Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Stella
I snuggle in bed reading the Saturday afternoon away. Between commuting to and from work, attending online classes, and homework, I have very little time for myself. So when a text from an unknown number lights up my phone, I’m tempted to ignore it. It’s only a wrong number anyway, and I’m at a good part. By good part, I mean sex, and my hand has slowly been inching toward my panties for the past five minutes.
I’m not a virgin, but it’s been a while, and reading my steamy romance books I picked up at the thrift store has been my only source of that kind of pleasure for the past several months.
Coincidentally, the hero on the cover looks like Zane. Boyish charm and innocence. The innocence is fake, I know that, but everyone is willing to pet a puppy—right up until that puppy bites your hand off.
My sense of obligation wins, and reluctantly, I pick up my phone and open my messages.
This is Zarah. Can you come out with us tonight? Zane said to tell you it’s our treat. Wear something sparkly! ;) Meet you in the lobby at 9 PM Y/N?
Despite myself, I laugh. Yes or no? We’re not in high school anymore, though sometimes I feel like I still am. The uncertainty. The fear. The instability. I wonder when that will stop. If it ever will.
I reread her message. Their kind of going out isn’t mine. I picture a club downtown, dark, neon lights glowing, deafening music, and bottles of booze that cost as much as my rent.
Zane already knows me too well, and unease prickles my skin. He shouldn’t know me after only a kiss. A half kiss at that. Maybe Zarah told him about the conversation we had in her kitchen, but I was careful not to tell her too much about myself.
He’ll be there. And Zarah. Me. Who will be the fourth?
The night sounds exhausting, and I haven’t even crawled out of bed yet. I haven’t showered, and I’ll need to find something to wear. I don’t have a Hervé Léger or a Dolce and Gabbana. I don’t own a Chanel. All I have is a black lace Calvin Klein I bought at a high-scale second-hand shop downtown using a few dollars of high school graduation money.
It’s my only evening dress.
If they invite me out again, they’ll know.
I want to say no, but then Zarah will think I don’t want to be her friend. I like her, and I think deep down we have a lot in common. Or could. Two young women trying to find their way. She has more resources than I do, but that puts her at a disadvantage. There isn’t a greater motivator than not wanting to starve to death.
In the end, I accept, tamping down an icky feeling that curls in my stomach.
Zane Maddox is out of my league.
Zarah returns my message with a bunch of emojis, and I reevaluate her maturity level. Maybe what made her seem mature in Simon’s office wasn’t sophistication. Maybe it was fear. The more I get to know Zarah outside of Maddox Industries, the more I think she may have more little girl inside her than young woman.
She had been allowed a childhood.
I had not.
I pull my dress out of my small closet to make sure it’s still acceptable, though there isn’t much I can do if it’s not. Rent is coming up, and I’m not going to waste money on a different dress I’ll only wear once or twice. Despite the lace accents, the plain black is a little too staid for clubbing, the material too thin for a fall dress—everyone will know it’s old and out-of-season—and it’s not sparkly, but it will have to do.
Sometimes it’s not the dress—sometimes it’s the woman in it. I’ll use this night to my advantage and play Cinderella. Wear the dress, drink the champagne, and be home before midnight. For a girl like me, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.
I soak in a long, hot bath, condition my hair, and twist the wet strands around foam curlers. It will need the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening to dry. After that, I change the paint on my toes and smear some on my normally bare fingernails. There are still several hours to wait, and I sip on coffee and eat dinner.
Using my refurbished laptop, I look up the downtown hotspots to get a feel for where we might go. King’s Crossing has several, of course, and I can only narrow them down by guessing the Maddoxes party at the best of the best.
Temptations’ drink menu is long, but I memorize the funny cocktail names and the extensive champagne selection. I haven’t heard of half the drinks on the menu, or the alcohol brands used to make them, but if I’m asked my opinion, at least I’ll be able to express my preferences.
Maryanne glowers at me from her place on my bookshelf.
She’s the woman Zarah thought is my grandmother, but she’s the last foster care mother I had before I aged out of the system. She would disapprove of me going out. She would understand it, but she’d disapprove of it.
She taught me from the moment I moved into her house to worry about only myself, keep my eyes on my own paper, water my own grass, stay in my own lane. It doesn’t matter how you phrase it. Compassion has its place when you can afford to give it. She would remind me that I am not in that place yet, that I let Zarah and Zane under my skin. People my job depends on because of their parents’ deaths.
I should have been polite, thanked them for the invitation, and left it at that. Left them behind. Now I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can’t back out—that’s rude. All I can do is enjoy myself, try not to let my lack of experience offend anyone, and hope come Monday I still have a job.
