Chapter Twenty-Six
Elliot
I don’t know who’s more flabbergasted at that. Me or him.
His nervous demeanor almost got me, it did, and I want the offer than he almost put into words.
But if he can’t say it…
I’m worth more than that half-assed offer of a maybe something more. Whatever that means.
I might not be the prettiest, and he might be the hottest man ever, but if he can’t, then I won’t.
It’s that devastating. That simple. That complicated.
“What do you mean no?”
I’m so glad the desk lies between us. It’s a cool afternoon, but cloudless and the light coming in through my window in my office lights his face and he’s perfection itself. And I know I had to say no.
This is going to hurt, but it’s for him as much as it is for me. “Ryder, you’ve worked so damn hard, and you have become different in a way, but that big a change for real isn’t happening overnight or in four weeks, not really. And you…you don’t really want me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ryder, you’ve bonded with me. It happens.”
His eyes narrow and he slides his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “So you fuck all your clients?”
“It’s a special service,” I snap. “No, only you, and I shouldn’t have done that, but you’re a very hot man and I was stupid.”
“Stupid is one way to put it.”
Shit, I’m mangling this. “What I’m trying to say is what I’ve been saying all along. You bonded, and you only want me because there are no other women.”
“Okay. I’m sure you’re right,” he says suddenly, like it doesn’t matter, like he wasn’t wanting more. And maybe he’s just relieved I stopped the nonsense. “Friends, right?”
I don’t want to say no way in hell can I be friends with him, but I smile. “Friends.”
“I better get back to work.” He turns and heads to the door. But Ryder stops and spins to face me. “Oh, yeah, one thing, tomorrow night’s that big event. It’s a Sinclair fucking fundraiser. I don’t even know what for. Probably a host of good causes. All in my father’s honor. One last outing for us. You’re coming, right?”
“Sure.” This thing’s in my calendar. No way am I letting Ryder go by himself. Not that I think he can’t handle it, because actually, I do. But because I’m selfish and weak and want that last big night with him where a small part of me can pretend we’re together.
“Thank God. I hate those things. High end, conservative, rich—wall to wall—the kind you haven’t yet seen. Well, maybe you have, but not on this scale. There’s no art or weird old rich people in amazing outfits with fuzzy pink dogs on their heads.”
Suddenly I laugh, that old lady at the art show coming into my head. I liked her. She didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. “I can bring the dog hats.”
“I don’t think they’ll approve at this kind of event. Boring music, boring food, boring drinks, boring people, boring speeches, and boring back patting at doing something for the world. Usually, I avoid these like the plague.”
We’re playing a game, I realize. Pretending things are all fine and dandy with us both.
“I can’t wait,” I say. “You sell it.”
“See you tomorrow.”
And then he’s gone.
I don’t know why, but I want to cry.
I’m such an idiot.
We’re halfway through the evening at the fundraiser and I’m beginning to think Ryder oversold it.
I manage to get him away from some old man who’s droning on. Ryder runs the backs of his fingers down along my exposed spine on the long evening dress I wear and I shiver, my blood sparking. “Thank you for saving me,” he murmurs, his lips not quite brushing my ear. “I thought I’d have to poke an eye out with a fork. Not one of his, unfortunately, one of mine, just to get out of here.”
“Think of what’s almost in your grasp.”
“I am.”
And I shiver again, because there’s a hidden depth of meaning in his words that I want to hold to me more than anything.
“Ryder…” I breathe out his name as a warning, but it comes out more like a litany.
“What do you say we get out of here before the demon of boredom eats our souls?”
I laugh. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“I am. And no one’s going to penalize me for going early with you. After all, you’re my fake fiancée.”
“Don’t say that again, and I’m out the door with you.”
“Consider the fake engagement done.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
And Ryder leads me out the door and into the night.
Brooklyn. Smith Street. We’re completely overdressed, but somehow, it’s okay. Ryder takes my hand as we step from the car and he leads me to a building.
He knocks and a little slot opens. Then he hands over what looks like two coins. And he says the words, “Honey and the Bee.”
The slot snaps shut and the door opens and we enter a long, dark corridor that leads to a set of steps that wind down. Music and laughter wafts up, growing louder as we go.
“Ryder, where have you taken me?”
But I think I know.
