Chapter 21

Becka

“What the hell are we going to do?” I cried. “I have to get home! We have to get home!” I got out of the car and leaned against the trunk, trying to get some air. Lisa followed me out and leaned against the trunk with me. She put her arm around me.

“We will, we will,” she said. “I promise.” We considered our options. We knew we could stay put and eventually someone would come along. Though being stranded is never good, it wasn’t like we were in the plot of a horror movie, stranded in a storm or in the dead of night. The road we were on was the main road into Rockell, though Rockell was fairly far away. Trucks traveled the road often. That meant we could hitchhike.

“And be killed?” Lisa said. “I think we’d be better off to just borrow someone’s phone.”

“If we don’t have bars out here,” I pointed out, “who will?”

“Fine, then we’ll flag a truck down and use his CB or whatever that thing is. Either way, we are not ending up dead. That was so not the point of this girls’ weekend.”

I finally cracked a smile through my hangover, my worry about Oliver, and my stress about running out of gas. The whole situation was so ludicrous, and it was made more so by the idea that the entire reason we were here in the first place was because we’d wanted to get away from our stress.

“Do you think Dex will go by this way?” I asked, a sly smile on my lips.

Lisa smiled dreamily, no doubt remembering her tryst from the night before. I still couldn’t believe I had watched, had almost participated, and I knew it was something that Lisa and I would definitely need to talk about at some point when we were safely back in our apartment.

“Actually,” she said thoughtfully, “he might. The entire bachelor party will be coming back through this way. In two days.”

“Damn,” I said. I looked at my phone again, as if staring at it would build a cell tower behind me. “How is it that in this day and age we can’t make a phone call from a road? There should be a law or something.” I began to pace. My nervous energy was getting the better of me.

“Hold up,” Lisa said. She had begun to walk away from the car. She continued to walk, holding her phone above her head and looking up at it, squinting as she brought it closer to her face and further away. “Hold up, I think I might have something.”

“Reception?” I asked, taking out my own phone and holding it. We must have looked like two people trying to contact the mother ship, but it worked. Lisa walked to a place about a half a mile from the car and got a single bar.

She dialed her insurance company, who agreed to send out a roadside assistance person to help us out. The estimated time was a little over an hour.

We killed the time by talking about Dex and the guys at the bar we’d met in Rockell, though my head was only about ten percent in the conversation. I kept glancing at my Fitbit, which had a watch, counting the minutes roll by. I imagined Ethan, how angry he must be at me not showing up immediately.

Would he take his anger out on Oliver? Or, would he call the police and add more to the investigation? I couldn’t take the chance on him doing either one, and I willed the roadside assistance person to get here even faster.

To the credit of Lisa’s insurance, it took less than an hour for them to get to us, with a red container of gas and a tow truck.

The tow truck driver pulled up behind us and got out of the truck. Lisa and I exchanged a glance. He was movie star hot. Bulging muscles pulled and strained at his plaid shirt, and it was obvious from his quads pressing against his jeans that he worked out both his upper and lower body regularly. His hair was in need of a haircut, but still sexy. It blew in the warm breeze lightly.

“Hi there,” he said. “Which one of you is Lisa?” He consulted the order sheet, then looked up and glanced at each of us.

“That would be me,” Lisa said, and I bit my tongue to keep from rolling my eyes. She was flirting already, sure enough. She really ought to come with a warning label; no man under the age of thirty-five was safe in her presence, especially if they worked out and had eyes like emeralds, like this guy did.

“Can I get into the truck?” I asked, and the driver nodded, barely glancing at me. He was too busy listening to Lisa regale him with tales of how much dancing she’d done at the bar in Rockell that weekend, that she’d been SOOO hungover this morning she’d completely forgotten to gas up the car.

“Plus,” I heard her say, “my best friend, Becka, needs to get back to her boyfriend. She misses him.”

“Ah,” the driver said, nodding toward me. “She’s got a beau. Do you?”

“Not at the moment,” Lisa said coyly, and I did roll my eyes, safe behind the windshield of the truck. As they flirted and the driver took his sweet time getting the car loaded up, I started to get frustrated and anxious, nervous about all of the time we were wasting, all of the time I wasn’t getting back to Oliver and whatever was happening at his house. Finally, the driver got the car loaded on, and he towed us to the closest town, which was almost ten miles up the road.

“You should text me,” Lisa said as she and I stood on the side of the gas pump as Dane, the tow truck driver, lined our car up to the pump before he released it. “It would be super fun to hang out the next time we come up to Rockell.”

“When do you think you’ll be up next?” Dane asked, all business in front of me, but still with a touch of flirt to his voice.

“As soon as you text me,” she said, with her trademark wink and hip pop that suggested she meant business.

Dane blushed and turned away so he could concentrate on finishing the job without messing up in front of Lisa. She turned to me and winked, giving me the A-Okay sign.

“I’ll pump the gas,” I said. While I did, Dane and Lisa exchanged numbers.