In the mirror, I give myself one last look. The dress shows off just enough leg, my hair is a blonde mess of curls down my back, my eyes have just the right amount of shadow and eyeliner.
I’ll pass, if no one looks too closely.
After all, even imitation gold shines in the light.
I meet them in the lobby of Maddox Industries at nine, right on time.
It feels odd to be at work when I’m not going to work.
Zarah and Zane look even stranger, loitering in the building’s lobby dressed in all their finery. They look like high-class escorts, or people on their way to the opera, their car running late. Glamorous extras in a movie.
They stand around, Zane with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking at the generic artwork like he’s never seen it before, and Zarah, texting away on her phone, maybe even texting me, asking if I’m still going with them.
I push through the revolving doors, same as I always do, Monday through Friday. Step through the metal detector as my purse chugs along on the x-ray’s conveyor belt, the familiar security guard waving me through, a bored look on his face. I wonder what Simon would do if I punched in looking like this.
Zane notices me first, and his gaze sears me. A fire burns in my belly, as hot as his eyes on me. His suit fits him like it was made for him, and it probably was. His hair is mussed in sexy spikes, and his tie already hangs loose, the knot an inch below the undone button.
Zarah sees me, squeals, and immediately starts chatting about things I can’t care about in this life.
“Let her catch her breath,” Zane says, reaching for my hand. “While I catch mine. You look stunning tonight, Stella.”
On his tongue, my name sounds like what it means...stars, bright and hot, spitting sparks like his eyes do when he looks at me. I glance at Zarah, but she only grips my arm and smiles encouragingly, giving me permission to be with her brother.
They’ve traded me like a sports card.
How much am I worth?
“The car’s here,” Zarah announces, stepping forward. “Let’s get this party started!”
The party started in my panties five seconds ago, when Zane looked at me. He knows it, too, the way he lets a smirk slide across his lips.
“Thank you for coming. My night significantly improved,” he says, letting me go through the door first, and I step outside into the cool evening air.
“You didn’t want to go?” I ask.
Zarah hears my question as she clicks down the stone steps to street level. “Zane needs a bit of fun. Mom and Dad wouldn’t want us to curl up and wither away because they’re gone.”
No , I want to say, they’d want to see you do something with your lives , but I keep my mouth shut.
A driver stands by the limo’s open back door, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting for us to slide inside, and I smile my thanks. He doesn’t acknowledge it, silently closing the door behind us. I feign nonchalance and pretend I ride in a limo every day, when in truth, I’ve never been driven by a chauffeur before.
Zane wraps his arm around me like he has a right to do so, but it feels too good to ask him to stop. His body is warm, stubble covers his jaw. His cologne tickles my nose, and I deeply inhale. God, I’m in so much trouble.
The limo stops in front of Temptations, and Zane swears under his breath.
“What?” I ask.
“I wanted him to drop us off in the back.”
“Don’t be a stick in the mud,” Zarah says, scooting out of the car as the driver opens the door. “It doesn’t matter.”
I have no idea what they’re talking about until Zane helps me onto the sidewalk. Reporters start yelling and camera flashes blind me.
“Zane! Over here!”
“Zane! Who are you with tonight?”
“What’s the fate of Maddox Industries?”
“Zarah! Who are you wearing? Who’s your date tonight? Where is he?”
Stupidly, I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught, or the realization that over the weekend the tabloids are going to splash my face everywhere. Zane tucks me under his arm to fend off the photographers, but that makes them go ballistic, and one of them, somehow, gets a hold of my name.
“Stella! Are you and Zane an item?”
“Stella! How long have you and Zane been seeing each other?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Zane stops me. “Don’t. Don’t give them anything. Come on, sweetheart.”
“Do you put up with that all the time?”
Zane steers me into the club, and Zarah answers my question. Her skin is glowing, her eyes bright. She enjoys the attention. “Yeah, especially since our parents have passed away, but it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
I could never get used to something like that. People sticking their noses into my business. No wonder Zane has had trouble coping with his parents’ deaths. He hasn’t been given the room to mourn.
A hostess leads us across the club and up to the second floor. Several people wave at us. Zane’s treated to many stares, come-hither looks, and half-naked women slink up to him and tug on his arm in an invitation to join them. I want to tell him he can go—I’m here more for Zarah. She’s the one who invited me, but he tightens his grip on my hand and juts his chin in greeting to a man sitting alone in the corner.
His hair is black as pitch, and he looks at me, his eyes narrowed. Either he’s vain and doesn’t wear glasses, or he doesn’t like what he sees.
