Chapter 43
43
Josefine
“You look gorgeous, baby.” Cam kisses the top of my shoulder.
I shiver in response and wring my hands in front of me. “I’m kinda nervous.”
Tonight’s the night I meet his parents, and I’m freaking out.
He stayed true to his word and helped me with my smutty writing exercise, but in exchange, he requested that I accompany him to a fundraising gala. At the time, I was convinced he’d gotten the short end of that stick (no pun intended), but now, as I’m bent in half, struggling to strap my stilettos, I’m not so sure.
Cam looks like a million bucks in a pair of tapered black slacks, a solid black button-down, and a gray woolen jacket with black satin lapels. His feet are still bare when he kneels and grasps my ankle, motioning for me to give him my foot. With a hand on a shelf in Millie’s closet (which I have officially taken over), I balance on one leg and rest my heel in his hand.
“It’s okay to be nervous, sweetheart.” He buckles the strap of my nude stiletto, then sets it on the floor and taps my other ankle. “How can I make you feel better? ”
I didn’t have the time or the funds to purchase a new dress, but Claire offered to let me borrow one of hers. So tonight I’m decked out in a floor-length white gown covered in large red, purple, and green flowers. The front cuts in a deep V, and the straps tie in thick bows at the shoulders. It’s a tight fit, but I made it work. I chose to pin my hair in a low chignon to showcase the backless design. But the best part about the gown? It has pockets.
Cam sets my foot on the floor and skates a hand up my dress until his fingers brush over my lace thong. “What would help you relax?” he asks, bunching up the front of my dress.
“Cam,” I breathe, saliva already pooling in my mouth. “What are you?—”
“Shh. Lean back.”
Obediently, I rest against the wall of the closet.
He grasps my hand and brings the hem of my dress up, silently instructing me to hold it out of the way. Sliding my thong to the side, he teases my entrance, collecting my arousal, then rubbing my clit.
“Baby,” I urge.
He looks up at me, all beautifully coiffed hair and a gorgeous smile.
“We’re going to be late.” Though as the words leave my lips, I greedily grind against his hand.
“Then we better get started. Be my good fucking girl,” he demands, impaling me with one long finger. He drags it out like we have all the time in the world. “And scream my name when you come.”
After fixing my mascara, changing my underwear, and apologizing to the driver for being late, we pile into the waiting car. Tonight’s event will be held at Empire Elegance, a premier NYC venue located near Bryant Park.
Cam’s parents insisted on hiring a car for us, which was generous, I suppose. Though despite how luxurious it is, discomfort swamps me. Not only am I meeting his parents, but the fundraiser we’re attending is to benefit an organization spearheaded by his ex-girlfriend’s father. Hayden’s dad is a renowned cardiologist, and while the gala is typically held in February for American Heart Month, Dr. Draper ironically suffered a heart attack. He only recently recovered enough for such an undertaking.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so awkward, but Cam assures me that his ex-girlfriend is out of the country and will not be in attendance.
We’re snapping selfies in the back seat when a text notification appears at the top of my screen.
My mother.
Frank left me .
“Dammit,” I huff, dropping my chin to my chest.
“What’s wrong?”
With a sigh, I switch my phone to vibrate, then slip it into the pocket of my dress. “My mom. I think her boyfriend broke up with her. I’ll call her later.”
I’m much too anxious about meeting Cam’s parents to deal with her drama. She doesn’t know about him yet, and if I call her now, I’d have to explain. I’d rather save that conversation for when he isn’t within earshot.
The twenty-five-minute drive to the gala turns into nearly forty-five minutes due to traffic, and Cam tries his best to distract me with a friendly game of Never Have I Ever.
Turns out, he’s never eaten asparagus or been to Hawaii. He’s never owned a pet, either. The biggest revelation? He’s never had sex in the back of a car .
He wears a smug smile when I admit I’d never gone skinny-dipping before the nude beach, and for a second, I think he may kick me out of the car—or bend me over—when I reveal that I have, in fact, used someone else’s toothbrush without them knowing.
After showing our tickets at the door, we bypass the multilevel indoor spaces and head up to the rooftop terrace. It’s gorgeous, with its sweeping panoramic views of the Hudson River, Times Square, and Midtown Manhattan.
When Cam doesn’t immediately spot his parents, we make our way to the bar for cocktails. He orders two fingers of a Japanese whiskey, and I try a Cognac sparkler. The tart apple aftertaste is perfect for a warm summer evening.
I’m sipping my drink at a high-top table, eyeing the black-and-white checkered dance floor, when a middle-aged man and woman cut through the crowd and head straight for us.
“You must be Joey.” The woman crowds my personal space and grasps my hands. She’s petite, like Claire, and her hands are freezing. Her shoulder-length, salt-and-pepper hair is curled at the ends. Her kind eyes are more green than hazel, and her effervescent pink lipstick adds to her bubbly demeanor. She’s wearing a black strapless gown that hugs her small frame and a dazzling emerald statement necklace. I immediately love her style.
