Helen

What the hell was that?

Marshall’s face is red. “I uh . . . I’m heading out. You have everything you need, I think. The flooring guys’ll be here tomorrow, and I’ll be back on Friday to check the progress.”

“Yes, thank you, Marshall,” I say, awkwardly.

Once Marshall has left, I storm up the stairs. Earlier, Monique had given me a tour of the house, and I know which room belongs to Alex.

Okay, I think I know. I stare down the long hallway of doors. The double door at the end is his room. I’m almost one hundred percent certain.

Or is it the abandoned library?

Nevertheless, I stomp to the room, knock hard against the wood door, and then without waiting for a response I push it open so forcefully, the back slams into the wall. I see the large four-poster bed and instantly know it’s his room.

“You hired me. You told me Marshall would help. You—” I begin my rant as I walk deeper into the enormous room. Except for the big bed in the middle, it is fairly empty and I’m momentarily distracted. It’s actually quite a dark room. I expected a balcony overlooking the bay or something over-the-top, but it’s just an enormous room with a sitting area, a few regular windows, and a gorgeous armoire.

Inwardly, I sigh. If I had this room, I’d immediately break open that wall and have a balcony built. Somewhere to sit and watch the sunrises and sunsets while sipping on my coffee. That’s never going to happen. That life’s long gone.

“You were bitching?”

My head snaps to the side, where I see a shirtless Alex stalking out of a walk-in closet, taking long, confident strides toward me. My eyes wander down to the vee that disappears into his trousers, but then I quickly avert them back up, narrowing them in confusion. He’s still angry but now he’s angry and shirtless and oh God, when did Alex Archer get abs? When did his biceps get bulgy? And why are his flat, round nipples so enticing? Had I ever noticed nipples on a man before?

“You stormed in, bitching about something,” he continues, but now he’s standing too close to me and it takes a second to recover from all that is Alex.

I take a step back. “I wasn’t bitching. I was simply saying that you,” and I point a finger at him, “Mr. No-introductions, Mr. No-conversation, Mr. Ornery, told me to talk to Marshall. I was doing just that. You embarrassed us. What you said was uncalled for, unprofessional, and untrue,” I huff.

He doesn’t respond. He just stands there and stares at me. I widen my eyes and flail my palms up. “Say something, damn it. The way this works is, I say something, you say something, then I say something back, and . . . well, it’s called talking!”

“You’re yelling. You’re not talking.”

“You’re making me crazy.”

“My mind doesn’t work as fast as yours,” he sputters. “I’m thinking. I don’t just spit out the first nonsensical thing that comes out of my mind.”

“Nonsensical! Nonsensical?” Now I’m yelling. Somehow, I end up right in front of him again. This time, however, I’m pretty sure it’s me who moved closer. “You’re the one that said we were flirting. Obviously, you weren’t being sensical.”

“Wasn’t I? Marshall was flirting. A man doesn’t look at a woman the way he was looking at you if he doesn’t want her.”

I’m taken aback by his words. Not just by his words, but by the heat in his eyes. Is he trying to tell me something? Because the way he’s looking at me, the heat pouring out of his body . . . it’s almost as if . . . he wants me.

The room suddenly feels too small and too hot. I feel like I’m about to fall over the edge of a cliff, and instinctively I put my hands up so that I don’t actually fall over. Except, my hands land on the bare skin on his pecs and fuck, fuck, fuck . . . I’ve wanted Alex for so long. For so many years. I can’t compartmentalize all the feelings. The anger, the resentment, the lust. It’s all jumbled together.

Alex

There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in these past twelve years: Helen never did what was expected. And worse, I always did the opposite of what I would normally do when I was around her.

Her skin on my skin, even if minimal, burns through me like an electric current. I place my hands over hers . . . so she can’t move them. My large fingers encircling her delicate wrists. In fact, I press her palms closer to my chest. Wanting—no, needing—the contact.

I can’t control what I do next. It’s as if I’m on automatic pilot and my lips are drawn to hers.

I crowd her, and then pause—if she shows any signs of not wanting what I’m about to do, I’ll stop. But her big, round hazel eyes are looking up at me, expectantly. I sweep my lips over hers gently at first, but when she lets out a tiny little mewl, I lose all control.

All. Fucking. Control.

I push her against the wall, then wrap my hand firmly around her throat, cradling her chin with my finger, stroking that sensitive cluster of nerves below her ear with enough roughness that her mouth opens further, allowing me full access to her wet little tongue. I feel the way her legs part, just a little, allowing my knee to push into her core. Her body lightly gyrates against mine as I consume her with a kiss unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I didn’t even know that I had this kind of need or passion in me.

She claws her fingers up my chest and my neck, until they dig into my hair in an urgent need for more. I run both my hands down the sides of her body, squeezing her hips, then back up and over her breasts, where my thumbs linger over her hardened nipples. “Oh God,” I hear her whisper in pure bliss. I move my lips lower to her chin. Her head falls back against the wall, giving me more access to her long, elegant, enticing neck. I chance a look up and her eyes are heavy-lidded, watching as my fingers knead her breasts over her clothes.

“This is probably not a good idea,” she breathes, in a daze, more to herself than me, I think.

“Why’s that?” I say between kisses down her neck, and she moans a little more as I reach the tops of her breast.

“Because you’re my boss now. Because you hate me,” she says, gruffly, her eyes shut as she arches her back, bringing her body closer to mine.

“You hate me too, remember.” I’m kneading her breast so hard, I know it must hurt, but I need her so much I can’t seem to control myself. I move lower, taking one of her hard nipples into my mouth, and bite, roughly. Even over her clothes, she tastes delicious, and I want to rip her top off and suck on her bare skin. She moans louder in pleasure and pulls my hair, hard. 

“Yes. I do. So, so much. Despise you.” She rakes her nails down my skin and then reaches between us and unzips my trousers. “But I also want you,” she admits, not surprising me. “Just like I did when you gave me my first kiss.” Now, that does surprise me.

Helen never kept her crush on me a secret, but that I was her first kiss is news to me. I remember that kiss we shared all those years ago often, and if that’s an appetizer to what Helen’s like in bed, I can’t wait for the whole fucking meal.

“First kiss?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Fuck, no,” I admit, feeling oddly triumphant at the news. “Are we really doing this?”

She awkwardly pushes my trousers down to mid-thigh, then hikes her pencil skirt up to her waist. “Yes. We’re making bad decisions,” she answers, as she kisses my neck.

Somewhere deep inside—so deep that I ignore it completely—I know nothing good can come from fucking Helen Blackwood. I can’t stand her and she hates me. But that mutual hate is fueling my dick, because I can’t seem to walk away. Instead, I lift her by her ass, and immediately she wraps her legs around my waist and with a free hand guides my dick to her opening.

