The Bet

by Lily Zante

  “It’s a business expense, not a personal gift.”

  She looked up, “I know. I get it, but … uh—you didn’t need to.” He followed her into the living-room.

  “Shit,” said a girl who was lying on one of the sofas. Her leg rested on a huge velvet green ottoman that looked like it was big enough to seat two people. She sat up with her mouth open as soon as he walked in. “Xavier Stone?” she gasped. Now, that was the kind of response he was more accustomed to. He flashed a brilliant smile at her, and saw that she wore an ankle brace. To the side of the couch lay a pair of crutches. “Hi,” he said.

  “This is Cara, my roommate, this is Xavier.” Izzy made the introduction in a flat voice. He smiled at the roommate again. “What happened?”

  “Oh, this?” her friend replied, “It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s nothing.”

  “That’s not what you said when you were bawling your eyes out at the hospital,” retorted Izzy.

  “I wasn’t bawling!” her friend protested. “I wasn’t,” she said, turning to him, her voice softer, as she flashed him the kind of smile he was used to.

  “What’s that?”

  “A MacBook Pro,” Izzy told her.

  “You bought her a MacBook Pro?” Her friend made the kind of appreciative noises that he wished Izzy would make. “That costs almost as much as our rent.”

  “It makes sense, now that she’s working for me,” he explained, trying to be casual about it.

  “But I’m not a Mac girl,” said Izzy. She said it the way Gisele would have said she wasn’t a Prada girl. “I’m Windows all the way.”

  What the fuck was she complaining about now?

  “But we won’t have that spreadsheet problem you keep moaning about,” he replied, irked by her less-than-stellar reaction.

  “I’m not used to the Mac.”

  For fuck’s sake. What did it take to put a smile on this girl’s face? “You said you have problems opening my spreadsheets. This will fix it.”

  “But it’s a Mac.”

  “I know. I bought the damn thing.”

  “Shut up and stop whining, Iz.”

  “Don’t you like it?” he asked, her reaction grating on his nerves like fingernails on a blackboard.

  “Uh, yes. Of course I do. It’s a Mac, what’s not to like. It’s just that I’m not used to it.”

  “You’ll get used to it. You’re a smart girl, how hard can it be?

  “True,” she said, running her hand over the sleek shiny top. “After all, you used it. How hard can it be?” She scratched her head. “This is an expensive machine. Do you buy these for all your VAs?”

  “Most of them already have MacBook.”

  She looked surprised.

  “You don’t want it?”

  “I don’t need it. I mean, it’s an expensive solution. All you had to do was export your spreadsheets.”

  There she went again. “I don’t have time to do that, Laronde. Time is money and I’m a busy man.”

  “I bet you’re really busy,” gushed Cara. He let her have his signature smile, because he liked her, and she seemed to be on his side, and was a million times friendlier than Laronde. “I don’t think she likes it,” he said to her.

  “Well, on her behalf, I’d like to thank you,” Cara replied, returning the smile.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, enjoying the banter and aware that they were deliberately blocking Izzy from the conversation.

  “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” said Izzy. “Thank you for this. It’s just that it’s so … it’s so … expensive.”

  Her constant whining about the cost was making more sense now. He was reminded of the conversation with Savannah, when she had said something about Izzy wanting to do it alone, and the other jobs she had on the side. He had assumed that everyone who went to Columbia was rich, otherwise why go there? But even though he’d known she wasn’t rich, he hadn’t been aware of quite how much she worried about money. Maybe she was just trying to make it, do the best she could. He looked around the small dingy apartment, and in a neighborhood that didn’t scream ‘safe’, it confirmed his suspicions.

  “Like I said, it’s a business expense, and you’re free to use it until you no longer need it, but I’d be grateful of you did your charts and my work on that, and not your laptop.”

  “Of course. Thank you. No, really. Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to go and buy me a machine. You’ve surprised me.”

  He’d surprised her, huh? Well, that had to be a first.

  His work here was done, and thank fuck this was sorted.

  “What happened?” he asked again, pointing to her friend’s ankle brace for he was still none the wiser.

  Izzy replied, “We got trampled on at the Women’s march yesterday. You must have heard about it?”

  He thought it was something to do with a bunch of lesbians complaining about more rights. “Women’s march?” he asked, hesitating in case he said the wrong thing and they jumped down his throat.

  “That’s right.”

  He blinked. “And you went to it?”

  “Yes, we went to that.”

  “Oh-kaay.” He scratched his head, wondering why they’d gone. Who the hell went to marches and shit like that? “What was it for?”

  “Taking a stand,” replied Izzy, folding her arms.

  “It was good fun,” her friend added. “It had a party vibe to it.”

  He was curious now. “Taking a stand for what?”

  “You don’t know?” Izzy asked, looking at him as if he were a rat.

  “Not really.”

  “We were marching for basic human rights—you know, equal pay, and standing up for women who have been victims, of sexism, and sexual harassment, and for women being underpaid, and underrepresented. Where do you want me to start?”

  He cleared his throat. “I see.”

  “I could go on, but you get the idea.” Izzy’s face was hard, and she eyed him as if she was testing his reaction.

