by Tara Wylde
Caitlin’s eyes meet mine and her steps falter. She swallows. “Um, I just need to get my coat and purse.”
“No problem.”
I watch the gentle sway of her backside as she walks away from me and lets herself into a room marked employees only.
A second later she reappears and shrugs into a bright orange puffer jacket. She tugs her hair free of the collar before reaching for the zipper.
“Will those be warm enough?” I give her feet, encased in a pair of cheap canvas sneakers, a pointed glance.
She looks down and wiggles her toes against the canvas. “Depends on how far away your car is.”
“It’s nice out. I thought we could walk.”
This gets her attention. “You? Walking?”
“What’s so shocking about that?”
She shakes her head and hooks the long handle of her cheap leather purse over her shoulder. “Nothing. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing billionaire playboys do. I thought they took fast cars, jets, and I don’t know, hoverboards, whenever they need transportation.”
I love these brief flashes of humor. One way or another I’m going to figure out a way to cut through this tension, to put this weird marriage and baby deal behind us so she can lighten up and relaxe enough to let the real Caitlin come out and play.
“One, I’m a billionaire, but not a playboy. These days I’m too busy and getting too old for that kind of nonsense.”
“Uh huh.” Caitlin raises a skeptical brow and moves toward the door. “If you say so.”
I hustle to beat her across the space and hold the door open for her. “Plus, my hoverboard happens to be in the shop at the moment. Until my mechanic finishes with it, I’m stuck using my own two feet.”
“Too bad,” Caitlin says as she walks past me out into the cold. Snow has started falling, large, lazy flakes that catch in her red hair. For some reason the sight of the delicate, gleaming flakes on the silken strands makes me think of fairy princesses. “I’ve been looking forward to riding on a hoverboard for a long time. I was sure this was going to be my chance.”
I stand back, giving her space as she locks up. As soon as she tucks her keys into her purse, I reach out, catching her bare hand with my gloved one, and pull her close to my side. Something about having her so near, savoring the soft clasp of her hand around mine, feels perfectly natural.
“Looks like the only way you’re going to get that chance is by going out with me again.”
8
Caitlin
We walk in silence, snow lazily falling all around us as half-frozen slush crunches beneath our shoes. To everyone we pass, I’m sure we look like a pair of perfectly normal lovers who decided to take a late evening stroll in the snow. They have no idea that it’s been about five years since any man has held my hand or paid any attention to me at all. They have no idea how torn I feel, caught between wanting to pretend this is real, and wanting to jerk away and make a hasty retreat to the sanctuary of my shop.
I should have pulled away the second he took my hand. At first I didn’t, because I was just so surprised by the gesture. After that … Having contact with another human being just feels nice.
Instead of turning right at the end of the road, heading to a stretch of town where several popular fast food restaurants are located, Jeremy turns left, leading me into a part of town that has several shops and a few apartment buildings, but as far as I know, nowhere to eat.
Before we’ve walked an entire block, Jeremy tugs me to a tall, square building that was built in the seventies.
I glance up at him. “There’s a restaurant in here?”
I know that the bottom floor is home to a thrift store I really like, an antiques store, and a cell phone store, and that the rest of the floors are used as apartments, kind of like a Vegas casino but with apartments instead of hotel rooms. I come here every few months to shop; the thrift store has become my go-to place when I need jeans, but I wasn’t aware of any place that served food. But maybe something was added since my last visit.
“There’s not.” Jeremy pulls the door open for me.
I look over my shoulder at him as I walk into the Spartan, but clean lobby. “Then why are we here?”
“I live here.”
That statement stops me in my tracks. “What?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy runs a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “I probably should have mentioned this sooner, but I wasn’t thinking. Do you mind if we eat here instead of going out somewhere?”
“I …” Unsure of what to say, I let my voice trail off. “You cook?” I finally manage to squeak.
Jeremy shrugs. “I’m nowhere near as good as most of the chefs in this city, but I’ve never been sick as a result of something I’ve cooked.”
“That’s a good sign, I guess.”
“So, are you okay with going to my place for dinner?”
The quick clutching sensation in my gut startles me almost as much as his words did when we were in the break room. Anxiety bubbles in my blood stream, making my heart pound. I shove the hand Jeremy isn’t holding into my pocket in a desperate attempt to hide the subtle tremors.
I try to cover my reaction by bending my lips into a teasing smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Is this your subtle way of trying to get out of being seen in public with me? I’m not that hideous, am I?”
I meant the words in jest, but Jeremy’s eyes widen. “Oh God, no. That’s not it at all.” For the first time since leaving my shop, he releases my hand. His eyes dart around the lobby as if searching for an escape route. “It’s just that I’ve spent my entire day in complicated business meetings and dealing with a variety of people. And for the five days before today, I was in Brazil, where I spent nearly every waking minute in meetings. The thought of staying in tonight was so appealing. But I don’t have to. I’m happy to take you to a nice restaurant.”
