by Natasha Boyd
Armand is outside Indigo Café, clearing cups and saucers off the two bistro tables he's set up outside.
"Morning," I call, out of breath.
He straightens and smiles as he sees me. "Come have breakfast."
"I will. I'm starving. Just let me get showered. Ten minutes."
After my shower I realize Emmy still hasn't texted me back, and I feel another twinge of concern.
Armand is slammed with customers when I return, but he's reserved me a spot in the corner. He points to it, and I nod gratefully. "Same as before," I mouth, hoping he remembers what I had so it saves him the time of coming over to take my order.
I scroll through my emails on my laptop, seeing the two I sent Emmy and hoping she answered them. Then I call Mac.
"Hey old man," I greet him.
"Trystan. How did it go? You disappeared on me. Are you back?"
"Nope. But I'll probably fly back tomorrow." Then I fill him in on the will. It feels good to talk about it again, and I realize I should be talking more with Mac generally. He's been a good business-mentor-turned-friend since I did my first deal with him.
"So you're going to run the operation from New York?" he asks.
"I'm going to try. At least for now."
"I heard Charleston's a neat city. It's not New York of course, but there could be worse places."
"Ha. Nah, I'm used to New York," I say. But even as the words come out of my mouth I think of Emmy. Although, since we've never actually spent any time together, there's no reason why we can't continue to be “phone friends” when I get back up north. I experience an uncomfortable sensation as I think it, but mentally I move on. We chat about the logistics for closing next week and then say goodbye as Armand brings my breakfast.
"Do you have a break soon?" I ask him. "It's busy."
"Busy, but I love it." He grins. "Maybe come by later."
"I'll see. I have a few meetings."
"Everything okay at Emmy's casa?"
"Perfect," I tell him, though my smile feels tight. Emmy still hasn't texted me.
Beau calls me then, and Armand nods and goes back to work.
"Hey, Trystan?"
"Beau. Hi, how you?"
"Good. So I'm going to tag along today. And I've been tasked with asking you if you'll attend a family dinner at the town house."
I swallow. "Seriously?"
"Yep."
"I'd have thought Isabel had heard enough from me. I don't want you and Suzy trying to patch things up between Grandmother and me."
"Actually, the invite came from her. She called and asked me if I'd please invite you."
I run a finger under the collar of my shirt. I want to say no, but suddenly, I think of Emmy and her hanging onto David with everything she has. She'd go, if it was her. It can't hurt to humor Isabel before I go back to New York. "So you and Suzy will be there? Your dad too?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'll come. What should I bring?"
"Just yourself. But wear a jacket. She's formal. A bottle of wine wouldn't hurt either."
"I'll need it." I laugh and we say our goodbyes.
I'm consumed by the need to tell Emmy I took her advice. Not that she's been explicit about it. But I got the sense she thought I should at least give my family a chance.
As I dial my number again, I experience a wave of awkwardness. If she hasn't texted, she's either asleep or doesn't want to talk to me because she's having an attack of the morning-afters. I feel certain it's the latter. The phone rings and then goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial the hotel.
"Hi, it's Trystan Montgomery. Can you put me through to my room, please, I have a guest staying there."
The call is patched through, but there's no answer. She said she used to visit David in the Village, she's probably gone for a walk in the neighborhood. But even as I think it, I doubt that's the case.
I open another text message, but I'm clueless what to say. Everything is starting to feel weird and cold in the daylight. I think over all the things that came out of my mouth last night and realize they are starting to feel lascivious and disgusting. My breakfast doesn't feel too settled either. Everything feels wrong.
* * *
Emmy, can we talk, please? Call me.
25
Emmy
I forgot to close the black-out blinds, I realized as I blinked bleary-eyed against the shaft of light coming in the room. My mouth was dry like I had a cotton ball for a tongue, and my head was pounding—a long slow thudding. I might have drunk that whole bottle of Sancerre last night. Though my body was hurting, it also felt lethargic, relaxed, satisfied. I stretched on a long moan and then froze.
Everything came rushing back to me. Trystan's voice. Oh, God. His sexy commands. I could hear them blasting through my brain right now. Instant, aching arousal swirled through me at the same time I was slammed by acute embarrassment. Oh God. What had I done?
Maybe it was just a dream.
A very, very, sexy, incredible dream with no consequences. At least no physical consequences.
I shifted in the bed and realized I was very, very naked below the waist, my sleep shorts balled up against my thigh. Dragging them out from under the covers, I stared at the pineapple design like it somehow was to blame. Not a dream then. I chucked them away from me.
Just as I slid my gaze over to the phone, it buzzed. As if it might bite, I slowly and carefully picked it up.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Morning, beautiful. P.S. Stop overthinking it.
* * *
"Aaargh!" I said aloud to the room. What the hell was I supposed to say to him today?
