I was lost to him.
The shelf behind me cut into my lower back and my phone buzzed in my coat pocket on the floor by the desk and I had an F on my paper and the door to the office was unlocked and I had a date with Weston, but all I cared about in the world at the moment was the dirty, filthy scenario I was living out. It was everything I’d imagined those nights in my room—a little bit cruel and a little bit hard—plus as erotic as hell. And the man knew how to touch me. Knew how to move inside me.
It was also more. Because I’d never once imagined that, while he did those terrible sexy things, Donovan would look at me the way he looked at me. Studying my face. Watching my eyes. Like he cared about what he’d find there.
I’d never once imagined that I’d want that from him.
I came without warning. I’d always been finicky when it came to orgasms—my high school boyfriend had found it hard to make me come with his tongue and fingers. I’d had better luck on my own, depending on my mindset. Maybe I was a girl who needed penetration. Maybe I was a girl who needed Donovan.
He regarded me even closer as I spiraled. I fought to keep my eyes open so I could watch him watching me. He seemed to find this funny because he chuckled, kissed me again, and then plowed into me with renewed fervor.
He came on a long low grunt, and for just a moment at the end, he closed his eyes, and I’d never seen his face so relaxed. We were still catching our breath, he was still inside me, and I brought my hand up to touch his cheek—how young he looked now. How innocent.
He caught my hand against his jaw. His eyes flew open. “I didn’t want to notice you,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “And now I don’t know how not to.”
Another cryptic Donovan statement, but this one made my chest feel warm and stretched. “Then notice me,” I said.
He considered me a moment longer. Then stepped away, pulling out of me. “I can’t.”
He motioned for me to stay where I was. Then he removed his condom, tied it off, wrapped it in tissue from the desk and pocketed it before fastening his pants. I had to give him credit—it was probably not a good idea to leave a used condom in Mr. Velasquez’s office. Next Donovan brought some tissue and knelt down in front of me so he could clean up the blood and cum that had dripped down my thigh.
Then he left me with my pants still down and went to sit behind his desk.
I dressed myself and watched him, curious as he opened up his laptop and clicked a few keys. “You have an A on that paper now, Sabrina,” he said, his voice not entirely steady. “I believe that should be acceptable to you.” He couldn’t look at me.
Dread started gathering in my stomach. “That’s not. That’s not why I did that.” He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t. He felt bad now—as he should—and was fixing his mistake. Surely that was what this was.
“I’m sure it’s not why you did that.” He was more in control of himself now. He shut the laptop and finally met my eyes. “But now you’ll have a chance with Weston King, won’t you?”
It was a punch to the stomach. The cruelest thing he could have said.
With tears in my eyes, I grabbed my coat off the floor and started for the door. My hand was on the knob when he added, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention, Weston does like virgins. My bad.”
There were a lot of words I wanted to unleash on him, but even if I tried at the moment, I knew it would come out in nothing but snot and drivel. He’d worn me down. I’d played his game and he’d won.
I opened the door and ran until I was out of the building. Ran until I couldn’t run any more because I was sobbing too hard to go on. I stopped at the river to cry and catch my breath and silence my dang phone, which had been going off nonstop in my pocket.
I pulled out my cell and looked at my notifications through bleary eyes—four missed calls and several texts, all from my sister.
Aubrey: Where are you?
Aubrey: Call me ASAP. It’s Dad. He’s in the hospital.
Aubrey: Sabrina! It’s a heart attack.
Aubrey: He’s going to die. Call me. I need you.
Epilogue
Ten years later
Ashley tapped her toe, anxious for the server to come by again. “I swear to god, if we don’t get out of here in time because of that damn waitress…”
“Calm down, would you? It’s really not that big of a deal if I don’t see him.” I finished the last swallow of my martini and pushed my glass aside.
“Are you kidding me? It’s been—what? Ten years since you left Harvard?”
