I’m not a risk. I’m safe. And risk-averse Benji, who wouldn’t dare dream of forever for fear of losing more than he already has, knows he can sleep with me and I’ll still be his friend and coworker in the morning. Ironically, in his quest to teach me how I should be treated, the way he’s treating me isn’t good enough.
I can’t go forward with him. There is no forward. I can stay and stagnate, or move on without him. I have to make the right choice for me, and because I know him well, I know what choice to make.
“It’s time for me to go back to the car,” I tell him, my heart breaking. The light drizzle of rain masks my tears. “I shouldn’t have accused you of making me come out for a run. You didn’t make me do anything. I did it to myself, even if I knew better deep down.”
His eyebrows bend with sympathy. He’s figured out I’m talking about way more than the rain or the run.
“I could’ve stayed in the gym,” I continue, “where everything was familiar. I wanted to try something different. I don’t regret it. I learned a lot about myself. Mostly that I don’t like being caught in a downpour.”
He looks around at the trees surrounding us, or maybe at nothing in particular. The smile returns to his face. The same smile he gave me the first time we met at his father’s office ten years ago. The same smile he turns on to charm almost everyone he encounters. That smile doesn’t set me at ease like it used to. It feels forced. Like a mask.
“Well, I’m obviously coming with you,” he says, his tone jovial. “I can’t let you walk through a soaking-wet park by yourself. Plus, I have the car keys.” He offers his hand. “Come on.”
Our fingers link together naturally as we walk the trail in silence.
I know what we’ve decided. He knows what we’ve decided. But neither of us talk about it. Not when we climb into the car. Not when we return to the office.
* * *
“I hate this.” Vivian is sitting across from me at a high-top table in a fancy wine bar downtown. It’s Thursday night. I didn’t go to Trish’s mother’s viewing. It was nice of her to invite me, but it’s not my place to be there. Benji went as a friendly gesture, and I don’t blame him. It was the right thing to do. He’s a good person. And now that we have officially ended our sexual relationship, though we never said the actual words, it’s time for him to do more things without me.
“Everything worked out for the best,” I lie. “I had an absolute blast. I didn’t lose my job or my best friend. You know Benji, he rolls with the punches better than anyone.”
“I don’t understand how he didn’t fall for you. I’ve only known you a handful of months and I’m in love with you.” She regards me tenderly.
“I love you too.” Vivian and I have grown close. “But, hon, everybody knows you’re in love with Nate. There’s no room for me.” I sip my wine. She doesn’t smile at my joke.
“You can’t be okay with this. It doesn’t bother you that he let you go?”
Well, when she puts it that way, yeah.
“I’m the one who walked away.”
“Yeah, I tried that too. I was hoping Nate would come for me, no matter what I said.” She squints at me as if trying to see straight through to my soul.
“Our situation is not like yours and Nate’s. It’s been two days since the park, and everything is back to the way it should be. No more awkward standoffs at the coffee pot. Our jogs have been good, and dry.” Still no smile from Viv. “We work together better than ever. We cohosted a video conference call and practically finished each other’s sentences. Things are back to normal.”
Except that I really miss him flirting with me, touching me casually, kissing me in the hallway. And the day we stopped in the middle of a workday to have sex wasn’t bad, either. But what we had wasn’t everlasting, and if I believed it was, I was lying to myself.
I take a gulp of my wine instead of a sip this time.
“Can you think of a better ending?” I ask, miserable.
“Yes. I can think of a lot of better endings.”
I was afraid she’d say that.
“But.” She takes in a deep breath and blows it out. “I support your choices. I always will. If this is what you want, then who am I to argue?”
From there she guides the conversation to wedding talk, and I, having become a master of compartmentalizing, lose myself in talking details and minutiae. I lean over her cell phone when she shows me photos of how her custom-made bridal gown will look when it’s finished. I give her my opinion about the reception location and whether or not she and Nate should write their own vows. (Yes, obviously.)
