JESSIE
Holy hell.
My heart is thudding so hard as I stand in my room with my back pressed to the door and my clothes in my hands. Did that really just happen?
The way he looked at me, so cool and calm and totally in control.
The way his voice sounded…
I’m wet between my legs just from standing naked in front of him. Just by having his face closed to my naked body.
That close I could see the fine lines around his eyes that tell me he’s laughed in his life. He’s so serious now I almost can’t imagine it, but it must have been so.
My hands had shaken from the desire to take his face in my hands and press his lips against my skin. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to order me to do things that I haven’t done in a very long time. I wanted the freedom to do whatever he asked of me without me having a choice. His voice is all I need to hear to give in.
Oh god. I move to sit on the edge of my bed and rest my face in my hands. The skin of my cheeks feels hotter than the rest of my face, flushed with embarrassment and arousal.
I begin to put my pajamas back on but every movement makes me conscious of how turned on I am. How swollen.
I don’t get why he sent me away. Is he into delayed gratification? It would fit with the controlling bossiness. Or maybe there’s something wrong with him. Is he physically incapable of having sex? It’s a possibility. Often after a bout of grief people can find it hard to connect emotionally and physically. I was one of them but for women it’s different. We need to get our head into the right place and mostly our bodies will follow. For men, their bodies need to engage.
I push some of the pillows onto the floor and slide under the covers. The bed is groan-worthily comfortable. Just soft enough that I sink into it a little but firm enough that it supports my body perfectly. The covers are crisp but warm. There’s a mounted tablet at the side of the bed that controls all the electrics in the room. It’s how I found music to play and now I use it to turn off the lights.
The house is more silent that I’m expecting. There must be many staff buzzing around, getting things ready for the next day, but up here on the third floor things are really quiet. My ears strain to hear Ryan moving around in his suite but there is nothing. I suppose the house could be soundproofed, but there is a part of me that thinks that he’s still sitting in that chair.
What am I doing here?
The stretch of the next month feels so long in front of me. I’m not good in situations where I’m uncertain. When Jackson died I was plunged into a situation where everything had to change. Now I find I’m back in a world of change and although it’s for a good reason — money — that doesn’t make me feel any better.
There is one thing I’m pretty certain of. Ryan isn’t a man who is a danger to me. Although his intentions are pretty unclear right now, I’m not worried he’s going to hurt me. He seems so lonely. He wants a companion. That word implies he wants company, a friend as well as more. He’s a man with more money than he needs but is missing that thing that all human beings need. A person to share it with.
Life is nothing without people.
Money doesn’t buy happiness. It’s a hygiene factor, a thing we can’t really do without because we need physical sustenance and shelter, but without connection we are lost.
I need to check in with Holly. My sister has a tendency to worry if she doesn’t hear from me at least once a week. I love her to bits but I always find our conversations hard because there is so much about my life that she doesn’t know and I can’t bring myself to tell her. I don’t want to be a burden to her. She has enough on her plate with Daniel and his health problems, so I tell her silly things. Stories about someone in the supermarket or a neighbor, things I’ve seen on Facebook from people in our hometown. I ask her lots about her life and because she has so much going on, she can fill our calls no problem. I wonder if she notices that she knows nothing real about me.
I think I’m going to struggle to get to sleep but it must happen fast because the next thing I know there’s a knock at my door and light is pressing through the drapes. With my eyes barely open I scramble to get out of bed and head straight to the door. The same woman from last night is outside, holding a breakfast tray.
“I was asked to bring you this. He instructed that you be ready at ten am. Smart-casual attire. Please help yourself to anything in the closet.”
She glances over my shoulder at the doors in the corner that I hadn’t even thought to look in the night before. Now I’m intrigued. I take the tray and she smiles before she leaves.
There is so much food here it could feed five people. A selection of small pastries, fresh fruit salad, toast with little pots of jam, granola and yogurt. There are even pancakes and bacon served as they were last night. I actually feel daunted. What the hell am I going to do with all this? I hate wasting food. When you’ve had periods where money is so tight that you have to skip a meal, the prospect of all this ending up in the trash makes my stomach sink. I’m going to have to tell Ryan just to send me one thing each day.
The pancakes are hot and the smell of them fills the room. I rest the tray on a small table and take a seat, pouring hot coffee into a beautiful bone china cup. When I sip the drink it’s the best I’ve ever tasted, but I shouldn’t really be expecting anything different. Money buys the best after all.
