39. Emmy
“You’re never going to believe who personally invited you to a gallery opening in LA on Friday,” Stella says.
“Damien Ellis?”
“I guess you’ll believe it after all,” she replies, disappointed.
I should be ecstatic. I probably am ecstatic—it’s just buried under an odd layer of unwillingness.
If I attend this opening, there’s a strong possibility that Ellis is going to ask me back to his room to discuss Inspired Building again, and there’s an equally strong possibility that I’ll go. Just because Liam continues to insist we’re dating doesn’t mean I need to feel guilty about whatever occurs. But I think I might anyway.
I feed Snowflake and go to yoga, where I ignore Chloe’s repeated request for details of a very graphic nature about Liam’s dick. I wander down to the grocery store afterward and Liam’s gaze brushes over me, head to foot, as he starts packing up.
“I’m not staying,” I tell him. “I need to shower.”
He rises and walks toward me, sticking his index finger in the waistband of my leggings to pull me his way. “I think you know better than to walk in here dressed like that and tell me you can’t stay. I have a shower.”
I smile despite myself. “Fine. I can’t stay long. I have to pack. Damien Ellis just invited me to a gallery opening in LA. It’s a good chance for me to push him into buying out Inspired Building.”
He stills. “Inviting you to a gallery opening sounds like a date, not a business meeting.”
I shrug. “These things tend to get a little blurry. It’ll become a business meeting even if that’s not what he initially intended.”
He tips my chin up and I meet his eyes. “Em, don’t even think about fucking him.”
We aren’t really a couple, so this isn’t something he can demand. And the truth is that while I have no desire to sleep with Damien Ellis, I have a job to do, and I’m going to get it done one way or another. “You don’t control me.”
“I know I don’t control you. That’s why I’m telling you not to fuck him. Otherwise, I’d just use the remote to shut down your power every night.”
I laugh. “My remote? You’ve given a lot of thought to this.”
“I tried building a robot version of you first, but I’ve decided I’ll just implant a chip in your shoulder, which will suddenly make you want to stay in Elliott Springs and do what I say.”
“I imagine you’d program me to suck you off on demand first and get so excited you’d implant the chip before you got to anything else.”
He exhales as if I’ve punched him, wincing as he adjusts himself. “You can’t suggest something like that and expect me to wait ’til we get home. On your knees, robot.”
I laugh against his ear. “Even a robotically controlled version of me would have enough sense not to blow you in full view of Main Street.” I tug on his hand. “Let’s go.”
He pulls me back. “Okay. But Em…tomorrow night?” He shakes his head instead of completing the words, and then he kisses me hard and thoroughly, with his hands on my face, as if I’m going off to war and he might never see me again.
I wish I could swear nothing’s going to happen with Damien, but I can’t. I live my whole life as if it’s a war. If only one of us can win, me or Liam, it’s going to be me.
* * *
I landin LA and spend a few hours shopping in Brentwood after I’ve checked into the hotel. The crowd there is minimal and everyone is smiling. There’s a courtyard where people enjoy their lattes and croissants, and I picture being here with Liam. He’d tell me to get the croissant and latte when I was only going to get black coffee. I’d take him through the stores, and he’d be appalled by the kind of money the clothes cost, but if something made me happy, he’d push me to get it. If something made me happy and I couldn’t afford it, I wouldn’t even mention wanting it because I know he’d try to find a way to make it happen.
How did we end up where we are? He is loving and generous and kind, and anyone would adore him. I’m ruthless and amoral and self-centered, and only he could like me in spite of it.
I’m scared of what might change about my life if I believed this thing between us would last.
I walk into the gallery a half hour late, wearing a black halter dress that makes me look as leggy as a supermodel, my hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, my red lips the only pop of color.
“There she is,” says Damien, reaching out to pull me into the circle of sycophants who surround him, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. “The exquisite Miss Hughes.”
He introduces me to various people I will likely forget. The gallerist, his assistant, a couple whose names are familiar though I’m not sure why.
He hands me a glass of champagne and then says he wants to show me a piece around the corner. I smile, sipping from the flute, but the popping bubbles in my mouth sound like tiny alarm bells.
“So, Miss Hughes, tell me something,” he says, grinning that same seductive half-smile I’ve seen on magazine covers, all sex and promise, “what is it you’re after?”
He wants me to flirt. He wants me to say, “Many things, but it’s a Friday night and this champagne is delicious, so I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’d like to talk to you about Inspired Building,” I say instead. “I think they could be printing money with the right leadership.”
He sizes me up, waiting for me to offer him something more, when what I’m offering him already is plenty: it’s an investment that would pay off significantly.
“The right leadership meaning…you?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. “The right leadership meaning us. I can show you numbers, but they’re spending too much time and money on areas that are already sought after instead of looking ahead, finding the place nobody wants, and making it a destination.”
There’s a glint of interest in his eyes. “It’s very selfless of you to bring me this proposal, Miss Hughes, but I get the feeling you’re not here out of the goodness of your heart.”
“There’s some dead weight at the top that would need to go, and I’d like to fill the vacancy once it happens.”
“What an interesting girl you are,” he muses. “You look like a model but you sound like a cutthroat CEO, and I think I like the combination. I’ve got a room across the street. I’ll order up a bottle of wine and we’ll look at your numbers.”
My heart is skittering in my throat. It’s on the tip of my tongue to agree.
And then I think of Liam moving me to the inside of the sidewalk as we walk down the street, saving my stores when I’d never even been nice to him. I think of him laughing at my threats on Frank’s life, beating up Paul Bellamy on my behalf and never even mentioning he did it. Saying if he could control me, he’d just shut me down at night with the remote.
It will all amount to nothing, and I’m sure I’ll later curse myself for blowing this chance, but I just can’t act as if it’s all meaningless. It’s not, even if it should be.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Ellis. “I’ve got someone waiting on me at home. But I can email you the numbers if you’re open to it.”
That avid light in his eyes dims a little, and I can’t even blame him. He wasn’t initially interested in speaking to me because I look smart. I used the possibility of sex to get my foot in the door and now I’m removing it. “Sure,” he says, pulling a card from his pocket. “But if you find you’re free after all, my cell is on there. I’ll send a car for you.”
I thank him and walk away. I’m pretty sure I’m going to spend the rest of my life regretting that I didn’t go for it. But right now nothing matters quite so much as hearing Liam’s voice.
I call him the minute the car drops me off at the hotel. “I’m on my way back to my room,” I tell him. “How goes work on the implant?”
“Just don’t look in my garage. The robot prototypes are doing things to each other even I didn’t know were possible.”
I laugh as I unlock my door. “You wouldn’t want a robot to suck you off anyway. Think how often self-driving cars make dangerous errors.”
“Yeah, but you’re not here,” he says. “What option do I have?”
I’ve never had phone sex. It’s another one of those trust things. I’ve always pictured my voice caught on tape, played in public, saying dirtier things than I’d ever say in person.
“Pull it out,” I reply. “I’ll talk you through it.”
I trust him. I hope it’s not a mistake.