by Dee Palmer
They were..
I scoop handfuls of cool water from the sink in my private bathroom and splash my face, hoping the refreshing blast will clear my head. What the hell am I doing? The question still echoes off the marble walls as it rattles in my head unanswered. Taking the towel from the heated rail, I roughly wipe my face and neck dry and walk back into my office. I unbutton my wet shirt and fold it neatly for Thomas to deal with later. Taking a new one from the drawer unit behind my desk, I rip the cellophane package open and slip it on. It helps keeping a supply of them here, as I often work through the night. I didn’t used to be such a workaholic. I used to enjoy life, and if I’m honest, I mostly prefer to stay in this quiet office with cleaning staff as my only company rather than face the emptiness of my riverside apartment. Is it too early to have a drink? I eye the cabinet housing the finest selection of malt whisky this side of Scotland and then close it as I picture my father’s judgmental brow rising high with displeasure.
Okay, it’s too early, but you weren’t at the presentation. You didn’t see her. For that matter, you didn’t feel her, fuck!
I squeeze the tension from the back of my neck and am irritated that I now have a raging hard-on demanding similar attention. I curse and head back into my bathroom. I don’t think I’ve ever had an erection at work, and now I’ve had two, although I think this handful is a resurrection of the one I had throughout Hope’s presentation. It’s a miracle I was able to construct an intelligent sentence or ask any pertinent questions. Regardless of my wayward bodily response or the unfathomable reaction toward Ms Williams, I find that I want to help her achieve her dream. Whether she will pull off the task she set herself is another matter, but either way, Ms Williams and I are unfinished business.
Present Day
“HOPE?” I REPEAT, MY TONE perfectly matching her announcement. She screws her face into a mocking scowl, and I realise I am still standing far too far away and not squishing the living breath out of my best friend like I damn well should be. She never made it to the wedding, and I haven’t seen her in what feels like forever. She makes the first move, nearly knocking Pink flat out as she barges past him and sprints toward me. We collide and dissolve into an ear-piercing garbled mess of squeals and cries that are usually only heard on school playgrounds, on rollercoasters, or maybe from some rare species of African bats. We hug the breath from each other and only break when my arms start to spasm. Tears streak our faces, and when I turn to face my men, we both burst out laughing at the identical expressions of utter confusion, mixed with a tinge of fear; the latter is much more appropriate.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I turn back to face her. I can’t believe she’s here. We talk all the time and, until recently, managed to Skype call at least once a week. Still, I miss her face, and I miss her hugs even more. As if sensing the very same thing, we crash together, arms wrapped tight with warmth and love. I didn’t realise how much I missed her until she was back here hugging the life out of me.
“I miss you.” I exhale, and she nods manically with her lips pressed together to prevent a sob escaping. I have the exact same thing clawing at my throat.
“So what’s with the ‘what the hell’ comment?” She scoffs and uses our slight break apart to wipe her face dry and re-plaster her expression with a brilliantly bright, wide smile.
“Oh, H, you know you’re always welcome. It’s just that a little warning might’ve been helpful.”
“Don’t be so British, whatever happened to mañana and mi casa es tu casa?”
“My casa is your casa. I’m sorry, just in shock, that’s all.” My face is starting to ache from the face-splitting smile I’m sporting, but eases back to non-existent when I remember the other shock I’ve had this morning. “Actually you’re not the only surprise I’ve had today, so you may have to cut me some slack, because, honestly, I’m ridiculously excited that you’re finally here.” I look over to where the men are nodding their agreement on my behalf—for the time being at least. No, I just know they’re gonna end up loving her as much as I do…either that, or they’ll end up killing her.
She’s very much your Marmite kind of friend. You either love her or hate her. There’s absolutely no middle ground with Hope. “I can’t wait to show you around. We’re gonna have such a good time.” I clap my hands together, excitement lifting my feet from the ground in a series of demented bunny bounces.
“Treat me so good I’ll never want to leave, eh?” She beams, and I almost explode at the mere notion of her joke.
