I think back to last night, and a ridiculous grin comes to my face.
I realize now that his thing is getting demanding during sex.
And I’m absolutely here for it.
That’s definitely one thing I remember from that one night back in business school—letting him take complete control and allowing myself to succumb to it.
It’s a refreshing change from the rest of my life, in which I’m loathe to delegate or cede any type of power.
As reluctant as I am to move from this position, which is more than satisfying, I feel another more anatomical urge take over. I quietly and gently wriggle my body from underneath his arm, only to feel him suddenly hold on tighter.
“I thought I told you no escaping this morning,” Bryce murmurs.
“I’m not sure what your kinks are, but I doubt one of them is what is going to happen if you don’t let me escape to the bathroom,” I say with a smile as I rest my chin on his chest.
“Hmm, I think with you, I might be willing to experiment a little.”
“Bryce!” I exclaim, tweaking his nipple, which is enough to get him to flinch and let me go with a laugh.
I rush to the bathroom to pee, throwing in a quick hair combing and some fresh mascara afterward while I’m there. Then, I rush back into the bedroom to find Bryce sitting up and leaning against the headboard. I lean in the doorway, still naked, enjoying the way he looks at me. It’s enough to make me forgo the idea of putting on that blue silk kimono, which was my original plan.
“I hope you’re not expecting breakfast in bed, mister.”
“Not unless you’re speaking metaphorically,” he says, flicking his tongue suggestively.
I wrinkle my nose and slink back into the bed with him.
“So, at some point, we have to discuss the business of our magazines,” I say.
He laughs and throws his head back with a groan. “I knew it! Lola Edie Hartman cannot go twenty-four hours without talking shop to save her life.”
“Oh come on, Bryce,” I protest. “What else are we going to talk about? It is the most daunting cloud hanging over both our heads right now.”
“I don’t know. How about us? Our likes, wants, histories. You know, the things couples talk about. ‘What was your favorite sport as a kid, Bryce?’ ‘Did you have any pets growing up?’ ‘Who was your first celebrity crush?’ ‘What’s your favorite movie?’”
“Okay,” I sass. “What was your favorite sport as a kid, Bryce? Did you have any pets growing up? Who was your first celebrity crush? What’s your favorite movie?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “We are not doing this here.”
“What?”
“It’s fall in the city on a Sunday, and still gorgeous outside. You’re going to put on a dress and we’re going to have brunch like civilized New Yorkers. That is what they do, don’t they?”
“Brunch?” I ask, wondering when was the last time I did that. Probably with Dad and some of his boisterous friends.
“I have a hankering for a good Bloody Mary.”
“Now that you mention it, I could probably use one too,” I say, suddenly feeling a wee hangover headache coming.
“Then it’s settled. And I meant it about the dress. You do own one, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say in a testy voice.
“Then don it, woman!” he says, giving my ass a quick slap.
“Bryce!” I grouse, scowling at him. “I hope you don’t think you can act like a caveman all the time, just because—”
“I would never,” he says rubbing his nose against mine. He leans his forehead into mine. “Now get dressed,” he adds, squeezing my ass this time.
The scowl on my face lasts about two seconds before that adorable grin on his face forces a laugh out of me. I bounce out of bed—bounce!—and pad over to my dresser to pull out a matching bra and panty set, just because. Then I head to the closet and pull out a little black dress, holding it up against myself for his perusal. The grimace on his face denotes his disapproval.
“What’s wrong with it?” I grouse.
“Edie, can we hang on to summer just a little bit? That looks like you’re attending a wedding at a cemetery.”
“I was thinking it looked more like Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“Have you ever actually watched that movie? I had to watch it for some class in college; not exactly a feel-good flick.”
I work my mind, trying to remember.
“That’s a no. Something more pleasant.”
“Yes, Dad,” I sass.
“That’s ‘yes, Daddy’ to you, Lola.”
I glare at him before reaching in for something else. It takes two more tries, and me reaching my wit’s end before we agree on something.
“Do we get to play dress-up Ken doll with your closet now?”
“First of all, we both know that, at least anatomically speaking, I’m definitely no Ken doll,” he says, raising his arms to cross them behind his head. “Besides, I look good in everything.”
“Like this?” I say, reaching out for a pillow and lightly hitting him in the face with it. He grabs it and tosses it right back at me, making me laugh.
Half an hour later, we are dressed in our Sunday brunch best—yes, he does look good in everything—and catching an Uber to a place “someone” told him about. Being that this is brunch, I don’t need to ask which gender that someone was, so I don’t.
Bryce had a point about it being a gorgeous day that anyone should take advantage of. He charms his way into the best outdoor table, despite the waiting crowd. Not five minutes later the Bloody Marys we ordered are in front of us.
“So?” I ask, giving him a grin.
“Yes?” He replies after I don’t bother expounding on that.
“Are you going to answer your questions? Since we’re not allowed to talk about work and all.”
He laughs and sits back to assess me. “Okay. Sports? basketball. Absolutely no pets allowed in the Wilmington household, though I did sneak in the occasional frog or lizard. Celebrity crushes? Lindsay Lohan—”
“What?” I nearly spit out my Bloody Mary on the white sundress he insisted I wear.