Without thinking, I place my hand on his chest. Even through his heavy wool coat, my touch catches his attention, redirecting his focus on me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, my voice sounding much calmer than I feel. “I was teasing. I don’t mind a night in.”
“Are you sure?”
No, not at all, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him that. It’s time to pull on my big girl pants and get over my past. “Yes. I’m not exactly dressed to go to a nice place. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation.”
Beneath my palm, I feel the tension drain out of his body. “Good point.”
Side by side and in complete silence, we wait for the elevator. A cheerful ding announces its arrival and the stainless-steel doors slide open.
I stare into the carpeted interior and swallow. Getting into the elevator means I’m committing myself to spending the evening with him.
Upstairs. In his place. Alone. With just him.
I rock back and forth in a desperate attempt to ease the worry twisting my gut and heart. This won’t be like the last time, I sternly tell myself. The situation is completely different from then. And I’m older now. Wiser. Able to take care of myself.
The carpet whispers against the rubber soles of my shoes as I follow Jeremy into the elevator. He shoots a sideways glance my way.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You look a little pale.”
Swallowing, I try to convince my face to fall into a relaxed, natural expression. Without a mirror, I have no idea how successful my efforts are.
“I’m fine, just a little hungry.”
“We’ll solve that problem.” Jeremy hits a button on the control board and the elevator springs into action. “I’ll start dinner as soon as we walk through the door. Okay?”
Desperate for something, anything, to distract me from my rising anxiety, I scramble for a topic of conversation.
“How come you live here? I thought billionaire playboys who run one of the most successful businesses in the country all have fancy penthouse apartments that overlook the entire city.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and props his shoulder against the elevator wall. “One, I’m not a playboy. Far from it. I told you that already.”
“Your big date with Ailisha – you know, one of those supermodels who’s so beautiful she only needs one name – was all over the papers last week.”
A self-satisfied smile lifts the corners of Jeremy’s mouth. “So, even before our first face-to-face meeting you were checking up on me.”
“Hardly,” I retort. “The information was splashed all over the papers, internet, and even the local news channels were discussing when the two of you were getting married and how many babies you’d have.”
Jeremy chuckles. “And they were way off base. Ailisha was in town doing some promotional work for a charity she and I are both involved with. I took her out to dinner as a way of thanking her.”
“Uh huh,” I mumble.
“The reason the media blew the whole thing out of proportion was because it’s the first time I’ve been out with a woman in ages. I can barely remember the last time I went out on a date for the sheer pleasure of dating.”
“Okay, so you’re not a playboy. Or at least you claim you’re not. That still doesn’t explain the lack of a penthouse apartment.”
“Technically, I do live on the top floor, which I have all to myself. No one else can even access it without my code. So it is a penthouse. This building just doesn’t happen to be very tall.” He smirks. “Can I salvage my reputation as someone with money to burn by telling you that I own this entire building?”
That statement gets my attention. “You do?”
“Yep. When we were twenty, Evan and I inherited some money from our maternal grandfather. It was the first time we had money that wasn’t controlled by our father. Evan bought a garage full of fancy cars. I bought this building and arranged to have the top floor converted into an apartment.”
“Why?”
The elevator stops moving. A split second later the doors glide open, revealing a small landing.
“It was for sale, I had the money, and it’s just a few blocks from the university I was attending at the time.” Jeremy steps out of the elevator. I follow close behind. “Plus, I guess if I’m being completely honest, I thought it would impress my dad.”
“Did it?”
He shrugs. “It’s hard to say. He was so pissed off about my choice in both colleges and field of study that I don’t think anything would have made him happy. Still, I was just looking at the accounts and realized that I got a return on my investment after just eight years, and since I don’t pay myself rent, it was probably even sooner.”
He unlocks the door and pushes it open before stepping back. He gestures to the space behind it. “Be my guest.”
Heart pounding and palms sweating, I step across the threshold, a little surprised my knees don’t give out.
I look around the room. Here, for the first time, my expectations of how I expect billionaires to live is fulfilled. The place is huge and has been set up loft style, with as few walls as possible. The interior is all earth tones with an occasional splash of color. Expensive art that I’m guessing is more about prestige than actual appeal hangs from the walls.
The place looks divine, but I don’t see any of the personal touches that would show some insight into Jeremy’s personality.
“Nice place,” I mutter as Jeremy closes the door behind me.
“Think so?” He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it onto a nearby chair. “I had a professional decorator come in last year, told them to do whatever they wanted with the place, and this was the result. I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”
Jeremy turns back to me. “May I take your coat?”
I undo the zipper and slide the coat off my arms. Jeremy takes it and hangs it on a hook beside the door, treating my cheap, found-in-a-thrift store clothing with more respect than his fancy coat that probably cost more than the monthly mortgage payment on my shop.
“And how are your feet?”
I look down and grimace. Not only did the slush soak through the thin canvas, but my socks are also wet. And now that I’m thinking about them, they’re cold.
“A little damp, but not a big deal. They’ll dry soon.” I hope.
Jeremy snorts. “Of course they’re wet. Who wears such stupid shoes in the middle of winter in Denver?”
