Charlotte
“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. St. James,” I say to the front desk attendant. She’s friendly and stylish, something I immediately noticed of every employee when I walked through the glass doors.
“Yes, you must be Ms. Novak.” The receptionist stands and circles to the front of the desk. “Please, come this way.” I follow her up the floating steps to the top level, admiring the floor-to-ceiling glass panels. “You can wait right here.” She gestures to a leather couch and leaves me to make myself comfortable.
I shuffle through my papers to assess my plan of attack. Ari St. James owns a vast majority of dealerships within two counties. He’s successful, wickedly feared in business, and the forever bachelor. The internet is a helpful tool for any journalist, and something I’m more than willing to dabble with to get the true story. Derks’ interview, I winged. This one, I’m prepared.
Even with thorough research, fear seeps into my confidence. I rub my palms on my pencil skirt, nervous about interviewing someone of Mr. St. James’ caliber. It doesn’t help that my mind is somewhere besides this office right now. It sits on the edge of Duke’s couch, waiting patiently for him to call, much like I have the last four days.
“Ms. Novak.” A middle-aged, dark haired man steps out from the hallway, pulling me back from my pity party. He smiles, but the friendliness doesn’t extend to his eyes. His glare is almost cruel and menacing, causing a true chill to run down my spine. One look is all it takes to know I wouldn’t want to run into a guy like him in a dark alley.
What the internet didn’t teach me about Ari St. James is his way of sucking the self-confidence out in the single stare he offers me now. I swallow to collect my thoughts and prepare to bury him in questions.
“Yes, you must be Mr. St. James.” I stand, and we shake hands. “I’ve heard many things about you.”
“Likewise, Ms. Novak.” Over his shoulder, he glances down the hallway as we enter his magnificent office.
“You’ve heard things about me?” I ask him, taking a seat in the chair in front of his glass desk. “From who?”
“Well, your professor, of course.” He sits down, his legs wide beneath the table.
“Shall we get started then?” I click the green button to record. “So, Mr. St. James, please tell me what brought you to Greystone University?”
“No offense, Ms. Novak, but there will be no recordings of this interview.” He leans over and pushes STOP on my small recorder.
I remove it from the table and slide it in my bag. That certain embarrassment, resembling when my grade school teacher reprimanded me in front of the whole class, washes over me. This is how Ari St. James makes me feel.
“My apologies.”
“No, please, it’s just a rule I have. If you learn any lesson from this interview, know even those you trust implicitly can stab you in the back with your own words.” He leans back in his black leather chair, clasped hands resting on his stomach, while he slowly taps his thumbs together.
“Fair enough.” I pull out a pen and pad, preparing to jot down notes.
“Go on, Ms. Novak. Proceed, and please call me Ari. Mr. St. James is my father, and he’s a cruel son of a bitch.”
“Much like yourself,” I blurt, and immediately regret opening my mouth. Dammit. His eyes narrow, and I know I’ve overstepped. “What I mean is... what I meant to say is...” The words simmer between us, and there is no way to backtrack.
“If you mean the way I operate my business, then yes, some may call me cruel. Other businessmen may call me wise.” He bends forward, almost looming over top of me, even from his chair. He’s not the largest man, but he takes up enough space to be noticed.
“From what I hear, you’re ruthless. Previous employees have attacked you in the press for your code of conduct, yet you remain at the top of your game. I’m curious as to how.” I tap the pen on the edge of the paper, preparing for the worst. Act confident, and he’ll never see me shaking in the chair.
A loud laugh bellows from the opposite side of the table.
“You’re a quick whip, Charlotte. You must keep your boyfriend on his toes.” Ari’s eyebrow jerks with undeniable curiosity. He either knows I have a boyfriend, or he’s fishing for his own information. Men like Ari don’t allow too much time before flipping the script.
I force a painfully fake smile and lock eyes with him, refusing to fall into his trap. “Why did you choose Greystone for university?”
“I’m a legacy on campus. My grandfather and father are alumni. It only seemed fitting to attend there.” He squirms, shifting on each ass cheek like he can’t quite find the comfort he’s used to.
“Do you resent them thrusting Greystone on you?”