“About that.” Ten years. It was strange how it hadn’t felt like that much time had passed. It still felt like yesterday, and it also felt like it happened in another lifetime, to somebody else.
“You have to see him. You never got to explain to him what happened. What if he’s been pining for you all this time? And he never knew that your father died. He just figured you ran off and didn’t care. Though I still don’t understand why you didn’t just take Audrey back to Cambridge with you.”
“I’ve been over this already,” I sighed.
She threw her hands up in the air, her exasperation with our server translating into exasperation with me. “You had a full ride! How could you let that slip through your fingers? I’ve heard you talk about the jobs you pined for—running big corporations on Wall Street and making the big bucks. You could have had that if you’d stayed!”
“I know! And believe me, I tried. But my scholarship was taken away when I didn’t finish out the semester. I couldn’t afford Harvard without that.” It had crushed me. Almost as much as the death of my father. All my life I’d worked for that scholarship, then to have it yanked away... It was salt on a very deep open wound.
Ashley, ever true to justice, became indignant. “I know, I know. They took it away. You should have appealed it.”
I’d explained this part to her before too. Many times. Something she’d probably remember if she hadn’t just finished three vodka tonics in less than an hour. “I did appeal it. But the scholarship was privately funded through the MADAR Foundation and since it wasn’t sponsored through the university, the donor didn’t have to adhere to school policies. Blah blah blah.” The memory was bitter in my mouth, months of writing letters only to be rejected time and time again. “If I’d had the right name, the right connections. If I’d had money, I’m sure things would have been different.”
“Isn’t that everyone’s story? Hey, waitress!” she practically yelled across the bar.
“Ashley! Shh!” I didn’t know why I was shushing her now. The whole restaurant was already looking at us.
She didn’t mind the attention. “We made eye contact. It’s cool. She saw me. She’s bringing the ticket.” She stole the olive from my empty martini glass. “Anyway, you got your masters at Colorado University and then got swept up by a headhunter for one of the best ad firms in California, moved to L.A., met me and your life really began. You’re welcome.”
I pretended to roll my eyes, but honestly, Ashley had become a great friend and confidante. Other than my sister, she was the only person I’d ever told about Donovan Kincaid and Weston King. I’d left out details both times I’d shared the story, however. No one needed to know how sick and dirty I’d been back then. With Donovan.
I still thought about him, sometimes. At night. When I couldn’t sleep. When I was restless and couldn’t figure out what I needed. Sometimes it was just my hand and fantasies of him.
I wasn’t admitting that, though. What kind of girl still dreamed about the asshole who’d taken her virginity and thrown her aside like that?
What would have happened if I’d been able to stay?
“Here you go,” the waitress said, dropping off our ticket.
She was already off to another table when Ashley caught her by the arm and pulled her back. “And here’s my card. Could you hurry please? We have to be somewhere.”
“We really don’t,” I said, but the server was alread
y out of earshot.
“Yes, we do!” Ashley turned the “Advertising in a New Age” program around so it was facing me and pointed at the keynote speaker excitedly. “He probably thinks you stood him up all those years ago. You have to make it right!”
I stared at the program. It was still open to the page that had started this whole conversation and caused us to miss two panels already.
His picture showed he’d aged well.
But I already knew that. I’d seen both of their pictures many times, and they’d both aged well. Weston King and Donovan Kincaid were famous in the ad world. Instead of following Harvard with jobs in their fathers’ investment firm, they’d opened up an international advertising agency. Weston ran the office in the States and Donovan ran the branch in Tokyo.
When I’d agreed to go to New York for three days with Ashley for this conference, I’d had no idea he’d be a speaker.
“He probably won’t even remember me,” I said, staring at his panty-melting dimple.
“Who could forget you? With a face like his, I’d use any card I had to try to get close to him. He’s a hottie. Oh, wait, I forgot you’re more into brains than looks these days—maybe he’ll share all his award-winning inspirations with an old friend.”