I look down for a moment. Her eyes are on me—daring me to stop. Without taking my eyes off her, I push inside in one long stroke. A startled moan of pleasure escapes her lips, which I quiet with my mouth on hers.

“Shut the fuck up,” I order between kisses. “We don’t need the entire house to know.”

She pulls my hair, hard. “Stop talking and move.”

And I do.

I pump in and out of her, one hand cupping her ass and the other palm flat against the wall. Her arms are around my neck and she pulls me into her, flaming the fire inside of me.

“Oh God, Alex!” She pulls my hair harder. “I’m going to come! Don’t stop!”

Like I could. I couldn’t stop even if I tried. This is heaven and hell all wrapped up together and I fucking hope she’s on birth control, because as her pussy tightens almost painfully around my dick, I come hard into her.

I’ve never done that before. I’m always very careful—I wear a condom even if the woman says she’s on birth control. But, as with every single thing involving Helen, she makes me lose control and do the complete opposite of what I normally do.

“Fuck,” I groan as I slowly set her down. Her chest moves up and down as she catches her breath. “Fuck,” I repeat, as I pull my pants up and she adjusts her panties and pulls her skirt down.

“Oh my God. That was—” she starts, with a small, satisfied smile, but I interrupt her: “A mistake. Please, dear God, tell me you are on birth control.”

Her small smile shifts to . . . hurt? Anger? I’m not sure, but I’m close to panicking and I need an answer.

Her eyes narrow. “Yes. I’m on birth control, asshole.”

“Thank God.” I let out a breath.

“Yes, God forbid I get pregnant with your spawn.”

“It would be a surefire way to get my money, wouldn’t it?” I zip up my pants and look up, meeting her glare. Any post-sex glow she had is instantly wiped from her face. Admittedly, that bothers me. Somewhere in my twisted emotional state, I want to see that glow back on her face. A sated, happy glow that I put on her face. Me! Alex Archer! Only me!

It’s fucked up how on the one hand I want that so fucking much it makes me insane with want, and on the other hand I’m scared shitless that I might have impregnated the one woman I loathe. Or loathed. Or am supposed to loathe. Fuck. I’m going crazy.

“You think I’d trap you? You think I’d do something as low and deceitful as that?”

“It’s not like you told me you were married. You’ve already lied to me and it’s just your first day.”

There’s an almost imperceptible flinch, but she schools her emotions so quickly I almost miss it.

“Wow. Even casual sex with you pisses me off,” she says.

Casual sex? Why did I expect her to want more? Probably because women normally want more, but again, Helen’s not like every other woman. “Why are you pissed? You just had an orgasm. Isn’t that what you wanted? You flirted with me all the time when we were kids and now you waltz into my room unannounced, and . . .” I let out a breath. “You wanted it.”

“Yes. I wanted it.” She doesn’t make any excuses. I like that. I like it too much. “I haven’t had sex in a long time and I thought it would be great. But then I remembered the sex was with you and it was just another one of many disappointments you’ve given me, Alex.”

Now that was a slap in the face. I feel her words down to my soul. But she’s not done. She keeps at it. “I can’t believe,” her voice sounds thick, as if she’s holding back tears, but she doesn’t let them flow, “I can’t believe I thought about us . . . us . . . doing it . . . for so long.”

“While you were married? You thought about me, while you were married?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Alex,” she hisses. “Why do you want to hurt me so badly?” Her words are so raw and truthful, I can’t help but say exactly what I’m thinking.

“You are a liar.”

“What did I ever lie to you about?”

“You didn’t tell me you were married.”

“You never asked!” she yells, loudly and with frustration.

“Okay, so you lie by omission. You never told me you and your father were planning to fuck over me and my family. But oh, I guess it’s my fault because I never asked!”

“Go to hell, Alex.”

“How do I know I’m not falling for another Blackwood manipulation or gold-digging scheme? Does your husband know what you do behind his back?” Now that I’m yelling back at her, I can’t seem to stop all the emotions I have been keeping bottled up inside.

“Manipulation? Gold-digging?” She looks as if she’s been slapped in the face.

I look around and snatch a shirt off my bed and quickly slip it on. Her eyes are smoldering. But now it is not from lust. It’s from pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Fuck you!” she yells, but it’s from deep within and it’s heart wrenching. If I had a heart, I might care. She adjusts her top. “You don’t deserve a fucking explanation.”

“Of course you’d say that.” I roll my eyes.

She turns around abruptly, narrows her eyes, and snaps, “I did not steal money from you. I’ve never stolen a dime from anyone. I didn’t tell you I was married . . . because you never asked, asshole!” She lets out a loud, tortured breath. “You found me at the club. I didn’t find you. How the hell would this be some sort of con on my part, huh?”

“You have a criminal record. Petty theft. Twice.”

And with that, I watch as her face falls.

Helen

I take a deep breath. I still feel Alex inside of me. I haven’t had a chance to clean up, which makes this all the more awkward. It’s a physical reminder of what we just did. As we’re standing in the middle of his room screaming at each other.

But, fuck it, we’re doing this. He wants all the answers right now, so I’ll give them to him. “Yes. I stole,” I admit, holding up one finger. “I was eighteen. Five months after everything happened. I was still in denial, mad, confused. But mostly, I was hungry. I was too proud and too stupid to go to a homeless shelter. I had been eating dollar microwave soups for months and I just wanted potato chips and a soda. I know. Ridiculous. But, I went into a gas station and stuffed a bunch of bags of chips into my purse. As I was walking out, I got caught. The manager was going to let me go had I not been a bitch to him. Yeah, I’ll admit it. Instead of apologizing, pleading, crying, and asking for mercy, I denied it, talked back, acted superior. That’s the first time my new life hit me squarely in the face. It’s one thing to go down a notch; it’s another to sit in a jail cell for chips and soda. You get real humble real fast.”

“You were hungry?” His tone softens significantly.

“Yes.” I hold up a second finger. “Three years later, it was my twenty-first birthday. I was working at a fast-food place making minimum wage and things had gotten a little better. But I was feeling sorry for myself. Hell, it was my birthday and my father was in prison, my friends had abandoned me, and I was lonely. I invited a few of my new friends for drinks and then I skipped on the tab. So yes, I was arrested. I felt terrible about it and paid every penny back. But I did not steal money from you or from anyone else, Alex. I wouldn’t even have known how to.”

“But you own a house.”

I don’t think I trust him enough to explain that to him. I know what I did wasn’t exactly legal, but I was desperate. But then again, after all that’s happened in this room since he got home from work, there aren’t many things I can say that’ll make me feel lower about myself than fucking Alex against a wall. Alex, who thinks I’m the lowest form of scum and who’s made me feel like trash. I take a deep breath and go for it. “On the night of my eighteenth birthday, my dad gave me a suitcase and a ticket to Miami. He wanted me to be ready to leave, but I didn’t understand it at that moment. Well, two years later, I came across some cash inside the lining of the case. It was a hundred thousand dollars. He never told me, and I wish he had, because you can’t imagine the hard times I went through.”

