Chapter 3

 

Jax

 

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but it also grinds to a halt when you’re not. It’s been a day since Lizzie dropped by my house to ask me about the charity event venue, and I haven’t done anything since then. I barely even noticed the minutes ticking by. It’s hard to notice anything when you spend all your time staring out of the window like a French actor, and walking around an empty house like you’re lost in a new city.

I know it’s gotten to a real bad point when it’s twelve-thirty in the afternoon and I’m still in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering which of us is going to move first.

I’m so used to the silence that when my phone rings it nearly bursts my ear drums. I roll over and grab it quickly – not because I’m expecting good news, but because I want to handle whatever it is and go back to moping.

“Jax!” Luce screams before I can even say hello. “Where the hell are you?! You haven’t checked on the construction in two days, and it’s nearly finished! Did you expect me to handle everything while you lie around feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I’m not—”

“And what’s this Billy tells me about using the Denton property for a charity gala? Why do I feel like I do all the work, and yet I’m the last to know anything?”

“It’s—”

“Get your ass down here, Jax. Now!”

“I—”

The dial tone interrupts me this time; Luce hung up.

I toss the phone to the other side of the bed, roll onto my back, and weigh my options. I can go to the site, feel like shit, and have Luce scream at me, or I can stay right here, mope around, and wait for Luce to burst in and cut my balls off with a meat cleaver.

Who said choice is overrated?

 

An hour later I’m driving my Ferrari up the path that leads to the new construction. The good news is that the mark of the devil’s glove box has disappeared from my forehead, the bad news is that I was planning to use it as my main excuse when confronting Luce.

I park up in front of the entrance and kill the engine. For a few seconds I just sit there. They tell you in the meditation centers to create a ‘happy place’ for yourself. For most people, that’s somewhere they’ve never been: a beach in the Caribbean, a Buddhist temple in Asia, a waterfall in Africa. For me, my happy place is right here – in the driver’s seat of my Ferrari.

I take a few deep breaths, enjoying my last moments in the ‘happy place’ before I have to confront the world – and then I hear a sound like somebody machine gunning the side of my car. I spin around, and see Luce’s frizzy curls hanging beyond the driver-side window, framing an expression that says ‘it’s about fucking time.’

I step out of the car and though I’m over a foot taller than my second-in-command, I feel like she’s about to crush me under her Converse sneakers.

Then a miracle happens. Instead of giving me the ‘full Luce,’ she laughs. She’s shaking her head and laughing. I check my forehead, but I know for sure the mark’s gone.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“I knew it! I’m not one of those people who hates to say I told you so. I actually really fucking like it. I. Told. You. So.”

“Told me what?”

“That girl was trouble.”

Luce frequently freaks me out with how talented she is. Sometimes she’s so smart it’s scary. But now she’s fucking telepathic I can’t help but feel a little weirded out.

“How did you—”

She grabs my arm and points to the side of the building, where she wants me to walk and talk.

“The whole standing arrangement thing you told me about? The ‘teaching her how to fuck’ thing? I told you it would blow up in your face, I just thought you’d at least have the sense to wait until this construction is finished.”

I completely forgot that I told her all about it.

“Well the thing about things ‘blowing up’ is that you usually don’t expect them to.”

“I did.” She points towards the column holding up a balcony on the side of the building. “Santos is worried those columns won’t hold under a big earthquake.”

“I hired Santos for his plumbing skills, not his engineering. Those pillars aren’t supposed to hold, that’s why I ordered the special compound – they’re supposed to flex. And why the hell did you expect something like that to happen?”

“I told Santos you’d have an answer like that,” Luce says as she scribbles something down in her notebook, then pulls me along the side of the building to the back. “And come on, Jax. It was inevitable. There’s no way something like that can end well. You’re gonna have to make a decision about this pool decking. Do we cut or leave it as is?”

“This is the last thing that was inevitable. This is so far from inevitable it’s almost not possible,” I respond. “And we leave the decking. Once the gardeners start it’ll work.”

Luce stares up at me with a face that looks like it’s suppressing a laugh.

“Not inevitable? Jax. You were sleeping with this woman for a week with the express purpose of making her feel about as good as she’s ever going to feel. Of course she was going to fall for you. And now you’ve got another psycho on your hands, right? Oh, you poor, poor baby. Have you taken out a restraining order yet?”