I shook my head and pulled my hand through my hair—the ponytail was long gone, but the habit was not. I probably should see his speech anyway. And what was the harm in sticking around afterward? Wouldn’t it be nice to finally have some closure to those days?
The waitress returned with the bill and Ashley quickly signed.
“All right,” Ashley said. “Ready, Bri?”
It was a loaded question. Was anyone ever ready for men like Weston King and Donovan Kincaid?
Pulling out my phone, I used the camera to freshen up my lipstick and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
Part II
Men
Chapter 6
“He won’t remember me,” I insisted. I had to concentrate in order not to fidget. The martinis I’d had earlier in the night had worn off an hour ago, and I was nervous. How had I gotten talked into this again?
“Would you stop saying that?” Ashley peered around the people in front of us, probably sizing up how long it would be before it was our turn. We were lined up with a dozen or so other women who’d stayed after the keynote at the “Advertising in a New Age” convention to greet the speaker, Weston King. “You’re smart. Witty. Put together. Gorgeous. No one can forget you.”
The woman she was describing had only existed for the last handful of years. Before that, I’d been awkward and shy. I’d hidden behind plain features and a mess of mousy brown hair that I’d typically worn in a ponytail. “You didn’t know me in college. I was definitely forgettable then.” And obviously nothing special since I couldn’t manage to keep my spot at Harvard for more than one semester.
Ashley inhaled, a sign that she was trying to stay patient. Then she turned to me and gave me her most encouraging smile. “I know you now. Even if he doesn’t remember you, he’ll pretend he does just to keep talking to you.”
My lid twitched as I fought not to roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
“I can’t. I have a perfectly non-lesbian girl-crush on you. You know this. I can’t understand anyone who isn’t in love with you.” She wrapped her arm through mine, and we stepped forward. One more person stood between him and us. Between Weston and me. Between my past and my present. Was I ready for my worlds to collide?
Honestly, I was probably getting psyched up over nothing. Too many years had gone by to make a big deal about the threads that had been dropped back then. A decade, in fact. We’d hardly even known each other back then. I’d had one real conversation with the man—boy, at the time—and the rest of my experience with him had been in watching from a distance.
It wasn’t as if I were standing in line to see Donovan Kincaid. Now that would be something to be anxious about. He would remember me. He’d have to. What had happened between us had been so small in the scheme of time but so big in the scope of the impact it’d had, at least on my life. Did I have the same effect on him?
I was still thinking about Donovan, about his chiseled jaw and his hazel eyes and the awful way we’d parted when the woman in front of us made her goodbyes and stepped out of line, leaving me standing face to face with Weston King.
Jesus, he was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful, but the last ten years had only made him more so. I’d spent the last ninety minutes staring at him as he’d given his talk in the Javits Center, so I should have been prepared, but close-up, his attractiveness was even more striking. His blue eyes even more shocking. His smile even more stunning.
He had the kind of looks that would make any girl’s panties damp. I was convinced of that.
“Hello,” he said, smoothly. So smoothly I couldn’t tell if it was out of recognition or simply charm.
“Uh, hi.” That was all I could manage to get out. I might be coiffed and put together on the outside, but seeing Weston King promptly brought back all the awkwardness of my youth.
Thankfully, Ashley was there to come to the rescue.
She stepped forward, nudging me with her. “Hi, I’m Ashley. This is my friend Sabrina. We work at Now, Inc. in L.A. and we wanted to tell you that we really enjoyed your talk tonight. I particularly liked your insight on the relationship between departments within an agency. I’ve seen the same competitive struggles between the sales team and the creative in our office.”
“Thank you,” Weston said. “The war between salesmen versus artists. It’s the nature of the beast, I think.”
He directed his comment to both of us, but all I could do was nod like an idiot.