“He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to be implicated in his crime. Or for the money to be confiscated.”

Interesting. That sounded like he was defending my father’s actions.

“I could’ve discarded the luggage.”

“I guess it was a risk he was willing to take.”

I shrug. “I probably should’ve gone to the police with it. I know that. And maybe it makes me a terrible person; maybe it does make me an accomplice somehow. I don’t know. But I kept it. I used it to buy my house. It’s a modest little home, but it’s the only thing I have, and it kept me safe for the last seven years.”

“Why are you living in a hotel, then?”

“So, there’s one dumber thing I’ve done.” I wince, because of all the things, this is the stupidest. “I stupidly put the house under both mine and Luke’s names because we were engaged, so now I can’t kick him out.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Why should I have? You think I’m shit. You’re just my boss and you’ve given me no reason to think you care in any way.”

“I’m not just your boss.”

“You think my father stole from your family. You just accused me of trying to trap you by getting pregnant.”

He looks contrite at those words. His lips turn down, but they’re softer. Less angry, more regretful. “I’m sorry I said that.” He rakes his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “I’ve been holding a grudge for a long time. Maybe I’ve been wrong.”

“You abandoned me. You didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. You may not trust me, but I don’t trust you either. I have no reason to. Everyone I’ve ever cared for has left me one way or another.” He begins to say something, but I’m done listening to him. He wanted me to talk, so I’m going to let it all out. “So now you know everything. And the only reason I’m still married is because I can’t afford a divorce. So now, on top of all the regrets I have, pining for you, even after all the shit you made me go through, I have all that wasted time to add to my list. Oh, and fucking you. That’s up there too.” Since he said it so vulgarly, I may as well not pretend it’s anything more than what it was. I won’t ever admit it, but angry or not, it was the best sex of my life.

How depressing is that?

I’m done. Done with assholes. Done with the Archers. Done being stupid and naïve. I’m. Done. I push him aside before adding, “Which is why I had to accept this stupid job with a stupid boss. Next time you doubt me, ask me. Don’t be sneaky about it. Don’t kiss me out of some odd spiteful need for revenge. Just . . . just stop fucking hurting me, Alex!”

“For twelve years I blamed you for my father’s death,” he says suddenly. It’s not said in the cold, robotic, insensitive manner he sometimes uses when he speaks to me. It’s said almost like a thought he’s accidentally voiced out loud. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and there’s an egg-sized ball lodged in my throat. “You probably heard he died, but you probably didn’t know how.”

He’s right. I didn’t know. His death was on the news and I’d heard about it and mourned him, even though I was still angry at the Archers. But this other information I absolutely did not know.

My lips begin to tremble, followed by most of my body. “W-what?”

He’s looking through me, not at me, when he continues. “When we lost the house, he couldn’t cope and he shot himself. Blood everywhere. I found him.”

My legs give way and I have to grab on to a table by the door to keep myself upright. Now it all makes sense. I’d hate me too if I were him. God, I feel like a selfish cow. While I’d been harping about my problems, my regrets, my hardship, I’d failed to see how much Alex had suffered. Regardless of whether that suffering was at the hands of my father or not, it was still a horrible trauma he had to endure.

I go to reach for him, but he takes an almost imperceptible step away from me. “Alex . . .” It comes out in a broken whisper. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t . . . I didn’t know.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“But—”

He puts out his hand to stop me “No. Don’t. There’s too much ugliness between us. Things that can’t ever be forgiven or rectified. This . . .” he says as he looks between me and him, “shouldn’t have happened.”

He’s right. It just makes the mess that is our relationship messier. He turns around, seemingly overcome with emotions, much like I am. So, I walk out of his bedroom, head down the stairs, snatch my purse off the foyer table, and run out the door.

My body’s still tingly and my cheeks still burn from that kiss. I’d been kissed before, but it had never been that way. What he had done to my body . . . it wasn’t sex—it was . . . erotic. It’s not at all how I pictured sex with Alex to be. It wasn’t gentle and sweet and Prince Charming-esque. And yet, somehow it was oddly right that he would fuck with so much unrestrained passion and anger.

For a moment, I thought that all my adolescent fantasies were going to come true and whatever I’d thought of the Archers was wrong. Obviously, there had to have been a misunderstanding, because someone who I was supposed to loathe would not make me feel that wonderful. Except, he’d opened his mouth and spoken and ruined everything. Everything. And then, he’d crushed me with a final blow by telling me about his father. I’d been wrong about Alex. Maybe he did abandon me, but he’d had his own problems to deal with. I’ve been, holding a grudge against a man who saw his father kill himself!

From orgasm to anger to sadness to shame—all within the span of a few heart-wrenching minutes.

The tears blind me.

When will I ever learn?

Alex and I will never happen. Not truly.

I have to quit. We can’t work together. It’ll destroy us both. There’s too much anger and hurt.

I dial Gina as I drive out of Alex’s driveway. “I did something stupid,” I sob into the phone.

“Oh honey . . . what happened?”

Why are there stupid tears leaking out of my eyes? I look in my rearview mirror and barely recognize the person staring back at me. My cheeks are red, my lips are puffy, and there’s a little beard-burn around my mouth where he ravaged me. These tears serve as a reminder that all the Archers know how to do is hurt me.

I won’t let myself forget again.

“I slept with Alex.”

“Alex? As in Alex Archer. The Alex Archer you’ve been pining for for years. The guy that screwed you and your father over?”

“I quit my job to work for him and then we ended up screwing against the wall of his bedroom.”

“Whoa! Back the hell up, chick. The last time I saw you, you told me Alex was a jerk. How did that turn into you quitting your job?”

I tell her what happened at the club the other night and what happened just now. When I’m done, there is an uncharacteristic silence on her end. “Why were you working at the nude part of Duality?”

I let out a sigh. “I needed money. Luke’s back.”

“Helen! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d want to help and you have your own things going on. I was handling it.”

“Clearly.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted.”

“Stay at my house tonight. We’ll talk it out and figure things out.”

“No!” I say quickly. “I’m not going to impose. I have the two grand he gave me and I’ll go back to Duality and ask for my job back.” I sniffle again. “It’s fine. Really I just needed to vent.”

“Helen . . .” I hear her frustration over the phone. She’s taken on the role of my best friend, and also mom and dealer of tough love. “Look at the bright side: now that you know that Alex sucks in bed, you can finally move on. Plus, the fact that he’s a dickhead is confirmed.”