“Hi, Mrs. Connelly,” I reply in my best meet-the-parents voice, ignoring the buzzing sensation of my phone at my side.
Behind his wife, Cam’s dad stoically pats him on the back.
“Call me Stephanie,” she insists, still gripping my hands.
Only when Mr. Connelly steps up beside her does Stephanie release her hold on me.
“I’m Cliff. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Though his eyes are a piercing blue, he and his son share many similar features. If this is a glimpse into the future, then holy hell, sign me up now .
“Nice to meet you too.” The knots in my stomach loosen a little. His parents seem genuinely happy to meet me.
Stephanie inquires about the book I’m writing, and while I thoroughly despise that question, I grin through my response. She means well, and I appreciate her genuine interest.
Beside us, father and son have fallen into a civil conversation. After a few minutes, Cam squeezes my hand and subtly nods at the couple about his parents’ age who are approaching our table.
They embrace Cliff and Stephanie before taking turns hugging Cam like he’s their favorite person in the world. My insides tingle with a twinge of jealousy.
They don’t even acknowledge my existence until Stephanie offers an introduction. With a sort of motherly charm, she caresses the back of my arm, just over my tattoo.
“This is Joey,” she says. “Cam’s…” She trails off, looking from her son to me with a hint of an uncertain frown.
“Girlfriend,” Cam replies with a giant grin, pulling me into his hip.
My heart skips a beat at the word. We haven’t had that conversation yet, though I suppose fucking a person’s ass with a dildo should warrant “the talk.”
Thankfully, the Drapers are promptly whisked away by other attendees, and Cliff and Stephanie politely excuse themselves, promising to meet up with us on the dance floor later.
“Your parents seem nice,” I say, brushing a piece of Cam’s hair off his forehead.
Beads of sweat have collected at his temple. The sight alone leaves me wanting to drag him into the bathroom so I can lick them away before dropping to my knees the way he did in the closet before we left.
“I’m sorry this is how you’re meeting them for the first time, but I?— ”
“You called me your girlfriend.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I have a chance to rein them in.
Cam, a man who stands tall with confidence no matter what the situation, ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck. And if I’m not mistaken, his cheeks have gone pink. “About that…” His lips tip up in a smile.
I step closer and put a hand to his chest. Beneath my palm, his heart pounds a furious beat. I want to tell him I liked it. I can taste the words on my tongue, and the desperate look in his eye silently urges me to go for it, but before I can, I’m gently tackled from behind.
“Joey!”
I spin and come face to face with Claire. She’s almost unrecognizable without a nest of hair on the top of her head and her glasses. She’s stunning, dressed in a strapless, floor-length gown. The maroon bodice is fitted, and the fabric flares at the hips. Her simple black choker matches her black heels. Her dark hair falls a couple of inches below her shoulders and is set in loose curls. She looks phenomenal.
“Claire!” I gasp. I’m thrilled to have an ally here, but conflicted, because I’d finally found the courage to tell Cam that I liked being called his girlfriend . Though now that I’ve had a moment, his ex-girlfriend’s dad’s uppity fundraiser is probably not the right place to confess.
After hugging me, she embraces her brother, then throws her clutch on the table next to mine. The band plays the first notes of Diana Ross’s “I’m Coming Out,” and she yanks me by the wrist.
“Let’s dance!” she crows over the trumpets.
Before I know it, I’m on the dance floor with my maybe boyfriend’s sister.
Cam is leaning against the table, one foot crossed in front of the other, the glass of whiskey in his hand resting at his belt. His face is painted with an irresistibly devastating grin, his eyes turned up at the sides as he watches me. I pull my attention back to Claire, who’s motioning for me to twirl in her arms. God, we must look ridiculous, but we’re having a blast all the same.
The band goes into a Michael Bublé song next—the one about being terrified to love again and promising to never run. Before I can exit the dance floor, warm breath hits the back of my neck. “My turn.” Cam’s voice, deep and sensual, sends a ripple of lust through me.
Claire bows out, but Mr. and Mrs. Connelly appear nearby. Stephanie’s eyes sparkle as she spies us over her husband’s shoulder. I smile at her but am quickly lost in the man holding me. We don’t speak, but our bodies converse, nonetheless. In my stilettos, I’m at the perfect height to burrow into his neck and inhale his cologne.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, but I ignore it. I needed this moment. Cam slides his hand a little lower, and I glance up at him. When he kisses me on the forehead, I swear he transfers images to my mind. Visions of what a life with him could be like flash by cinematically: more sleepovers, more movies in the park, more working side by side on hotel balconies, more food-induced gastric moans, more moans in general, more reading each other’s favorite books and talking endlessly about them.
But I’m interrupted yet again by the buzzing in my pocket. The incessant vibrations have finally piqued my curiosity, so I fish it from my dress.
“Hold on, I’m so sorry.”
An unknown California number flashes on the screen, but just as I slide my finger over the screen, the call ends. A series of missed calls and voicemail notifications pop up immediately after.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice urgent.
