CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I’m glad I decided to go shopping and buy some new things. Now I can finally have a nice hot shower and use all these new products I bought to make my hair and skin smell delicious. In the vintage shops I directed Mr. Blake to, I was able to find some fabulous clothes for not a whole lot of money, and if I wear every outfit three times, I have enough clothing for my entire two weeks here and I won’t have to go shopping again. I even bought a new purse that goes with everything. It’s totally wild—sporting every color of the rainbow with sparkles sewn onto it. I love it so much, it’s my favorite thing about New York so far. Except for Ty . . . and my new job.
I drop my new wallet, my key card, and my telephone inside the purse along with a few odds and ends, and put it on the front table near the door of my hotel room. Ty left me a message with his address, but I still have a half hour to kill before I leave. All dressed up and nowhere to go. I stare at myself in the mirror for the fifth time and decide it’s time to do something other than pace the floors and listen to Ty’s message on my phone for the hundredth time. Love his voice so much. I don’t need to hang out here in the room. There’s a big bar in the lobby.
I ride the elevator down, chatting with Jeremy the entire way.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better today,” he says.
“Yeah. That was horrible this morning. My eyes were so puffy afterward.”
“Is everything okay now?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Just a momentary setback.”
“That’s a good attitude.”
“And how goes the hunt for the girlfriend?”
“Pretty good. I met a nice lady last night.”
“Good for you,” I say, cuffing him gently on the shoulder. “I hope it works out.” After the doors open, he reaches out and holds the edge of one door for me so it won’t close too soon.
“Thank you, Jeremy.”
“My pleasure. Have a good evening, Ms. Fields.”
“I plan on it. You too.”
I walk over to the lounge—the Ty Bar, of all places—and pause in the entrance, taking in all the red chairs and the glowing yellow-orange muted light that shines out of etched glass panels behind the bottles of liquor. It’s very pretty in here. I take a seat at the end of the bar, not wanting to be too conspicuous. When the bartender comes over, I smile at him.
“What would you like?” he asks, his red tie cinched up tight to his neck, a gray vest and starched white shirt making him look like he could be a businessman taking a turn serving drinks to customers.
“How about some wine?” I have no idea what a good or bad wine is, so I hope he’ll suggest something for me.
“We have a nice house red. It comes from the Médoc region of France.”
“That sounds perfect. I love the Médoc region.” That’s a lie. I wouldn’t be able to find Médoc on a map if you paid me. But he leaves me alone to fetch my drink, and I take a moment while I’m waiting to look around.
People are sitting in small groups of two or three at short tables in deep-red colored upholstered chairs. There are a couple of women sitting together with jewelry pieces so big I can see them from across the room. I wonder if they’re having a silent competition between themselves to see who can be the most sparkly. I look down at my own hands and arms and see my bangle bracelets and that’s it. I was never much for wearing rings.
Somebody walks up and takes one of the high leather chairs on my other side, so I turn around more fully to see who it is. An older man in leather with long hair stares the bartender down, like he’s willing the man to come over using the power of his mind. He doesn’t even look at me.
He reminds me of someone. Could it be . . . maybe . . . Was he in that room in the club in Toronto before Red kicked everyone out? I need to find out or it’s going to drive me crazy not knowing.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask.
He glances at me. “I don’t think so.”
I’m racking my brain trying to remember where I saw this guy. It’s not his face that’s familiar; it’s his clothing. Paul was wearing something similar, but I don’t think that’s what it is that’s triggering my brain.
When the bartender comes over with my wine, the man next to me orders a Budweiser. I take a sip of my drink and look around the room, pretending to be interested in what’s going on out there. But the only thing I really care about is my neighbor here. The chairs are pretty far apart, so it’s not like he’s intruding on my personal space, but it’s just weird that I’m pretty sure I know him from somewhere even though he’s pretending like I don’t.
I look at him again. “Have you ever been to Toronto before? Or central Maine maybe?”
“Nope. Never been to Canada or any part of Maine.” He keeps staring at the bartender, who’s all the way at the other end of the bar getting his beer.
“I swear you look very familiar to me.”
When his beer arrives five seconds later, he takes it from the bartender and puts a ten-dollar bill down on the bartop before straightening up. He tips his bottle toward me and winks. “Have a nice night.” He walks away and leaves me sitting there alone.
I watch as he makes his way across the room and sits down at a small table, choosing a seat that faces away. Now all I can see is the back of his arrogant head.
