Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryder
E lliot’s face tells me a lot of stories about what I said, and none of them have a happy ending.
Fuck, why the hell did I say we work, and why am I tied up in knots when I’m around her?
She doesn’t answer me, simply looks at my arm and starts to tidy the kitchen, putting the papers from the food in the trash and the cups in the dishwasher and through it, the silence grows.
Does she still think I was up to something with those numbers? I should have said something when I saw her, like I’d normally do, make a joke and not get…panicked.
That’s not me.
But a lot of this isn’t me. Anyone other than Elliot and I’d have just showed them or forgotten them and if found, I’d…yeah, have done things differently. Been me.
Thing is, she thinks I’m some kind of trash. She thinks I’m fickle and shallow and all the things I’ve never cared about when it comes to someone else. As in my image or what they think. Like me or not, judge me or not, I never cared because I know who I am. I play the field hard when it comes to personal and I work the room harder when it comes to business.
I respect women, I love women. I just never wanted to settle down. Never felt the need to. Never thought about it. And I’m not thinking about it now. No, I’m just thinking about how I look. And it’s not good.
Ryder the player. Ryder the man whore. Ryder the fuck boy. In it for nothing more than sensory pleasure and himself. Yeah, I love fucking, I love touching, kissing, I love pleasure. And like most people, of course, I’m into pleasure for myself. But I love giving it, too. Sharing pleasure and a moment with someone. Lots of different someones. Again, it doesn’t make me look good.
Yet, I haven’t thought about other women in the way Elliot thinks I do, the way I admittedly have before I met her. Sure, I’ve looked. I’m a guy. It’s what we do. But more often than not, I find myself comparing them to her.
Oh, Jesus. I’ve lost my mind.
It’s because I like her and don’t simply want to fuck her. I want to talk to her and laugh and spend time with her. No doubt, that’s just the spell she weaves, and it’ll wear off. Of course it will.
One thing’s come from this, and that’s I do want to change. Not be a boring bore from boredom world, but someone who garners respect in all aspects of his life. Someone a woman like Elliot would like and respect. Someone a woman like Elliot might want.
I clear my throat. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it—you don’t need to be bored.”
“No.” She looks at me and smiles. “I want to. Not be bored, go with you. I just need to go home and get changed.”
I sweep my gaze over her. “No you don’t. You look good, very Elliot.”
“Frumpy?”
“You say one thing wrong…” This I can do. And the rest? I’ll work on that shit later. And soon she’ll be gone and I can see if she wants to be friends, or…yeah. We’ll see. But first, I need to be me, the 2.0 version. Fake it until you make it, right? “I don’t think you look frumpy at all. I think you look beautiful.”
Her smile is hesitant, but it blooms and warmth spreads through me. “It’s your lucky day, because today, flattery will get you everywhere. Or a date to this thing.”
“Come my lady.” I hold my arm out to her once more. “Let’s go.”
And this time, she takes it.
Thank Christ for the redhead with me. She charms the battleaxes and is a quiet and implacable presence that infuses all around us. And she makes quiet comments that almost make me laugh, which I do back at her until it turns into a game.
But Elliot’s on her game, right at the top and she deftly controls anything that might seem like it could go south, like questions. Like the fact my mother brought some kind of beauty queen with her who would have been sitting next to me if it wasn’t for Elliot.
And through it all, my fucking mother just smiled her sly little smile.
Over a glass of wine at the fancy bar in pale creams—like the rest of the godforsaken high-end place, I sit with Elliot and rest my elbow on the bar’s top.
“To you, Perry.” I raise my glass and clink it against hers.
She places her hand against her heart, right between her lovely breasts, hinted at in the lavender button down she’s wearing. I remember how they feel and fit my hand, how they taste a little too well.
“Me?”
“You saved me about a billion times.”
She takes a sip of her wine and hides a smile behind the rim of the glass. “You did all right, unless you wanted the bait your mom brought in.”
“It was a little…on the nose.” I slide her a sly look. “But she was hot.”
“Your mom?”
“C’mon, Perry, you don’t play fair.”
How is it that like this we’re great?
The word safe wanders through my mind.
This is safe territory.
“Of course I don’t. I’m the demon who’s going to get you what you want, Sinclair.”
“And all I need to do is sell you a part of my soul?”
She wrinkles her nose. “That thing? Nope, I’ll stick to the money.” Her hand flits across mine and my blood stirs into life at her touch. “You know, Ryder, you did good. You didn’t need me today.”
“No, but I wanted you.” She’s staring at me, so I go on. “There. Here. I wanted you here with me.”
