Chapter Eleven
Amy
Wentworth was out front in his usual spot, sitting on a bench by the car, reading a book. I tried to make out the title, but he was one of those people who could immediately tell when someone was watching him. Before we even got halfway to him, he marked his page with a bookmark, closed the book, and slid it into the large pocket of his coat. By the time we reached him, he was standing with his hat off.
“Can I help you, ladies?” he asked.
“Do you know of a nice place two girls can get a drink and have a private conversation?” Peyton asked him.
He smiled. “I can manage that.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean for you to drive us. What if Tristan needs you?” she backpedaled.
“It’s not far,” he assured us before opening the back door. We climbed in.
Once he began driving I couldn’t resist. “Wentworth, how long have you been working for Tristan?”
“Going on seven years now.”
“I had no idea. So you must have met when he was still at 360.” I could see his eyes glance back at me in the mirror. “I’m sorry for prying. It’s okay if you’d rather not…” I trailed off, and Peyton lifted her eyebrows as though she were as curious as me and also wondering if I’d gone too far.
We heard a soft chuckle. “It’s okay. No secret. It’s just you’re the first to ask since I’ve been with him. I was a decathlete, trying to make the Olympics while studying for my master’s.”
Peyton and I gasped and said simultaneously, “You’re Wentworth Barnes Turnbull the Third!”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been ten at the time he’d shattered the collegiate record by such an unexpected margin it captured the public’s imagination. It wasn’t just that. His interviews in such a gentlemanly Queen’s English were so full of depth and wit they crossed over to the mainstream. One late night show even brought in a tenured professor from Yale to calmly parse and translate the various literary and historical references the young athlete would reel off in the midst of a casual sentence. The professor calmly explained them to an undergrad English major, who proceeded to simplify further for a high school valedictorian, who at last did his best to convert it all into sportscaster-ese. Two of the more famous sports anchors in cameo appearances played along marvelously, nodding studiously and pretending they got it until the academics turned away, then putting their heads together in a grand state of panicked confusion. The bit worked perfectly for adult and child alike, and young Wentworth Barnes was on his way to becoming a sensation.
When the news broke that he would be unable to compete in the Olympics, I had a tough time at that age understanding how that could be possible.
Wentworth laughed for real this time. “At your service. Tristan is right, you both really do know your sports.”
We spoke almost at the same time again, Peyton starting an instant before me.
“You were at Harvard—” she started.
“—after Oxford—” I continued.
And we both concluded at the same time, “It was your knee.”
His eyes watched the road as we took a turn. “The discus. We were trying out a new surface, and that event was always my nemesis. Stupid, really. I was trying to set a new record or something and fell off balance on the follow-through. I kept spinning while my foot caught.”
I remembered. “The trials were only a month away.”
“You can imagine my surprise when Tristan called me. I was still in the recovery room after they did what little they could for the damaged ligaments.”
“Why did he call?” Peyton asked.
“I’m sorry, Miss Worth, but that was between us.”
He was such a gentleman about it, we didn’t even feel bad for asking, or awkward that he cut us off.
“And here we are. I doubt you’ll find anyone from our building here,” Wentworth assured us.
We thanked him as a bellman opened the door for us. We looked up at the narrow façade of the boutique hotel. I turned to Peyton. “Have you ever been here?”
“No. I’m not sure I’ve even driven by since it was finished.” She looked at the sign. “Papillon.”
We both said, “Steve McQueen,” and giggled.
“My dad’s favorite actor,” she stated.
I nodded, not having anything to add. We went inside and noticed a lounge off to the left. It seemed alright, but we both must have looked disappointed because the concierge let out a little cough. We looked at him, and he smiled, indicating the elevator. “Top floor.”
There was no label next to the button, which was either silly or a nice touch, depending on one’s mood, I suppose. I decided the latter, as the doors opened right in front of the handsome bartender. He had light brown hair parted on the side with classic sideburns that had come back in style. He pulled them off well. His crystal blue eyes were not as dark as Tristan’s, and when Peyton muttered to me, “Maybe it’s Steve’s grandson,” I had to nod and laugh.
“Welcome to the bar, ladies. What can I do for you?” the bartender asked.
Peyton asked for red, I decided on white and we took a seat right at the window. The view of the river was stunning, and I understood suddenly why someone would choose to build a hotel on such a strange, narrow strip of property.
The bartender approached our end of the bar and said, “Right after he dropped you off, Wentworth called up and informed me you were with Thorne Enterprises.”
Peyton smiled at me. “He did, did he?”
“Yes, and actually, I’m one of the bartenders for your big bash coming up.”
