I wished I could comfort her, pat her shoulder or something, but that would clearly be a bad idea. And Ashley was ushering her to an ergonomic leather office chair, sitting her down, handing her some tissues pulled stridently from a pink box.
Shawna blew her nose in a loud, un-supermodelish honk.
“I really am sorry,” I said awkwardly. I was. I was sorry she had suffered even if I wasn’t sorry he was mine. And I didn’t want to do this anymore. He was mine, that’s all there was to it. I wasn’t sharing and I wasn’t giving him up. “Maybe I should go.”
“No.” Shawna stood up, regaining her composure abruptly, checking her blotchy face in a silver compact she pulled from her designer handbag. “I’m going. Ashley, we’ll talk about the column later. I’ll call you and email you an outline. I’m in no state to do it now, especially with her here.”
Shawna strode elegantly towards the door, like she was on a catwalk. Before she opened it she turned and uttered a scalding hiss, “This is not over. I haven’t made it to where I am by being a quitter. You might have sunk your claws into him with your skanky charms, but he’ll tire of meaningless sex soon enough. You’ll see.”
She slammed the door behind her, leaving an empty echo in her wake.
I exhaled slowly, wishing things could be easy, for once. But they never were. Except when Alexander and I were alone, shut away from the world and all its manic demands for strength.
Ashley was surprisingly sympathetic. “Honey, she’s a supermodel. It’s all drama with them. I love her to death but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’ve got the ring. Believe you me, she worked it with everything she had but in the end she never quite managed to get that bling on her finger. Alexander doesn’t just hand out a Tiffany rock like that one without wanting it right where it is. Plenty of girls have tried, trust me on that.”
I suddenly felt a little exhausted. I’ll admit my first impression of Ashley Lynch hadn’t been especially positive, but now I could see she’d been gearing up for the melodrama she clearly knew was coming. Now, she seemed to understand that my emotions had been shaken to the core. She picked up the phone. “Emma, we need two skim double-shot lattes and four Godiva dark chocolates. And bring me the specs for the Hell’s Kitchen hobo shoot.”
She hung up the phone and motioned for me to sit. “Now. Rule number one at Skyscraper: when you’re at work you’re at work. We’re type-A geniuses with big balls and thick skins, or we wouldn’t be here. You must have some of that in you, girl, or you wouldn’t be here either. You put yourself through Princeton in three years and you landed Alexander Wolfe. Now show me some of what you got.”
For the next six hours, I was ordered to put all emotional baggage to the side and concentrate on getting shit done. Ashley strode and organized and whisked us around the department, leaving no stone unturned, no base untouched, until I felt like I’d been mentored within in an inch of my life. I met photographers, editors-at-large, writers, designers, talent scouts, models, and underlings of every description, many of which had no idea I was Alexander’s fiancée, or even cared, which was totally refreshing after the morning’s events. I learned why Ashley Lynch was considered the best fashion editor in New York. She was brilliant at her job and it was fascinating to watch her orchestrate chaos into gleaming, high-end glamor.
In those passing moments when I was able to put Shawna’s wrath, Jake’s impending incarceration, and even Alexander’s beauty – and misconduct, if it could be considered that – out of my mind, the work day was all I had once dreamed about: challenging and engaging and more fabulous than I had ever imagined. And when the echoes of Shawna’s harsh accusations crept in, my resolve and my love and my own indignation about all I had learned burned in me like a fever. She was going to try to come between us. To change Alexander’s mind. To take away the one beautiful thing in my life. What I thought about that was: game on.
Alexander
My brother was sitting in my office. As per his usual insolence, he’d chosen to wear his black leather jacket – over a shirt and a tie, at least – to the meeting with the lawyers. Now, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie was loosened, reminding me eerily of a noose. We were alone, after a gruelling three-hour session with our legal team that had cemented the fact that Jake would do time. Even with the pay-out, which was significant, the most they could do was plead to settle out of court for a one-year sentence in a minimum security prison, with the possibility of parole at three months. That was the absolute best case scenario and they would give it all they had. Which happened to be a shitload of my money, but whatever.
