Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  "Let me take it in for you," I say.

  She pulls the suitcase away from me so hard it topples over in the middle of the hallway. She looks down at it and gives a distinctly undignified growl of frustration and anger. It's a small glimpse of the Olivia who let go and lived with abandon at the resort, the Olivia I was falling in love with before she vanished.

  "I don't need you to help me," she says through gritted teeth. "I can do it on my own. I have been for the last two years."

  And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Has she been traveling particularly extensively during the last two years and no one offered to help her with her luggage?

  I'm missing something. I know I am. But before I can ask Olivia anything else, she has latched onto the handle of her suitcase again and is trying to drag it down the center of the hallway. The weight of the front of the suitcase causes it to flip over. This turns the handle in her hand, which jerks her arm, causing the oversized purse to fall from her shoulder and get tangled with the suitcase around her hand.

  "Olivia," I say. "Olivia, please stop." Unable to make any sense of the mess, she starts down the hallway again, dragging it along beside her. "Olivia, let me help you."

  She reaches her room and taps her keycard against the lock. It turns red several times and I can see her getting angrier with every failed attempt. Finally, she holds the card there long enough for it to turn green and I hear the click of the lock disengaging. Olivia opens the door. She fights her way out of the purse and the suitcase, then kicks both of them into the room. Slamming the door closed, she turns back toward the elevator.

  "Where are you going?" I ask.

  "I'm going to the bar to get a fucking drink."

  I'm so stunned I can't even follow her. The last I see of her, Olivia is standing in the middle of the elevator, her arms crossed over her chest, and her jaw clenched so tightly I'm concerned for the safety of her teeth.

  An hour later, I still haven't heard Olivia return to her suite. Thinking I might have missed her get back, I walk out of my room and knock on her door.

  "Olivia," I call through the door when she doesn't answer. "Are you in there? It's me, Vincent."

  I roll my eyes even as I say it. Why do people say that? How often is there really ambiguity about who may be on the other side of a door knocking and calling you by name? Unless she's gone off the deep end and invited a continuous stream of male visitors to entertain her throughout the night, I probably shouldn't have to announce myself.

  She never comes to the door, so I decide to go look for her. The last thing an upset woman who doesn't drink needs is to sit alone at a hotel bar at the beginning of a professional convention. Men who come to these conventions are no better than wolves. They'll get one sniff of Olivia looking vulnerable and they'll pounce. Of course, after what I just saw from her, she very well might be able to hold her own.

  I ride the elevator down and walk through the lobby into the bar. Scanning the faces of everyone at the tables and in the stools, I check for Olivia. When I don't see her, I'm immediately alarmed. I walk through the lobby again to make sure she isn't there. I've made another lap before I notice a hallway leading behind the front desk. Ignoring a sign on an easel, I walk into the hallway and almost instantly find Olivia.

  She's sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her head hangs forward and I see her shoulders shaking. I rush to her and crouch down beside her.

  "Olivia, what's wrong? What happened?"

  She looks up at me through her tears.

  "The world hates me," she says.

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "The entire universe is conspiring against me. It wants to remind me at every turn how miserable life can be and just how far off I am from the life I thought I'd be leading at this age."

  "What did I miss?"

  She points above her head, and I notice a frame next to the doorway a couple of feet away. I look at it and see it holds a piece of paper.

  "Anderson-Smith wedding?"

  She nods and drops her forehead to her knees.

  "Exactly," she says.

  "The world hates you and the universe is conspiring against you because someone's getting married this weekend?"

  "No, the world hates me, and the universe is conspiring against me because Philip Anderson is getting married this weekend. In this hotel. Where I am. Because my life fucking self-destructed two years ago."

  Yet again, the name sounds familiar. I search my mind for it and quickly realize where I've heard at least part of it.

  "Philip as in your ex-boyfriend Phillip?"

  Shit.

  "Yes."

  "It just says 'Anderson'. That doesn't necessarily mean it's him."

  "I asked the guy at the desk what the groom's name is."

  "There could be more than one Philip Anderson."

  "That's true. But the chances that there's another Philip Anderson marrying Susie Smith, homecoming queen and president of her sorority who happened to have a crush on Philip Anderson during high school, are very slim."

  "Did you want to be homecoming queen?"

  "I was the next year."

  "Did you want to be president of the sorority?"

  "I wasn't even in the sorority. I never wanted to be."

  "Then what's wrong with Susie Smith?"

  "Nothing's wrong with Susie Smith. Susie Smith is fine. She's a lovely person. I went to her graduation party. No. It's not that he's marrying Susie. It's that he's getting married."

  The statement made my chest ache and I felt my jaw tighten possessively in response.

  "I'm sorry," I force myself to say. "I didn't realize you missed him that much."

  "I don't miss him. Not at all."

  "I'm back to not understanding."

  "He's getting married. He's getting married, Vincent. I devoted more than three years of my life to him and there wasn't even the whiff of marriage. Not even like the hint that he might consider at some point maybe thinking I could be his wife. Over three years. He and I broke up less than two years ago and in that time, he was able to reconnect with Susie, date her, decide she was the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, plan a proposal, buy a ring, get engaged, plan a wedding, and fly all the way to Colorado to get married."

