Chapter Eight
Lauren hasn’t mentioned it. Richard’s hoping to God that she’s forgotten about it, tries to kid himself that they drunk more wine than they did and she passed out before she could hear him. It’s been two weeks, what kind of person falls in love after two weeks?
He doesn’t doubt that it’s real, though. He feels it every time he hears her laugh, sees her smile, makes her moan. It’s jabbing him in the chest like a particularly large needle and he can’t get away from it. She hasn’t said it back, does that mean she doesn’t like him? Or does it simply mean that she’s not a complete idiot who goes around falling in love with people? He keeps telling himself that maybe, if they give it time, she’ll fall for him too, and they can both have their fairy tale ending, but then he remembers that there is no time. In a week, he’ll be in another state, and in a month, another continent altogether, and she won’t be with him. He doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with that.
They spend the weekend together, two perfectly imperfect days in which Richard makes himself look completely ridiculous in all manner or ways and yet somehow Lauren still wants to be with him. They go to the Museum of Science and Industry and steal kisses in dark corners, walk along the shores of the lake and hold hands like a normal couple would.
He wishes they were a normal couple. He wishes they could go at their own pace without feeling the need to crush every ounce of affection into one weekend. He wishes there was no deadline, nothing looming over them as they while away the hours together. They should be planning dates and making secret notes of potential birthday presents, looking forward to the future rather than running away from it.
But Sunday soon draws to a close, and although they technically still have five days until Richard leaves, he knows it won’t be the same. Lauren will be working and Richard will be smiling at people and pretending there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than this particular board room at this particular time. He’s not sure if he can take fleeting visits after a weekend like this. Maybe it’d be better just to end it here.
That evening, he spends far too much time thinking and not nearly enough time kissing, Lauren tells him as they lay in bed, their bodies slick with cooling sweat. He turns his head and she pounces, pressing their lips together until he lets her go deeper, their tongues curling over one another and their fingers intertwining.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks once she’s pulled away, resting her head against Richard’s shoulder.
He nearly tells her nothing, acts like everything is fine, but he’s never been great at lying and it’s never really got him anywhere so instead he just says, “I have to leave soon.”
“What, now? Or – or in a week?” she says. Neither option is particularly enticing.
“Well, both, really. I can’t stay the night, I’ve got work and so have you. And yeah, I also have to leave leave in a week,” he sighs.
“You don’t have to,” she says, watching him hopefully with those big brown eyes.
“Yes, I do have to. LA needs me.”
“Not as much as I do,” she says, and he knows she’s probably only teasing but it still makes his chest swell. “What are you even doing there, anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Some kind of conference, probably. That’s what they usually are,” he mumbles, because the truth is, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing. At this point in his life, he’s pretty sure he’s not at all cut out for the world of finance. If only his mother would realize the same thing.
“You hate it, though,” she tells him, and it’s so true it hurts. “Why the hell are you still doing it? And don’t say because of mom, I’m sure if you told her you loathed it, she’d listen.”
He doubts it, but it’s not the only reason he won’t quit. He knows that in this business, with so many intelligent people essentially feeding him the right words, he can’t fail. He can make millions simply by being their pretty figurehead. Getting a proper job, doing something real – he could fail. And, as his mom used to say, failure is not an option.
That’s why it’s best for him to end this before it gets too powerful. He’d rather that than see them fade, see Lauren’s feelings for him dwindle into nothing. He starts to move away from her.
“Where are you going? You’ve still got, like, two whole minutes before your chauffeur gets her ass out of bed,” she says, reaching for him.
“I should leave soon,” he sighs, “I’ve got an early start.”
“So? You never heard of coffee?” she jokes, but she’s pushing back the covers and sliding out of bed herself.
He knows he should be making the most of these last few moments, but part of him just wants this to be over. The sooner it’s over, the less it’ll hurt. Like ripping off a band aid, or something like that.