Once we were back in the car, I turned to her. “What is it with you and guys whose names start with D?” I asked.

She giggled. “I don’t know, but I’m sure glad we got stranded. How hot is he? He makes Dex look like dog food.” She started the car and waved to Dane, who was watching to, undoubtedly, make sure we got safely onto the road.

Then, we were back on our way. I was silent in the car and Lisa turned on the radio, sensing that I didn’t want to talk. My worry and anxiety had overtaken me, and the only thing that I wanted was to see Oliver in one piece.

“I’ll drop you off,” she said. “Where does Oliver live?” I told her, and she arched her eyebrows at the sound of his address. “Oh yeah, that’s right; we’re dealing with billionaires, here.” She smiled and shook her head at me, still stunned that I could have two men fighting over me at all. At least, that’s what I thought she was probably thinking.

The gates to Oliver’s mansion opened as soon as Lisa’s car pulled in. After telling her several times that I was fine and I didn’t need her to come in with me, she finally pulled away. I knocked, but only out of courtesy. As soon as I knocked, I opened the door and stood in Oliver’s entryway.

It was bigger than I remembered it, and there was a strange energy in the air. It was too quiet. I was used to hearing some sort of noise, a clock ticking, someone’s footsteps on the tile, something. But, there was nothing.

“Hello?” I called out. My voice was tiny in the huge room, and I took a deep breath. I knew I wasn’t in any danger; Ethan was as attracted to me as I was to him. But Oliver… if he’d hurt Oliver…

“Becka!” I heard a voice and turned, hoping to see Oliver’s face before me. Of course, it was Ethan. He walked to me quickly and put his arms around me, embracing me.

“Get away from me,” I demanded, my voice harsh with the emotion and frustration of the day. “Where’s Oliver?”

Ethan looked hurt. “Becka, I was hoping you would be happy to see me, or at least not angry. I’m so sorry about everything that happened in Oliver’s office. I tried to apologize, but you didn’t take my calls.”

I looked at him, my confusion growing. He seemed so genuine. I looked into his eyes and saw only compassion and caring in them. I felt my anger toward him begin to melt as the heat of my attraction to him began to flare up. The energy of his arms around me a moment ago still lingered; I could feel their echo still on my shoulders and arms.

“Where’s Oliver?” I asked. “I’m worried something happened to him. You called from here, he didn’t. You wouldn’t let me talk to him. You said I needed to get here immediately if I wanted to know what was going on. If you knew the morning I’d had, you would understand how annoyed I am. Please, just tell me Oliver is safe.”

“He’s safe,” Ethan said, smiling. “Of course, he’s safe. I would never do anything to harm him.”

I looked sharply at him. That was an outright lie and he knew it. His cheeks flushed pink.

“You heard us threaten each other’s lives in the office,” he explained. “That’s what I meant. I meant that those threats were empty. We’re businessmen, not animals.”

“Where is he?” I asked. I was trying to make sense of Ethan’s words, but my worry about Oliver was overtaking my ability to understand.

“He left the country,” Ethan said, quickly holding up his hands. “And before you ask, I don’t know where exactly. He did say he would call you when he could, if that helps.”

“Left the country!” I exclaimed. “When? Why?”

“The news media has found out about the investigation,” Ethan said. “Didn’t you see the photographers when you came in?”

I hadn’t, but I knew that the only thing I would have seen on my way in was Oliver, if he had been there. Everything else had been tuned out into a non-Oliver white noise.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing my hand. I felt my fingers flex in his grasp, acting much the same way my stomach did when he looked at me, a small spasm of excitement at his touch. He led me into the kitchen, where I noticed an open, half empty bottle of red wine on the counter, and an empty glass. He ignored it and focused instead on the television mounted to the corner wall above the breakfast bar.

He clicked it on. “Look,” he said, nodding at the tv. I stared, my mouth open. News crews were swarming Oliver’s office and, on a split screen, the college. “It’s only a matter of time before they find out where Oliver lives and show up here. He needed to get out of town while he still had a chance of escaping without being bombarded by photographers and questions. This thing has blown up.”

I looked at Ethan, who seemed genuinely upset by what was happening. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at it; the screen was still blank. No texts. Why hadn’t Oliver texted me?

I felt sadness and a little worry, a voice lacking confidence sounding in my head that he must not have texted because he didn’t want me to know where he was. Or, because he was done with me and over it. He didn’t want what we’d had together.

“Have some wine,” Ethan said, getting a second glass from a cabinet and pouring some of the red into each glass. For being Oliver’s enemy, he sure knew his way around Oliver’s kitchen. But, there would be time for me to figure that out later. He held out the glass of wine to me, and, in spite of my lingering hangover, I took a huge drink from the glass. “That’s better,” he said. “It’ll help clear your head.”

He sat across from me at the breakfast bar, sipping his own wine, and watching me. His expression seemed so genuine, I found myself beginning to believe him. For one thing, the news was crawling all over Neurotova. That was fact; Ethan couldn’t have manufactured that. And there were reporters on the college campus as well, which meant that my relationship with Oliver was out in the open.

