15. Cole
COLE
That afternoon I take my mother to the airport, say goodbye to her, and thank her for having visited.
She wraps me in a big hug, and tells me she’ll be back soon.
“I’m going to miss you, and especially our breakfast dates. They’ve been lovely the last few days,” she says.
“I’ve enjoyed them too, especially since I usually head to the gym and skip breakfast. Just grab coffee and an apple.”
“Yes, and I worry about that, Cole. You’re so busy, and I want you to take care of yourself.”
“I just said I went to the gym,” I say.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know, I know.”
“You’ve done great here. I’m very proud of you. Make sure you’re taking time to enjoy yourself now and then though,” she says, giving me a mother knows best look, reminding me once again of Georgia.
Without saying her name.
The last woman I remotely felt anything for. We were together five years ago. We dated for a few months in Los Angeles, and were falling in love, then she was killed in a car accident.
Mourning a woman you’re only just starting to fall in love with is a special kind of hell. A uniquely terrible type of pain. But then, all pain is unique. All pain shapes us in its own way.
Mine makes getting close to someone again particularly risky. I prefer other risks when it comes to women. I prefer games that are out in the open. I prefer pleasure, since pleasure can’t hurt you, unless of course you want it to.
“I’m enjoying everything,” I say.
She’s relentless though. “You risk all sorts of things, but you don’t ever risk your heart.”
I want to say, And do you risk yours?
But she has. She’s met someone new. Someone she loves. Someone she trusts.
The last time that happened to me, she died on the way to the hospital.
“Hearts aren’t for risking. Money is,” I say, then I put her on her plane.
When I’m in my suite that night, I find the barrette that my stranger left behind at the masquerade party. I run my finger over the metal, then along the inscription. I had planned to give this back to her the following Saturday at the party. But that night isn’t going to happen.
I wrap the barrette, call my personal assistant, and ask her to deliver the package to Sage.
I have her number, now that I know who she is, so I text her to tell her something is on the way.
An hour later, I find a text from her.
Sage: Thank you! This is wonderful. I was looking for my clip. I was hoping it would come back into my life.
Cole: I planned to return it to you the following Saturday night. It’s a beautiful clip.
Sage: It’s one of my favorites. I felt foolish having lost it.
Cole: We had our hands all over you. Don’t feel foolish. Feel . . . adored.
Sage: That’s a good way of putting it—how I felt. And thank you again. This means the world to me.
I want to know why it matters to her. After I pour a glass of scotch, I sink down onto my couch and type a note.
Cole: I had a feeling it was important to you. I couldn’t help but notice the inscription. Brilliant for brilliant.
I send the message, hoping she picks up on the implied question, hoping she tells me what it means.
Sage: It’s from my parents.
Cole: They had a wonderful reputation. They did terrific things for the city.
Sage: They were great people. I admired them so much. And I miss them a lot.
Cole: I’m sorry for your loss.
Sage: It was a few years ago. But I do miss them still. I think I always will.
I stare at that word. Miss. I don’t miss Georgia anymore. But Sage and I aren’t talking about the same kind of loss. There is a difference between romantic loss and family loss.
I certainly missed Georgia plenty during those dark few months following her death.
More than I expected to. More than I knew how to deal with.
And that’s why the games with Daniel became necessary.
That’s why I craved them for new reasons.
As the antidote. As the cure. A way to feel good again without getting attached.
Cole: What does “brilliant for brilliant” mean? I bet it means something special.
Sage: My parents always believed in NOT praising their daughters just for their looks.
Little girls are often told they’re pretty all the time.
My father wasn’t like that. He wanted us to be praised for our intelligence and heart.
So that’s what he said to me. That was his line. Brilliant for brilliant.
I smile as I read the note, loving that her parents believed that. That they were progressive and thoughtful.
Cole: I agree with your parents. That’s the way to raise a child.
Sage: We used to go to the park near our home, and my father would read to me, then ask me to read to him. We sat on the bench for hours reading. It was wonderful.
Cole: He’s where your love of books comes from?
Sage: Mom was a big reader too. All of us were, and are. You’d have found the four of us on family vacations, ensconced in our lounge chairs on the beach, tucked into books.
Cole: That’s a wonderful image.
Sage: I probably have an actual photo of that somewhere.
Cole: Keep that photo safe. Moments like that matter.
Sage: They do. I’m lucky I have those memories.
Cole: I’m glad you have them too. And I also believe you’re brilliant.
Sage: Cole, are you just trying to bend me over again?
I laugh then reply, even though I should shut this down right now. I should stay far away from my rival. And yet . . .
Cole: We agreed not to do that. And look, you went there. You are filthy and brilliant.