“In all fairness, you should have seen her back then. Besides, I’m a sucker for redheads,” he grins at me. “And of course black women with fantastic legs.”
My nose remains firmly wrinkled with distaste.
“As for movies? The Fast and The Furious. Any and all of them.” He lifts his glass up as though there’s no argument there, and I decide to do him the favor of letting him believe that. “Your turn.”
I raise my brow over my glass and swallow my sip. “Okay. Sports…I wasn’t exactly what you’d call athletic.” I say, cringing at my memories of P.E. class. “Pets? Dad had four pugs since before I was even born: Dorothy, Sophia, Rose, and Blanche. I’m sure you get the reference.”
“I wouldn’t dare disrespect the Golden Girls by denying it.”
“They’re gone now.” I frown a little at the memories of losing them. Dad’s been reluctant to replace them with new pets since he loved them so much.
“First celebrity crush?” I bite my lip in embarrassment before continuing. “Okay, but you have to realize, I was going through this weird emo phase, and he wasn’t really emo but—”
“Don’t tell me it was Marilyn Manson,” he says, already giving me a look of horror.
“What? No! Ew.” I grimace. “Pete Wentz. Fall Out Boy?”
“That’s even worse,” he deadpans. “And to think you had the nerve to pick on my beloved Lindsay Lohan.”
“If you keep referring to her that way, I’m definitely ending this brunch. I’m still cringing at that one,” I say with a grimace.
“Done. And favorite movie?”
I feel a sentimental smile come to my face. “An American Tale. I used to watch it with my dad all the time. He’d make s’mores popcorn and we’d snuggle up together. He always cries when Fievel loses his family, then again when t
hey reunite, and of course the song, ‘Somewhere Out There.’” I shake my head and smile, remembering how Dad would keep apologizing just before blowing his nose loudly and sobbing through those scenes. “And the cat, Tiger, would make him laugh.”
I pull myself out of those thoughts to find Bryce giving me a considering smile. “What was it like growing up with parents like yours?”
I cough out a laugh and take a sip of my Bloody Mary. “I think the best adjective would be…exhausting. I mean, they were great in their own way, especially Dad, but their eccentricities were just so overwhelming.”
“Is that why you’re the way you are?” he asks with a grin. I don’t need to ask what he means.
I give him a sardonic look. It fades as I stare out into the street, idly watching cars pass by. I pull my attention back to Bryce, who stares at me with focused curiosity.
“Honestly? Despite being raised by two white parents, I was fully aware of my race. Hell, maybe even because of it, especially with parents like mine. A part of me always knew that I could never get away with the sort of antics they were involved in. I mean, a black woman flouting her sexuality and sleeping with half the men in Manhattan, most of them married? I can only imagine the things that would be said.” I shake my head just thinking about it. “And Dad, well, he had his own proclivities as well. The parties he threw…”
I take another sip before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong, I knew how privileged I was, and they never made me feel like I wasn’t theirs, but…” I’m not sure where I’m going with this so I let it drop.
“Have you ever thought about meeting your birth parents?”
I give him a wry smile. “Birth parent, singular. There was no dad listed on the birth certificate.” I pause before continuing, steeling myself with more Bloody Mary. “My mom went to prison when she was seven months pregnant with me. She was caught holding drugs for her so-called boyfriend at the time. One hundred grams of heroin.”
Bryce whistles softly, raising his brow at the amount. “How much did that get her?”
“Twenty years, which should tell you something about the drug laws in this country. I doubt she would have gotten as much for outright killing someone. But, along with having priors, it was punishment because she refused to testify against him, even for complete immunity.”
I pause and take another sip. “My parents finally let me in on the details when I was thirteen. At first, I assumed she did it because she was scared for her life or maybe mine.” I shake my head and feel the bitter twist come to my lips. “No, she was just loyal to a man who didn’t deserve it. I finally met her when I was sixteen and had pestered my parents enough. That’s when she pretty much made it clear. Then she had the audacity to act like I should be grateful since I turned out so well. Which…I suppose she has a point but—” I take a moment to swallow a metaphorical bitter pill once again. “—I can never get over the idea that she chose him over her own daughter, her own baby daughter.
“She tried getting in touch once she got out. I thought it would be a great way for us to connect, for me to learn about where I came from, but she just wanted money. Even when she tried using the check I’d given her to con her way into more using the routing number, I still gave her a second chance. Maybe I felt bad or guilty at how different our lives were. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I was connecting with a part of something that was biologically me. But every meeting just turned into requests for money, even suggesting I steal from my parents. I eventually realized she had no interest in me, only what she could get out of me. She ended up back in prison again, another drug dealer’s pawn, another twenty years.”
I focus on Bryce again, letting go of those bitter memories from when I was naïve and gullible.
“Maybe that’s why I’m so obsessed with being taken seriously—with succeeding. I know how easily I could have been a statistic, maybe even ending up in prison like my mother.” I circle the rim of my glass with my finger, pulling it up to suck on the residue of my drink. “So I guess I do have her to thank for that after all. And my parents, whatever their faults, they were always there for me, they never betrayed me. They aren’t perfect, but they are my parents.”
