by G. , Whitney
I trailed him once more, and for the next five hours, I watched him like a seasoned chess player, committed his every move to memory.
He treated his entire team to breakfast at The Four Seasons and awarded them the next few days off as appreciation. He drove along the outskirts of the Wall Street to make deposits at his clients’ banks. Anytime someone waved or complimented his car, he smiled and handed them a hundred-dollar bill.
After lunch, he stopped by Tiffany & Co. and purchased a charm bracelet that featured a diamond-encrusted “P” and a “You’re so beautiful” necklace.
By mid-evening, when he was parking in front of Audemars Piguet, I was convinced that he pissed sunshine.
I was also convinced that day one of my mission was a complete and absolute failure.
Feeling defeated, I waited for him to leave before walking inside.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A grey-haired man smiled as I approached. “How can I help you today?”
“I need a new watch.” I couldn’t help but still feel a pinch of envy about Simon knowing the designer. “The same one my friend just came in here and bought actually.”
“Oh, you’re one of those guys.” He scoffed. “Follow me.”
“What the hell do you mean, one of those guys?”
He didn’t answer. He motioned for me to follow him into a side room.
“Please be sure to tell the others in your group that this arrangement will not renew at the end of the month,” he said. “This hasn’t been mutually beneficial in the slightest, and I can’t believe my boss ever fell for it.”
“I could follow this conversation a lot better if I knew what arrangement you were talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, sir.” He waved his hand. “You and your buddies lease our watches for days at a time because you can’t afford to buy them. Then you have the audacity to request models of the more refined and exclusive collections, just because someone on this company’s board went to business school with one of you.”
I raised my eyebrow. “What?”
“Come on, you know the drill.” He pointed to my wrist. “I don’t know why the hell I ever let you rent that one, but you won’t be able to borrow it again. That’s in a collection far above your rental grade.”
“I didn’t rent this at all.” I unclasped the band, flipping it onto its back. “My name is engraved onto it. And for the record, I don’t plan on ever renting a watch.”
“Hayden Hunter?” His eyes widened. “I didn’t—Oh, I didn’t recognize you, sir.” He put on a pair of glasses. “I’m so sorry I ever engaged you in that conversation. How can I really serve you today?”
“I want to know everything about that arrangement, and anything you know about the guy who was in here before me.”
“Well, I—” He stepped back, looking confused. “As one of our most esteemed customers, you know that I can’t share private information about another client.”
“Real clients don’t rent.”
He smiled, looking as if he was happy to oblige, but then it faded away.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I’m not allowed to do that.”
“I’ll buy ten watches from the signature collection at a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars each.”
“Have a seat, and I’ll be with you in two minutes.”
Twenty Four
Present Day
Hayden
* * *
Later that evening
I caught up with Simon at Citi Field. While the Mets were fighting the Dodgers at the bottom of the ninth, he chatted with a security guard at the Will-Call window.
I’d intended to continue my stalking tomorrow, but the watch seller’s parting words wouldn’t stop running through my mind.
“He always pays with someone else’s credit card, sir. And I know he’s always flying in and out of Colorado, but I find it odd that he doesn’t purchase the additional weather insurance. Any man who knows watches wouldn’t dare wear these in the elements.”
It was his mention of Colorado that caught my attention. Penelope had consistently brought up the fact that he flew back and forth from Florida every week.
I questioned the seller, asked him if he’d misspoken about Colorado, but he showed me the “gift” Simon recently dropped off for him as a thank you: A ‘Come Back to Colorado’ keychain with a snowy cabin backdrop.
It made me wonder what else he could be lying about.
As he posed for selfies with the security guard, my phone buzzed with text messages. Penelope.
Penelope: Hey. I’m torn between two dresses for your gala. What do you think? [img.] [img.]
Penelope: Also, I told Simon about how you typically have a special place reserved for me and you to talk when you’re bombarded with guests. I hope we’ll get those same minutes this year. We need to talk.
Penelope: Unless now is a good time? Simon has a few partners flying into town tonight. Please text me back.
My finger hovered over the images, but I couldn’t bring myself to open them; I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Deleting her messages, I put the car in drive as Simon slid behind the wheel of his Ferrari.
I watched him buy another bouquet of white and red roses, and then I followed him to John F. Kennedy International Airport, into the arrivals lane.
This would be my last stop, I told myself. I’d call Penelope the moment he and his other watch-borrowing stiffs rode into the city.
Keeping my distance, I waited for the group of suits he’d pulled in front of to get into his car, but they didn’t move.
Instead, Simon stepped out of the car and walked toward the zone doors.
Before he could make it inside, a brunette in a blue dress ran into his arms.
He kissed her like there was no tomorrow—grabbing fistfuls of her hair with one hand, cupping her ass with the other.
