Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) Read online

  “What’s up?” I ask. Because I know that means she’s frustrated.

  “It doesn’t work.”

  “The radio?” I say, dropping my shoes at the front door. “Let me look at it. I’m good with electronics. Maybe I can—”

  “You can’t, Weston. It’s smashed.”

  “Smashed?”

  Victoria is pointing to the counter across from where she’s sitting, and when I step a few paces to the side I see that, yes, there is a radio, and yes, it is smashed to bits on the counter. “Who the fuck would do that?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want us to be anywhere but here today, West.”

  West. She almost never calls me West. It’s like me calling her Tori. Reserved for intimate moments.

  “Something is wrong,” she says.

  Or vulnerable ones.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, walking up to the island and taking a seat next to her. She smells good. She always smells good. Always something flowery, too. Jasmine or honeysuckle. Gardenias or roses.

  Today she smells like something else, though. The one I always preferred. It’s fitting. Her eyes are violet, her shirt is lavender, and her scent is lilac. She is purple.

  And right now those eyes… they are stuck. On me. The past. The present.

  Why is she here?

  “Because we are in the wrong place.”

  I get up and go into the kitchen, pulling open cupboards. Empty. I open the fridge. Empty. “Fucking great.”

  “Look,” Victoria says, leaning over the island and lifting up the tap. “Water. At least we have water. That Vlad guy will be back tonight. So as long as we stay inside and hydrated, we’ll be fine.”

  “Assuming he comes back.”

  “Why wouldn’t he come back?”

  I’m sorry I said it because Victoria’s eyes get wide with concern. “Never mind. He will.”

  She goes silent and I know she won’t forget those words. It’s going to haunt her all day. She will dwell, and fret, and work herself up into a blind obsession.

  Because that’s the kind of girl Victoria Arias is.

  Wild. It’s her default setting.

  Victoria taps her nails on the countertop and I can’t help but look at them. Yesterday they were periwinkle, but today they are the lightest shade of purple imaginable. So light, they are almost white.

  “So…” she says.

  “So…” I say.

  “Are you doing well?” she asks.

  “I am, thanks. And you?” I roll my eyes. Are we so far apart this is all we have to talk about? Are we so far apart that polite conversation is all we have left between us? “Your dad,” I say. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Oh.” Victoria sighs. “Too many things to list.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. I always liked him.

  “He was talking about you the other day.”

  “He was?”

  “Yes. He asks about you a lot. And before you ask, it’s always good.”

  “Well, when you see him tell him I said hi. And ask him if I can come by and say it in person.”

  “He’d like that.”

  “Me too.”

  The silence takes over again. I’m actually stuck in it, I think. I want to say something. Anything to make the distance between us go away. But… I get caught up imagining all the things I could say. All the ways they could come out wrong. All the misinterpretations they might come with. And then one second has turned into thirty. And then thirty has turned into two minutes. And… Victoria gets up and goes into the bathroom.

  She closes the door, then immediately opens it. “Do you think it works?”

  I shrug. “The water works.”

  She disappears again and I’m left here alone, my mind still trying to catch up with the fact that I’m on a tropical island with Victoria Arias. Alone. After not seeing her for more than three years.

  She still looks good. Better than ever, actually.

  But she’s still the same in other ways as well. That mean streak she has, that will never fade. I don’t doubt that Victoria Arias’ grandchildren will be whispering the words ‘crazy,’ and ‘wild,’ and ‘stubborn’ thirty or forty years from now.

  When she comes out the bathroom I feel more stuck than ever.

  I have so much to say to her and none of it should be said out loud. I want to scream at her. I want to yell insults and make threats to walk out of her life forever. This time, on my terms. Better than the way she walked out on me. I want to be meaner than she was. I want to throw more insults than she did. I want to make accusations that she knows to be true, just like that last night. I want to make her hate me and miss me in the same moment.

  I want to…

  I sigh.

  Because I don’t really want to do any of that. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to say I’ve missed her. I want to say there has never been another woman in my life like her and there never will be.

  I want to say… I love her.

  Because I do. I have never loved a woman whose name was not Victoria Arias. And I will never love another woman. I am destined to walk this life alone because she’s it for me. The beginning and the end when it comes to love.

  I had her and I lost.

  I had her and I chose to leave her behind.

  I had love and I chose blind obsession instead.

  So there’s no use feeling sorry for myself. I made this chasm between us. I am the empty space. I am the long drop to the bottom. I am the only one I can blame.

  Chapter Nine - Victoria

  “It’s not even noon,” I say, after using the bathroom. West is eerily silent and contemplative as he stares out the window. It’s like he doesn’t even notice me. I dressed in these clothes to taunt him, wore this low-cut shirt to pique his interest. And all I’ve gotten so far is indifference.

  He’s always been that way, right?

  Big, strong, powerful Weston Conrad. Untouchable, I used to call him. And not because of his wealth or status. But because Weston doesn’t deal in emotions. He is impossible to rattle. Insults wash off him like water off a duck. He fields accusations like a major leaguer, throwing them back to home base, always preventing a score.

  He is indifferent. Always uninterested.

  “I know,” Weston says.

  “What should we do all day?”

  He’s not talking. He’s just staring out the kitchen window like there’s something magical out there.

  But then he gets up and walks towards the window, leaning his hands on the countertop as he tries to see something, but can’t quite make it out. “What’s that?” he says, stepping back and walking out of the kitchen to the main living area where he stops in front of the big picture window.

  “What’s what?” I ask, lost in thought. God, he looks… fantastic. I’ve seen him in magazines a few times over the past three years, and he always looked more like a GQ model than a businessman. But Jesus. I talked myself into believing that was all Photoshop and none of it was real.

