Chapter Twenty-Four
Me: Hi.
Molly: OMG YOU DID IT.
Me: What? How could you know that?
Molly: I could just feel it in that “hi.”
Me: No, that isn’t a thing. You’re a thousand miles away.
Molly: Am I right?
Me: … Yes
Molly: YESSSS. You owe me $50.
Me: I—what?
Molly: We bet $50 you’d have sex.
Me: No, we did not.
Molly: Well, I bet someone.
Me: Geez. DO NOT tell anyone. This is just a while we’re in Hawaii thing.
Molly: Ooh. I don’t care for that.
Molly: How was it??
Me: The best I’ve ever had.
Molly:
Me: I think I’m screwed.
Molly: At least you got screwed first.
“You ready?” Rafe asks, pulling my attention from Molly. I’m on the balcony, and he stands in the doorway casual in a black T-shirt and jeans, but he makes it look effortless and dreamy. I tuck my phone into the back pocket of my white denim shorts and nod. We head downstairs to the Rosewood Dining Room to meet Lan and Gabrielle for the dessert buffet.
The hostess seats us at a spacious booth facing a huge circular table in the center of the room, laden with colorful, towering stacks of sugary treats.
“Are you planning to film this?” I ask. “Your followers will love it.”
Rafe tosses me an uncertain look before he glances at Lan and Gabrielle. I wish he didn’t feel the need to hide or be ashamed of this.
“Followers?” Gabrielle asks, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows. “What followers?”
I nudge Rafe with my shoulder. “Show them.”
His brow scrunches. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Let me show them? Please? I promise they’ll love it.”
He offers me a tiny nod. I pick up my phone, open my Instagram app, and find his account. I followed him the first chance I got. Lan and Gabrielle lean forward as I point the screen in their direction.
“Wow,” Gabrielle says, taking the phone and scrolling through his feed while Lan looks over her shoulder. “What’s going on here? This is you?”
She taps on a video, and Rafe pops up, waxing about the characteristics of an ideal shortbread crust. While they watch in rapt attention, I watch Rafe, gauging his reaction. It’s heartbreaking to watch the way he shrinks into himself, but I reach out to grab his hand and give him a confident smile. He needs to understand how amazing this is and that everyone who’s made him feel bad about it is wrong. Their judgment says way more about them than it does about him.
Gabrielle and Lan are still clicking through photos and videos as they ooh and ahh . With every exclamation of delight, I notice Rafe’s tight shoulders drop from his ears.
“By the way, you haven’t followed me back yet,” I say in mock offense.
He pulls out his phone, taps at the screen, and finds my profile. His expression is thoughtful as he scrolls through the sporadic selfies, random food shots, and occasional vacation pics I share with all six of my rabid fans.
He looks up at me.
“Sorry, I get a lot of follows. I don’t even notice anymore,” he says sheepishly.
“Oh, look at you. One minute, you’re embarrassed, and the next, you’re giving me starlet attitude,” I tease.
He clicks the follow button and then leans over, stretching his arm across the back of the booth, and says softly, “I’ll follow you anywhere, Tris.”
I frown. What is that supposed to mean? He’s watching me with a reverent look, and it’s slowly dissolving the shell of the meager armor I’ve cloaked myself in. Something in my chest cracks, does a 180, and then slides back into place. I swallow because, suddenly, I can’t breathe.
I notice Lan and Gabrielle are watching us, their heads tilted with wistful expressions.
“Aw,” Lan says, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Stop it,” I say, snatching my phone from Gabrielle and then pointing to Rafe. “Let’s go. It’s time for dessert.”
It comes out harsher than I intend. Why did his comment rattle me so much?
He follows me to the buffet, and I watch as he circles it like Michelangelo assessing a raw hunk of marble. Rows of jewel-toned macarons sit nestled between glistening berries and slices of mango, peaches, and watermelon. Delicate stacks of mille-feuille are arranged alongside petit fours coated in pale pink, lilac, and mint-green icing. Crystal goblets are layered with cream and chocolate and fruit in mini parfaits. Cakes, so many cakes, are decorated with fine sugar cages and fondant orchids so lifelike they seem plucked straight from a garden.
Rafe pulls out his phone and turns on his livestream as he begins filming, describing everything in loving detail. His passion and his adoration for this are so obvious.
“Lime madeleines with grapefruit icing. Raspberry and rose eclairs. Brown sugar meringues with white chocolate mousse and lavender syrup,” he recites, rattling off the names from printed tent cards.