“No one said anything of the sort, Miss Novak.” He says my name like it burns on the way out, spitting it to the floor to extinguish the flame.
“You didn’t have to tell me anything. I’m a journalist, Mr. St. James. I picked it up in your body language and tone. You came to Greystone out of obligation, not of your own freewill.” I smile, cocky. “So, Ari, if not here, then where?”
“You’re good, Ms. Novak. Most people wouldn’t step foot in my office and question my choices, but here you sit.” He holds his hand up towards me.
What I wouldn’t give to get out of this office.
“Do you always evade questions with compliments?” A smidge of discomfort settles in my stomach. Ari St. James is ruthless. I’m a Chihuahua compared to him being a Rottweiler. One bite, and I’ll be subdued under his great weight.
Ari leans on his forearms. “Jacob doesn’t know how lucky he is.”
Ari St. James has done his own bit of homework. He just hasn’t dug deep enough. His eyes lock on mine. He’s looking for a reaction to gain the upper hand. He believes he has it by knowing bits of my personal life. His perceptive expression, and the way he leers at me, makes me uneasy.
“Oh, that’s right, you’re Sigma Nu.” I jot down his demeanor and body language at my response. Anything I can use to personalize the article is beneficial. This guy isn’t giving me much more than meaningless banter. I need more from him to pull this off smoothly.
Ari sneers, leveling me with a swift, sinister stare. “What a tragedy Jacob’s accident was.”
As his phone rings, he offers a finger in apology and answers. He turns until all I can see is the back of his chair.
Time to be nosey. I stand and walk along the glass walls, looking down at Ari’s kingdom. In his office corner sits a small table, matching his desk. Picture frames line the outer edge. I bend to get a better look at the more personal side of Ari the man, and a little less of the businessman.
An old, black and white wedding photo sits in the first frame. The man in it has similar features as Ari. Must be his father. My eyes scan over a few baby photos, and lastly land on one of Ari with a young blonde girl.
A throat clears from behind me, and I startle before coming face to face with Ari. His eyes drift to the picture I’m inspecting.
“My daughter,” he explains, grabbing the frame. His voice softens, and surprisingly, his smile demonstrates the unconditional love only a parent possesses.
“She’s beautiful,” I say of the familiar face I’ve seen arguing with Duke. My curiosity kicks into overdrive. There’s a connection, somehow.
“Stacey.” He says her name with pride. His greatest accomplishment, I’d say. “She goes to university here. You may know her.”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, sir.” My heart softens for this hardened man. The expression that goes something like ‘even serial killers have friends’ accurately sums up Ari. He’s rough around the edges, but soft enough to allow room for those he loves.
“I hate to run out on you, Charlotte, but I have business to attend to.” We shake hands, and he rushes back to his desk. “Any other questions, please e-mail them over, and I will be happy to answer them.”
“Thank you.” I tuck my notepad in my bag and leave, but not before I get one last glance at the legendary man.
“I’ll be there soon.” Ari’s on his cell phone, his head tilted down. He unhooks the top button of his dress shirt. “How are you? Everything check out?” His brow furrows, and worry laces his voice.
I step away, afraid I’ll be caught eavesdropping on his intimate moment.
Back in the safety of my car, I jot down the remaining information I acquired during our odd encounter. My phone rings, and I jump, banging my knee on the steering wheel.
“Hello?” I answer, tossing my bag in the passenger seat.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel’s voice is a calming balm over the shit show today.
“I just finished the interview. The guy’s a creep, and I don’t think I got enough,” I explain, reversing and pulling out into traffic, stomping on the gas. I can’t get away from here fast enough.
“If anyone can pull a story out of nothing, it’s you. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The clap of Rachel’s straightener rings in my ear.
“You going out or something?” I pass Murphy’s, always a good reminder of Duke. My mind grows foggy from the Rolodex of memories of our time spent together.
“Actually, we are going out.”
Oh, for shit’s sake. “I can’t do a night at Murphy’s.” Will she allow me to ditch tonight and crawl under my covers? I want to live in my misery for one night. Duke hasn’t called, and I don’t know what that means.
“Actually, we were thinking about a much more relaxed evening.” Her voice is muffled, so I assume she’s put me on speaker to finish her hair.
