Chapter Seven
July
Ben clinked his champagne flute against Elle’s. The bubbly brew wasn’t his usual drink of choice – he was much more likely to choose beer, whiskey, or red wine – but he supposed that tonight’s occasion called for the rather shockingly expensive Brut.
“Congratulations,” he told her sincerely. “I know how hard you worked for this promotion. And you deserve it, Elle.”
Elle was practically giggling – a very un-Elle like behavior – as she returned the toast. She’d already had a few celebratory drinks with her co-workers, who’d dragged her out to a favorite watering hole after she’d given them the good news. By the time she’d returned home, she had been more than a little tipsy, another very atypical behavior for her.
And she had been so happy, so thrilled at having received the promotion she’d worked so hard for, that Ben had impulsively suggested they go out to dinner to celebrate. He’d had something of an ulterior motive in inviting her, however – that of providing him with a much needed distraction. Otherwise, he would have been spending the evening closed up in his home office flipping through the hundreds of photos of Lauren still stored on his computer.
The anniversary of the day they’d first met was always bittersweet for him. And it was one of the very few times that he permitted himself to not only gaze longingly at her image, but to let all the memories of their time together wash over him.
It had been his third night in Big Sur, and they were sitting out on the deck sharing dessert and a huge mug of Irish coffee. The fog had rolled in, and the night air was crisp and drizzly. Lauren had scoffed when he’d suggested heading inside, had half-jokingly told him to toughen up if he wanted to survive a summer on the northern California coast. And while he’d thrown a flannel shirt on over his thin cotton T-shirt, Lauren had remained stubbornly barefoot, clad only in her skimpy shorts and tank top. But he’d remained silent when she lit some logs in the fire pit and then huddled under a cashmere throw with him.
A dab of whipped cream from the Irish coffee had clung adorably to the tip of her nose, and he hadn’t been able to resist licking it off. It had only been a light, teasing touch, but it had been more than enough to arouse both of them instantly.
They’d forgotten the chill in the air, had tossed off the blanket just prior to stripping off their clothes. And then Lauren had boldly straddled his lap, lowering her tight, slick pussy onto his hard, fully erect dick. They had fucked like wild things out under the stars, until he had carried her inside to continue their frantic coupling in much warmer and far more comfortable surroundings.
He had snapped a quick photo of her just before he’d licked the whipped cream off her nose, and it was that particular shot he’d been gazing at morosely when Elle had arrived home earlier. The news she’d then shared about her promotion, and the invitation he had subsequently issued to dinner, had been necessary diversions to what would have otherwise been a night spent brooding and wishing for things he could never again have.
The alcohol Elle had consumed made her considerably more relaxed and chatty than he’d ever seen her before, and Ben couldn’t help laughing along with her during the meal. It had been a long time since he’d felt like laughing, since he’d allowed himself to have a good time. For four long years now he’d been beating himself up over what he had done to Lauren, even though he was still convinced it had been for her own good. So he resolved that for tonight, at least, he’d give himself a reprieve from the guilt and regret, and enjoy a good meal with a good friend instead.
By the time they had finished dinner, they’d consumed not just the entire bottle of champagne, but one of merlot as well, plus after-dinner drinks. Elle was giggling and weaving precariously on her sensible heels as they exited the cab, and Ben wrapped his hand around her arm to steady her as they climbed the stairs of the brownstone. He was more than a little tipsy himself, but at least the alcohol had helped to block out the poignant memories of the girl he’d met and loved four years ago to the day, the one he’d foolishly walked away from.
As he unlocked the front door, Elle began to sway drunkenly again, and this time he quickly slid an arm around her wait to keep her upright. She giggled again, leaning her head on his shoulder as he led her inside.
And then she shocked him speechless by sliding her arms around his neck, pressing her body flush against his as she tugged his head down for her kiss. Too startled to react at first, Ben remained passive, his hands hanging loosely by his side. And while he wasn’t exactly pulling away from Elle’s very unexpected embrace, he wasn’t actively participating, either.
Elle was frowning, her delicately arched brows drawn together in confusion as she lifted her lips from his unresponsive ones. “Ben – please,” she whispered, gazing up at him imploringly. “I’ve wanted you – wanted this – from the first time we met. And I know I promised we would just be friends but I want so much more than that.”
“Elle.” He shook his head. “You know my feelings about that, know that I - ”
“I know that you’re in love with a ghost,” she told him firmly. “And that you’re throwing your whole life away because of it. It’s time, Ben. Time to let her go, and to start living again. And I want you to start over with me.”