I hate when stuff like this happens. I really don’t like unsolved mysteries. This is going to bug me all night. Knowing me, at two o’clock in the morning, I’ll suddenly remember where I know him from. He’s probably someone who came to a retreat at the farm and spent his entire time wandering around naked and high. That would explain why he doesn’t recognize me or remember the fact that he’s been to Maine. Seeing him in clothes is probably throwing me off. People often deny they’ve come to the farm after they leave; it’s not easy for some people to admit they tried out the hippie lifestyle.
I sip my wine as my mind wanders, wondering what’s going to happen tonight with Ty. He’s invited me over for dinner. Does that mean sex is on the menu? Will I sleep with this man who gives me chills by just looking at me? It would undoubtedly be a mistake for us to sleep together. I’ve just signed a contract saying that I’ll work for him and his partners for two weeks. Sex would absolutely complicate everything. But I picture Ty’s face in my mind and his hands on my body, and I think that I may not have the strength it will take to say no. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he won’t even broach the subject.
By the time I finish my wine, it’s time to go. I sign a paper saying that the drink will be put on my hotel room tab and leave the bar. I find Mr. Blake in the car outside waiting for me. I hand him a piece of paper that I wrote Ty’s address on. “This is where we’re going tonight.”
He opens the door for me and I get in.
The drive over there only takes ten minutes. When I look up at the building that is our destination, I almost feel like there’s been a mistake. “This is where he lives?”
“Yes. Up in the penthouse.” Mr. Blake gets out of the car and opens my door. “Do you need my assistance getting into the building?”
I look at him in surprise. I don’t think this is something he normally does. “You mean like a bodyguard?”
“No. Not like a bodyguard.”
I shake my head as I try to count the floors from the outside. “No. It’s okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” I look at him for confirmation.
“You don’t need me to wait for you?”
“Don’t you have to get back to your family?”
He stands military straight and stares off into the night. “I’m on call twenty-four hours, seven days a week. If you need me, I’m here.”
I wave him away. “No, go. Go be with Lolly and your wife. I can get a cab home if necessary.”
He looks at me as though I’m trying to trick him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” I walk away and wave at him. “Have a good night.”
He stands outside the car staring at me as I walk away. I look over my shoulder three different times, but he’s still there when I go inside. Whatever. Stay or go, I don’t care. Mr. Blake is a mystery, but not one I’m going to solve tonight. My priority right now is hanging out with Ty and somehow finding a way to broach the subject of me working for the band. Hopefully, he already knows, but if he doesn’t, I need to talk to him about it. I don’t want him to think I’m blindsiding him when I show up for my first day.
There’s a doorman at the entrance who wants to know all of my particulars before he bothers to call up to Ty’s residence. Once I pass the security protocols, he brings me to the elevator and comes inside to press the button for me. There’s a little card he has to slide into a slot on the button panel so that I’ll be able to access the floor that I want. Wow. Swanky. I nod my thank-you and fidget all the way up to the top of this really high building. Normally, I don’t worry about elevators falling, but if this one does, I’m going to be as flat as a pancake. I start to stress out, watching the numbers change way too slowly.
Forty-five . . .
Forty-six . . .
Forty-seven . . .
I can’t look anymore. I close my eyes and wait, praying for my safe delivery. A ding and a slight bump let me know I’ve arrived. I open my eyes and look at the ceiling. “Thank you, God, for not letting me die before I see how this ends.”
The elevator doors open right into his apartment. Ty is waiting for me in the marble-floored foyer.
I step off and look around, trying to calm my racing emotions. This place is amazing, and he looks incredibly hot. He’s freshly scrubbed and doesn’t have any eyeliner on. It’s just him, simple and clean. He’s wearing one of the outfits I picked out for him today. He gestures to himself with arms outstretched. “What do you think?”
I nod, smiling. “You wear it well.”
He points at me. “New threads for you too?”
I turn in a slow circle with my arms out so he can admire my purse too. “Yep. I went shopping today. I even got new underwear.”
He laughs. “Excellent. I love new underwear.”
I realize I’ve revealed too much, but it’s too late now. Quick! Distraction! “Want to give me a tour of your bachelor pad?” Too late I realize I’ve just invited myself into his bedroom right after telling him I have new panties on. Wow. You can take the girl out of the hippie commune, but you cannot take the hippie commune out of the girl. Sigh.
