14. Saar
Chapter 14
Saar
“ Y our parents didn’t mind you leaving the home at fifteen?”
I snort and shove a spoonful of my now-favorite cereal into my mouth.
“My parents were the ones who sent me to Europe. My father only cares about himself. I wasn’t shaping into the socialite my mother hoped for, so I became a nuisance to her.”
The man has an uncanny ability to make me talk. Or maybe I’m so starved for attention, I blabber away happily.
For four days, Corm has been doting on me. If making sure I eat, growling and glaring at me, and borderline threatening me can be defined as doting.
He ignores me most of the time, but he shares meals with me, and it’s the weirdest thing, because most of those occasions are fairly civil. Like we became roommates, but we also make an effort to get to know each other.
Somehow it just happened, because I couldn’t eat in silence while he glared at me. And somehow, I tired him with my attempts at conversation, and he conceded.
To a certain extent because he avoids most of my questions, but inquires about my life. And actually listens to everything I say.
“Is that why you’re estranged?” He takes a sip of his coffee, not looking at his watch or his phone. It’s strange when you don’t trust someone, and he’s one of the few people who listens when you talk.
“No, no, I still would go home and try my hardest to gain their… I don’t know, approval, love, or at least kindness. When Finn and Cal pulled father’s company from under him, I didn’t have to think twice about whose side to take. My parents tried to guilt me into becoming a dutiful daughter. But by then I recognized who they were, and I knew their interest in me was more to demonstrate to the world they were the wronged party.”
“How?”
“Mother didn’t ask me how I am, didn’t try to find out anything about my life, but she demanded I accompany her to an event. It was a PR op for her. Having one child turn against you publicly is one thing, but having all three of them… I haven’t spoken to them since then.”
“From what you’re telling me, you’re better off without them. But I’m sure it wasn’t easy when you were a teenager.”
“Luckily, Vito found me, and he became my proxy father. Or I made him into one. And the catwalk became my home. Strangely, having all those eyes on me somehow subbed for the attention I hadn’t gotten at home.”
“Do you miss it?”
I chuckle. “God no. It was demanding, like a real relationship, and yet all fake, superficial. I’m lost at the moment, but I don’t ever want to go back.”
“You will figure it out in no time.”
“It’s easy for you to say. You have money, a job, purpose.”
“It’s easy for you to have those things as well.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” I push the empty bowl away, a bit uncomfortable with spilling my anxieties over breakfast with him. Especially with him.
“Did you have those things once?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He shrugs and puts his cup down. “That’s all the proof you need to know it’s possible.”
“I don’t know where to start.” I sigh.
Perhaps it’s easier to be vulnerable with him. He’s just a stranger, and he’ll be gone from my life in a few months, so I don’t care what he thinks about me.
He’s a transient fixture in my life, so even if he judges me, I don’t have to live with that judgment for the rest of my life.
“You’ll figure it out. Don’t push it. You had a highly demanding career; allow yourself to unwind.”
“That’s what Nora Flemming told me.”
He frowns. “The model?”
I nod. “Former model. I met with her to get advice on the transition from the job.”
“That’s smart. I’m sure there are other women like that you can talk to.”
“She offered me a job,” I blurt out.
He raises his eyebrows. “What job?”
I tell him about the opportunity.
“You’d be good at that,” he says simply, like there is no doubt in his mind. It’s an endorsement I didn’t expect.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready to take it on.” I look away because I don’t want to disappoint him—the story of my life.
“You will know when you’re ready. Nothing good transpires when we push too hard.”
“You work hard.”
“That’s different. I don’t chase. I allow things to happen, and I’m building a company, and I invest my time where it matters the most. Working hard because something fulfills you and pushing hard to busy yourself are not the same thing.”
“I hardly busy myself.” I snort.
I’m moping around like a lost puppy most days. Tidying up my clothes, organizing my pictures, knitting, browsing, or reading about burnout.
He cocks his head, challenging me.
