Gwen swung the safe door shut and came to glance over my shoulder. “Ah, so lover boy’s trying to win you back.”
“Supposedly.” I tucked the note in my bra and waited for her traditional love sucks speech.
It didn’t come. “There could be worse things,” she said with more than a hint of melancholy.
It was possible she was right.
Sunday, a delivery service showed up at Liesl’s with a new futon mattress, much thicker and of higher quality than the old one. The card this time read: You should be sleeping well even though I’m not. – H
I glared at Liesl. “How does he know I’m sleeping on a futon?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I said something in one of our texts.”
“You’re texting him?” Wasn’t she supposed to be on my side?
“He had your phone charger delivered the other night to the club. Guess he figured that’s why you hadn’t been responding to him. So I plugged it in and holy Jesus, Laynie, that thing was filled with texts.” She pulled her long hair over one shoulder. “Some of them made me feel a little bad for the guy. I texted him back.”
I swatted her shoulder—or more like shoved. “What the fuck?”
“I told him it was me and not you.” As if that were the reason I was pissed.
“That’s private, Liesl.”
Again she shrugged. “Someone should be reading them. That’s all I’m saying.” She turned to the deliveryman, who just walked up with his clipboard looking for a signature. She signed then looked back at me. “It’s plugged in on top of the fridge if you’re interested.”
It was much later, when I couldn’t sleep despite the comfortable new mattress, that I pulled my phone down from its hiding place. There were more than a hundred unread texts, plus a handful that had been marked read that I hadn’t seen. Apparently Liesl had only viewed some of them.
I curled up on the new futon and began reading. Like the notes he’d been sending, most were sweet, but some were sexy, others desperate. I took my time absorbing each one, intermittently crying and smiling and sometimes even laughing.
Even though I’d responded to none of them so far, each was written as if I would. I rolled my eyes at one sent earlier that day.
I ordered a futon for me as well. Maybe sleeping on it will make me feel closer to you.
And then later, after eleven p.m., he sent several in a row:
God, this sucks shit. I wasn’t sleeping before but at least I was comfortable.
I’ll continue to endeavor, though. If this is how you’re sleeping, I shall as well.
You know, we could both be together in the bed at the penthouse. If I remember correctly, the lack of sleep we got had nothing to do with the comfort of the mattress. ;)
Before I could stop myself, I shot a text back:
Hudson Pierce using an emoticon…will wonders never cease?
It was two in the morning and he responded immediately. He really wasn’t sleeping.
I’m hoping they don’t cease. If I ever have you in my arms again, that will certainly be a wonder. Goodnight, precious.
That night I slept with the phone next to me. Though I didn’t often reply, I read the texts he sent from then on. Each and every one.
The gifts continued through the week with jewelry, tickets to the symphony, and a new laptop. On the days I worked at the club, the packages would be waiting there. Obviously Hudson was still monitoring my schedule, which was both irritating and sort of a turn-on.
Thursday, though, there was nothing on my desk when I arrived. I told myself it was silly to be disappointed. He didn’t have to give me something every day to prove he was thinking about me. And I didn’t want him thinking about me all the time anyway, did I?
I was still mulling around the question, still thinking about him, when the club opened for the evening. Since one of the bartenders had called in sick, I stepped in to help at the upstairs bar. We were hopping before the clock even hit eleven, so I was somewhat distracted when Liesl bent near me. “Did you see the suit at the end of the bar?”
“No,” I said with a scowl. If she thought I would be interested in ogling man candy, she was wrong.
She winked. “Well, check him out then.”
I finished topping the beer mug in my hand and, against my better judgment, shot a glance to the end of the counter.
He was sitting in the same seat that he’d been in the first time I saw him, wearing the same suit, if I wasn’t mistaken.
And the way he stared at me? His eyes held the same heat as they had that night before my graduation. That burn that was more than lust, more than desire, it was possession.
Was it wrong that I smiled?
When I could finally tear myself away from Hudson’s magnetic stare, I made a Scotch, neat, and delivered it to him.
“The service here is excellent,” he said when I handed him his glass. As he took it from me, he brushed his fingers against mine.
Or had that been me that had done that?
Either way, the contact sent goose bumps running down my arms and warmth spreading through my chest. It had been so long since I’d touched him in any form. My body yearned for more while my head sent warning bells to run, run, run.
And my heart played some sort of Switzerland in the whole transaction, deciding not to make its desires clear.
With the war going on inside, I didn’t know what to do or say. I stood frozen, my gaze locked on his. It felt so good—so right—to do nothing but get lost in his grays. Couldn’t I find a way to do this every day of my life?
“Order!” a waitress called from down the counter.
I blinked, recovering from the trance Hudson had me in. “I have to go.” Silly to explain. I didn’t owe him anything. “Um, will you be wanting another when you’ve finished?”
“No, just the one. But I might sit here for a while, if you don’t mind.” His eyes moved down my body. “The view is stunning.”
I turned before he could see my blush.
When he left, over an hour later, he settled his bill with Liesl. I only noticed he was leaving when she handed me an envelope. “This is from the suit.”
I opened it and found a hundred dollar bill and a certificate to his spa in Poughkeepsie—the same gifts he’d given me that night in May.
“Liesl, I’ll, um, I’ll be right back.” Maybe it was because I was disappointed to see him go, but I came up with an excuse to run after him.
“Hudson!” I yelled when I found him outside headed toward the parking garage.
He stopped and waited for me to catch up.
I held the envelope out toward him. “I can’t accept this. I’m in charge here. I can’t leave for a week to go to a spa.”
It suddenly occurred to me that we hadn’t talked about my job since our break-up. “Unless you’d rather I wasn’t working here.”
“Don’t ever think that.” His tone was harsh, final. “If you think you can’t work with me as your owner, I’ll give you the club.” He would too, knowing him.
And that was definitely not a gift I could accept. “I just want to keep my job, thank you.”
He softened. “It’s yours as long as you want it.” He pushed my hand that still held the envelope back toward me. “And the certificate—keep it. You can use it anytime you want. There’s no expiration.” His fingers lingered on mine.
Was this what we’d been reduced to? Stealing touches at any opportunity possible? Making up reasons to talk?
I pulled my hand—and the envelope—away from his. “Fine. Whatever.”