Jake knew where I kept my scotch and he helped himself to a generous helping, then poured me a glass. It wasn’t my usual style to drink during the day but today I’d make an exception. He could be put away as soon as the following week. Plus, when I looked at my watch, it was a lot later than I thought: 5:21. One of those days that simultaneously flies by and feels like it’s lasted about a week.
“It was a stupid fucking thing to do,” I told him. He’d traded insider information to the tune of almost two million dollars. And got caught red-handed doing it.
“No shit, professor. Thanks for the tip.”
“I could’ve paid you. Instead I get to hand my money over to lawyers and you get a ten-by-ten cell.” Square footage was the very least of Jake’s problems once he was inside.
“Next time I’ll ask you first.”
His complete lack of remorse pissed me off, but it was nothing new. Jake had been a punk from the word go and showed no sign of reforming. Lecturing him, I knew only too well, would only make things worse.
I could tell by his slouch he was already moving on from the topic. “So. She said yes, huh?”
I watched him take a swig of his drink, wishing there was more I could do to shield him. His hair was dishevelled and he looked tired. I wished I could rewind time, somehow, and do more to protect him. Erase certain things and add other happier memories that would fortify him and equip him better for the pitfalls and the dark nights. “Yeah, she did.”
“You lucky bastard.”
I couldn’t help almost smiling at that, even though I probably should’ve punched him instead. We’d already fought over Lila once. He’d proven himself that night. I knew I could trust him. He’d saved her and he’d saved us.
“Yeah. I only hope I’m worthy.” It sounded cheesy, but I meant it. I’d worked my entire life without consideration of other people’s feelings or sensitivities, with only my own interests – and my brother’s – in mind. I’d already made so many mistakes with Lila. Stupid mistakes. Mistakes only an asshole would make. I wasn’t used to caring about anyone like I cared about Lila. I wasn’t used to wanting and lusting and loving to this degree and the whole fucking thing was a minefield. I was still trying to get my bearings.
“Trust me, you’re not worthy,” Jake generously informed me.
“Fuck you.”
He laughed and took another drink. “Seriously, though, congratulations. Looks like I might miss the wedding. When’s the big day?”
“Maybe we could do it this weekend. Before you—” I stopped.
“Before I get put away? Sure. A happy family get-together.”
“It might be good for you to get out of the city, for a night or two.”
“Sure.” We were quiet for a minute, savoring the rich burn of the scotch. “When did you propose?”
”A couple weeks ago.”
“You sure don’t fuck around, bro. But I can’t blame you for that. She’s a catch, man. A real catch.” There were only two people on the planet that could make me feel like I wasn’t made of the stone I usually forced myself to be, through fuck-you business takeovers, king-of-the-world executive meetings, do-it-my-way investment decisions. Jake was one of them. Knowing that my brother shared a connection with Lila made me love her even more, just because he did too.
“If it’s too soon for her,” I said, “we’ll wai
t. Until you get out.”
“Don’t wait, just on my account,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t want you to do that. You two go ahead and get started with your life together. Don’t let me hold you up.”
Fuck it. It wasn’t fair, that even all the money in the world couldn’t save my brother. He just about broke my jaded heart sometimes. “Well, that’s too fucking bad. Because I’m not getting married without a best man. We can wait three months, if we need to. Lila might prefer to anyway.”
Jake paused, and for a second he reminded me so much of his seven-year-old self I almost went to him, to give him a goddamn hug or something. Sick regret churned in my stomach, at an old memory that still had the capacity to cut like a knife. My brother could read the turn of my thoughts, and quickly changed the subject. “So, what about that other chick you were dating? The supermodel. What ever happened to her?”
I couldn’t help a heavy sigh from escaping. “Yeah. I have a feeling that particular topic probably reared it’s ugly head today. Ashley Lynch was showing Lila around, at my request. I have no doubt Ashley was on her phone to Shawna as soon as I left the room this morning. But fuck it. Whatever there was between me and Shawna was over the minute Lila walked into that job interview.”