I stick my hands in my pockets and shuffle my feet like a schoolboy caught doing something naughty. I can’t meet her gaze.

“Wait. That is what happened, isn’t it?” Luce asks, when she notices my reaction.

“Not quite.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask this, but…what’s wrong then?”

I can’t even look at Luce when I say the words. “She…met another guy.”

“Whoa!” Luce screams, so loud that the workers beyond the patio windows turn towards us. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I- But- Ok. I have so many questions right now I’m going to have to start writing them down.”

“About that construction—” I say, desperate for a change of subject.

“Oh no! That can wait! First I wanna know who this other guy is.”

I try to shuffle away but Luce’s eyes are holding me like a tractor beam. She looks like a police officer who’s about to give me a beating if I don’t confess the details.

“It’s no one. She just met some guy at the grocery store—”

“Ha!”

I glare at her. To her credit, she musters up a semi-believable expression of concern.

“Sorry, Jax, do go on.”

“His name is James. She seems pretty into him. I guess they’re dating now, so she told me that our ‘arrangement’ is over. So that’s that.”

Luce is smiling like I’m telling the funniest story she’s ever heard.

“I’m almost afraid to ask this, too - but why do you care?”

“I kinda like her.”

Luce spins a full three sixty like she’s looking for witnesses.

“Holy shit! Somebody get this woman a medal! She’s just tamed the great Casanova of LA! Repeat: The West Coast playboy has been pussy whipped!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, letting Luce enjoy her little routine at my expense. “I’m serious, though. She’s pretty amazing. Believe me, nobody expected this less than I did. Even when I try I can’t keep my interest going in most women beyond a couple of days, but Lizzie…”

“Has you feeling like a lost puppy.”

“Kinda...”

“That’s what you look like, anyway. Jeez. I almost want to meet this woman for myself, I need a little of whatever magic potion she’s using.”

“It’s no magic. She’s just really sexy, and funny. And real. And kinda complicated – but in a way that keeps you interested. She’s got this energy, you know? Like the closer you get to her the more you feel—”

“Ok, ok. Spare me the love sonnet. Christ. I’m guessing she’s got something to do with this charity event, right? Seeing as that’s the only other thing you seem to be interested in at the moment—”

“Is it true that these pillars will crumble in an earthquake?” The voice that interrupts Luce is unmistakable. It’s a low purr-growl that rolls and tumbles over words like a jeep in sand. Mrs. Denton—the last person I need to see right now.

“Jacqui!” Luce says, turning around to find the woman stuffed into a pair of jeans so garish and tight there’s no doubt that they came from the kid’s section of Bloomingdale’s.

Jacqueline’s attention is all on me, however, and behind those Venus-flytrap eyelashes I can see the burning glare in her eyes. Trouble’s coming my way.

“No, they’re fine, Jacqui. I’ve spoken with Luce about this. We used a special expansion compound for the concrete, which means—”

“I want another pillar,” she interrupts. “I’m not going to risk the house falling into the sea because you think minimalism is good. I hate minimalism. And call me Jacqueline. Or better, Mrs. Denton. Not Jacqui.”

She projects her words like she’s hoping they’ll shred me to pieces. It kinda works – Jacqueline is scary enough when she’s trying to be nice.

“Jacqui – sorry, Mrs. Denton – another pillar would ruin the symmetry of the façade. Plus the pillars I’ve used have been designed to have as minim - as little – an impact on the view from inside as possible. Another one would ruin—”

“I’m sorry,” Jacqueline/Mrs. Denton/this-spoiled-bitch-with-two-ton-silicone cleavage says in a tone that flies way over sarcasm city and lands straight in crazy town, “are you planning to live in this home? Here I was thinking that I would be the one staying here.”

Luce’s eyes are going crazy as she tries to pick up on the weird dynamic between Jacqueline and me. I can tell she’s about to call Jacqueline out on her rudeness, but a catfight is not what I want to see right now – not unless it involves Lizzie, some whipped cream, and me.

“I’ll have a new pillar done in a couple of days,” I relent.

