Chapter 11
FOUR YEARS AGO
T here was only one person I ever could have envisioned having a conversation like this with.
And it wasn’t the person I was having it with.
In a private dining room in our mansion, I sat with a glass of water while my adopted mother, Melanie Hunt, patiently drank.
“She’s heartbroken, you know.”
The matter at hand could not have felt more awkward than right there.
I had taken a girl upstairs while the Hunts were out of the house and we had had sex.
But at the end, she asked if I loved her.
It was too much too soon, and since I was going to college soon, I sure wouldn’t have let myself fallen in love anyways.
So I told her the truth.
Well, apparently, the truth wasn’t good enough, or it was too much at least for the girl, Christine.
She ran out in tears… right as Mrs. Hunt had returned.
And, unfortunately, I got to hear everything—which, namely, was everything we had just discussed.
Christine spared no detail for Mrs. Hunt.
I sat in my room, mortified at what was transpiring.
My adopted mother, hearing the fact I had supposedly lied to this girl about how I felt for her.
I really did like Christine. But it was ridiculous to believe I had ever loved her. Maybe someday, if we stayed in touch for some time, we’d fall in love, but sure as hell not like this.
“I told her the truth,” I said, shaking my head.
At the beginning of our interaction, I had felt so uncomfortable, and Mrs. Hunt’s judgmental looks and stares did not help matters.
I felt like I was being punished without being punished; I knew Mrs. Hunt wasn’t going to ground me because I had broken a girl’s heart, but the fact that I received her wrath all the same did not help matters.
That, and how she kept saying she empathized with the girl.
“You swear that is the truth, Chance?” Mrs. Hunt said.
She didn’t speak sarcastically, but I knew she didn’t quite believe me. My reputation as a serial, casual dater had not gone unnoticed by the mother of the house.
“I swear to it,” I said. “I never told her I loved her. I told her I liked her a lot. But… I don’t know, I guess she misread it.”
Mrs. Hunt paused for a second and took another gulp of her wine.
“You have to be careful with women’s feelings, Chance,” she said. “You never know how a woman is going to take what you say. You have to be careful in your wording and make sure you communicate clearly. Especially for you. You’re a Hunt, you have all the opportunities in the world, you—”
“Not like Morgan. I’m not a real Hunt.”
I don’t know why I snapped there. Well, with a little thinking, I did—for nearly a decade and a half, I had not had the courage to lash out at my adopted parents.
I had never told them what I had expressed to Morgan, that the name Hunt wasn’t a gift but a curse in my life beyond superficial access to certain things.
But it had built for nearly fifteen years, and finally, just a few months before I was set to move to Columbia for college, it had all exploded.
To my surprise, though, Mrs. Hunt did not react shocked or with horror. Instead, she put the glass of wine down on the table, got up, and kissed me on the forehead.
“I know you may not believe me, Chance, but you are going to someday be grateful that you are not Morgan.”
Of all the things I expected her to say, that was the absolute last thing that came to mind.
“Morgan has the expectation, probably the burden, of becoming like Edwin, and that is not a weight I wish upon anyone,” she continued.
“You have the freedom to do whatever you want. Chance, your name is more appropriate than you can ever know. You can take whatever opportunity you want. You can do whatever you want. We love you and we support you, even if your father doesn’t always show it. ”
He’s not my father. But I understand.
“You need to remember, though, there are other people in life. What you say and what you do makes sense to you because you have thought it through before saying or doing it. But there will be people like that girl, Chance. She truly believes you broke her heart because she truly believed you loved her. I know, I know. But just remember—what you think they are feeling may not be the same as what they are actually thinking. OK?”
I understand rationally what she meant. But I still couldn’t wrap my head around Christine believing I actually loved her. We’d only been together a few months!
Nevertheless, partially to appease Mrs. Hunt and partially to get out of this still awkward conversation, I nodded.
“You’re a good man, Chance,” she said, and it was not lost on me that she used the word man. “But you’re still learning. And that’s OK. We’re all still learning.”
Present Day
I admired Layla Taylor.
I admired her body. I admired her conviction. And I admired how goddamn fucking good she felt for the last twenty minutes.
But there was one thing I did not admire, and that was her seemingly terrible habit of choosing to distance herself after all of our encounters.
I could practically see it now. She would leave, say she would text or call me, and then I wouldn’t see her until the next business meeting with her father.
We’d then sneak off somewhere, do the dirty, and the process would repeat.
I mean, I guess it would be nice to have dangerous and thrilling sex like that semi-regularly…
But…
Well, fuck, I was starting to develop feelings for her. That cursed word that I had put aside for so long, even as I liked girls, was starting to come back. This wasn’t like Tracy or Christine or even Sarah—this was very, very different.
