by Zoey Oliver
I open up another drawer, removing a small stack of T-shirts and some fluttery, wraparound skirts.
“Well it’s an internship,” I mumble, hearing how thin and unbelievable that sounds.
“Ha!” she barks. “Sure it is, Ava. Or it’s just a convenient excuse to get your freak on.”
“No strings, right,” I say again, hearing the words out loud. It’s good. It feels solid.
I hear her sigh as she leans back in the chair, gazing out the window thoughtfully. “Just promise me you’ll have fun,” she smiles. “Whatever comes at you… just go for it. This is like a fairytale, you know? Like an absolute fairytale. Don’t miss any of it.”
All my clothes are in the suitcase now and I turn to her. She seems completely at ease, totally encouraging and as supportive as always.
“Do you really mean that? Just go for it?”
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” she asks me.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I roll my eyes. “Maybe I’m being too rash? Just packing up and leaving with Ethan Mercer? Mysterious billionaire? Who my whole family hates with the fiery passion of a thousand suns?”
“Now that’s uptight Ava talking again,” she reminds me, stabbing the air with her pointy fingernail at me. “You don’t need to be listening to her for a few months, okay? Just do it. Take a chance for once in your life.”
She pushes herself out of the chair, coming toward me with her arms out for a hug. After our embrace, she makes a point of zipping my luggage closed and dragging it off the desk to hand it to me, then practically shoving me out the door.
Ethan is standing by the elevator when I arrive, a knowing smirk on his beautiful, full lips.
“That didn’t take too long,” he smiles appreciatively.
I feel his eyes slide over me, dancing over every curve like it’s his fingers. I suppress a shudder and try to smile, swallowing hard.
“Were you waiting for me this whole time?”
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to change your mind,” he smirks, thumbing the down button. “Did you tell your parents not to expect you for a little while?”
“Oh, yeah. I should do that,” I mumble, digging my phone out of my purse. I get on the elevator without looking, concentrating on the email I need to send. After what seems like a long time, I finally decide on a simple message.
Subject: Exciting opportunity!
Hi Mom and Dad, I found an unbelievable internship at Century Group. I’m so lucky, I’m the only one who got the job! I need to be out of town for at least a few weeks doing training. They want me to start right away. Love you! I’ll write soon.
Ava
It doesn’t seem like enough, but it’s going to have to do. Does it sound natural? Does it in any way imply that I’m alone in an elevator with Ethan Mercer at this very moment?
It’s hard for me to tell. My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears I can barely string a thought together.
“Is that it?” he asks me when the little whoosh sound effect indicates that I’ve sent the email out.
“I guess so,” I smile, unable to do much else. Something about being around him makes me want to smile all the time. Helplessly, giddily. I feel sort of stupid and bubbly. Not stupid in a bad way, just dumbfounded. Looking at him seems to wipe all the thoughts out of my brain.
He reaches over, picking up my suitcase from where it’s leaning in front of me. When the elevator door opens, everyone turns around to look. Ethan slides a pair sunglasses over his face. Mine are still in my purse. As he begins to stride across the hotel foyer, he can shade his eyes from everyone, but I can’t. I see all of their stares, everyone. They all see me with him. The can see us cutting across the foyer for the second time, leaving the conference early. I’m sure at least a few people have a strong suspicion about what’s going on.
That makes me feel ridiculously powerful. Is that wrong?
On the ride to the airport, he keeps his distance, but not too distant. Friendly. He’s in that sweet spot of proximity, where he is someone I’ve known for a very long time. He’s not crawling all over me like some kind of frat boy, and not pushing himself away like the stranger I expected him to be.
His knee is only an inch away from my knee, close enough I can feel the heat. He meets my eyes as he talks, describing how he went into the Marines, then left the service and returned home. When he got back, he found himself somewhat less irritable about his family and their semi-legal financial dealings since he’d seen the world, seen what life is really about as he put it. Their disagreements had gotten much smaller once he’d experienced the confusion and intense emotions of war.