“Good,” Jacqui says, and it almost sounds like the kind of grunt wrestlers make when they body slam someone. “This decking too – when will it be cut?”

“It’s supposed to be like this. It’ll complement the fauna. Once we have the gardeners put the—”

“No. No no no. I will be deciding what the gardeners are to do with the yard. I want this decking cut.”

“Are you for—” Luce starts, but I quickly interrupt her.

“Sure. I’ll get that done in a few days too.”

“Hm,” Jacqui says, in that way women do when they want the last word without actually saying anything. She tosses her chin up, whips her platinum blond hair around, and walks away, her heels stamping on the grass like little jackhammers.

Luce stares at me.

“What the hell was that all about?”

I sigh and shuffle again – this is definitely becoming my ‘move of the day.’

“She came on to me the other day. I turned her down. There seems to be some animosity on her part.”

Luce shakes her head. “I figured that much out. I knew it would happen the second I saw her point her tits in whatever direction you were heading. But why the hell are you letting her walk all over you like that? This is your design Jax. The whole reason you took this job on was the freedom it allowed you – and now you’re letting this…thing tell you how to do your job.”

I shrug. “What am I gonna do? She’s not exactly the kind of woman who backs down easily.”

Luce grabs my shirt like she’s gonna hit me.

“Enough! You better sew your balls back on soon, Jax, or this woman will run riot on the project. Today it’s another pillar, tomorrow she’ll have us painting the house pink and reshaping the view window to look like her labradoodle.”

I look back into Luce’s eyes, and as much as I try to match her fire, she can see that I’m a broken man. She lets go.

“Damn, you’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”

I shrug again. That means yes.

“Look, Jax. So Lizzie is seeing someone else. You’ve got to go out there and show her that you’re the only guy for her. What are you? Angry that she didn’t commit her long-term future to you after you fucked her a few times? Welcome to the real world, buddy! If you want something that lasts you’ve got to work for it. You can’t expect it to fall at your feet because you’re wearing a nice suit and have a knack for innuendo.”

But the only part I’ve heard is ‘go out there and show her that you’re the only guy for her.’ Maybe Luce is right. “You don’t think it’s too late?”

“She just met the guy! Right now she’s probably still figuring out if he’s worth sleeping with, let alone seeing him. Of course it’s not too late.”

I stand there looking back at Luce. It’s not just what she’s saying, but the hard look on her face that’s getting me pumped up. When Luce gets that look she can do anything – and can make you feel exactly the same.

“What are you waiting for?” she says, sensing that she’s getting through to me. “Get out there, find her, talk to her, and leave me to plan the construction of a stupid, unnecessary pillar. I sincerely hope the next time I see you that you’ll have your shit back together.”

“Thanks, Luce,” I say, feeling like I can take on the world, and spurred by the urgency in her voice to get going.

As I’m getting into my Ferrari, I hear her call out.

“You still didn’t tell me anything about the fucking charity event!”

I wave a hand like I’m saying goodbye. Some things are more important than work.

Getting Lizzie’s hot, sweet ass back is pretty much all of them.

 

Bad funk or not – when I really want something, I know where to find it. As soon as I roar the Ferrari away from the construction site, my mind is working like a math student before finals. It’s one thirty, and a workday, meaning Lizzie is probably on lunch somewhere. Since she’s the kind of girl who likes to eat well, but probably can’t go far from work, I figure out about a half-dozen spots she could be at.

If murder crimes were mostly committed by beautiful women, I’d probably have a good chance of making detective. I see Lizzie sitting outside the second place I try.

Then I see the guy she’s with.

I breathe deeply, park the car, and start walking. It could be just a co-worker, or a male friend. When I get a little closer though, I know it isn’t. He’s got ‘the look.’ A body position that’s halfway between rapt attention and careful coolness. His eyes are fixed on hers like he’s worried he’ll miss something. He eats his food with small bites, like he’s having dinner with the President.

The worst thing about it all? She’s got ‘the look’ too.

I feel like there are two giants pulling my body in opposite directions. One of them is telling me to get back in my car, drive home, and catch up on all the moping I’m missing out on. The other (which sounds a lot like Luce) is telling me to walk right up and get Lizzie back.

Luce wins. Luce always wins.