Sage: Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re still the competition.
Cole: And so are you. But here we are, talking about family. I think it’s fantastic that you’re close to them even though they’re gone. That they taught you things that are important.
Sage: What about you? Are you close to your family?
I stare at the question, thinking about how to answer. And I reply with the honest truth.
Cole: I’m close to my mother. Actually, just sent her back to California today. She’s a professor.
Sage: That explains a lot about you, with your love of literature.
Cole: Yes, I definitely got that from her. I’m working my way through F. Scott Fitzgerald now.
Sage: Like you were reading at the masquerade.
Cole: I try to steal life’s interstitial moments to read as often as I can.
Sage: Rather than scrolling through Instagram. I like that. What book are you on now? Tender Is the Night is my favorite. I do love a good tragic tale.
Cole: That’s next. I’m finishing This Side of Paradise . I do love a good story of love and greed.
Sage: We could start a book club. I choose Oscar Wilde next.
Cole: I’m in. As the man said so aptly, “I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.”
Sage: That sounds like you. At least, from what I can tell so far.
Cole: What else can you tell about me?
Sage: You’re direct. You’re determined. You’re passionate. Very passionate. Incredibly passionate.
Cole: Flattery will get you everywhere, and you’re still the competition.
Sage: Excellent. I know your weakness now.
Cole: Since I can’t stop texting you, perhaps you’re my weakness.
Sage: I’m not exactly stopping either. So, tell me something else. You’re close to your mother. What about the rest of your family?
I take a moment before I answer her. There’s no point denying the truth, or tiptoeing around it. It’s no deep secret either, since I’m never photographed with my father, never seen with him. Meanwhile, my mother has attended plenty of events with me—charity fundraisers, galas, hotel openings.
But I’d rather be the one to tell her about my father, rather than avoid the thorny topic. I want to be the man Sage sees me as.
Direct. Determined. Passionate.
I am that man, but she also brings out that side of me. I want to be that person with her, so I answer her straight from the heart.
Cole: My father isn’t a part of my life. He never believed in me, never thought I would amount to anything. Said I was good for nothing. And he was the same way with my mother. He treated her without respect. I don’t speak to him.
Sage: He was clearly wrong. You are someone who should definitely be believed in. And people should treat each other with respect.
Cole: All the time, always.
Sage: I’m glad we agree on that.
Cole: I suspect we agree on a lot.
I don’t say more about my father. I don’t tell her that’s why every day I work hard to prove the opposite.
That I am not my father’s son. That I am my mother’s son.
That I can deliver for her, for my family, for my brother, and for everyone I’ve worked with.
And that also means I shouldn’t be having these types of earnest conversations with Sage Carmichael.
Even over text.
Yet the woman is hard to resist. And I’m not even in the same building as her. So I send her one more note.
Cole: I bet you’d look stunning with that clip in your hair right now.
I wait for her text, not entirely expecting one. But hoping. Absolutely hoping.
Five minutes later, it comes. There’s a close-up shot of the clip in her hair, and she’s lying on her bed.
I can just make out the pillows behind her, and all I can think is I would love to unclip her hair again, run my fingers through it, tug on it, and plant a hot, searing kiss on her neck. My body throbs with desire.
Cole: If I were there, I’d have my hands in your hair.
Sage: We agreed not to do this.
Cole: We did agree. And yet I love the way your hair feels in my hands.
Sage: And I like the way it feels when you tug on it. When you smack me. When you talk dirty to me.
Cole: And when I fuck you hard.
Sage: I believe we established all of that earlier today in my office.
Cole: And so many other things about your desires too.
Sage: But we’re not going to explore them anymore.
I run my palm over my hard-on, firm as steel in my pants right now. And I reply with a lie.
Cole: Of course not.
Sage: Then I should say good night. And thank you again for the thoughtful return of the clip.
Cole: Good night, Sage. Sweet dreams. Or dirty ones.
I set down the phone, take my cock out, and get myself off to all the filthy thoughts of how I want to make Sage Carmichael my plaything again. How I want to make her scream, how I want to make her come, just the two of us, and how I want to do it again while Daniel takes her at the same damn time.
This woman is in my head and under my skin.
I both want to have her to myself and I want to share her.
And I’ve never felt that way about anyone.
I’ve never felt this kind of wild desire to have a woman in every possible way and to give her every possible kind of pleasure.
But I want it with her. With a woman I absolutely can’t have.
I do my best to remind myself of that when I see her reply.
Sage: I have no doubt they’ll be dirty.
Cole: Those are the best kind of dreams.
Then I do shut it down. And as I woo Max and Alex throughout the next few days and over the weekend, I constantly remind myself that she’s the competition.