Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zane
I brush my teeth before heading downstairs, and Ash texts, asking to meet for lunch. I haven’t heard from him since our night at Temptations, and with my mouth full of foam and my toothbrush sticking out of my mouth, I accept. When I step onto the executive floor, Stella’s already there, wearing a pretty blouse and skirt set. Her hair is free, hanging down her back, and the first thing I think of is twisting it around my hands and yanking, slamming into her and making her cry out, her body convulsing around my eager cock as she comes.
“Are we still on for tonight?” I ask.
“If you still want.”
I look around, and we’re alone. I hold her hand and kiss her palm. “I always want.”
“Okay.”
She starts talking about my day. Harper must have told Cramer’s assistant to include Stella in my scheduling—she runs through all my meetings that he’ll be attending.
“Cancel the lunch. Ash and I have plans. Reschedule, please.”
Stella nods. The task doesn’t make her panic, and I’m glad. I think after a little adjustment period, she’ll fit right in.
It wasn’t Harper’s job to train her, but Denton’s assistant stepped up and I write a mental note to add an extra bonus to her holiday pay. Nothing goes unnoticed at Maddox Industries. The first thing my dad taught me was to value our employees. If they feel needed and appreciated, they would always go the extra mile.
Stella emailed me the party’s details, and she attached the event’s program and guest list. The evening already feels like a drag, and the timetable, from the moment I’m expected to arrive to the moment I’m allowed to leave, hits home how long I’ll be required to mingle and accept everyone’s condolences and congratulations. The guest list is longer than my arm, but that’s nothing more than what I expected.
At the bottom of the email, Stella added a short paragraph about potential speakers. Ash’s father, Clayton, is a good choice, and I’ll ask Ash about it at lunch.
I check my schedule, and Stella already inserted the party and press conference into the calendar. She and Zarah worked hard last night. With Zarah in charge and Stella helping her, the night will go off without a hitch.
“Mr. Denton is waiting for you, Mr. Maddox.” Through the intercom, Stella’s voice fills my office.
I’ve been grumping over the party for too long.
I text her. I’m looking fwd to 2nite.
She doesn’t respond, but when I pass her desk on my way to Denton’s office and lay my hand next to hers, she flutters her fingers over mine.
Yes.
Promoting her to be my assistant has been my best idea yet.
Ash doesn’t think so, and he tears into me the minute I sit down.
“Can’t I get a drink first?” I’ve never known Ash to be a snob, but then, a situation has never presented itself, at least, not when it comes to my personal life.
“I just don’t understand what you think you’re doing. Did you look into this girl? Did you do a background check? I saw the way she was dressed at the club. How much do you want to bet that was her only good dress? Zane, you can do better.”
I knock back my whiskey and nod at the bartender for another. The waitress can feel the tension and serves it to me without making eye contact. She hurries to the other side of the room.
Ash leans back in his chair and waits me out. He won’t leave it alone.
I sip at my drink and then push the glass away. What can I tell him that he’ll understand? Rubbing my face, I go for the truth. “She makes me feel safe.”
I tense, waiting for Ash’s dismissive snort, but he sags and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shit,” he mutters.
“She’s not after my money. I was the one who promoted her. After our night at the club, she would have been perfectly happy saying goodbye, going home, and never talking to me again. In fact, she was set to do it, but Zarah asked her to spend the night. I found my way into her bed, not the other way around.”
At this, Ash does scoff. I’ve just proven him right as far as he’s concerned.
“Then it is about money.”
It would be like Ash to think sex and money are the same thing, and maybe in our circles they can be. Pay for it, sell it. Accusing Stella of selling her body for what she can get from me in return.
Except, he doesn’t know her like I do. She doesn’t want the power that comes with dating me, and she was doing fine before we met. She was supporting herself, going to school. Doing more with her life on little more than minimum wage than Zarah has having all her advantages.