“I’m not sure, actually,” I admit, unlocking my phone. “Can you give me a minute?” Without waiting for a response, I stride off the dance floor.
I scroll through my missed calls as I rush to the restroom, and once I’m locked in a stall, I tap on the most recent voicemail.
“This is Santa Monica Medical Center. We’re calling again regarding Elin Beckham. Please call us back at ? —”
My stomach drops to the floor. Worst-case scenarios flood my brain. Is she injured? Or worse?
With shaky hands, I tap the number in my list of recent calls and hold the phone to my ear. I’m transferred twice before I’m connected with a nurse who can answer my questions. He informs me that my mom fell and hit her head at a bar and assures me that her CT came back normal. She did, however, need stitches and is in no condition to return home on her own.
I can’t believe this is fucking happening right now.
“She’s under observation right now, but she will likely be discharged in the next couple of hours. Is there someone close by who can pick her up?” the nurse asks.
Tears well in my eyes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. My mind is racing a million miles per minute. I wish I could teleport to California. I don’t have contact information for any of my mom’s friends. Brooks and Tyler are nearby. I’ll try Brooks first. That way I can avoid adding awkwardness to this clusterfuck.
Only… shit . He’s at a film festival in San Francisco this weekend.
Heels click-clack on the bathroom floor, and the stall door beside me swings shut, but I ignore the intrusion. “Yeah. I’ll call them.” I hang up without even saying thank you or goodbye.
For weeks after we broke up, Tyler called and left message after message, begging me to take him back. After several failed attempts to win me back, the rude texts began. Eventually he stopped contacting me altogether, so I hold my breath, worried that when he sees my number on his screen, he’ll hit decline or block me.
But after the second ring, the phone connects, and I exhale.
“Joey?” He sounds dumbfounded, and rightfully so.
“Oh, thank god you answered. Tyler, it’s my mom,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“What happened?”
“She’s at the hospital. She fell and needed stitches. I’m in New York, and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know who to call.” The tears are flowing now, and my body is shaking. “Do you—do you think you can go get her?”
My chest is tight in anticipation of his reply, but he doesn’t leave me waiting long. “Of course. Which hospital?”
The vise threatening to cut off my airway loosens immediately. “Santa Monica Medical Center.”
“Okay, I’m on my way, Beck,” he assures me. “It’s okay.”
“Thank you. I’ll book a flight. Hopefully I can get out of here tonight.”
After a hasty goodbye and a promise from Tyler that he’ll contact me as soon as he gets eyes on my mom, I exit the stall. I startle when I catch sight of Stephanie at the sinks, and my face heats when I catch my own reflection in the mirror behind her. My hair is falling out of its knot, and my eyes are smudged with mascara.
She picks up a white cloth and dampens it, then guides me to a captain’s chair in the lounge area of the restroom.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, handing me the cloth. The crow’s feet next to her green eyes deepen when she offers a warm smile.
Trying my best to conceal my emotions, I give her a very basic rundown.
“Oh, honey.” She crouches before me and rubs my arm. “Is she all right? Is she in LA? ”
I nod.
“How can I help?”
Cam was right about his mom. She has a caring soul. I’ve only just met her, yet she’s ready to jump in and help in any way she can. I’m not used to that kind of treatment.
“Umm, I don’t know,” I hedge, feeling uncomfortable with such concern from a virtual stranger. “I’m going to try to get on the red-eye.” I hold up my phone to check the time.
“Our driver will take you to your apartment, then to the airport,” she says, her eyes warm and her expression soft. “It’ll be faster that way.”
My lips quiver and my chest tightens. Accepting her help may make me all squirrelly inside, but she’s right—the town car will be much faster.
“Thank you,” I choke back tears.
I don’t have time to find Cam. God, I hope he understands. I need to grab my clutch and go. I’ll book a flight in the car. I stand and head for the door, ready to ask Stephanie to relay the message to him, when a husky voice in the hall mentions his name. I freeze in the doorway, and Stephanie does too.
Mr. Connelly and Dr. Draper stand a few feet away, both wearing scowls.
“I wish that son of yours would get his head on straight,” Dr. Draper asserts. “What’s he doing bringing that girl to my fundraiser anyway, after what he did to Hayden?”
Oh, does he not know it was his daughter who rocked the boat?
Cliff shifts his weight and crosses his arms in front of him, but he’s angled away, so his facial expressions are hard to make out.
“I hear this new girl doesn’t have a real job, and Cameron’s still off gallivanting around the world taking pictures. Why’s he throwing his life away? He really fucked up by not marrying my daughter. ”
I’ve heard enough. I’m not the traditional type and no, my career choice doesn’t guarantee stability, but I do not need some rich prick talking about me behind my back.
I springboard off the doorframe, leaving Stephanie in the dust. She calls after me, but I don’t turn around. I have tunnel vision. For my wallet. For the town car. To my apartment. To the airport. To my mom.