by Harlow James
“I recognize these,” I say as I move around the counter and reach for a small wedge of a turkey and avocado croissant.
Grace turns from her position at the stove to find me with a smirk on her lips. “Ah, yes. You have had my signature sandwiches already, haven’t you?”
“Yes. And Wes was quick to admit that you made them, so don’t worry about him taking credit for your creation.” I take a small bite as my mouth waters at the tastes.
“Oh, he knows better than to do that.”
“How long have you been working for him?” I ask as Grace slides a glass full of water in my direction. I thank her and then wait for her to answer.
“Since he took over the company. But I worked for his grandfather before that.”
I vaguely remember Wes mentioning that to me, but I can sense the wistfulness in her tone when she explains it. “So you’ve known him for practically his entire life then?”
“Yes. He’s one of my favorite people in the world.” Her beaming grin is infectious as I mentally find myself agreeing with her. Yeah, he’s becoming one of my favorite people too, but probably for different reasons.
I gently place the last bite of my sandwich in my mouth and dab the corners of my lips with a napkin. “Thank you for that. I haven’t eaten much today.”
“Not a problem, but I should probably deliver you to where you’re needed now.”
“Where I’m needed?”
She nods and then grabs my glass of water in one hand, and then one of my hands in her other. “Come. We are on a tight schedule, and Molly and Sophia are waiting for you.”
“Who?”
“The make-up artist and wardrobe stylist.”
Grace begins to lead me back down the hall to the main entry way and then up the staircase to the right of us, pulling me along as I feel my feet reluctantly follow her. “Oh, that’s okay. I brought a dress, and I can do my own make-up and hair.”
She gives me a sideways glance and then keeps moving. “I’m sure you’re fully capable, but this is essential for tonight.”
Suddenly feeling less than adequate, I struggle to calm my racing heart. “Where is Wes?” I ask as we make it to the top of the staircase and Grace leads us down a hall to our right, multiple closed doors filing by us as we pass them one by one. My desire to see him heightens as I get whisked across this house, probably further away from the man I came here to be with.
“Oh, he’s a bear right now. You wouldn’t want to see him.”
“A bear?”
She rolls her eyes as we arrive at the last closed door at the end of the hall. “There was a crisis at the hotel in Manhattan. He’s been on the phone all afternoon. Hopefully, he puts the fire out soon so he’s ready for tonight because that won’t be a walk in the park either, but he’ll manage like he always does.”
My mind is spinning as Grace nonchalantly discusses the gala as if this is just another normal night for Wes. And I guess on some level it is—but it is definitely not for me.
“Grace,” I start, but she turns to face me and flashes me a soothing smile.
“I like you.”
I feel myself flinch backwards at her candidness, even though the feeling is mutual. The second the woman took me by the hand and hugged me, I could sense her natural loving demeanor and understood why Wes is so fond of her. “But you don’t even know me.”
“Not the details, no. But you have a presence. I can see why Wesley was drawn to you. Just promise me something,” she says and I stand still, waiting for her to continue. “Be patient with him. He’s not as cold and callus as he can appear. I’m sure he’s given you a glimpse of his heart.” I nod, waiting for her to keep going, knowing there’s a point to this. “But he has a darkness inside that he fights as well, and it will rear its ugly head at the worst times. Wes is like the son I never had, so naturally I want to think the best of him, but I also know him better than anyone else too.”
“Why are you telling me this?” My hands are shaking before she reaches out and grabs them, calming me instantly, even though her words feel like a warning I should regard.
“Because tonight is going to be rough on both of you, and maybe a friendly reminder to be patient with one another is what you’ll need to recall in the heat of the moment.”
Her eyes shine with so much wisdom and understanding, I can’t form a reply because I’m overcome by her words. As if knowing I needed a level of reassurance myself, she offered me her kindness after just meeting me.
“And I can just see it,” she adds, which causes me to tilt my head at her.
“What do you mean when you say that?” I ask again, knowing that her words hide some sort of cryptic message that I can’t decode. And before she can answer, another person grabs my attention, the person I came here to see.
“Shayla.” That voice, the voice I was hoping to hear in person hours ago as we drove down the coast together calls out behind me and I spin on my heels to seek him out.
Disheveled and marred with stress, Wes struts toward me from the other end of the hall, his long legs eating up the tile floor beneath them. Dressed in charcoal grey slacks and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, he carries himself with such finesse that it’s hard to remember why my body has felt uneasy all week. And even though his presence doesn’t squash those feelings down completely, it does help them dissipate.
But his face—his face speaks of irritation and tension, which builds a need in me to soothe him.
“Hi,” I manage to squeak out as his arms envelop me and pull me to his chest. With a press of his lips to my forehead, a calmness washes over me as I melt into the feeling of being near him finally.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to pick you up.” He pulls back and the furrow of his brow indicates his remorse. But it slowly relaxes as he takes me in with his eyes.
“It’s okay. I slept on the way here.”
