And I’m not the girl for him.
He might be able to look at me with some effort, and fuck me, but that didn’t mean anything.
I would never be beautiful in his eyes. He would always be beautiful in mine.
Slowly, Max withdrew and lowered me. His hands then cupped my face, his eyes closed and his tongue sliding over my lips. “That was amazing,” he said with a deep, masculine breathy voice. “Better than amazing.”
I pulled away. “Please leave.”
A long moment of silence passed. “What’s the matter?” he whispered.
“Get out of my room.”
“What did I do?” he asked, and it was the first time he didn’t sound like the tyrant, but just a guy.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out, still looking away. “You didn’t do anything, Mr. Cole. I just need to be alone.” I felt emotionally exposed, and I had no clue how to deal with it. I wanted him so badly that it hurt.
“Was I too rough on you?” He squeezed my shoulder, and I jerked away, shooting him a look.
“Don’t.”
“Lily?” He was pissed.
Well, fuck him and his perfect everything. Then my pride kicked in, and I realized I didn’t want him to know how much I wanted him.
I smiled. “Sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed. It wasn’t what I expected.”
He looked down at me, frowning with pity. “You really think you don’t deserve anything. Not even this.”
He hit the nail on the head, but I wasn’t strong enough to face the truth, so I acted like a bitchy punk.
Not my best moment. Not even close.
“I deserve better,” I said.
He shook his head, his hands on hips. “I can’t argue with that. See you at five a.m.”
He slid on his pants and shirt and left my room, slamming the door behind him. I sank to the floor, covered my face, and bawled.
I am in over my head. It was impossible to be around a man like that and not feel something for him.
The next morning I felt sore all over. Even my ass cheeks felt bruised. But by far, my dented-up emotions trumped everything else.
Every human being had different sides. The rational side. The irrational side. Lust and logic. Love and hate. Pleasure and pain. There was often a difference between doing what was right and doing what we want. You shouldn’t eat that gallon of ice cream right before bed, yet you do it anyway. You’re happily married with two kids so you probably shouldn’t be looking at that hot waiter’s ass and imagining how it might feel in your hands; yet you imagine anyway. My rational side had not been in control last night and neither had his. This made me feel all sorts of really, really hopeful things about what that passion meant when I knew I shouldn’t.
Was what we felt last night normal? Was it special? Did it even matter?
Maxwell Cole was not the sort of man to grow attached to women, and he certainly wouldn’t grow attached to me. I simply needed to remind myself that while our relationship was extremely unorthodox and felt intimate in some ways, it was an arrangement of mutual benefit.
Did I secretly wish things to be different? Maybe. But they weren’t. And his distant and formal disposition when I saw him in the morning—oh God, yes, I had on ridiculous white short-shorts and a pink tee—confirmed everything I believed.
Still, I’d behaved like a petulant child running him out like that. The “ugly” episode landed squarely on my shoulders. But when I apologized, he’d barely looked at me. “Don’t give it another thought,” had been his response.
He then made no effort to make eye contact or acknowledge my presence while he stayed on the phone the entire ride to the airport, so I retreated and busied myself, reading all of the reviews and press releases about the new fall colors lineup. “Bold.” “Daring.” “Cole Cosmetics raises the bar again.” Mr. Cole had to be happy about that.
When I toggled my phone to the celebrity gossip section, however, I knew he was probably anything but pleased. There was a photo collage of me sitting next to him at the show and then dancing wildly with Franco, my arms raised over my head. Another pic showed Patricio holding me in a suggestive pose. The fourth set of photos was of me getting into Cole’s limo with his hand on the small of my back, staring at my ass. I didn’t even remember that moment, but the caption read, “Cole Cosmetics Manager Goes Wild and Gets Around.”
“Oh. God,” I whispered. “Who would write this?” I wasn’t anyone even remotely interesting.
I suddenly had the urge to hang my head out the car window and vomit.
Mr. Cole glanced over, still talking on his cell. His eyes flickered with annoyance at me.
So he’d likely seen it already. I could only assume he was upset because “it reflected poorly” on his company. But I was the one who’d been called a whore. The only saving grace being the fact that no one would believe I’d slept with those men let alone Maxwell Cole.
I shut off my phone as we pulled up to the private terminal. Mr. Cole ended the call and got out on his side. As we marched through the little checkpoint, I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please stop,” I said.
“Didn’t say a word, Miss Snow.”
“I told you I was sorry.”
“And I told you not to mention it. Ever again,” he added coldly.
Wow. Point taken. Last night…mistake. Never happened.
We got on the plane in awkward silence, flew twelve hours in awkward silence, and rode back to his house in pissy-awkward silence. The longer he went without saying a word, the more irate I felt. I’d done nothing wrong—except fuck him. Which wasn’t technically wrong, as we were both consenting adults, but the other circumstances were not the sort of thing generally accepted by the public. Or my parents. Or anyone I knew. Okay, yes. I was a scandalous woman. And I’d behaved a little rude with him after sex, but I apologized. And I’d really, really meant it, but he hadn’t cared.
Now in his driveway, the limo driver unloaded my small suitcase and then Mr. Cole’s bags.