I can’t explain that to Ash who uses the position his father gave him in every way he can, and it would sound stupid coming out of my mouth, a young man who’s struggling to follow in his father’s footsteps. Ash and I have no idea how to make it on our own.
“It’s not about money. Or sex. I had a nightmare, and she calmed me down. I haven’t slept that well since my parents passed away.”
Ash sips his drink. I don’t know what it is. Something older than God, probably.
“And you had to promote her?” he asks skeptically.
I hate that I sound like I’m defending myself. “I don’t see her all the time. I’m in meetings every second, and she’s had plans the last couple of nights.”
It’s none of his business I’m going to her apartment tonight, a place I really want to see, but he’ll find out eventually and it’s not difficult to guess how he’ll react. I’ve been inside her, but I don’t feel like I know her. Spending an evening alone, I hope to change that.
“Harper’s training her. She’s smart, and she’ll do a good job,” I press, but it pisses me off he’s put me in a position where I need to justify my relationship with her.
The waitress serves the prime rib Ash ordered without consulting me. It’s too rare, and the blood churns my stomach.
“Fine,” he snaps, like it’s his choice, “but I’m going to keep an eye on her. I got a funny feeling when I met her.”
“You do that.”
He’s not going to find anything.
I pick at my meal, and Ash does the same. We’ve never had a tense friendship, but since my parents passed away, we’ve felt at odds. Maybe I’m still raw, maybe my patience is wearing thin. Maybe what didn’t bother me before bothers me now.
I don’t know, but I hate it. Ash is my best friend.
“How’s Zarah working out?” I ask in an attempt to find a truce. We grew up together and have a lot in common. I don’t want to lose his friendship. Especially over a woman.
Even this innocent question makes him tense. “Why? What has she told you?”
I hold out my hands, my palms facing him. “Nothing. Just wondering. I only asked how her first week is going.”
“She’s fine. She’s doing fine.”
That’s all he says.
I push my filet around my plate in silence, and Ash pulls out his phone. The waitress removes our plates and serves coffee, but simmering in pent-up rage, he doesn’t notice.
“This is why you need to break it off with her,” he snarls, thrusting his phone at me.
I skim the article. It’s nothing but speculation about who Stella is. The photo that accompanies the text is a snap of the three of us standing outside our building. Zarah had just asked Stella to spend the night, and we were waiting, hoping she’d agree.
It’s a tame shot as far as paparazzi photos are concerned. Nothing that should anger Ash to the point of a heart attack. The headline’s amusing. THREESOME? But what does he expect when he’s looking for dirt on Truth or Dare ? It’s a shitty website known for printing lies.
“Why are you looking for something to dislike about her? We’ll still have time to hang out, but I’m going to be busy, you know, running my father’s company.” Maybe he’s threatened by Stella’s sudden presence in my life. That would make sense. We’ve always been bros before hos. We’ve both dated in the past, but neither of us has had a serious girlfriend.
Ash visibly relaxes. I’m right, then. Good. I’ll tuck that into the back of my mind. Be sure I make time for Ash. I’ll ask Stella to ink regular lunches into my schedule.
We blow the rest of the lunch hour bullshitting over our coffee. I tell him about the party Zarah planned, but I don’t volunteer the fact Stella is helping her. If she’s going to throb like a sore tooth, there’s no point poking at it.
We shake hands outside the club, and instead of going to the office, I go up to the penthouse.
I’m starving.
I sit through meetings the rest of the day. They should mean something, but they don’t. Denton and Cramer know I’m distracted, and frustrated, they call it before we’re done. Needing a break, needing an evening alone with Stella, I’m ready to leave by five o’clock sharp.
She’s finishing up a phone call, something about flowers, and she turns to me, her eyes bright.
Her clothes didn’t wrinkle, and she still looks as fresh as she did this morning. Using a pencil in lieu of a clip, she twisted her hair into a bun, exposing the delicate line of her neck and shoulders. It’s extremely sexy, and I want to kiss every inch of her peaches and cream skin. My cock twitches. I can have her in a bed tonight. Hers, and that’s even better.
