Colin
I sign the contracts, tucking them back into the folder, and silently handing the folder over to Maureen.
“Are you okay, Mr. Anderson?” she asks.
I look up, and see the concern in her eyes. “Yeah, I'm fine,” I say. “Just tired, I guess.”
She nods, though I can tell by the expression on her face that she's not necessarily buying it. Instead of leaving, she surprises me by perching herself on the edge of the seat across the desk from me. It's unusual for her, though not completely unprecedented. In addition to her outstanding work in the office, Maureen has become my unofficial mother-figure, and never hesitates to dish out motherly advice.
“That girl who was here the other day –”
“Just a friend,” I say, cutting her off. “Though, I don't know that I'd even call her that anymore.”
Maureen looks at me evenly. She's sharp, and always seems to know when I'm not giving it to her straight. And I can tell she's onto me because she has a small frown and slightly disapproving expression on her face.
“I was only curious because the other day when she was in here, you looked at her like you were in love.”
“What?” I laugh. “You've gone and lost it now, Maureen.”
“Have I?” she asks, arching one of her eyebrows at me.
“Yes, you have.”
She looks at me long and hard, her eyes boring into me. Maureen has an uncanny ability to read people, and I really should know better than to try and sneak one by her. Maureen knows and sees all. Maybe, one of these days, I'll learn that lesson.
“Because the way you looked at her tells me otherwise,” she says.
“Okay,” I reply with a laugh. “Whatever you say, Maureen.”
“I've been around the block a few times, Mr. Anderson,” she says. “And believe me when I say, when a man looks at a woman the way you did, he’s interested in being more than friends.”
I laugh heartily. “Okay, now you're just being crazy,” I say. “I'm not in love with her. Not even close. I barely know the woman, Maureen.”
She shrugs. “My point is that you have more than just, friendly feelings, for her,” she says. “Believe me, I can tell.”
“You're crazy.”
“Maybe,” she says and laughs. “Doesn't mean I'm wrong though.”
“Even if I were interested in her –”
“Which you are,” she cuts me off.
“I'm not saying one way or the other,” I say and chuckle.
“You don't have to,” she says. “But, okay. If you were – go on?”
“We come from two totally different worlds,” I say. “It would never work.”
“Why not?” she asks. “Plenty of people have opposing views, and still find a way to make it work. The key is finding enough middle ground that you don't drive each other crazy.”
“Well, it's kind of a moot point, anyway,” I say. “She doesn't like me very much right now.”
Maureen chuckles. “Why would you say that?”
“Our last – meeting – didn't end well,” I say.
Memories of having her in her studio flash through my mind, and I feel the stirring in my groin. Being with Bailey had been hot as hell. Intense. Exciting. At least, until the end. Then it got awkward, before it got ugly. And that was totally my fault. But, I can't explain it to her because I don't really understand it myself.
“Well, I'll tell you,” Maureen says. “She looked at you the same way you did. You two may have had a spat, but there's something going on between you. I can feel it, and I'm only on the outside looking in.”
“I'm not so sure that’s true anymore, if it ever was,” I admit. “She seemed pretty upset with me.”
“Well, I don't need to know the details, but I will tell you that sometimes, you need to open yourself up more. You need to let people in. I think that might be one of your biggest problems,” she says. “Bailey seems like a free spirit. To me, it seems like she really enjoys life.”
I nod. “That she does.”
“And then there's you, with your iron grip on your heart and emotions,” she chides. “You have these high, thick walls around yourself, and you never let anybody in. You know, in all the years I've worked for you, I've never seen you go on a date. I've never seen you smile when you see a pretty girl. You're all business, all the time.”
“I'm trying to build a successful company,” I say.
She scoffs and waves me off. “I've been with the company long enough to know that ADE is always going to be successful,” she says. “This company, whether it be your division, or one of your brothers, are the gold standard in this industry. Trust me, I worked for a competitor for a while before coming over, and their biggest concern was how to catch up to you.”
“I just feel like my focus should be on making this division as profitable as the others,” I say. “It's my responsibility. My legacy.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “And who exactly are you leaving your legacy to?” she asks. “If you're not interested in dating or settling down and having a family, who will you pass on the fruits of all your hard work to?”