“Okay, I’ve been busying myself to stop the thoughts.”
“Why don’t you let the thoughts flow instead of quieting them? I know it’s scary to start something new, but avoiding it won’t make you happy.”
“How would you know?” I scoff, mostly because I need to shield myself from his truth. It’s safer.
“Merged is my something new. Before, I only invested in ventures as a silent partner. If something went south, I’d lose money, but nobody would know. Merged is the first company with my name openly attached to it.”
The formidable Cormac Quinn was hiding behind silent investments? It’s not the actual fact that shocks me, but his willingness to share that tidbit with me. Have I worn him down enough so he opens up?
“What made you take the leap, and why would you jeopardize it with your reckless partying?” I probably shouldn’t ask, because talking about himself isn’t ever on the table, but the question slips out before I can stop it.
He looks away, and when his eyes return to me, there is a storm behind them. “My point is, I know something about starting something. You need the idea to come to you, and that won’t happen if you’re distracted by self-pity or noise you create to protect yourself. You might miss what matters if desperation rules you.”
I’m not getting more answers about him. I lost him already, I know. At least for now. But that doesn’t matter, because talking to him has been the best part of my day.
I don’t have to be alone with my own thoughts. I can assess them through his eyes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m grateful for these unexpected chats.
“I have to go to the office today. I’ll see you at the fundraiser.” He stands up abruptly and marches out of the kitchen. “Eat your lunch before you leave.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”
He pokes his head back in, scowling. “Careful.”
His warning is wrapped in desire.
The ginger Persian kitten is super tiny in my hand, curled up, purring softly. I’m almost worried to breathe so I don’t disturb or break it.
I gather it closer to my chest, her warmth spreading through me with an unexpected sense of calm.
“It’s so tiny,” I tell Ethel, the animal shelter’s manager. “How did she end up here?”
“Someone found the whole litter in a box in a back alley. Two of them didn’t make it. Coco here is too small still, but she’s a survivor.”
A survivor. “It must be heartbreaking to see so much suffering.”
“It’s painful to know how cruel people can be, but I love my job. I get enough love from these innocent creatures to mend the heartbreak. Would you like to see the entire facility?”
“We should wait for Cormac. He’ll be here any minute.” I lean down to inhale the kitten, smiling to myself. There is something therapeutic about holding the furry ball.
“He should be here by now,” Betsy grumbles from the corner, where she’s been on the phone ever since she arrived.
“So what’s the plan here? You give us a check and we pose for pictures?” Ethel asks, and something tells me she’s been through this rodeo many times.
“Pretty much.” Betsy joins us, eyeing Coco with suspicion.
“Are you more of a dog person, Betsy?” I ask, and Corm’s handler looks at me with horror.
“Let me find out where Cormac is.” She turns on her heels and puts the phone to her ear.
“More like a snake person. Preferably as a skin on her boots,” Ethel murmurs beside me, and I swallow a snicker.
“I’m assuming our donation is helpful, but probably not enough. What will it cover?” I keep petting Coco with my finger, her fluffy coat soft on my skin.
I don’t know how Betsy organized this. Corporate sponsorships are common, and so are private donations like ours, but this photo op? It’s like Corm is running for office.
“Actually, your donation will cover food and rent for the entire year. We’re very grateful.”
“What else do you need?” I ask, as if I had any money to offer.
“Space is an issue. We’re often overcrowded, pressed to call for adoptions. But often it feels that every time a pet gets adopted, two or three more find their way here. And then staff. We can’t afford enough qualified people, so we rely on our volunteers.”
“Here he is,” Betsy exclaims behind me. “What the—”
I turn and swallow a laugh. Cormac crowds the entrance, looking like he’s just walked out of a magazine cover page. The man is edible, I swear. His hair is mussed to perfection. He’s sporting stubble that frames his square jaw.
Said jaw is clenched, but that’s normal. The most significant feature on his beautiful face today is a scowl.