Either way, I don’t appreciate it, and I’m not surprised when Zarah scoots across the bench and offers her lips to the weasel. The man’s eyes soften, and he gently holds her face in his hands and covers her mouth with his. This doesn’t endear him to me. In that split second, I saw what he’s made of, and I want no part in it.
“This is my good friend, Ash Black,” Zane says as he slides into the banquette. “This is Stella.”
“Stella what?” Ash asks, reaching for my hand. I imagine it to be cold and slimy, but it’s warm and dry, his fingernails buffed to a shine. Of course I know who he is. Last year he’d made Time ’s Most Influential Man of the Year because of all the charity work he and Black Enterprises have done, and his face stared at me every time I scrolled through the social media sites. He’d looked cold in the picture, like he didn’t have a soul. The impression doesn’t change in person.
“Mayfair,” I say, pulling my hand away in guise of sliding off the black trench coat I’m wearing over my dress. The evening is unusually cool, and later, I don’t want to be cold on the train ride home.
“Stella Mayfair.” Ash repeats my name, and it sounds greasy, not romantic the way Zane says it. “I know... name from...” he murmurs, and I lose most of it in the music.
The waitress skips checking our IDs, pours us champagne, and offers us a variety of colored shots. I wonder what kind of drugs are available here and if Zane would buy me any if I asked.
Zarah chugs a flute of the champagne and pops out of her seat, wiggling to the music. Ash follows her down the stairs, and on the dance floor below us, they start dirty dancing. It doesn’t take long to lose sight of them in the crowd and flashing lights.
“I guess this isn’t your typical Saturday night,” Zane says, pushing my flute closer.
“What made you guess?” I sip the champagne. I need to relax. Ash isn’t the boogeyman, and Zane won’t get into my panties if I don’t let him. I don’t even have to see him again after tonight, but I think I would miss Zarah if I decided not to mix with the Maddoxes anymore. She has a vulnerability I can relate to, and she tries to hide it under a false bravado I identify with.
“You don’t need any of this to be entertained.”
I shrug. “I grew up without it. I can’t afford it. I’m just trying to make my way the best I can, like anyone else.”
Zane nods. “I admire that. Zarah needs some of that direction. I know you don’t think much of us partying only six months after our parents’ deaths, but for me, it’s nice to see Zarah smiling a little. Even if she’ll be a guilty mess in the morning.”
“Will she?” She looked like she enjoyed the paparazzi’s attention just a little too much for regrets.
“Yeah, she’s tried to go out before. Lunch, a play. Nothing has worked, but then she met you yesterday. She admires you.”
“I’m no one special.”
What Zane says in response surprises me.
“I disagree.” He leans forward, and his breath fans my face. “I knew there was something different about you the moment I met you. You don’t care how much money I have. All you care about is if I can be a prick or not.”
Tilting my head, I study him, the glint of the disco ball sending shadows and light flashing over his face. “Can you?”
“Yes. You saw that yesterday. I didn’t introduce you and Zarah to my ‘guest’ because I didn’t know her name. I fucked her to forget about my own pain, to bury it in pleasure for just a few seconds at her expense, and when I was done, I threw her out. But you know that, don’t you?”
I didn’t know all of it, but I nod. “Yeah.”
“Do you think less of me?” He trails a finger over my jaw and down my neck. My skin flushes, and suddenly I’m burning up. I don’t blame that woman one bit for letting Zane use her.
“Before Zarah invited me out, I didn’t think about you at all.”
That’s a blatant lie, but he doesn’t have to know it.
“Ouch,” he says, pulling away.
Immediately, I miss his touch. I want him on top of me, his knee nudging my thighs apart. I want him teasing my clit with the tip of his cock, his body quivering with the anticipation of being inside me.
My pussy is swollen, and my panties are wet.
I squirm.
“You don’t have a very high opinion of me.” He chooses one of the shots the waitress left behind, tips his head back, and swallows. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “You think I’m a partier, a male whore, a little boy playing a grownup’s game, over his head in a business he doesn’t understand. You think I’m a fuckup, that I don’t know what I’m doing.” He slams the little shot glass onto the table so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. “Well, you’re right. I’m all those things.”
Zane pushes out of the banquette and strides down a dark hallway.
I feel horrible, and I wonder if I should follow him. He’s hurting, but maybe he knows someone here and he’s gone to find her. We aren’t a couple—he can see whom he likes—but if I catch him with another woman after kissing me last night, I’ll never want to see him again.
The thought breaks my heart.
So does the thought that he can’t give me what I want.
What I need after a childhood of misery.
I don’t see Zarah and Ash. I can’t ask either of them to check on Zane. I take a gulp of champagne and slide out of the banquette, the leather smooth and supple under my butt.