He’s mesmerizing to watch, his smile brighter than the sun. I’m sure every one of his followers must be head over heels in love with him. He looks away from the phone and over to me with a smile and something achingly tender in his expression.
I’ll follow you anywhere, Tris.
I descend into an abyss as I understand why those words affected me so much. They dig in, talons out, and scrape away the lie I’ve been telling myself for five years.
I have feelings for Rafe.
I’m not delusional. Of course, I always felt something, but it was something I manipulated into carefully skirting the edge of real emotion. It was overwrought and unrealistic, like a story you tell yourself to get through the day.
It was infatuation. It was obsession. It was fascination. It wasn’t real.
I refused to let it be anything else.
He’s returned to his work, snapping photos, angling his phone this way and that.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Rafe is my rival. Was. And now, he isn’t. Not even a little bit. Was he ever? No. I did this to myself by pushing him away the very first time we met. And despite all of that, he never actually left. He existed in my sphere, challenging me and giving me what I needed until I was ready to break down the walls I erected around myself.
“Will you take this for me?” he holds out a small white ramekin filled with a pink mini soufflé. I blink up at him, trying to pick up and arrange my thoughts.
“You okay?” he asks, his brown eyes brimming with concern.
I love those eyes. They’re rocky trails winding through forests. They’re warm spice cakes and mugs of tea sipped at sunrise. They’re autumn landscapes rendered in vivid technicolor. How could I ever think they were evil?
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I reach for the plate. “You’re not going to put me in the photo?”
“Not if you don’t want.” He cocks his head. “Though you’d be the most beautiful thing on my feed.”
The way he looks at me makes me wonder if he’s in the murky backwoods of something real, too.
I’ll follow you anywhere, Tris.
“Maybe we’ll work up to that. I’m not quite ready for fame.”
He grins and brings his phone closer, snapping a few pictures at different angles. He shows me the result. Only my hands are visible, backdropped by the splash of my pink polka-dot shirt blurred in the background. I’m no expert, but even I can see the light, the color, and the composition look like that of a professional.
“You’re really, really good at this.”
“Thanks,” he says with a smile that somehow manages to be both vulnerable and proud.
“Rafe,” comes a voice, and we both look over to find David Gallagher holding a plate topped with a slice of pineapple cake.
He eyes his son before his gaze falls to the photo still visible on Rafe’s screen.
“Dad,” he responds, his pride from a moment ago shriveling into decay.
Diane Hart also stands at the dessert table, looking us over as she selects items from the buffet.
“You skipped breakfast with me and Bruce this morning to do this? Take pictures of cake?” David asks as his lip curls in distaste.
I’ve never wanted to punch his smug face more.
Rafe missed a meeting with his father and the CEO?
I blush when I think about what we were actually doing around breakfast time.
“You promised you’d take this retreat seriously,” David continues.
“I promised I’d come,” Rafe says quietly, his voice strained. “That’s all.”
David’s nostrils flare ever so slightly, and I see red.
I snatch the phone from Rafe’s hand and hold it out to David.
“Do you see how good he is? Can’t you see how much he loves it?”
David Gallagher and I already have a complicated history, so what’s one more transgression?
“Tris,” Rafe says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m sorry, but your dad should recognize your talent even if he refuses to respect it.” I shake the screen at David again. “Look at all these likes and how many followers he has and the comments he gets. They love him.”
David stares at the screen for several long moments while I notice Diane watching all of this go down. Great, I’m making a fool of myself in front of her again.
But I’m angry for Rafe, and I don’t care right now.
Then our gazes meet as the barest hint of a smile hugs her bright pink lips before she resumes her dessert selection.
David’s gaze has moved past the phone and is now focused on Rafe as father and son engage in a silent standoff.
“Don’t bother,” Rafe says, addressing me while he keeps his eyes on his dad. “I’ve heard it all before.”
Rafe grabs my hand. “C’mon.” He tugs me away, refusing to look back. I cast a glance over my shoulder to see David watching us as we return to our table.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he collapses into the booth, his head dropping in his hands. Lan and Gabrielle are still getting treats from the buffet, and I give him a moment to collect himself.
He looks up at me, his expression vulnerable. “I’m fine. Thank you for trying.”
I shrug and rub his back. “I was about as successful as when you tried to stick up for me,” I joke, and he looks at me and smiles. “Do you want to leave?”
He shakes his head as he glances across the restaurant. David has returned to his seat on the far side of the room.
“No.” He slaps his hands on the table. “Absolutely not. He’s not ruining our day. Let’s go eat.”