“Something like that. God, I’ve missed you.” I take both her hands and turn her awkwardly toward my men, I don’t want to let go just yet. Tiny bunny hops synchronise as we both seem unable to keep our feet rooted, the pent-up excitement is just too much. “You remember everyone?”
“Sure do. I know we haven’t seen much of each other recently, but I’m still never likely to forget these Adoni…is that the right plural for Adonis?” She cocks her eyebrow high, purses her lips in the perfect pout, and taps her finger lightly at the corner of her mouth, seemingly musing the grammatical issue, all the while, dragging her gaze deliberately from one man to the next.
“Wow!” I drop my mouth open at her brazen and suggestive play.
“I know, I know,” She waves her hand dismissing my astonishment. At least it’s good to see a little bit of money hasn’t changed her. She’s still the no-filter-all-flirt Hope I adore. “I know the no sharing rule, Finn. Still, a girl can dream.” She mock swoons, the back of her hand lying theatrically across her forehead as she dips her body in a backbend. Charge’s reflex is such, he’s hitting the deck to break her fall before Hope’s knee even begins to fake quiver. “Oh, my god, Finn, it must be like having four knights in shining armour all day, everyday, with moves like that.” Charge jumps to his feet and gives a light shrug, because Hope is still drooling comically with her jaw gaping. I tip it closed with my finger.
“Something like that.” I chuckle. I feel the burst of warmth hit me like a wave when she lets out a filthy laugh. Jutting her hip hard into mine, she knocks me two feet sideways, and this time, Charge’s reactions don’t go to waste.
“Yes, I know everyone.” She straightens herself when the ridiculous fit of giggles that ensued from nothing remotely funny subsides. She stiffly holds out her arm toward Tug. “Tug, I presume?” He takes her hand lightly in his meaty hand and bends as if to kiss the back. Since pretending to be a pompous arse seems to be the name of the game today, I giggle at his dramatics. He pauses before contact, winks at me, and pulls her hard against his chest. Hope huffs out a pained groan at the impact.
“Come here,” he says after the fact, giving her a hug to make any mama bear proud and holds her by the shoulders when she sways a little on release. “Happy to have you here, honey.”
“Yeah, really glad you got your Brit arse over here. I thought you two were supposed to be best friends, and you don’t even come visit her new husbands,” Toxic teases from over my shoulder. He moved behind me as he spoke, slipping his strong arms around my waist. I get a painful pinch in my chest that this will change.
I know this makes me selfish, only I’m not sure I’m quite ready for everything to change. I try to comfort myself that they’ve had a little longer to reconcile this morning’s revelation. Perhaps, I’m not a completely selfish bitch; I just haven’t had enough time to come round to the idea, perhaps… Hope interrupts my musings.
“I still can’t get over that whole poly thing you’ve got going on, Finn. It’s exhausting loving just one person. Mind-blowing sex is one thing, but how do you manage the actual emotional stuff with four men?”
“Hope, are you okay?” Her face has lost the last of the faint colour from her rosy cheeks. The fiery freckles across the bridge of her nose and high along her cheekbones fade and seem to blend with her impossibly pale complexion. I hold her gaze when she tries to dip from my eye contact. Her eyes glaze with tears she tries to shake with some rapid blinking, and I�
��m just waiting for anything resembling her standard response to any reference to my four-to-one living situation. There has not been a single incident when that didn’t elicit some sassy quip or a witty retort heavily laced with double-entendres.
Not today. Today she’s uncharacteristically silent on the subject.
“Sure, why?” She hesitates, rubs her eyes dry with the cuff of her sweater and frown-scoffs like I’ve said something ridiculous.
“You’ve just mentioned ‘love’ and ‘emotion’ in one sentence.” I air quote the key words, but really, they needed little emphasising. She looks just as shocked as I feel, although judging by the slight distasteful curl in her lip, I think she is more disgusted than surprised. I clarify my observation with a perfect example. “Something I’ve only ever heard you use once before, and that was when you were describing the benefits of adopting a tiger in India with the World Wildlife Fund.”