And that said nothing about the stakes of our business relationship either.
I watched her get dressed, noticing that, not surprisingly, she was refusing to make eye contact. It made no sense. I’d made her come so hard she had to gag herself to avoid screaming so loud. I knew she had enjoyed it—I had felt her enjoy it as much as I had heard her enjoy it.
What the hell was up with her?
“Why do you do this?” I asked, no longer willing to keep the thoughts in my head.
“Do what?” she said.
Somehow, she seemed even more tense. Her back had turned to me now, and though her face had turned, she still wasn’t looking at me. She had only just begun to put her bra back on, and she looked every bit the part of someone who regretted where she was.
In perhaps a futile attempt to put her at ease, I helped her get her bra on, lifting the straps and helping her get it hooked.
“Thanks,” she said.
Maybe it wasn’t so futile after all.
“It’s just… this is all so weird, let’s be honest,” she said.
I wanted to laugh, but the serious look on her face told me that would be the worst thing I could do.
“Obviously, by what just happened, I’m extraordinarily attracted to you, Chance.
I have had to fight very hard not to indulge in you, but I get carried away.
I shouldn’t be doing this with out business. ”
“Well, I shouldn’t be either, but I don’t seem to mind.”
Layla finally looked me in the eyes, her expression saying, “really?” but at least with a smile attached to it.
“I take my role at the family business seriously, Chance,” she continued. “I don’t want to screw it up. I knew because you’re attractive we would probably end up flirting to some degree. But…”
“But the charm took over, huh?” I said.
She rolled her eyes, and now I allowed myself to laugh. Thankfully, it was no longer the worst thing I could have done.
“Listen, truth be told…”
Well, if there’s going to be someone who makes me who I was before Sarah Hill, this is it.
“I had no intentions of developing feelings either. I don’t like to get involved with women for a variety of reasons. But there’s something about you, Layla Taylor, that has me drawn to you like a starving bee to a newly discovered mound of honey.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. She fought to avoid leaning into me but eventually gave in.
“I really can’t stop thinking about you. Stupid, maybe. Probably, considering this could impact our business deal. But who puts a price tag on romance?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous and charming, Chance.”
“Why? Because it’ll make it harder for you to say no?”
Her lack of an answer confirmed what I thought.
“Look, we don’t even know each other that well. Let’s meet up for dinner. Tonight. I’ll pay. I’ll show you that just because I’m not making any money here doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself. What say you?”
She folded her arms after putting all but her shirt on. Its tear was, unfortunately, a bit obvious, but at least she could leave the building quickly.
“I say fine,” she said. “But pick somewhere far away from our offices. I don’t need us drawing suspicious gazes.”
I heard her, but I took that as her saying she wanted to flirt with me at dinner. She wanted to relish in the opportunity to touch me again. Who knew? If I found a private enough room, maybe she would put her hand down there again.
“Deal,” I said. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”
Before she could sarcastically reply, I went in and kissed her, this time a little more tenderly.
Except it didn’t last long, because soon, my hands had gone to her ass and I had gotten hard once more. She reached down and touched me, and I pushed her down into the chair.
“Stop, stop,” she said, giggling.
Reluctantly, I pulled up and leaned on the table.
“We have work, you know,” she said. “We can have some fun on lunch, but that still leaves the rest of the work day and evening I have to look professional.”
“Says the woman with a tear in her dress shirt.”
“Mmhmm,” she said, not really addressing my note. “You have my number. Text me where we’re going to go and I’ll meet you there at 7.”
“I’ll meet outside your place at 6:30.”
I could see her brain telling her no. Fortunately, her heart was speaking right now.
“I’ll text you where I live,” she finally said.
“Here, I’ll save you the trouble,” I said, pulling out my phone and texting her the request. “Now you can’t ignore me and pretend that you forgot.”
“OK, Chance Hunt,” she said, finally fully dressed and pulling my chair from the door. “Have some manners. You might get what just happened all over again.”
I snorted my pleasure as businesswoman Layla Taylor reappeared, walking out the door with a strident walk, as if she was not aware of the tear in her shirt. Once it was safe, I took a few steps out the door, looked at the exit, and smiled.
You’re mine, I thought. And not just physically.
I whirled around back to my office. Just before I did, though, I swore I saw Edwin Hunt walking down the hallway, as if he had just been watching me.
There was no… well, unfortunately, there was a way it could have happened—as it just did. What the hell this meant, I had no idea… but it wasn’t exactly the most reassuring thing to see right after what had happened with Layla.