She murmurs a goodbye and hangs up, placing the handset of her desk phone into the cradle.
“Are you ready?” I ask impatiently. I’ve waited all day for this.
“Just one second.”
She puts her computer to sleep and slips on a blazer. The color is a deep cornflower blue that matches her eyes and one of the colors in the print of her blouse. Demure, her skirt’s hem hits the top of her knees, and it makes me harder than if it showed off all her bits.
Noticing me admiring her, she blushes, the pink staining her cheeks. “I went shopping last night. We were talking about what we were going to wear to the party, and Zarah mentioned we have accounts at some of the clothing stores. I wanted to see...”
She breaks my gaze, and I help her slip on a trench coat that was hanging on the rack in the corner behind her desk.
I’m amused, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Everything she does is going to delight me. “And you wanted to see if it was true.”
She catches the glint in my eyes and laughs.
“Did it work?” I jab at the elevator’s call button, and I lean against the wall.
“Yes. I bought a few things, just to try. It was...strange walking out without paying. It was okay, wasn’t it?”
“Of course. There’s a personal yearly limit, but I don’t think you need to worry about that.” I pull her to me and nuzzle her mouth with mine. I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw her sitting at her desk this morning. I have no idea why Ash took a dislike to her, and I add another thing to my list. Besides trying to spend more time with Ash, I’ll work hard to keep him and Stella separated.
That sucks—the four of us are a natural pair—but Stella doesn’t need Ash up her ass. I’ve seen what happens when Ash decides he doesn’t like someone. It never ends well.
The elevator dings, and the doors softly glide open. We’re the only two in the lift, and I take advantage, holding her close and tangling our fingers. In the lobby, the security guard nods and wishes us a terse goodnight, and I let her go for a moment as we push through the revolving door.
Standing on the top step, Stella rests her hand on the rail and bites her lip.
She doesn’t want me to see her place after all. My heart sinks.
My shoulders slump, and I turn to head back. I’ll let her go home alone. We’ve been going pretty fast, and she probably wants space. I can’t blame her. My mind has been a whirlwind since we met. A night by myself would do me good. “It’s okay, Stella.”
She grabs my arm. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You changed your mind. It’s okay.”
Tugging on my hand, she shakes her head. “I want you to come. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
“Then what is it?”
I feel like we’re in a movie, this gorgeous girl standing in front of a towering skyscraper, the delicate scent of flowers in the air, the sun sinking into the horizon. She can have anyone she wants. She doesn’t need some schmuck who can’t sleep through the night without nightmares. She doesn’t need a guy who fucks everything that moves because his parents are dead and he can’t cope.
God.
She reaches onto her toes and kisses my cheek. My stubble grazes her lips, and I’m turned on in five seconds. I want Stella more than anything else.
Besides my parents back.
“I was wondering if you ordered a car, or if we’re riding the train.”
The train. I forgot, and I feel like an idiot. I want to see her apartment, I want to see where she lives, but I’m not prepared for it. She’s poor, living on the salary we pay our newest employees. It’s more than minimum wage, but not by much. If how she lives...I can’t let her see it on my face if I’m uncomfortable, but I will suggest I help her move.
“Let’s take the train.” I haven’t ridden on the train since I was a kid doing it for kicks, but this is Stella’s way of life.
“Don’t look so traumatized.” She laughs, and the wind carries it down the sidewalk. “It’s not that bad.”
To my surprise, it’s not. People crowd the car going home after work the same as we are, and we get our share of looks, but unsurprisingly, lots of people know Stella. It’s obvious she shares the train with the same people every evening.
She chats with a Black woman who has a little girl sitting on her lap. She blinks at me, her eyes tired and solemn. Her mother catches me looking. “Tasha spends long days in daycare. She’s always wiped out about now.”
I don’t know what to say, and I nod. I work, but not the way this woman works. I’m out of my element on the train among King’s Crossing’s lower-class citizens.