I dug through my purse, looking for my keys, eager to get home, crawl into my bed, and sob this one out.
“Miss Snow?”
“Yep?” I said softly, trying not to provoke an argument I didn’t have the stomach for.
“Now that this portion of our arrangement has concluded, I’ll expect you to behave accordingly.”
I blinked at him, my eyeballs feeling like sandpaper after the long trip and sleepless night. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you’ll act professionally.”
“Aha. So you don’t want me running around blowing kisses at you in the office? Darn. That had been my plan.”
“Do not make light. I allowed last night to happen because I believed you were the sort of woman who doesn’t drown herself in delusions.”
He’d “allowed” it to happen? Allowed? Like he hadn’t really wanted it so badly that he’d been out of his mind. Oh, but he allooowed it. Like he gave me some precious permission slip to ride his cock.
I frowned. “If by delusions you mean last night wasn’t anything more than a fuck, then we’re on the same page.”
“Yes,” he replied.
“No problem there. It was simply a transaction—part of our deal.”
“Good,” he replied coldly. “And I realize we were less than careful last night. I take very good care of myself, but you will inform me if there are any…other repercussions,” he said distastefully.
So he’d basically just said he was STD free, but if I ended up pregnant, shoot him a memo? Or something like that. And the way he’d said it made me feel so dirty.
“I’m on the pill, but I’ll let you know if I get any weird rashes.” I found my keys and pressed the unlock button on the remote. “See you at the office, Mr. Cole. And thank you for the weekend, especially for the part where you put your dick inside me. It was interesting.”
Asshole.
I got in my
car, started the engine, and drove away, the entire time feeling his angry gaze pinned to the back of my head like a laser beam.
~~~
“You did what?” Sitting on my bed with her legs stretched across my white comforter, Danny spit out a mouthful of white wine, shooting it all over her gray sweat pants. I’d already showered and put on my yellow ducky pajamas, which was what grown women did in the middle of the day when they were preparing to binge on cupcakes and tragic movies to make themselves feel better about their life choices.
“I know you heard me,” I said, picking up my suitcase and laying it near her feet on the bed.
She blotted her face with the tip of her long brown ponytail. “No. I didn’t. Because what you said sounded like ‘I lost my virginity to Maxwell Cole at the Four Seasons in Milan,’ and I’m pretty sure that was my fantasy. Or something from a movie.” She shook her head. “And if it’s not, it should be.”
I reached into my suitcase and chucked my dirty clothes into the basket in the corner. The torn-up dress I’d worn got left behind in the closet at the hotel. I couldn’t bear to look at it, and it was ruined anyway.
“I was really thinking tell-all book instead of a movie,” I said sarcastically.
“How the hell did it happen, Lily? I mean…Wow.” She blew out a breath.
“It just did.” That was only part of the truth, of course.
“I’m shocked.”
“Why? You were the one who gave me the idea.”
“Me?” She pointed to herself. “Lily, I was joking. I would never advise you to sleep with your boss—even Maxwell Cole.”
I gave her a cynical look.
“Okay.” She held up her hands. “I’d at least tell you to wait until you had a new job lined up and it was your last day.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. This kind of stuff happens all the time.” As if I knew what the hell I was talking about.
“Are you going to do it again?” she asked.
“No. Absolutely not. It was a onetime thing, and we both agreed we’d move on. Business as usual.” We-hate-each-other business.
“All right. If you say so.”
I closed my empty suitcase and pushed it into my closet beneath my dresses. “I think he’s an asshole. And he’s not into me—it was a pity fuck for him. That’s all.” Or had it been an ego-fuck because I’d called him a pussy?
She looked at me in horror. “Lily, how the hell can you say that?”
“I’m not stupid, Danny. And I own a mirror.”
“Are you sure about the stupid part? Because you’re a very wonderful person, and you somehow don’t see it. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe guys don’t hit on you because they’re intimidated? Unlike your name, you’re not a timid little flower. A guy’s gotta have a lotta balls to even talk to you. Then they have to be comfortable with not feeling needed and being disposable.”
Huh? I looked at her and blinked. Actually, it had never occurred to me. Not once. “You think I’m mean?”
She set her empty wineglass down on my whitewashed nightstand. “God, no. You’re like the most caring, most genuine person I’ve ever met—but you also don’t let anything stand in your way. And you’re extremely independent and driven. Oh—and there’s that whole competitive thing about you.”
“What? I’m not competitive.”
“Maybe not on a one-on-one basis, but with the world? Oh yeah.”
Wow. She’d basically just said I had a huge chip on my shoulder. I’d never realized that about myself, but maybe she was right. I did feel a little like I was on a one-woman mission to kick ass.
“How come no one’s ever said anything?” I asked, going to sit beside her on the bed.
“Honestly, I figured you knew. You’re not like one of these assholes I work with who run around saying how great they are, but their heads are shoved so far up their asses that they can’t even smell their own bullshit.” She placed her hand on my thigh. “With the exception of your small insecurity, you come across as the kind of person who knows themselves—bullshit and all.”
