22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jacob
Just as I finish up my piss, I exit into the lobby, and nearly run right into someone.
“Sorry,” I say, and then I freeze as I see who it is.
Garrett stands with a drink in his hand.
“Well, well, if it isn’t lover-boy,” he says with a scoff.
“Excuse me,” I say as I try to push past him, heading back to the bar if only to grab a drink.
He follows me. I do not need this right now.
It’s bad enough that I let the memories of him poison what should’ve been the most perfect moment ever, and now I have to stand face-to-face with him.
Sometimes I swear the universe hates me.
I signal the bartender and order a glass of wine. Garrett smiles behind me.
“Put it on my tab, please,” he says.
I turn to him, glaring at him. “No thank you, I can buy my own drink,” I say, looking back to the bartender who looks non-plussed. Garrett tips his head at me.
“Well, you’ve gotten quite bitter, haven’t you? What’s the matter, Jacob? Work getting you down these days?” He chuckles as if he thinks this is funny. That my life, that my job, are some sort of comical thing he’s privy to.
I glare at him once more. “Don’t act like you know me. You don’t.”
Garrett smiles, wickedly clutching his chest. “That hurts Jacob,” he says. “Or I’m sorry—is it Jake? What do you go by now—or rather what is he paying to call you?”
The bartender slides me my glass of wine, and I grab it without a second thought and throw down two twenties faster than should be humanly possible.
“Fuck off, Mr. Tempest, ” I bite as I head for the back room where we’ve been sat.
Garrett’s villainous laugh echoes behind me.
My anxiety flares, but as soon as I get back in the room, I see Aaron, who looks anxiety-ridden when he sees Garrett behind me.
Of all the men in this city, why did his ex have to be a man I’ve slept with?
Why did the man vying for the same gig have to be the only man who’s ever made me feel like a cheap whore?
I do my best to offer Aaron a smile, even if it is fake.
The last thing we both need is for anyone to suspect what’s going on between isn’t real, and Garrett just threw out an accusation that he knows.
I can defend that it’s not what it looks like, and I’d probably be half right, but Garrett will never buy it.
Because in the past, he’s bought me. In more ways than one.
“You boys are just in time,” Rob says.
“George was telling us all about the party tomorrow.”
I stop just shy of my chair when the words settle on me.
“Party?”
“Yes, Jacob, just as I was telling you while we were chatting at the bar.” He smirks, shoving the two twenties against my chest. Fuck.
“Oh, by the way, I think you dropped these,” he says, snickering. I grasp my bills, my fingers grazing against his as he flashes a dark gaze at me, but then pulls away and addresses the table. I don’t miss the look on Aaron’s face. Some borderline expression of anger and jealousy.
“Yes, George, and I will be throwing our little Tempest-style soiree at the Fitzgerald tomorrow evening at seven pm. For those of you who don’t know, my favorite piece of literature happens to be The Great Gatsby, and it happens to be the 100th anniversary this year.”
Betsy sighs. “Oh… I do love the Great Gatsby! Such a romantic book.”
“Where are my manners, Jacob? Please, do sit down,” Garrett says as he pulls my chair out, meeting my gaze with his vicious one.
I take my seat, if only to be polite, because I’m on display, and my actions affect Aaron more than they do me. But hell if I don’t want to go all WWE on this man and clothesline him in this swanky little restaurant.
“Thanks,” I manage to choke out.
“And we’ll be serving lunch at the house, of course,” George says smoothly, sipping his scotch. “Lunch will be promptly served at twelve on the nose on the veranda.”
Tony nods. “Sounds like you boys have planned quite the party.”
Garrett smiles. “Yes, well, it was difficult with such a low budget, but I am rather… resourceful when I need to be, isn’t that right, darling?
” He looks at his husband with a smirk that is certainly not polite, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Not out of jealousy, but out of disgust. George is not the man whose world I shattered four years ago, but I can’t help but wonder if Garrett is up to his old tricks or if he’s somehow turned a new leaf and I really am just bitter as he says.
“And how is your party planning coming along, Aaron?” Betsy asks, pulling all our attention.
“Oh, it’s going swimmingly,” Aaron says with a grin. “In fact, Jake and I are headed to grab our supplies for our big night tomorrow.” He shoots Garrett a scrupulous glance.
“Oh, how lovely!” Betsy claps her hands. “I can’t wait to see what you two come up with.”