As he talks he drifts off that topic, and onto another one about technology and financing, almost seeming to be playing me a lullaby with his voice. Consoling me, calming me. Luring me into feeling at ease, when really, I have every reason not to feel that way.
Remembering that, I suddenly get anxious again. His bright eyes immediately cloud over and his hand drops to my knee, lightly drumming with his fingertips. He knows; he can tell. As soon as he touches me, my concern evaporates again and I’m completely focused on that one connection, that electric spark between us. The tips of his fingers are so alive, they practically crackle.
We drive through a series of winding roads, coming out into a wide strip close to a private airfield. He drives us right up to one of those round-roofed hangars where a sleek, angular jet is parked in front with several people in orange jumpsuits scurrying around the bottom.
“Okay, here we are,” he smiles. Then he leans forward, his face close to mine. I stare into his bright eyes, ready to connect to him again, feeling a sort of willingness surge through me.
“You still trust me?” he whispers, his breath dancing between my lips, landing on my tongue.
“I think I do,” I confess.
“We’re going to have a wonderful time,” he says encouragingly. “A fantastic time. I swear it.”
I sort of want to giggle at the fairytale quality of “I swear it.” But I realize he means it. He’s making an absolute promise.
“I believe you,” I tell him, and I mean it.
He tugs me by the hand, leaning out of the limo onto the white, sizzling tarmac. It’s a concrete driveway, only about half a mile wide. It collects the sun’s heat, radiating it back up in wiggly waves. Someone grabs my luggage and gently places it in the belly of the jet.
Ethan leads the way, heading for the staircase. A woman in a strangely vintage blue uniform smiles at us, and as we enter, I see the captain behind her, complete with dark blue hats and shirt, with a navy tie with a gold tie clip. They look like extras from a movie set.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Mercer,” they say in unison, smiling with that easy familiarity that indicates they’ve done this quite a bit.
“Afternoon. We’ll be fine back here, Nadine.” Ethan smiles back at the flight attendant as he guides me into the main cabin of the plane. He slides the burled wood pocket door closed behind her, cutting her off from us. Suddenly we’re alone in the jet, a remarkably comfortable space that’s almost like a bedroom, but with curves in unexpected places and those tiny, low windows.
“Is this your, um, jet?”
He slides his arms around me, pulling me close and dipping his head down to nuzzle the seam of my neck and shoulder, taking my breath away.
“One of several,” he sighs distractedly, nudging the strap of my dress aside with his nose. His lips trace dozens of kisses along my collarbone, overwhelming my senses with wave after wave of chills.
“You’ll want to be seated for takeoff,” he informs me. My mouth is dry, so I just nod. If he keeps taking my breath away like this, I may never be able to speak again.
The interior has swivel chairs on one side with tables in between, then long sofas on the other. He guides me toward the sofa, his lips never far from my goosebumped skin.
“This is the smoothest possible ride,” he informs me. “You’re going to love this.”
I see the ground moving through the windows and hear the sound of the jet engines revving up. As we shoot across the tarmac, he pulls me into his arms, his hands sliding up the outside of my thighs toward my hips. I sit in front of him, between his open legs, gasping as the increased pressure pushes me back into his body.
His fingers drift between my thighs, nudging my legs open, probing the borders of my panties. I’m breathless and overwhelmed, almost falling into some kind of dream as his fingers slide against me, urging deeper and deeper, finding me slick and wanting already.
“Tell me you will always want me like this,” he whispers into my ear from behind as his electric fingers circle my clit, turning me on like a bright light.
“I will, I will,” I breathe, shuddering. I can’t imagine not wanting him.
