The Virgin Society Collection

34. My Utter Obsession

34

MY UTTER OBSESSION

Nick

I’ve decided.

As I walk up the sand on Saturday after an early morning swim in the sea, I feel certain. Calm too. I’m at my friend Riggs’ Southampton home—he’s not here, but he’s letting David, Cynthia, and me use it for the weekend. Rose made a big donation and said she’d drive in this afternoon to attend the event, so I’m grateful he’ll have both his parents here.

David and I took the train here last night. He’s running some errands in town right now in Riggs’ car but should be back soon. Then, he’ll pick up Cynthia at the train station a little later today. She had to work late last night.

As I near Riggs’ home, I review the plan once more since there’s only one solution to the Layla problem.

When I reach the deck steps, I stop and look to the left. Layla told me her mother has a home nearby and that she’s staying there. I don’t know the address, but it’s not far away, as I recall her saying. Pretty sure she’s maybe half a mile up the sand.

She feels worlds away right now.

That makes my chest ache. I can’t give in though. I can’t reach out anymore. I have to do the right thing.

I tear my gaze from the white and cream beachfront mansions and head inside to take a shower, but before I can strip off my bathing suit, my phone rings. I grab it from the kitchen counter. It’s David. “Hey there, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“Cynthia was in a car accident. Dad, I’m freaking out,” he blurts out.

Fear slides down my spine but for his sake, I hide it as I ask, “Is she okay?”

“I think so. Her brother called me. She was driving to the train station when some asshole who was texting smashed into her. They think her leg is broken. She’s at the hospital now, and she’s asking for me. Shit, Dad. What do I do?”

I go into crisis-solving mode immediately. “You go be with her. I can handle the auction. If you want me to, that is.”

He breathes out a grateful sigh. “Are you sure? I feel like a jerk for not being there.”

“She needs you. She’s where you should be. I can host it.”

“Thank you,” he says, grateful, like I’ve absolved him, but still terrified.

“She’s going to be okay,” I tell him, as calm as I can be. That’s what he needs from me.

“You think so?” His voice pitches up.

“I do. Now, where are you? I’ll help you figure out the fastest way to get to her.”

He’s at the grocery store a mile away, so I triage his travel, comparing train and bus traffic times. But in the end, I want him to get there as soon as he can and with some privacy to make calls if he needs it, so I order him a car service and then I tell him to go.

“Any news?”

Those are Layla’s first words to me when she arrives early that evening at the Fox Walk Inn, the boutique hotel by the sea where the fundraiser’s being held.

She wears a bold pink dress with black polka dots, her blonde locks pinned in some kind of French twist, and I can barely breathe. But I don’t even have a moment to say “you look stunning” because she’s not only all business here in an alcove off the lobby, but she’s also with her posse. The brunette with her must be Harlow, and the guy has to be Ethan.

Once again, gratitude floods me, and I want to say thank you from the bottom of my fucked-up heart to the two of them, but Layla wants an answer from me.

“Cynthia broke her femur. She’s going to have surgery tonight on the fractured leg,” I tell her. “David just arrived, and he says she’s lucky she didn’t have any other injuries. Just some bumps and bruises.”

Layla’s shoulders relax. “Oh, thank god. I’ve been so worried since you told me,” she says. I called her earlier to let her know about the accident, but I didn’t learn anything more till David and I spoke again a little while ago. Quickly, Layla shifts gears, introducing her friends to me, then adding, “And during the auction, Harlow can introduce the Zara Clementine since she arranged the donation through her gallery.” She says all this with the crisp efficiency of a businesswoman handling her task list.

“And Ethan, since your band is donating a performance, did you want to introduce that?” I ask the dark-haired guy next to her.

“Sure,” he replies.

“That’s amazing. Your songs are great,” I say, but that sounds so sanitized. I wish I could say Layla played his tunes for me when I cooked her dinner last week, but I don’t know what they know.

I swallow the rest of my compliments— she’s shared your music with me, she’s so damn proud of you, and she’s been telling me about the two of you since the very first time I met her .

“Thanks, man,” Ethan says with a grin that says he’s young enough and new enough to savor every compliment.

The conversation falters after that because what else is there to say?

But Layla doesn’t let it drag. Her boss-lady mode is activated. “So, here’s the plan. We’ll emcee the evening and the entertainment together. We’ll introduce the cocktail hour, and after that, we’ll have reps from various shelters, plus Harlow, and they’ll share some of the details on our donations—the Zara, the golf clubs, the jewelry, Raven’s designs, and so on,” she says, all boom, boom, boom.

“Yep,” I nod since I know all this. Have known it for weeks.

“Then everyone will have a chance to wander around the tables to check out the info on the items, and then the bidding begins,” she adds, motoring through more details.

I wish I could get a minute alone with her, and honestly, I could. I could say let’s talk , but that’d be a dick move given the situation. I have to set my misplaced emotions aside and focus on the bigger picture—making sure this fundraiser goes off without another hitch.

“And then at the end we’ll announce who won each item,” she says.

Does she think I’ve been zoning out the last few weeks? “I’m aware. I’ve been part of the planning,” I say gently.