“That leaves one question,” she says an hour later as we each finish our second glass of wine.
“Which is?”
“Will you be my maid of honor?”
Gratitude thrashes inside me like a shark in the shallows. “Really?”
She nods, her smile wide and happy. Then, despite the promise I made to myself not to cry again this week, I burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Benji
Down the road from Archer’s fancy-pants condo is a community rec center complete with outdoor tennis courts, basketball courts, and a swimming pool with a diving board. His is a wealthy neighborhood, like mine, like Nate’s. We opted to live around people who have healthy bank accounts not because we like rich people better, but because it makes us feel more normal.
Since the Owens built their empire while rearing Archer in his early years, Arch has admitted he doesn’t remember doing without. My parents died when I was starting my fifth-grade year, and even though they didn’t have Owen money, I didn’t do without, either. Mom and Dad were professionals who put plenty of food on the table and lots of presents under the Christmas tree. Alternatively, Nate rode the struggle bus for most of his youth.
Before I lived in opulence, I imagined life as problem-free for the mega-rich. What a load of shit. Even if I only count the last week, my problem-free theory has been blown to smithereens.
I roped Archer into playing one-on-one today to mask my real reason for coming here. I need advice.
I lean on my brothers in a lot of areas. Work, predominately, but I talked to Archer and Nate about girls when I was a teenager. Especially when I was fumbling through first dates, first kisses, first time—condom use is a sensitive topic to bring to a parent. But I can’t talk to Nate about my Cris issue. My Cris nonissue. He is a happy son of a bitch and doesn’t need me weighing him down with my woman problems. And yeah, okay, I’m not totally philanthropical. I don’t know if I can deal with his “up” right now. He asked me to be in his wedding. Archer and I are both best men. He said he’d fistfight either of us if we made him pick. He told us to flip a coin for who stands next to him—he refuses to choose.
Archer and I are smart, so we didn’t fight him. Nate is a tank. Arch and I can hold our own, but neither of us are anxious to cross our Chicago-streets-raised brother. Nate’s a guy you want on your side.
And yes, I did get fucking emotional when he asked me to be his best man. Luckily, we were at Club Nine. I downed a few tequila shots and danced it off. Fog machines are aces at masking tears.
Not that I cried.
Anyway.
Archer sinks a two-pointer without any defense from me whatsoever since I was lost in my head.
“You suck extra hard today,” he tells me.
Nonplussed by being caught off-guard, I nab the basketball and dribble away from my brother, who doesn’t catch me. I shoot. I do not score.
This dance goes on for fifteen minutes until sweat is pouring down our faces. It’s too damn hot to do this today. I make one last attempt, swiping the slick ball from his hand. The ball hits the backboard, bounces off the rim, and… Nope.
Dammit.
Hands on my hips, I catch my breath. Sweat stings my eyes as I squint against the bright noonday sun. I’m considering going back to the office. Sunday or not, I could do the world and myself more good sitting in front of a spr
eadsheet.
“Seriously. Suckage.” Archer tosses the ball at me and I catch it, cradling it under my arm and following him home like a sad-sack puppy. Rather than go inside, we collapse onto the chairs on his stone patio. It’s cool under here, at least.
“Beer?” he offers.
“Yeah.” I toss the ball onto the cushioned wicker chair next to mine. When an open beer bottle is offered to me, I slug back half of it, taking in the tiny yard behind his three-story condominium.
“Why don’t I live here? It’s fucking gorgeous. I have to mow the lawn today.” On the top floor of his condo are bedrooms and bathrooms and a balcony. On the second, a screened-in porch leading to the kitchen and a living room with a half bath and a large office off to the side. Ground floor, where we are, offers the walk-out patio and a stone path cutting through the middle of a grassy area he doesn’t have to mow. There is a fountain with flower gardens he doesn’t plant or prune.