Damn. She has me there. I really never gave it that much thought, but looking at it from that perspective, I see her point. I lean back in my seat and scratch at my beard, giving her a sheepish smile.
“If I may be so bold –”
“Aren't you always?” I ask and chuckle. “When did you start needing permission?”
She laughs. “Perhaps. Call it a perk of being my age,” she says. “I think the bigger problem here is fear.”
“Fear?”
She nods. “You're afraid to get involved with anyone,” she explains. “You're afraid of your emotions, of getting attached to anybody.”
“I don't know about that,” I say. “But, if that's true, I think I have ample reason to be.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But, we all bear scars from our past. We all carry baggage. What we do with those things is what's important. We can either use them to teach us and help us grow, or, we can let them define us in a negative way.”
I blow out a long breath, absorbing her words, and turning them over in my mind. A lot of what Maureen is saying rings true to me. As much as I hate to admit it, I know she's speaking the truth. The question is – what I'm going to do with that truth. And at the moment, I don't have the first clue.
“I want you to be happy,” she continues. “I've never seen you really, truly happy in the whole time I've worked for you. You're a good man. You deserve it.”
“I've been happy,” I say. “I just don't show it, I guess.”
She gives me an expression that says she knows I'm full of it, and that no words even need to be said. Yeah, message received.
“Talk to her, Mr. Anderson,” she urges. “You'll see that if you're honest, and you communicate openly and honestly, there's not much the two of you can't overcome.”
I laugh. “I wish I had your optimism.”
“Talk to her, Mr. Anderson,” she repeats. “You'll see that I'm right.”
“Thanks, Maureen,” I say.
She stands up and gives me a warm, motherly smile. “You're very welcome, sir.”
“So, are you going to bill me for our counseling sessions?”
She laughs. “You know I will,” she says. “And you'll get no discount from me.”
“Nor would I expect one.”
I watch her walk out of my office, and through the glass wall until she drops back down into her seat and returns to work. I realize I'm a very fortunate man to have the amazing people around me that I do. It sometimes makes me wonder what I did to ever deserve such good fortune.
As far as Bailey goes, I really don't know if I'm going to be able to salvage that now. I really screwed that up in a big way.
I can't really explain what happened. After we had sex, the initial rush felt amazing. It was total bliss. But, as that glow faded, my baggage started to pop back up. Worse than that, my emotions started to creep in. I remember feeling a swell in my heart when I looked at her and realized that I was losing my grip on the control I had over myself. The control I have on my emotions.
Right now is not the time to be dabbling with romance. That leads to complications, things getting messy, and people getting hurt. At the moment, I have bigger things on my plate I need to worry about and focus on.
Such as the coming invasion of my family. I look at the calendar and feel a surge of adrenaline. I don't have too much longer before they arrive. And although the house will be ready – and there's nothing left for me to worry about on that front – what I do need to worry about is finding an imaginary fiancée. One who will answer to the name of Bailey.
I thought getting her on board would be simple. Or at least, not overly difficult. But, I'd gone and screwed that up in a big way. Now, it might not be anything at all, since I doubt she'll take my call after the way things ended the other day. I'm pretty sure Bailey hates me right about now, and probably feels like I used her. I can't believe she'd agree to be my fake fiancée at this point.
But, I need to do something. Time's running short, and if I want to be prepared for this – for whoever ends up as my fake fiancée – I need to make some progress on that front sooner rather than later. The sooner the better, actually.
I rack my brain, trying to find the solution, and the only thing my brain keeps circling back to is Bailey herself.
Opening my desk drawer, I see the flier I'd taken from her studio. It's for a showcase she's being featured in at a place called the Commons Gallery. I check my watch and look at the time the show starts. I still have time.
This is so far outside my comfort zone it's not even funny. But, I'm in desperation mode at the moment, and need some help. I also need to set things right with Bailey. Somehow, some way, I need to accomplish both of those tasks.
Yeah, this is going to be a whole lot of fun.
* * *
There's a good crowd in the small, but chic gallery. It's definitely unlike any art gallery I've ever been in before, but I actually kind of like the electric, almost punk, atmosphere of the place. The gallery-goers are more urban than I'm used to. Instead of suits or tuxedos, and formal evening gowns, I see a lot of leather, lace, and tattoos.
And hipsters. There's a lot of hipsters here.