I give Bryce a crooked smile. He lifts his glass toward me. “If I ever complain about my parents, feel free to slap me.”
I laugh softly and tap my glass toward his. “It wasn’t meant to be a pity party, Bryce. But there you have it. Part of the reason I am the way I am.”
“And I wouldn’t have you any other way, Lola.”
I think about correcting him, but for some reason, I like the sound of my first name in his voice. He makes it sound like some decadent dessert that costs more than it should and has too many calories but is still very much worth it.
“On that note, I insist you tell me what life was like in the Wilmington household. Because I’m too curious to let you wriggle your way out of it.”
He blows air through his mouth. “In which case, another round of Bloody Marys are in order.”
Chapter Seventeen
Bryce
Our brunch arrives before the second round of Bloody Marys do, and we both eat. That gives me a chance to mentally stroll down memory lane, a path which I’d long ago posted a Do Not Enter sign in front of.
As the waiter comes back with our drinks and sets them down in front of us, Edie gives me an eager smile.
“So, spill,” she says, after swallowing her bit of egg white omelet.
I finish my bite of corned beef Eggs Benedict and set my fork down with an exaggerated sigh.
“Okay, but when you lose your appetite, don’t blame me,” I start off.
Edie gives me a taunting grin. “Go on. I’m dying to see how the one percent of the one percent live.”
“It’s a life of expectations. But a little backstory first. My great-great-great-grandfather started it all, making a smallish fortune selling gear and equipment to pioneers heading west. Manifest Destiny and all that jazz. And no, the irony of that isn’t lost on me. His son was the first to go to college, and by college, I mean Princeton, which has been the only option for Wilmington men ever since, under threat of ex-communication should you stray from the pack. His son, my great-grandfather, he made his fortune buying up property from unfortunate souls who lost everything in the Great Depression. There’s also the very robustly squashed rumor that there was a good deal of bootlegging added to the financial mix before that, which gave him the seed money. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Edie laughs.
“Grandfather was the one to start Wilmington Financial. Dad was the one to turn it into a Fortune 500 company. So you can see, the enterprising spirit is in my DNA.
“And dad certainly didn’t let their accomplishments go to waste. I think he was almost happy when Grandfather died, mostly because it gave him carte blanche to use him as a symbol whenever we acted out of line. For example, considering NYU for college, or learning the names and, heaven forbid, having conversations with the people who mowed our lawn and cleaned our homes.”
Edie gives me an incredulous look.
“You think I’m joking, but it’s true. ‘What would your grandfather say if he saw you?’ ‘If your grandfather were alive he’d be appalled.’” I’ve learned to finely hone that proper Mid-Atlantic accent of his as I mimic him. “Apparently, my grandfather is simultaneously turning over in his grave, having another heart attack, and thankful he’s not alive to see me start Ideal Gentlemen magazine.”
I stop to take a bite of my meal and wash it down with some Bloody Mary before continuing.
“The only reason I had the money to start the magazine was because I went to Princeton and then business school. That was enough for me to tap into at least part of my trust. It was the carrot my dad used to try and lure me into Wilmington Financial. He never figured I’d take my small bite and scurry away to Madison Avenue instead. In retrospect, I should probably thank my brother for saving me the humiliation of going to Dad for mo
re of my trust yesterday. He was never going to say yes.”
“What about your mother? What was she like?” Edie asks.
A genuine smile comes to my face. “The one ray of light. For some reason, she’s genuinely loyal to the guy. Go figure. And to his credit, he’s just as loyal to her, at least as far as I know. But she stays firmly out of all matters of the trust. Even she is powerless against that iron will of his. Still, she made childhood bearable, so there’s that.”
Edie smiles. “I suppose there’s something to be said for my not having a legacy to live up to.”
“Look at the two of us, the very definition of family dysfunction.”
“On opposite sides of the spectrum.”
“All the more reason to drink,” I say, lifting my glass toward her again.
Edie taps her glass to mine and we both sip.
“Which still leaves us back at square one with magazines on the brink of failure,” she says after swallowing.
As much as I hate returning to this issue, it is something that needs to be addressed. Tomorrow is Monday after all, and by now the staff of every magazine owned by Conniver has heard the news.
“I guess the big question is, how long are they going to give us an opportunity to buy out?” I say.
“Long enough to see if there is any nibble from third parties. Probably with a hefty price increase tacked onto the original purchase amount.”
I laugh. “Of that, there is no doubt.” I eye her with keen observation. “And neither of us has enough.”
“Of that, there is no doubt,” Edie echoes with a rueful smile. “And you’ll definitely get more nibbles than Contempo.”
“You have the more familiar brand name.”
“Among fourteen-year-old girls curious about sex,” Edie says coughing out a laugh. “I doubt that will be enough for any potential buyers, besides,” she pauses and gives me a mildly embarrassed look. “Our circulation, subscription, and even ad sales have been down. We just aren’t the magazine we were when Mom first started it.”
Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance Page 9