He holds his hand out to take mine. I walk over and we connect. A warm current buzzes up my arm. I’m already sweating. I’m super glad I bought that scented lotion from that smelly-stuff store and slathered it all over my body.
“Follow me.” He takes me from room to room, covering what must be five thousand square feet at a minimum and a million bucks’ worth of interior decorating. There are four bedrooms, a huge kitchen, and not just a living room and a family room but a movie room too. Everything is furnished with stuff that looks really expensive.
“This is like a real theater,” I say, running my hands over the back of the blue velvet chairs. “You should see the cinema where I live. It’s pitiful compared to this.” There, my feet stick to the floor. Here, they glide on silk carpets. No way could I trust myself to eat a chili dog in here.
“I’d like to see your cinema someday,” he says.
I check to see if he’s joking, but his expression is serious. It makes my heart skip a beat.
“Maybe you will . . . someday.” I don’t believe it, of course. Ty Stanz is never going to come up to central Maine, and to wish otherwise would only end up with me breaking my own heart. I’ve got to be smarter than that.
“I hope you like Chinese food.” He leads me back to the kitchen.
“I do. I don’t eat it very often, but when I do, I always enjoy it.”
“Cool. Do you know how to use chopsticks?” He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a couple pairs and drops them on the counter. “Other than for putting up your hair, I mean.” He smiles.
“A little bit. But you may want to give me a fork so I don’t completely embarrass myself.”
He opens up another drawer and grabs a handful of silverware. “You got it.” He picks up the chopsticks and points them and the forks toward the other room. “Dining room is through there.”
I lead the way into the other room, where there’s a large table with several paper bags on top of it. I look around the room expecting to see other people. “Are you having a party?”
“What do you mean?” He puts all the silverware down on the table with a clatter.
I gesture at the table. “That looks like a lot of food.”
“Yeah.” He sounds a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I ordered a lot of stuff. Whatever we don’t finish, I’ll just put in the fridge and eat another day.”
“Cool.” Maybe he was as nervous about this date as I was. The thought should calm me down, but it’s having the opposite effect. What’s happening, what’s happening, what’s happening?
I help him unpack the bags. It was very sweet of him to think of me and order so many things to make sure I would be happy. Ty can be thoughtful when he wants to be, which is nice to know. My mothers would approve. Holy hell, where did that thought come from?
Okay, so trying to convince myself that this whole thing is no big deal isn’t working; it feels like I have a Fourth of July sparkler lit in my chest. I really need to find a way to calm down, because if I’m this agitated over him ordering Chinese food, I’ll end up having an orgasm when he kisses me.
As we serve the food onto the plates and sit down to begin eating, guilt starts to nag at me. He’s being so thoughtful, but all day long I’ve been focused on my new job. Ty and I haven’t had a conversation about what I’m still doing here in New York City and what I’ll be doing for the next two weeks. I’m trying to figure out how to bring up the subject without ruining this peace we’ve found together when he speaks over my thoughts.
“So, when’re you going back?”
His question tells me he doesn’t know about the deal I cut with the band; either that or he’s pushing me into telling him what he already knows. But I have no idea why he’d play games like that. I push the food around my plate with the chopsticks. “In a couple weeks.” I can’t look him in the eye. As it turns out, guilt is the perfect antidote to the lovesickness that was ailing me. Will he be mad at me for making deals without his knowledge? He is part of the band after all. Will he be mad at Red? Am I causing problems for the band already? What if he thinks I stayed just for him? Will it scare him away?
“Really? I thought your plan was to leave really soon. I had no idea it was going to be in two weeks.” Okay, so he’s not playing games; he definitely doesn’t know about the job offer. Great. Way to go, Red.
“Yeah, well, something came up.” I push the food around some more, quickly losing my appetite for all things noodle.
He stops eating. “And what would that be?”
I look up at him to find a strange expression on his face. “What?” I don’t know why he’s looking at me like this.
“I’m just wondering why your one-day trip turned into a two-week trip, is all.”
He’s definitely not happy about it, which makes no sense. Is this not a date? And don’t dates mean you want to spend more time with a person and not less?
My temper starts to flare. I have no patience for games. “Why? Does it make you upset that I’m going to be here longer?”
He shakes his head and shrugs at the same time, telling me he’s either confused about how he feels or he’s about to lie. “No. Doesn’t bother me at all.”
I put my chopsticks down and fold my hands in front of me. “Why don’t we make a pact, right now.”