I feel really out of place in my black suit and tie – a feeling further reinforced by people with weird-colored hair, and piercings on their face, who are staring at me like I'm some kind of alien.
The gallery has an interesting vibe, though. It's not the uptight, almost sterile atmosphere that I'm used to. Here, there's rock music playing and people are laughing, speaking loudly, and enjoying the experience. There's a vibrancy to the place that's engaging and exciting.
As far as the art goes, there are some fantastic and interesting pieces. I'm not an expert and don't pretend to be one, but my personal take on art is that the good pieces are the ones that grab you. The ones that strike a chord deep inside of you. Pieces that, for one reason or another, really resonate with you.
I can honestly say that in most of the gallery showings I've been to over the years, nothing in those fancier, high-end galleries have ever connected with me. This place, on the other hand, full of dark, gritty art across a wide variety of mediums, is filled with work that's compelling. I see half a dozen pieces from where I'm standing that really resonate with me.
To me, the artists in a place like this are trying to say something with their art. They're trying to communicate with the world around them and everybody who views their piece, while some of the artists in the more traditional galleries are more austere and abstract. They think they're being intellectual and are making a statement. Though honestly, most times I can't understand what that statement might be. With the pieces on display here, though, what the artist is saying is as clear as day. It punches you right in the face with its bold message.
Which is the perfect way to make a statement.
I walk around the gallery, checking out some of the work when I spot Bailey standing in a corner by herself. I recognize some of the pieces on the wall behind her. She's sipping a bottle of beer and doesn't look very happy. In fact, she looks downright miserable.
I notice that almost no one is viewing her work, with most of the people crowding around a series of provocative sculptures. I'm assuming that Bailey's work is getting lost in the shuffle – especially, because she's tucked away in a back room.
I want to give her a boost, but I'm not sure how – and then it hits me.
I look around, and I have a hard time identifying the gallery employees from the guests. Eventually, I find an employee and pull her into a corner with me. Keeping an eye on Bailey, I tell the employee exactly what I want.
After that, I take a deep breath and head for the back room. Time to bite the bullet and see how this all pans out.
Bailey sees me when I step through the doorway and into her room. Her face transforms from despondent to livid in the blink of an eye.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps. “Slumming again? Liked it so much last time, you're looking for your next lower-class conquest?”
The venom in her voice takes me back for a moment, but I shrug it off and push through. I knew she was going to be pissed at me, so it doesn't come as any surprise.
“Actually,” I say. “I'm viewing some amazing art.”
She scoffs. “Right,” she says. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You made your feelings perfectly clear, and I've got nothing left to say to you,” she says. “Please leave me alone.”
“I think you misunder –”
Her eyes grow wide, and her lips curl back into a snarl. It's in that moment, I realize that was the wrong thing to come out of my mouth.
“Oh, so it's my fault?” she hisses. “It couldn't be that you're an asshole who was just looking for a cheap thrill, right?”
“Is this guy bothering you, Bailey?”
I turn and see a guy in all black, walking toward us. He's all of five-five, and one hundred and thirty pounds, soaking wet. But, he looks like he wants to rip my head off. He steps up to me – and has to crane his neck upward to make eye contact. His face is red, and his nostrils are flaring. He reminds me of a kid on the verge of a tantrum.
“Really?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at him.
“We're fine, Billy,” she says. “It's fine. Thank you.”
Billy the bodyguard gives me a withering glare before he turns and slinks out of the room. When he's gone, I turn back to Bailey to find that she's got a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. What Billy the bodyguard lacks in size, he apparently makes up for in balls. I'll give him that.
I step closer to Bailey and force her to look up at me. She finally looks at me with those bottomless, soulful dark eyes of hers, and my heart stutters. She's so beautiful, and she doesn't even seem to realize it.
“No, that's not it, Bailey. Not at all,” I say. “What I meant to say, was that I didn't communicate properly, so how could you have understood? I know you're not a mind reader, right? I handled what happened between us incredibly poorly. I freaked out and completely fucked up. That's on me. I'm here tonight to apologize for that.”
She opens her mouth, presumably to rip me a new one, but then closes it in the face of my apology. What can she say, really? I fucked up. I'm taking ownership of it. Case closed.
Not that she's not still pissed, but I know she's reasonable, level-headed, and mature enough that she can accept an apology.
