by Julie Reece
“Freak,” Maggie whispers. Her gaze rests on me a little too long, then she shrugs and goes back to reading her fashionzine. Thirty minutes later, however, she puts the magazine down and curls into a ball, or as much of a ball as our cramped seating allows. Her head lolls onto my shoulder and she whimpers.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Car sick. Plane sick.” She wriggles adjusting her head. “Motion sick, I don’t know.” My poor friend’s skin is olive green and a light sheen of perspiration covers her forehead. “Oh no.” She bolts upright and crawls over Gideon and me to the aisle.
“You going to puke?”
“Mount Vesuvius.” She stumbles over Gideon’s feet, but he catches her. Helping her to a stand, he walks behind my friend, escorting her to the bathroom.
He hesitates at the door a few minutes before returning to his seat. “She won’t let me in.”
“No,” I say, surprised he’s willing to help her. “I imagine not.” There are people who share toilet moments and people who don’t. Maggie and I, we’re members of the hurl alone club. Sure, I’ve read in romance novels where the cute guy holds the pretty blonde’s hair back for her while she retches. Afterward, she’s so grateful, they end up making out. In real life, I think that’s bull. No guy wants to help a girl vomit, I don’t care how hot she is, and he sure as hell isn’t going to kiss her sewer mouth afterward.
After an uncomfortable amount of time, in which I imagined Maggie flushing herself out of the plane’s belly, she staggers back to her seat. She’s pasty-skinned and sweating. I pat her arm, but she says nothing. Once the plane lands, all I can think about is getting Mags to our hotel so she can wish she were dead in peace.
Gideon’s firm chest presses against my back as we exit the plane. His muscular leg pushes my much smaller one on the long taxi ride to our hotel. I glare at him, but he’s oblivious, or pretending to be. He smells clean and inviting, like fresh sheets and faint cologne, and I hate that, too. By the time Maggie and I reach our room, it’s ten o’clock at night. The show is twelve hours away, and I’m as tense as any tightrope walker hovering above the Grand Canyon. No big.
In our hotel, Maggie throws herself down on one of the two queen-sized beds and groans. I climb on the bed next to her and flop.
“What’s eating you?” Maggie mumbles into the bedspread. I can hardly hear her. She rolls to her side and yawns. “Nice undies, by the way. I love black.”
I smooth my skirt down in a half attempt at modesty. “Glad you’ve kept your sense of humor.” She grunts, and I can’t help my small smile. “Keyed up, I guess. First time out of the state, on a plane, to a fashion show … a lot of firsts today.”
“Mm hmm.”
“I’m worried about Ben, school, graduation. And Gideon annoyed the crap out of me all the way here.”
Maggie opens one eye. “Not shy, is he?”
“Not even—”
A knock has us both jolting. I force myself up, walk ten steps across the room, and open the door.
“Always ask who’s there before you open the door, Raven. We’re not in Kansas anymore.” Gideon hovers in a pair of dark jeans, distressed bomber jacket, and heavy boots. A chunky silver bracelet hangs at his wrist, the onyx ring on one finger. Towering over me is an audacious display of knee-weakening masculinity. He steals my breath and enough brain cells to render me speechless. “Get your coats, ladies. Let’s explore New York City.”
Chapter Sixteen
October in New York can be chilly, yet as I sip my coffee on my way to the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire State Building, I’m impervious to cooler temperatures. I am that girl. The green, wide-eyed tourist running from one viewpoint to another in awe of the epicness that is Manhattan.
A group of sightseers stand together in the elevator heading up. Gideon leans on his cane between a pretty redhead to his right and me. She’s wearing a cheaply made, ruby-colored cocktail dress, so tight I wonder how she breathes, so short she tempts hyperthermia. Another young couple waits behind us.
The ride is long, silent, and awkward. When the redhead sends a flirty smile Gideon’s way, my hackles go up. She’s got a lot of nerve. He’s not mine, but she can’t know that. A bell dings. The doors open, and the redhead exits first. Her shapely bottom jiggles under the clingy fabric of her dress.