I ran my hand over the top of my head and down the back of my long hair, thinking hard about what she’d said. I was beginning to see I didn’t know myself.
She went on, “So now that we’ve established your boss—aka my fantasy boyfriend—may have screwed you for non-pity related reasons, can you go over that part again where he threw you up against the wall and tore off your ten-thousand-dollar dress?”
“Nope. Scandalous porn story hour is over. I have to get ready for a long day tomorrow.” And honestly, now that I was beginning to see myself in this different light, I had to start questioning more than just my relationship with Mr. Cole. My entire perception seemed to be contaminated by this one small aspect of my life: my looks. A shocker because I’d never thought of myself as the type of person who could be influenced by something so shallow.
Nevertheless, I suddenly felt like my face had created a cancer that had been quietly undermining me my entire life, possibly robbing me of seeing good things that were right in front of me the entire time.
Crap. Mr. Cole had been so, so right when he’d said I didn’t believe I deserved “even this,” meaning casual sex. I didn’t believe the things I wanted were there for me, so I pushed and fought my way through everything.
I’m so damned confused. Who the hell am I?
“Come on, Lily!” said Danny. “You barely told me anything. How big was he? Do his abs ripple in real life, or were they painted on in that photo shoot?”
I glanced at her, almost forgetting she still sat there. “No more details tonight, but I promise you a good bedtime story tomorrow that will include how I did pelvic thrusts with Patricio Ferrari.”
“That cute Italian actor?”
I nodded. “Holy crap, Lily. You’re my idol. I mean, my other idol. Max Cole is my first.”
The notion of someone as messed up as me being anyone’s idol was pure ridiculousness.
My phone buzzed on my nightstand, and I picked it up. “It’s my mother.” I sighed.
“Oh. Good luck with that.” Danny smacked me on the back. “Gotta run.”
“Coward,” I sneered at her as I fled my room.
“Hi, Mom,” I sighed my words, expecting the worst.
“Honey, I understand that you are a grown woman now, but I think we raised you better than this.”
Oh, boy. “So you heard about the tabloid.”
“Yes. From Beverly.” Beverly was her best friend and neighbor. “And I’m extremely worried. Three men in one night? Please tell me this isn’t true.”
“It’s not true.” It was only one: my boss.
She let out a sigh of relief. “I knew it wasn’t. I’m going to call those people and demand they print an apology.”
“Mom, just let it go—okay? It was a fluke. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s the other thing, young lady, why didn’t you tell us you were running off to Milan? What if something had happened to you? Where would we know to look if you’d gotten into trouble?”
Oh, God. I really couldn’t deal with this right now. “Mom, I love you. But this is my job now, and I can’t check in with you every time I take a business trip. And I have a phone if I need help and the company knows where we are—”
“Just remember, Lily, we are here for you. Even if you’re halfway around the world, we’ll be there to help you.”
I sucked in a slow breath and released it. My asking her to not worry was like asking her to stop being my mother. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate that. Tell Dad I said hi, and I’ll send you guys some pictures from wherever I am this month.”
“Anywhere fun?” she asked, but I’d better not tell her; she might show up with her suitcase.
“Not sure yet, but—oh, by the way, I spoke to John. How’s he doing?” I grinned, so needing a moment of comfort, which meant messing with my brother’s life. In the most loving way possible, o
f course.
“I think he’s feeling better after I spent a little time with him. Did you know he has a porn collection?”
I held in a laugh. “Ummm. No. I didn’t know that.”
“I mean, really. Who owns porn these days? It’s all over the Internet for free.”
What?
She continued, “You just click and there it is.”
Ohmygod, I chuckled internally, trying not to imagine her at the helm of a mouse, sailing through the superhighway of porn.
“Maybe you should show him,” I offered. “I bet he’d save a lot of money, and you know how little he makes.” I was completely joking, however…
“I’ll do that. Great idea. You have a nice evening, baby.”
What? I pinched the bridge of my nose, laughing hysterically with the phone on mute. John was going to kill me!
We ended the call, and I texted my brother immediately, still cracking up: I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me.
He’d never see this one coming.
Monday morning at C.C. wasn’t what I imagined. People, in conservative business casual wear, ran around like members of a NASCAR pit crew, dashing to early calls with customers overseas, preparing materials for Mr. Cole’s monthly staff meeting, and frantically sharing torn-out pages from newspapers and magazines of the fashion show—I assumed to be up to speed on all of the latest buzz and reactions from the public. The frantic and energetic vibe was completely different compared to my first mellow week when I was practically the only person on my floor.
I couldn’t wait for introductions and to get to work.
I made my way down the aisle that led past several cubes and offices toward my door. A few folks, who were congregating in the middle of the floor, turned to glance in my direction. I smiled and waved but was greeted with frowns and cold stares.
What the…? I dropped my hand and entered my office, feeling an icy wave of nausea hit. Okay. Don’t panic. They don’t know you yet. That’s all.
I got out my laptop and turned it on, deciding to go for a cup of coffee in the break room while it did its warm-up exercises. No one even noticed me leave my office, which is why I heard their words: “Can you believe?” “Newby fired Craig.” “Not even a director.”