I’m forced against Ethan as the plane rises into the air, leaving the ground below. I hear the landing gear thunking against the bottom of the cabin as I grind against his fingers, guiding my pulsing, swollen sex against him. He strums and teases me, drawing out a quick climax that I hadn’t even realized I’ve been holding back. My body bucks and shivers, melting against him, collapsing helplessly in his arms. It’s as though I’ve been holding my breath for my whole life, and here he is, finally letting it out of me.
Chapter Nine
ETHAN
I guide the Maserati along winding roads, not going as fast as I want to, but still getting a good thrill out of it. Ava is rigid in her seat, white-knuckling the armrest. Apparently despite holding back, I’m going a little too fast for her anyway.
I point over the crest of redwoods, where they just begin to thin out. She follows the line of my arm.
“It’s just over there,” I tell her. “Do you see it?”
“No, wait… oh, what? Is that your house?”
“More of a cabin,” I murmur modestly.
“Oh, stop! It looks like a hotel!”
I don’t know why; it’s stupid to brag. But I like impressing her.
“It’s in the chalet style, built in the nineteen-thirties by some movie executive who wanted to be away from it all. Like seriously, far away from everything.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes. I hear the interest in her voice, the anticipation. I have to remind myself that I’ve sworn to go slow with her, to take my time. It’s getting more difficult by the moment.
“Secluded too,” I note. “You can walk around naked on the beach. You’d never even run into another person, most likely.”
“Seriously?” she asks. She sounds intrigued, I am happy to hear. Then she adds: “You wanted to be this out of the way? This isolated?”
I turn into the driveway, gunning it to hit the big hill and loft slightly over the top. I can’t help it. Maseratis are just a lot of fun to drive. I park at the end of the smooth concrete and trot around the back of the car to open her door. She places her hand in mine, staring in wide-eyed wonder at my house as she rises from the low-slung seat of the sports car.
“It’s nice to have some privacy,” I admit. “It can get to be a little much, sometimes… maybe. But who am I to complain? You want the tour?”
“Absolutely,” she nods avidly.
Ben comes out, ready to take our bags to the bedroom. He salutes me smartly as I lead Ava toward the foyer.
“Who’s that?” she whispers.
“That’s Ben. He manages the house when Perry is unavailable. You’ll never know he’s here. He’s very discreet.”
“He saluted you?”
“Oh, that. We served together,” I explain, trying to figure out the best way to pack the whole story into a carefree, ten-second summary. Quickly I realize it’s impossible and just brush it off.
“I met a lot of good people in the Marines.” I start again. “After I got back, Mom and Dad set me up with a day-trading account and a little seed money… I made some good—well, some lucky decisions—and suddenly I had enough to start a small venture capital company. Soon as I was made like that, I wanted to find my buddies and make sure they were okay too.”
I realize we haven’t actually gone anywhere. We’re still standing in the foyer. She is staring up at me with a dreamy half smile on her lips.
“You mean to tell me that you struck it rich, then went to go find your military buddies to give them jobs?”
“Best guys in the world,” I shrug. “Not sure I could ever trust anybody the way I trust these guys. So, there’s Perry and Ben managing my life and a couple of houses. Then there’s Tabitha and Willie running my legal department... Nathan keeping an eye on my trades… Digger runs out to bark at the startups to make sure they’re actually on task… It’s a whole thing. My crew.”
“That’s kind of… well, it’s kind of awesome!” she smiles, her cheeks dimpling sweetly. I lean forward and press my lips against the top of her forehead, inhaling the scent of her caramel-colored hair. It feels good, the way that she approves of me so completely. I guess I still care what she thinks.
“Come on, let me show you around,” I whisper into her hair, tugging her by the hand.
The house is impressive, I have to admit. I can’t take much credit for it since it was built eighty years ago or so, other than I had the foresight to buy it before somebody tore it down to put a hotel up here or something.
California has always had secret mansions in secluded places, so they’re not that hard to find on real estate websites. It’s always been fashionable for famous people to complain about being famous and wanting to get away, I suppose.