I moan into the phone. “But . . . it was so good. I hate that it was so good, G. I mean, it was amazing. But then it all got screwed up when we talked. We shouldn’t ever talk. Maybe that’s the only way we could work.”

“Oh geez . . .” she sighs. “I think you shouldn’t quit. He didn’t actually fire you, right?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so. But after everything, I can’t go back. I can’t look him in the face. I’ve been a selfish cow!”

“No you have not,” she says, firmly. “It’s not a competition of whose shit is more fucked up. It’s both bad and you were both wrong. You by assuming he abandoned you and holding a grudge, and him by thinking you were at fault for his father’s death and their financial demise. You,” she says, even more firmly, “did not hold a gun to his father’s head, and you,” she again punctuates, “did not take their money.”

This is true.

“It’s so messed up, G.”

“And will it become un-messed up by you quitting and pretending none of the crap you’ve learned in the last few hours didn’t happen?”

“No, I guess not. And I still have the Luke thing hanging over my head. Which is why I’m in this mess to begin with.”

“So, go back tomorrow. Try to move on, somehow. It’s a great salary and opportunity he’s giving you. He can’t be all that bad if he’s doing that, right?”

“He’s not bad at all,” I admit.

“And honey, I’m gonna add something that might piss you off, but as your friend, I’m gonna tell you anyway. It’s time you move on from being a bartender. Unless that’s really what you want to do for the rest of your life.”

“No. But I didn’t go to college and—”

“You are always full of excuses, babe. You are still stuck in what happened all those years ago. It happened. It sucked. But it is what it is, and you can’t just decide that because life dealt you that blow twelve years ago, now you can only work at a bar. You can go back to school or look for a job somewhere else. Maybe this is the push you needed to finally get on with things.”

Get on with things? I’ve been living day by day for so long, I never thought long-term. I never thought of my future. But, no. I don’t want to work at a nightclub for the rest of my life. I get home when most people are waking up. The noise sometimes gets to me and there’s no real room for advancement.

“When did you get so smart?”

“I’m not smart. I’ve just been screwed over enough times to know when it’s time to put on my big-girl panties and take control of things myself.”

“I love you, Gina.”

“It’s going to be okay, Helen. I promise. And if you need anything, you always have my couch to crash on. Things will never be that bad again that you feel you’re at the end of your rope, you hear me?”

“I hear you. Thanks again.”

“Love you, girl,” she says, and then she’s gone.

I mull over what she said. The worst has passed and I survived. I can always go back to Duality if things really take a turn for the worse with Alex. But, meanwhile, I can take his money while he’s offering it, fix my life, and then never, ever talk to Alexander Archer again

The only thing I have to remember is that I can never, ever sleep with him again.

I’m about to park my car at the motel when I see a bunch of police officers and yellow tape all along the street. I slam my fists against the steering wheel. What the hell is happening now?

If there is one single thing I’ve learned from life, it’s that things change from minute to minute. A few weeks ago, everything seemed perfect, or as perfect as it was ever going to get for me. I was fine. And then shit went south. Fast.

I open my window. “Officer? Excuse me, officer, what is going on? I’m renting one of the rooms.”

“Ma’am, no one can get in for the time being. It’s a crime scene. You can call the management company later tonight about getting back in.”

“I have all my things inside.”

“Like I said, you can call the management company later.” The officer is already looking away and barking orders at someone else. What the hell happened?

And again . . . I’m homeless.

I drive away, not sure where to stay or what to do. I’m so damn tired.

I head to the drive-thru of McDonald’s, order some food, and then park in the lot to eat it. I hope my stuff is still in my rented room. And when can I even get back in?

I slide my seat back and turn on the music. Maybe I will have to crash at Gina’s after all. But she’s in a new relationship, and I don’t know that I want to stay at her studio apartment with her and her new guy. Where the hell do I go now?

I close my eyes and talk to my mother.

Mom, it’s been a long time since we spoke. I miss you. I feel so lost. Bad things keep happening, no matter how hard I work. How hard I try to keep smiling and moving on. What am I supposed to do now?

I let out a big sob.

Should I quit? Should I go back to the club? I just need a little clarity. A little direction.

A few minutes later my phone rings, and I answer it without looking at the caller ID.

“I have plenty of spare rooms. Come stay here. Hate me or not, it’s better than sitting at a McDonald’s parking lot,” Alex says, without a greeting.

I look through the windshield and see the security detail. Shit. How had I forgotten about that?

“Helen?”

“I’m fine, Alex. Thank you for your concern. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be at your house tomorrow morning. Good night.”

“Helen—”

But I’ve already shut the phone down. I’m relieved that I’m not fired, although I was planning on going to work anyway. Even if I won’t sleep at his house, at least I have options. There were so many times I didn’t. And it feels pretty good.

Thanks, Mom.

I straighten the car seat and decide to splurge for the night at the nearest Holiday Inn, where I take a nice shower and eat a bunch of vending machine food until I pass out.

The next morning, I go back to my motel room to dress. I try to ignore the yellow tape that lingers at the entrance of the building. At least they let me inside. Once I’m ready for work, I pack up all my things and let the office know I won’t be returning. I prefer to sleep in my car. Luckily, I may have just enough to rent another apartment now. Nothing as nice as my home, but better than this shithole. I stuff my things into the trunk of my car and head to work.

On my way, I call Luke.

“Are you over your snit?” he greets me snidely.

Nice way to answer your phone, asshole.

“You hit me. It wasn’t a snit.” I hear a lot of noise behind him. Mostly laughter. I ignore it.

“When are you coming home, sweets? Or, you wanna come surprise me again while I’m not home?”

“I’m not going back. I want a divorce, Luke. I’m serious. This needs to end.”

He laughs. “I love you. You love me. We’re not divorcing. Come home and stop being a bitch.”

I groan and hang up. He calls me back twice. I ignore it both times.

When I get to Alex’s house, I’m relieved when I don’t see his car there. I don’t want to deal with him at the moment.

I take out the dress I’m going to wear to the event tonight so it doesn’t wrinkle in my car. The house has enough rooms that Alex won’t notice if I hang it in one of the closets. I’ve been wanting to wear the long, mermaid-cut dress since I found it in a thrift store three years ago, but I hadn’t had the occasion to wear it until now. It’s not brand name, but it’s an excellent material and looks expensive.

After I’ve stashed the dress in a spare room, along with my makeup bag, I walk downstairs and hear Monique barking orders at everyone. I’m a little taken aback—she wasn’t like that yesterday.

“Are you okay?” I ask once I reach Monique. It’s not my place, but she seems out of sorts.

“Yes. Sorry. I just . . . Bradley is going into surgery today for his leg. I guess I’m a little anxious about it.”

“Okay?”

She lets out a deep breath and I watch as she jots notes frantically. Suddenly I realize what the problem is. Gently, I touch her hand, taking the pen from her. “You’re really worried. You have a thing for Bradley, huh?”

