Twelve
Vivienne
Davis is like a kid on Christmas morning as soon as we land in New York. His enthusiasm is something I thought I’d also feel once we got back here, but it’s just not there. Rather than sharing this with him, I slap on a fake smile, tell him how excited I am to be home, and hope that it’ll come as soon as the driver drops us off at Westbrook and I’m back in my element.
This is what you live for, I tell myself as I walk through the halls of the company I built from the ground up, speaking with the employees that I haven’t seen since I left and putting out mini fires on the way to Charles’ office. You were born to lead this company.
I used to tell myself those exact things every morning before work and I would feel energized. Renewed. Now, nothing. The words feel hollow. Empty.
I convince myself I’m still in mourning from Lulu’s death and that I don’t like having unfinished projects left at home. Bellmere, I correct myself. This is home. This is where you belong. Bellemere is just temporary.
The words don’t feel right as they run through my mind, but I push them aside when I walk through Charles’ office door.
“I was beginning to think you were never coming back,” Charles says as I enter his office.
“I’ve only been gone a few weeks.” His assistant brings me a glass of sparkling water and I make myself comfortable in one of the leather chairs on the opposite side of his desk. It’s strange being in here with him; our meetings usually occur in my office.
“A few weeks can be like a lifetime here. You know that.”
Ignoring his dig, I’m anxious to get to the reason why I’m here. He’s more than capable of running the company in my absence. He wouldn’t be sitting behind his desk if he wasn’t. I didn’t make the decision to hire him lightly, and I’ve never been disappointed in his work performance before. The fact that there are problems in my absence is annoying. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Carl Hughes.”
He doesn’t say anything more. I remember sitting in the conference room across from Carl Hughes when I got the phone call about Lulu. “What’s the problem?”
“He isn’t happy. You negotiated that contract for over a year, probably one of our hardest companies to land, and the second you got it, you hightailed it out of here.”
“I had a family emergency.”
He gives me a pointed look. “Vivienne, your grandmother died. Usually that constitutes a visit back home to attend a funeral. You should have been back by now. He doesn’t appreciate the fact that you promised him you’d see to his company yourself, yet you’re nowhere to be seen.”
“These are different circumstances. I’ve explained everything to him.”
“His lawyers are looking for loopholes in the contract. He wants out.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit. “They won’t find anything. Our contracts are solid.”
“He’s got some damn good lawyers. Some of the finest in the country.”
“So do we. Call a meeting.”
“Already tried. He wants you to attend a gala he’s having Friday night for one of the animal shelters he’s on the board for. He says the two of you can talk then.”
“That’s hardly the place—” I start, but Charles cuts me off.
“I tried, Vivienne. At this point, humor him. He wants you at the gala, go to the damn gala. I don’t know what he’s doing, but unless you want to lose the biggest contract we’ve ever had on our hands, do what the old bastard wants.”
Defeated, I decide I’ve had enough talk about Hughes and change the subject. “Anything else I need to be aware of?”
He laughs. “Lucky for you, your assistant is damn good. He’s been amazing, speaking with all our clients and running interference when they’ve wanted to hear from someone besides me. You need to give him a raise.”
Nodding in total agreeance, I stand up and go to his door. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything else.” Davis has been by my side the entire time, even though Charles was speaking about him like he wasn’t there. As we leave one office for another, Davis is making phone calls, setting up appointments with my hair, makeup, and wardrobe team for the afternoon of the gala.
“Everything is set,” he tells me as we enter my office. It takes up the entire end of the long corridor of Westbrook Marketing. I scan my desk, shelves, and all the other surfaces around my space, noticing it’s still neat as a pin. Nothing is out of place.
I’ve spent more time in here than I have in my apartment. I stop just short of my chair, waiting to get that nostalgic feeling of home as I take it all in. My design team was very deliberate with each piece they picked out, from the large commissioned painting on the wall behind the couch, all the way down to the simple business card holder nestled on the right-hand corner of my custom-built desk. The white, gold, and grey color scheme might seem cold on paper, but there are warm touches everywhere.
