Chapter 13
13
The night has become a strange kind of slow-motion torture. I’m addicted to this sweet and sassy girl on my arm who has more power over me than anyone ever has. I don’t even know how that’s possible.
I can’t analyze it tonight. All I know is that something in me has shifted and it feels monumental and out of control. I’m trying to get a handle on my new obsession, but then I watch her amber eyes catch starlight and I’m spellbound all over again.
It occurs to me that I spend most of my life surrounded by people I don’t actually like. Employees who were picked for their ability to predict the market and not at all because they’re fun to be around. Or decrepit old board members who are more ancient than my father was. Most of them are grumpier even than me. Or women who endlessly pursue me, not because they know me or because we have anything in common, but because they like the way I look and most of all they love my money.
My brothers are the only people I know whose company I genuinely enjoy, but I don’t see enough of them. Besides, that’s different. They’re family. I love them because they annoy me.
It’s so rare for me to…have fun, if that’s what this is. To smile because her laughter is so fucking cute. To feel mesmerized by the shape of her mouth as she makes up lies to convince my ex that we’re in love.
The plan was ludicrous. But it’s turning out to be my favorite mistake.
Is it possible to fall for someone this fast?
Of course it isn’t. I’ve known her for a total of three hours.
Then why do I feel so fucking unhinged? Like I could kill anyone who glances in her general direction. Not to mention that I’m hard as fuck and can’t seem to deflate. I want so badly to be alone with her so I can kiss that delectable mouth again, I’m going half insane with it.
First I have to get through an entire five-course dinner.
We’re back at our table.
Ivy’s chair is close to mine, at my insistence, and she’s talking to a woman who’s seated on her left. Ethan wisely moved to the furthest table from ours, trying it on with Samantha Bentley, a nightmarish heiress who I very briefly “dated” after Leah set us up at one of her strategic dinner parties. It might have been eighteen months ago.
I regret to say I went with it that night. I regretted it practically before it was over and I’m regretting it even more right now.
She’s not the only one at this party I’m regretting spending time with.
I’m not proud of any of it. The soul-destroying one night stands. The serial leave-before-morning-and-never-call behavior that’s accounted for 98% of all the “relationships” I’ve ever had.
I’m thankful Ivy is with me tonight for many reasons, but most of all because it actually feels good to be with her. Fake date or no fake date, it’s the first time in a long time—or ever?—that I don’t feel like I have to force it. I like her company. I’ve spent most of my time tonight enthralled by her gorgeous pixie-cute face, her full, pink lips and her golden eyes that scold me and watch me, seeing me. Reading me. Calming me with that glittery effect she has.
What happens on Sunday afternoon, when she walks away and takes all that soft, magical gorgeousness with her?
I push the thought out of my head. We’ll get on with our lives, that’s what happens. She’ll forget she ever met me except for the quarter mil she’ll have sitting in her bank account, a reward for having to put up with me for two solid days.
That’s when an idea comes to me. A plan. To buy myself a little more time.
Two days won’t be nearly enough.
“I’m Astrid, a friend of Leah’s from high school,” the woman is telling Ivy. “And trust me, I know who you are. It was Leah who introduced me to your music. That was right after I went through this horrible break-up and all I can say is it really helped me get through some shitty times. I’m such a fan. I follow you on all your social media platforms.”
Here we go again.
I’ll put up with this for exactly as long as it takes to send a message to Esther. I hardly recognize this compulsion but fuck it. I’m going with it tonight.
I need two first class tickets to Tahiti
Three dots immediately hover.
Tahiti? Isn’t that in the South Pacific?
Yes
One room or two?
It’s a fair question, unfortunately. Will she even agree to it?
One. Leaving a week from Thursday. For two weeks. To whatever the best resort on the island is. Actually I think I’ll take the Gulfstream. Let Marco know
Of course I’m aware that I’ve never taken a vacation in my goddamn life, that my work schedule is as full as always over the coming weeks, and that Ivy might not be able to take off for that long. I don’t care about any of these details. When you have as much money as I do, you tend to be able to make things work if you really fucking want them to. And I’m determined to spend some time alone with the unicorn that just landed in the middle of my life. She said she wants Tahiti, so she gets Tahiti.
I can almost predict the next question. Esther knows better than anyone that I basically live in my office and have since she was still my father’s assistant.
Two whole weeks?
Yes. Try to get one of those little huts, if you can find one that’s rated five stars
Huts?
The ones that are perched over the water and you can dive off the deck directly into the ocean
Oh ok. I’ll see if I can find one
Thanks Esther
I wouldn’t usually add that last text, I realize. Something about the way Ivy is grateful is rubbing off on me. It doesn’t feel entirely terrible to actually be aware of appreciating things now and then.
“I’m so glad Ethan wanted to swap seats,” the woman is still gushing to Ivy.