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. She opens her mouth and then closes it.

“Bradley doesn’t know?” I ask.

“I . . . uh . . .”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I have things under control here. Really. If you want to catch an earlier flight, I completely understand.”

She bites her lower lip.

“Really. It’s fine. I got this. Go.”

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” she asks. “Alex gets upset when things aren’t the way he likes them to be and—”

“Alex’ll get upset no matter what. So, let’s forget Alex for a moment. This Bradley guy, you think he’ll be upset if you flew in early?”

“No. No. I . . . He’ll be okay with it. I think.” She smiles widely. “I mean, yes. I think he’ll be fine. Here,” she says, handing me a credit card and directions. “This is a company card for incidentals. Also, Alex has an open line of credit at this store. You can go anytime today to purchase a dress and shoes or whatever you need for the event.”

“I’ll be fine, Monique. Really. Now go.”

It’s funny how this strong, assertive woman seems so soft and uncertain when talking about the man she’s clearly in love with. It’s refreshing and sweet, and I want her to leave and find her happiness, even if I just met her. I take the list from her hand. It’s long and I have no idea what half of it means, but I’ll figure it out.

She gives my hand a squeeze. “Thank you!” Then, without further hesitation, she runs off.

My heart is happy, and I put aside my troubles and focus on the list she left. I don’t know where to start, but it’s not rocket science. I can figure it out. I’ll tackle the items one by one.

By seven in the evening, I’m exhausted, but I’m dressed and ready for the event. But Alex isn’t home yet, and I wonder if he decided to go solo. He may have thought I quit. He hasn’t called once.

As I walk down the stairs, I spot Alex fussing with his cuff links in the living room. Startled, I drop the bag that I was planning to return to my car, and he turns to me. His hands still and he gives me a once-over, from the tip of my toes up to the top of my head. He then turns his attention back to his cuff. “Are you ready?”

“I didn’t know you were home. I thought perhaps you’d gone without me—maybe you thought I didn’t come back to work.”

“I saw you come in this morning through the cameras. You were showering when I came in.”

He’s still not looking at me. “I didn’t know if I’d have time to go shower at my place and then come back here. I hope it’s okay that I got ready here.”

“You don’t have a place.”

Jesus, the air is so thick with all our unresolved problems, but at least he hasn’t fired me.

“There’s always the Holiday Inn,” I quip with a fake smile, which he doesn’t even see.

He finishes with his cuffs, then gestures to my bag. “Leave that aside. You can get it later. Let’s go.”

So, I’m getting asshole Alex tonight. Why I thought that perhaps we’d reached some sort of temporary truce is beyond me. With all the hurtful things flung around yesterday, it’s obvious we have issues with one another, but I thought we could at least be civil. He didn’t fire me and I didn’t quit. That had to mean something. Or so I thought. Obviously, it meant nothing to him. Alex is a changed man, one who will never be happy, especially around me. I mean, Jesus Christ, even sex didn’t make him happy.

Alex

All night and day, I try to forget how Helen felt when I fucked her. I hate even calling it a fuck—even if that is exactly what it was. But, damn, she felt so perfect around my cock. Tight and warm—made just for me. And knowing that I was her first kiss, I have a mountain of regrets. The topmost being that I didn’t do something twelve years ago to ensure I would be her last kiss. The thought of other men touching her makes me want to punch the wall, repeatedly.

I’m pacing around the room when I look up. My tongue is stuck to the back of my throat and I can’t speak or think; Helen is standing a foot away from me looking breathtaking. I miss the small hole in my cuff a dozen times trying to ignore the wispy lavender material of her skirt and the fitted bodice that molds softly to her small waist and breasts. Instead of saying what I’m actually thinking—which is all the ways I want to rip off the dress and take her against the wall, floor, and bed—I walk past her and open the front door of the house in an effort to get away from her.

What happened yesterday can’t happen again. We’re not good for each other, and I hate that I hurt her as much as she says I did. Now that I’ve had time to think about what she told me yesterday, I can’t help but believe her. And that has me completely fucked up in the head. My father’s dead and it’s her father’s fault. Even if she’s not in any way responsible, I can’t just stop disliking her from one moment to the next. And the fact that she doesn’t think her father did anything wrong adds a whole other layer to my already befuddled head.

She walks through the door that I’m holding open for her and I can’t help but glance at the scoop neck ending right above her breasts, showing just a hint of what I ache to touch again. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see her naked. If I was only going to have the chance to have sex with Helen once in my life, I stupidly squandered it by fucking her quickly and savagely against the wall. I should’ve stripped her of every inch of clothing she had. I should’ve taken my time worshiping her body, first with my hands, then with my mouth. It’s what I wanted to do twelve years ago when I stole that kiss from her.

Twelve years ago, she was everything I needed and didn’t even know I wanted, and I had wanted so much more. But she was young and innocent, so I stopped myself. But yesterday, I took it all.

And then I fucked it all up.

She slides into the limo first and I follow. The way she handles herself screams money and propriety. Someone who knows how to taunt a man but still does it in a respectable way.

This is not a woman who belongs in a strip club or who should be living in a motel. Even without the jewels I’m accustomed to seeing on women, even with her dress, which I know is not from the store I asked Monique to send her to, she’s still classy. Even with all the money lacking, Helen’s still class and wealth through and through. And she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. So much so, I feel lost.

I feel like my father did when he didn’t have his numbers around.

Lost and unable to focus.

My heart beats faster and I feel a sense of dread.

“Jeez, you could’ve at least complimented the way I look. Arrangement or not,” she mutters, buckling herself in.

Fuck. I should’ve said everything I was thinking out loud. I should’ve . . .

Not one used to talking about my feelings, I exhale loudly and look out the window.

Helen

I never needed anyone’s approval to feel good about myself. Not even when I was homeless. But right now, I can feel the heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. This man was used to a certain kind of woman. I look down at my dress and run my hand down the chiffon on my lap and fumble with the zipper of my cheap secondhand purse.

Why does this man make me feel so insecure? Somehow he brings back all the painful memories from my past with just the way he watches me quietly and judgmentally.

“So, what are we?” My voice comes out in a weird croak. I clear my throat and try again. His head slowly turns my way, almost distractedly, but because I’ve known him my entire life, I observe that tick in his jaw and the tightening around his lips, and I know he’s wondering what the hell I’m talking about. “If people ask, what do we say? What am I to you?” I explain further. Alex isn’t a talker. Never has been. And that just makes me talk more. “The hired help? A recent hookup? The ex-stripper you saved?” I snort out, nervously, and that tightening around his lips intensifies. He finally looks at me and studies me quietly. It’s so intense I have to look away.

“An old friend.”

I nod slowly and through the lump in my throat, say, “An old friend. Got it.”

