by Paige North
Does he actually care?
I touch his arm. “We have you to thank.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was something.” I squeeze him. “It was everything.”
For a second, I think that he’s going to smile at me, just as he would’ve last night in Times Square. But he merely nods and gets up from the bed, tucking his tablet under his arm then carrying his plate and juice with him.
“Conference call,” he says.
Oh. But of course. This latest verse is as the same as the first, with him leaving me once again. Even after yesterday, when I thought something had shifted between us, our arrangement stands.
At least, that’s what I think until I go to take my small plate of fried eggs from the tray. On the silver surface is a folded piece of creamy stationary paper, and after I open it, I see the writing on it.
Be ready at eleven and dress casual.
That’s all it says, and I press the note to my chest, thinking that there’s more meaning between the lines on this paper than Travis will ever let me see in him.
Chapter 17
On this drizzly day, I’m more certain than ever that Travis has me around so he can experience new things through me, especially if he’s seen and done it all in this city.
We’re standing under the umbrella Travis is holding in one of the gardens at the Cloisters in upper Manhattan. It’s a museum that looks like a pale-stoned Gothic masterpiece since the galleries and buildings were excavated from French monasteries and abbeys then relocated here. From my own research before I came to New York, I already knew about the indoor chapels and rooms filled with art and objects. In fact, I’d put on my Highest Bidder website application that I wanted to visit this place.
It was a surprise when Travis brought me here, though. After I’d showered and dressed this morning, Travis wouldn’t disclose today’s surprise destination to me, and now he’s watching me closely as I absorb the atmospheric mood of the museum.
What the heck happened to him in life to make him so incapable of feeling for himself? Why does it sometimes seem like he can only see the world through my eyes?
As we walk alone through a tended medieval herb garden surrounded by four walkways, there’s a light in his eyes. My heart does its usual routine with him, whirling and flying around my chest, because he’s that damned handsome. He’d asked me to dress casual, and he’s done the same, wearing a crisp button down that’s rolled to his elbows to reveal his toned forearms. His jeans are worked in but neat, and his boots are polished.
“You really did read what I put on my Highest Bidder application,” I say as the light rain makes hushed sounds on the umbrella. “When I wrote about how I’d love to visit this place, I didn’t expect anybody to actually care.”
Since no one else is outside strolling the gardens, I’m not careful about what I say. Besides, Travis wanted honesty out of me, and he’s never chided me for giving that to him.
“I read every bit of what you provided,” he says. “And I did want to know all of it.”
I notice he didn’t say that he cares, but it was close enough.
He steers the subject in the direction he obviously wants it to go, as usual. “There was that question on the application about where you’d most like to visit in the world, and one of your answers was New York. That was one of the many reasons I bid on you. I wanted someone who’d appreciate my stomping grounds.”
I breathe in the fresh, rain-soaked air. I love the city itself but this place is magic, and I’m sure Travis brought me here because of its architectural design. “In all honesty, I would’ve chosen anywhere if it meant getting away from Gary. Still, I’ve always had my eye on this city. From what I read online and in books, it seemed I could walk around for weeks just taking in the architecture, the skyline, the way each neighborhood has either stayed basically the same or evolved over the years. New York has such character, just like...” I lick my lips but don’t say what I was thinking.
When he gazes down at me, there’s keen appreciation in his eyes. He likes how I look at his city, and how I look at him. Actually, I’ve almost forgotten this other academic side of myself during this fantasy week with Travis.
It’s startling to realize that I’m still the girl who wanted to go to college to study architecture. Now I’ll be able to do that, and now my mom and brother can go on with their lives after escaping from Gary, too, thanks to Travis.
Without thinking, I link my arm through his. As the rain drips slowly off of our umbrella and he doesn’t react to my intimate gesture, I wonder if he’s only tolerating this closeness, if he’ll unlink his arm at any moment.
Maybe I should be just as professional as he is. After all, he hired me for my company—and by that, I don’t mean my sparkling conversation.
I’m sure the next girl who comes along will provide the same service.
I slip out from the crook of his arm. No strings, no attachments…no more reminders of anything outside this fantasy he’s created for us.
My heart feels bruised in some secret way, but I paste a smile on my face and babble some small talk. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your home look like? Is it as ornate as all of this, or something minimalist and modern?”
“I’ll say that it doesn’t have stained glass in it.” He lifts his eyebrow. “Or is that not enough information for you?”
His tone hints that I’ve overstepped once again. I just can’t help myself.
But, much to my surprise, he continues. “My place is overkill. It was the first piece of property I bought back when I was still reeling from the fact that I had money.”
Uh, yeah. A lot of money, and I have only the scarcest details on how he earned it. No matter how much research I’ve done on him, Travis’s background is barely there. I still have no idea where he actually came from or who he is beyond the superficial.
“How many rooms does your residence have?” I ask.
“You haven’t been looking me up online to find out?”
