Chapter 2 Maverick
CHAPTER 2
MAVERICK
T here are few things more impractical than red wine at an all-white party. I shrug off the stained white silk T-shirt and let it drop to the floor.
“You have at least one wardrobe change every year, Mav.”
Bare-chested, I turn to face the reed-slim woman standing at the threshold connecting my closet to my bedroom.
With a chuckle, I reach for an almost-identical T-shirt and pull it over my head. “Whose bright idea was an all-white party anyway?”
Zere shutters her expression and approaches with a wry, humorless smile.
“Guilty as charged. It was definitely my idea.” She scoops my wine-stained shirt from the floor and walks it over to the hamper in the far corner.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say with a frown.
“Picking up after you became a habit the last three years. One I can’t seem to break yet.”
She walks back to me and we stand almost nose to nose. Zere was made for magazines and runways and front pages. At five feet eleven inches shoeless, she matches my six two easily in heels. Sometimes she even stands above me an inch in her favorite mile-high stilettos. I’m convinced Zere could run a marathon in those things, she’s so used to them.
Ironically, when we broke up a month ago, she called me a runner. I don’t even know if she’s wrong.
“The party’s going well,” I say, settling on a neutral subject that won’t cause trouble with more than 150 guests downstairs. “Great job, as usual.”
“Yeah, well, guess I wanted to go out with a bang. If this is my last time throwing this party, I had to make it count.”
Her words hang between us, tightening the air in the space we shared and she decorated.
“Look, Zee,” I say on a resigned sigh. “I know this is awkward, but—”
“What could be awkward about hosting a party with your ex-boyfriend when no one knows you’ve called it quits?” Her laugh peals out brittle and harsh. “I’m having the time of my life.”
“I told you we could’ve skipped. These parties are always more your thing and—”
“ My thing?” A scoffing breath punctuates her disdain. “Find me the Daily Mail headline that says ‘Zere O’Malley’s All-White Party.’ Please. A-list celebrities are not here on the strength of my brand or my bank account, and we both know it.”
“What I mean is you always invested so much time and effort and care into these parties,” I say, cupping her shoulders in my hands and squeezing gently. “I just had to show up with my checkbook and a white suit. Now that we’re not together…”
She flinches, and I don’t finish the thought, but surely she knows I don’t give a damn about this party.
“I could…” She leans forward, lowers her lashes, swallows before going on. “I could still plan it even though we’re just friends. I wouldn’t mind.”
I weigh my words before I say them. The last thing I want to do is hurt her more than our breakup already has, but she must see that wouldn’t be healthy or smart for either of us.
“I don’t think so, Zee,” I finally reply, releasing my hold and carefully watching her face.
She’s widely considered one of the most beautiful women in the world, as she should be. The first time I saw her, I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. She has her catty moments, but generally she’s kind and funny and pretty close to perfect. To say people were shocked when our relationship went public is an understatement. She—the model socialite and fashion world darling. Me—a borderline antisocial businessman most people would have to google to know. The official statement we’ll release after this party will say our breakup was mutual. And in a way it was. She wanted marriage and a baby. My daughter is graduating from high school, and I don’t want to start over. Just as I’m finally getting an empty nest, Zere realized she wants to fill hers. Neither of us was willing to budge, so… is that mutual? Her ultimatum. My refusal.
The sobs coming from the guest room down the hall the night we broke up didn’t sound mutual. They sounded heartbroken. I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, while her tears tore at my heart.
“You’re right, of course,” Zere says, hurt standing liquid in her eyes. “About the party. I guess it just stings seeing how badly you want me out of your life.”
The wobble in her voice wrings something in my chest.
“Damn, Zee.” I run my hand across the back of my neck and grit my teeth. “You know that’s not it. I’ll always care for you.”
“Don’t patronize me.” A tear slips over the smoothness of her cheek, streaking through her expertly applied makeup. “Emotionally, I mean. Don’t look after my feelings and say shit you don’t mean to make me feel better.”
“I’m not—”
“I’ll have all my stuff out after the party,” she cuts in, swiping carefully at the tears. “Movers come Monday.”
“There’s no rush.” I clear my throat. “I’m rarely even here.”
I bought this house a few months before we got serious, but Zere is stamped on every square inch of it. When Architectural Digest featured it last year, referring to it as our “party house,” Zere prepared as one would for the Olympics. I’ve steered clear of Miami since the breakup, bouncing between my apartment in Manhattan and my place in Malibu. She would be pissed to know last month when I had business in Miami, I stayed at the Ritz because I knew she was here. My movers will be right behind hers because I’m selling the house she loves so much. I think losing this place might break her heart more than losing me.
Is she losing me?
Did she ever have me? Did I have her?
The sex was fantastic. Hell, our breakup sex was actually top ten. She’s a smart woman, and I was never bored. We had goals as a couple. It always felt like she was propelling us forward, like we were on our way… up. We were always striving . And as much as I’m driven in business, my personal life is not for climbing. I work hard and I want to rest. I never felt like I could rest with Zere. Not that I don’t crave adventure. Adrenaline is practically my recreational drug, but attending the next exclusive party, making another list, appearing on Page Six—none of that matters to me, but it always has to Zere. So the marriage and baby ultimatum may have felt like the final straw, but somewhere in the back of my mind, in unacknowledged corners of my heart, I knew our paths would eventually diverge.
“You say there’s no rush,” Zere mutters, stepping back and smoothing the white miniskirt over her hips. “But I know you’re ready for this to be over. You hate loose ends.”
“You’re not a loose end. You’re my friend, Zere. I hope you always will be.” I grab her hands, and dip the inch to look her squarely in the eyes. “And I hope you get everything you want. Everything I wasn’t able to give you.”