I laughed. “Small world.”
“These are two of the wines we’re planning on serving,” he continued. “No charge, of course, for testing. Please let me know what you think.”
I took a sip, and I think my eyes were every bit as large as Peyton’s she tried the red. Once again we were in perfect sync. “Oh my god!”
“We’ve got to stop doing that.”
I nodded. “True. And I almost said the same thing.”
“Well, I hate to kill the mood, but you first, lay it on me,” Peyton said.
I knew what she was asking. “Look, I don’t even think I’m being fair.”
“I understand, and I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll call this place our safe zone. Say whatever comes into your mind and any of it you want to take back after, we’ll pretend it never even happened.”
“Sounds nice in theory. Has it ever worked before?” I asked.
She laughed, “I don’t know. I’ve never let anyone try.”
I took a breath and then looked at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman as beautiful as you, in person.”
“Are you kidding? Don’t you ever look in the mirror?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Please yourself. Amy, do you really not know? I suppose that explains it.”
“Excuse me, what?” I asked.
“You, your makeup. The way you wear your hair. Don’t get me wrong, you look great, seriously, but give me one afternoon in a real salon…and let me show you, God, like all you need are about two tricks in the makeup kit.” She looked at me, probably wondering why I was chewing my lip. “Amy, I promise I’m not laying it on thick. Look, you and me, we’ll get ready for the party together. Have you got a dress picked out?”
“I do.”
“Show me before the week is over. I want veto power.”
I laughed, but for reasons that had nothing to do with my dress. “I was worried you wanted that over just about everything.”
“Why?”
“That’s the unfair part. The way you came in, straight from college, then Tristan hires you to basically run your own department. And the thing is, it’s obvious he didn’t do it just because he’s wrapped around your finger.”
“Oh, hardly. I mean, we were wrapped up in each other, and then, it just…”
“You met Drake,” I finished for her.
She blushed. “That wasn’t it. Before I met Drake, we’d had—I had—I knew something wasn’t working out between Tristan and me.”
Something about the way she said it convinced me she wasn’t fudging the truth. “I’m sorry, Peyton, it all just happened so fast. Part of me resented it, but I think I put that aside for the most part.”
“What is it then?” she asked.
“What you’re doing to him now, ever since you moved into your office.”
“Oh, you mean leaning on him so much? I know, but that’s over now—”
“No, that’s not it,” I interrupted her. “Peyton, don’t you see the way he still looks at you? Every time you walk into his office, his smile goes from one of a man who’s in control of everything to someone who just—I don’t know—found himself floating in the middle of the ocean on a wobbly patch of ice.”
She looked dubious, but also thoughtful, frowning as her eyebrows pinched together, looking down at the river outside.
I continued, “Every time you put your hand around his arm, his shoulders bunch up.”
“Oh, but he always does that,” she insisted.
I rolled my eyes. “With you, he always does that. Doesn’t that tell you anything? He did it before you broke up, and he’s still doing it. Jeez, Pey, his eyes practically turn into kaleidoscopes when you walk in his door. I don’t think he even knows what you do to him.”
“But, but I’m with Drake now.”
“I’m sure he keeps telling himself that. If you were head over heels for someone, would it help you to know he was madly in love with someone else?” I asked.
I realized my voice had grown loud. I stopped talking. It was my turn to look out the window.
“I think I see.” She looked at me as she said it.
I took a sip of wine that tasted like sweet water, and said, “What does that mean?”
“Am I wrong?” she questioned me.
I wanted to pretend I had no idea what she was asking, but I couldn’t do it. She’d opened herself up to me, offered to let me give her both barrels, and I just couldn’t be the one who got phony all of a sudden.
Before I answered, she threw me a lifeline. “Lovely wine, but it’s not doing it for me.” She lifted her head to the bartender, “Excuse me.”
“Yes?” he responded.
“What do you have in the way of appetizers?” she asked.
“Well, for that wine, I’d say—” he began.
“Actually, we’ll be switching to tequila shots and Tecate, if you have it,” she declared.
“Of course. In that case, I’d recommend the street shrimp tacos.”
Peyton looked at me and I nodded, my mouth suddenly watering.
“That would be great,” she told him.
He nodded and left us alone again.
Peyton looked at me again, and her eyes concerned. “If what you say is true, then I’ve been, well … shit, I’ve practically been a sadist.”
I didn’t say anything, but I had to blink a few times. She saw, and it had the effect it so often does on us females, she puddled up and then I did. We both quietly dabbed at tears, and then we looked at each other and started to laugh.