In the midst of wondering if the redhead is Gideon’s type, or if he’s staring at her butt, feet scuffle behind me.
“Ow!” When I glance over my shoulder, the guy behind us shies away from his girlfriend. “You hit me.”
“Damn right I did,” his girlfriend admits. “I can’t believe you bring me up here for a romantic evening just to ogle another girl!”
“No, I didn’t.” His face colors ten shades of guilty. He’s in the doghouse for sure.
“Don’t deny it. I saw you! Take me home.” She crosses her arms and steps off to the side. Clearly she doesn’t want to go home. If she did, she’d be in the elevator stabbing ‘down’ buttons with her angry little fingers. My guess is Pissed Off Girlfriend is looking for some major sucking up. Girlfriend’s voice fades as she continues to berate Doghouse Guy.
I face Gideon and scrunch my face into my best ‘Yikes!’ expression. He laughs as we drift toward the terrace. He has a nice laugh.
A man with a silver goatee plays the saxophone. I’ve never been much for jazz, but it sounds nice and helps cover the rising voices of the bickering couple. I stare at the lights through the metal bars on the observation deck. There must be thousands, maybe millions of lights. Each one represents a life. Someone’s cramming for a test, eating take-out, falling asleep—are they happy, are their dreams coming true? They could just as easily be insects, striving together like ants trying to fix a broken mound.
Dreams and struggle. Maybe life is both.
“What are you thinking?” Gideon leans with his back against the wall, facing me. His body is relaxed, ankles crossed. His cane leans against one leg. The wind stirs his golden hair, blowing a curl across his forehead. I resist the urge to brush it aside. I’ve had to resist a lot of urges with Gideon today.
I didn’t want to be here. Alone. With him. What sort of friend abandons her bestie when she’s ill? My resolve melted like cotton candy on a hot tongue, however, when Maggie warned she wouldn’t be well enough to attend the fashion show tomorrow if I didn’t shut up and let her sleep. Just like that, I’m thrown out on my rear. I swear it’s a conspiracy.
“Humanity.”
He chuckles. “No light reading for you, is there?”
I shrug. “Guess I don’t do small talk very well.”
The crooked smile appears. “I see. And what about all the humanity out there, Raven Weathersby?”
My gaze shifts from the scenic view to his face and back. Something about the way he stares at my mouth unnerves me. The moths are alive and well in my stomach. “The world is bigger than I imagined. Intellectually, I know there are billions of people on the earth, but to see proof of them is blowing my mind, more or less. I was wondering if they’re happy or unhappy or whatever.”
“Happiness is an illusion, Raven. No one is happy, at least not all the time. There has to be balance. Ambition, power, satisfaction, self-control, that’s what’s real. People have to be managed because most of the time, they don’t know what they want or how to get it. Me? I take what I want.”
I bet that’s his father talking. I think of the long line of family portraits hanging in his office. Portraits of ancestral judges—ending with one of his father. “That sounds exactly like what one of the criminals appearing before your relatives might have said.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s different.”
I’m starting to enjoy our conversation. I get the idea he’s not used to people disagreeing with him, speaking their mind. I’d love to rattle his cage for a change. When I think of rattling other things belonging to him I mentally punch myself. “Yeah, how? Who manages you?” A sudden
shout has me peering around Gideon’s formidable shoulder. I don’t mean to spy, but the couple we rode up on the elevator with is in a full-blown spat. I pull my ‘Yikes!’ face again.
“No one. I don’t need managing …” He follows my gaze to the pair behind us.
I feel the scowl coating my features. “Ah. Well, forgive the rest of us great and unwashed multitudes who need a Maddox to tell us what to do.” When he faces me again, his lips press to form a thin line. “No one wants to be managed, Gideon.”
“You think so?” Arrogance and a sort of dark humor oozes from every pore, he’s sexy and charismatic in the most obnoxious way possible. “Observe.”