This time as she reached up to kiss him, he didn’t push her away. Instead, he found himself kissing her back almost without being aware of his actions.
***
October
“Hold still a minute. Your tie is a little crooked. There. Perfect. Just like you look in this suit. I told you that everyone looks good in Armani, and that goes double for someone as handsome as you.”
Ben smiled as Elle gave a final adjustment to the gray and silver striped tie that she’d helped him pick out a few days ago. It coordinated perfectly with the charcoal gray suit and crisp white dress shirt, but the shockingly expensive ensemble didn’t feel at all comfortable and familiar. He had to constantly resist the urge to tug at the shirt collar, which felt snug and confining, despite the fact that it was the exact right size.
“But as good as the suit looks on you, you’ll need to lose the earring for the interview,” she said resolutely.
He touched the small, barely noticeable gold hoop. “Seriously? I mean, I already think the suit is overkill. This isn’t The Atlantic or Esquire I’m interviewing at.”
Elle shook her head. “And this isn’t New Mexico or California, Ben. Things are different here in New York, more formal, old-fashioned. You’ve seen that for yourself the past eighteen months. Take my advice and leave the earring off. And thankfully the suit and shirt cover up that ugly tattoo.”
She’d made it very clear on a number of occasions that she didn’t like his tattoo – or tattoos in general – though she’d been careful not to nag him on the subject. But Elle had a way of making her displeasure apparent, even if it was in the most subtle of ways. He’d picked up on that particular trait of hers, along with a number of others, in the three months that they’d been a couple.
The morning after they’d had sex for the first time, Ben had felt a myriad of emotions – regret, uncertainty, confusion, and guilt. And the guilt had been a double-edged sword – on one side because while his body had participated in the act with Elle, his heart and emotions had been largely absent; and on the other side because what he’d done had felt like a betrayal of what he’d had with Lauren.
Which was a ridiculous and pointless notion, because he was convinced that Lauren would have moved on long ago. Her volatile, impulsive personality would have guaranteed that she’d have found another guy within weeks, if not days, after he’d left her. She had an enormous amount of pride, and her bruised ego would have sought a quick way to soothe itself. She was a gorgeous, vibrant, and sexy woman who drew men to her like a lodestone, and flirting was second nature to her. There was absolutely no way that she hadn’t allowed other men into her life – or her bed – since the end of their short-lived relationship. Lauren was too full of life to do anything but live it to the fullest every single day. Unlike Ben, who’d been living half a life at best since he’d left her.
And that was the main reason he’d allowed himself to get swept along in this rather odd relationship he now shared with Elle. For too long now, he’d ignored the facts that he was lonely and alone, that he had no close friends here in New York, and that he’d drifted even further away from his family. And it was, well – nice to have someone who cared about him, someone to spend time with, and share things with. Elle was a great sounding board for his articles, had already traveled to a number of the places he was sent to on assignments, and was able to give him her perspective and insights.
He’d had more than his fair share of doubts at the beginning – continued to do so, in fact – but their relationship had progressed so quickly after that first night that even now his head was spinning as a result. Elle had begun introducing him to her friends as her boyfriend, had just assumed that they would spend most of their free time together, and had started to arrange his life much as she would organize her closet. He’d been too dazed at the start to resist her efforts very much, and as the weeks had passed and Elle had attached herself to him more and more, he didn’t have a clue as to how he might be able to extricate himself from the complicated threads of their new relationship.
But even though they had crossed the line from friends to lovers, Ben’s feelings for Elle hadn’t changed all that much. He still considered her a kind, soft spoken woman, admired her intelligence and accomplishments, and tried hard not to be intimidated by her unshakeable poise and sophistication. She was his closest friend, his staunchest supporter, and he felt real affection for her.
But he didn’t love her, certainly not in the way a passionate and devoted lover would, and sex between them was sweet, gentle, and rather infrequent. For him, at least, it had yet to make the earth move – not the way it had every single time he’d been with Lauren.
He had tried hard not to compare the two women, knowing that to do so would be grossly unfair to both of them. But it was almost impossible at times to shut his brain off and not think about the wide-ranging differences between them.
Elle was as fastidious about sex as she was about most everything else in her life. She wasn’t the least bit adventurous in bed, preferring to stick to the most basic of missionary positions; she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the mere suggestion of giving or receiving oral sex; insisted that he use a condom each time, even though she was using birth control and both of them had tested clean; and immediately after sex she always scurried into the bathroom to wash up.
Ben had never actually seen a bidet until he’d moved into the brownstone, much less knew anyone who used one. But Elle utilized the one in her bathroom on a regular basis, especially after sex, and would then emerge wearing an expensive but largely concealing silk nightgown to sleep in.
