CHAPTER 17
Jaime
My little role-playing diversion with Gloria had released all the tension I was feeling. But it was back with a vengeance. Learning that she had some kind of hot date tonight made me feel as deflated as my dick. Jealousy was an emotion that was alien to me, but the ugly green monster was rearing its head and eating me up alive.
The sun had finally broken through the clouds later in the day and now the ball of fire was setting into the ocean. Standing on my balcony, I stared absent-mindedly into the horizon as it disappeared. I needed a drink. Maybe some company—misery loves company, right?—so I decided to head down to the Shutters bar. Like the rest of the hotel, it exuded New England charm and was a popular watering hole among locals and guests alike. It had a very different vibe than that of The Walden, but equally cool. I found an empty chair with a view of the lobby and ordered a Scotch on the rocks. The attentive young bartender brought my drink quickly and as I sipped it, I mused that “Happy Hour” was probably made for miserable dicks like myself. The irony of it was I wasn’t getting happier in the least. With each chug of the drink, I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of depression. In my mind’s eye, I imagined Gloria prepping for her date. Stretching out her beautiful body in a tub…pampering herself with fragrant creams and lotions… braiding her lustrous hair… applying her makeup and painting her lips luscious red…picking out an alluring dress to wear (and it better not be the red one I bought her)…rifling through her lingerie for ridiculously sexy undergarments to match it. I could see her putting on each item, one by one, and pictured myself helping her…fastening her long braid with an elastic, clasping her bra, rolling up her silk stockings along her long shapely legs and attaching them to her garters… slipping on her stilettos… finally zipping up her dress only to unzip it, trail flutter kisses down her spine, slide it off her, and fuck her over her bed from behind.
At these vivid thoughts, my cock sprung to attention. Then at the thought that this fantasy might be someone else’s reality, down it went. Down, down, down. That seemed to be tonight’s driving force. Where everything was going. My life. My relationship with Gloria. Our future. She didn’t trust me. And quite frankly, I didn’t trust myself.
The bar was filling up fast. Several buxom brunettes were making eyes at me, but I ignored them and instead kept my eyes glued on the entrance to the bar. I was looking to make eye contact with another woman. A stunning blonde. Gloria Long. There was a small opening in my brain–the size of a pinprick– that thought she might stride my way. That she’d canceled her dinner plans with whatever douche she was seeing to be with me. After a half hour, my expectations became wishful thinking. I thought about calling or texting her, but any sign of rejection would pull me down further.
Draining my Scotch, I ordered another one. This bartender was good, and if he ever moved to New York I’d offer him a job. When the drink arrived, I gave him my card and told him I owned The Walden in New York. His whole face lit up. He was heading East in a few weeks to pursue a career on Broadway and couldn’t be more grateful for my offer. He’d heard great things about my hotel. That made me happy. Or should I say happier. A random thought flew through my head. Maybe I should consider opening a hotel in LA. The Walden West. I liked the sound of it.
On that intriguing thought, I took another glug of my drink, my gaze drifting again to the bar’s entrance. A way too familiar figure came into view. Someone I didn’t want to see now or ever. His gait was strong and confidant, exuding power. The maître d’ fawned all over him despite the fact that he was inappropriatey clad in equestrian attire. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. My stepfather. Victor Holden.
I wanted to get the fuck out of here. Close out my tab, but my bartender buddy wasn’t around. Too late. Victor’s granite eyes met mine and he loped my way. A seat had just opened up next to mine. Guess who was taking it.
“Well, well, well,” he began, sinking into it while I buried my face in my drink. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I ignored him, imbibing my drink. But it was hard to ignore the overbearing scent of his cologne and manure. For a brief second, the stench illicted memories of my tormented youth, the fetid odor forewarning me that he was about to whip me with his riding crop. A chill crawled down my spine as I relived the pain. Taking long swig of my Scotch to wash the past away, I reminded myself he couldn’t do that to me anymore. I was no longer his butt boy.
As the amber liquid burnt the back of my throat, I wondered if he was a regular here. Despite the numerous times I’d stayed at this hotel for business, I’d never encountered him. Like they say, there’s always a first. A bourbon came his way without asking. Yeah, they knew him. Knew him well.
“So,” he began after the first intake of his drink, “how was your stay in Paris?”
“Perfect after I kicked your ugly ass,” I replied, not knowing where he was going with this conversation.
He took another long sip of his bourbon. “It won’t be so good in LA. Gloria’s not going to be around much longer.”
“What do you mean by that?” I feigned ignorance.
He snickered. “Tomorrow you will read the cunt’s going to be out on her ass. It won’t look so gorgeous anymore.”
“Watch your fucking mouth.” I wanted to punch the sack of shit’s face in for insulting Gloria and chugged my drink so I wouldn’t.
With a dismissive smirk, he raised his glass. “Should we toast to new beginnings?”
“Fuck you, Victor,” I bit out as another patron lumbered our way.
I recognized him immediately. He was the creep at the bistro bar in Paris. With his stocky build and unforgettable, marred albino face I was fucking positive.
He approached us and hugged my nemesis. Close up, he was even more grotesque. He’d definitely had plastic surgery on his facial scars, but they still distorted him. Made him look like a monster.
His crystalline pink eyes met mine. His voice was heavily accented. “Comrade, do I know you? Have vee met?”
“No,” I blurted, wondering what the fuck he had to do with Victor. Or Gloria. He’d certainly focused more on her than on me in Paris.
Not introducing us, Victor coldly excused himself and led his guest to a corner table.
I took care of my bill, not caring that they had put Victor’s tab on mine.
My eyes stayed on Victor as he and the albino engaged in an animated conversation. What the fuck was going on? I was determined more than ever to whip his fucking ass and take the bastard down.