“Fine, Alex, you want to hold me at arm’s length, you want to block me out and not tell me things, fine. I’m gone!” she screamed, in a whirlwind of activity.
I watched, immobile, as she zipped up her dress, grabbed her purse and stormed out of my hotel room, slamming the door in the process. I thought I could even see the mirrors and the walls rattle with her departure.
A few moments later, my brain finally pulled me from my trance. Blinking rapidly a few times and scanning the room, my eyes widened as I realized fully what had just happened. What the fuck did you do, Alex?
Chapter 21
Daydreamer Musings
August 15, 2015
Followers-744
The amount of emotions coursing through me is ridiculous, and honestly, I just want to sit on the floor and cry. I know, I know, you guys are super confused over why I would be feeling like after mere hours of telling you how excited I was that he brought me the twelfth rose. I guess I should back up and explain. I don’t really want to, but I know that the good Doc watching this would probably want me to, and I just need to get this out. I can’t even concentrate right now.
I don’t want to go into too much detail, since I am writing on my phone, sitting on the side of the freeway, trying to calm myself down enough to drive the rest of the way home. Why am I driving myself home, you ask, and not staying with the man of my dreams? It’s a good question. I’m still trying to figure that out myself and I’m failing miserably.
Alex and I had an amazing time at the fundraiser. He talked, we laughed, we ate, and I even won a trip to a day spa, compliments of Alex himself. He is incredibly selfless with his money and I honestly thought that things were going to be different with him now that we seemed to have mended a few fences. That he was going to open up to me and talk to me. That he would stop lying to me. But then, at the hotel he just stopped talking and, while he didn’t technically lie to me, he refused to answer a question of mine that was quite important. He slipped up, he knew he had slipped. He told me in more or less words that he has been secretly watching me from afar. I wouldn’t be creeped out at all if he had said he was watching me on the street, or at a cafe or something. But, he told me he could see me at my office.
Now, I’m not an idiot. There are cameras in my office, and I know that Alex is one of the smartest, technologically advanced people that I know. I can, and did, put two and two together. He’s watching me, and I’ll be honest with you, it probably should creep me out, but it doesn’t. It doesn't bother me at all that he is watching. I almost find it kind of endearing that he wants to keep an eye on me enough to break the law and hack into computer camera software to watch me.
But, when I asked him how he had been watching me, he got tight lipped and absolutely refused to say anything. He wouldn’t deny it, wouldn’t own up to it, and just wouldn’t say a goddamn word about it. I flipped out. After a perfectly amazing evening, I lost my shit. I may have even called him stupid, and honestly, I still believe it to be true, but I love him so much, and I’m so hurt right now.
Does there seem to be a pattern here, with the loving and the hurting? It seems like every blog post I write, that’s what I am saying. I feel like a damn broken record. Why the fuck can’t he trust that me enough to tell me this kind of shit? Who knows how the evening would have gone if he would have just admitted he was lurking.
On the plus side, and I’m sure you ALL want to know about this, not only am I hurting, I’m also quite sated. LOL. I’m not gonna get into that either, but I can’t always post bad stuff can I? I shouldn’t even be telling you guys this, this is embarrassing, but I can’t seem to shut up right now. I think I’ve reached a level of shock and anger I’ve never been to before and it’s making me loose lipped. Unlike Alex, of course.
He really is an amazing man, despite his faults, I just have to find a way for him to stop hiding things from me. I don’t know what to do though. How do I get him to open up and talk to me? How do I get him to trust me enough to tell me the truth and to believe that we can work through anything as a couple? A few months ago, if you had told me I would be in the predicament I am in now, loving a closed off billionaire who fills my every desire and who loves me more than I can imagine, and who I love in return, but who can’t even be honest with me, I might laugh in your face and check you into the psych ward at Kaiser myself.