Lauren, on the other hand, had laughed when he’d offered to fetch a washcloth for her after they’d had sex for the first time.
“Why?” she’d inquired, grinning wickedly. “I mean, we’re just getting warmed up here, Blue Eyes. What’s the point in washing up when you’re just going to come in me again? Within the next fifteen minutes or so, I predict. Besides,” she’d whispered, her tongue tracing an erotic little pattern around his ear, “I like the feel of your cum trickling down my thighs. Why would I ever want to wash that away?”
And if she’d owned a nightgown or a pair of pajamas, she’d certainly never made use of them during their time together. She would curl up against his side unashamedly naked, and had had no qualms about walking around the cabin in the nude. She had laughed yet again when he’d begun to slip on a pair of dark gray briefs to sleep in.
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” she’d teased him. “You never know when someone might get the urge to give you a blow job at two in the morning. It would be a real shame if there were any obstacles in the way, wouldn’t it?”
He stifled a groan now as he recalled that Lauren hadn’t waited until the middle of the night to deliver on her taunt, her tempting little body sliding down his torso until her head was between his legs, her tongue sliding sensually up and down his suddenly erect cock.
And while he slept most nights in Elle’s bed, she wasn’t a cuddler and always stayed on her side of the king sized bed. It was one of her little quirks, as he thought of them, just like the way her enormous walk-in closet was precisely organized according to color, article of clothing, season of the year. Or how she kept bottles of hand sanitizer in every room of the house, in every purse she owned, and how she seemed to be using it every fifteen minutes or so. She never, ever, walked barefoot, even in her own rooms, and was a self-professed germaphobe.
And when Elle’s parents – whom he had yet to progress beyond addressing as Mr. and Mrs. Kimbrough – visited, Elle insisted that he occupy his own bedroom during those weeks, and made it quite clear that sex was definitely off the table. Her parents, she’d told him, knew that they were dating and that they were roommates, but the elder Kimbroughs were still very old-fashioned and wouldn’t condone their daughter openly sleeping with a man she wasn’t married to. All of Ben’s belongings were still in his suite of rooms, not just to perpetrate the sham to Elle’s parents that they didn’t sleep together, but because he tended to be a bit on the untidy side. Elle’s almost compulsive neatness couldn’t handle the thought of having her obsessively organized closet out of order, and thus his things had remained in his own space.
Once more, he couldn’t help thinking about Lauren, and the messy condition of the cabin, especially in her bedroom. She’d never actually made the bed during his stay, leaving the sheets and comforter perpetually rumpled, and the pillows tossed about. Her clothes, flip flops, and underthings had been scattered haphazardly around nearly every room of the place.
He forced his thoughts back to the present as Elle smoothed down the lapel of the hideously expensive designer suit that she’d insisted he had to buy for this interview.
“I know National Geographic Travel isn’t a literary journal or a high-end fashion magazine,” she acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t make a good impression at this interview.”
Ben sighed. “I’m not even certain I want this job, Elle,” he admitted. “I don’t really have editorial experience, and I’m not sure how I’m going to feel about being tied to a desk job most of the time.”
She frowned. “So you’d rather keep traveling constantly, be away from home three weeks out of every five? Be away from me for all that time?”
“Of course not,” he assured her gently, feeling instant guilt at the hurt expression in her big dark eyes. “It will be a nice change not to spend quite so much time on the road. I guess I’m just so used to that lifestyle that it’s weird to even consider the alternative.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. “Well, I know it would make me very happy to have you at home a lot more. And from what my father’s friend told me about this job, you’d still be doing some traveling.”
“I know.” He gave her a reassuring pat on the upper back, realizing that to say anything further would make him seem ungrateful.
And he was grateful for the interview that she’d arranged for him, how she’d contacted her father’s friend who was the editor-in-chief at the magazine. She had surprised him – shocked him, even – when she’d excitedly given him the news a couple of weeks ago, especially since it had been the first time he’d even heard about the job opening. But Elle had been throwing hints for weeks now about him finding another job where he didn’t have to travel nearly as much, and where they could be together more often. He actually liked his current job at Conde Nast, enjoyed traveling to so many varied locations. And while the countless hours logged at airports did grow tiresome at times, the travel was simply something he’d accepted over the years as part of the job.