His theory isn’t really playing out, though, because all the way back to his hotel, she’s making him laugh, she’s grabbing his hand and lacing it with her own, she’s sitting there driving with messed up hair and pajamas on but she’s still so fucking beautiful. He tells her so when they pull up outside the lobby, and she giggles in that way that makes her eyes crinkle and her cheeks flush pink.
He doesn’t give her a last kiss goodbye. He knows he’ll probably regret it, but she’s only got socks on so she won’t follow him to the lobby and all of a sudden someone’s holding the car door open for him and he can’t do anything more than say a quick “Bye”. She throws him a smile and a wave and by the time he’s at the doors of the hotel, she’s moving off. He feels distinctly as if a whole other life, a better life, is currently driving away from him.
He watches until someone says “Sir?” and he’s led inside.
***
“You want to request what?!” Emma cries as Richard sits on his bed, feeling increasingly dejected.
“A new chauffeur,” he repeats, toeing off his shoes. It’s the best thing to do, for both of them.
“Why?!” she asks, far too loudly for this time of night. “What happened between you and Lauren?”
“Nothing,” he emphasizes, “it’s just – not gonna work out. I can’t see her anymore.”
“Have you finally gone insane? Shall I call your mother?”
“No!” he replies immediately. There’s no way his mother needs to be involved in this. “It’s the right thing to do.” He wishes he felt more certain about his own words.
“Well that’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. How is losing her a job possibly going to help anything?!” Emma bristles, her voice rising through the octaves.
“I’ll stay with her company, she won’t lose money, I just – if I can’t be with her all the time then I don’t wanna see her at all. It’s best just to part ways now, rather than eke it out. Otherwise it’ll just hurt more.”
Emma stares at him like he’s just told her he’s been on a killing spree. “So, because you like her so much…you’re gonna end it?”
“It can’t carry on, though, can it!” he exclaims, shrugging off his jacket and hurling it to the floor. “She won’t leave her job and I can’t leave mine, so what are we gonna do?”
“You could make it work, you could call and Skype and –”
“No. That’s not fair, she wants someone who’s actually here,” he sulks, crossing his arms and falling back on the bed.
“How do you know? Have you actually asked her about any of this?” Emma says, and he can tell she’s judging him harshly.
“Look, I know you think I’m wrong, but I swear this is the best thing for both of us. We should just keep it as a – a holiday fling.”
“I do think you’re wrong,” she states matter-of-factly. “I think you’re wrong and I think you’ll regret it. If this is about choosing between her and your job, you’re insane to pick the job. The job won’t fuck you ‘til you scream so loud your PA can’t sleep.”
Richard feels himself blush. “Ah. Sorry about that. But I can’t quit, you must know that. What else would I do?”
“Oh, I dunno, find a job that doesn’t make you wanna jump in front of a bus?” she quips, but that’s much more difficult than it sounds. He won’t risk all this for some stupid pipe dream.
“No. I need a new chauffeur, that’s the end of it. Could you please call Kingswood and tell them,” he says flatly. The least Emma could do right now is her actual job.
“Fine,” she says, with no small amount of contempt. “I won’t say I told you so when this all goes to hell.”
He decides he’ll deal with that situation when it comes to it. Lauren can find someone better, easy. She doesn’t need him, and he doesn’t need her. End of story.
***
The office is oddly quiet when Lauren walks in on Monday morning. There’s a few less cheerful greetings and a few more strange looks, and Lauren wonders if she’s missed some huge world event on the news. But it all seems so directed at her. She doesn’t have a good feeling about this at all.
She sets everything down on her office desk, then pokes her head out of the door and beckons James over. Finally, his gift for gossip might come in handy.
“What’s going on,” she asks, once he’s sat down opposite her. “Why are you all acting so weird?”
James’ eyes dart around her office uneasily, and Lauren braces herself for terrible news about the company’s takings for the month. Instead, he says, “Uh. So, Kingswood requested a new chauffeur.”
Lauren stares. There must have been some kind of mistake. There’s no way Richard would fire her after everything they’ve been through. “What?” she spits, and James leans back a little in his seat. “Don’t tell me they’ve switched to fucking Knightly?”