Caught! “Of course I have, but you must’ve hired a killer PR person to watch over your informational output.”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
No wonder he’s so mysterious. He makes darn sure he’s that way.
“Does your place have over ten rooms?” I ask.
His amused expression tells me I’m way off.
“Jeez, more than that?” I say.
“Twenty.”
“Dear heavens.”
“I told you—overkill. I was very impressed with how the residence took up the seventh and eighth floors of the building.”
The drizzling rain has let up, and we stop in the middle of the garden. Travis shakes out the umbrella, and I admire him once again: so handsome, so aloof and unreachable. Questions clog my brain about the girls who have been with him before, and a split of jealousy pierces me.
“Can I ask you something else?” I say.
“Nothing has stopped you before.”
True. “When did you start bidding on women?”
He glances around, maybe to see if someone within hearing range can save him from this, but there’s no one besides us.
“Honesty,” I say. “Isn’t that our policy?”
“You have developed a habit of being very direct.”
“That should teach you, Travis. Be careful what you wish for.”
“Honesty was for you,” he corrects. “Not me.”
“So it’s not a two way street?” I say, bristling a little.
“Nothing in life is. Not in the world I live in, Nova,” Travis replies calmly.
I frown and let out a deep sigh. “Fine, forget it.”
“It’s been a few years since I signed up with Highest Bidder,” he says, as if he feels a bit badly about disappointing me. “The site wasn’t around before that.”
Even though there’s no future between Travis and me, I wonder if, right now at this exact moment, he might be seeing me as a real person inste
ad of an object of desire or a convenience.
I give him a sidelong look, pushing my luck once again. “Do you know who else bid on me? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
Wait. What if he was the only person who participated in the auction? How mortifying would that be?
“You really want to know?” he asks.
“I shouldn’t have asked. That was dumb.”
I begin to walk away, but he grabs my hand and gently pulls me back to him.
“Damn, Nova,” he says, “you really don’t have any idea about yourself, do you?”
A flash from last night washes over me: That’s why I can’t get enough of you, Nova. You have no idea what you do…
My belly is knotted with lust and a sudden eagerness to go someplace by ourselves, where he can lay his hands and mouth all over me. I do have an idea of what I do to him. It’s right there in his longing gaze.
He saunters closer to me, then touches the capped sleeve of my yellow dress. “I can’t tell you who bid on you—I don’t even have that information—but the competition was fierce. It always is with girls who’ve never been with another man. But I paid a lot more for you than anyone else I’ve ever wanted.”
The question must be clear in my eyes. But why me?
His expression has gone back to being unreadable, but there’s a depth to his gaze that sucks me in, and as he traces his fingers over my chin, then my cheek, I try to see what’s inside of him.
Yet he’s too good at hiding it, and he playfully flicks me under the chin as if knowing what I was after.
The rain starts to sprinkle down on us again, leaving slight drops in his dark hair, on his gorgeous face. I feel the moisture on my skin, too, but we don’t move. We only stand in the garden at an impasse, my pulse sliding through me on its way down.
I’m going to miss him after this one final week is over. God, I really am. I’ve fallen into a trap that I should’ve seen coming, because Travis was my first.
I’m not sure I’ll ever have better, at least sexually.
He’s looking into my eyes, too, and I awkwardly glance up to the sky as if suddenly realizing that it’s raining. I grab his shirtsleeve and pull him to a walkway.
“This is a good time to see the Unicorn Tapestries,” I say in a cheery voice that erases the moment that just came between us.
He doesn’t say anything as I let go of him and walk inside the nearest building. I’m back to being his arrangement, and I tell myself that’s all I want to be, even if I’m sharply, heartbreakingly aware that the one I’ve stopped being honest with is myself.
Chapter 18
Travis is fairly moody during the next several days and nights, but there are also times when his coolness gives way to another side of him, like the one I saw in Times Square and in the Cloisters garden.
He still takes me anywhere and everywhere, watching me as I enjoy the art deco designs of the Chrysler and Empire State buildings for the first time up close. He shows me the outer boroughs where I observe the rustic country house vibe of Tudor Revival homes and the brownstones. Then he changes pace by escorting me to a second charity event where I don another pretty designer gown and his jewelry.
And at the end of each wonderful night we end up in bed, where he makes me cry out for more. So much more. Whenever he leaves the bed I stay awake, tracing my fingers over his side of the mattress.
Finally we come to the dreaded last day of our agreement, and he arranges one final spa appointment for me. He needs to go into work, and I tell myself that this is the time to start letting him go. I’ve already bought my plane ticket to Virginia to join my mom and brother at my aunt’s while we begin to plan for our futures, so I know where I’m headed for the short term. Starting tomorrow, we’ll have the rest of our lives ahead of us.
That should make me happy. But there’s a dark spot in the very center of me when I return to the apartment from the spa.