The car stops, and the driver climbs out and opens the door for us. Alex steps out first, then reaches for my hand, and I carefully slide out of the car, his big, warm palm swallowing mine. I need to adjust my dress, but for some odd reason he’s holding me tight, as if he doesn’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go either.

Damn it. Why can’t I hate him? I should hate him.

But he hurt me and I’m not letting myself fall into that trap again. I pull my hand away, gathering my wits, and straighten my gown. He juts out his elbow and I slide my hand through the crook of his arm, and together we make our way inside the gala.

It’s been over a decade, but a girl never forgets how to gala.

And one thing years at boarding school and etiquette school taught me is how to gala.

We walk through the entrance of the grand ballroom at the Biltmore and immediately memories of another life flood in.

Smile.

Posture.

Head up.

Make eye contact.

Speak when spoken to.

A server walks by with a tray, and Alex takes two champagne flutes and hands me one. “There’s a silent auction, speech, dinner, and then we leave. Any questions?”

No dancing? No mingling? Geez—everything with him is truly so methodical.

I can’t help but tip my hand across my forehead. “Yes, sir.” His eyes narrow at me and I add, “Loosen up. I got this.”

We walk to the silent auction area, stopping every so often so Alex can greet people, even if this looks like the last place he wants to be. Cordially but completely lacking in interest or patience, he introduces me to everyone. “Helen Blackwood.” Or “An old friend, Helen Blackwood.”

I’m standing next to Alex, smiling politely and making small talk, when I notice two of the women I met earlier, daughters of some big-to-do investors, looking at me and whispering. Normally, I don’t care and I can just brush things like this off. But I’m feeling out of sorts in this arena—an arena that used to feel like home to me. The glitz and glamour, hypocrisy and pomp, these are all things from what feels like a completely different life. I wonder . . . was that me? Did I giggle and gossip in corners with my girlfriends, like these two women? And if so, I wonder whose feelings I hurt in the process. Damn, this is the first time I realized that not only do I not belong in this social circle, I don’t think I even like this social circle.

I take another flute of champagne and down it, when I feel Alex’s arm around my waist. Alex is so warm and consuming, standing next to me, holding me like I’m with him. Not pretending to be with him, but “with him” with him. I glance up at him, the bubbles from the champagne making me a little tipsy. He looks at me and shakes his head. “Don’t get sloppy,” he whispers in my ear, nodding to the empty glass in my hand.

He wasn’t holding me.

He was conspicuously reprimanding me.

Angrily, I discard my glass on a nearby tray. I’m here to work. Suck it up and be the doting date. When you get home, or to the limo at least, you can bitch at him all you want. I spend the next hour smiling and chitchatting while planning all the ways I’m going to strangle Alex with his own tie.

“I’m going to go to the restroom—I’ll be right back,” I tell him as we’re taking our seats for dinner.

I make my way to the ladies’ room, strolling in behind some matronly looking women. “ . . . And that color? Lavender? Baby blue? I guess Alex likes slumming it.” I stop in my tracks and glance around, immediately spotting the two women who were watching me earlier apply their lipstick as they talk openly about me. It’s a long bathroom and there are a lot of women walking in and out, so they don’t notice when I sneak into a stall and continue to listen to them. I should walk away. Nothing good ever comes out of eavesdropping, but I can’t help it.

“Remember when I went on that date with him?” They laugh. “The guy has money but zero personality. He must be into some weird kink or something. I mean, he didn’t even react when I tried to seduce him.”

“Maybe she’s an escort? I wouldn’t be surprised given that cheap dress—did you see the hem? If I pull one thread it’ll unravel,” the other woman laughs. “But no there’s no way Alexander Archer would hire such a cheap hooker.”

“And those lips, gah! She looks like a blowfish.” They giggle to themselves as one of the women makes guppy noises into the air. Instantly, my hand goes to my mouth. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn lipstick. My lips have always been full and I’ve always thought they were my best feature. Now, I’m regretting the dark shade of pink I used on them.

“I bet that’s exactly why she’s with him. She probably knows how to suck him off. What else would it be?”

“Well, it’s definitely not her boobs.” They laugh again. “What is she? A ten-year-old boy?”

I refuse to cry, but I’ve had enough. I step out of the bathroom and walk right up to the mirrors beside them. They look over at me and gasp when they realize I heard what they said. I arch a brow as I take out my lipstick to reapply it. I can’t do anything about my lips, so may as well flaunt them.

These two catty bitches are not worth my anger and definitely and absolutely not my tears. I pop my lips loudly as I blot and stare at them right in the face. “Yep, my blowjobs are magnificent,” I lie. “Better go run along to your dates before I blow them too.”

They have the decency to look embarrassed as they quickly shuffle out of the bathroom.

I close my eyes and exhale. Even if I feigned being unaffected by their vile words, I’ve never felt lower in my life. Not even when I was homeless.

With my head held high, I walk out of the restroom and to the table. When Alex sees me, he stands and pulls out my chair. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Peachy.”

Alex

What the hell could’ve happened in ten minutes? She’s not the same woman who went into the restroom. She’s not chatting or laughing or generally being Helen. She’s sitting with her hands on her lap and a fake smile plastered on her face. The servers come by with our meals and I watch her as she just shuffles the food around the plate, barely eating a thing.

“Is there something wrong with your meal?” I ask.

Again, that emotionless smile. “No. It’s good.”

“Then why aren’t you eating any of it?”

She looks down at her plate as if just realizing she didn’t eat. “Oh, uh . . . not very hungry.”

I eye her curiously but decide whatever it is, it’s not my business. Except that it is my business. Literally. She’s my employee, and she’s embarrassing me with her lack of conversation. That is, after all, why I needed her here in the first place.

I’m momentarily distracted when the daughters of one of the biggest investors in one of my companies approach our table. What are their names again? Oh right, Susan and . . . Silvana? Susan taps Helen’s shoulder, who turns around, surprised.

“I . . . we . . . we’re really sorry about . . . about, well, you know. Anyway, we feel awful about it.”

Helen nods and turns back to her plate. The girls look at each other, taken aback by her lack of response or acceptance of their apology. With mouths open in shock, they walk away.

I look at Helen incredulously. “That was rather rude of you.” I look around to see if anyone was paying attention to us.

She drops her fork on her plate and it clanks loudly. “Rude of me?” she seethes, but I can see her eyes are glassy.

Oh shit . . . is she crying?

My heart skips a beat. I don’t know what I’ll do if she cries. But Helen knows better than to make a scene at an important event like this, so she squares her shoulders. “What exactly did I do that was rude, Alexander?”

“You could’ve accepted their apology.”

“That was an apology?” She rolls her eyes.

“Yes, it was. What could they have possibly done?”