“You don’t have to. You choose to,” he states. Annoyingly.
I know I choose to. I chose familiarity. One of my favorite memories is Dad mowing our backyard in Idaho. Sometimes he’d let me sit on the riding mower with him. Arguably not the safest thing to do with a seven-year-old, but he was a doctor and good at assessing risk. I am too. I used to be, anyway.
“What gives? You don’t shoot the shit with me on a Sunday. Or ever.”
I rest my beer bottle on my thigh and argue, “Yes I do.”
“Not anymore.” He slugs back half his beer in a few long swallows. Cheeks full, he raises his eyebrows and waits for me to tell him why I’m here.
“Cris and I broke up.” I frown in thought. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“We weren’t actually together, or well, we aren’t actually apart.” I shake my head, confusing myself. “Shit.”
“Spit it out,” my impatient brother snarls.
“Cris and I were, for lack of a better term, friends with benefits.”
He grins.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s not funny at all. It’s fantastic. A first for you.”
This throws me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You prefer women who don’t get close. Couldn’t believe I saw you on an actual date with Cris at the fundraiser. Half of me thought ‘finally’ and the other half thought ‘bad move.’”
I didn’t think either of those things. I thought “awesome” and “what could possibly go wrong?” I’m beginning to think, of Cris and me, I’m the more naive one.
“If anyone knows about not getting too close, it’s you,” I lash out, slightly stung by his comment. It’s true I have had a lot of brief relationships, but it’s not like the women I’ve dated hate my guts afterwards. Look at Trish. That turned out fine.
“Women don’t like my focus on work,” Archer argues, stroking his beard. “If I found a workaholic who lived out of state, maybe that’d change everything.” His eyes glaze over as he stares off in the distance, and I wonder if he’s thinking of the brunette he met in Florida. I don’t know if she’s a workaholic, but she does live out of state.
“You hired Cris to be your assistant life coach,” he says after a beat.
“Life assistant coach,” I correct automatically, remembering how cute she was when she rolled her eyes the first time I used her title. I think briefly of my calling her “coach” and decide I won’t do it anymore since she doesn’t like it. The nickname Firecracker has to be retired, though. A damn shame. My stomach clenches, but I ignore the pain.
“Whatever,” Archer says. “Point is, she knows what she’s doing. She hasn’t steered you wrong yet.”
Did I steer her wrong? During our time sans clothing, I was the one doing the steering. Or so I thought. I feel less like the captain and more like I’m bobbing in the ocean in a life preserver. Or clawing onto the edge of a door while slowly freezing to death like poor Jack in Titanic.
At first, I was in charge and running the show, but since I asked for an extension and she refused, I’ve been rethinking. Overthinking. Questioning.
“Something feels off,” I say, almost to myself. I set the beer on the patio. My stomach tosses, as if thinking about the ocean left me seasick. Maybe the heat is getting to me, or maybe alcohol after so much physical activity wasn’t a great idea.
“You look off, man.”
“It’s the heat,” I explain, unconvinced.
I say goodbye to my brother, who waves and tells me to feel better and “don’t sweat the life coach. It’ll work out.”
On the drive home I recall many, many pieces of advice Archer has given me, all of them sound. He’s older than me, so he walked me through my first richy-rich affairs and made sure I knew how to behave, where to sit or stand, what to say when meeting a family friend or a potential presidential candidate.
So why, when he laid it out for me just now, am I railing against his advice and my own? Could Archer be…wrong?
My stomach tosses again.
I reach for my cell phone as I maneuver into the left lane and brake at a stoplight. When Nate answers, I tell him, “I’m coming over.”
I hear Vivian murmur, “Is everything okay?” and realize I’m interrupting.
“It can wait,” I say, prepared to excuse myself. Next, I’m talking to Vivian.
“Benji, get your ass over here.” I hear her tell Nate she’s getting dressed and then I know I’m interrupting. By the time he’s back on the phone, the decision has been made.