My temper sparks. I hate it when people question my choices, even when they’re right and I was wrong. “I’m fine.”
Jeremy either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to. “Sit down and take your socks and shoes off. I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, he stalks off.
My stubborn streak tries to insist I stay standing, and keep my feet fully dressed, but since they’re growing colder and more uncomfortable by the second, common sense wins out and I sit down and remove my socks and shoes. I’m careful not to drip any of the mucky water on the carpet or sofa. I definitely couldn’t afford the cleaning bill.
I prop my right foot on my left knee and massage the cold skin, grimacing as my efforts trigger a painful prickling sensation. Guess I’m colder than I thought.
“Hey, Caitlin,” Jeremy calls out. “Do you have any allergies?”
Strange question, but maybe he’s thinking about dinner and doesn’t want to feed me something that’s going to have me breaking out in hives. “No.”
“Good.”
A full minute later Jeremy reappears. He changed out of his business suit and into a pair of worn jeans and a plain green sweatshirt. In one hand, he’s holding a pair of red and blue ski socks. He hands them to me.
“Here. They’ll be too big, but they’re nice and warm.”
“Thank you.” I slide my toes into the first one and slowly tug the sock up and over my calf, nearly weeping at the feel of soft, warm material sliding over my frozen skin. Who could have guessed that simply putting on a pair of socks could feel so good?
I repeat the process with the second sock before nodding at the pile of fur Jeremy’s holding against his left hip. “Who’s this?”
As if it knows I’m talking about it, the large, long-haired, grey and orange cat flicks its tail and fixes its huge yellow eyes on me.
“This is Sasha. She moved in here about three years ago.”
“Hello, Sasha.” I reach out and scratch the cat behind a tattered ear. Scars and bald spots cover her face. “What happened to her?”
“Some asshole threw acid all over her.”
I suck in a breath. “How horrible.”
“It left her scarred, but she doesn’t seem to resent anyone.”
Jeremy bends and sets the cat on the ground. Holding her tail high, she walks away. Her proud strut reminds me of ancient Egyptian queens.
“C’mon.” Jeremy reaches down, grabs my hand, and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get dinner started.”
“I would have pegged you as a dog person,” I tell Jeremy as I follow him into the kitchen.
“Mmm.” Jeremy tugs a large bottle of wine from an under-the-counter wine cooler. “I’ve had a few of those. My last one, a dachshund named Draco, passed away about four months ago.” He holds up the bottle, but I see a hint of sadness at the memory on his face – sadness which he tries to hide. I wish he wouldn’t. “Red okay with you?”
“It’s perfect.” Anything to take the edge off my nerves. “How did you end up with a scarred-up kitty?”
“Let me guess. Sasha doesn’t fit your image of the kind of pet a billionaire owns?” Jeremy pulls two wine glasses out of a cupboard and uncorks the bottle.
“Not really.”
“I spend a few hours each week volunteering at a local shelter, the one that eventually got Sasha. It didn’t take long to see that because of her scars, she wasn’t very adoptable even though she’s a sweetheart, so I took her in.” He passes a glass to me before opening the refrigerator. “What about you? Any pets?”
“No. I had a cat and a dog growing up, but since leaving home, I haven�
��t had the time or money for one. I miss them.”
Jeremy holds up a packet of filet mignon. “Steak okay with you?”
Just the sight of the meat makes my stomach rumble. I can’t remember the last time I had steak. I pick up my glass and sip the brilliant red liquid. My eyes meet his. “It’s perfect.”
9
Caitlin
The wine was a mistake.
It didn’t take any time at all for those first couple of sips to hit my bloodstream, making me both jittery and relaxed at the same time. If I was smart, I would stop drinking it, at least until I have some solid food in my stomach.
This knowledge doesn’t stop my hand from wrapping itself around the heavy bottle’s long, slender neck and pouring myself a second glass.
The microwave dings and Jeremy pops the door open, removing the two enormous potatoes he nuked for our dinner. Watching him place one on each of the plates causes something in me to warm and shift.
“I’ve never had a guy offer to make me dinner before,” I tell him as he uses a pair of tongs to toss the salad he threw together. “Nope, that’s not true. My dad used to make me macaroni and cheese whenever I got sick.”
Jeremy tongs some of the salad into two small bowls. “I wouldn’t get too excited. I’m not a great cook.”
“You seem to be doing just fine.” I sip my wine and swear I feel my bones starting to dissolve. “Why did you learn to cook? Or is it something all rich guys know how to do?”
“Since neither my father nor my brother can so much as boil water, that would be a no.” Jeremy opens up the small countertop grill and removes both steaks, adding them to our dinner plates. “I learned out of a desperate attempt to get some privacy. Being able to feed myself means I don’t have to eat out all the time. I can come home to my kitchen and enjoy some peace and quiet.”
He slides one of the plates in front of me and sits on the chair across from me.
The flavor of the tender meat on my tongue nearly makes me groan. Steak never tasted so good.