“Believe me when I say it wasn't some weird conquest or me looking for a cheap thrill,” I continue.
“Then why did you get all weird afterward?”
I sigh and give her a tight smile. “Because I don’t handle my emotions well,” I answer. “I don’t handle my emotions at all, actually.”
“I noticed.”
“And after we – afterward – I kind of freaked out,” I say. “I felt this rush of emotion for you, and –”
“Wait, did you just say you had a rush of emotion?” she asks. “For me?”
“Yeah. For you.”
I see her cheeks color, and she looks a bit embarrassed but happy at the same time. A heart-melting smile stretches across her face, and for a moment, she's rendered speechless. Only for a moment, though.
“So, I guess you kinda like me, huh?”
I chuckle nervously and run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I guess that's kind of what I'm saying.”
“You like me,” she says in that sing-song voice. “You have a crush on me.”
I roll my eyes theatrically. “Don't let it go to your head or anything.”
She steps over and throws her arms around me, wrapping me in a big hug. I feel somewhat stiff and awkward at first – I've never been much of a hugger, really. But, I give into the moment, and embrace her back, relishing how her body feels pressed to mine. She steps back after a moment and looks up at me, that smile still on her face.
“You like me. You've got a crush on me,” she sings.
I laugh and shake my head. “How is the show going?”
She frowns and shrugs. “Great. For other people,” she says. “Kind of hard to display your work when you're relegated to the back rooms.”
“Yeah, I noticed the lack of traffic back here,” I say.
“It's fine,” she says. “It'll be fine. If I don't get spotted at this show, it'll happen at another one. It's just hard to get into the bigger, more prestigious galleries without connections.”
She sounds frustrated, and I can't blame her. I guess art, like everything else, is a matter of who you know. Knowing the right person can open doors for you that you never dreamed possible. I hate seeing her down, and although I can see that she's trying to keep a chipper, upbeat attitude, I can see that it’s wearing on her. I can see the bitterness around the edges and can hear the frustration in her voice.
That spark in Bailey, that fire, and passion – is something I never want to see her lose. I never want to see that fire extinguished. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of her most attractive, endearing qualities.
Which gives me an idea. Before I can pitch it, though, the gallery employee comes into the room, and gives Bailey a big smile.
“Your pieces are a big hit,” she says.
Bailey's face immediately brightens, and she clasps her hands in front of her chest, bouncing on the balls of her feet like an excited child on Christmas morning. It's absolutely adorable.
“Really?”
The employee nods. “Yup. Somebody bought your entire collection.”
Bailey's eyes widen, and the look of excitement on her face quickly transforms to one of shock. She watches the employee putting the red tags that denote a sale on the placards with something like awe on her face. But then, I see the wheels start turning in her head as she puts all the pieces together. A dark shadow crosses her face, and the excited smile morphs into a small frown as she turns to me. Shit.
“Congratulations again,” the employee says as she departs the room.
“Really, Colin?” she asks.
“What?”
“All seven of them?” she asks, her hands on her hips. “Kind of obvious, don't you think?”
She's right. In hindsight, it's totally obvious. I should have been smarter about it. I just couldn't bear to see her look so unhappy. It was actually causing me physical pain.
“Bailey, I –”
She shakes her head and holds up her hand to cut me off. “You might think that's sweet, and maybe, on some level, it is,” she says. “But more than anything, it's patronizing. By you doing that, you're telling me I'm not good enough. That I'll never sell my work unless I have some rich guardian angel sweep in and snatch them all up. Do you even know how degrading that feels?”
“Are you done?”
“Maybe.”
“You're done,” I say.
“I reserve the right to rebut.”
“This isn't a courtroom. You don't get to rebut,” I say. “Believe it or not, I love your work, Bailey. This wasn't a patronizing gesture. It was genuine. Those pieces will be hanging in my house before the end of day tomorrow. I want all my guests to see them.”
My words aren't mollifying her in the least. She's still standing there, hands on her hips, that frown still creasing her face. Those dark eyes of hers are penetrating, and I know she can see right through me.
“Fine,” I say. “Part of it is that I wanted to give you a boost. You looked so down –”
“And you thought buying up all my work would make me feel better?”
I shrug. “It did. For a minute,” I say. “I would pay ten times what I just did to see that smile on your face again.”