“What do you suggest we do?” I asked, curious as to what he would say and, honestly, desperate for any advice on what to do next.

“I think you and I should stay here tonight.” He held up his hands when I began to protest. “Hear me out. You should stay here because it makes the most sense; it’s the safest place for you to be. What are you going to do if there are reporters waiting outside your apartment?”

I nodded; he had a point.

“I’ll stay with you and keep an eye on things. If reporters come to the door, I’ll send them away. If Oliver calls, you’ll be here to answer. It’s really the only logical thing to do.”

Logical or not, it was what happened. “Should we make some dinner?” I asked. I thought about ways that we could pass the time. The oppressiveness of the house was weighing on me. It was startling; it was as though the house missed Oliver and was sad. I felt okay in the kitchen because it was light and the television was on, not to mention that Ethan was in the room with me. I had no desire to go into any of the other rooms, though.

“We could always get a pizza delivered,” Ethan said, smiling.

“Are you fucking kidding?” I burst out, my voice angry. “You want to invite someone over with all of this madness?”

“Relax, Becka, I was kidding.” Ethan came up to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Look at me,” he said, as I shivered under his touch. I moved my eyes to his, deep pools of concern and sensuality. “You need to be calm. This is going to pass. It’s come up before.

Every few years, an investigation into Neurotova and other companies like it surfaces and gets a lot of attention. Something else will happen within a few days and the news will be on to their next story. That’s how it works. It’s not worth getting all bent out of shape about. Don’t forget, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

At that moment, I didn’t know what I would have done if Ethan hadn’t been there. He was exactly right. I hadn’t done anything wrong. The only thing I’d done that was vaguely questionable was get involved with a college professor. And, I reminded myself, Oliver had been a guest lecturer. He wasn’t a professor anywhere; he was a CEO.

And that made him not technically off limits, though it was probably crossing a line. Other than that, I had been on the side of right, trying to research all the avenues I could find to determine the truth. I thought about my bag with my laptop and all of my research. I wondered if I should show my research to Ethan.

No! A voice rang out in my head. I shook my head; of course, no way could I show Ethan my research. Though he was being nice now, a lot of this had happened because of his actions.

“No what?” Ethan asked. “You’re shaking your head…”

“Oh,” I paused. “Just that you’re right. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t,” he said seriously. “And, we still need to figure out dinner. Why don’t I just whip something up for us?”

I thought he would put together a salad or burgers or something, but Ethan made a lasagna from scratch, complete with a salad and garlic bread. I watched him whistle as he formed the noodles and layered the cheese and pasta sauce with the noodles, one on top of the other.

The wine was making me warm throughout my body… but so was Ethan. I knew I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t credit him with some of the energy moving through me as I watched him. His fingers worked deftly as he created the meal; it was obvious he really enjoyed cooking. He made several trips to the fridge, each time pulling several ingredients off the shelves with flair and adding them to his recipe.

When he’d finally put the lasagna in the oven to cook, he joined me for another glass of wine. We sat watching tv; another update about what they were calling the Neurotova Scandal was on, and the reporter was saying that Oliver Weeks had not been sighted, nor had there been any sign of his girlfriend, his personal assistant Becka Jasper.

“Oh Christ,” I moaned. “They know my name.”

“Of course, they know your name,” Ethan said evenly. He put his hand on mine and I didn’t bother to move it. The warmth of his palm on the top of my hand was reassuring. It felt nice. “Dinner is almost ready; let’s set the bar and I’ll grab another bottle of wine. By the time we get the salad and bread together, the lasagna will be ready and then we can eat.”

He had thought of everything, and by the time the lasagna came out of the oven, the breakfast bar was set with two plates, two new wine glasses and water glasses, cloth napkins, and candles. “In case the electricity goes out,” he’d said with a wink.

I began to realize that Ethan’s motivations for staying at the house were not entirely as he’d said. He was definitely flirting with me. I was, as I always seemed to be, torn. On one hand, I was in my boyfriend’s house with his brother. On the other hand, my boyfriend had fled the country without bothering to tell me or to take me with him. And he hadn’t even called.

“Oh my god, this is delicious,” I said as I put a forkful of the lasagna in my mouth. The cheese and sauce pushed out through the noodles and I felt and smelled the fragrance of the sauce hit all my senses at once.

“Thanks,” he said. “I went to culinary school for a few years. Dropped out, but not before I learned to make a mean lasagna.”

“Culinary school?” I asked, surprised. “Another piece of the Ethan puzzle, right in its spot.”

Ethan reached for my hand and took it in his. I set down my fork. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Becka. A lot of things that would very pleasantly surprise you, if you knew them. I’d love the chance to show you more of who I am.”

He leaned in toward me, his lips glistening with just the tiniest bit of olive oil. I wanted to brush my fingertips across them.

“I’d like that,” I whispered.