She snorts, and her laugh is so stilted and sharp, the abrasive tone makes me wince. I take her hand and pull her toward the stairs. She falls into step behind me, giving only the slightest resistance.
This looks like a girl-talk is long overdue.
I yell over my shoulder but keep the urgency in my pace as I hit the stairs running.
“Don’t wait up!”
One Month Ago
“I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S NOT coming back.” I hand mum a glass of sparkling elderflower and take the open bottle of chardonnay over to my empty glass for a refill. I’m not going to be driving until much later, and I feel I’m going to need some fortification if I’m going to handle this evening, so just half a glass. I flop down on the forget-me-not blue velvet chaise longue that fills the bay window of my mother’s bedroom in my old home. The townhouse feels like a familiar warm blanket that I have retreated to more often in the last few months than I have in the last five years since I moved out.
“She’ll come back.” My mother holds up another floaty dress against her slight frame and sways with the material in front of the antique gold full-height mirror in the corner of the room. She exemplifies all things elegant, with a feathered platinum blonde bob, ageless makeup that flatters her pixie features, her pale blue eyes, and her deceptively youthful skin. She rocks a boho hip style that is totally fitting, with her hippy outlook and joie de vivre. She may look like a frail angel dancing from side to side in the beam of light shining through her bay window, but she’s a fighter, business-smart, and ferociously protective when it comes to her girls—me and Finn, my sister from another mister.
I think there are at least a hundred dresses and pairs of shoes scattered on the bed, the ottoman, and on the floor, as she decides what to pack for her cruise. Or maybe she’s leaving home? She’s got enough suitcases packed already to raise that as a serious concern, even if she has assured me it’s just six weeks.
“No, mum, she won’t. She’s really happy. You can see it in her eyes every time we FaceTime.” I can feel my nose tickle with the threat of tears when mum looks at me and tilts her head. It’s all I can do to stop myself from bursting with stupid tears. I take a large slug of wine from my glass, instead.
“It’s about time, surely you want Finn to be happy, Pumpkin?” She drops the dress she was holding on the floor and steps over the ever-increasing mound of discarded clothes. She pushes my legs to one side and sits facing me. Removing the glass from my hand, she balances it on the windowsill and takes both my hands in hers.
“Not if it means I lose my best friend,” I pout.
“You don’t mean that, Pumpkin.” She pats my hand, and there goes that sympathetic head tilt again.
“No, I don’t, but—”
“I know you miss your partner in crime.”
“I do. Not that she came out with me much when she was with Dave, the dickhead, but she was always there, you know.”
“You never know what you have until it’s gone.”
“Oh, I knew what I was losing when she left, Mum. I guess I just hoped… Oh, I don’t know. I’m really happy for her, and I know she’s living her dream being married. It’s just what’s the point of this hard work finally paying off, if I can’t share it?” I reach over to take the glass, and Mum raises a judgmental brow. It’s the only part of my life she’s ever expressed her objection to. In fairness, a near fatal case of alcohol poisoning at the age of fourteen, which almost ended me and her, for that matter, would most likely make anyone a little judgmental. It scared her to death and put me off touching the stuff until I turned twenty. I take a more measured sip for her benefit. “I guess I could go and visit.”
“Not until this deal is signed and sealed, Hope. It’s not our money until BlueSky actually puts it in our bank,” she cautions, and I nod my agreement, but still, I have a good feeling.
“I think it’s a solid, Mum.” I squeeze her hand, this has been a ton of work for both of us these last few months, but we are so near the end I can almost taste the champagne. “All I have to do is take this guy to the site this afternoon, and as long as he falls in love with the place, it’s a done deal.”
“And who could not fall in love with Greycoat Manor, our flagship retreat?” Mum clasps her hands together with excitement and glee. We’ve risked everything to put this deal together, my flat, her home, and the four London Serenity Salons are all at stake. This has to work.
“Exactly, it will be amazing when we’re done with it, a heavenly utopia for people with more money than sense.” She clinks her glass to mine. Although it wasn’t strictly a toast, she sips her drink and shares the sentiment with a tentative smile.