Her face softens – slightly – as she looks at me.
“Look into my eyes, though,” I say. “I want you to believe me when I tell you that I really do admire your work, and that I'll be proud to display these pieces at home.”
She searches my eyes for a long moment before seeing the truth in my words. Her hands come off her hips, and that ecstatic smile returns to her face. She pulls me to her and makes me hug her again. Her hair smells of citrus, and her body is warm, and carries a subtle hint of perfume. I've never been a hugger, but honestly, I can get used to this.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice muffled in my jacket.
“You're welcome,” I reply.
I let out a silent sigh of relief, having successfully avoided a couple of major catastrophes. I'm feeling better about where we are now, though, I'm still uneasy about having confessed to my feelings for her. Mostly because I don't know what I feel. Do I like her? Yeah, absolutely. What's not to like? But, do I mean it in the way she thinks I do? That, I'm not totally sure of.
This is why I don't do emotions – they're messy, complicated, and can't be easily defined.
“So, how about we go get a drink?” I ask. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”
She looks up, a curious expression on her face. “Sure,” she says. “Let me just wrap up a few things here, and we can take off.”
“Great,” I say. “I'll just wander around a bit then.”
She lets go of my coat lapels, and starts to turn away, but then reaches up quickly, planting a soft, chaste kiss on my lips. When she pulls away, there's a warm smile on her face.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“Because I felt like it,” she says. “You need to loosen up a bit, Colin. You need to give in to your impulses now and again.”
“Yeah, I'm not very good at that.”
A mischievous twinkle sparkles in her eye. “Good thing you met me then,” she teases.
“You might be the death of me,” I say and laugh.
“At least you'll go with a smile on your face then.”
She turns and walks away, putting some added swish in her hips as she goes. She looks back over her shoulder at me and winks, knowing I've been staring at that perfect ass of hers the whole time, and all I can do is laugh.
* * *
We end up not going out for drinks after all. Instead, we're sitting in a fifties-themed diner called Dickie's, eating the most enormous hot fudge sundaes I've ever seen. As a rule, I usually don't eat sweets. I try to avoid them, but I have to say, this is a damn good sundae.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“I think I probably should have tried this place sooner.”
“That's what I'm saying, Colin,” she says. “Live life a little. Enjoy it.”
“I think you enjoy it enough for the both of us.”
“That’s probably true,” she says. “But, enjoyment and happiness are not finite resources. There is more than enough for everybody.”
She takes a big bite of her sundae, making noises of pleasure that are almost perverse. I'm glad the place is mostly empty, and we're sitting in the back of the place, not easily seen. She sees how uncomfortable I am and laughs.
“This is what I'm talking about,” she says. “Just loosen up a bit. Have some fun.”
I chuckle. “I think we might have two different ideas of fun.”
She shrugs. “Maybe,” she says. “But, there's nothing saying we can't find some mutual fun together, right?”
“Right.”
“Good,” she replies.
She comes around the table and scoots into the booth next to me. She pulls her sundae over and starts to eat again, pressing her body close to mine. I'm not sure what she's doing, but she's acting kind of hesitant. Cautious, almost. Her eyes roam around the place for a minute, before she turns them to me, a fiendish smile on her face.
“In fact,” she says. “I think I know some mutual fun we can have right now.”
“Yeah?”
She nods, and her right hand disappears beneath the table. I groan softly when she grabs my cock through my pants and starts to stroke it.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a small grin on my face.
“What do you think I'm doing?”
“Starting trouble.”
She runs the tip of her tongue around her lips. “Then that's exactly what I'm doing.”
Bailey moves closer to me, biting her bottom lip, her expression full of mischief. Under the table, she squeezes my cock through my pants. I have to fight to keep from moaning out loud.
“You're going to be the death of me,” I moan quietly.
She squeezes my cock and pumps her hand up and down the shaft. “And here I am, just trying to have a good time.”
“In a public place?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Sometimes you need to live a little.”
She leans forward and plants a soft kiss on the end of my nose, giggling the whole time.
The sensations coursing through me are intense. Vibrant. Probably made more so by the fact that we could get caught at any time. There's a look of hunger in her eyes, that makes me wonder if she's enjoying this as much as I am. I somehow doubt it.
She adjusts her grip on me, giving herself some more leverage. I can feel my cock swelling and starting to thicken as the pressure inside of me builds up.