Elle had taken things into her own hands, however, determined to spend more time with him, and therefore deepen their relationship. And he couldn’t deny the facts that the prospective job at National Geographic Travel paid a hell of a lot more than his current position, and carried a considerable amount of prestige as well. He’d have a private office, a personal assistant, and have several production crews reporting to him. He would have the last word on what stories the crews would cover, the locations where they would travel to, and final approval on the finished product. It would be a smart career move, and the opportunities for further advancement would be plentiful.
He just hoped he wouldn’t be expected to wear this damned suit and tie on a regular basis.
***
November
“Stop tugging at your shirt collar,” Elle whispered to him urgently. “My parents have noticed and they’re both looking at you rather oddly.”
“Sorry,” he whispered back, picking up his wine glass to distract himself from the irritating collar. The sauvignon blanc wasn’t really to his taste, even though the price of the bottle had been alarmingly high. But Mr. Kimbrough had selected it, and he knew that Elle’s very sophisticated father considered himself to be quite the wine expert.
The Kimbroughs had arrived in town for their bi-monthly visit two days ago – the same day when Ben had officially been offered the editor’s job at National Geographic Travel. Gordon Kimbrough had insisted on taking him out to dinner to celebrate, and had selected one of the top restaurants in Manhattan. A restaurant that Elle had informed him had a rather strict dress code, and so he’d worn the gray Armani suit this evening – along with the very uncomfortable shirt and tie.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d been out with Elle’s parents, but as the waiter brought out their entrees, Ben wondered if he would ever feel at ease with them. Gordon was something of a cross between a stuffed shirt and a pompous ass, while Sunita – Elle’s regal, refined mother – made him feel as though he wasn’t quite worthy enough to be dating her daughter, a daughter who was descended from old Indian royalty. Gordon and Elle frequently discussed topics that Ben knew little to nothing about, while Sunita rarely spoke, merely gazing at him from time to time with thinly veiled disapproval.
At least when they were at the brownstone he could retreat into his rooms while Elle spent time with her parents. He was leaving tomorrow on what would be his final assignment for Conde Nast, so he would see very little of the Kimbroughs on this visit. He was due to begin his new job right after the first of the year, and had given in to Elle’s cajoling to spend Christmas with her parents in England.
In preparation for the two week trip to England, Elle had been dragging him out to shop for what seemed like an entire new wardrobe. When he’d protested that he didn’t need so many things, she’d reminded him in that prim, rather haughty tone she used at times that they would be expected to attend a number of social events during their visit. As a result, he now owned three new suits, half a dozen dress shirts and ties, several pair of slacks, cashmere sweaters, and leather shoes. His favorite pair of faded jeans, well-worn T-shirts, and biker boots were now relegated to the far corner of his closet.
“Ah, how remiss of me,” lamented Gordon in that nasally, upper crust accent that made Ben inwardly cringe at times. He picked up his wine glass. “I meant to propose a toast to Benjamin when we first arrived. It’s your fault, Eleanor,” he teased his daughter, “for engaging me in a conversation about the upcoming elections in France.”
Ben knew it was a small thing, certainly not worth mentioning and possibly causing a confrontation over as a result, but it bugged him to no end when Gordon insisted on addressing him and Elle by their full names. He remained silent on the matter once again, however, not wanting to upset Elle by challenging her uptight father.
“Congratulations on your new job, Benjamin,” offered Gordon. “From what Eleanor tells me, you’re certain to do very well. And I’ve known Bradley Van Patten for almost forty years, so you’ll certainly be in good hands under his leadership.”
Brad Van Patten was the editor-in-chief at National Geographic Travel, and in theory Ben’s new boss. But he’d only met the man briefly, and had actually gone through the interview process with three lower level editors. Tactfully, Ben chose not to remind Gordon of this fact and merely took a sip of the bone dry wine.
The multi-course meal seemed to drag on interminably, and more than once he had to stifle a yawn. He had a pre-dawn flight to South America in the morning, and was hoping the evening would end at a decent hour so he could get some much needed sleep. Though he supposed it didn’t matter all that much, considering all the time he’d likely have in the near future to catch up on his sleep.
He would miss the travel, the excitement of seeing new places, and even the hassles that came with checking baggage, going through Customs, and putting up with flight delays. But to complain about it now would seem petty and ungrateful, especially since Gordon managed to find subtle ways all during dinner to remind Ben that he was largely responsible for getting him this job. And when he saw how happy Elle was, he felt selfish and more than a little guilty to admit that he didn’t really want to stop traveling.
But then, he’d grown accustomed over the course of his thirty-two years to giving up those things that he’d come to cherish – his family, hometown, old school friends; his motorcycle; the love of his life. The fact that he was now getting ready to give up the job he’d always dreamed of having was just one more loss he would learn to cope with.