“Long night?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Wesley, Shayla needs to get ready,” Grace says, pulling us from our perusal of one another, but his hand continues to grip my hip as I turn to face her.
With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly releases me. “Yes, you’re right. Is everything ready for her?”
“Of course. You know better than to question my organizational capabilities,” she fires back as he grins and shakes his head at her.
“Shame on me. You’re right.” With one more pull of me into his arms, my back to his front, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Go get ready. I’ll see you in a bit.” Planting a kiss on my cheek and leaving a warmth behind the touch, he gently nudges me forward toward Grace with her outstretched hand.
I look back over my shoulder at him as he stands in the same spot we were just in, watching me walk away from him with a longing in his eyes that I feel reflected in my own. I want to be near him, but apparently I need to look the part before I get that time—and as soon as Grace leads me into the room with two women who I assume are Molly and Sophia waiting for me, the reality of the stakes of tonight slam into me full force.
Racks of designer dresses line the walls in every color of the rainbow, followed by lines of high heels on the floor beneath them. A vanity has been set up in one corner, complete with the columns of illuminated bulbs shining brightly on either side of a rather sizable mirror, and a table full of brushes, combs, and styling tools for my hair rests to the side.
“Seriously?” I ask, turning to speak with Grace only to see that she has deserted me and left the room, closing the door so silently, I didn’t even register she’d left.
“Miss Mitchell?” One of the women asks and all I can do is nod.
“Shayla, please.”
She smiles and then waves me over. “Of course. Shayla, I’m Molly, and this is Sophia. We’re going to be helping you get ready tonight.”
I take a seat in the chair at the vanity, sinking down into the cushion as I stare back at my reflection. “This
isn’t necessary. I can get ready myself. I even brought a dress.” I look in the mirror and notice my bag in here and so is my old prom dress hanging on the back of the door.
“Yes, well we took a look at that already and agreed it’s not adequate for tonight,” Sophia replies, but I hear the undertone of her message—you’re old dress isn’t good enough, and neither are you.
“Well, what if I don’t want your help?” I fire back as anger runs through me, fueled by the insecurities her comment brought to the surface.
“Mr. Morgan insisted we help you get ready,” she answers with just as much sass as I gave her.
A light touch to my shoulder has me flinching and then turning to see Molly staring down at me. “Trust me. We will make you shine.” Her smile is genuine and her eyes reek of sincerity, so I flash a look of disdain to her friend, and then focus back on Molly.
“Fine. If you must.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes as the girls move around me. I remind myself that getting pampered and taken care of like this isn’t the end of the world, but all it does is serve as another reminder of the difference in our lives and the invisible set of expectations that are being bestowed upon me as the women brush and swipe, transforming me into a woman worthy of being on Wes Morgan’s arm.
It’s also a reminder of the type of treatment I don’t want to get used to—the kind of gestures that I yearn to fight back against, especially with my mother’s words in my ear.
Find a man to take care of you. The good ones will.
What if I don’t want that? Why can’t I be enough on my own?
Is that what Wes thinks? That I’m not capable of presenting myself in a capacity that he deems worthy?
An hour passes by and I fight every urge to glance at myself in the mirror, afraid of how I’ll react when I see the person staring back at me. Will I recognize myself, or will I be forced to accept that I’m being molded into a woman that will slowly take over the one I’ve fought so hard to be?
Chapter 18
Wes
Today turned into a fucking nightmare, as if I need any added pressure to what tonight means to mine and Shayla’s relationship, the one thing that should have been my sole focus. I was looking forward to picking her up, driving down the coast and into Santa Monica together while holding her hand in mine, listening to music, and catching up on the days we’ve been apart. I itched for her presence, knowing that just being near her would help ground me and make it easier to breathe, quieting the noise that seems to disappear whenever she’s near.
But as soon as I got the call from New York this morning from the one person I really didn’t need to hear from today, a tightness in my chest has been present ever since and I’m fighting to make it loosen up.
One of our managers was caught fucking an underage girl in one of the rooms at the hotel. I’ve been on the phone all day with various people and our head of public relations trying to keep the story out of the press, a task I’m not entirely unfamiliar with having my own brush with secrets being kept hidden. But it’s been a circus and the perfect catalyst for a migraine to develop. It also completely derailed the plans I had of how today would go.
Now, I’m stepping out of my shower, my chest still tight but lightening slightly just knowing that Shayla is in my house and I have her for the rest of the night. Tonight I don’t want her to doubt herself or us, especially as we walk into the event where she will be under the scrutiny of everyone in my social circle, including my family. I already know the evening will be more pleasant just having her company, but it will also force us to acknowledge the progression of our relationship.