Two hours later, Rafe and I ascend on the elevator to our suite, sugar running through our veins. Thankfully, David and Diane left shortly after our confrontation, so we didn’t have to speak with either of them again.
“That was all so good,” I say, licking the corner of my lip, where I can still taste the chocolate sauce from my last profiterole.
“Stop,” Rafe says, pushing me against the wall and caging me in his arms. He bends down and licks the chocolate away.
“Hey, that was mine,” I protest.
He chuckles and then we come together in a crushing kiss of berries and honey and a flavor that is distinctly Rafe. It’s intoxicating and heady, and I’m falling so hard that it feels like I’ve just plunged headfirst off a waterfall.
This is bad. This will probably destroy me. I remember the moment when I knew Leo would be bad for me, but I went for it anyway, ignoring my cautious inner voice. But this feels totally different. Rafe might ruin me, but not in the same way. What if this could be okay? What if I could let go and allow myself to slide into this?
If I ever want to be in a relationship again, then I have to find a way to trust someone.
Rafe’s hand slides under the hem of my shorts, fingers skating the edge of my underwear, and it feels like the only thing that could stop me is if the cable snapped and this elevator plummeted twenty stories to the ground.
Even then, with all of my bones shattered, I’d want to keep kissing him.
We arrive on our floor intact, and the elevator doors slide open with a ding. Rafe hooks his hands under my thighs, my legs trapping his waist as he carries me to our door. After some fancy maneuvering, we get it unlocked and tumble inside.
My feet slide to the ground, and I press my hands to his chest, pushing his back against the door. My palms splayed flat, my fingers quest over the toned, hard muscles welded together to create the perfect armature of this man. Slowly, I memorize every line and angle before falling to my knees.
“Tris,” he hisses as I lower his zipper one torturous inch at a time, looking up at him with an innocent doe-eyed smile that I hope ruins him, too. His erection tents his boxer briefs as I yank down on the waistband.
I wrap my hand around his thick cock, licking the tip and swirling my tongue around the head before drawing him into my mouth. With an agonized moan, his head thunks against the door.
“Oh fuck. Tris,” he groans as his fingers thread through my hair. With my hand and my mouth, I lick and suck and pump, feeling him grow bigger and harder as his hips tilt with rhythmic thrusts. I slowly peel him apart, making him come undone as I revel in this power and the sounds he’s making as he melts under my touch.
After a minute, he pulls me up and flips me around, so now I’m the one against the door. He sucks on the curve of my throat as he unbuttons my shirt.
“I have to confess that I’ve fantasized about you on your knees,” he says as he cups my breast.
“You have?”
He pulls away to look in my eyes with a mischievous glint. “Yeah, but it wasn’t quite like that.”
“How?”
He tugs down the zipper of my shorts and eases them over my hips. “First, I’d call you into my office and tell you to close the door.” My shorts drop to the floor as my chest flutters with tight breaths. “Then I’d tell you to close the blinds.”
My breath turns sharp, scraping the back of my throat. “Okay. I close the blinds. Then what?”
I work on his T-shirt, lifting the hem and pulling it over his head. My nails drag down the planes of his chest and his stomach and the V of his hip creases as he leans down and brings his mouth to my ear.
“I tell you to remove all your clothes except your high heels. You’re in those man-eating black ones with the red soles. I fucking love those shoes.”
An involuntary whimper seeps from my mouth as he strips off my shirt and yanks down my bra cup before he leans down and sucks on my nipple. My back arches against the door as he grinds his hips into mine.
“Then you get on your knees and crawl to me.” My thighs clench because that sounds super hot. “Then you stop at my feet and slide your hands up my legs.” His thigh finds its way between my knees as he presses his leg to my pulsing center. “Then you undo my pants and suck on my cock.”
I’m squirming against his leg, trying to find the relief of friction.
“The HR department is going to lose its mind,” I gasp.
He lets out a low, dark chuckle as he unhooks my bra, still grinding his knee between my legs.
“When you’re done, I lay you on my desk, where you spread your legs, and I feast on your pussy until you’re a quivering, boneless mess.”
I wonder if you can orgasm just from the sound of a man’s voice?
“You really thought about that?”
“Intensely,” he replies with a smile. “Do you have a fantasy, Tris?”
I look away, suddenly self-conscious, but he catches my chin and directs my gaze back to him, his lush brown eyes full of determination. “Tell me.”
I bite my lip and give him a shy smile. “I pictured you as an evil villain dressed in black,” I say, and I can tell he’s already enjoying this. “You’d sling me over your shoulder and steal me away to your stone tower or your high-tech lair, where you’d have your way with me.”