Shit.
“As much as I want you to keep going, Bailey, I’m about to lose it,” I say, sighing with disappointment.
She laughs, and moves her hand away as we snuggle close. Being so close to her, feels good. It somehow feels natural and right. I can't explain it. It makes no sense to me. After actively shunning any sort of romantic entanglements for so long, here I am, plunging headfirst into one. What in the hell am I doing?
As I sit there, breathing in the fresh, citrusy scent of Bailey, I find that I don't really care. I'm going to focus on enjoying the moment. It feels good. I watch other people coming and going from the restaurant, observe the wait staff bustling back and forth, and can’t help but laugh to myself. None of them know what we'd just gotten away with, and somehow, that secret knowledge, shared only by Bailey and me, makes me smile.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she murmurs.
I suddenly feel very odd about asking her what I had planned. I don't know why, but it feels strange now. Somehow it feels – dirty. But, then I remember that time is running out, and that, coupled with the desire to keep my brothers off my back about it, tips the scale. I want whatever's happening between Bailey and I to grow organically, but I don’t have that kind of time.
I let out a breath and sit up straight in the booth. Bailey turns and looks straight into my eyes. I explain everything to her – from my ex-fiancée, and how that all imploded, to my brothers, all the way to the fact that they would be in town soon, and I need somebody to act as my fiancée to keep them from pressuring me.
She listens to it all with a bemused smile on her face, and when I'm done, she giggles out loud.
“What's so funny?” I ask.
“I just think it's kind of interesting that you picked my name out of the, literally, millions you could have chosen,” she says. “I guess you really do have a crush on me.”
“Shut up,” I reply and laugh. “So, what do you say? Will you help me?”
“Well, I don't know,” she says, sending a bolt of fear through me. “I'm going to have to check my social calendar.”
“I'll pay you, Bailey,” I say quickly. “I'll definitely make it worth your time. Not only can I pay you, I'll reach out to people I know and see about getting you into one of the galleries you want to get into. I know a lot of people who can help.”
When her back stiffens and her jaw clenches, I get the sense that I said the wrong thing. Her expression changes from bemused to hurt.
“What's wrong?” I ask.
“Is that what I am to you? A prostitute?” she asks. “You'll pay me to pretend to be your fiancée? What the hell, Colin?”
I have no idea how this went sideways so fast, and I'm left speechless for a moment. She stares at me with a cold fury in her eyes, completely silent.
“That's not it at all,” I say. “I just thought –”
“You thought what, you could charm me, then flash some money at me, dangle an opportunity to get a showcase, and I'd do whatever you wanted? Like I'm a whore?”
“No, Bailey, you have it all wrong.”
“Do I?”
I slam my fist down on the table so hard, the silverware rattles and our glasses clink. I catch a few people looking our way, but when I glare at them, they quickly turn back to their own tables. Bailey looks more than a bit stunned by my outburst – a little scared, even – and I instantly regret it. The last thing I ever want is for her to be scared of me.
I reach out to stroke her cheek, but she recoils from my touch as if I'd slapped her. Undaunted, I reach out again, and lay my hand against her smooth cheek. I stroke it with my thumb and hold her gaze. Her big doe-eyes are wide, and her lower lip is trembling with unspoken emotion.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,” I say. “I just wanted a chance to explain.”
“Then explain,” she says, her voice slowly regaining some of its strength. “You have my full attention now.”
I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, trying to keep my temper in check. It's a struggle, just like it has been my whole life. I've always been the hothead in the family. The first one to go in swinging. That attitude has gotten me in more troublesome situations than I can count, but I've tried my best to keep it under control.
“I like you, Bailey,” I say. “More than I even realized at first. But, there's a reason I don't get involved with people romantically.”
She looks at me, her expression softening as the fear recedes. “And why is that?”
“Because I don't handle my emotions well,” I say. “Never have. I don't understand emotions. They make me nervous.”
“Everybody gets scared.”
“Not like me.”
“Everybody thinks that too.”
A wry smile touches my lips. “Maybe,” I say. “But, like I told you, I've had some bad experiences. Laurel really did a number on me, and I haven't been able to fully move past it.”
“Do you still love her?” she asks, a faint glimmer of fear in her eyes.