What did last night mean? We lived in different cities for God's sake. What was this?
I kept hearing myself in my head along with his words. I let him hear everything, and in the cold light of day it made me feel vulnerable and so embarrassed. Mortified.
Should I quickly nip this in the bud with my pride intact? Maybe say: sorry, I had a bit too much wine, I don't know what came over me?
The phone buzzed again.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Call me when you wake up.
* * *
I laid the phone on the side table. The worst part was I remembered I was the one who started it. He was getting freaked out about my resident ghost, and I figured I'd tease and distract him. Little had I realized how successful that tactic would be.
I didn't think I had the courage to talk to him right now. God, I hardly knew him. How did I manage to have phone sex with someone I'd never met? What should I text back?
Spread your legs, Emmy. Wider. His voice was in my head, and I was aching again. I don't think, in my whole life, anything had ever turned me on as much as Trystan had last night.
I let out a shaky breath and got up on weak legs, took another shower, and blow-dried my hair. After I checked in at work, I would call the airline. In my panic over David's disappearance I hadn't tried to change my ticket, I'd had to cancel it, not knowing when David might be found. And the chances of getting on a last minute flight on a Friday were slim to say the least. I looked around. There'd be worse places to stay another night, but I'd rather not blow all the money Trystan had sent me for my place. I could put it toward David's move.
Feeling braver, I finally picked up Trystan's phone. There was a missed call from him and two more text messages. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. I should text him back and stop being a coward. But then I saw the words. Something about my boss. Shit.
I opened his email and found the email he'd forwarded from my email to his. It was a curt email from my boss about time off and our pitch today. My stomach sank. Honestly, I'd already prepared everything for it before I left, he was being dramatic. Not that I was saying I was expendable, but surely this one time they could manage without me?
I sat at the desk and picked up the room phone.
"Miss Dubois," a voice intoned from the handset. I jumped. I'd forgotten about the beck and call
thing they had going here. "Good morning," the voice went on. "May I order you some breakfast?"
"Oh, uh." I hesitated. I'd thought about walking to find some coffee. "Actually I just wanted to make a phone call."
"Yes, ma'am. Connecting you to an outside line now. Go ahead."
A dial tone came over the line, and I punched in the office number for my boss. At least that was a number I knew by heart. Which said a lot about my work-life imbalance.
"This is Steven," my boss answered.
"Steven, it's Emmy."
"Emmaline, you better be on the way in to work, but I'm guessing by the two one two area code you are still in New York."
"I am. Sorry. I hope you got my message yesterday about what happened."
"I did. But Emmaline, this pitch is important. I assumed you would be on the next flight back here."
"I'm sorry. No. But the pitch deck is ready, it's saved—"
"Not good enough, Emmaline. I'm not sure you really value your job here. We were counting on you to bring this in. I was counting on you. I didn't want to have to make this public," he dropped his voice, "but if we don't hit our quarterly revenue projections, I'm afraid there'll have to be some downsizing. I'm sure you don't want to be responsible for people losing their jobs."
My stomach fell further. The reality was I wouldn't put him past laying people off just to make his point. And I was especially curious about how much he took out of the company to pay for his lifestyle and his flashy deep-sea fishing boat, The Lucky Hooker.
"Of course not, Steven. This was unavoidable. And there's no way I can meet the noon deadline even if I got on the next flight."
"You'll call in then."
"I can't." I strengthened my resolve and swallowed. "I'll be with David. I need to make sure he's okay today after yesterday."
"Emmaline, I expect you to participate in this pitch."
I blew out a frustrated breath, not wanting to say a hard No again. "I'll try."
"Good. It will have to do. Just know I'm extremely disappointed in your work ethic. I'll text you the call in number."
"O—"
The line went dead. "'Kay," I finished lamely.
"Ugh," I complained to the empty hotel room. "Steven is so annoying!"
God, I really needed coffee. I'd started my morning embarrassed, now I was pissed off too. This was definitely not a situation to be in without several shots of espresso.
I threw yesterday’s clothes in my bag. Retracing my steps around the room to make sure I didn't forget anything, I opened the wardrobe even though I hadn't used it and froze.
A couple of men's suits and three shirts hung there. My gaze tracked to the narrow set of shelves where I saw underwear, socks, and a blue tie laid out neatly. Next to the tie was a toiletries bag with the initials T.M monogrammed on the side.
What the hell?
Wait. I knew Trystan was a part-owner. He said he could get a room, but this must be his room.
I frowned.
But why did he have a permanent room at a hotel in the city where he lived? His apartment wasn't that far away.
Unless . . .
Oh my God.
Acid from my empty stomach threatened to crawl up my throat.
This . . . this was where he had all his hookups so he never had to take anyone home for the night.
I stepped backward, my calves colliding with the bed, and sank onto the edge. Did we basically hook up? Was I one of his hookups?