“Wasn’t able to? Or wasn’t willing?” She snatches her hands back. “Pretty sure your sperm count is high enough and we were practically married already.”
I don’t dispute her, though I’ve seen a good marriage in my parents, and Zere and I were never “practically married.”
“Let’s not do this.” I leave the closet and head into the bedroom, trusting that she’ll follow. “Not now with a houseful of people having a good time. Come on.”
I extend my hand, waiting for her to take it so we can present a united front this one last time. It’s a miracle our breakup hasn’t leaked to the press, but neither of us have told many people. My dad and a few close friends know, but I can trust them to keep it to themselves and let us share the news on our own terms.
Zere takes my hand and studies our entwined fingers. Her mouth trembles for a second, but she marshals her face into the mask she wants it to be. The beautiful visage that has graced every major magazine cover. She offers one jerk of a nod, almost like she’s having a silent conversation with herself, and moves toward the stairs.
I love this house most when it’s full of people. So really only once a year. When Zere suggested we throw an all-white party the first summer of our relationship, I had no idea this would become one of the most coveted invitations.
The massive glass wall leading to the backyard from the living room is folded back, opening to a dazzling view of the bay. There’s a swirl of bodies, all dressed in white, mingling, drinking, dancing outside. Servers circulate with trays of food you can easily eat with your hands. A few adventurous guests are playing volleyball in the pool… fully dressed.
I’ve had so little downtime lately, this isn’t really how I want to spend one of my few free Saturday evenings. But this is the last time. I can at least give Zere this.
“I want you to meet Chapel,” Zere says, reminding me we still have one last appearance to get through.
“She’s the one who won Lewks , right?” I ask, frowning and trying to recall the details.
“Right. If you’d ever actually made it to set this season, you could have met her.”
I draw in a breath through my nose and force myself not to respond harshly. “I actually did come a few times. Not as much as I would have liked, but you know I’ve been slammed with the sale of True Playahs.”
“Oh, I’m quite aware just how important your work is,” Zere half laughs.
I’ve been negotiating the biggest deal of my life, as complex as the Riemann hypothesis, and she expected me to sit around on the set of her reality show waiting for her to take a break? I would never have pulled her away from something as professionally vital as this deal was for me. Didn’t I show support in other ways? Me showing up to sit around set wouldn’t have changed the fact that we have been headed to this end for at least the last year.
“Zee, I—”
“Here’s Chapel,” she cuts in, plastering a smile on her face, waving and drawing the attention of a woman I vaguely recognize. Petite with closely cropped hair tinted pink. Zere grabs her hand and draws her forward. “Chapel, I want you to meet… this is my… uh… this is Maverick Bell.”
“Hmmmm.” Chapel is mid-swallow, gulping and passing a slim hand over her mouth to catch the drink spilling over. “Sorry! Hi! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. “Congratulations on winning. That’s really cool.”
“Thank you.” She beams, her expression brightening even more if possible. “And thank you for having us.”
“Where’s Hendrix?” Zere asks, glancing around.
“Girl, you know Hen.” Chapel shakes her head, a smile coming easily to her lips. “She out there taking over.”
She nods to the backyard where guests dance and cluster in conversations.
“I should have known.” Zere laughs beside me and points to a group assembled near the firepit. “Hendrix is the life of every party.”
I follow the direction of her gaze and narrow my eyes to focus. A woman stands on the stone wall surrounding the pool, which slightly elevates her over maybe twenty guests gathered around. The DJ is playing “Candy” by Cameo. From her perch this woman stands on the dais and leads the small crowd of dancers in the electric slide.
Her face is lit not just by the late-setting sun or the pool lights that have already come on as darkness approaches, but illuminated by something inside . She is luminous with skin the color of rich cocoa. The flash of her pink tongue is delicately clenched between the boldness of a smile built from straight white teeth and absolute radiance. A cloud of coiling natural curls halos her striking face, the Afro dark and full and luxuriant. She’s tall, maybe matching Zere, but where Zere is slender, almost fragile, Hendrix has a homegrown thickness that is tight in some places and voluptuous in others. She is long lines and deep curves. Lush and ripe like summer fruit.
A handful.
The description makes me grin because she would overflow a man’s hands with the cursive swell of her breasts and hips and ass, yes, but the energy she’s emitting, stepping and hopping and twisting as she leads everyone through the slide, hints that she would be a handful. She would be… a lot.
“Who is she?” I force myself to look away from her and return my attention to Zere and Chapel.
“Hendrix?” Chapel answers with a grin. “She’s my manager.”
“Seems to be having fun,” I reply, keeping my tone and expression indifferent, though one glimpse of this Hendrix manager person leaves me wanting to stare.
“Always does,” Zere says with a wry smile. “Chapel, there’s someone I want you to meet. It’s this executive from the network. He’s really excited about the potential of your show.”
Zere’s glance my way is a tangle of reserve and reluctance. “You’ll be fine if I mingle a little, Mav?”
“Of course. I should mingle some, too, I guess, huh?”
She knows stuff like this, sometimes people like this, bore me, and some of the stiffness melts at the edges of her eyes and mouth. She leans over and kisses my cheek, letting her lips rest against my face for an extra beat, before pulling away. Her smile goes stiff again, rigid with hiding her emotions. Since she’s shit at hiding from me, I’m glad she turns away so I don’t have to see what’s there. There’s an ache in my chest knowing I’m the cause of it.
“Go,” I tell her softly, patting her hip with a fond smile before turning to Chapel. “It was really nice meeting you.”
“Great meeting you, too. I guess we’ll see more of each other soon,” Chapel says, “since Zere and I will be working together.”
My gaze snags briefly with Zere’s over the secret we only have to keep one more night. And then the world will know what we have for some time.
That this—that we—are over.