I run a hand across my face. “No. Any positive feelings I had for her died the day I caught her fucking my best friend,” I say.
“Then why are you so afraid of her coming for Christmas?”
“Because I hate her,” I retort. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my temper and ruin everybody's good time. But, I know my brother is right. It's the right thing to do. It's what our father would have done – what he would have wanted us to do. He would have wanted me to suck it up and deal with it for a day. Like an adult. But, it would be a big help to have somebody by my side that could act as a buffer between us.”
“A buffer?”
I nod. “For a while, she really tried to get me to take her back,” I admit. “I don't know where she's at in her life or what she's doing, but, given the fact that she has nowhere to go on Christmas, I think it’s safe to say she doesn't have a family of her own.”
“Sounds like a reasonable assumption.”
“I just don't want her getting the wrong idea,” I say. “I don't want her thinking that because I allowed her to come, that I'm interested in taking her back.”
Bailey nods as if she understands. Hopefully, she does.
“Also, having somebody there with me, will keep my brothers off my back,” I say. “I know they want me to be happy, but they can be kind of – overbearing – at times. To put it lightly.”
“I'm sure it comes from a good place.”
“Oh, it does,” I say. “But, I don't want them planning out the rest of my life or trying to play matchmaker between Laurel and me. I only offered to pay you because I wanted it to make it worth your time. I don't know where this thing – whatever it is – between us is going yet. It's really early yet, but honestly, I love the way you make me feel.”
A small grin tugs one corner of her mouth upward. “I'm sure you do.”
“That too,” I reply with a chuckle. “But, I mean, overall. You've come storming into my life and have turned my entire world upside down, Bailey. You're making me feel emotions I've had shut down and locked up tight for years. No matter how hard I try, I can't shut down my emotions when it comes to you. And trust me, I’ve tried.”
There's a smile on her lips, and a look in her eyes I can't quite identify. She leans forward and gives me a slow, sweet kiss that seems to last forever, and yet, not anywhere near long enough. Ordinarily, I'm not a PDA sort of person, but with Bailey, it feels natural, and I don't mind it. Like I said, she's turning my entire world upside down. When she pulls back, the look on her face is soft. Sweet. It's an expression I could get used to seeing a lot more of.
“I thought by paying you for your time, I could help you out. I know you've told me that you sometimes have a hard time making ends meet,” I say. “But, I didn't mean for it to sound like an offer to be a prostitute.”
“That's kind of what it sounds like though,” she says, but without any of the heat or anger from before.
“I know,” I say. “I see that now. But honestly, I only want to help you. I mean, I want you to help me, of course, but I genuinely thought it would be a win-win for both of us.”
She lets out a breath. “I like you too, but I don't like feeling like a hooker, Colin.”
“I'm not asking you to be one. Look, I want to get to know you and see how this develops, Bailey. But, I'm also in kind of a bind at the same time,” I say. “I just thought, we could get through the weekend with my family. And once they're gone, we can explore what we have together.”
She looks at me, the skepticism in her face more than obvious. I know it’s an odd request. In a certain light, it even sounds sketchy. But, I'm being honest about this. I like Bailey and really want to see where this goes, but I also need help with my brothers, and their families.
“Believe me when I say, I'm not asking you to sleep with me. I'm not paying you to sleep with me. Sex isn't part of this deal,” I say. “I just want to get through the weekend with them, get them off my back, and go back to our normal lives. And for me, that includes exploring this thing between us.”
She sits back in the booth and stares straight ahead. I can tell that the suggestion still bothers her. I know it struck her the wrong way, though, and I can feel the air between us cooling down and becoming more frigid. She hasn't quite thrown up a wall of ice, yet, but it’s definitely coming. I can feel it. And I want to kick myself in the ass for it.
“I need some time to think it over,” she says.
“Of course,” I say. “But, if you can get back to me in a couple of days, I’d appreciate it. If you don't want to do it, I’ll need to figure something else out.”
She gives me a rueful grin. “You're going through an awful lot of trouble just to pull one over on your brothers,” she says.
“You don't know my brothers,” I say. “If they've determined it's time for me to settle down with somebody, they'll move heaven and earth to make it happen. I'd just like to avoid that if I can.”
She laughs softly. “Sometimes, I'm glad I'm an only child.”
“Sometimes, I wish I were.”