Once you’re at ground level here, there is a very nice kind of protected castle feeling. It seems like at some point, every actor and studio executive and musician thought it would be a cool idea to build themselves a castle and moat, somewhere out here in fairytale land.
I take her through room after room of terrazzo floors and plaster arches, fluted columns and hidden cupboards behind mahogany panels. She’s appropriately delighted, clapping her fingertips under her sweet, round chin.
In the grand, oval-shaped living room, I lead her toward the semicircular row of windows that seem to almost hang in space, facing the Pacific.
“Oh, the black sand beaches,” she sighs. “Haven’t seen them since I was little.”
“You remember?” I ask her.
She turns to me slightly, her eyelashes fluttering, her expression vague. “Remember?” she repeats.
“We were here once. Our families. Well, not exactly here, but somewhere along the stretch of this beach. We rented adjoining cabins and just hung out for a weekend. Ring any bells?”
I search her eyes, watching her struggle. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but even then, she always got my attention. While I hung out with Aden, she left and cartwheeled along the surf like a fairy princess. She never even needed anybody to play with. She was always just full of joy, seemingly entertained by the very act of breathing.
“I think I remember the beach,” she says quietly, staring at it. “But nothing else. Nobody else. I almost felt like I was alone. That’s so weird!”
“I guess you were always kind of in your own little world.”
She wrinkles her nose shyly. “Yeah, that’s what everybody says. I was always kind of a daydreamer. Bea says I’m uptight.”
“Are you hungry, daydreamer?” I ask her, unsure what else to say. Somehow, she’s just a little too charming. Maybe I just know her too well. Sometimes looking at her is confusing. I need to remember to keep things light.
“Starving,” she confesses.
“Perfect,” I smirk. Behind us is the chef’s kitchen which I strategically left for last anyway. I figured we would end up here in this room. She gazes admiringly at the Viking range, the Sub-Zero freezer. She knows it’s the good stuff, so I don’t have to explain it to her as part of the house tour.
Delicately, she perches on a leather stool at the end of the counter, folding her fingers underneath her chin. I pull a couple of fat, juicy tomatoes from the bo
wl and hold them up.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
She opens her eyes wide. “Wait a second, you’re going to cook?”
“Well, not these if you’re allergic to them. That’s why I’m asking.”
“No, I’m not allergic… but, what I mean is, are you actually planning on cooking those? Yourself? You don’t have a personal chef or something?”
“Of course I have a personal chef,” I sigh. I pull a knife from the block and start dicing the tomato, followed by a zucchini and Japanese eggplant. “But I like to cook. It’s nice. Are you impressed? You should totally be impressed.”
“Oh, I really am!” she coos. “I’m just a little surprised. But the impressed kind of surprised, I promise!”
“Good,” I sniff. “I didn’t want to waste my dazzling culinary skills on you if you would rather get a frozen pizza in the oven or something.”
She shrugs. “Yeah well, frozen pizza has its good sides too, you know.”
“That’s true,” I admit, setting two pots of water on the big burners. They’ll be boiling shortly and I season them generously with handfuls of sea salt. “I think one of my startups is in the pizza business, as a matter of fact. They’ve got some kind of flash freezing technology that improves storage and flavor. They make a pretty good pizza.”
“I’d like to try that too!”
I take the plastic bag of mussels from the fridge and set them on the counter. Smashing the head of garlic in my hand, I season the water with bay and garlic to steam the mussels and then retrieve some fresh pasta from the fridge. Normally, I would make my own pasta from scratch, but she doesn’t need to know that. I’ll save a few tricks for later.
In just minutes, I ladle a ruby-red sauce with tomatoes over the pasta, then top it with the mussels and torn shreds of basil. The fragrant bowls drift steam between our faces. Opening a bottle of local Chardonnay, I sit next to her, ready to hear her sweet voice again.
She breathes deeply, closing her eyes and flaring her nostrils as the scents of herbs and garlic dance through her sinuses.