I slide through the tables, feeling my old confidence flow back into my body the closer I get. Partly it’s the idea of taking what I want, but mostly it’s because Lizzie looks so fucking hot I’m surprised there hasn’t been a traffic accident in the vicinity.

She’s got those athletic legs out again, half-covered in a cream skirt that is all Hollywood glamour – if Hollywood did porn. Her white tank top is the kind you see hundreds of girls wear every day, and probably think twice about when they see how Lizzie fills hers. Her tits are so perfect they’ve probably made more women consider implants than jealous husbands – even in LA. Just sitting there she looks like she’s had a team of make-up artists, lighting guys, and an SFX crew work on her for hours. Looking at her feels like going on an adventure, every curve leading you to something magnificent that you wanna take a picture of and show your friends. I’ve forgotten already about all the fucking we’ve done – that seems tame compared to the new shit I’m thinking of doing to her. It’s like seeing her for the first time all over again. Not to mention the memories flashing through my mind of that adorable laugh, the goofy jokes, and her badass, take-no-prisoners approach to everything from verbal sparring to all forms of sexperimentation. Luce is right. It’s not over.

Lizzie notices me as I get close, and her brown eyes light up. Those juicy-pink lips widening into a smile I wanna taste all over again.

“Jax! Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” I say, surprising myself with how good I sound again in Lizzie’s presence. “You on your lunch break?”

“Yeah. Oh, this is James. The guy I told you about.”

“Hello,” he says, and I unstick my eyes from Lizzie’s perfect cheekbones to see where the voice came from.

I wish I could describe to you how James looks. I wish I could tell you what his distinguishing features are. The thing is, I’m looking at him, and I still can’t remember what he looks like. The best I can do is ‘he’s a dude.’

That’s right. James is vanilla. The kind of indistinguishable, white-bread, shops-at-the-Gap, two-drink-limit, all-around nice guy that the world is full of. The guy has ‘boring dinner parties and spitting out babies’ written all over him. He looks like his idea of getting adventurous is finishing a bottle of wine in one evening. He looks like the kind of guy who’s too bland to even be an extra in the dullest film of all time. Sitting next to Lizzie isn’t doing him any favors either.

One look at him makes me feel like I’m not just taking Lizzie ‘cause I want her so bad, I’m gonna take Lizzie ‘cause this guy is nowhere near good enough for her. It’s like giving a race car to a retiree. I’m gonna fucking save her.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, contradicting everything I just thought. “Lizzie’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good I hope,” he smiles, chuckling a little.

“Surprisingly positive, yeah,” I say, wondering if Lizzie picks up the meaning.

“How do you two know each other?” James asks, with all the naïve sincerity of a man who genuinely doesn’t realize that people as hot as me and Lizzie always know each other pretty fucking intimately.

“Uh…” Lizzie starts, cranking her gears and going red as she searches for something acceptable to say that isn’t a total lie.

“I’m an architect,” I say, saving her anxious stammers. “I’m helping Lizzie organize a venue for an event.”

“Oh!” James says, and for a second I can see why Lizzie likes him. This guy wears his emotions on his sleeve. It’s pretty easy when your emotional range is as clean and narrow as a nun’s. “That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah. Jax is really helping me out,” Lizzie says, relieved.

“Well, I wish I could stick around, but I should get back to work. I guess I’ll leave you guys to conduct your business,” James says, standing up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jax.”

He shakes my hand, and then I see something that horrifies me more than baggy jeans. He leans towards Lizzie, and kisses her. On the lips. In front of me. I even see her eyes close in that way she does when she’s experiencing little pleasures. For a second it stirs something deep inside of me. A violent urge that’s been buried in man since he first came out of the trees. I wanna land a fist on his face. Kissing my girl, right in front of me?

Shit. Except Lizzie’s not my girl.

Not yet, anyway.

James leaves and I try to wipe the sight of what I just saw out of my mind by checking out Lizzie’s long legs once again. I sit down in his seat. Lizzie’s watching him leave, so I wait for her to turn her head back to me.

When he turns the corner, Lizzie’s head spins back like it’s spring loaded, her face twists into an expression of panic and fear, and she gasps her words desperately.

“Please Jax! I need your help!”

I guess things aren’t as bad as I thought.