“I do hate the hoops, but it will be worth this last jump. You’ve worked very hard for this, Pumpkin, and I’m so proud of you.”
“We’ll be fine as long as the guy I’m taking isn’t Mr. Silent and Deadly.”
“Who?”
“Jørgen Jensen. God, even his name is ridiculous,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks flash with heat. Too late to avoid my mother’s beady scrutinising gaze, I try and shrug off my uncharacteristic reaction to any man.
“Hope?”
“Sorry, it’s just I can’t get a read on him. He’s barely said a damn word in any of the meetings this last week. I don’t even know why he bothers showing up if he’s not going to contribute. It just irritates me.” I ignore the riot of fire and desire that spikes in my belly at the thought of Mr. Jensen. Irritation is just one emotion he evokes, and I hate feeling this confused, conflicted, or out of my comfort zone over a man. I don’t know whether it’s the idea of forbidden fruit that is so distracting, or whether it’s the disturbing draw I feel toward him whenever he’s near. We’ve barely spoken. He has smouldered and stared, nodded, and maybe offered up some insight related to business, but no banter, no flirting, and absolutely no recurrence of our ‘moment’.
We’ve touched just the one time, with a deal-sealing handshake that shook more than my hand. It rocked me, and that’s never happened, ever.
I just don’t know if it’s all in my head. How could I? I could be hallucinating. It could be a symptom that I’m having a breakdown. I could be sick. Fuck, for all I know, it could be gas. Honestly, the only emotion I’ve ever felt toward the opposite sex is horny, and I’ve been reliably assured by my mother and Finn that horny isn’t an emotion.
“He’s there because he owns the company that’s investing millions in us, and it irritates you because he’s off limits.”
“I don’t have limits.” I scoff.
“In business, you do.” She stands and picks another dress from her wardrobe, casting a glance over her shoulder for my response.
“True.”
“Darling, you never shit where you eat, ever.” It always makes me snicker when my mother speaks like this. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and I swear I’d have a heart attack if the ‘F’ word ever slipped from her lips.
“Not an issue in this case, Mother. Even if he wasn’t gay, he’s not my type,” I scoff flatly.
“Oh, Hope, don’t be
ridiculous, I’ve seen him, too, remember. He’s everyone’s type. Wait…he’s gay?”
“He’s immaculate with a strong chiselled jaw, piercing blues, easily six foot four, built like a Nordic god in a tailored suit, and, man, he smells so good. Yes, I’d say he’s gay.” I draw in a slow sniff as if that intoxicating cologne of his is, at this moment, drifting around my nostrils. I know he’s not gay, but in an attempt to keep my focus, I’ve found it helpful if I pretend he is. Off limits and gay, childish but highly effective.
“That’s a stereotype, Hope, and what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. He just makes me…” I pause, briefly closing my lids, and all I can see is a pair of impossibly blue eyes looking right into me.
“Horny?”
“Mother! For chrissake, can you at least pretend we have some boundaries?”
“It’s so rare to see you blush, Hope. I do believe this man has gotten under your skin, so excuse me if I make the most of it, because in my long life, I never thought I’d live to see it happen.”
“Nothing’s happened.”
“And that’s why I know—” She taps the side of her nose, and I interrupt her witchy wondering, she’s being ridiculous.
“You know nothing, Mother. As you said: In business, I have limits, and despite what you say, Jørgen is not my type.”
“Because he’s not eating out of your hand, you mean? Yes, I would agree; he isn’t your usual type, but I’ll give you all my shares in Serenity if you’re not his type.”
“He’s got a dick, and I have three vaguely interesting holes for said dick. Type doesn’t come into it for most men.” Derision trips from my tongue.
“Didn’t you just say he was gay?” Her lips quirk with a wry smirk.
“Jury’s still out on that one.”
“One day you’re going to meet a man who is not only going to shake that low opinion of the gender but is going to rock your world.” She waggles a knowing finger at me, and I roll my eyes.