  Come to think of it, he had seen a few newspaper headlines, and trending news on social media. Stuff was starting to come out, about famous people, famous women, actresses and models who had made complaints about some pretty top level people. A whole heap of scandals had come out, something to do with men and their abuse of power, mostly in the entertainment industry.

  Gisele had said it was common, that everybody knew and nobody said anything. That if you wanted a role, you had to go along with it. There was a producer her friends had spoken of, it was common knowledge he was a pervert, but nobody said anything. It didn’t seem to be a big deal.

  He didn’t fully understand. There were always two sides to a story. “No wonder the roads were a nightmare yesterday.” It was all he could say for fear of saying something and getting his head bitten off.

  “Sorry that you were inconvenienced,” said Izzy, her tone icy. “You seem to be dismissive about the march. Do you have a problem with it?”

  “No,” he replied, slowly. He felt as if he was walking into a trap and worded his reply carefully. “I don’t have a problem with that. Why would I have a problem with that?” He slapped a hand around his nape. “Why would you think I’d have that opinion?”

  “Because of the way you asked.”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “I think it’s a good thing.”

  “Standing up for something you believe in, standing up for people who’ve been victims, yes,” she said, fire in her eyes. “It is a good thing.”

  “For sure,” he replied. He would agree with anything she said right now, knowing he was at a disadvantage, at her place, with her friend.

  “And wanting the basic things that you men have. You know, like knowing you won’t get touched up by a woman at work, just because she’s feeling horny and you happen to be around.”

  He had to fight so that his lips wouldn’t spread into a smile. The idea of a woman boss trying to get it on with him suddenly appealed.

  �
�It would make for a fairer world if women could experience the same sense of safety,” said Izzy, continuing on with her rant.

  “Absolutely. So how come you got trampled on?”

  “A woman got shot by her crazy ex-husband who was pissed she’d gone to march. She’d probably gone because she was married to a bastard like him.”

  Strong words. He doubted he’d ever heard Laronde speak like that before.

  “And there was panic and people ran, and I fell over and sprained my ankle but Izzy pulled me away. Except, the crowd was heaving so she didn’t escape unscathed.”

  “Whoa, that’s bad that it turned ugly.”

  “An angry man shot into the crowd and tried to kill his ex-wife. What do you expect?” Izzy blazed. There was a quiet anger behind her words.

  “I didn’t realize how many men had an inability to control their dicks. He obviously felt threatened that she was empowered enough to want to rise up and make a stand.”

  He felt outnumbered. “That’s true.” He opened his mouth, tried hard to think of something to say, something which would melt the anger that was so evident on Izzy’s face. “I think it’s a noble cause.”

  “It’s a necessity, in this day and age. It was about time too. Don’t you think it’s a sad state of affairs that so many of my friends have a story somewhere in their past, something to do with a misuse of power, something to do with a man being a pervert.”

  Her anger spilled out into her eyes, and there was something about the way she said it, the way she levelled her fury at him, that made him wonder what she was so mad about. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything to her.

  He swallowed. Maybe Laronde wasn’t the type of girl he ought to be messing around with. Already he sensed he was in way over his head. Did he need this extra headache when there was so much other shit to be dealing with? A new business to start, investment to procure.

  Did he need to work his ass off just to get a taste of her pussy when all he needed to do was walk into The Oasis any day of the week and get it, guaranteed?

  “It’s okay, Izzy.” Cara’s voice drifted over, reminding him that it wasn’t just him and Izzy in the room.

  “I’m explaining it to him,” said Izzy said, biting the words out slowly. “Because it seems as if Xavier doesn’t know, or isn’t aware of the protests, and why.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh, wondering how he had ended up being caught up in the crossfire of something that wasn’t his fault, but for which he seemed to be getting the blame for. “Not all men are dirty perverts, Laronde.”

  “I never said they were, Stone. Just like a lot of the stuff, it needn’t always be sexual, but most of the time it is.”

  “And sometimes, men get the blame for things they didn’t do,” he replied, testily. Jeez. He was starting to wonder if she wasn’t one of those man-hating chicks. The kind who’d slice his dick off after they’d had sex, just to spite him. That is, if he ever got around to doing the deed with Laronde. Things looked less hopeful each time he saw her.

  “And sometimes they should get the blame but they don’t.”

  “And sometimes, men get blamed all because of a witch hunt.”

  “You seem to speak with authority,” Izzy challenged. “Do you take a ‘no’ for a ‘no’, or does the line blur over for you?”

  “I’m not an asshole.” Her words offended him, as did the idea that she thought he was like those people who assaulted women.

  Was that how she saw him?

  Her friend coughed, making them both stop and look at her. “I’m dying here, do you mind?”

  Xavier laughed. “You look as if you need some sympathy.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sharp turn of Izzy’s head.

  “Her boyfriend’s coming over later,” Izzy said.

  “Yeah?” he replied, turning his head to face her. “And what about you?”

  “She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” her friend chirped. He didn’t miss the hard stare Izzy gave her friend.

  She nodded her head towards the MacBook which she’d placed on the coffee table. “Thanks for that.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  Chapter 23

  It was organized chaos, but even he had to admit—his office was a paper shitstorm. Tobias would have a heart attack if he ever saw it.