“We?” Relaxed is something I can do, but who in the hell is we?
“Lydia and I have been hanging out a little bit. She’s cool as hell. You’ll love her. Well, we were talking about wanting a reason to veg out and just relax, so GIRLS’ NIGHT!” Rachel squeals. “How does that sound? I told Lydia we’d be there around six.”
“It actually sounds perfect. I could use a night in.” The traffic light turns green, and I slam on the gas pedal. My eyes shift from the road to the clock on my dashboard. “I’ll be at the apartment in five, and then we can head out.” I hang up and toss my phone beside me.
Hanging out with Lydia may be a good thing. Maybe, she’ll give me a look into the kind of mind that doesn’t call a girl after sleeping with her.
Fuck you, Duke Anderson.
So much for not making it a big deal.
*****
Rachel is right. Lydia is a doll, more voodoo than Barbie, but sweet as hell. We show up at the apartment, and she greets us with a pitcher of sangria. After the last few days I’ve had, I’d say she and I are on a fast track to becoming close friends.
“Twenty questions.” Lydia kicks my end of the couch. “I barely know you girls, so let’s play twenty questions.”
“What?” My eyebrows pinch together. “What is this? Middle school?”
“Oh, come on, play along.” Rachel laughs, nodding eagerly.
“Fine.” I clutch the purple throw pillow to my chest.
“How many people have you slept with?” Lydia asks, not wasting any time. The doorbell rings, and the three of us appear surprised. “Saved by the bell, Charlotte.” She stands on the couch, steps over me, and bounds to the door. She swings it open without looking through the peep hole. A girl like Lydia doesn’t fear much, not even a burglar, apparently.
“Hey, you going to let me in or just stand in the damn way?” At the sound of Duke’s voice, I freeze. What is he doing here? It’s been four days, and he hasn’t texted or called. My mind plays devils advocate, reminding me I didn’t text or call either. After our run, things felt off. Maybe it was my visit to the hospital or just the heaviness we both felt.
I brush my hands over my hairline, preying I don’t look like a complete mess. My excitement to see him is quickly smothered by my anger for his lack of communication. He’s the guy. He should’ve called. It’s called chivalry. He opens car doors for fucks sake.
“Be my guest.” Lydia holds the door, gesturing for Duke to enter.
When he does, his hands are full of groceries. Rachel scurries to her feet and takes two bags of Duke’s load.
“Thank you, unlike Lydia who would let me carry them in myself.” He glares over his shoulder, and Lydia sticks her tongue out as she bounces back to the couch.
“Why are you even here, anyway? I told you it was girls’ night,” Lydia shrieks, stretching to see him in the kitchen.
Duke drops his bags onto the counter. “Did you tell me that?” He shakes his head. “It’s Sunday, which means Sunday dinner.”
“No, I’m positive, Duke. I told you I had to bail because of girls’ night.” Lydia rolls her eyes.
Duke starts unloading groceries onto the counter, glancing at me every few seconds. I force myself to act like I’m not affected by his presence mere feet from me, and I’m not able to reach out and touch him. What happened between us isn’t a secret, but then again, I’m not sure I’m ready to take a billboard out announcing Duke and I had sex.
“How much have you all had to drink?” Duke eyes the countertop. Empty wine bottles, the sangria pitcher, and a bottle of tequila earn us a frown.
“Okay, Dad.” Lydia laughs. “We didn’t invite you over to judge us.”
I sweat like I’ve just started going through puberty and don’t quite know what to do with my body. My finger drags along the rim of my cup while I glance at Duke through my eyelashes.
Why won’t he address me, acknowledge I’m here with more than just a fleeting glance?
“Fuck this,” I whisper, pushing off the couch. “Do you need any help?” A part of me wants him to say yes, but when he turns to me, he nods his chin to the living room. His eyes flick to mine, then drag down to my mouth.
“Go relax with the girls. That’s what you came here for.” Duke proceeds to work.
“That was your opening to make this situation a little less shitty, by the way.” I go back to the living room, my breathing labored. Anxiety builds like a volcano ready to erupt. Apparently, we aren’t going to talk about what happened between us.
Rachel and Lydia are arguing over which movie is better, Clueless or Mean Girls.