The train lets us off at a station fifteen minutes from the penthouse. The neighborhood is quiet, and Stella gestures to a city bus that just pulls up to a corner bus stop.
“Punch me twice, Bill,” Stella says, holding out a card to the bus driver.
The driver sizes me up. He doesn’t know who I am, and I relax.
“He’s not good enough for ya, Stell,” Bill says, waving away her card and not punching anything into it.
“I gotta make do, then,” she says, and Bill rolls his eyes.
“Make do with me, honey.”
“Your wife wouldn’t like that too much.”
Bill grins.
I love watching the way Stella has with people—she doesn’t judge anyone. I realize if I hate how she lives because she can’t afford better, I won’t be able to convince her to move even if I pay for it. She thrives among the working moms and the tired kids and the cheerful bus drivers because she’s one of them.
Finding her way the best she can.
I do more than love her.
I admire her.
It’s a heady combination.
Bill stops at a corner on a nice street, and Stella’s off the bus and stepping onto the sidewalk before I’m even out of my seat. I think about saying something to Bill, but he’s zoned out, tapping his fingers on the enormous steering wheel to a beat only he can hear.
I catch up to her, and she smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I try to keep Bill on schedule.”
Brushing my hand over her hair, I say, “It’s okay. I appreciate him waiting for me to get off.”
She laughs, and we walk another block to a cream-colored apartment complex.
Trees fill the yard, their leaves drifting in the evening air. She lets me in, peeking at my face to see my reaction, but so far, while I’ve never lived in an apartment complex, I like it.
Her apartment is located in the back corner of the building, and the first thing I notice is the large picture window that’s ground level, the grass a brilliant green. My poor Stella. Working in payroll and living here...she spends all her time in the basement.
“I can hang up your jacket, if you want.”
She’s asking me if I’m going to stay. I didn’t bring a change of clothes, and I gratefully give her my suit jacket, kick off my dress shoes, and roll up my sleeves.
“I thought we could order pizza and watch a movie?”
She adds a question mark at the end, expecting me to turn down the boring activity.
“Sounds great.”
“I don’t have any booze, but I have fizzy water, lemonade, or I can put on a pot of coffee.”
Coffee doesn’t sound good if we’re going to eat pizza, and I don’t like lemonade. “Fizzy water’s fine.”
“I have a couple of different flavors. Help yourself,” she says, tilting her head and inviting me to poke around her fridge. “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back.”
I ignore the water and choose to poke around her living room instead. A large orange candle sitting on a coffee table scents the air of pumpkin pie. The sofa is worn, and a small flat screen TV sits on a beat-up entertainment center. Bookcases line the walls, the cheap kind that have cardboard for backing, the shelves bowing under the weight of so many books.
She’s a reader, my Stella, and I haven’t bothered to pick up a book since graduating from Columbia. I pull one from the pile. A couple locked in a steamy embrace is centered on the cover, a cow in the background chewing a mouthful of hay. A Cowboy for Christmas .
I grin. Stella’s a romantic. I hope I can live up to the perfect heroes in all these books.
She shuffles into the living room and catches me studying a picture of her wearing a bright green graduation gown. Her cap is askew and the tassel brushes at her cheek. An older woman who has long grey hair and is dressed in a colorful blouse and skirt hugs her, an arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Stella’s grinning, waving her diploma at the camera.
“Is this your grandma?”
Stella’s smile falls, and I kick myself for asking the careless question. I never want to say anything that will make her sad.
“No. That’s Maryanne. She was my foster mom, but then I aged out. She’s the last person I lived with before I moved into this place.”
I tear my eyes away from the photo. She looks good in black yoga pants and a clingy light pink t-shirt. Her hair falls in a wavy curtain down her back, and her feet are bare. The three years between her graduation picture and now haven’t changed her a bit.
“I didn’t know you were in foster care. What happened to your parents?”
She shrugs. “I never had a dad, and my mom passed away when I was small. That’s it.”