“See you soon,” he tells me.
* * *
“Sprite,” Vivian announces, and I take the glass from her hand. I’m standing next to their dining room table where Odessa has left a spread of salad, fruit, and sandwiches for lunch.
“Thanks,” I say. Nate offered me lunch and I nearly hurled. Vivian decided Sprite would fix me right up. I kind of doubt it, but the gesture was nice. “Enjoy your food. I’m going to step outside.”
She exchanges a glance with Nate that tells me at least one of them isn’t going to leave me alone. Sure enough, when I walk outside my oldest brother follows.
The view from his back patio is very different from Archer’s. It’s similar to mine, but his backyard is larger without the addition of a swimming pool, heated or otherwise. Then I notice the hot tub. “This new?”
“It is. We’ve been in it almost every night.”
“I don’t want to know,” I say. I really don’t. If I had a hot tub at my house, I know exactly what I’d be doing in it with Cris “almost every night.” Not that I have the option to do anything with her any longer. My throat grows thick, making it hard to swallow.
“What’s going on with you, man?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I snap.
He doesn’t so much as flinch. “You are typically a macaron.”
He lost me. “A macaron.”
“Yeah, light and airy. And definitely more upbeat than you’ve been lately. Does this have anything to do with the conversation Viv had with Cris?”
“What did Cris say to Viv?” My ears perk.
“That’s a yes. And if you think I’m telling you, you’re insane.” He takes a pull from his water bottle and walks out to the yard to stand in the sunshine. I trail his steps, my feet sinking into the thick, plush green grass as I go. “Remember when you were thirteen and had that math competition? The televised one.”
It’s an odd turn of topic. I’d rather know what Viv and Cris talked about. If Cris is suffering from doubt and worry the way I am, or if she’s living her best life now that she doesn’t have to juggle me in another capacity other than boss/best friend. Did I make everything harder for her? I’d try and steer the conversation but I know instinctively I’d be wasting my time. When Nate digs in, he does so with an oak tree’s roots. He’s not going to tell me anything even if I do indulge him. But hey, it’s worth a shot.
“What was that show called?” he asks.
“Divide and Conqu
er,” I say.
“Right.” He chuckles. “So fucking dorky.”
“Hey, we were serious.” I came alive whenever we practiced. I was the best on our team—the ringer by a long shot. Numbers make sense to me. Which reminds me of the conversation about numbers Cris and I had at the restaurant. The morning I tried out some dirty talk and was thrilled down to my Ferragamos when she liked it. My naughty Firecracker. Only she’s not mine anymore. If she ever was. My shoulders sag.
“You don’t have to remind me how serious you were,” my brother says. “You made yourself so sick you didn’t eat for two days before the show.”
“Come on.” That can’t be true.
His eyebrows wing skyward. “Ask Lainey. She was finally able to coax you into having orange juice so you didn’t pass out on stage. I heard Will tell her he was sure you were going to fall off your chair. I was in the audience with them, willing you to succeed. Your face was paste white. The show went on, and remarkably, so did you. Live TV, and you pulled it out in the clutch.”
I feel a smile curl my lips, the first in days. I recall the weight of the buzzer in my grip, the way the answers flashed on the screen of my mind. We slayed it. The other team was fast, but we were faster.
My smile fades when he shakes his head and adds, “Before then, God, you were miserable.”
“Is there a point to this tale other than my humiliation?” I sip my Sprite and my stomach gurgles in protest.
“What do you think’s going on here?” He points at my glass. “You and Cris split up and you can’t eat.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” I say with a certainty I don’t feel. Just because I skipped lunch and dinner yesterday and couldn’t hold down the piece of toast this morning doesn’t mean anything. “I have a bug or something. I’m fine. Cris was right. She’s always right. She is my life coach, you know.” I stare at him, silently begging him to share a snippet of what she said to Vivian.
Charmed by the Billionaire Page 20