Jake laughed lightly. “Jesus. Why didn’t you get someone else to show Lila around?”
“Because if it wasn’t her, I had a feeling it would somehow end up being Mark Faber, and –” Actually, I didn’t feel like going into all that right now.
He contemplated me, and raised an eyebrow. “And what?”
I sighed again. “And I’m a fucking idiot, that’s what.”
“You’ve got a jealous streak, is what. Which must mean this is the real thing. You’ve never been the jealous type before.” Jake smiled a little but he didn’t prod, which I appreciated. He had an uncanny knack for sensing emotional boundaries, even if he actively sought to break every legal and professional boundary there was to break. “Hey, at least she said yes. It’s pretty obvious she loves you. No one can blame you for not wanting to play-by-play your previous relationship.”
“No. But I probably should’ve ended that relationship before I started up the next one.”
Jake exhaled a slow chuckle. “Shit.” He finished his drink, setting it on the table with a thud. “So what, you got carried away. Lila will find out about Shawna, you can talk it through, she’ll understand, you’ll have some killer make-up sex, you’ll say your vows. Done and dusted.”
“Yeah, hopefully. Anyway. You hungry? We can go to my apartment and get something to eat. Better if we avoid public places. This shit’ll probably be all over the papers already. Those fucking sharks will frenzy off this for a while, I have a feeling.”
“Sorry about that.”
He was sorry. I could see it. Jake didn’t think ahead when he defied authority and ignored the law. His rebellious streak was so ingrained he didn’t even realize what he was doing half the time. It didn’t even occur to him that he was risking not only his own ass, but mine too. Jake’s experiments with embezzlement (at a previous company he worked for, not mine) and insider trading were more of a case of him playing a game, seeing what he could get away with, creating some fun where before there was none. When – if – he was caught, he’d usually laugh it off, and charm his way out. For someone who had screwed over as many people as Jake had, he had a surprising number of friends – many of which were the screwees, and knew this. But Jake was smart, and extremely likeable. There was something about him you just couldn’t stay mad at.
And he was doing it now. He was exuding that bruised, smirking vulnerability that never failed to cool my anger and replace it with protective empathy. I got him, and I forgave him.
“Come on,” I said. “I’ll have my cook make us something. Some steaks. Filet mignon. And a nice Bordeaux. Okay?”
“Okay.”
We went through to my apartment. My housekeeper, Claude, had a knack for making the place look presentable. Delicate spotlights and a few arty lamps somehow matched the city lights outside the huge windows, melding the twilit night with the luxury of the softly lit modern furnishings. The whole scene looked comfortable, clean and very expensive. I guess this is what I’d worked my whole life to be able to come home to: a space like this. Mozart was playing quietly – one of my favorites, which Claude was aware of. I told Jake to take a seat and I got two beers from the fridge.
It felt empty, though, without her presence. I’d become used to having Lila with me and now that the stress of the day had dissipated into the background, the force of her absence was distractingly huge. I missed the softness of her, the scent of her skin. The silky honey-blond glow of her hair and the pink pout of her lips. But it was probably a good thing that she wasn’t here now. I had a feeling she’d be angry with me, for not telling her about Shawna. Women got pissed off about stuff like that; I’d figured that much out from experience. It was best if Jake and I could spend time together without any feminine frostiness that might be awkward for my brother. I could deal with it later, once Lila and I were alone.
Claude appeared out of nowhere, like a magician. He does that. Diminutive and light on his feet, I often don’t even sense his presence until he’s standing right in front of me. I don’t mind this. He’s good at his job, which he’s been doing for me for more than five years. He also put up with some shit recently that I give him a big fat bonus for, for his loyalty and for keeping his mouth shut. It had to do with one of my fuck-ups with Lila, the worst of all my many fuck-ups. The Mother of All Alexander Fuck-ups. We worked through it, though. I’m learning about what makes her tick. Since the bonus, Claude’s been even better at his job.