It’s never that simple, but obviously, if she had family, social services would have found them. It’s a sore subject, and she closes off, so I let it go.
“Do I get a tour?” I ask, hoping to dispel the tension.
“Sure, but there’s not much to see. You found out I like to read. The kitchen,” she says, gesturing to a table, counter, fridge, and stove. The two rooms meld together into one large area.
She leads me down a short hallway. The bathroom is clean, but the toilet, sink, and bathtub are the color of cheap margarine.
The bedroom is across the hall. This room, too, has a large window and Stella has put a queen-sized bed under it. There are more bookshelves, also packed full of cheap paperbacks. The room smells of fabric softener and baby powder. The combination makes me hard, and it’s all I can do not to carry her to the bed and have my way with her. I want to fuck her all night. I want her to think about me whenever she’s in bed. I want her to finger herself, picturing me between her legs, my tongue teasing her clit.
“Should we order?” she asks, standing in the doorway.
I’m hungry, but not for food. “Yeah. That sounds good. What do you like on your pizza?”
We decide on a double meat, double cheese, and she calls a pizzeria I’ve never heard of to place our order. I pull my wallet out of my pocket to pay, but she waves me off, giving the person a discount code off a coupon stuck to the fridge and her own debit card number.
She’s the first girl I’ve dated who’s picked up the tab for our meal.
“Why did you do that?” I ask as she hangs up her landline. I should tell her to get rid of it. She can use the cell that came with her position, and it will save her a bill. I don’t know how much landlines cost, but every little bit helps. Or so they say.
“Because I asked you over, so it’s my treat. That’s how manners work.” She grins at me.
I chuckle and let her nudge me toward the couch. We start a movie on Netflix, a chick flick starring Jennifer Lopez I’ve never seen.
Come to think of it, I don’t read, don’t watch movies or TV. I was too busy in school, and after I graduated, too busy at the company learning all I could from Dad. Then he and Mom passed away, all I did was sit in my room and stare at the wall. Stella’s hobbies force me to think about my free time and how I would like to spend it if I’m not with her. Dad had golf, Mom had her charities and bubble baths. I don’t know what Zarah likes to do, either.
It’s like a fog is slowly lifting, and I have no idea where I am anymore.
We eat off paper plates and use paper towels as napkins. The pizza’s delicious, and I eat half of it by myself.
Stella teases me and pours a can of lime fizzy water into a glass filled with ice. I don’t know what it’s going to taste like, and I try some, expecting to dislike it, but it’s generic Perrier and I drink three more cans.
After we’re done eating, we pause the movie, and I help her wrap the leftovers and store them in the fridge.
She puts on a pot of coffee, and as it drips, the earthy aroma fills her apartment and mingles with the pumpkin-pie-scented candle. I lean against the counter and hold her, my arms wrapped around her. She wiggles into me and sighs. It’s cozy in here, and I’m content in a way that’s new to me. Even when my parents were alive, I never felt like this, and I want to remember it so I can dissect it later. I want to be able to find this feeling again.
For dessert, she dishes up chocolate ice cream into chipped bowls, and the imperfections give them character rather than make them look cheap. She adds whipped cream and sprinkles, like in a real ice cream parlor.
I want to use the whipped cream other places, and I tell myself to calm down and not be a jerk on our first date.
We carry the bowls and mugs into the living room, and propping my feet on the coffee table, I devour my ice cream. Between bites, I give her frozen kisses, licking the sugar off her lips.
Toward the end of the movie, I lay my head in her lap. I stretch out along the couch, and she loosens my tie and slides it out from underneath my collar. She brushes her fingers through my hair, smoothing it off my forehead, and her touch reminds me of my mom and when she would sit with me on nights I couldn’t sleep.
Tears fill my eyes, and as Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey fall in love, I cry into Stella’s leg, keening.
I haven’t cried since my parents died.
Stella leans over me and rocks, and for not one second does she let me go.