  "Sounds like he was busy."

  "Right? He must have been running all over the place. But he did it. He did it for her. For her." All the extra emphasis was bringing me back to the tent revivals that happened every summer when I was growing up. "It's not that I ever wanted to marry Philip, but I would have appreciated feeling like it was a possibility. Why was I never good enough?"

  I reach for her hands and pull her to her feet.

  "Look at me," I say. "I never want to hear you say something like that about yourself again. You are good enough, Olivia. For anybody. Hell, you're too good for most people. Possibly all people. Who cares that Susie Smith was homecoming queen and president of her sorority? She wasn't Olivia Maureen Alcott, and never will be. It was probably easier for Philip to think about marrying her because he didn't have to try to live up to her the way he would have for you. Or maybe you just weren't the one for him. And he wasn't for you."

  "Do you really believe that?" she asks softly.

  I nod without hesitation.

  "Yes. I do."

  She looks at me, her eyes meeting and holding mine for longer than they have since the last time I saw her on Catalina. She licks her bottom lip and lets out a slow breath, making the muscles in my body strain to touch her. I resist. Now is not the time.

  "Are you still interested in that drink?" I ask.

  "Absolutely. Show me how to quiet the crazy."

  I smile.

  "I'd love to.

  Olivia

  "So, wait a minute, why did he fly all the way to Colorado to get married? Are there some sort of weird marriage laws here that aren't in Virginia that apply to a sp
ecial circumstance with Susie?"

  I laugh and shake my head.

  "No. They probably came out here because this is where his aunt lives. She all but raised him after his parents died, but moved back to Colorado when he finished college."

  "She sounds like a wonderful woman."

  "Oh, she's mean."

  "Seriously?"

  "Mean as a rattlesnake wearing an Easter bonnet and mismatched rattle varnish."

  He stares at me for a beat, then laughs.

  "You know what? I actually understand what that means."

  "Because you're a good Virginia boy."

  I take another draw on the straw submerged in a cocktail that looks very much like the rainbow concoction from the island. It burns on its way down my throat and my head gets a little lighter.

  "Yes, I am."

  "Oh, gracious, you know what this woman used to do?"

  "What woman?"

  "Aunt Viola."

  "Oh, of course."

  "She used to put metal strips with spikes on them down the driveway and sidewalk, so no trick-or-treaters could come to the porch."

  "Damn. That is mean."

  "She would say she couldn't in good conscience contribute to the obesity of America's youth by handing out candy, and she knew if they came to her door and found out they would do pranks and it could get messy."

  "It would probably get really messy if the father of one of those kids wanted to go up to her door and find out who shoved a scarecrow up her ass, tripped, and impaled himself on one of those spikes."

  Another sip.

  "She probably would have just rolled him up with the strip and used him for decoration next year."

  "If she was so awful, why did Philip go out of his way to plan his wedding in her state rather than just flying her to Virginia?"

  "Because Philip can be a very sweet man, but he is also about as powerful as a meringue. He'd do it just to make her happy. I mean, seriously, who plans a wedding at a convention center? Tacky. You know what? Maybe she knew about the conference when she booked it and chose the date so there would be a ton of people here to pay all kinds of attention to the wedding."

  "Diabolical."

  "I know."

  "Someone should show him up."

  "Seriously. It needs to happen."

  "What dessert am I?"

  I finish the drink and slide the empty glass across the top of the bar toward the bartender.

  "Another please." I look at Vincent. "What?"

  "What dessert am I? You said Philip is like a meringue. I want to know my dessert."

  I don't even have to think about it.

  "Pecan pie. Rich, intense, smooth, and gooey."

  And probably really bad for me.

  "Gooey?"

  "You're gooey."

  "I'm not gooey."

  "You can be gooey."

  "I'm not gooey."

  "All that stuff you said to me in the hall? Yeah. You can be gooey."

  "Fine. Just don't tell anyone."

  "Not a soul."

  "I appreciate it," he says with a teasing grin.

  I take a sip of the fresh drink the bartender sets down in front me.

  "Why'd you do it, Vincent?"

  The question just kind of rushed out of me. I wasn't intending on asking him, but once I opened my mouth to put the straw in, it fell out.

  "Why did I do what?"

  I stirred my drink to see if the colors would mix and change the flavor.

  "Why did you put those pictures on the wall? I can understand you not showing me your private bungalow, as much as I think that makes you a selfish jerk. You barely knew me, and you don't want to share your space with every girl who tosses her bathing suit bottoms at you, that's fine. But why did you have to do the pictures?"

  "I don't think you ever tossed your bathing suit bottoms at me, but even if you had, I still have no idea what pictures you're talking about."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously."

  "The day I left, there were pictures of us in the lobby."

  "Pictures of us?"

  "From the night before. Naked pictures of us in bed together. There was also a letter describing every detail of what we did."

  My cheeks are burning, and I've lowered my voice so no one else in the bar can hear.

  "You think I would do something like that? Why would I do that?"