Her gaze skitters away and I can’t shake the feeling I somehow disappointed her, but I’m not sure how. She looked at me like she didn’t want me to say what I did.
Women.
I was better off when I didn’t care on such a personal level.
Liking someone sucks the big one.
“I’m going to go to the restroom and then I’m getting back to your grindstone.” Elliot stands. “I mean, working for you.”
And she turns and hurries off.
“I like her.”
Mother.
My hand tightens around my glass and I slowly face the diabolical creature. “What’s not to like? Elliot’s a great person. But I don’t think you’re lurking—”
“I’m not lurking. I was at the luncheon, dear. I wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”
“Where’s your carrot?”
She takes the seat that Elliot vacated and a gin and elderberry cocktail appears in front of her, courtesy of a suddenly very attentive bartender. My mother loves that drink during day time hours when she has to be at events like this.
“I sent her home.”
“At least you didn’t pretend not to know what I meant.”
“Ryder,” she says, “why would I? But you knew I’d bring someone, didn’t you? Is that why you enticed Elliot along?”
“Yes.” I give her a narrow-eyed glare. “I like to bring a buffer, you know me.”
“Sometimes, I don’t think I do.”
I lean in. “I was being sarcastic, old woman—”
“Ryder.”
“—I asked Elliot because she’s fun to be around. You remember fun, don’t you? Oh, yes, that’s right, it’s what you do with your sons, have fun at their expense by manipulating Father’s letters.”
“Watch it, Ryder. I’m your mother, and you’re never too old to punish.”
I shake my head and laugh, sitting back. “You look spectacular for an old woman.”
“You really…” She stops and there’s a smile and I know she isn’t bothered by my attempt at an insult.
I love her, but she really tests me sometimes, and this whole thing is one big test. “Yeah, I know. Elliot gets pissed off at me, too.”
“Does she now? As I said, I like her. A lot. She’s smart.” She takes a delicate sip of her cocktail. “Don’t screw up, Ryder.”
“I’m not going to. It’s why I have Elliot.”
“Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn and so little time.” She sighs.
But I’m not going down that path, whatever that is. I have more important fish to go ahead and fry here. Namely, her agenda and how it affects me. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“I’m your mother. That’s what’s going on. I’m looking out for you.”
“Nope. Not buying it.”
She laughs, crossing her legs and toying with her glass. “Hate to break it to you, Ryder, but we share DNA. I’m your mother. I should know, I spent thirty hours in labor. You were not an easy baby to give birth to.”
I clench my hand. “You’re not funny. And I’m not letting it go. You’re up to something. Why the fuck are you taking such an interest in all this, in Father’s stipulations?”
“I was named dear, to take part.”
“Nope, I mean sure. I get that, but you’re taking more of an interest than is needed. Above and beyond, as they say.”
“Maybe you need someone to do that. Keep you from screwing up your life. After all, you know you need the help. That’s why you hired your pretend girlfriend. No, wait, I think I read fiancée.”
I swear, you say something once and it’s suddenly etched in stone. “She’s not a pretend girlfriend.”
“So she’s your girlfriend, then? Interesting.”
She’s goading me. I know she is. And it works. Because I’m pissed off. I hate being manipulated for the pleasures of a dead man and I hate even more my mother seems to be helping that whim for reasons she’s not going to tell me. I’d fucking shout where she and the rest of them can stick it—the board, Jenson—if the family company wasn’t at stake. And yeah, I want my heirloom, too.
“You know she’s not that at all. I don’t do girlfriends.”
“Pity.”
“My life isn’t your life, Faye.”
She taps her long, tastefully manicured nails against the bar. “I know. But—”
“There are no buts.”
“Ryder, I want your life to be fulfilling. And maybe that’s why I’m taking an interest. I know you can do your work and live your life the way you want, but one day you might wake up and regret it.”
“That’s my choice.” I also don’t think her motives are that altruistic.
She’s not out to destroy me or hurt me, I know that. But she likes control. And she’s up to something.
“Elliot’s very pretty, don’t you think?”
“Are you trying to set me up with her? She’s not my type. Pretty or plain, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
I’m lying, but I’m so riled I don’t want my mother adding the element of matchmaking to her damn plans. Because no doubt she’ll have some dour and boring heiress lined up somewhere for me.
“I’m not about to change. Not for you, and certainly not for some woman I hired.”
My mother stares at me, her mouth snapping shut and her gaze shoots just past my shoulder.
My heart sinks like it’s suddenly morphed into lead.
I turn.
Elliot’s staring at me, too, but it’s hurt and vulnerability that flash in her face and it slashes into me.
“I think,” she says, “that’s my cue to leave.”
And she does just that.