Garrett chuckles as he looks me over. “Yes, I think we’re all quite excited to see what Aaron and Jake are capable of.”
Then he gives me an evil grin. “Oh, and I should mention, the dinner is black tie, of course. Which shouldn’t be a problem, for anyone, right?”
His pointed gaze finds mine, but I don't meet it.
“Not a problem at all,” Aaron bites.
“Good,” Garrett responds as he gets up. “I know it’s early, but George and I have much to finalize and go over before this amazing event tomorrow, so I’m calling it a night.”
Tony nods at him. “I like your enthusiasm, Garrett.”
I’d like to drown his enthusiasm in the ocean along with him.
Once we’ve all finished our dinner, drinks, and party discussions, Tony settles the bill and everyone starts to disperse.
Lola heads off with some friends she’d been texting.
Shannon and Travis decide to walk on the beach and get ice cream—leaving Aaron’s parents and us.
Aaron doesn’t wait to be dismissed, instead, he takes his leave by grabbing my hand and not bothering to say goodbye.
I wave goodbye to his parents and the Tempests, as he all but drags me through the parking lot.
When we get to the car he opens the door, his gaze almost furious.
“Aaron—”
“Get in the car,” he says, and I can hear his voice shake. I want to protest. Argue. Say something, but I don’t. I’m too worked up over Garrett’s words, over Aaron’s actions. I have never seen him like this before.
Because you don’t know him. He’s just a client, not your actual boyfriend, get a grip on yourself!
I fold myself into the car with ease, and he does the same, turning the car on. The sounds of Taylor Swift’s Bad Blood pours through the speakers, and I settle against the window.
She couldn’t be more on point, and the irony isn’t lost on me.
Aaron doesn’t say anything, and I only speak when I realize we have not turned down the street to the beach house.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer me right away. The sun is starting to set.
“Out,” he says solidly.
“Out where?” I ask, fear striking me. “Is this the part where you dump me in the ocean?”
He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you insane?”
“I don’t know, Aaron, you tell me. You’re the one acting like a possessed asshole right now.”
He purses his lips, but his gaze softens. “Sorry, I just—”
He turns, running one hand through his hair as he turns a corner.
“I just need to think, and there’s only one place up here that I can do that.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Whatever it is that’s bothering him, it’s making me nervous, too. Does he know that Garrett knows we aren’t real? Did he say something to him, too?
When he pulls up to a large building that looks like something out of the art deco period, I have to do a double take.
He pulls the car up to the valet.
“What is this place?” I ask as I get out.
“ Daisy’s ,” he says pointedly. “The speakeasy attached to the Fitzgerald. ”
I follow him as he walks with a hurried pace.
“The place we’re coming tomorrow? For Garrett and George’s party?”
“Yes,” he says coldly.
We enter the building on a deep crimson carpet. The man at the podium takes one look at Aaron and smiles.
“Been a while, Mr. Everett.”
Aaron stops in front of him. “Too long, Frank.”
Frank, an older gentleman, with salt and pepper hair and a warm smile, nods.
“Your usual?”
Usual?
Aaron nods. “Please. Table for two.”
I hold my arms, the cool air conditioning making my skin prickle with goosebumps.
Frank leads us down a dark corridor. The speakeasy is bustling, all the stools at the bar are taken, and the cozy atmosphere of the room itself is densely populated. Someone is performing on stage, a jazzy lounge singer busting out their rendition of Maneater by Nelly Furtado.
I expect us to be taken there, but Frank continues walking until we get to another section that is much smaller, and certainly more intimate.
There are still people, but the bar is much smaller, the room almost a postage stamp.
There’s a stage with a piano, bathed underneath a spotlight.
It looks old, antique. Not that I know much about pianos.
I don’t play an instrument, nor can I read music.
That’s Noah’s department. I always told him he needed to pursue a career in music, but he said college wasn’t for him like it was for me.
Insisted he didn’t need it to be successful, and maybe he was right.
He’s managed to be successful as is with Foxy’s.
And you certainly don’t need a degree to be a hot date.
“How come this place isn’t as full?” I ask as Frank leads us to a table smack in front of the stage.
“Because this room is for the VIP’s,” Aaron says casually.
Of course, it is.
Frank grins as he pulls the chair out for me. I take it as Aaron takes his own.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Billecart, please,” Aaron directs before I can speak. Frank bows to him like he’s a king, and I have to do a double take. The music can be faintly heard from the room next to us, and the singer croons about making someone want all their love.