Growing up, I imagined myself finding the boy next door, getting married, having a house and 2.5 kids with a white picket fence. My only dilemma would be what I would cook for dinner. After the events of my teenage years, I gave up hope of a normal relationship, and took comfort in knowing I had Danny, and even if I never found anyone, I would be happy. When I fell in love with Alex, I knew we would have things to work on. He is a billionaire who lives in a sky rise and I’m a middle class woman who works and lives paycheck to paycheck. He wears three piece suits from Armani and I wear dresses from Forever 21 or Target or some other chain store. Sure, I splurge on expensive shoes, but I could never be in his caliber.
I’m rambling, people, I know, and I’m sorry, I just need to talk and get things off my mind so I can drive home. I guess I’m ok now and will continue my trek. I hope Danny is home when I get there. I’m sure he is sick of my incessant tears, but as always, I need him more than anything right now, except maybe Alex…. I could really use him.
As always, I love you all and welcome to all of my new subscribers. This blog is a bumpy one, so fasten your seatbelts and enjoy the ride. I need to go home and drown myself in chocolate. Oh God, I did NOT just say that!
Chapter 22
Alex
She walked out? Again? What the hell kind of idiot am I? I’ll tell you what kind of idiot. The stupid, no brained dipshit who lets the love of his life walk out the door without telling her something she wants to know. I thought if I didn’t tell her she would just be angry with me, not that she would walk out. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain or say anything. Couldn’t she tell that I was trying to spare her feelings?
I was pissed, not only at myself, but with her as well. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone who was going to walk out every time something got hard. Who was I kidding though? I had never been in a relationship to begin with. Charlotte was my first and she was damn well going to be my last. Why couldn’t she understand that I was trying my hardest? I wanted to open up to her about my life, but if every time I did, she decided to walk out, I didn’t think my heart or my temper could take it. This whole situation was too fucked up.
Getting off the couch, I walked over to the bar in my suite and looked at the selection. It wasn’t very big, enticing people to go down into the hotel bar to drink and spend more money on one drink then an entire bottle was worth. It worked, I thought, making my way into the room to put on some clothes that would be suitable for a five star hotel bar.
As I made to grab my wallet, something shiny caught my eye. It was Charlotte’s hair pin. I had handpicked it out for her when I had contacted Susan for her dress. It was beautiful and it matched her dress perfectly. Something in my chest tightened as I thought about seeing Charlotte walk into the benefit earlier in the evening. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, and even though she was angry with me, again, I knew she was the one I needed in my life, and I was what she needed. I was certain of that.
Putting the pin on what would have been her pillow, I threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt from my bag. I never usually underdressed like this. I was more of a suit and tie kind of guy, but, at the moment, I couldn’t fathom trying to put together a decent look to go down to the hotel bar. A t shirt and jeans fit my mood better than Armani ever could.
Taking a last glimpse at the pin on the pillow, I opened my hotel door and slammed it shut. The noise reverberated around the hallway and I inwardly groaned at my childish fit. It was late, people were sleeping, and here I was slamming doors like a petulant kid. Shaking my head, I made my way to the elevator and the eventual drowning of my mi
sery in booze. Looking at myself in the elevator mirror, I noticed a smudge in the glass. Fuck, this had been the elevator Charlotte and I had attempted christening earlier this evening. My hand print was clearly visible on the perfect reflection. I really was a damn moron.
Even though it was already near closing time, the bar was still crowded with people, mostly from the fundraiser, dressed in their finest. I looked down at my own apparel and hoped no one recognized me. It was wishful thinking of course, but all I could hope for right now was that Rachel had already retired for the night. She didn’t need to see me like this. Her suspicions would get the best of her, and I’d never hear the end of it. Rachel was good at pulling out the mom card and making me feel like shit.
Keeping my head down, I made my way to the bar, and finding an empty stool near the back, I plopped down, waiting for the bartender to approach. It didn’t escape my notice that it took longer than normal for someone to greet me and ask for my order. I wasn’t naive, I knew it was because of my attire. People always treated you differently if they thought you were poor. It was a sad fact and one that always made me cringe.