She turns those big, wide eyes at me. Cold. Smoldering with anger or hurt, or both. “They called me a cheap whore.”

Now it’s my turn to drop the fork. I was not expecting that. “What?”

“You heard me. Aside from making fun of my cheap clothes, they called me a whore and said that you probably only wanted me for my blowjobs. You know, big lips, and all.”

“Helen . . .” I whisper, not knowing what exactly to say, but she just continues, her cold, lifeless eyes jabbing me with the hurt she’s trying to keep bottled up inside. “But I suppose that’s not too far from the truth, these days. You did buy me, after all.”

I’m speechless. Completely speechless. I’m also fuming. Who the hell do those little brats think they are? I abruptly push my chair back and stand. “It’s time to go.” I don’t want her to have to endure one more second of this place, these people.

She reaches for a bread roll from the center of the table. I notice the other guests sitting around us watching. She smiles, that fake fucking smile. “Is that a question or a statement?”

I bend down and whisper, “A demand. Let’s go.”

She drops the roll and stands. “Your wish is my command . . . Boss.”

I can’t deal with this woman. I swear to God, she makes me crazy. Absolutely fucking insane. I don’t know whether to strangle her or kiss her. Pleasantly, she says her goodbyes to everyone and walks out with her arm around the crook of my elbow as if everything is just perfect, when I know for a fact she’s hurt or pissed—or both.

I fucked up. Big time. Again.

I’ve treated her much the same as Susan and Silvana did. I may not have come right out and said those hurtful things directly to her, but I haven’t not said them, either.

When we get back to the limo she sits as far away from me as she possibly can, and it pisses me off. But I get it. I’ve hurt her. It may have been through those two bitches, but it reflects on me. Suddenly the anger I’ve been holding on to for so long seems insignificant compared to the pain Helen’s feeling. “They hurt you.”

“I’m fine.”

I run my hand through my hair. Damn it. She’s so proud. She’ll never admit it. “I know their words cut you deep.”

“Stop,” she says, but I hear her voice break.

“Baby . . .” It just leaves my mouth. It’s a whisper, but it’s loud enough that her head jerks around to look at me, her eyes wide as saucers. I don’t know where that endearment came from, but it’s so natural flowing from my lips. I swallow and then take a deep breath. “They hurt you.”

She turns her head back to the window without another word. 

“First thing Monday I’m buying Jared’s shares of my company,” I announce.

“What? Who?”

“Jared. Susan and Silvana’s father. They won’t be able to afford one more designer handbag.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What?” I ask, exasperated.

She shakes her head in disgust. “Money doesn’t fix everything, Alex.” Her voice breaks.

“Yes, it does.”

“No, Alex. It doesn’t. You think by hurting their bank accounts you’ll make things right with me?” Her head shakes side to side, again. “Don’t you see? By doing that, you’re just as bad as they are.”

“I know!” I yell in frustration. “Don’t you think I know that?” I don’t know how to fix the problem with words. “Everything I say is wrong. I know how to fuck with Jared’s life and that’s done through money. But with you . . . I’m at a loss, Helen. What can I possibly say to you that’ll make you stop looking at me like you hate me?”

I pull at the knot on my tie and undo the suffocating collar. Jesus Christ! What the hell does she want from me?

She looks at me, her face red and blotchy, and my heart twists inside. I hate seeing her like this and I don’t even understand why I hate it. She looks away without saying another word, but she doesn’t have to. The look of utter loathing she gives me says more than any words could possibly say.

We reach my house in silence. I’m out of my depth with Helen. Everything I say is the wrong thing. I’ve never been good with words.

“Helen, stay here tonight. It’s late.”

“No,” she says proudly, and walks straight to her car.

“Helen, be reasonable. You’d rather go to a shitty hotel than stay in this house?”

“Yes. I’d rather stay at a hotel than in this house.” She gets into her car. “The answer to your question, Alex . . .” I see a tear roll down her face. I want to wipe it away. Kiss her. Hold her. God, this woman is killing me. I feel her hurt deep in my soul. Unconsciously, I clench my chest. “There’s nothing you need to say, Alex. I’ve never hated you. Not ever. Not even when I should have. What you see in my face, it’s not hate.” With those final words, the door is slammed shut.

She doesn’t hate me. I make her sad. She doesn’t need words. She needs action.

Luckily, I’m better at doing than I am at speaking. 

I send a quick email to my attorneys to handle Jared. Helen says that she doesn’t need payback, but I do. By this time tomorrow, I know that Susan and Silvana will know better than to ever fuck with Helen again.

Helen

Sometimes all you need is a hug. Just one big, tight, all-encompassing hug. And someone to tell you: hey, things are going to be all right.

Those two catty women at the party were bitches. That’s not Alex’s fault. But the shit they said hurt me. I know that Alex isn’t great with words, but some compassion, a little empathy, a pat on the back . . . some sort of human emotion on his part would have made it all all right.

I shouldn’t fault him for not saying the right thing. He doesn’t know what the right thing is to say. And the “baby”—that made it worse. It sent a jolt of melancholy right to the pit of my chest. It was what he’d said when he kissed me all those years ago. It had been full of promise and longing, something I know Alex doesn’t feel for me.

It’s too late to call Gina, so I wallow on the bed at the Holiday Inn, double-fisting a bag of Cheetos and a bag of peanut M&M’s while watching Fifty Shades of Grey on cable and hating how all men, even the fictional ones, can be the world’s biggest assholes.

Speaking of assholes . . . I need to speed things up in the “get Luke out of my house” plan so that I can quit working with Alex and go back to Duality. That’s what I need to focus on. Not the emotional roller coaster that is Alexander Archer.

Alex

I was relieved this morning when I saw Helen walk into my house from the video feed. Still, I spent all day distracted, and twice I lost track of what my attorneys were talking about during a Skype meeting. I wasn’t sure she’d be back after last night. Half of me was hoping she wouldn’t return. The other half of me—well, it’s stupid and I’m a glutton for pain. I don’t know how much longer I can stop myself from touching her again. I swear, I can still smell her in my room and taste her in my mouth. I know it’s just my vivid imagination fucking with me, but still . . . I want more. Mad or sad, she turns me on. I can only imagine what’ll happen the day she looks at me with a smile.

I am surprised, however, that her car is still parked there when I get home from a meeting. Then again, I’m never really sure of anything when it comes to Helen.

Well, except one thing—the sex was spectacular; of that, I am sure. Every time I look at her, even when we’re arguing, I picture her face as she comes and I want to do it over and over again.

It’s been a long day and I still have so much to do. After a quick shower and dinner, I plan on spending the rest of the night in front of my computer catching up. I unlock the door and the smell of dinner forces my feet into the kitchen instead of my shower. “Smells delicious, Mrs. Roe,” I say as I push open the door. I stop mid-step, surprised to find Helen, her hair up in a big, messy knot on top of her head and her shoes gone, standing on a small ladder.