“A pact?”
I nod. “Yes, a pact.” My sisters and I are big on pacts. When you live with two other sisters the same age, it’s pretty much required. “Let’s agree not to lie to each other anymore. Let’s just be straight up. All the time, no matter what, we tell the truth. I think it’ll help us avoid a lot of misunderstandings and miscommunications.”
“Sure.” He holds out his hand, looking as though he’s accepting some sort of weird challenge I didn’t realize I was issuing. “I can agree to be straight up, if you can do the same.”
I shake his hand, surprised by how firm his grip is. “Deal.”
I pick up my chopsticks, hoping I’m not making a mistake by asking my next question. “So . . . tell me why you’re either confused or angry about the idea of me staying here for two weeks.” I take a single noodle and put it in my mouth, sucking it up until the end. It slaps me in the cheek, leaving behind something wet. I quickly wipe my face with my napkin, hoping Ty didn’t notice.
He shovels a bunch of food into his mouth right after I ask the question, which effectively delays me hearing an answer for a solid two minutes. I raise my eyebrow and sip my glass of water while I wait, relieved to know I’m not the only nervous piglet at the table.
“Well,” he says, taking a sip of his beer before he continues, “I was just wondering if you’re staying because of me.”
I instantly feel sick to my stomach. If it makes him angry that I’m staying, that cannot be good. What a fool I was imagining us having a connection . . . imagining us having sex! But I can’t let it drop. I need to know everything—what he’s thinking and feeling. It’ll make it easier for me to walk away if my heart is thoroughly battered rather than just bruised.
“In what way would I be staying here for you?” It sucks that he wasn’t in on the conversation with the band about why I’m extending my stay, because it means he’s going to hear it from me first—another sign that he’s really not a part of the group. Not to mention the fact that right now he thinks I’m staying for him, and it’s making him angry. I must have completely misunderstood the handholding and kissing today. I am such a hippie chick dweeb. No way am I cut out to live in this city. Thank goodness I only agreed to two weeks!
He stares at his plate. “What I meant was, are you staying here for two more weeks because you want to be with me, or is there another reason you’re doing it?”
“Just so I’m clear . . . do you mean in a romantic way?” Apparently, the knife in my heart isn’t enough; I need him to twist it, too.
He shrugs and then takes a huge bite of food, making it impossible for him to actually answer. But I think he already has with that shrug. Time to be a big girl and salvage what I can of this situation.
“Hmmm. Okay then . . .” I fold my hands and put them on the edge of the table. “Because I’ve agreed to be honest with you, I’m going to go ahead and tell you not only what my plans are, but how I feel about what you just asked me. Because, ultimately, I think trying to guess what each other’s emotions are is a recipe for disaster.”
He stares at me while he chews his food.
“I was offered a position by Red and the other members of the band—apparently not you, though—to work as a consultant for them for two weeks.”
He stops chewing and his eyebrows go up.
“I’m realizing now that they didn’t discuss it with you, and I’m sorry about that, but I want you to know that I wasn’t aware of it until just this moment, and I certainly had nothing to do with that part of it.”
He starts chewing again, only very slowly now. He takes another sip of his beer.
“This is a temporary job, and it will not be repeated. I’m going to help with a few things, and then I’m going back home again, and I will not return.” Hearing myself say this makes me sad. Have I decided this for real, or am I just saying it to Ty because that’s what he wants to hear? Two seconds pass . . . Then the moment of craziness passes and I confirm for myself in my mind that I am telling the truth. Nothing has changed for me; I’m still needed at the farm and I’m still the kind of girl who doesn’t let my family down.
He finally swallows the rest of his food. “So, you’re not staying here for me.”
I twist my mouth around as I try to figure out how to answer that honestly. “Yes and no.”
“Clarify.” He takes another long sip of his beer. He’s almost done with the bottle.
“Well, do you remember what I said the other night in front of everybody? When I pointed out that the fans were booing you and not accepting you?”
He pushes away from the table a little bit and folds his arms across his chest as he nods. “Yep. I remember it.”
“Well, apparently that got Red and the others talking, and they decided they wanted to try to do something about it.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“I guess they think I can help them update their look a little bit and find a way to help you integrate into the band from the fans’ perspective.” There. I said it. I feel so much better getting that off my chest. Now I’m not in the know while he’s in the dark. I search his face for signs of how he’s taking the news, hoping he’s not angry. Unfortunately, his expression is unreadable.