“What?”
Gideon makes a slight bow, pivots, and heads straight for Doghouse Guy. I follow, more curious than anything, but I cringe when my companion interrupts the sparring couple. “Hey, man, I’m sorry to bother you, but I noticed that you were admiring my cane.”
What?
“What?” Doghouse Guy asks.
“My cane, I saw you eyeing it in the elevator and again just now.”
Girlfriend faces her date as if waiting for an explanation. “Peter?”
Peter’s mouth gapes before he answers. “Er … listen dude, I—”
Gideon holds the cane out, handle first, forcing his experiment on the unsuspecting man. “It’s okay, don’t be shy. It happens everywhere I go, and I love to brag on it.” He nods to the cane. “Check it out. I swear it gets me more attention than dating a beautiful woman.” Gideon pauses, looks with meaning into Peter’s face. “I saw you staring earlier as we rode up in the elevator together. Staring and staring …”
I may die of embarrassment, for Gideon and for me.
A dim light brightens over Peter’s head. “Right. Right! Your cane! It’s a beaut. I wasn’t trying to be obvious about all that gawking, but I guess I didn’t do too good of a job.”
“No brother, you didn’t.” He laughs. “My father had this commissioned for me by a man in Ireland. That walking stick is handcrafted. One of a kind.” Gideon points to the lion’s head. “There’s a dagger under the handle. I’d show you, but then the security guards would wrestle me to the ground and arrest me, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
The guys share a phony laugh.
They’re so obvious. Pissed Off Girl will never believe this. But as I glance at her, her shoulders relax. You’re not buying this. Please tell me you’re not buying this! Gideon and Peter banter another moment or two until a small smile emerges from Girlfriend.
No way!
“Okay, well it’s nice to meet you.” Gideon accepts the cane back from his new buddy. “I hope the two of you enjoy the rest of this beautiful evening.”
“No, listen, thank you so much.” There is a little too much emphasis on Peter’s ‘thank you’ and my stomach sours.
As we step away, Gideon leans into me and lowers his head. “I think my work here is finished.”
Gideon’s sultry voice in my ear gives me chills. I like it, which makes me mad, so I shrug him off. “That doesn’t prove a thing.”
His grin is smug. “It proves reasonable doubt, and I think the young lady would agree with me.”
“Why do you—” I follow the line from his jutting thumb over his shoulder. The arguing couple is now wrapped tighter than a croissant. Peter has his tongue down Pissed Off Girl’s throat, and she is anything but complaining.
“I’m Batman.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I saved their evening.”
“Maybe. But if he was ‘looking’, he’ll do it again, and she’ll dump him for disrespecting her.”
“And so she should, but my point is proved. People believe what they want to believe.”
I don’t disagree, but I’m not about to admit it. I’m committed to my side of the debate. As if to rev myself up, I toss a hand in the air. “Oh, come on, Gideon. Just because people make mistakes, doesn’t mean they want to be controlled. How would you like that? Have you never been dishonest in any of your business dealings?”
“No. The people I deal with are well aware of what they’re getting into.”
Damn. He has me on a technicality. I knew what I was giving up when I made my deal with him. And Ben is getting something from our bargain. “No one is all good, dude. We rebel. We are selfish. Have you never let a girl think you felt more for her than you really did just to get …?” The minute the words are out, I regret them. Heat swamps my cheeks. I cough and take a sip of my lukewarm coffee. His silence is answer enough, I guess, and my cheeks burn again.
Gideon’s shoulders straighten as he readjusts himself against the wall. He cocks his head as if considering.
When his focus on me doesn’t waver, I cave under the pressure. “Okay, you win.”
“My three favorite words.”
“But let it be known, I have lied and cheated and stolen to survive. I’m not proud of it, but I won’t be a hypocrite.”
His eyebrows crash down, and his eyes darken with a pained expression. “Don’t confess to me, Raven. I’m not your priest.”