“Right. Of course,” she says, then shakes her head, like she’s a touch embarrassed. “I’m just worried about Cynthia.”

Ah, hell. Here I thought she was giving me the cold shoulder again. But maybe she needs some strength, too, just like David did, so I try to give it to her. “She’s going to be fine. David’s going to be fine. We will know more after her surgery and figure out how we can help her and David. We’re going to do this tonight for him, and it’s going to be amazing,” I say, reassuring her.

Harlow’s green eyes widen.

Ethan grins.

Layla smiles warmly. “It is. Thanks. I needed that.” She gestures to her friends. “They’re going to help me set up. I’ll see you when it starts.”

She sounds a little wistful but also resigned. I’m desperate to grab her hand and steal a moment. But instead, as she heads off, I watch her go.

There’s no time to linger on her retreating silhouette either since my phone buzzes in my pocket.

David: She just went into surgery.

He adds a Band-Aid emoji.

The fact that he’s still using emojis tells me he’s managing well. Still, I want to make this situation with his girlfriend as easy for him as I can.

Nick: Let me know when she’s out. I looked up the name of the surgeon you gave me, and Cynthia’s in good hands.

David: THANK YOU.

I tuck my phone in my pocket, turn away from the entrance as a green sports car pulls up, and stay out of Layla’s way for the next hour.

The closer I am to her, the riskier it is for me. I can’t have all of the guests at my son’s event knowing how I feel for his ex-girlfriend.

A little later, I’ve got my game face on and I’m mingling with a packed ballroom of guests nibbling on smoked salmon crostini and mushroom tarts and drinking champagne. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sea gently laps the shore. Rose isn’t here. David said she texted that she’d stay in the city instead once she learned he wouldn’t be here. She made another donation, so that’s… nice .

It’s still odd being at events like this, where the well-to-do give away money. Before I made money, I was never invited to shindigs. Now that I make plenty, I can get in almost anywhere.

It’s a little ironic, but I don’t mind the schmooze. In fact, I’m a goddamn mayor at events like this. That’s the only way to make it through this evening where I’m playing so many parts—managing my son’s worries, hosting an event unexpectedly, and wishing it were Sunday so I can finally grab a moment with the woman in the pink and black dress.

I have to play another part. The good host.

I make small talk with the Steinbergs, who donated the chess set.

“This is so amazing, what David’s done,” Mrs. Steinberg says, eyeing the pretty crowd in their summer evening finery. “Such a shame he can’t see it come together.”

I waggle my phone. “I’m taking lots of pictures for him,” I say, then I excuse myself to say hello to the Chopards, who contributed the vintage jewelry.

After I’m done thanking them, I spot Kip the Ken doll, but the jealous dragon in me remains asleep this time. I know Layla’s only interested in one man, and it’s not Kip.

I take a minute to send the latest pics to David, then make my way to the guy who’s supposed to have a date with Layla next week. I lied…the dragon raises its snout as I remember the annoying fact that her mother thinks she’s single, that everyone thinks she’s single. That she, effectively, is single.

But I ignore those facts for now since I need to be a good host. “Good to see you again, Kip. I’m guessing that green Dodge Viper is yours?” I say, giving him a firm handshake as I lay an easy bet.

His smile both tells me he’s impressed I made the connection between him and the car, and that he likes impressing people with his wheels. “Sure is. I snagged that beauty a year ago,” he says, then goes on and on about horsepower and how she rides before he tilts his head. “And what did you say you do, sir?”

I didn’t fucking say, but of course that’s all you care about.

“I’m in VC,” I tell him, downplaying my role as the head of one of the top firms in the world.

“Nice. I work on Wall Street. Would I know your firm?”

Yes, you asshole.

“Strong Ventures,” I say.

His eyes pop. “Holy shit, man. You funded Vault when you led Alpha Ventures. Before the merger,” he says, and a surge of well-earned pride rushes through me. Vault is killing it in its early days. Kip rattles off several more startups that I turned into gold. It never gets old, watching someone’s attitude change. Suddenly, I’m somebody to him.

“Yes, we did,” I say, then I spot my buddy Travis, holding a beer, checking out the crowd. “I need to say hello to a college friend. But it was good chatting with you, Kip.”

“You too, Mr. Adams. We should talk shop sometime,” he says, and I’m no longer sir . I’m not Mr. Bancroft either. He’s finally calling me by my name.

Too bad I don’t give a fuck about impressing the Kip Cranstons of the world.

Too bad the entire interaction was only momentarily satisfying.

I walk away, heading for Travis. But when I catch a glimpse of Layla across the room, chatting amiably with some younger guests, my pulse kicks. Briefly, I stop. Consider. I want to go over there so I can wrap an arm around her, join the convo.

But that’s not in the cards, and so I resume my path to Travis, congratulating myself for having made it through the cocktail hour without obsessing too much over my…well, my obsession.

“Hoops. Next week. My gym,” I say to the guy I’ve known since we shared a dorm sophomore year.

“A hundred says I destroy you one-on-one,” Travis replies.

“I can’t wait to collect,” I tell him.

