can’t make it.
“I’d love to, but I’ve got a charity event which I can’t get out of. I’m involved in a construction project and I’ll have to meet some people who are crucial for it to move forward. I have to be there. I’m really sorry, beautiful. Will you take a rain check?”
Releasing my hand, Elle looks up to the ceiling, deep in thought, and I worry that she’s regretted asking me in the first place. Maybe I should have taken her up on her offer; I could always try to slip out earlier to meet with her. Just when I decide to tell her I’ve changed my mind, Elle’s liquid-brown eyes, shimmering with a hopeful glint, catch mine.
“How about—how would you feel if…”
I raise my eyebrows. “If what?”
“If I’d come with you to that event?”
My mouth almost drops to the floor. “Would you do that? Really?”
She nods.
“I have to warn you, it’s going to be boring. And the media will probably be there. It’s possible that they’ll get a shot of us.”
“Oh.”
Fingering her piercing, Elle averts her gaze. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her that, but I don’t want any nasty surprises to come her way. I take her hands in mine, and her gaze shifts back to me.
“But I want you to know that I’d be thrilled if you came with me. You’ve no idea how happy you’d make me.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “Okay, it’s set then, Saturday. You can pick me up from my place.”
I tip back my head, a dizzying sense of joy rushing through my system. I don’t know what has happened, but something’s changed in her. When I notice Elle looking at me quizzically, I yank her against me, my mouth covering hers, devouring her sensuous, irresistible lips and relishing her sweetness. My tongue sweeps into the depths of her mouth, with a burning need to brand—to claim.
Whatever doubts I’ve ever had about making it work between us is melting away like an ice cube on a scorching summer highway. My old life seems so empty and pointless now I’ve experienced the depth of feeling I didn’t even realize I had inside me. It’s terrifying and thrilling at the same time, but I can’t walk away. I can’t get enough of her; she’s like an addiction I can’t shake.
I will do anything to make this work. To make us work.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elle
“This is going to look fantastic on you.”
My sister Rose gra
bs a baby-pink peplum evening gown off the rack of exclusive designer dresses and holds it up in front of me.
“What do you think?”
I shove it aside. “No way.”
“Come on, just try a pink for once. It will look better than you think.”
Try pink? Is she for real? Surely she remembers how I’ve suffered through endless hours of ballet practice and a relentless stream of auditions and performances when we were growing up. It has put me off for life wearing anything remotely pink and frilly.
“Rose, cut it. I’m never going to wear pink.”
She snatches a red shoulder dress that cascades to the floor. “Red, then. Try it. Look, it’s a deep, valentine red with soft folds. Perfect for any date.”
“I hate this place,” I mutter.
We are in Saks Fifth Avenue, the type of store I’d never have entered in my life if it weren’t for that stupid mouth of mine. I still can’t believe I offered to accompany Ryder to a charity event, of all things. But I didn’t have it in me to ignore the crestfallen look on his face when he had to decline my dinner invite. At the time, I would have done anything to make him smile again—hence my idiotic, reckless offer. And now I have to suffer the consequences of my temporary insanity.
Shaking my head, I flick through the racks, and when I’m about to give up, I find an edgy, asymmetrical black dress that doesn’t look like it would be part of a 50-year old hag’s wardrobe.
“Hey, how about this one?”
Tilting her head, my sister feels the fabric between her fingers.
“Hmmm…that doesn’t look too bad. Why don’t you try it on?”
In the change room I ditch my black tiger-print leggings and white torn top, and put on the dress. I look in the mirror and I’m shocked—it looks great on me. The long slit at the front shows off most of my left leg and a silver chain pinches my waist in just the right places. But what gives it its edgy look is the thin silver-studded strap across my chest, leaving both my shoulders bare.
Rose lets out a squeal when she sees me. “It’s perfect! You have to get it. Now we just have to get you some shoes, and get your hair and your make-up done. And your nails, of course.”
I wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t have Rose to come with me. I’m not close to the very few female friends I have, who are either from bike circles or The 99, and none of whom I can imagine shopping with me. My sister, however, went frantic when I asked her. Since nine this morning, she’s been dragging me around Midtown from one store to another, trying on dress after dress, but until now I haven’t come across anything remotely to my taste.
I decide to buy the dress, which will prevent me from more hours of shopping torture. But when I find the price tag, my heart stops. The price of this dress is enough to pay my rent for months.
“Whoa. I don’t think I should get this. Look at how much it costs,” I hiss.
Rose gives the tag a quick glance. “What’s the big deal? All the dresses here cost just as much, didn’t you notice? Anyway, just use the credit card.”
The day after Ryder and I had dinner at the shelter, I received a special delivery: an envelope containing the official invitation to the charity event, a platinum credit card, and a handwritten note.
Beautiful,
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re not going to accept the credit card. You’re going to say I’m buying you off. You’re going to say you’re not for sale.
I know you.
But do you know that I truly hate going to these events? The only reason why this one is going to be bearable, is that you will be by my side.
Please use the credit card to buy a dress, shoes—whatever you like. Afterwards, feel free to sell the clothes or give them away if that makes you feel better.
Can’t wait to see you again, beautiful.