  "As a mean joke, maybe a dare with the other staff members?"

  "Of which I'm not one?" he pointed out.

  My stomach sank as I started to realize my entire understanding of what happened that day at the resort could be wrong.

  "But Charlene, Tia, Sandra – they all said that afternoon Laurel personally visited each bungalow and had pictures and video erased from everybody's phone. She said it was a new security measure and it only applied to the inside of buildings and other people."

  "Why would I have that done if I wanted to humiliate you? Wouldn't I want it to be seen by as many people as possible?"

  "Why else would you do it?"

  "Because after I found out you were gone, I was upset. I stormed into the lobby and made a scene asking where you went. Laurel pointed out my rant was going to end up online and could cause serious problems, so I told her to take care of it. There wasn't a single picture or piece of paper stuck on the walls in the lobby."

  "But you were the only person who had the ability to take the pictures," Olivia says. "How else could they be taken?"

  "I don't know, Olivia, but you have to trust that it wasn't me."

  I think about this for a few seconds, feeling out the idea of finally believing him. It settles comfortably through me.

  "I do," I say. Feeling more optimistic by the moment, I raise my glass. "Let's celebrate!" I say.

  "Celebrate what?" Vincent asks.

  "That you aren't a horrible, vicious virginity thief and voyeur who purposely ruined my life by taking and posting pictures of me losing said virginity to you."

  Vincent raises his own glass.

  "I'll take it."

  We tap our glasses together and I down the rest of my drink.

  "Let's keep celebrating. I'm sure we can find other things to celebrate."

  Vincent grinned and finished off his drink.

  "Yes," he says, sliding off his stool and picking me up.

  He holds me by my waist for a few seconds before letting me slide down the front of his body to my feet.

  "Let's find another bar and celebrate.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Charlene

  They haven't noticed that I’m sitting at the end of the bar, a dry martini in my hand. Extra dirty. I use a swizzle stick to swirl three olives impaled on it through the slightly murky liquid as I follow their every move. This isn't the way it is supposed to be. She isn't supposed to be sitting there beside him. I am. That space beside him is supposed to belong to me. He is supposed to be mine.

  If Olivia hadn't shown back up, he might be closer to realizing that. Instead, he's perched at this hotel bar, gazing at her like she's a fucking Christmas tree, while I'm the toy that's been cast away.

  When Vincent called me Monday, I was ecstatic, but at the same time, it was exactly as I had planned. I just knew Olivia had gone back into the office to tell him she couldn't take the position and left him once and for all. It was the final straw and finally, he was going to realize what he really wanted had been waiting for him the whole time – me. Inviting me to come to the apartment he maintains in the city just confirmed it. This wasn't some event or dinner he needed appropriately polished arm candy for. He wanted to talk to me privately – somewhere with a bed. Deciding he deserved a surprise, too, I wore my favorite black lace teddy and stilettos beneath a tightly tied trench coat. I felt like I was acting out my own sexy film noir as I swept past the doorman, a shiver of delight coursing through me knowing that he knew nothing of what was beneath my demure outer layer.

  Vincent's apartment is on its own privat
e floor of the building. When I stepped out of the elevator onto it and up to his front door, I opened the coat and let it drop to my feet. I wanted him to see me fully when he opened the door, so he could scoop me into his arms and carry me into the bedroom. Or onto the couch. Or the floor. I didn't care. I was done waiting.

  When the door opened, though, Vincent glared out at me. He barely seemed to notice what I was wearing and rather than inviting me inside, he laid into me. Olivia did go back to his office after our conversation, but it wasn't to tell him she can't work with him. She went to whimper and whine to him, telling him what I said to her.

  His words reverberate through my head now.

  I have been very clear with you, Charlene. We have no relationship, and even if you insist on thinking of our association as some form of relationship, it means nothing to me. We. Are. Not. Together. We have never been together. We will never be together. If it wasn't so convenient to have you around when I have to go to events, I would never associate with you. My first impression of you at the resort was absolutely correct and I should have paid attention to it rather than trying to be a good fucking son and amuse the boss' spoiled brat to grease the wheels for both my father's company and the new contracts I'm drawing up with him. Have I gotten through to you this time, Charlene?

  I can still hear his apartment door slamming in my face as I pull one of the olives off the swizzle stick with my teeth and swallow it. Watching the two of them together makes me sick. I hate that Olivia is here, stealing the attention that should be mine. I remember the first time I saw Vincent. He was sitting on the beach against a palm tree watching Olivia splash in the water like a fucking child. He was enraptured by her. But he wouldn't have been if I had been the one to go out onto that beach when we first arrived. I would have been the one to catch his attention. Everything would be different.

  Their conversation suddenly turns more serious, and I try to listen in more closely and hear what they're saying. I don't want them to see me. Even if they do, I have as legitimate a reason to be here as they do. Of course, if Vincent had asked me to accompany him to the conference, I would have, but he didn't need to. He seems to have forgotten that several weeks ago I asked him to be my date to a wedding that just happens to be occurring on the same weekend. I don't believe in coincidences.