I opt to have a little bit of everything. While it’s here I might as well enjoy sampling all that Ryan has provided. Then, when I’m feeling more full than I usually am after breakfast, I make my way to the closet. I’m almost scared to open it. If Ryan has provided me with so many breakfast options, what the hell am I going to find in here.
I tug at the door tentatively and when it opens I gasp. It’s not a closet, it’s a dressing room. In the middle there is a sumptuous velvet covered seat flanked by racks of clothes and shelves of shoes. I walk along, touching the soft fabric of a floral dress, gorgeous jeans, a silk top. There are probably more clothes in here than I’ve ever owned in my life. I look at the size and everything seems perfect for me. The shoes are more intriguing. There are seem to be three pairs of everything and closer I notice that they are all different sizes. I guess it was harder for him to size up my feet than it was to size up my body. That makes me smile.
It takes me ten minutes to pick out something to wear. I spend longer in the amazing shower enjoying the luxury products and trying to relax. It’s hard when I have no idea what today is going to involve.
When I’m dressed and made-up I stand in front of the mirror taking in the changes. I look younger and lighter almost in the clothes. Well, all I can say is expensive clothes really do make a difference, especially when they’ve been chosen by someone who has amazing taste. The soft silk top drapes perfectly and the jeans hug my curves like a second skin. Paired with tan sandals and I feel like a million dollars. There is even a selection of coordinating purses so I select a large slouchy tan one and transfer over my wallet, keys and little make-up bag. Everything I’ve brought with me looks tatty and old next to the things he’s provided. I wonder what will happen to it all when I leave. Maybe the clothes will be washed and pressed for the next ‘companion’. The thought gives me a sinking feeling.
When I’m ready I head down the hall, stopping outside Ryan’s suite but then deciding to meet him downstairs. I want to spend a little time looking around if I can but as I descend the stairs I find him standing by the door. God, he’s good looking. Not model perfect but really masculine. It’s everything. The way he stands. The way he moves. The way he’s watchful and reserved.
He doesn’t smile at me but his eyes seem to take everything in.
“Morning,” I say, trying to sound breezy. It’s all so awkward.
“You look amazing,” he says and inexplicably my heart soars. I must be so starved of appreciation that when I hear a compliment from someone whose opinion I seem to actually care about it feels momentous.
I smile nervously and the butterflies in my stomach go crazy. “What are we doing today?”
“We’re going for a drive and then I’m going to take you for lunch.”
I blink because it sounds like Ryan is taking me on a date. It isn’t even the weekend. Doesn’t he have to work? “That sounds good,” I say.
He opens the door and outside is sitting the most amazing looking sports car I’ve ever seen. Low and sleek, it looks like it could fly. And it’s a convertible.
“Your carriage awaits,” he says in a jokey voice. I hope he knows how to drive this thing.
We descend the front steps and he opens the passenger door for me. Getting into it is hard because it’s so low to the ground and once inside I feel as though I’m in some kind of spaceship. It comes to life with a roar.
“What kind of car is this?” I ask, mainly because I want to make some conversation.
“A Porsche 918 Spyder,” he says, as we start to pull away from the house. “You like cars?”
“I guess. I like to look at them anyway. It’s been a while since I had my own car.”
“What did you used to drive?” he asks and I flush a little with embarrassment.
“An old Corolla. I loved that car.”
I catch a smile at the edge of his lips. “I used to drive a Toyota too. Great cars.”
I make a noise I hope sounds disbelieving. “Yeah… not as great as a Porsche, though.”
He shrugs. “This is fun to drive,” he says. “But I don’t get a lot of time to drive it and I don’t like the fact it’s just sitting in my garage.”
“Yeah, you seem to have a lot of cars.”
He looks a little embarrassed. “My one weakness.”
“I guess if you can afford it.” I don’t mean the comment to sound snarky but as soon as it’s out of my mouth I realize that it does.
He’s quiet as we drive towards the coast with just the music for company. I’m angry with myself because I don’t want to sound like I’m jealous or judgmental but I just came across as both. I don’t know Ryan’s story. I have no idea who he is or where he’s come from. Do I think that spending a fortune on cars when there are people in the world who are starving is the right thing to do? Not really. But he could be a huge philanthropist as well. And anyway, he’s paying for my time so I should be making an effort to fluff his ego and make him feel good. I should be being polite at the very least.
“There was a time when I couldn’t afford the bus,” he says out of the blue.
I’m not expecting a confession and I feel as though I’ve forced him to say something he might have not wanted to share.