R
I had to admit he was right. My immediate thought was not to accept the credit card; it would feel like payment for services rendered. But if I didn’t take it, I’d be doing exactly what he had predicted in that damn note. And if there’s anything that I pride myself on, it’s not being predictable. I decided right then to use the credit card, certain I could control my spending.
“Come on, Elle, you also need shoes. Let’s go.”
Rose pulls me away from the dress racks and leads me to the shoe department. It doesn’t take me long to find the perfect shoes: red-soled, five-inch-high black Louboutins, covered with small silver spikes. Again, the price tag makes me blink a few times, and at the cash register I swallow hard when the sales girl swipes the card for a four-figure sum. Who was I kidding, thinking I could curb my spending when shopping with my brand-conscious sister? My chest tightens and fills with guilt over wasting so much money on a dress and shoes. I really should try to sell them afterwards and donate the proceeds to charity.
After walking out of the store carrying our black-and-white shopping bags, Rose and I spend the next few hours having our nails and make-up done in some high-end beauty salon, and head to my place to get my hair done. Rose insists on doing it herself, once harboring the dream of becoming a hairdresser if it weren’t for our mother, smashing it to pieces.
While Rose is styling my hair, she starts asking me questions about tonight’s event, and I know she wants to wrest all the juicy details from me about Ryder. When I first asked her to go shopping with me, I had no choice but to tell her who I was going with. Her initial shock soon turned into excitement when she realized that my date was the Ryder she heard so much about from her friend.
“So…how serious are you two?” she asks, separating my hair into sections with clips.
“We’re just friends.”
Rose wraps a section of hair around the curling iron. “If you’re just friends, then why did he ask you out on a date?”
“It’s not a date. I’m doing him a favor because he helped me out.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s just not the type of guy I thought you’d fall for.” She loosens the curl and starts on a new section.
“I’m not—I’m not falling for him. I told you, we’re friends.”
I’m glad Rose is standing behind me, busy with the curling iron; at least she won’t notice the blush covering my cheeks. I wish it were true—that Ryder’s just a friend. It would make my life a lot easier.
“Sure you are. But I’ve never seen you get dressed up like this for a guy. I say, you’re in deep, sis.” She puts the curling iron on the table.
“No, I—I…”
“But you know what? I like seeing you like this, to see the change in you. This Ryder must be the right guy for you.”
Rose takes my hand and squeezes it, and although I feel like arguing with her, telling her she’s wrong, I keep silent, basking in the warmth radiating from her.
A text message alert on my phone breaks the silence.
There in 10.
“He’s almost here. We have to hurry.”
Trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, I shrug off my clothes, and Rose helps me into the dress and the ridiculously high shoes. After a last-minute make-up and hair check, she stands in front of me, wide-eyed.
“Wow, you look absolutely amazing. It’s like you’re a different person.”
A car horn beeps from outside the window, so I don’t have time to look at myself in the mirror. Holding onto my sister’s arm, I rush downstairs as fast as humanly possible with my impossible heels.
When we step out of the building, I spot the dark luxury car right away. Leaning against it is Ryder, looking utterly gorgeous in a tuxedo, complete with bow tie and white pocket square. I can’t look away and he can’t either, for his gaze travels up and down my body until his eyes lock with mine. He opens the car door and motions me to get in.
I am one step from getting into the car when my sister calls out, “Have fun!”
“Um, Ryder? That’s my sister, Rose.”
Ryder lifts his hand. “Good to meet you. Do
you need a ride?”
Smiling, Rose waves at us. “No, I’ll be fine. You two have a great time.”
I wave back at her. “Thanks, sis.”
Carefully, I fold myself into the warm car—a Mercedes, I discover from the three-pointed star on the steering wheel—and sink into the soft leather seat. The door closes and a moment later, the car’s interior is filled with Ryder, with his cologne and the irresistible scent that is all him.
His dark eyes are on me, but I can’t read the expression within them.
“I don’t know how you do it, but you keep on surprising me.”
My brows draw together in a frown. What does he mean? Surely he is not disappointed in what I look like, especially after getting approval from my picky sister.
He lowers his voice. “You look stunning in that dress. I’m thinking of canceling tonight. No other man should see you in it, only me.”
Letting out a relieved breath, I hide my blush behind a curly strand that has fallen over my face. “Oh, come on. You’re exaggerating. It’s only a dress.”
Ryder tucks away the wayward hair behind my ear. “You’re right, that’s all it is—a dress. What it makes it look so beautiful is you.”
“Wait till you see the credit card bill.”
His lips curl into a smile. “You can spend it all. Anything for you, beautiful.”
Ryder guns the engine and we speed away, out of the city and onto the I-95 north. We don’t talk much, listening to some relaxing jazz music on the stereo, but I don’t mind—I am completely focused on what is in the confines of the car. Ryder’s deep, even breaths, his long fingers tapping on the steering wheel, the heat of his hand on my knee, the deep, sexy timbre of his voice when he’s humming along to Michael Bublé’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”.
I can’t remember how I managed to resist him in the first place—he has totally and utterly captivated me. I don’t notice the road, the traffic, not even crossing the state border to Connecticut. Only when he starts slowing down and I spot a sign for “Greenwich”, I know we’ve reached our destination.
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