“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.”