He’s grinning now. “Oh, we are definitely making that happen. Airbnb must include villainous lair as a search option.” I sputter out a laugh that comes up short because that’s a future plan, which means he’s thinking about us beyond this room and this resort, and I can pretend all I want, but I kind of like the sound of that.
I want to let go. I want to let him in. Maybe I’m ready for that.
But then we’re interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He digs into the jeans hanging off his hips and pulls it out. I catch the flash of Hannah’s name on the screen, and he silences it and tosses it on the nearby counter.
“Sorry about that.” He leans in again, but I place a hand against his chest, holding him back.
“She calls you a lot.”
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing going on with her, I promise.”
I stand up straighter, pressing my palms to the door at my back.
“Clearly something is going on, Rafe.”
He’s about to respond, but I don’t give him the chance, not sure I want to hear what comes out of his mouth. I was wrong about giving this a chance. It’s safer if I just keep my feelings out of this and let this be casual and temporary.
“Never mind. It’s fine. We’re just having fun, right? We agreed. This is a Hawaii thing only. It’s none of my business.”
There. I wipe away everything real , like the lines on a chalkboard.
He tilts his head, searching my face. “Is that really what you want?”
“Yes. I’m already breaking my rule about getting involved with anyone at work.”
His brows furrow at that. “Why won’t you date someone at work?”
“Because it’s… a bad idea.”
His expression of confusion deepens. “I don’t understand. We wouldn’t be breaking any rules. There are tons of couples who met at the office.”
I pin him with as stern a look as I can, considering I’m mostly naked. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” He cups the side of my face, his eyes brimming with concern. “What happened?”
My mouth opens and then closes. I’ve kept this story so close to my chest, but maybe it’s time to come clean. I’ve lived in fear of everyone’s judgment, but if I tell Rafe, his horrified reaction might be what I need to break away from this infatuation.
So, I tell him about Leo. All of it. How we dated and he lied to me. And about how he betrayed me and violated my privacy, leaving me to the wolves.
“They called me a ladder-climbing slut and… so many other vile things I can’t even repeat,” I say, trying to steady my voice.
Rafe clenches his jaw, his eyes flashing. He places his palms on either side of my head and leans in. “He broke the law, Tris. None of that was your fault. Please tell me you went to the police.”
I scoff. “And what would they have done? I gave him permission to take that photo. They would have said what everyone else did—that I was asking for it.”
His shoulders drop, and he exhales a sharp breath.
He’s angry, but it seems like it’s on my behalf.
“No one would hire me. That’s why I took the job at WMC. It was two years before I stopped receiving anonymous dick pics. I had to change my number and email three times before they stopped.”
His expression brims with fury. The vengeance of a James Bond villain about to enact his plan to fry the earth with his giant laser. He rubs a hand down his face.
“Fuck Tris, I’m so sorry that happened. That’s despicable. Where is he now?”
I shake my head. “He’s still running his company, probably screwing over a stable of other young women.”
He wraps me in his arms, dropping his chin to the top of my head.
“What’s his last name?” he asks.
“Why?” I look up at him.
He shrugs. “I’d kind of like to find him and rip out his spine.”
That dispels the tightness in my chest, and I choke out a laugh. He isn’t judging me for my mistakes.
He cups my face in his hands and gives me a penetrating look.
“Tris, I want you to know that I’d never do anything like that to you or to anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
The earnest look he’s giving me surfaces so many emotions I’m trying to tease my way through. I do know he wouldn’t have shared a photo like that. I’ve always understood he’s not that sort of man. I want to trust him, but I can’t let my heart slide any further until I’m sure. I’m enjoying my time with Rafe, but I don’t know if we can ever be more.
So, I might as well enjoy it while I have it.
“Rafe,” I say, looking up at him. “Get some clothes on. Dress pants and shirt.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
I point to the far corner of the room. “Nowhere, but we have a fantasy to play out, and that desk should do the trick.”
His eyebrow arches as he realizes what I’m suggesting.
“You sure?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
He hesitates, studying me. “We’ll talk about this again.”
I shake my head. “No, there’s no need. Now, are we doing this or not?”
I plant my hand on my hip and raise my eyebrow. He leans in and kisses me so deeply that I can barely catch my breath. Then he pulls away and practically flies to his bathroom to change. I head to the bedroom to find the heels he mentioned.
“Miss Malik, I need to see you in my office immediately,” he says sternly as he approaches, still buttoning his shirt.
“Coming, Mr. Gallagher,” I say in a high, breathy voice, and we pick up where we left off.