When the man opens the door down at the bottom of the stairs, we step into the luxuriously darkly red wallpapered and velvet seated bar, complete with a stage and a band. Nothing like the one I took him to. This is barebones, and it’s all wonderful.
“It’s a speakeasy. How…?”
He grins. “I looked into it. And I liked where you took me so much I wanted to find somewhere to share with you.”
“You did?” I grin back, I can’t help it. The place is something I never knew existed and I’m in love.
With the place.
Not with Ryder.
Oh, God, definitely not that.
It would be a disaster.
But he doesn’t let me sit with those thoughts, instead he makes me dance, holding me close, just there in front of a table. No one else is dancing but with the music and Ryder looking at me like I’m all that exists, I don’t care.
I’ll take the moment and run.
He spins me out and then back in again, right up against his hard, warm body and my heart’s beating wild and fast and erratic and everything is humming inside with the sweetest kind of electricity.
I can barely breathe because everything is taken up by him.
We finally stop dancing—we’re swaying now, his hands low on my back, mine flat on his chest—as the music ends, but he doesn’t release me.
“I do like you, Elliot. A whole fucking lot.”
I’m a coward and everything inside lurches like he sees into me, down past everything to my soul, and I can’t speak. The world shifts and tilts and my stomach is a wild sea. I drop my head against his chest and breathe in his intoxicating scent as he whispers fingers against my nape, beneath my hair.
I like him, too. More than like him. The other L word comes into my head, but I don’t give it purchase.
“Sit?”
“Sounds like a plan.” I raise my head and find my smile again.
He releases me and we find a table. The light is low in here, like shining bronze and the shadows deep and inviting. I sit, grateful not to be on my unsteady legs and I can’t help but think maybe there’s a chance for us, but I push it away as he goes to get drinks from the bar.
As he crosses the room, eyes follow him. A woman peels away from her friends and into his path and he bends his head, his hand on her arm. He smiles but shakes his head.
The reason why it wouldn’t work. So much temptation for a man like him. The pick of everything.
On his way back, a hot young guy comes up to him and he does the same thing. The hand on the arm, the smile, the shake of his head.
“It’s a wild honey and blood orange mescal cocktail. The bartender swears it’s good.”
I take a sip and it is, but, as we drink and chat, I suddenly blurt out, “Is that what it’s always like for you?”
“What?”
“People thinking they can proposition?”
“I turned her down.” His gaze holds mine, the dark melting chocolate inviting. “Him, too.”
“I saw that. I wasn’t…wasn’t accusing, just curious, I guess.”
Ryder shrugs. “It happens. It’s fine.”
I just nod.
“Listen, Elliot, it’s part of life. It happens to you, it happens to everyone. Half the people that hit on me wouldn’t if they weren’t cruising, weren’t out drinking. If I’m in a store, I mostly don’t get hit on.”
Suddenly I start laughing. “Mostly.”
“What?” He frowns.
“Only you could make it seem like it’s not a thing.”
“It isn’t.” He leans forward. “I like you, I told you that. You don’t really believe me, so I can’t do a thing other than offer my friendship and an open door. I don’t want these people.”
Ryder stands, taking the last swallow of his drink and I think he’s off to the bar, but instead, he goes to the stage area where the small band is. They’re getting ready to perform and no doubt Ryder’s just requesting a song.
A guy comes up and gestures to the seat, pulling it out and putting his glass on the lacquered surface.
“It’s taken,” I say.
He shrugs and moves on as someone strums the guitar.
I don’t know what makes me look over. But I do and there, head bent over the guitar, is Ryder. I’m on my feet before I know what I’m doing as he plays some rusty notes.
He starts to sing. The song is pretty, folksy and full of heart. His voice is low with a hint of gravel. It’s nothing to write home about but the tune and the words and the way he looks at me as he sings about unrequited love, about offering that love open handed, open-hearted is.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve heard and seen.
And I can’t move.
When the band starts up and the singer joins in, Ryder hands the guitar to the owner and comes over to me. He looks down into my eyes and he’s not smiling.
Intensity thickens the air.
“That’s how I feel, Elliot. About you.”
If there’s a glimmer of a chance, I want it. I want him.
I go up on my toes and kiss him.
Ryder’s arms come about me. His lips part, and the kiss is like the song.
Then he lifts his head.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.