The hallway is dark but crowded, outlines of couples standing around making out. Men with men, women with women, one woman is with two men, and they both have their lips on her. I recognize a couple of movie stars. People I would never come into contact with in my regular life. I rush by and try not to gawk.
Zane stands outside on an empty terrace, the wind whipping past him, fluttering his tie. Only a few potted, dying plants and a sculpture of an angel keep him company.
He looks at me, and I reach for him. He stiffens, but the neighboring buildings glimmer silver light revealing his pain, and it keeps me from retreating. I hold him close and he buries his face in my hair. We line up better than we did last night. My heels give me a couple more inches, and I use the extra height to fit myself snugly against him.
Zane whimpers, and I tighten my grip, letting him have all the time he needs. I never needed to process what happened to my parents. You don’t have to get used to what was always there.
He lifts his head, and his cheeks are dry—he’s managed not to cry. I admire his strength, but sooner or later his grief will be like a dam that bursts, and I don’t know if I want to be there when it does. His pain could threaten to drown me, and I don’t know how to swim.
Zane leans forward and I tilt my head, ready for his kiss. He needs it, but after causing some of his misery, I need to give it more.
His lips are soft, and they tremble. He frames my face in his hands as his mouth devours mine, and I cover the tops of his hands to hold them in place. Heat gathers in my belly. I want him to make love to me, but not here. I don’t want a quick screw on a cold terrace. I want him to love me while he makes love to me, but I don’t know if Zane is capable of that. If he’s capable of that with me.
One of his hands drops down my back, his fingers grazing my skin, and settles on my ass, searing me like a cattle brand. I’m all in, but it’s too soon, too fast.
Too intense.
I break off the kiss and fight for breath, and he sags against the cement balustrade, his eyes closed.
The kiss didn’t help him. It only made him more confused because of my mixed signals. I step between his legs and rest my head on his shoulder. There’s no question we’ll end up together, and I might as well stop fighting it. We have too much misfortune in common.
He hugs me and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Why, Stella?” he rasps.
We’re already that connected I know what he’s asking, but I don’t have the answer. Chemistry? Pheromones? There’s an explanation, a scientific explanation why it only took one look from him to feel like I’m being electrocuted.
I can only say, “I don’t know.” That’s pretty damned close to the truth. I really don’t know anything about him, Zarah, or their lifestyle. Two people couldn’t be more perfect for each other, or less suited. “Let’s go inside. Zarah and Ash might be looking for us.” I want Zane around his friend and sister. I want him to remember people care about him. That’s all I can do right now.
He lets me lead him inside the club, but the flashing lights accentuate his pallor, and the pounding music seems like it’s physically pummeling him. Stepping close, I grasp his hand. He squeezes my fingers, and I let out a breath. For a second, he didn’t look so good, and I was afraid he’d gone into shock or someplace even darker.
Zarah and Ash are at the banquette drinking a fresh bottle of champagne.
My panties are so damp they feel soaked, like I got my period. Zane could have taken me easily, slid right in. I’m so ready, so swollen it’s almost painful, and my breasts are heavy with arousal. Zarah can tell as I stagger to the table by Zane’s side, but instead of sharing a look or teasing me like I expect, she looks away, tears glistening in her eyes. Maybe she’s feeling the guilt Zane said would come, indulging in a night like this, or she and Ash fought while we were outside.
I still don’t like the look of him, his hand curved possessively around the nape of Zarah’s neck. Like he could just as soon slap her as kiss her. I prefer Zane’s handsome, soft features. His quick, sad smiles.
Before we leave, I use the ladies’ room. I ask Zarah if she wants to join me, but subdued now, she stays behind, and I’m grateful. I need the few minutes alone. If Zane asks me to stay the night, I don’t know if I can say no. I should. We only met yesterday.
In a poor attempt to cool down, I run cold water over my wrists.
If I want something real, I need to go slow. We’re teetering on the edge of starting something that could matter or turning our relationship into a quick and dirty fuck. A “see you later” the next morning as he stares at the floor, my shredded panties in my purse, shame cracking my heart wide open that I gave myself to a man who wasn’t ready to love me.
Having Zane in my life will complicate things. He isn’t the type of man I picture when I think about having a husband, the father of my children. Of course, I’m not thinking about any of that right now, but I always thought I’d end up with someone responsible, trustworthy.
Middle class.
If I let him have me tonight, maybe he’d toss me out and my life could go back to the way it was before I met Zane Maddox and lost my mind, but if I think this could be it, if Zane could be the one, well, that changes things. Jumping into bed would be a death knell for any relationship I would want to start. Men are like that.
Respecting myself will teach him to respect me.