“Can you imagine his face if he were here?” I asked.
That made her laugh even harder. “Oh my God, he’d probably try to call in a bunch of dancers to cheer us up.”
“Or a marching band.”
We kept laughing. “He’d have that look on his face like he’d just stepped on a whole litter of puppies.”
Our shots arrived with the cold Mexican beer we’d requested.
We skipped the whole I’m-not-used-to-this/me-either bit and just slammed them. Before the burn hit, we chased it down with Tecate, and then felt tequila, mellowed, as it warmed our throats.
“Shit, did I need that,” I stated.
Peyton looked at me with one of her perfect eyebrows cocked.
I got a little nervous. “What?”
“I was literally about to say the same thing, word for word.”
I smiled then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out what I’d been holding in. “Can I ask you something? I mean, don’t answer if it would spoil the mood. I don’t want to be so serious.”
“You want to know what happened between me and Tristan, right?”
I nodded.
“I still don’t know for sure,” she said. “I was so attracted to him. I mean, he’s gorgeous. Those shoulders we were just talking about, it doesn’t stop there. Have you ever, you know seen him, I don’t know, changing in the office or something?”
“No.”
“Cut like a statue,” she assured me.
I swallowed, hoping it was the remnants of the tequila.
Our bite-sized tacos arrived with some of the freshest shrimp I had ever tasted, grilled with some kind of light spice rub, and served on top of tender corn rounds with a salsa that tasted like everything in it had been growing in a field twenty minutes before. We finished the whole plate, feeling a barely-there burn on our lips, and the truth is, I kept thinking about Tristan with his clothes off so much it had made me wet, and it was all I could do not to give it away and squirm in my seat.
I looked at Peyton, and the way she was looking at me made me think she’d read my mind, or at least my mood.
But then she continued, “I’ve thought a lot about what happened, wondering if it was his fault or mine. And part of it was the way he went from being the perfect gentleman to suddenly being so aggressive it seemed almost—”
“Mean.” I was remembering the way he’d yelled at Adie a few times.
“Yes. Part of me worried he had a mean streak, but I don’t believe that anymore.”
“What was it then?” I asked.
“I think I just wasn’t the right woman for him, and he wasn’t the right man for me. I mean, it’s that simple. If you had asked me to list all the qualities I would want in a man before I ever met Tristan, I probably would have matched them to him, except…”
“Except what?”
“I think my fantasy man was that of a little girl’s. After I saw him, after what I’ve learned not only about how he has to do business, going up against people like Liam Rose, and how I saw Drake behaving when he was practically going crazy—well, you saw it, too.”
“I did. Actually, I was terrified when I showed up that night.”
“That was amazing, by the way,” Peyton said with an approving smile. “It was really brave of you, I mean, even without a mountain like Drake being in a mood. Anyway, Tristan and I went from absolutely magical to just not clicking at all—and then Drake just swept me off my feet.”
I nodded, thinking about that night. “Drake had been so, I don’t know, he seemed practically dangerous when I saw him in the office. But later that night, at his house with you, he was happy and gentle as a lamb. What was that— oh.”
I really felt slow, putting two and two together only then. Peyton blushed, and it must have been the tequila, but I couldn’t resist. “Was that the first time?”
She nodded. “I surprised him in his gym that night. I know everyone thinks it’s obvious, typical, but sometimes I guess all men really need every once in a while is to have a woman walk right up to them and fuck their brains out.”
I practically choked on my beer before letting just a little bit spray out from my lips. That made Peyton laugh, too, and we both just about fell out of our chairs.
As we were laughing, I suddenly imagined this gorgeous woman sitting across from me seducing that Adonis fiancé of hers, and just as quickly imagined me doing the same thing to Tristan, and suddenly I was so aroused I actually thought I was close to having an orgasm with each little laughing bounce of my diaphragm. I couldn’t help myself. I gasped, trying not to show it, and took a breath, putting my hand on the table as I sat up, embarrassed.
I looked at the empty shot glass. “I think I need another one of these.”
“How long has it been for you?” Peyton asked me.
I blushed as ferociously as I ever have in my life.
“Amy, don’t worry, this is just us girls talking. Believe me, I’ve been there.”
“It’s, uh, been awhile. Over a year.” I didn’t want to admit how much over a year.
“Don’t you? Well, you know.”
“Honestly? It’s not like I’m against it, but I’ve been so focused, I guess I just tuned that part of life out. Taking care of myself like that, it just hasn’t crossed my mind. Is that weird?”
Peyton looked at me, thinking. “I don’t think so. But it sure seems like you’ve been locking things away for too long. When did you start falling for Tristan?”