Act natural, Charlotte. Walk in there with your head held high like you haven’t just been knocked off your blissful high horse. Don’t let them see you falling apart. It’s like Jacob all over again.
“I have to go with Lydia on this one, Rach. Clueless wins easily.” I force a laugh and plop down on the couch.
“We going to finish this game or what?” Lydia asks, abandoning their argument.
“Charlotte, you were up. Answer her question,” Rachel goads. She knows my number. Up until recently, my number was one.
“Yeah, how many people have you slept with? If you don’t answer, then you have to take a shot.” Lydia runs to the kitchen and comes back with a shot glass and the tequila. “We all know how much you love this stuff.” She taunts me with the bottle, rocking it back and forth in her hands.
Duke’s back is turned, and he clears his throat, but never shifts to look in my direction. The only visible proof of him hearing Lydia’s question is his shoulders rolling forward and back.
“Can you ignore the second one if he doesn’t bother to call?” My harsh response is a direct hit. If Duke thinks it’s okay to not call me after we hooked up, then I’m going to call him on it.
Duke jerks around, and I hold my hand up before he takes a step towards me.
Lydia looks between the two of us. Her mouth opens wide as she takes in what’s transpiring.
Duke’s throat bobs up and down, and fire burns in his eyes. He’s angry and it’s boiling, readying to spill out. What does he have to be upset about?
“What other questions do you have?” Why is my cup empty? If I close my eyes, maybe I could wish for more sangria to help me ignore the weird tension in the room.
“What’s something I don’t even know?” Rachel’s voice is hurried. She’s trying to save all of us from the misery my outburst has caused by changing the subject.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I don’t feel restricted. It’s like I could say anything at all, and no one will judge me.
“Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem.” I’ve been writing this in my journal. It’s the truth I owe Duke but can’t muster the will to tell him.
Duke scoffs. His reaction has me ready to air all our dirty laundry.
“Oh yeah, what about you, Duke? What’s something no one knows? Not even Lydia?” I test him. I was upset before, but now, I’m pissed. Who does he think he is?
“I’m capable of loving someone.” He turns his back, but freezes for seconds before returning to the kitchen.
Lydia and Rachel exchange similar, dumbfounded expressions. As if they’re on the same wave length, they level me with a matching set of wide eyes.
“As long as I’ve known Duke, he’s never divulged any part of himself to anyone other than us at Murphy’s.” Lydia huffs out a breath of air, relief in her eyes for the small part of Duke he revealed. “I wonder what’s gotten into him.”
“I think the real question is who.” A thoughtful frown pinches Rachel’s eyebrows together.
My eyes burn with unshed tears at how real this all has become. Rachel scoots down the couch, resting her hand on my knee. I take a long, deep breath to calm my nerves.
“Lasagna is in the oven.” Duke steps out and picks up the empty tequila bottle.
Lydia smacks at his hand. “Do us a favor and go grab us another bottle?”
He pushes her off and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“It wasn’t full when they got here.” She reaches in her pocket and pulls out a wad of cash.
Duke holds his hands up. “Don’t worry, Lyd. I got it.” His emerald eyes search mine. When they connect, a bolt of electricity shoots through me. “Come with me.”
“Go with him.” Rachel nods her head in his direction.
Gut check time, Charlotte.
“Why should I?” I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest. Lydia and Rachel volley their attention between Duke and me.
“I don’t know.”
“I think I’ll stay here then.”
“Please.” His eyelashes flutter, like he’s trying to hold back tears, but a guy like Duke doesn’t cry. He sure as hell doesn’t cry in front of a room of girls.
I push off the sofa, toss my purse strap over my shoulder, and stomp towards him.
The hallway is quiet and empty when we step out. There’s enough distance between us to let others know we aren’t dating, but enough energy between us to let anyone with half a brain notice there’s something going on.
“After you.” Duke pushes the door, and I step out into the cool night air. He ushers me to the side of the apartment building, hurrying to the passenger side door to pull it open. Always a gentleman.
“And here we all thought chivalry was dead.” I slip under his arm. The subtle scent of his cologne wafts in the air between us. The mix of lemon and cedar wood is intoxicating and brings me back to the night we spent together. Days later, his aroma lingers on my clothes.