It’s time to hit the stage, so I check my texts once more, corresponding with David for a minute. Tucking my phone away, I find Layla near a ballroom exit, chatting with her friend Raven, the one who ran into us outside her home. Raven takes off before I reach Layla, and that’s for the best. Raven seemed too astute the night I met her, and I don’t need someone trying to read me right now.

Not as my heart beats too fast just from looking at Layla.

But I shove all those overwhelming emotions down. “Ready?”

“I am.” She’s not cold like she was Thursday night in the car. She’s businesslike and focused. That side attracts me too. Every side of her does it for me.

“The turnout is amazing,” she says brightly as we head backstage.

“It is. I took pictures and sent them to David.”

“Did he reply?” she asks, eager to hear how her friend is doing. Her genuine concern for my son does not help my resolve tonight. But I’ve got to stay strong.

“He wanted to know how the food is,” I say dryly.

She chuckles. “That sounds like him. Did you tuck some mushroom tarts into a doggie bag for him?”

“I sent him dinner instead. A meatball sub from a place near the hospital,” I tell her.

“That’s sweet,” she says with a smile I ache to kiss off, then she purses her lips and looks away, like this conversation is ripping away at her heart too. But she’s always been strong, so she turns back and says, “It’s great that you jumped in to help him. Seriously, Nick.”

The way she says my name. The way she looks at me. The way she is.

She is killing me.

“It was nothing.” I brush off her compliment. The praise makes me want to grab her, push her against the wall, and kiss her hard to punish her for making me fucking fall for her.

“It’s not nothing. It’s everything,” she adds, a solemn note to her voice.

I’m not sure what to make of that sound though. If it’s good or bad. Or what even is good or bad anymore.

But it’s time to go on the stage. I put on a smile and stride to the podium with her, fighting the urge to take her hand in mine. I can’t do that. I just can’t.

“Welcome to the inaugural fundraiser for A Helping Paw,” she says to the packed room. “I’m Layla Mayweather, and it’s been an honor to help David plan this event, but the credit all goes to my friend.”

“I’m Nick Adams, David’s father, and I’ll be pinch hitting tonight for my son,” I say, adding a few more words about the animal shelters David’s raising money for.

When it’s time for the main event, Layla and I trade off, rolling through the auction items, talking up each one. I do my damnedest not to inhale her jasmine scent. Not to gaze into her eyes. Not to stand so close that my heart thumps loud enough for the room to hear.

I can’t let the whole goddamn Southampton world know the hot mess I’ve made of my life.

I smile, and I chat, and I make jokes, even as my mind is pulled in too many directions.

The auction lineup ends with Raven, who cuts across the stage in a short red dress.

Layla introduces her. “And this is my friend Raven, who’s so talented she can make a dress from a pillowcase. Tell them a little bit about what they’re bidding on.”

“Thanks, friend,” the budding designer says, then chats about the personalized outfits she’ll make for one winner. When she’s done, she turns to me. “And, Mr. Adams, you are a great pinch hitter. From the Miami conference to here, you’re the man to fill in.”

Worry darts through me at the mention of the night I met Layla. Fine, we were both registered at the conference; that’s no secret. But I don’t want to gab about it before this crowd.

“Thanks, Raven,” I say. “Some winner will be very lucky.” Then I turn to the audience and prompt. “A round of applause for our contributors.”

That takes the spotlight off Miami.

At least for now.

But when we head offstage, Raven turns to me again. “I did listen to your speech. It was stellar. No wonder Layla raved about it.”

“Speaking of raving,” Layla cuts in, setting a hand on Raven’s arm. “I want to special order a dress just like this.”

“Of course. You know where to find me,” Raven says, and I exhale.

Layla helped deflect. Which was brilliant. Unfortunately, I want to thank her with my mouth on hers.

As we circulate once again, making small talk with guests and contributors, I fight off the desire to set a hand on her back, to look at her the way I want to. To be by her side.

As I smile, I’m just pretending.

By the end of the night, this inn has me feeling claustrophobic. I’ve said goodbye to the last of the guests, and I’m eager to leave and do… something . But it’s my job to settle up with the event coordinator.

I barely have time for a cursory goodbye to Layla as she leaves with her friends. I catch snippets of plans to hit the town and wince at the idea of them hitting the dance clubs. I’m annoyed because she’s going out. She’s having fun. She’s dancing without me. But I haven’t earned the right to be invited.

By the time I’m done, it’s late, but I call David to check in and ask about Cynthia.

“She did great,” he says, clearly relieved. But tired too. “I’m glad I made it here. She asked for me after.”

My heart expands for him, for all the emotions he’s feeling right now. For the love, I think, that’s blooming between them. “I’m glad you could be there too.”

When we say goodbye, everything’s clear. I’m not going to wait till tomorrow night to tell Layla how I feel and what I want. You never know what might happen.

I know, too, that Finn is dead wrong about one thing.

I can’t stop seeing Layla, but it’s because I don’t want to. I want to be the one who’s there for her.

After a quick Google search for the nearest club, I call a Lyft.

I’m tired of waiting for the right time.

Now is the only time.