The Bet

by Lily Zante

  Maybe it was a question of her having to read between the lines.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “How was your day?”

  The evening was over too soon, and before she knew it, they were driving back. But, instead of taking her back to his place, as she had been looking forward to, Xavier announced that he had a day of meetings planned, and that he needed to get an early night.

  They were parked outside her apartment by 11.

  So much for wearing the new crotchless panties she'd been hoping to surprise him with.

  “Is that all you wanted to talk about, the weekend at the Hamptons?” she asked, because she had this odd feeling it couldn’t have only been that.

  “Yes, and no.”

  Yes and no? Now they were getting somewhere.

  “Ever feel like a fake?” he asked, turning to face her. This time he had parked under a street light, and they could better make out one another's faces.

  “No, never. Why? Do you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked, taking his hand.

  “It’s always so freaky, the way you can read my mind.”

  “Something you feel uncomfortable about?” she ventured a guess.

  “Yeah.”

  “Something you need to get off your chest?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why can't you just come out and say it? We're close enough now that I could tell you anything, and I'd hope you would feel the same way.”

  “I feel I can tell you anything,” he said, clearing his throat.

  She sat, stroking the palm of his hand, resting the back of it on her thigh, waiting for him to tell her.

  “Is it Tobias?” she asked, when he still hadn't said anything.

  “Huh?” He seemed distracted. “That's part of it.”

  “Are you still worried about the Hennessy contract?”

  “I wouldn't say I was worried. I'm still thinking about it.”

  He had a lot on his mind, she understood. After all, she was always preoccupied with her studies, and the other little jobs. He had the weight of his businesses, the disagreement with Tobias, and the new contract to juggle. She especially sensed that the friction between him and his brother might be a big part of it.

  She pressed down on his palm. “Family and work can be the worst combinations,” she said, trying to second guess him.

  “Have you thought any more about when you could go away? I mean, if you still want to come to The Hamptons.”

  “Maybe around the end of February,” she replied. She’d go sooner, if she could, but college was full on.

  “End of Feb,” he said.

  “It will be here sooner than we know it,” she told him. For some reason, he wouldn’t let her touch him and it was making her even crazier for him.

  Maybe she needed to let him know the thing he had once been curious about. She sat back, and contemplated telling him. He’d dropped so many hints along the way, and she never gave up the name, but if they were starting something new, she wanted to get the dirt off her chest.

  “That guy, the one I worked for in the summer. The creep…”

  He sat up, even under the faint light of the streetlamps she could tell his face was somber.

  “I want to tell you, because I don't want it to be a thing between us, getting in the way.”

  “Go on,”

  And then she told him how it started, how that first time she’d caught her former employer staring down the front of her blouse while she had been on her hands and knees picking up pasta shapes from the floor.

  “But I wasn’t sure,” she said, at the end.

  “You weren’t sure?”

  “It’s hard to explain. It’s like I didn’t want it to be true. I thought maybe I was imagining it. So I tried to push the thought away.”

  “Even though he’d been staring down your blouse?” Something in his tone told her he was already pissed.

  “Yes. Like I said, you don’t want it to be true, so you give the guy the benefit of the doubt. But then it happened again, a few weeks later.” And she told him about that second occasion when her employer’s wife was away and the children were playing in their play room, and she was tidying up, and he walked by, having looked like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He had been toweling himself dry and was completely naked, his belly hanging out like an enlarged balloon.

  “Son of a bitch,” hissed Xavier. “What did he say?”

  “He said, 'Ah, Isabel, I didn't see you there,' and he stood there, facing me, showing me everything.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I turned around, looked the other way and I told him to leave.”

  It hadn’t registered until much later that it was late afternoon, and the master bedroom was at the opposite end of the apartment. He had apologized, saying something about the heat being too much, but his sudden shocking nude appearance had been like a punch to her gut. She couldn't breathe, or think, or do anything until long after he had left. She'd rushed to the door, and a jammed herself against it, only coming out when the children shouted out for her.

  “He had a hard-on,” she said, the memory filling her mind with disgust.

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “It took me a few days to tell Cara.”

  “And that was when you left?”

  “No. Not then.” Telling him, hearing herself explain, it sounded ludicrous that she had stayed on, even then.

  “I left a few weeks later. We came back from the park and the children had been playing in the sand pit, so their clothes were sprinkled with sand. I showered them, and took their dirty clothes to the laundry room and again, it was at a time when Cassia, his wife, was away. And ...” She paused, uneasy with having to dredge up that memory again.

  “And what?”

  “And I was putting the clothes into the machine, so I didn't hear him walk in. But he came up behind me and grabbed my breast, and pressed himself into me.”

  “The fucker.”