Except there aren’t, I think. Looking around once more, I notice for the first time that nothing is personal in here. This could be anyone’s office in the firm. The only thing designating it as mine is the fact that it’s the biggest and my name is on the placard on the door.
“Davis, I need some frames in here. Pictures.”
“Of what?”
I think about it for a minute. “Snapshots. Candids with friends.”
He gives me a look that requires no words to back it up. I’m asking the impossible. I have nothing of the sort.
“What about some pictures of Ace?” he suggests instead.
“I don’t have any.”
He smiles, and I know right away where this is going. “That man of yours can send some pics over. Call him tonight and have him snap some.”
“He’s not my man.”
“Give it time and he will be. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
Hours later, after sitting in front of my computer responding to hundreds and hundreds of emails, I’m back in my apartment. As expected, it’s in pristine condition. The cleaning service comes twice a week, whether I’m here or not, to make sure my penthouse is up to my standards. It doesn’t feel right, though. The floors don’t give when I walk, I can’t smell the lingering scent of the morning’s pastries in the air, and Ace isn’t by my side every step I take.
Ollie isn’t here.
It’s the exhaustion talking, I think. It’s been weeks since I’ve put in that much time in front of my computer and phone, dealing with clients who think my sole priority is them. I’m in my element here. Surely after a nice glass of wine and a warm bath, I’ll feel renewed. Revived. I’ll feel like myself.
Without even looking at labels, I pull a bottle out of my wine rack and pour a generous glass of red, heading straight for the bathroom. God, my master bath is as big as Lulu’s entire house. It takes quite some time to fill the tub, so I sit on the side, lost in my thoughts, wondering how Ace is doing without me. I giggle, tickled by the fact that I’m spending so much time contemplating a dog’s feelings. It’s so unlike me. This me. The New York me.
By the time my tub is full, my glass is empty. I knew it wouldn’t take long for that to happen. I pour another large glass from the bottle I brought in here with me before I sink into the bath. The warm water laps over me as the jets move the water around and the stress and the tension from the day just melt away. My eyes grow heavy as the steam surrounds me. I try to keep my mind clear, but my thoughts keep going back to Bellemere, more specifically back to a beautiful pup and an equally beautiful man. Has he been thinking about me? Does he miss me? I know it’s a mistake, but the wine and the heat are going to my head, so before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone off the edge of the tub and call him.
“Hello?” he answers, his voice thick with sleep. I try to picture what he looks like when he first wakes up but decide that’s a dangerous path to go down right now, so I clear my throat and talk instead.
“Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay, Princess. Everything all right?”
“Mmhmm,” I answer, suddenly too relaxed to use real words.
A deep chuckle rolls through the line, and the warmth I felt before isn’t anything like what I’m feeling now. “Drunk?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve been around a drunk Viv a time or two. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Where are you?”
“In the tub.”
No chuckle now, just a moan. “Can’t say things like that when we’re on the phone.”
“Why?”
“Cause you’re a fuckin’ plane ride away.”
“What’s happening here, Bishop?”
“Not sure, Viv, but we’ll figure it out when you come home.”
“I want to come home,” I immediately say, but I realize it’s not true. Or that I don’t want it to be true.
“You not happy there?”
“It’s not that. I miss Ace.”
“And she misses her momma. She followed me home tonight and refused to go back. She’s a bed hog.”
I smile. “She’s in bed with you?”
“Mmhmm. Her and Cat.” He’s quiet for a few beats. “You happy, Princess?”
“I got a lot of work done today, touched base with the majority of my employees, and I’m back in my fabulous Manhattan apartment. Plus, I get to attend a charity gala Friday night.”
“Didn’t answer my question.”
I realize that, but I don’t think I’m ready to admit the answer to it. “Send me a picture.”
“Right now? Of me?”
My cheeks heat. “Oh, um, I want one of Ace for my office, but since she’s in the bed with you…”
“You really askin’ for a picture of me and your dog?”
“I guess so.”
“Do I seem like the kind of man to take a selfie?”
I smile. “I’m surprised you even know that word.”
“Don’t live under a rock, Princess. I’ll send your pic on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I get one back.”
“I’m not made up. I’m hardly picture ready.”