“Good thing I don’t seek absolution from you then, isn’t it? We’re just two people having a discussion. You’re not my judge … unless you choose to judge me.”
He shakes his head. “The way you talk.” The anger in his tone is gone. If anything, I’d say he sounds surprised. “You have a queer perspective.”
“And you speak like a forty-year-old professor … or that guy who hosts the classic movie channel.”
“Be nice.” He smiles. “My speech is my father’s influence I suppose, that and too many boarding schools.”
Okay. “Well, did you mean my perspective’s odd or—”
“Different. Quick to see the good in people, quick to forgive. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”
I don’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know who I am, but I’m shocked at how accurate his guesses are. How observant he’s been in the short time we’ve known each other. I face the skyline again, marveling at the incredible sight. Pressure on my coat sleeve draws my attention. As Gideon stands next to me, I’m aware the chill running the length of my spine has nothing to do with the wind.
Leaning on his cane, he gazes out on the same scene I do, but I imagine we’ll never see it the same way. His heart is closed, maybe more than mine. I still believe in loyalty and friendship and love. Maybe not the romantic kind, but Gideon is alone in a way I’ve never been. As I study his face, something hammers at the hardness in my heart and I give a little. How different would I be if I’d grown up as he had?
“Raven?”
“Yes, Gideon.”
“I’ve never told a girl I loved her in order to sleep with her.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ve never said those words to anyone before. Ever.”
That’s not so good. What do I say? Anyone includes his parents, right? He’s never loved a pet, a great uncle enough to tell them, or did words of affection simply go unspoken in his family? ‘Anyone’ includes everyone. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Very.”
“Thank you. I think.” He grazes my shoulder with his arm producing another shiver. The warming effects of my coffee are long gone.
We’re quiet a while, then he says, “I never thought I’d meet anyone I’d care enough about to say those words to. Didn’t think I’d want to hear them back.” As though he remembers who he’s talking to, his scowl returns. The grooves in his skin so deep, I fear he’ll make them permanent. He grips the railing as he blasts the skyline with his glare.
“I understand,” I say. And I do, though why he’s telling me is anyone’s guess. I take it back. I know why. Because sometimes it’s easier confessing something to a stranger, someone who will pass out of your life and never tell a soul. There’s also the hope they might take a little of your pain with them. Like a sin-eate
r.
He doesn’t say so, but I’m curious, based on our conversation, if Gideon feels as superior as he claims. Does he have a guilty conscience? Most people do about one thing or another. If so, maybe I’m his scapegoat. It also explains why my blackmailer has been thoughtful at times. I’m making a lot of assumptions, but they ring true, regardless. “I get it, Gideon. More than you might guess.”
***
As I slip into my hotel room, I’m pleased to see Maggie awake and watching TV. She’s propped up against some pillows. Her color is less pea soup green which is decidedly better.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“How are you feeling?”
She shrugs. “My soup is staying down, so I’m thinking that’s a good sign.”
“You ordered room service?” To her right sits a silver tray supporting an empty bowl, some crackers, a glass of water, and a yellow rose in a crystal vase.
“Not exactly.” She leans over picking a folded note card from the bedside table and tosses it to me.
Dear Margaret,
I’m very sorry you are ill this evening. Your company will be missed.
Perhaps this will help. Feel better.
G. Maddox
Slowly, I lower my butt until it hits the mattress beneath me. “I’ll be darned.”
“Rae,” Mags shifts to her side. “I know this whole scenario with you pseudo-kidnapped and Ben in rehab is weird and all, but still. I think Gideon is …” She bites her lip.
“What?”
“Nice.”
Chapter Seventeen
The fashion show is a wild success. I don’t care what the critics think, or what the reviewers will say in tomorrow’s papers. Ashley Mackee’s designs are freaking genius and a great way to end a show that featured three new designers. Plus Ashley smiled at me. Okay, maybe she smiled at Gideon, but I’m pretending it was me.