  “And I froze, because... because you just do, I suppose. You can't believe this is happening, and I froze for a few seconds. And then his hand reached down and grabbed me between my legs. And then I told him to fuck off, but he didn't. He had me pinned against the washing machine in front and him behind. I kind of poked him in the ribs with my elbow, and he moved away. I turned around, but he came for me again, reaching out to touch me. And I lost it. I fought back. Kneed him in his balls, the moment his hand reached for my chest. He was a strong man, 6 ft. something, and he towered over me, and I was afraid that in that laundry room he could have done anything, and I might not have been able to defend myself. So I kicked him hard, and rushed out. I grabbed my bag, and I ran out of the house, feeling guilty that I hadn't even been able to say bye to the children.”

  “The fucking scumbag,” he raged. Then, leaning forward and cupping her face, he said, “Hey,” and thumbed her chin. “He did all that to you, and you’re worried you didn’t say goodbye to his kids?”

  “They’re just kids. They don’t know why I left. They just know I left without a word.”

  “They don’t know what their fucking father did.”

  Xavier pressed his forehead against hers, holding her wrist in the palm of his hand. “I wish I could do something to make it better,” he said, his words caressing her soul, the way his fingers caressed her wrist.

  “I am over that. I’ve moved on, and now you know.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “You might know him, I think.”

  “I might know him?”

  Was she imagining it? His jaw clenched, and a tiny muscle along the side of it twitched again. “He knows someone who was at Tobias’s wedding.”

  “The fucker was at the wedding?”

  “Not him,” she said. Xavier wasn’t listening. “A friend of his.”

  “Who?”

  She exhaled slowly. “That day when Jacob and I were goin
g to the waterfall, and I dragged you along. That guy I was talking to, someone Rothschild, I think.”

  “Oliver Rothschild?” he growled.

  “He’s a friend of the creep’s, and he recognized me at the wedding, and he thought I still worked for them.”

  “Who’s the creep, Izzy?”

  The way he said it made her think twice about telling him. “You’re not going to do anything silly, are you? Because that’s not why I’m telling you.”

  “I’m not going to do anything.”

  “Gideon Shoemoney.” The words fell out. “I don’t know if you actually know h—”

  “Gideon Fucking Shoemoney?”

  Her heart missed a beat. Shit. Xavier did know him.

  “Jeez.” His voice tensed, and he rubbed his forehead.

  “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “He’s no fucking friend of mine.”

  “Why are you so angry then?”

  He leaned forward and cupped her cheek then. “Because I hate what he did you.” He seemed miles away. “Rothschild and Shoemoney belong to the same mastermind group that Tobias belongs to. I’ve been a few times.”

  “Mastermind group?”

  “Don’t ask. Those assholes all mix in the same circles.”

  “They can’t all be assholes.”

  But Xavier didn’t seem to have heard her. “I hate that he did that to you. And I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

  “I’m sorry on behalf of all those assholes who think this stuff is okay. I’m not one of those assholes.”

  She wondered why he’d needed to make that point. “I know, Xavier. I know you’re not.”

  “But you did think I was, at the beginning, didn’t you?”

  She had to think back, because the guy she had first met was so different to the guy who now sat in the car with her and whose kisses made her toes curl. She’d had him down for being a player, a womanizing jerk who thought women were nothing but sexual objects to be used and abused.

  How wrong she had been.

  They sat in the car, holding hands, saying nothing. Just like last time, when she had told him about her dad, telling him about Shoemoney had lifted a weight. She felt lighter, almost freer.

  “Want me to come in with you?” he asked.

  She sighed. “You have a meeting tomorrow, remember.” And somehow, talking about that incident had made her turn somber.

  “Don’t worry about the meeting. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got you,” she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “And I need to sleep, and you do, too.”

  “You’re right,” he said, tracing along her cheek with his finger.

  “Goodnight.”

  Chapter 43

  He’d wanted to kill him. Gideon Fucking Shoemoney. One of Wall Street’s finest. He and his wife were the wealthy A-list power couple at all the New York society galas.

  He couldn’t sleep after what Izzy had told him. Not just because of what she had suffered, but because he was now more conflicted than ever.

  The weight of needing to confess was like a detonator around his neck.

  With Valentine’s Day just over a week away, the pressure was on. Izzy didn’t want to make a big deal of it. She told him she didn‘t want any fancy dinners, or fancy clubs. She had an accounting test and two case studies to get through in the next few weeks. Valentine’s Day wasn’t her focus.

  And that was fine with him. Except that, as he got to know her better, he knew that she valued honesty and trust, over an expensive box of chocolates. He needed to tell her, so that they could start from a clean slate, but fear of how she would react, kept him silent.

  He wrestled between telling her, and keeping silent. Izzy would never find out, Luke would never tell her, and their stupid secret would be safe forever, but he didn’t feel right keeping this from her. Not after everything she had already confided in him.

  It had to be tonight, he decided, walking her back to her apartment. They’d gone out to dinner again, only this time she’d suggested one of her favorite student haunts, a noisy bar downtown. A night of cheap pizza and watered down fizzy drinks. The place was rammed with people, some of whom she knew. But it wasn’t conducive to talking, and once again, he’d backed out of his confession.