  The second meeting with Chad Hennessy had been promising, but the guy wanted more figures, and detailed projections of business growth. He wanted a business plan that went far deeper than the one Xavier had presented him with. The guy must have been a few years older than him, maybe around Tobias’s age, and seemed to have a better handle on the rules and regulations of doing business in overseas. Xavier needed him, more than that, he needed his investment.

  He set to work, trying to put a solid plan together but, with the way his office was—what with paper everywhere and things filed out of order—he was having a hard time getting the invoices and orders from the past. He needed to do it within the next day or two, because Chad wanted to see him again a few days after Thanksgiving.

  So when he set to work and then his buzzer sounded not long after, loud and angry like a bee, he ignored it at first. Hardly anyone came to his place unannounced. But when it sounded again, and kept on buzzing, he threw his pen down and pressed the intercom.

  “Yes?”

  He heard the sniffling first, before he heard her voice. And she sounded upset. “Xavier, it’s me,” she sounded upset. “Can we talk?”

  Gisele?

  He wiped his hand over his forehead. What did she want? He hadn’t had a word from her since before Tobias’s wedding, and she hadn’t returned the few calls he’d made after. And now she was here. “I’m kind of busy.”

  She sniffled some more. His muscles tightened, and he hated that she had come to him. Obviously, without a doubt, with 100% certainty, she needed something, but he didn’t have time to be there for her.

  “Please, Xavier.”

  He straightened up and blew out a breath wondering how to deal with her quickly. High drama was not what he needed right now.

  He pressed the button, giving her access to the communal door below, and waited. Quicker than he would have liked, she was at his door, banging on it, and he opened it quickly to find her standing there, her face red and splotchy.

  “Why are you crying?” She was wrapped up in a bright yellow faux fur coat that looked two sizes too big on her.

  “You won’t believe what they did,” she cried, and with drama befitting an actress of her caliber, she fell into him, dramatically, and clung to his chest. He had to pry her off him, slowly.

  “What did they do?”

  “They halted production on the film,” she sniffled. “I was supposed to start filming in two weeks’ time, but they’ve stopped everything until further notice.”

  It took him a moment to process what she was saying, primarily because he didn’t give a shit. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

  She looked at him with a teary face. “I didn’t know who else to go to.”

  What did she want? Comfort? A hug? A screw? “I’m in the middle of something.” He lifted his hands up in irritation. For a moment it seemed as if she was going to launch herself at him.

  “You usually cheer me up,” she sniffled.

  “We split up, remember? Before my brother got married?”

  “I’m sorry it happened like that. I’m sorry. I was excited about my casting.” She sunk her fingers into the fur collars of her coat. “You don’t understand. It’s a huge deal for me.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “Cheer me up! I want to talk to someone. I want to talk to you.” She moved towards him, rolling into his chest with that mammoth fur ball of a coat, and burrowed her face into his chest. His arms stayed limp by his sides.

  Two months of celibacy were about to be dropped to the side. He felt himself hardening, knowing how good she felt. Her mouth, her hands, her everything. His hands fisted, as he t
ried to forget that he hadn’t had a woman’s touch for weeks. He fought against the cells in his body which seemed ready to rejoice.

  “Xavier,” she murmured, squeezing her body against his tightly. He couldn’t hold back any longer, and his arms moved around her, sinking into the soft yellow fur. Her arms encircled his waist as she stared up at him with hopeful eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  It was tempting, feeling her warm, soft body against his, looking down into that pretty little face, full lips and those ridiculously long and very fake eye-lashes.

  She tip-toed up, as if to kiss him, but he was still weighing up what to do, torn in the inferno of his dilemma. She took the split-second of hesitation as a confirmation of his approval, and her hands moved to the elasticated waist of his lounge pants. He sighed, then exhaled even louder when her hand moved over the front, feeling, and stroking and gliding over the thick, stretchy fabric. Unlike jeans, his lounge pants were flimsy, and didn’t hide his tented front as well. She knew, of course she knew how excited he was.

  His breathing turned faster when her fingers slipped into his briefs and she reached for him.

  Her eager fingers on his naked skin drew every drop of blood south.

  Fuck.

  He shot to attention, felt the familiar stirring in his loins. Hungered for the kind of filthy, dirty sex he’d been dreaming off for months.

  A frustrated groan caught in his throat, and it took all of his might to reach down and pull her hand away. A loud, sorry gasp left his lips, a sigh of huge disappointment.

  “No,” he growled, low and hoarse.

  “Why not?” She reached for him again.

  “No.” This time more forceful. He seized her hand, preventing her from dipping further, and stepped away. What in the world was he doing? They could have had a few hours of the type of sex that left sweat-streaked bodies and a room smelling musty and stale. A good couple of hours of the best, mind-boggling, dirty, grown-up fun.

  And nobody would have known.

  Not Luke.

  Not Izzy.

  Hell, Izzy didn’t even know about the bet, let alone give a shit what he was doing with Gisele.

  “Xavier.” It was breathless, the way her voice sounded, his name rolling off her tongue. “What’s wrong with you?”