She will be photographed, criticized, and investigated. Women will whisper and wonder who she is, men will be enamored with her beauty the way I am. But no matter what, everything changes tonight and I need to know we’re on the same page about it. I want to know that I can call her my girlfriend and she’ll take the title willingly. And call me needy, but I want her to give me that satisfaction before we leave so she won’t change her mind after—or at least, the likelihood that she will after the event will diminish.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, the man staring back at me glimmering with something almost unrecognizable—hope. I hope that tonight goes smoothly, that one step into my sordid life doesn’t have her running for the hills. It’s been easy to know each other outside of the spotlight as two humans searching for the same things. But in the public eye, everything changes, a lesson I’ve had to learn the hard way. Luckily, I made the majority of my mistakes before the true focus on me as the face of the company began.
After drying off completely, I take my time shaving my face and styling my hair, combing the thick strands into a neat swipe that makes me appear more put together than I feel. Once I’m happy with my hair, I make my way to my dresser, pulling out a pair of black briefs and matching socks and put them both on. I reach for my tux hanging in my closet and start to dress, being careful not to wrinkle the fabric that has been so intricately prepared to be photographed tonight. Before I grab my jacket, I make sure to grab the cufflinks my grandfather gave to me on my eighteenth birthday, needing any part of him I can grasp onto tonight before my nerves get the better of me.
With one last glance in the full length mirror in my room, I turn to take in the view out of my balcony. Twinkling lights decorating the trees in the backyard flicker in the darkness that has overtaken the sky. I think back to how lonely I felt living here before I went to Santa Barbara and how different I feel now looking out at this same view—a view that has changed because of one woman and the way she’s changing not only me but my life.
With a deep breath of courage, I exit my room and make my way down the long hallway to the end of the other side, anxious to see Shayla. Grace assured me that Molly and Sophia would take care of her and make her feel confident for tonight, but part of me is just itching to be near her no matter how she might look. I’m preparing myself to see a version of her I haven’t seen yet, but nothing will ever beat her natural beauty and confidence she possess on a daily basis.
I knock on the door, waiting to hear movement on the other side, but hardly any noise filters through. Suddenly the doorknob turns and then slowly the door slides open, revealing Shayla in front of me, dressed to impress and knock the wind out of my lungs as I stand there.
With her long, dark hair curled softly and swept up on one side of her face, she has a classic Hollywood vibe to her look, complete with red lipstick on her perfect lips. Her eyes are vibrant against the dark make-up surrounding them, making the green pop in them even more than normal.
But it’s her dress that has me struggling to take in oxygen—a black satin number that is strapless across her chest and tight against her curves, draping down to the floor with a slit the size of Texas running up one of her legs. The slice of skin flashing through that cut in the fabric has my dick hardening in a matter of seconds, but her face makes me take pause.
She doesn’t look pleased to see me. No. On the contrary, she looks pissed, poised yet ready for a fight, and I’m not sure why.
“You look stunning, Shayla. Incredible,” I offer on a whisper as she opens the door wider and I hesitantly pass through it.
“Well, I hope my attire is to your specifications.” Her eyes narrow at me as she glances over her shoulder while she walks away, deeper into the room.
I softly shut the door behind me before I follow her. “My specifications?”
“Yes. Apparently I’m not capable enough of making myself look presentable to your friends and colleagues, so I just want to get your approval.”
I arch a brow at her. “I’m getting the feeling that you’re upset, but I’m not sure why.”
She shakes her head at me and then reaches for a bottle of hairspray on the vanity, spritzing the stickiness over her head while eyeing me in the mirror. “You didn’t listen… again.”
“Listen to what?”
“All of this!” she shouts, turning to face me
with fire in her eyes now. “I told you I don’t want this!”
“What? What is all of this?” My voice travels through the room now, increasing in volume as well.
“I walked into this room after seeing you for all of five minutes, and I’m instantly bombarded by a duo of stylists that insist they’ll make me shine for tonight. Do you—” she pauses, her eyes flicking down to the ground for a moment to gather herself. “Do you not think I can shine on my own? That I’m not capable of being worthy enough of being on your arm without people fawning over me and telling me that what I chose to wear isn’t good enough?”
I widen my eyes as I process her words. Does she really believe that?
“No, of course not. I just wanted—”
“You wanted me to look perfect, right? Like the woman you are supposed to be with, not who I am.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, and then pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t believe that after the day I’ve had that this is how my night is going to go too. But I’m not going to back down now when I’ve been arguing with everyone all day. Might as well show Shayla that I’m the boss here too. “Why do you have to fight me on everything? Make comments like I don’t care about you and your worries? Do you not understand?”
“Understand what?”
I turn sharply and throw my hands in the air. “That I don’t do this! I don’t give my attention to women, take them places, spend time with them, or welcome them into my home!” My voice echoes off the walls and I can only assume that anyone in the nearby vicinity of my house can hear our argument.
“So what are you saying? That I’m supposed to be impressed that you’re pulling out all of the stops to win me over? That you’re flaunting your money at me as a reason for me to fall for you? I told you I wasn’t going to manipulated by your wealth. That you can’t control me! I’m not going to pretend to be someone that I’m not!”
I charge toward her, reminding myself to reel in the fury and utter need coursing through me—the desire to show her just exactly what she’s doing to me, how she unnerves me, makes me feel things I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years—how I’m falling for her.