I remembered a time, long ago, when I had gone into a restaurant wearing tattered jeans and a dirty shirt. It was during a rebellious time, only a few weeks after Rachel had taken me in. I had run away from her, stating I could make it on my own. After swiping a few dollars from someone on the street, I had gone into the little diner, hoping I could fill my belly with my measly pocket change.
As soon as the manager saw me, he kicked me out. He didn’t ask me if I had money, he just assumed by my attire that I didn’t, and that I was going to cause a scene in his establishment. Swallowing my pride, I crawled on hands and knees, almost literally since I hadn’t eaten in two days, and begged Rachel to help me. I never wore rags again.
Sitting at this bar and having the flashback was enough to make my teeth chatter. Looking up, I made eye contact with the bartender and gave him a look that said ‘don’t fuck with me.’ He must have realized that I wasn’t a homeless or poor wreck, because he immediately jogged over and asked for my order, a look of inherent fear in his eyes that I fed off of.
“Double Scotch, Single Malt, Neat,” was all I said. Bowing his head and muttering his ‘right away, sir’, I settled into my seat and awaited my drink. Seeing all of the impeccably dressed people nearby, my thoughts inevitably drifted back to Charlotte. How was I going to make this up to her? How would I ever get back into her good graces? I knew she needed more from me, but how could I earn her trust? I was taking one step forward to take ten steps back.
After downing 3 doubles and contemplating my situation, the bartender called Last Call. Ordering one more before I wasn’t able to, I swiveled in my stool and took in my surroundings. I few people nodded in my direction but no one approached, the look on my face probably scaring them off. I downed my last drink and threw a few bills on the counter, ready to retreat to my room and fall into a deep sleep when I caught someone’s eye.
She was pretty. No, if I was being honest, she was stunning. Her long blonde hair wrapped around her like a protective golden cocoon. She wore an emerald dress that sparkled in the light. It only had one sleeve on her left shoulder, leaving her right bare to reveal creamy caramel skin, blemish free and dying for some attention.
I watched as she swayed toward me, her hips moving in time to an invisible drum in my head, created by the scotch. When she was close enough to touch, I took a step back. Her smell invaded my nostrils, weaving inside my brain and shutting down my rational thought.
“Hi there,” she said, lust and sex coating those two words like an expertly applied lacquer to wood.
I sat there for a moment, dumbfounded, while she stared at me, waiting for a similar greeting. A few months ago, if this had happened, I would have put on my charm. Paying off the bartender to keep open for just another drink. I would have wooed her, telling her how stunning she was, and how no one could ever compare to her ethereal beauty, all in the attempts at a few hot moments in my hotel room with her.
She would have laughed at my jokes and swooned at my charm. By the time I got her up to the room, she would have been dripping for the want of me. I wasn’t trying to be conceited, it was just a fact. I was a female magnet, attracting women like flies to honey.
Today though, standing at this bar, with a beautiful woman in front of me, the only thing I could think about was that this woman's dress was the same color of Charlotte’s eyes, she was too tall, and her hair was blonde. She wasn’t Charlotte, she wasn’t my Charlie.
Without a word, I swept past her, ignoring her scathing remark about being rude, and bolted to the elevators. The encounter spooked me. I had told Charlotte I loved her a few times already, but the overwhelming pressure in my chest confirmed that, and then some. I was profoundly in love with Charlotte, and I wouldn’t let her get away.
When I finally settled into the empty elevator, I took a moment to gulp in some fresh needed air. A feeling of calm immediately settled over me as I thought about Charlotte. Almost as if someone cracked an egg over my head, a warm glow surrounded me, beginning at my head, and ending at the tip of my toes.
When the elevator doors opened on my floor, the feeling grew. I was drunk, yes, but calm nonetheless. Tomorrow morning, I was going to go to Charlotte, and if I had to crawl on my hands and knees and literally beg her to give me a second chance, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d never, in my life, felt the way I was feeling at that precise moment, and I never wanted to lose that feeling.