What the …
They were oblivious to the people around them, as if this was a terminal for two.
When Simon finally tore his mouth away from hers, he led her to the trunk of his car—handing over the roses and the Tiffany & Co. bag from earlier today.
I blinked a few times, making sure that my eyes weren’t deceiving me, and Prince Charming was now playing the role of a two-timing villain.
My vision is perfectly fucking clear.
Lawrence’s name suddenly crossed the dashboard via phone call, and I hit accept out of habit.
“Yeah?” I answered.
“Oh, great,” he said. “You are alive. I have good news, great news, and well, Tinder news. What do you want first?”
“I’m not interested in any of it.”
“I’ll start with the great news, then.”
I didn’t even pretend to listen. I was too focused on Simon kissing this other woman all over again.
He slid his hand under her dress, and she playfully pushed his hand away. He slapped her ass in return.
If the “Disney kisses” and dry-humping couch sessions were frustrating to Penelope, it was probably because he was pacing himself and giving those parts to someone else.
“Um, hello, Hayden?” Lawrence asked. “Where are you?”
“On a secret mission.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me,” I said. “I’m doing some much needed recon.”
“Okay, fine. Once and for all, what drugs are you taking?”
“Instead of being a smart-ass, you should volunteer to help me with this.”
“I have no idea what ‘this’ is, Hayden. When exactly would you need my help?”
“Tomorrow and every morning this week,” I said. “We ride at dawn.”
Silence.
“Can you be honest with me?” He let out a long breath. “Is it cocaine or heroin?”
“I’ll pick you up at four. Be ready.” I ended the call and sent an email to Sarah.
I wanted her to do more than simple, surface-level Google search. I wanted
her to send me everything she could find on Simon, in every database, and I wanted it in my hands by midnight.
I also wanted—no needed, to know if he really owned that Ferrari.
When I finally pulled out of the line and sped away, a new message from Penelope appeared on the dashboard.
Penelope: So, you’re just going to keep reading my messages and IGNORING me? Being fickle for no damn reason? This is what you call being my best friend? What the hell have you been doing these days?
What I always do. Looking out for you…
Break Up #12
The One That Stayed the Night
Penelope
Back Then
Ottawa, Canada
Me: I lost my virginity tonight. Thought you would want to know.
Hayden: I’ll pick up a ‘Congratulations’ card for you at Walgreens if you want to celebrate.
Me: I’d rather you pick up a ‘Get Well Soon’ one.
Hayden: [confused emoji] What’s that supposed to mean?
I don’t answer him. I tuck my medal from Skate Canada under my jacket and slip out of the hotel room.
Without looking back, I rush downstairs and run across the street to The Hilton.
Grateful that there’s no one else in line at the front desk, I place my purse onto the counter.
“I need a room, please,” I say. “I don’t care how much it costs.”
“I’m sorry.” The desk agent looks up at me. “We’re sold out due to the skating competition, Miss.”
For a split second, it looks as if she may recognize me, so I look down.
“Are you sure that you don’t have anything?” I ask.
“One hundred percent certain. I think most hotels downtown are filled to capacity for the weekend.”
“I see.” I’m tempted to ask if I can take a nap on the lobby’s couch.
“She can take my suite,” a familiar voice says from behind. “I haven’t been in it yet anyway.”
Tatiana? I turn around in utter disbelief.
We tied for first place today, and we traded insults on the podium hours ago.
“I have room 1242,” she said. “I can share a room with my parents.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She shoots me a sympathetic look, almost as if she wants to ask what’s wrong, but she walks away without another word.
The desk agent taps her keyboard a few times and hands me a key packet. “The elevators are down the hall and to the right.”
I thank her and walk in the opposite direction. I want to avoid the crowd of people who are headed that way for a while.
As I’m circling the water fountain, my phone vibrates with a call. Hayden.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“What do you mean by needing a ‘Get Well Soon’ card?”
I don’t say anything.
“Penelope, tell me.”
“I told Joshua no,” I say. “I told him that I wasn’t ready and that I changed my mind, and I know that’s a really shitty thing to say in the moment when he’s already on top of me and the condom’s on, but I didn’t want to do it. I said no … ”
Silence.
“He said I was just nervous and then he uh—” I wince at the thought of him sliding into me all at once, him muffling my mouth with his hand and telling me to, “Calm down and take this dick.”
“He fucked without any mercy, and he didn’t care that I was crying. ” I can barely get the words out. “He left the room for champagne but I couldn’t be there anymore, so I walked across the street to stay someplace else for the night.”
He lets out a soft sigh.
“The only time he looked into my eyes was when he said his ex’s name,” I say. “The rest of the time, he was—” I can’t even finish my sentence.
“I need to sleep this off so I can start forgetting about it as soon as possible. Can you tell Travis that I’ll need a raincheck for our video call over breakfast tomorrow? I’d really appreciate that.”