Shit. That’s my fault. While he looks like a movie star, he’s also dressed to the nines. In a tuxedo.
“I’m Ethel Keely, the manager here.” Ethel recovers first. “Welcome. Thank you for coming.”
Corm gives me a look that makes me want to squirm, but I won’t give him the satisfaction, so I glare back at him with my chin high.
In my defense, I completely forgot about those stupid labels in his closet.
And why should this be on me? The man is an adult, running a successful business. Can’t he check his agenda and dress appropriately?
“What are you wearing?” Betsy hisses louder than she probably intended.
Corm looks at her like she’s polluting the air he owns, and then he smiles—like actually smiles. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m coming from a luncheon, and I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer, so hence the attire.” He takes off his dinner jacket, drops it into Betsy’s arms. “Why don’t we walk around, Ethel?”
Ethel giggles. The woman giggles. “Let’s do it then.”
Corm undoes his collar, rips off the bow tie, puts it in his pocket, and proceeds to roll up his sleeves. Pure arm porn, if you ask me. But nobody is asking me. Or even looking at me anymore.
Ethel probably forgot I’m even here. My fiancé ignores me as he follows the manager. I snuggle Coco closer to me.
The whole excursion lasts about twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes of cuteness and sadness. Hopelessness and helplessness.
The entire time, Coco sleeps in my arms. Corm asks questions, pets animals, appears to be interested. It’s a pose, I know. He’s playing a part, and he’s doing a pretty good job of it.
I wonder if his care for me and his listening are also a pose. Has he had me fooled?
Ethel and her volunteers are all in awe of him. And some of them openly ogle him like I’m not even here.
On one hand, I’m enjoying the shadow. After years of living in the spotlight, this is a pleasant reprieve and freedom. I’m not the principal attraction. That role belongs to Corm, and he embraces it.
He doesn’t seem concerned about doing anything wrong, or making a wrong move. He flourishes in the limelight.
On the other hand, come on! I don’t deserve to be ignored. Being in the shadows by choice is one thing, but this?
Invisible. Insignificant. Alone.
I can step out. I should step out. I need to claim my spot beside him. But he doesn’t want me beside him.
If he did, I would have been there already. If only as a part of the charade, but still by his side.
I wander around the place, balancing Coco in one arm while I pet and stroke puppies, injured dogs, and cats. I get lost in the moment. These animals are the kindest creatures I’ve met recently.
Collective ooh and aah sighs of adoration draw my attention. I crane my neck to get a better view above the shoulders of the volunteers. What’s going on?
Jesus. If I thought Corm rolling up his sleeves was porn, I wasn’t prepared for this. Nestled in the crook of his elbow, sleeping on his brawny forearm, is a tiny kitten. White, and a little bigger than Coco, it stretches its paw and mews.
The camera keeps clicking, and I’m mesmerized by the sight. Arguably, a sexy man holding a kitten is a sight for sore eyes. But it’s Corm’s expression that steals my breath.
He’s looking down at the kitten, his eyes kind and adoring. There is a ghost of a smile—a genuine one—on his softened face.
And then he looks up, and his gaze finds mine. For a brief moment, he gives me the same look, and fuck, I want to bathe in it. I’ve been in a shadow for half an hour, and now, the sun turns to me, and it’s the warmest feeling.
It’s a fleeting moment, though, and Corm’s jaw sets rigidly immediately, and he puts the kitten down.
“Your job is to pose with him,” Betsy mutters beside me, startling me.
“He doesn’t need my help; the room is eating from the palm—”
“Saar, you’re not in this to express your opinions. This whole circus was planned to showcase you as a couple contributing to the community. You have a role to play.”
Her words dig deep into an already festering wound. It’s like working all over again. Just a prop.
“Here you are, sweetheart.” Corm’s voice stops me from telling Betsy to fuck off. His arm snakes around my waist, and I want to recoil and lean in at the same time. “Who do we have here?”
He strokes Coco with the pad of his thumb while the camera clicks around us.