“Good. That’s how I like you. I can’t wait for you to realize that.” His words melt my insides. He doesn’t expect the Vivienne Westbrook everyone else does. He just wants me. That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with the notion, though.
“How about I have Davis send you one after I’m dressed for the gala Friday.”
“Nope. Want one now, though I wouldn’t be opposed to one Friday, too.”
“Can it wait until I’m out of the bath?”
“Rather it not, but I guess,” he says, the humor in his voice coming through loud and clear. He doesn’t sound like the Ollie of late. He sounds relaxed. He sounds happy.
“Bishop?” Suddenly, nothing’s more important than knowing how he’s feeling right this minute.
“Right here, Princess.”
“Are you happy?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Before he speaks, he lets out a deep exhale. “Not yet, but I have a feelin’ I’ll get there soon.”
“Okay.” The answer disappoints me, but I didn’t really expect the answer to be different. I can see the weight of what he’s carrying around. It’s not something I’d dare ask about, but it’s there.
“You gonna let me get off this phone so I can send you a picture?”
“Yeah.”
“And you need to get out of that tub and send mine.”
“Okay.”
“Night, Princess.”
“Goodnight, Bishop.”
As soon as we hang up, I get out of the tub and get dressed for bed, slipping into some of the most luxurious silk I own. It feels strange on my skin since I’ve been sleeping in some of Lulu’s old pajamas back in Bellemere. It didn’t seem right sleeping in her bed in lingerie that cost more than the actual bed probably did.
I wait for my phone to ding, rather impatiently. It doesn’t happen right away and suddenly I feel like a fool for even asking. What was I thinking? What am I doing? Am I really going there with Oliver Bishop? He nearly broke me once. What would happen if he did it again?
Doubt spins around in my mind and I regret the phone call I made. Why am I going to put myself through this again? As soon as I feel the tears start to sting behind my eyes, my phone lights up on my nightstand. When I swipe it open, I smile at the picture. It’s perfect. Ollie propped on pillows in bed, shirtless, Ace’s head on one side and Cat’s on the other. Ollie has a small grin, something so rare it makes my breath hitch.
I love that smile. I want to make it happen all the time.
In that moment, I decide that I don’t care about the possibility of things going south again. I want to try. Maybe I’m meant to have a life with Ollie. It didn’t work when we were kids, but that could be because it wasn’t supposed to. We’re different people now. Vivi and Ollie didn’t make it, but Vivienne and Bishop might.
The thought overwhelms me. The logistics of a relationship with Bishop don’t make sense to me. We’re living in two different places, doing two totally different things with our lives. Anxiety starts to creep its way into my system, making me regret my contemplation of a relationship with him.
The sound of my phone stops it in its track. It’s another picture. This one of just Bishop, with a message. Come home soon.
All thoughts come to a complete stop, and I snap a picture back, sending it before I start picking it apart and analyzing how I look. I type back Soon and hope that’s true. Things seem impossible, but maybe if I’m there with him, we can work through it.
The nightly phone calls continue, usually when I’m soaking in the bath after a long day and Ollie’s already in bed for the night. The conversations are getting deeper, veering into dangerous territory. We skirt along the edge of the past, but neither of us seem ready to rehash those years. They were ugly. They were painful. If we go there, we may not be able to go where we’re headed right now. That would be bad. We both want this. The thing is, I’m not really sure what this is. A real relationship? Or will it be strictly physical? I’ve never felt pulled to someone like I feel toward Ollie, despite the ugliness of our past. Maybe if we keep things physical, I won’t get burned again.
But maybe I want more. He’s showing a different side of himself to me lately. He’s talking more, laughing more, sharing stories with me, and I don’t see him doing that with anyone else. The Oliver Bishop walking around the town we grew up in is not like the boy I knew all those years ago. That boy was one of the most social people I knew. He’d talk to anyone, loved being around people and going out. This new, hardened version sticks to himself and avoids people at all costs. I don’t know what caused the change, and I don’t know why it still haunts him. Is it even something we could survive? How big of a hold does it have on Ollie?
I guess there’s only one way to find out.