  And now that they were back at her apartment, his intention was to see her in, and tell her something.

  But they were already kissing by the time they’d walked in and closed the door. God, no. Kissing her, touching her, being with her drove him to the edge of distraction. She shrugged out of her coat, and with her hands around his neck, and her breasts hard against his chest, started to lead him towards the bedroom.

  He resisted the movement. “No.”

  Surprise filled her eyes as she looked up at him. Hell, no. His defenses were crumbling.

  “No?” She bit his lower lip, then sucked it slowly.

  He felt himself stiffen. It seemed to be something that happened on contact with this girl. It happened all the time, and it was going to do serious damage to his manhood, him having to jerk off as often as he did.

  “Why no?” she asked, provocatively.

  He pushed her back, steering her away from the couch, steering her someplace else that might be safe, places they hadn't already made out on.

  “I want to talk.”

  She laughed, throwing her head back, forcing him to stare at her neck and try to resist planting his lips there.

  “We've just been talking,” she said, lowering her head and looking at him again. His heart was full of so much want for this girl, so much desire, and that, coupled with the feeling of wanting to protect her, make things be good for her, pushed him into an unfamiliar place.

  He’d rushed into relationships, some just random dirty encounters with girls he’d barely known for more than a few days. This was new; strolling, not rushing, discovering, not fucking. His need for her was no longer driven by pure lust, but by the desire to know her heart and soul.

  She fell back onto the ottoman, and he fell to the floor , looking up at her because he needed to see her face, needed to know what her reaction would be when he told her.

  “You want to talk?” she asked, sitting back, her knees up against his chest. “Do you really want to talk, or is this another one of your moves?” With her hands on his shoulders, she leaned forwards and kissed him, and because he could never resist her, he kissed her back.

  She shifted closer to him, moving her legs apart, their lips sealed hungrily as his tongue swirled around in her mouth, trying, trying, trying not to get too caught up in her.

  Trying and failing miserably.

  “Cara?” he said, using the word like a contraceptive.

  “Isn’t here,” she replied, her glistening lips, red and swollen, were giving him ideas.

  But his conscience was pressing on him like a giant fist.

  Now.

  His heart thundered.

  He had to tell her, now.

  “You surprise me, Stone,” she said, when they paused to take a breath. “You’re nothing like how I thought you would be.”

  His hands pressed gently against the sides of her hips. “And you’re just like how I thought you would be.”

  Their foreheads pressed together. “I used to think you were such a hedonistic jerk,” she said, in between kisses, “but now I see that I was wrong.”

  He swallowed, and took her hands in his, his thumbs gently massaging her wrists. “I used to be a jerk,” he said, swallowing, bracing himself.

  “Are you sure you don't want to take this to the bedroom?” she asked, her hot breath tempting across his skin.

  “Izzy,” he said, waiting for her to look at him.

  “Yes?” she replied, lifting up her arms and taking off her jumper. She had on a sleeveless t-shirt underneath, and his eyes fell to her toned, naked arms.

  “Izzy,” he said again, dragging his gaze awa
y, making it stay on her face. “I used to be a bit of an asshole, before. You know that, right?”

  She put her arms around his neck, swooped close, their faces touching. “I know.”

  Several times now he had run through that conversation in his head, how he would start it, what he would say. But now, now that he was kneeling on the floor, their faces level, his hands on her wrists, now her scent, and her heat, clouded his thinking. “What?” she asked, suddenly turning serious. “What is it?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue. “It's...”

  I have something to tell you.

  But her sudden change in temperament was like a cold shower to his good intentions. If he told her and she walked, what then?

  “Are you doubting going into business with Hennessy?” she asked, lifting her hands to his face.

  How could he? How could he tell her that what he had done? Bet his friend $10K to get her into bed? And what chance did he have of her believing that he had changed his mind, and he had dropped it?

  Not a chance in hell.

  Even he wouldn't believe himself.

  “No,” he said, kissing her upturned wrists, first one and then the other. He lifted his body and moved his face closer to her ear. “Nothing like that,” he mumbled, his nose brushing against the softness of her hair.

  “Then what?” She pulled her wrists away, and gave him a stare that seemed to see right through him.

  He couldn't risk losing her.

  Not now.

  Maybe now wasn't the time to come clean.

  Not now when it was still in its early, fledging stages.

  He lowered his face onto her thighs, more conflicted than ever. Her fingers raked through his hair, and he lifted his face.

  “You’re scaring me, Xavier.” The zesty smell of her perfume made him heady, and his hands settled on her thighs, thinking, pondering, wanting.

  Maybe later, once they were at the Hamptons, before they did anything, he would open his heart and confess. And she would see. She would understand.

  His fingers snaked up towards the zipper of her jeans.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice low and raspy.