“I’m sorry if what I said sounded bad,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“There was a time when my ma would go hungry so that I could eat.” It’s as though he hasn’t heard me at all.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“There was a time when I didn’t tell my ma that my shoes were too small because I knew that the only way I could get new sneakers would be for her to make choices that no person should be forced to make.”
“You don’t have to tell me this,” I say.
“I know.” He sounds a little angry as I though I’ve said something that’s pissed him off. This is so not going right. “I don’t do anything that I don’t want, Jessie. Everything I do is because it is exactly what I have chosen.”
There’s the bossiness again. “Okay.”
“I’ve earned every penny I have through blood, sweat and tears.”
“I get it, Ryan.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. I bleed and sweat and cry too.”
That seems to shut him up and I’m glad because fifty grand won’t seem like enough money if we’re gonna spend the next twenty-nine days arguing.
The coast is winding and the view is spectacular. The Pacific Ocean roars beneath us as we follow its edge for what seems like miles. Ryan is driving too fast. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white. I hold onto the edge of my seat and breathe slowly and evenly to try and stay calm. Eventually we come to a look-out area and he pulls in. There are two other cars parked; a few people are milling around and everyone turns to stare at the car. Ryan seems oblivious and throws open his door, slamming it shut and stamping around to my side.
Even when he’s mad he’s still a gentleman.
He offers me his hand and hauls me out of the car. I teeter on my heels and he holds me steady by the elbows. We end up close and I feel his breath gust over my face.
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “I don’t want to fight with you, Jessie. Can we start over?”
“Yes,” I say softly, stunned at his apology.
“Good.” He reaches down and takes hold of my hand, then leads me along the cliff top to a seat that is empty.
It’s so beautiful to sit and just watch the sea. Birds swoop over the water, their cries ringing out against the background of the crashing waves.
“I don’t know what it is about the sea,” Ryan says, stretching his legs out in front of him. His boots are black and completely unworn, his jeans a dark blue. Everything pristine.
“I like to watch it too,” I say. “It’s the sound. It’s so soothing.”
“Yeah, but it’s more than that.” I turn to him, waiting for him to embellish. “It’s the infiniteness of it. The fact that your eye sees an end to it, the horizon, but in reality it just goes on and on.”
“A bit like life,” I say.
He smiles. “Exactly. There is but one certainty and that is that we are all going to die.”
I nod. This fact is probably more on my mind than it is for most people. Probably closer to Ryan too because of what we’ve both been through. “It’s not the death that we need to think about, though.” I say. “The more you think about it the less you’re capable of truly living.”
Ryan nods. “So we need to keep the fact of death over the horizon,” he says.
“Yes. And if it’s not, we have to push it over,” I say.
Children laugh near the cars and I turn to watch a family piling into their minivan. The mom and dad look tired in that way that all parents of young kids seem to look. There was a time when I wanted children but it wasn’t to be. Now I’m not so sure. I just can’t imagine ever loving anyone enough to go there. Life seems so fragile.
“Have you pushed it over, Jessie?” he asks. From the way he asks it’s as though he’s hoping that I’m going to say yes. As though he wants to believe it’s possible to do.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t live my life imagining that I could die at any second anymore, but the fear hasn’t really gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. This conversation feels important and I don’t want to fumble my words. I want him to understand.
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal,” he says.
I nod, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “I wanted to have kids,” I say. “We were trying to get pregnant before my husband died.” A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it down before I continue.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Now I don’t know if I could handle it,” I say. “I guess it’s like when you’re a child. You walk and run without fear because you’ve never fallen over, but then, after the first time you really hurt yourself, you walk and run with the prospect of hurt always in the back of your mind.”
“And that’s how you feel?”
“Yeah. Losing a husband was hard enough, but losing a part of yourself, a child. I know I wouldn’t survive.”
I look away because I don’t want Ryan to see that my eyes have welled with tears. I feel the warmth of his skin as he takes my hand in his. It’s the most tender touch I’ve felt in so long that it forces a tear free.
“People survive even the hardest things, Jessie.”
I shake my head because although I know he’s right, I know how I feel in my heart.
“But there are things that are too much, Ryan.”
“Yes.”
“Do you fear death?” I ask him. If we’re gonna have this kind of deep conversation, it’s not going to be one sided.
“Yes,” he admits. “I suppose it’s not actually death that I fear. More the process of dying. Losing control. Knowing what’s is going to happen. Becoming diminished. Others being hurt by my passing.”