“No, no,” James backtracks quickly, “they haven’t changed companies. They still want to work with us. They just – uh, their client said that they didn’t want you as a driver.”
“Me, specifically?” Lauren hisses, hardly believing what she’s hearing. “Their client didn’t want me?” This has got to be some kind of joke.
“Uh…yeah,” James says gently. “They said it wasn’t anything personal, it just – wasn’t working out.”
“What the fuck?!” Lauren exclaims, already fumbling for the phone, “this is bullshit!”
“Hey, it’s okay,” James attempts to soothe, “some people are weird. It’s probably nothing to do with you, you’re never gonna gel with everyone. You know what these big companies are like, anyway, they’re always so picky. You probably didn’t smile enough or some shit like that.”
“No, James!” she snaps, deciding that she has to vent about this to someone, “the client is the guy I’m dating!”
“Oh, shit,” James blurts, his eyebrows shooting towards his hairline, “ah. Well. That’s interesting.”
“What the fuck is he playing at?” she snarls as she punches his number into the phone and waits for the dial tone.
“Maybe he just – felt it was weird that you were the one driving him around?” James tries, wringing his hands together in front of him. “Maybe he was just trying to make things easier?”
“Without telling me? By getting me humiliated in front of my whole fucking office?” she growls as the phone rings. She’s not surprised at all when it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Richard,” she spits, “why the hell have you switched chauffeurs? And why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to? You better reply to this, call me back as soon as you get this.”
With that, she slams the phone down, sighing heavily and leaning back in her chair. “Bastard,” she breathes, in an effort to calm herself down.
“I mean – he may not have meant it in a horrible way,” James reasons, “it could have been a mistake. Wait, so – you’re dating Richard Shepherd? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“I was dating him. I’m not sure if that’s the case anymore. And I didn’t tell you because – I don’t know, you might put it on social media or something,” shrugs, because it’s true. James couldn’t keep a secret if you paid him. “Don’t, by the way.”
“But – you sounded like you really liked the guy you were dating,” James says, his eyebrows pinching together. “I thought you hated that Richard guy?”
“We used to date in college,” she admits, averting her eyes from the gleeful expression on James’ face. “He ended up a lot more successful than me, as you can see, but he was alright once I got to know him again.”
“Got to know him?” James snorts, “you sounded like you were totally in love with him most of the time.”
“Shut up, no I wasn’t,” she snaps. “I didn’t love him in college and I don’t love him now.” It’s possible that only half of that statement is true.
“Hm,” James says, sounding completely unconvinced. “I think you need to talk to him.”
“Well, I would, wouldn’t I, but he didn’t pick up his damn phone. It’s his move, as far as I can see,” she grumbles, feeling more than a little hurt after all this. It’s an understatement to say that she’d quite like a coherent explanation, please.
She doesn’t get one. For the rest of the day, she hovers over the phone, pouncing on it whenever it rings, hoping against hope that it’ll be Richard telling her that this has all been some huge misunderstanding. In the meantime, she reluctantly allows stupid Julia to take stupid Richard to his stupid meeting. She hopes he’s happy now.
It’s a little strange, after the short time they had together, to get home that evening and not find Richard perched on her doorstep. There’s no evening cuddles, no incoming texts sending her phone up the wall, no hour-long phone calls spent rambling about God knows what. Instead, it’s a night spent worrying over what she may have done, what might have gone wrong in the space of twenty-four hours, how she might be able to fix it. She scares herself with how much she’s willing to do to make it work. Usually she can’t wait to be shot of the guys she dates.
She tries calling one more time before she goes to sleep. Still, there’s no answer. She’d like to say she didn’t shed a few tears into her pillow, but she just can’t keep all the hurt and confusion from escaping. She doesn’t sleep well that night – the lack of arms around her makes the bed seem far too cold, too empty.
In the morning, she decides she’s got to confront him about all this, no matter what it takes.