“Ethan? Oh. Yes, I saw his name on the place card.”
“He said since you’re obviously taken, he’s going to try his luck with some socialite he’s got his eye on. Of course Margot almost had a conniption when she saw that we’d swapped, but I’d much rather sit at this table. I mean, getting to sit next to Ivy Laine, are you kidding? I can’t wait to tell my book club about this. Margot’s been evil-eyeing us in this direction ever since I sat here, though. It’s hardly that big of a deal. Do you have plans to release any new music any time soon?”
I loop my arm around Ivy’s shoulders, pulling her closer, bored by the woman who’s monopolizing her attention.
She’s mine.
I let my thumb rest against the delicate skin of Ivy’s neck and she turns to me. I like to think it’s not a demand but more of a request.
The woman sitting next to Ivy reads the room—or my scowl—and turns to the man who’s sitting on her left.
Ivy gives me a look, and that gentle scolding sends another rush of blood to my already painfully thick cock. But my girl remembers the assignment. She touches my hair, leaning her mouth close to my ear. The light scent of her tropical shampoo makes me want to do something downright depraved. Like take her away with me and keep her all to myself until I can get my fill. Taste her and eat her sweet pussy until she’s coming on my tongue. Feast on those ripe little nipples that are poking against her thin dress.
“Margot’s watching us again,” she whispers. “Pretend I’m saying something really dirty to you right now.”
Fucking hell. If she sat on my lap I could practically come. If her wet pussy softened to the shape of my raging erection like it did before, this time I could position her, moving her panties to the side… “My imagination’s not that good. You’ll have to give me some material to work with.”
I have a very real problem. Because there’s nothing fake about my throbbing lust. I lean close to her ear, breathing in more of the heady floral scent of her.
“I’m waiting, Jones.”
“I don’t know how to talk dirty,” she giggles. “I’ve never done it.”
“Try.”
Her nose crinkles and it’s almost unbearably adorable. She leans closer, cupping her hand like she’s telling me a secret. “I liked our kiss.”
“I’m sure you can do better than that.” I can barely control the yeti of my lust, who wants nothing more than to sling her over my shoulder and carry her back to our room, to peel off her little dress and taste every inch of her perfect skin. “Kiss me again.”
Someone taps on the microphone. Damn it. Blake is getting ready to make a speech.
“I just wanted to say a few words,” he begins. “First of all, I’d like to thank all of you for being here this weekend. You’re our family and we love that you’re here with us to celebrate this very special occasion. Leah and I also want to thank Margot Russo, our amazing wedding planner. Margot, we couldn’t have done all this without you and we’re lucky to have you.” There’s a smattering of applause and Margot smiles rigidly. “And finally, enjoy tonight, but the real festivities are tomorrow night and if any of you are too hungover to party, you’re officially off our Christmas card list haha. To my groomsmen, I’m ordering you to meet me in the hotel bar after dinner for a run-through of the day tomorrow. Leah’s bridesmaids will meet with her in the pool house for a final nightcap. So, please enjoy the outstanding food, provided by our caterers, Elite Catering. Margot will say a few more words once dessert is served. Cheers, guys. We love you.”
Fuck it all. That means we’ll be apart for at least a few hours.
Blake and Leah take their seats at our table and the rest of the dinner goes smoothly enough. Everyone’s intrigued by Ivy. She dodges the more personal questions gracefully.
I’m paying attention, but I learn very little about her that she hasn’t already told me. She lives in Soho. She writes her own music and performs in small clubs, mostly around Manhattan. Her admirers around the table are in awe of her “content,” the stuff she’s posting through social media, which she laughs off as a way to make a living. She has a younger brother whose name is Josh. I learn he’s headed to Columbia at the end of the summer.
She tenses when she talks about her brother and her breezy fa?ade slips. I guess it’s not surprising. She lost her mother and her father doesn’t seem to be on the scene. Which means she’s responsible for her teenage brother. It can’t have been easy.
But she plays her part like a pro, continually circling me into the conversation, making up little stories about our two months together that thoroughly convince our rapt audience.
“Last Saturday we went to the Met,” she tells them. “We wandered around for hours and then Alex took me to this little rooftop bistro on the Upper West Side that I never knew was there. A jazz trio was playing live music and it was just one of those perfectly romantic New York afternoons, like something out of a movie.”
“What was the name of the bistro?” asks the woman who took Ethan’s seat, whose name I’ve forgotten.
“It had such a cool atmosphere, and the food was amazing.” Ivy turns to me. “Can you remember what it was called, sweetie?”
Thankfully Leah intercepts the question. “Our workaholic Alexander Maddox taking an entire afternoon off?” Leah laughs, saving me from answering the question. “We’ve known Alexander for years and he’s always got some excuse why he can’t join us for things like that, because he’s always working on the weekends. I’m just amazed he was able to keep this from us for so long.”