“But that is all part of it,” I tell him.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he means when he lets go of my hand and stands. “Are you hungry?”
Even though I ate way too much for breakfast I feel ready for lunch and a change of scene.
“I could be.”
“I’m going to take you somewhere,” he says. I don’t know how but he always seems to make the shortest sentences sound exciting.
“Okay.” We walk back to the car and I strap in. Ryan seems to be less preoccupied and the music he chooses is lighter.
“Where did you grow up?” I ask him.
“Boston,” he says.
“But you don’t have an accent.” I imagine how he might be different if he had a real Southie accent like Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting. There’s something sexy about the roughness of the way they speak there.
“I worked hard to lose it,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because people don’t trust men with accents like that to be anything great, Jessie.”
“That would be very judgmental.”
“The world is a judgmental place.”
“So you left and changed your accent?”
“Yes. And I put myself through college, and I got in with the right crowd, and I made sure I impressed the right people, and I got lucky.”
“It doesn’t sound much like luck. It sounds a lot like hard work and dedication.”
He seems to like that but I’m not saying it to flatter him. If what he’s saying is true and he’s made such a success of his life without a family to give him a hand up, then I have nothing but respect for him.
“And you, Jessie?”
“I grew up on the other side of town from where I live now.”
“And you were married?”
I nod because even now talking about that time in my life feels like daggers in my heart.
“And now you’re working at The Kitty Cat Club?”
I don’t think he means to sound like such a judgmental prick but it still stings. There I am raising him up and he’s trying to work out how I’ve fallen so low. “I am,” I say plainly.
“Why?”
“…I’d rather not talk about this,” I tell him. He doesn’t need to know that Jackson left me with debts that no ordinary job will ever repay.
“Would you rather not work there?” This guy doesn’t know when to leave it.
“What do you think, Ryan? It’s not exactly top of every little girls list of future career options.”
“Some women like it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not for the right reasons, though.”
Ryan seems to put his foot down the deeper we get into conversation. The road is winding enough that the car moves like a snake across the tarmac. “We all do what we do for money,” he says.
“There’s a big difference in using your mind versus your body, though.”
“Is there? In the end it’s all an exchange of labor for cash.”
“You can’t seriously be suggesting that the exchange of labor for cash that an accountant makes is the same as a stripper?”
“Why? Because you think a stripper needs to compromise herself more than an accountant?”
“Yeah… she’s exposing her body for the pleasure of other people.”
“And what if the accountant has to falsify figures to keep his job? What if he knows his clients are trying to avoid paying tax that they should pay but he’s under pressure to keep those clients for the firm? He’s having to compromise his morals and values in the same way.”
“I guess, but that’s a pretty extreme example.”
“Life isn’t black and white, Jessie. We’ve all had to do things that we wouldn’t necessarily choose to make it through to the next part of our lives.”
“Yeah,” I say, equal parts pissed off and interested with my new employer. “What have you had to do, Ryan?”
He glances across at me, taking his concentration off the road for longer than I’m really comfortable with. His eyes pierce mine, dark gray and intense. “I worked for a man I knew was involved in some seriously bad shit. I found proof of things that would have put him away for the rest of his life, but for the sake of my reputation I kept it quiet.”
“And you wish that you didn’t?”
“If there had been no consequences to reporting him, I would have done it in a heartbeat. We all have to weigh up what we’re prepared to do in life to get by. Sometimes, we end up doing things that surprise us, that we may never have thought we’d be capable of doing.”
“Yes,” I say.
“You never planned to work in The Kitty Cat Club.”
“No.”
“But you are because you have your reasons.”
“Yes.”
“There’s no judgment from me, Jessie. You do what you need to do with grace and class. That makes you someone to respect and someone to admire.”
I grip my purse and press it tightly against my body because I feel more naked from this conversation that I did last night when I stood before him. There doesn’t seem to be any lighthearted conversation with Ryan. Just the kind of deep trawling that leaves a person feeling raw and exposed.
He admires me.
That isn’t an easy thing to accept, especially under the circumstances. There are days where I don’t feel like that about myself. I try to keep true to the person I am inside but it’s so hard. And if I do accept what he says, how would that make me feel any different about myself or the situation I find myself in?
Just as I’m trying to fathom what the hell I’m going to say next, Ryan takes a left and we end up in front of the most amazing restaurant I’ve ever seen. I guess I’m about to see what it’s like to dine like a rich person.