“Penelope, wait.”
I end the call. I don’t want him to hear me cry, and I’ve held back long enough.
Once I’m sure that the hallway crowd has gone, I return to the elevator bank. Then I turn off my phone before stepping inside.
I double-check the room number on the key packet and anxiously watch the numbers tick by as the car rises.
The moment the doors glide open, I rush down the hall and lock myself inside the assigned room.
I collapse onto the bed, and the sobs wrack my body in waves. Shutting my eyes, I try to fall asleep, but it’s no use.
You’re still a foolish, foolish girl.
I can’t stop replaying the past hour, and I know it’ll leave a scar on my brain for the rest of my life. There’s no point in giving him an ex-boyfriend title because I don’t want to remember him at all.
Sniffling, I wipe my eyes with the corner of a blanket and dial room service. I order two bottles of water that I don’t really want and a carafe of coffee that I don’t need.
Several minutes later, a loud knock comes at the door.
I grab a few dollars before walking over to open it.
There’s no room service attendant on the other side, though.
Hayden?
I wait for him to look at me like I’m deranged, but there’s sincerity and sympathy in his eyes.
He cups my face in his hands and presses his forehead against mine, but he doesn’t say a word.
“He said his ex-girlfriend’s name when he came. He said it twice.” I can’t help but replay that part. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Hayden? Why can’t I find a decent guy?”
He doesn’t give me an answer. Instead, he gently runs his fingers through my hair, pressing a kiss against my skin. Then he pulls me into his arms and holds me close.
I fight to hold back more tears, but it’s no use.
Without judgment, he walks me over to the bed. Pulling me against his chest, he kisses my forehead a few more times and tightens his grip around me.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”
He stays the entire night, holding me through every shed tear.
When the sun filters through the blinds the following morning, Hayden runs me a warm bubble bath.
I resist getting out of the bed to take it, so he slides his hands under my legs and carries me into the bathroom.
A complete gentleman, he undresses me down to my bra and panties—all while keeping his eyes on mine.
“I think you can take off the rest yourself,” he says, whispering. “If not, I’m right outside.”
When he shuts the door, I peel off my panties and bra, and I take my time slipping under the warm suds.
I expect him to be gone by the time I get out since I take over two hours to soak, but he’s there in the bed once I open the door.
Moving next to him, I lean against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me again.
He stays with me another night.
On Monday morning, I sit up in the bed alone. The drapes are pulled open, and there’s a note on the pillow next to me.
Stepped out to pick up some breakfast.
-Hayden
P.S.—Told Travis that you decided to spend the weekend hanging out with Tatiana.
(Couldn’t come up with anything else, but he bought that shit. :-) )
I laugh and grab my cell phone from the nightstand. I scroll down in search of Joshua’s name so I can let him know how awful he’s made me feel, but it’s not there.
He’s not listed in my texts or recent calls, and when I manually type his number, an “Error: Not Allowed” message appears.
What the heck?
The door to the room opens, and Hayden walks inside carrying two brown bags.
“Good. You’re up,” he says. “I’ll let you choose which bagel stack you want.”
“What did you do to my phone? I can’t contact Joshua.”
“Cinnamon or regular?” He ignores my question.
“Cinnamon.”
“Okay.” He opens a bag and takes his time setting a tray in front of me.
I can’t help but notice that there are cuts and bruises all over his knuckles. Cuts and bruises that weren’t there last night or the night before.
“What happened to your hands?”
“It’s nothing.” He hands me a fork. “I just hit them on someone stupid.”
“Someone or something?”
He doesn’t answer that question either. He fluffs the pillow behind my head and hands me a fruit cup.
“Hayden, what happened?”
“I was looking out for you,” he says.
Then he changes the subject, giving me a look that lets me know that the ship for the previous conversation has sailed. “Let’s talk about your next competition. It’s in North Carolina, right?”
Twenty-Five
Present Day
Hayden
Simon Gaines was a fucking fraud.
The evidence lay ahead of me in black and white, and the numbers didn't lie.
The lengths he’d taken to craft his persona were enough to fill a nine-hundred-page novel, but no sane author would ever pen a story with a plot this insane. (Then again, he was also a “New York Times bestseller,” according to his website, so perhaps he was borrowing a storyline from one of his nonexistent books.)
In addition to renting his Ferrari, his watches, and his suits, he dated a different woman in every city (five and counting), with a complementing wardrobe and personality to match.
In Los Angeles, he was a doting widower dating a nurse named Shelby. In Las Vegas, he climbed mountains and led spiritual yoga sessions with a thrill-seeking woman named Ana. In Indiana, he moonlighted as a part-time stock bro who “hated the thought” of spending weekends away from his girlfriend Yasmine.