“He’s told us absolutely nothing about you,” Blake adds. “Although this does explain the reason why he was too busy to come to my bachelor party in Vegas.”
“We were buying a fund.” I’ve already told him this, more than once. “I was needed for the negotiations.”
Ivy’s bare thigh is flush against mine. I’m trying to ignore my perpetual fucking hard-on, which throbs hotly. I’m going to have to do something about this problem before we share a bed tonight, but I’ll worry about that later.
Dessert is finally served and Margot makes the announcement about the rest of the evening.
People start to get up from their chairs.
“Ivy,” Leah says, “you’re welcome to join me and my bridesmaids in the pool house. We’re just going to go through a few more details of tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll call it a night. I’ve had a crazy week.”
“Of course. But we’ll see you tomorrow.” Leah gives Ivy a hug. “Thank you so much for singing.”
“Of course. I’m so excited for you.”
Leah smiles at us both, but it’s me she’s talking to when she says, “I’m so excited for you.”
“I’ll walk Ivy back to our room, then meet you in the bar,” I tell Blake.
“Don’t even think about not showing up. I’ll have a Jack Daniels on ice waiting for you,” Blake grins, like he knows how tempted I am. “Goodnight, Ivy.”
After everyone starts making their way from the tables, I offer Ivy my arm and we head toward our suite. “Our room is 212.”
“My lucky number,” Ivy says.
“Is it?”
“Yeah. It’s my birthday. February 12th.”
I don’t know why this makes me so fucking happy.
We get to the door and I open it. Inside, the suite is expansive with a view that opens out over the water. Blake and Leah know I have expensive taste. “Are you going to be okay?” I ask her.
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to take a long, hot shower then fall into a blissful sleep.”
“I’ll try not to wake you.”
Ivy blinks at me, and there’s an edge of nervousness to her. I’ve just reminded her that we’re sleeping in the same room. In the same bed.
We stand there like that for a few seconds and I can’t help myself. I lean in, placing my palm flat on the door behind her, trapping her with my body. Her eyes round and her lips part. I need it. I brush my lips against hers, drowning in the sensation of her. Dipping my tongue into her mouth, I slide deeper. Holy fuck, she tastes good.
She pulls back, breathless, putting her hand on my chest. I feel another crazy surge of this new feeling—happiness—that we’re this familiar with each other that she does this without hesitation. “No one’s even watching us, Maddox. I’ll see you later. I won’t wait up.”
“Goodnight, Jones.”
She shakes her head a little, laughing lightly. Then she closes the door in my face.
You fucking owe me one, Blake. Then again, if it wasn’t for Blake and Leah’s wedding, I probably never would have met Ivy.
I’m walking toward the bar when someone approaches me. Even in the dark, Margot is easy to recognize. “Oh, good, I was hoping I’d run into you without your…entourage.”
This is the thing about Margot. Every damn word she says is bitchy. “You mean my date?”
“Isn’t she a little young for you?”
I’m not interested in having this conversation. “Is there something you need, Margot?”
“I was hoping we could talk, Alexander.”
“About what?”
“Could we meet for a drink this week?”
“I told you. I’m busy this week. And I don’t want to meet for a drink.”
“I thought maybe we could talk about…giving us another chance. Please, Alexander. Please don’t give up on us so easily.”
“I’ve already given up on us. A long time ago. I gave up on us because I was miserable the entire time we were together. This is the problem with you, Margot. Our ‘relationship,’ if that’s what you could even call it, is over. Done. Finished. We’ve moved on. I’ve moved on. Obviously. I’ve explained this to you a dozen fucking times and you refuse to listen.”
She even summons tears. “It’s just that…we were so perfect together. Everything was a match.”
Holy fuck, the woman is relentless. “We were terrible together, Margot. Absolutely terrible. Just deal with the fact that I’m with someone else now.”
She blows her nose. “Honestly, I get it. She’s young—and I mean young—and cute, in a slightly rough-edged kind of a way, if you’re into that kind of thing. And she’s sort of famous, if that’s to be believed. But it’s hardly even appropriate, Alexander. What is she, like, ten years younger than you?”
“Who gives a fuck.”
“She basically sells pictures of herself half-dressed for money. Is that really the kind of person you see yourself ending up with? I heard one woman describing her as an ‘Instagram whore’—I mean, I didn’t say it, but it’s kind of true.”
I step around her, resisting the urge to shove her aside. If she was a man, I’d have punched her in the face for that one, but I don’t really feel like going to jail just for Margot. She’s probably hoping I’ll react, so she can gloat about it. “I’ll put this as politely as I possibly can, Margot. Fuck off.”
With that, I walk away, more than ready for that drink Blake promised.