Duke’s lips move slowly as he scurries in front of the truck. His eyebrows furrow deeper with every step he takes. The driver’s side door slams when he’s tucked behind the wheel.
“You okay?” I lift my knee onto the seat. As if he can’t feel my stare, Duke remains stoic as he cranks the key in the ignition. I’m like a pot of boiling water, ready to blow my lid off, while he keeps his cool.
“Yeah.” He looks over at me. “Why do you ask?”
“You were having a silent conversation with yourself.” I turn down the music. “And on top of that, you basically ignored me after sleeping with me, so I figured your silent treatment had something to do with that.”
“Just a lot on my mind is all.” Did he seriously bypass what I’ve spewed at him?
“Anything you want to talk about?” Sarcasm drips like honey from my mouth. This guy cannot be serious right now.
“You’re the last person I can talk to about this,” he admits, immediately shaking his head, clearing whatever thoughts plague him.
“Try me.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the cool window.
“I don’t let many people in, Charlotte, okay? So quit pushing.” Duke slams his palm against the steering wheel. His anger is new, but anger is something I can work with. At least it’s something.
“So, what are we doing here? If you have no intensions of letting me in, what the hell are we doing?” The muscles in my jaw quiver. I’m afraid of his answer and what it will mean.
“I’ve let you in.” He glances at me for a split second, and then his focus returns to the sidewalk.
“You think this is you letting me in, what we’ve been doing?” I ghost a finger between the two of us, talking to the side of Duke’s face. “We slept together, Duke. You never called.”
“What else did you think this was?” His knee shifts onto the seat, mirroring my position. His eyes are dark and smoldering. My heart pounds, and blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy. Did he just say what I think he said?
“You pussyfooting around. You pulling me and pushing me away. Now the question is why. You didn’t seem to regret us being together the moment you slipped inside of me, and you sure as hell didn’t when we woke up the next morning.” Be strong. Don’t cry, and sure as hell, don’t let him see you upset if he wants to play this game.
“I have no reason to pull you in, Charlotte.” He says my name like butter on hot toast. It melts on his tongue until it’s a delicious mess.
“Will you quit saying my name like that?” I slam my fist on the seat between us. “And yes, you have a reason to pull me in. Don’t act like you don’t feel this.”
He nods, slow, but visible from my dark side of the truck. I’ve been ignoring this thing between us. The unnecessary way Duke makes my heart pound. The absence of control we seem to have when we are in each other’s presence. It’s all right there in front of us, and now it feels like it’s crumbling.
“Tension doesn’t equate to anything,” Duke admits, twisting the key in the ignition, turning the engine off. Apparently, the liquor can wait.
“It’s more than just tension,” I whisper. “What it sounds like is you being a giant pussy who can’t admit he can’t stay away from me but feels obligated to.” I snap.
“Exactly, Charlotte. The other night, the way you made me feel, it has my head all sorts of fucked up. You aren’t mine to have, and it’s killing me.”
And there’s the honesty.
I clamp my mouth shut, but my jaw grows slack when his eyes penetrate me. His stare screams for me to understand. He’s incapable of explaining himself, and now, we’re both begging to be held, touched, adored, but neither of us move.
Tell him, my heart screams. Tell him everything.
“I know what it feels like to be discarded, Duke.” I step out of the truck. With my hands limp by my side, defeat heavy in my limbs, I address him. “You made me feel alive again, and all you had to do was call to not erase the feeling, but you didn’t because you’re too afraid of the person you may become next to me.”
There is no way he’s going to let us leave it like this.
“I’m no one next to you because you aren’t mine. Enjoy the lasagna, Charlotte.”
The passenger door rattles with my aggressive exit. At the stop sign, his brake lights glow, and then he’s gone.
The welcome sign on Lydia’s apartment door shakes as I pound my fist. Lydia greets me with a smile, until she notices my empty hands and no tequila. The delicious aroma of spaghetti sauce and garlic fills my nose, and anger boils in my blood.
“Hungry?” Lydia grimaces and flaunts her plate full of food.
I squeeze past her and fling myself face down on the couch, ready to scream into the soft fabric. “Fuck lasagna, and fuck Duke Anderson.”