Going slow and telling him I want to get to know him before we sleep together would show him I don’t think of him the way he thinks of himself. Man whore. Fuckup.
Ash is waiting outside the ladies’ room, leaning against the wall, his ankles crossed, scrolling on a kind of phone I’ve never seen before. It would be like Ashton Black to use a device that isn’t available to the public yet.
The dimmed lights don’t soften his features. His dark hair is brushed away from his face, his nose a little too sharp, but it gives him an air of control. His jaw is cut in a clean line. He doesn’t carry an extra ounce of fat anywhere. I bet he has the control to fuck a woman all night. Until she cries out in pleasure . . . or pain. The line is thin between them.
He narrows his eyes at me, and I swallow. I don’t like him, and he knows it. I say a quick prayer because God help me, he doesn’t like me, either.
“Zarah’s been telling me all about you,” he says, straightening. He runs his fingers through my curls, and the desire Zane woke in my belly withers away in fear and disgust.
“What has she told you?” I force myself to ask.
“This and that,” he says vaguely, the backs of his fingers touching my cheek. I do my best not to flinch.
“We only met yesterday. She couldn’t have told you much.”
“So she said. Zane seems besotted by you, as well.”
“Zane’s hurting.” Ash is his best friend. He should know that.
“They both are. It would be a shame if some poor urchin thought she could take advantage of my friends.”
Ash’s hard behavior clicks into place, and I prickle. He’s pegged me as a gold digger without knowing a single thing about me.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I know I don’t fit in here. I don’t have any interest in being a part of this world,” I try to explain, though I don’t know what Zane will think if Ash tells him what I say. “I thought it a polite thing to do, being Zane signs my paychecks and all.”
Ash nods. “I understand. Let’s chalk this up to a fun night out on the town. After tonight, we’ll go our separate ways, and you’ll stay in the basement where you belong.”
If I’m looking for a sign to tell me which path I should choose, then this would be a bright billboard in King’s Crossing’s square, but I don’t like him thinking he can tell me what to do. What Zane and I do is between us, not us and his friend.
“Okay,” I say to get him off my back.
“Good girl.”
Ash’s approval doesn’t lessen the tension when he looks at me, doesn’t make me feel like he didn’t just threaten me. He grabs my upper arm, his fingertips digging just a little too hard into my skin, and escorts me back to the table.
Zane’s looking healthier, his skin not so sallow. He’s talking to Zarah, but they’re both melancholy and their laughter lacks any real joy. He spots Ash holding onto me, as if I’m a prisoner waiting for a chance to escape, and his eyes harden.
I slide next to him, and he rests a hand on my leg. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I flash him a dazzling smile and finish the warm dregs of my champagne.
The rest of the night flies by in a haze of talk, laughter, and booze, and I’m floating on an alcoholic cloud by the time we leave the club.
A limo pulls up to the curb, and a driver opens the door and waits, staring into space, as Ash possessively kisses Zarah goodbye. The paparazzi are still taking pictures of the club guests as they exit the building, these more interesting since not too many leave sober.
The limousine’s taillights blend in with the other traffic, and in its place, an identical limo, black and sleek, parks at the curb and the same driver who brought us here helps Zarah into the back. She sighs and sags into the seat, resting her head against the window. She’s not as talkative, and her face is pale.
Zane’s different, too. Aloof. He doesn’t cuddle me like he did on the way to the club.
I don’t expect the limo to bring me home, and Zarah tugs on my hand in front of Maddox Industries confirming my suspicions. In a wave of disappointment, I watch the car glide smoothly away from the curb. I’m used to the train but riding it home at three in the morning will be a pain in the ass. Not to mention unsafe.
I bristle. Rich people just don’t get it.
“I had a nice night. Thank you so much,” I say to start the goodbyes, and Zane flinches. He can hear it in my tone, what kind of goodbye I’m saying, but it’s better this way. I stare down the street. I better get walking.
Zane tucks his hands into his pockets, tired and sad, swaying on his feet. I want to pull him to me, but Ash’s warnings ring loud in my ears. There’s no way I can prove I’m not after Zarah and Zane’s money. I’m out of my league, swimming with sharks.
Zarah nudges me toward the building. “Sleep over tonight. Zane will bring you home in the morning, after breakfast.”
She had this planned all along.
Zane brightens and tenses, waiting for my answer. It wasn’t until Ash told me I couldn’t be friends with the Maddoxes that it occurred to me how badly I want to be. Zane will talk to Ash, tell him I’m not out to use anyone.
Zarah blinks her dark brown eyes, and Zane scuffs the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe.
I’m powerless to resist.
“Yes.”