“It’s Coco. Isn’t she adorable?” I push the words out, playing the fucking role and smiling for the camera. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.
“As adorable as you,” Corm says loudly. “You’ll pay for the tux,” he whispers into my ear, and before I have a chance to react, he steps away and talks to Ethel.
His phone buzzes. “Ethel, thank you so much for your time and for this wonderful visit. Saar and I are so happy we could help a little.”
He turns and walks out into the front room.
“I’ll miss you,” I whisper to the ginger kitten. “I got quite attached to you, Coco.”
A volunteer takes her from me and puts her back with her siblings.
“She’s too little to be adopted, but maybe in a few weeks,” Ethel says beside me. “I can save her for you.”
I wish I was free to adopt her in a few weeks. “Well—” I try to think of a response that doesn’t give away my current situation.
“I understand, you’re planning a wedding and are surely busy, but if you change your mind.” Ethel smiles at me.
“Thank you.” I give Coco one last glimpse and rush out of there, my heart heavy.
“I don’t know when you came to the conclusion that I care about your opinion, Betsy,” Corm’s voice stops me before I cross the threshold. “I’m having her followed, and you should be grateful I don’t have you fired.”
Who is he talking about?
“I’ve done a background check on her,” Betsy’s voice shakes with indignation.
“Not thorough enough apparently,” Corm hisses.
What the hell? Are they talking about me?
I step into the room. The glass front gives a view of a gray, rainy street. Corm is now wearing his suit jacket, glaring at Betsy, and looking like an attractive action-movie hero. Or rather a villain.
Both of them stand in the middle of the linoleum floor, the fluorescent light casting a harsh glow on their skin.
Betsy notices me and clears her throat. “Good, I think we got nice pictures to continue with the positive story. Have a nice day.” She yanks the door open and marches out.
Corm looks at me, his eyes void of emotion. He opens the front door. “After you, darling.” His smile could freeze Hell.
I step outside, trying not to roll my eyes. It’s like any tender connection we established over the last few days has disappeared. Like outside the confines of his house, our relationship is back to hatred and pretense.
“We agreed no more childish stunts, and then I fucking come dressed up here like an idiot.” The rain drizzling is warmer than his tone.
“What are you talking about? Everyone in there loved the James Bond look.” Come on, he must see it was funny.
“I thought you wanted to set the date ASAP.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry. I played with those labels before we agreed. And I never assumed you wouldn’t check where you were going.”
“I was on a conference call while getting changed, believing I can trust my system and not be bothered by trivial things. I’m fucking busy. A concept unfamiliar to you, obviously.”
His words are like a slap. “Fuck you. I said I’m sorry. Nothing bad happened, so cut the drama.”
He scoffs. “I was looking for a fiancée, not a fucking child.” His car stops at the curb, and he yanks the door open. “Get in.”
“No.”
“Suit yourself. Don’t wait up, darling, I’m going to The Velvet Room.”
My stomach sinks—and has no right to do so. “That’s a—”
“Sex club. Yes, I have needs.” He gets into the car and leaves.
A fucking sex club? Asshole. I wipe the wet hair from my forehead and dash to a coffee shop I spot.
Shaking off the water as I enter, I order a latte and sit in the corner. Was he talking about me with Betsy? Is he having me followed? Why? What did she miss in her background check?
A man enters and takes a seat. He doesn’t look my way, but I’m still wondering if he’s my tail.
Corm has me followed.
And he went to a sex club, not even trying to hide it. I should call some gossip column and tip them off.
I pull out my phone to call Cora, and the screen draws a smile on my face. I have my camera on with a few selfies I took in the shelter with Coco.
I sit for a moment, scrolling through the pictures. A beautiful memory of a few carefree, loving moments, and a painful reminder of my lack of freedom.
Let’s spread some Coco cuteness to the world. I open my feed, ready to upload the pic, when I notice my draft post.
Perhaps the world—or at least me—needs an unfiltered truth more. I can post the kitten later.