Ashley inhaled audibly—that almost silent cue she was frustrated—and put her arm around my shoulder. “Also, she’s too shy to say it, but Sabrina went to college with you.”
“Ashley!” I warned. This was the problem with having a “no boundaries” type of friend. If I didn’t stop her, soon she’d be spouting out that I’d had a massive crush on him back then too. God help me if she brought up Donovan. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“We went to school together?” For the first time since I’d stood in front of him, Weston looked at me—really looked at me.
His gaze tickled as he studied my face, and I felt my cheeks flush. “I was only at Harvard for part of our freshman year.” Not that that had been my choice. “I’m sure you don’t remember me.” Jesus, I couldn’t even look him in the eye. What was wrong with me? I was twenty-seven, not seventeen.
He cocked his head. “Did we know each other very well? What was your name again?”
Oh god. He really didn’t remember me. This was utterly humiliating.
“We spoke just once or twice. I’m Sabrina Lind,” I said, wishing I could crawl under a rock. “Really, I wouldn’t expect you to know me. It was just an interesting little tidbit I could tell my friend to make her think I was cool.”
He laughed politely, showing off the dimple I’d been so fond of all those years ago. Come to find out, it still made my knees weak.
“Anyway,” I said. There were a few people behind us waiting to meet him. More women eager to melt from thirty seconds of his attention. It was time to get going. “Good to see you. You gave a great speech.”
“I appreciate it.” Weston continued to survey me, still trying to place me, but then I prodded Ashley to go, and he turned his attention to the women behind us.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” I whispered as soon as we were a handful of feet away.
“It was so worth it,” she said, fanning herself with her program. “I can’t believe you went to school with a wickedly handsome mega billionaire. He’s even hotter in person than he was on the cover of Money magazine last year. That dimple!”
“Right?” It was nice to have someone else witness the beauty that was Weston King. “You should see him without his shirt on. He was on the rowing—”
&nb
sp; From behind me, I heard Weston say a word that caught my attention.
Heart beating, hands sweating, I turned around to see him staring after us. “What did you say?”
“You were in Donovan’s class,” he repeated, his eyes wide with recollection. Donovan. That was the word that I’d heard. “You stood me up.”
He did remember me.
“Told you so,” Ashley whispered at my side.
I pinched her arm and called back to Weston. “I had a really good reason. I promise.”
He put a finger up to signal for me to wait as he finished signing the program of the woman in front of him. When he was done, he sauntered toward us. “I’ll let you tell me all about it over drinks.”
Weston pinned his eyes on mine. “Okay, your father died, you went home and raised your sister, finished college, got your MBA. Then what?”
It had been almost an hour and a half since Ashley had so kindly feigned too tired to join us for a nightcap, and Weston had taken me to one of his favorite local nightclubs, The Sky Launch, for a drink, which had now turned into two. The circular booth we sat in overlooked the dance floor below, but because of the way it was set off with glass walls, the music wasn’t too loud to talk over. It provided a very unique vibe, one both intimate and alive.
“That’s about it, really.” I hadn’t bothered to tell him about my fight to get back to Harvard or how the MADAR foundation had refused to give me my scholarship back after I’d left without finishing the semester. Though it had happened ten years in the past, it was still a sore spot.
“That can’t be it. There’s always more,” he prodded. “How did you choose advertising?”
“Well. Advertising actually found me,” I said, kicking off my shoes and folding one foot underneath my thigh. “I’ve always been equally left- and right-brained, and I wanted to find a job that involved numbers and metrics but also involved creativity, so I got my emphasis in marketing. After I graduated, I had an interview with a headhunter, and one of the jobs she had available happened to be in a marketing department in an ad agency. Of all the positions she showed me, it was the one I was least interested in. But then when I got the offer and I flew out to Los Angeles to visit the office, I fell in love with the energy there. There was numbers and structure and ideas and art. Where else do you get all of that mixed together?”
Need you Now (Top Shelf Romance Book 2) Page 6