When I closed the door to my suite, my phone in my pocket buzzed, alerting me to a phone call. I almost considered not answering it, but I knew Charlotte was on her way home, or already there, and she was upset. I also knew if Rachel had gotten wind of my idiocy, she would have a few words, and then of course, if there was an issue at the company, Brigitte would be calling. I didn’t have the luxury of ignoring my phone, and climbing into bed drunk.
Sighing, I took the phone out of my pocket, and, in my surprise, almost dropped it. Charlotte was calling. My immediate joy turned to dread. Why would she be calling me? She should have been home by now, shouldn’t she? How long had it been since she stormed out. My head was too foggy to figure out how long she had been gone and if she would have had enough time to make it home.
“Charlotte? Charlotte, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” I asked, fear lacing my tone.
“Alex,” she sobbed out.
I felt my heart drop to my stomach at the sound of her distress. “Charlotte, where are you? What’s wrong?” I asked through her sniffles.
“It’s my mom,” she shakily spit out. “The hospital just called me. I guess she’s been mugged and beat up. Oh my God, Alex, my mom!” Her wails sent a tremor of fear through me, and I vowed in that minute that I never wanted her to feel like that again.
“What can I do? Baby? Answer me, what can I do?” I pleaded with her.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. She sounded as if she was asking for something. I wanted her to ask. I wanted her to feel comfortable enough to ask me for anything, but I guess my alcohol laced brain couldn’t grasp the fact that after our fight she wasn’t going to ask for anything. I would need to offer.
“Charlotte, thank you for calling. You should have called. What can I do?” I asked, hoping she’d take me up on offering any of my services.
She remained silent for a long time, and I could hear, even through the phone, the wheels spinning inside of her head. Did she ask, swallowing her pride, or did she figure it out on her own without me?
She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to have to ask me.
“Charlotte, why don’t you let me fly you on my private jet out to New Jersey. We can go at a moment's notice,” I offered, hoping she wouldn’t turn me down to book an economy flight on some big airline. She needed to get there fast for her peace of mind, and, in turn, for my own. “I know things between us are rocky right now, but please, l
et me help you with this. I, as much as you, need to know your mom is ok.”
After a minute of silence, she finally spoke up. “Ok, Alex. Thank you.”
“Good. I’m leaving the hotel right now to come pick you up. I’ll have the plane meet us at Ontario so we don’t have to drive back to Los Angeles. Pack a bag, if you want, otherwise I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said.
“But it’s offered none the less. I’ll be there soon.” I said, hanging up the phone, and dialing another number.
“Bracks, get the car ready, we’re going to New Jersey.”
**********
Within ten minutes, I was on the road to Charlotte’s apartment and my pilot was en route to the Los Angeles airport to fly to Ontario, a little over an hour and half driving distance away. I hadn’t changed back into anything grander than my jeans and shirt, and I felt slightly vulnerable in it. My suit and tie were my shield from the world, and from myself. It provided me with a sense of protection and security, and not having it on left me feeling vulnerable.
Fidgeting in the backseat of the car, I reached over to the small liquor cabinet on board and found a small bottle of Whiskey. It wasn’t scotch, but it was what I needed to calm my raging emotions. This wasn’t going to be similar to the reunion we had shared at the fundraiser, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t realize I planned on going with her. This was going to be extremely awkward and I had never done well with awkward.
I tossed back the shot and closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cool leather interior of the luxury sedan. If I were smart, I would try to sleep some before I got to her house. It had been a long and exhausting day. Lying there, I thought back to everything that had transpired and sighed at the mere thought. .
The highlight was my amazing night with Charlotte, and if I had my way, we would have many, many more in the near future. I didn’t want to be away from her ever again. I imagined the evening of our dancing, except this time she was wearing a stunning white dress, her laugh entrancing every patron. I could hear their laughter, but they only thing I could see was Charlotte.
Just A Woman (The Porter Trilogy Book 2) Page 13