“Good evening, Mr. Archer,” Mrs. Roe says, as she looks up at Helen and then back at me, nervously. “She insisted.”

“Good evening, Al—Mr. Archer,” Helen says, stoically, when she sees me.

“Get down from there,” I demand in response. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“I’m fine. Almost done.”

“Almost done what?”

“The hinge on the pantry door was busted. It’s on the list of things Monique left me.”

Is she fucking insane?

“Monique told you to fix the hinges on the pantry door?”

“No. Of course not. She left me all the info for the repairmen and construction crew, but they’re busy with the construction, and this happens to me all the time at my house. Just a quick . . . ah, there. All fixed!” she exclaims, her face pink from exertion.

This isn’t going to work. I’m trying to make life easier for her. Not harder.

“Get down, Helen,” I bark.

“I was just—”

“You shouldn’t be on ladders with—is that a power drill?”

“My job is to maintain your household, right? This is me doing my job,” she retorts indignantly.

“You think I pay you to fix my hinges?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re paying me for exactly, but you said you needed help managing the house, and if I can save you money and time, why not?”

With that, Mrs. Roe tactfully exits the kitchen, leaving us alone so that my head can explode privately.

“The Helen Blackwood I know does not know how to use a hammer, much less a power drill.”

“Well, you don’t know this Helen,” she hisses, her hand on her waist and anger in her eyes.

“No. No, I don’t. Because you’re not even Helen Blackwood anymore.”

“That’s right. I’m Helen James.” She says this almost tauntingly.

I refuse to fall into her trap. Instead I say, “I’ve been calling Monique all day. Why hasn’t she answered?”

I reach for my phone to call Bradley, but it’s snatched out of my hand. “What are you doing? Give me that back.”

“Who were you calling?”

“Bradley.” I reach for my phone again, but she puts it behind her back.

“Did you know Bradley had surgery yesterday?”

“Of course I did. I had staff at the hospital updating me. It went fine. Wait—how do you know this?”

“Because Monique was a nervous wreck and she left . I can’t believe you’re just now realizing it.”

What? “What!”

“Yep. She was worried about Bradley and I told her I would be okay without her.”

Me, a man who notices everything, didn’t notice that Monique had left! That’s how fucked up Helen’s making me.

“You are so damn oblivious,” she huffs in frustration. “Hellooo . . . Monique. Bradley.” She widens her eyes and opens her palms as if she’s insinuating something I should already know.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Helen.” I wave my hand to make her stop her talking, because I need to get a few things out before we begin to argue again. It seems like we’re really good at that. “I need you to tell me what I did yesterday that upset you more than what Susan and Silvana said to you. What could have made it better?” When she begins to turn away, annoyed at my question, I grab her arm to stop her. “Tell me.” Then I add, “Please, bab—Helen.” What the fuck is wrong with my mouth? I almost called her “baby” again.

Her face softens and I’m instantly relieved. I pull a chair from the dining room table out for her, then sit across from her.

“You really have no idea?”

“I don’t.”

“My feelings were hurt yesterday.”

“I know.”

She shakes her head. “It would have been nice to have you on my side. I know we’re not friends, and we barely tolerate each other. But your reaction was to storm out and . . . and . . .” She hesitates and clears her throat. “And I felt like you were ashamed of me and that’s why you left.”

What? I’m dumbstruck.

I push my chair back and get on my knees in front of her and take her hands into mine. “No. That’s not . . .” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I left so you didn’t have to be around those people anymore. I left so you didn’t have to deal with it.”

“You were protecting me?” she says, surprised.

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but . . . “Yes.”

“Oh. I . . . I didn’t know. I thought—”

“You think I’m a monster. They’ll never mess with you again, I promise.”

“Oh, Alex . . . What did you do?”

“I took care of it, my way.” She begins to question me but I interrupt her. “And before you protest, they were vicious and way out of line, you will not feel bad for them, you hear me? They deserve whatever they get.” And according to my attorneys their father’s credit lines were already cut, which means no more shopping sprees or vacations for the evil sisters.

To my surprise, she cups my cheek with one of her hands. Instantly, I feel better. I don’t know if she does, but I certainly do. It’s like I’m home. I’m where I need to be with who I need to be with. And it’s only a small touch. I wish I knew how to tell her that. “I don’t think you’re a monster, Alex. I just know how much you hate my family and how poorly you think of me. There’s nothing I can tell you to make you think otherwise.”

“You don’t like me much either.”

I shrug. “You’re callous and oblivious, yes. But after what you told me yesterday, about your father, I realize you had a lot on your plate with your own family. I wasn’t your responsibility. I shouldn’t have expected you to call. I’m so sorry, Alex. You didn’t really do anything wrong for me to have held a grudge for so long.”

I don’t really know how I feel about that. Had I known back then that Helen was also a victim of her father’s crimes, I would have absolutely felt responsible for her. But instead I left her and used all the negative energy I had to blame her and her father.

“Maybe we can call a truce,” she suggests. “We can’t erase years of bad blood, but we can move forward. I mean, I’m working with you and all.”

“I can do that.”

“No talking about the past, okay?”

I eye her warily. “The past as in our family, or the past as in two days ago?”

She groans. “All of it!”

“You regret it?”

“Sleeping with you?” She shakes her head. “I regret what happened after, but no, I don’t regret the sex. I wanted it and it was good.” It wasn’t good. It was great. But I don’t voice that. “But it can’t happen again.”

“Agreed.”

I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Things aren’t perfect, but maybe they won’t be so hostile.

“I’m glad you came back today,” I admit as I stand up, pulling her up with me. Her hair is falling out of her ponytail and I tuck it behind her ear, softly. She smiles up at me as if with that one single act, I’ve fixed all the wrongs in her life. A memory of when we were young and at the beach chasing seagulls and collecting seashells washes over me. Her prancing around excitedly while I help her mostly by holding the big blue pail. When she’s all finished, her cheeks pink with exertion, sand sprinkled on her nose, I push her wet, salty hair off her face and behind her ear. She looks up at me with the widest smile I’ve ever seen. Just like back then, we’re stuck in a trance. Her smile and my look of confusion. Confusion, mostly because I don’t know just what to do with her. I don’t deserve the smiles she gives me. She breaks the trance first, by bending down to gather the tools and placing them neatly into the toolbox.

“By the way, I sent Bradley flowers on your behalf.”

“You did what?” Bradley is going to bust a gut laughing if he thinks I sent flowers. I don’t send flowers. That’s not me.

“As your assistant, that’s something I thought I was authorized to do.”

I rub a hand down my face. “As long as I don’t see you fixing my pantry again.”

“Deal.” And with those final words, she leaves for the evening.