I walk into the entry vestibule, my muscles mellowed out from a seaweed body wrap and a vitamin C facial. I pass the table where I’d put the diamond necklace that Travis hung around my neck on that first night we spent together, and I notice that it’s gone. Somewhere along the way it’d become a symbol of our arrangement, a reminder each time we walked in that we’re only cold, hard cash to one another. He would always move past it without comment, and I never did take it back.
Something flutters in my chest. Did Travis remove it today?
I don’t want to read too much into this gesture, but maybe he’s stored it away for the next girl who’s going to inhabit this apartment. It’s as if he’s already starting to pack me up and out of this place I’ve been calling home the last two weeks.
Disheartened by that thought, I hear Travis in the library, tapping on his keyboard. I didn’t expect him to be working here, and it’s a nice surprise.
I peek around the corner of the doorway at him. He’s sitting at the desk, staring at his computer screen, his gaze dark.
Crap. Either he’s dealing with the robberies or some other pressing business problem.
I know not to bother him, but he sees me first, and he straightens in his chair. For a second, brightness flashes in his eyes, and my stomach flip-flops. Then he goes cold again.
“How was your spa visit?” he asks.
“Great, thank you.” I pause. “I was just about to whip up a light lunch if you’re hungry.”
He doesn’t react, and I remember once again what he said about not cooking for him. It’s probably too intimate, too real. He grunts something noncommittal.
“I thought you’d be at work today,” I shrug, “so I ordered some ingredients for a self-indulgent dish. I wasn’t sure what you had in mind for dinner, and I wanted to finally get some use out of that amazing kitchen before I leave.”
“You should do that, if it makes you happy,” he replies without emotion.
I smile at him, gauging his temperature. “I know you don’t expect me to cook for you, but I would enjoy doing it.”
But he doesn’t go for it. Instead, he returns his attention to his screen. “You go ahead. I don’t have an appetite today.”
Well, okay. Either that means some crap really is going down with business or he’s giving me the hint that he has no taste for me right now. I feel as if he’s already letting go, too, emphasizing that there’ll be no emotional goodbye, that he never cared anyway. In spite of all the turmoil and flashes of feeling I thought I saw in him during our time together, there truly was nothing.
Loneliness covers me, even though I’m not the only one in this apartment. I close the door to the library, leaving him alone, then go to my bedroom. I strip off the lightweight pink designer sweat suit that I wore to the spa, clean myself up, and put on a vintage white shift nightgown with lacy straps and pearled buttons—something Travis would like to see me in if he ever pulls himself away from his work. I wrap my hair into a loose knot and face myself in the mirror. My eyes are dark with the thought that, soon, I’ll be on my way, but after I put on some pink lipstick, I’ve got a bit more color.
If Travis has something in mind for a farewell night, I can always doll myself up later.
If.
When I get to the kitchen, I look around at the marble island with the copper pots and pans hanging from their hooks, the top-of-the-line appliances. There’s a space in me that needs filling, and I’m going to do it with food.
I move to the fridge for some of the ingredients I’ll need for the simple, light lunch I had in mind. I take out figs and a log of goat cheese, plus lettuce for a salad. I fetch honey and dried cranberries and walnuts from a cabinet then go to a nearby rack for a bottle of 2007 Gaja Barbaresco red that I’d previously snagged from the wine vault and opened yesterday.
I take out the wine stopper and pour myself a glass, then, after recalling the easy recipe that I’d looked up only this morning, I splash about a fourth of a cup into a sauce pan. I toast myself, my voice echoing through the big kitchen.
“To a job
well done.” The words are flat, but the wine isn’t. I down a couple of swallows. With an ahhh, I reach for a knife in the nearby wooden block and bring out a cutting board to slide onto the marble island.
My movements slow when I see Travis in the entry, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his white button down as he surveys me. A shower of sparks burns through me on their way down my body.
“Hi,” I say. “Are you up for having a glass with me?”
“I could go for some of that wine.” He saunters into the kitchen.
He pours a lot of red wine into his glass, almost to the rim, before he reclines against a counter and toasts me. I perform my second salutation of the day and drink with him. He doesn’t take his gaze away from mine the entire time, but I don’t look away.
Those sparks have caught fire, and I burn for him, just as I always do.
As I drink a bit more, he almost offhandedly speaks. “Quite a bit of action today work-wise.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s being just as indirect about telling me about his business as he was when he left the TV on the night of the London robbery.
“Are the thieves still busy?” I’m not sure I should’ve asked, but there it is.
He nods slightly, and it seems as if a weight has been taken off his shoulders just by mentioning it to me. “They’re getting more inventive, too, but they’re about to have a rude awakening.” Then he jerks his chin toward the cutting board on the island. “Put me to work, Nova. What can I do?”
He needs a distraction, I think. That’s why he escaped his desk and came in here, and that’s why he’s not telling me much about his troubles. But it feels as if he doesn’t expect me to distract him in the usual way, with a lap dance or by parading around naked dressed only in his jewels.
I’m dying to ask him details about the thieves, but if he wants to elaborate he will.
I point with my glass toward the figs on the counter. “Could you wash those?”