Shame and humiliation tore up and down inside me, free-wheeling with all my insecurities until my stomach was aching and in shreds.
I'd been touching myself while he listened, from this very same bed where he'd heard countless other women screaming his name. God, he must have been laughing at how easily I came apart for him. For a stranger.
So ironic that it would be in his hookup hotel.
I suddenly felt dirty and . . . stupid.
I was so, so stupid.
My nose burned as I fought tears. God, what a morning.
I took a deep breath, trying to think clearly. It wasn't like he'd forced me. I was angry at myself more than I was at him.
But he wasn't getting any more from me, certainly not tears. And I was not staying another night here in this high-end bordello like a concubine. Ugh.
I stood and took five deep, long breaths. Then I walked calmly to where I'd laid my purse. I picked it up, grabbed the handle of my wheelie bag, and headed toward the door.
Trystan's phone was buzzing again on the desk, but I left it there and opened the door of the room.
Two seconds later I returned to the desk and picked up the damned phone.
Because of David.
Obviously.
* * *
"What do you mean, there's no bill?" I whisper shouted at the poor frightened girl at the front desk.
I was trying not to make a scene, but failing miserably.
"Th-there just isn't. It's Mr. Montgomery's room, and it's already paid for." She lifted her shoulders helplessly. "It's just his. There's no billing attached."
"But—but what about the food? My dinner? And the wine?"
"Same?" She winced.
"Asshole!" I exploded and immediately regretted it. "Sorry. It's not your fault. I just, I never would have stayed if I'd known."
"Why not?" she asked in confusion. A phone rang incessantly in the back office.
"Ugh, never mind. Can you call me a cab?"
"Mr. Montgomery has a car—"
"No, just no. Please. For the love and dignity of all pussies everywhere, please just call me a cab."
The girl sucked her lips between her teeth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold in a laugh.
"I was talking about cats."
"Sure," she said and picked up the phone receiver in front of her. "Let me ask the doorman outside to hail you a cab."
A man's head popped out of the office behind the front desk, eyes scanning the reception area. His gaze landed on me. "You Emmy?"
Oh, hell no.
"Mr. Montgomery would like a word."
"I just bet he would. Tell him . . ." I sighed. Defeated. I had no fight left. "Just tell him . . . no."
"No? That's it?"
"Yes. Just tell him no."
The man shrugged and slunk back inside the office. The girl at the front desk was smirking. "Your cab is waiting."
"Thank you. Sorry about my outburst." I gathered up my stuff.
"It's fine," she said. "And I'm not sure if this helps or makes matters worse, but he, uh, Mr. Montgomery, only uses his room himself. He, uh, gets another one if he has, um, company . . ." she trailed off in obvious discomfort and scratched her nose.
"So that he doesn't have to actually spend the whole night with someone," I finished her sentence. "You're right, I don't know if that makes it better or worse." I walked away then stopped. "But thank you," I told her and headed out to my waiting cab.
26
Emmy
Sitting in the back of the cab, my lack of caffeine and late night with Trystan knocked me out.
"Lady," the cab driver yelled.
I snorted as I came to and wiped my mouth.
"We’re here."
I blinked, feeling like I'd woken from an eighty-year slumber. "Thanks. Sorry." After paying, I stumbled from the cab, making sure I had everything. Phone!
"Hey," I yelled as the cab driver pulled away. I abandoned my bag and went yelling out into the street after him. Luckily, there were no other cars coming that direction. The cab squealed to a stop.
"Lady!" the driver yelled out the window, his hand gesticulating a series of symbols I was sure were an A-Z of curse words in Urdu sign language.
"Sorry." I pulled open the back door, and of course there sat Trystan's phone. I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," I said as the driver tutted and shook his head. I picked the phone up and closed the door, having to leap back as the car sped away. I almost lost my toes.
* * *
>
Suit Monkey: Are you actually alive? Can you at least tell me that?
* * *
Barely, I answered mentally. I exhaled hard. I had to talk to him. I knew it. And now my boss had made it necessary.
* * *
Yes.
* * *
What a cop-out. He'd know something was wrong, and I didn't want to act like a weirdo.
* * *
I'm good. Sorry just had a busy morning.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Sure.
* * *
He wasn't buying it one bit. And it sounded like my avoidance might've started pissing him off.
I cringed that the only reason I was communicating was because I needed something from him.
* * *
Any chance I got another text or email from my boss with a call-in number?
* * *
There was no immediate response. I negotiated my bag into the building and signed in. "Is D'Andre working today?" I asked the new lady at the sign-in desk.
"Nah. He's off Fridays," she responded.
I thanked her and trekked to Penny's office to let her know I was here. She was on the phone, but she waved at me, and I went to find David.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Email forwarded.
* * *
Thank you. TTYL
* * *
Suit Monkey: Sorry. I'm in my 30s. TTYL?