I wanted to protest, but the way she asked, it wasn’t a challenge, it was just that she knew already. What would be the point in lying? I looked toward our bartender and was grateful to see he was already on the way with the bottle. He cocked an eyebrow, and I nodded, so did Peyton.
As he poured us two more shots, I watched his thin, yet strong forearms hold the bottle and realized even that was turning me on. I love the way the tendons play right there in men’s arms…taut, thin ropes ready to respond to any command like a fine-tuned race car. His back was barely turned when I took a sip from the shot glass, and then just drank it down.
I half expected her to say something like, “Whoa, take it easy, girl.” But she was just watching me, then downed her shot, too.
Finally, I took a breath. “I think I’ve been head over heels for my boss since the day I saw him. Adie hired me, you know. She introduced me to him one day when he was about two seconds from one of his rants. I don’t think he even remembers that. He made me feel like a child, but also—”
“Like you’d finally met a real man who didn’t also happen to be in your family?”
“I don’t have any men in my family, but yes, like that. Like, ‘Oh, this is what they mean when they talk about men.’ I—Peyton. I’m sorry. I don’t think I should be talking like this.”
She looked worried for me, not like a mother or co-worker, but more like a friend. There was no hint of superiority in her face, just eyebrows raised in the middle, creating little creases high on her smooth forehead.
“Can I tell you what I think, and then I promise, nobody, not a soul, not even Drake will ever hear of this from me,” she promised.
I nodded, close to tears and not even sure why. Just admitting what was going on was emotional enough, but her kindness on top of it all was enough to make me afraid I was close to bawling.
“I know there’s real risk in falling for your boss, everyone says so, right? We both think we just landed in our dream jobs, I know that. If I didn’t admit it was a huge risk, it would practically be like I was sabotaging you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean I’m not the kind of monstrous bitch that would try to manipulate this situation. If I tell you to go for it, I could be helping you ruin your career. If I tell you to back off and be safe, I could be blocking something beautiful. I don’t know what to tell you, Amy, but I do know you are both special. You’re both gorgeous. You’d make an incredible couple, or you could get both your hearts broken and end up wishing you’d never even thought about something outside of work.”
My face must have looked miserable because she leaned forward and put her hand on mine. “I know one thing I can do that might help.”
“Oh?” My voice actually cracked. “What’s that?”
“I’m going to stop being part of the problem. Amy, I wish I could say I had no idea what I’ve been doing. That’s partly true. But it’s also a lie. My ego’s been getting stroked every time I’ve been with him. It’s just awful. I’m with Drake, for God’s sake. Here I am, feeling insecure about sports marketing when it’s what I’ve wanted as long as I can remember, and every time Tristan looked at me with those eyes instead of thinking about what it was doing to him, I was letting it puff me up so I could go back in my office for another two hours without panicking. No more.”
I was relieved. Shocked at her admission, but relieved that what I’d been seeing between her and Tristan hadn’t been in my imagination. And more relieved that it was going to stop.
“And there’s one other thing,” she said, looking at me with those concerned green eyes of hers.
“What’s that?” I actually sniffled.
“We’re getting out of here. I’m taking you shopping.”
And she did. I was worried she was going to buy me things, and I didn’t want that, but we just went to some of her favorite shops, boutiques I had never been inside because the prices were not in my ballpark. It settled me down, looking at girlie things, chatting with saleswomen who didn’t mind letting us browse. Peyton talked me into trying on a dress, but when I came out of the dressing room, she wasn’t there. A few minutes later, she returned and gave me a plain little bag with a white rectangular box inside.
“Open it when you get home. If I’m off base, consider it a gag. A friend of mine did the same thing to me not all that long ago.”
“Peyton, I can’t. I—“
“Trust me, it’s nothing extravagent. I just think it might be, well, useful.”
When we parted ways, we did so as friends, and that was certainly more than I could have hoped at the beginning of the day. Wentworth dropped me off first, and when I finally got inside my apartment, the first thing I did was call my sister. She didn’t pick up, but texted me that her astronomy teacher had them all out in a field hoping for the sky to clear up and give them a view of Orion’s Belt or something.
At last, I looked at the bag Peyton had given me, suspecting what was inside, opening it only to find my suspicions were right. Until that moment, I’d had no idea a device like that could be both what it was and somehow look a little cute, maybe even just a teeny bit classy. Okay, maybe not classy. I sat there feeling both naughty and excited and wondering if I had the guts to give it a try or whether I would just end up choosing the alternative and considering it a funny gag gift at the end of a good day of girl bonding.