“And how are you going to do this?” he asks.
“I’m open to suggestions. I don’t have a solid plan yet. Part of it, I guess, includes updating their physical look a little bit. Maybe getting rid of the teased hair and the mullets.”
He glares at me. “What? That’s a terrible idea.”
I look at him like he’s crazy, which he must be, because he was born in the same generation as I was; he doesn’t get to claim senility as his problem.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Because . . . that look is what the fans are in love with. You take that away, and you’re going to have a revolt on your hands.”
This is the first time I’ve ever doubted this idea for the band. I figured Ty would be totally on board with it. I also believe, though, that Ty will always have the best interests of the band in mind, so if he’s against it, what hope do I have of selling the rest of them on it?
“Are you sure about that?” I ask. “Are you sure it’s the look and not the music?”
He leans over, pulling his chair closer with his butt as he dumps more food from one of the boxes onto his plate. “It’s both. They’re wrapped up together. You can’t separate one from the other.”
“Sure you can. You just need a hundred percent buy-in.”
He pokes at his food. “You can’t force fans to buy into stuff.”
“No, but if the band is all-in, you could ease the fans into it and make it more palatable for them. And then you can make them like it.”
“You’ve got pretty high hopes for this idea of yours.” He jabs at his food, filling up his chopsticks with another pile of noodles.
“I just want things to be good for you guys.”
He lets out a long sigh and stops jabbing his noodles. Then he gets up to retrieve another bottle of beer and sits down as he twists the top off. I watch as he downs half of it in three long gulps.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. That was never my intention.”
He’s looking off in the distance, his beer suspended in midair. “It doesn’t upset me. Not for the reasons you think.”
Thank goodness. “Well, since we’ve decided to be honest with each other, maybe you can share that with me. Tell me what’s going on.” I’m so relieved I haven’t upset him by taking this job. There’s still hope. Hope for what? I don’t know and I’m afraid to hope.
He puts the beer down and slowly rubs his stomach with his free hand as he stares at his plate. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“I don’t have plans to go anywhere this evening other than here,” I say softly. I sense a new vulnerability in him that I haven’t seen before.
He looks up, his eyes smoldering. “How late?”
“Do you mean how late am I going to stay here?”
“Yeah.”
I shrug, my heart hammering away in my chest. What is he asking me, exactly? I cannot make assumptions where this man is concerned; he’s too confusing. “I don’t have a curfew. I can stay as late as I want.”
“And how late do you want to stay?”
This is a really frustrating conversation with neither of us ready to say what really needs to be said. “I guess I’ll stay as long as I’m having fun. But the minute this isn’t fun anymore, I’ll leave.”
He nods and stands. “Fair enough.” He holds out his hand. “Have you had enough to eat yet?”
I get on my feet, putting my napkin on the table next to my plate. “Yes. That was really delicious, thank you.”
He’s still waiting there with his hand out. I don’t know why he wants to hold my hand now when just two minutes ago he looked like he wanted to kick me out of his penthouse.
“This could become really complicated if we let it,” I say.
“You’re right; it could.”
“Isn’t your life already complicated enough?” I have to be sure that we’re both thinking the same thing.
“It absolutely is.” He looks down at his hand and then meaningfully at me.
You can’t win if you don’t play. I take his hand and let him lead me into another room. I’m worried he’s going to take me into his bedroom and make a big move on me; I don’t think I’m ready for that. But he doesn’t. We end up in his home theater.
“Are we going to watch a film?”
“Of sorts.” He points to a plush blue velvet chair in the back row. “Why don’t you have a seat while I get the computer up and running. I want to show you a few things.”
“Sure.” My sense of curiosity takes over and makes me forget that I was worried about those looks on his face and his defensiveness toward my decision to stay. I take a seat and settle in, inhaling the scent of new wood and rich upholstery. This thing was either built recently or it’s rarely used.
What’s about to happen? I have no idea what tricks Ty has up his sleeve, but I know it’s going to be interesting, whatever it is. Will this explain things to me or make them more confusing? Or will it have absolutely nothing to do with him or me or why he’s so upset right now? The only way for me to find out is to just be patient, which is not my strong suit.
I really wish I could call my sisters and gossip with them about the possibilities, but I resist that urge. There will be plenty of time later for us to analyze every moment of my day and come up with the wisdom of the ages. For now, I have to fly solo.