“Can I make you something for dinner?” Claude asked. To Jake, who’d basically just chugged his beer: “Another Heineken?”
“We’ll have filet mignon, for three,” I told him. In case Lila did show up, which I was hoping would happen. I didn’t care if she was mad at me. My craving to see her was getting worse. “And something from the wine cellar. A Bordeaux. How about a ‘98 Pomerol.”
“Very good, sir.”
Jake laughed as soon as Claude left the room. “Holy shit. He calls you sir? That’s fucked up.”
I just shrugged and took a drink. I’d asked Claude to stop calling me sir the day he started working for me but he still did it, fuck knows why. He’s a theater type and gets off on shit like that, maybe. Playing a manservant role or whatnot. I didn’t really care one way or the other.
Claude served the wine and disappeared into the kitchen. Jake and I sat in comfortable, companionable conversation for a few minutes, inclined on the plush couches, drinking the velvety wine and appreciating the view. We might both have been trying just to fill our minds with the good things this moment had to offer, concentrating all our efforts onto not dwelling on Jake’s sentence.
I heard the slide of a key in the front door lock and felt a surge of relief. She was home. My Lila was back. I’d already come to terms with the sop I’d become over this girl. My honey girl. My wife-to-be. It had always seemed like a dirty word before: wife. Before Lila, countless women had practically stalked me, throwing out hints, shamelessly asking for gifts, pulling that noose tighter and tighter with each dinner and each fuck. Like Shawna. Like all the women I’d dated before her. Lila had changed all that. Not just changed it, but blown it to smithereens. Now it was me who did the stalking. It was me who couldn’t get enough. It was me who begged and pleaded and craved more. With Lila, I couldn’t wait to get my rings on her fingers, as many as she would accept.
She shut the door and walked into the room. For a second, she just stood there in all her slightly-disheveled glory. A few strands of her hair had come loose, framing her face in loose, platinum ringlets. Her face was pale aside from a barely-there pastel-pink blush on her cheeks. This was Lila’s natural glow, an effect make-up artists the world over attempted to create, but quite never got as perfect as this. Her parted lips were that only-Lila color,
of new, dewy roses on a misty spring early-morning. The fit of her silk dress clung to her young curves in a way that broke my heart. There was nothing overly provocative about the cut of the dress itself, but the shape she gave it, of that lovely, peach-sweet body … I stood up.
Her sea-green eyes met mine and I could see the complexity of emotion there, of happiness and frustration, exhaustion and excitement, irritation and love. I wanted nothing more than to understand her, to get every nuance of who she was. A little billow of happiness shot through me, that I could. That she’d said yes to me. That my time, whenever she allowed it, could be spent with her, lavishing in anything she would give.
She let me kiss her on the corner of her mouth, lightly, appropriately for a familiar, observant audience of one. Just that feather-light contact was enough to make me light-headed. The scent of her, the taste. That milk-honey purity that fucking undid me. Every single time.
“We have some things to talk about,” she said casually, almost too low for Jake to hear, but not quite. He was listening, expecting it. To him: “Hi, Jake.”
She walked over to him and he stood to greet her. She gave him a gentle hug and he returned it, drinking her in, letting her comfort him in a way that was real. She released her hold, delicately, before he did.
“Good to see you, beautiful,” he said, smiling, giving her the full glow of his badboy appeal. Lila blushed. “Congratulations. I heard the big news.”
“Thanks, Jake.” She didn’t elaborate, possibly because of the Shawna elephant in the room, but it was cool. We had all night to work through whatever she wanted to work through. I was nothing if not dedicated, and thorough.
“You know what?” Jake said, reading the vibe. “I think I might get going, after all. I’ve got some stuff—”
“You will not,” Lila said, brushing off his excuse with a firm, easy dismissal. “Stay and have dinner with us.” She didn’t have to finish her thought: We won’t be seeing you for a while. Let’s spend some time together while we have the chance, before you get locked up behind bars for God knows how long.
HONEY GIRL: BILLIONAIRE (Book 2) Page 5