  It’s real. He’s real.

  “Is that a storm?” Weston says, pointing out the window.

  I walk over to him, trying my best not to get lost in his cologne. Weston never liked to wear cologne when we first met. He was so different back then. But then I bought him some for Christmas that first year and he’s worn it ever since.

  That’s what he’s wearing now. Same brand I got him all those years ago. I’d recognize it anywhere.

  “Look, Victoria. Did you catch a weather report before you left this morning?”

  “It’s going to be hot in New York, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m asking,” he says, irritated. “Is there a big storm coming out here?”

  “How would I know?” I snap. I’m letting that indifference get to me again. I always let it get to me. It makes me ragey. “I’m not from here,” I say, trying to ravel all the parts of me that are coming unraveled by being here alone with
him. “So I wouldn’t know. Sorry,” I add, to try to defuse my anger.

  Weston sighs, like I’m grating on his last nerve. “Well, I’m not from here either. But that purple mess of clouds looks like a giant fucking storm to me.”

  I’m about to toss him another ball of insults to field when it hits me what that might mean. “What are you saying? Will we get stuck here? Is that pilot not coming back for us?”

  Weston shoots me a scowl. “Don’t get crazy, Tori. He’ll come back. It looks far away still. Like it might hit late tonight.”

  “He better come back,” I say, mostly to myself.

  “You got a hot date with him tonight?” And even though Weston’s the master of indifference, it doesn’t quite come out as indifferent.

  I smile as the, “No,” comes out of my mouth. I try to sneer as well, but I like that he’s asking. It means I made him jealous when we were flying over. “I just don’t want to be stuck here overnight, that’s all.”

  “Hmmm,” Weston says. “Stuck here with me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, I can think of worse people to be stuck on a tropical island with myself.”

  “Don’t waste your time trying to flatter me, West. It won’t work.”

  “Noted, Tori.”

  I sigh and walk over to the wall and flick the light switch. “We have power.”

  “I figured, since the water is running on a pump.”

  A pump? Wait a minute. “What does that mean?” I ask, getting nervous. “We’ll lose water if the storm knocks out the power?”

  Weston turns to face me, his confident smile shining. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, OK? We’re going to be back on the mainland before that storm hits.”

  “If that pilot comes back.”

  “He’s coming back, Tori. He has no reason not to.”

  “The storm,” I say, pointing my finger at the huge window and the purple clouds.

  “So,” Weston says. “That insecure girl is still in there, huh? Still a worrier, are you?”

  “Fuck you.” But my retort is weak and I know he sees it. I don’t like the thought of losing power. I hate it when I’m away from the city. It freaks me out for more reasons than I care to remember at the moment. But the thought of being on this tiny island in the middle of the sea in the black of night with no power, and no water, and no one else besides my ex-boyfriend is a whole other level of freakout.

  “He’s coming back,” Weston repeats.

  But I’m not convinced. And now he’s got that look on his face. That look he used to save for the moments right before I had a panic attack. That look says, Get her off that ledge before she jumps.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” I say, angry. “I’m not that girl anymore, Weston. I don’t need your shining knight services these days, so don’t throw me those concerned, She just got on the train to Crazytown looks.”

  Weston chuckles and shakes his head. “You want to go back to the beach? Swim or something? Pass our time in paradise by relaxing on the white sand?”

  “Do you?” I ask. And then, “I don’t have a suit.”

  Weston takes off his tie and begins unbuttoning his shirt. My eyes open a little wider. I watch every move. The way his fingers flip each button loose. The way his tanned and muscular chest flashes me as the shirt comes apart. That stupid Corporate grin on his face.

  I sigh with frustration just as he takes the whole thing off and starts going for his belt.

  Will Weston Conrad strip naked to swim?

  Oh, yeah. You bet your ass he will. I called him Naked Man back when we were together. He has a thing for it.

  “Come on, Tori. Let’s swim. You don’t need a suit. I’ve seen your goods.”

  “First of all,” I say, crossing my arms and maintaining eye contact as the pants come down, “I’m not ‘goods.’ Second of all, I’m not giving you the pleasure of seeing me naked after you’ve been such an asshole.”

  “When was I an asshole?”

  He’s kidding, right? “All the time.”

  “I’m just truthful, Victoria. You just can’t handle the truth.”

  “I’m tired of fighting—” But I stop talking. Because yeah, he still looks amazing in those black boxer briefs he’s partial to.

  “Did you miss him?” West asks.

  “Who?” I say, forcing myself to look up at his face.

  “Naked Man?”

  I almost laugh, but catch myself just in time. “Weston—” But before I can get anything else out, he’s crossing the floor, I’m backing up, my hands are up, warning him to stay away, and I bump into the couch and fall back.

  He stops in front of me, his goddamned bulge staring me in the face.

  At least he’s not hard.

  Ooops. Spoke too soon.

  “Weston, stop it.”

  “Come on,” he says, extending his hand. “We’re going to the beach.”

  “I’m not getting naked with you.”

  “I don’t need you naked. Your fucking skirt is so short you could wade in up to your thighs.” He shakes his hand at me, urging. “Come on.”

  I close my eyes so I can stop staring at the bulge, stop imagining his hard cock and all the ways I’ve been intimate with it in the past, and take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. His arm slips around my back and he pulls me into his chest. God, I can feel his fucking dick against my hips.

  “Victoria,” he says in my ear. “You’ve missed me,” he says, switching to the other one.

  I wait for what comes next. It’s a thing he always did with me when I was on the verge of something. Panic, or sadness, or whatever comes with all the things we went through.

  He would stand behind me, both hands squeezing my shoulders. His mouth would go to work on my earlobe, and my neck, and my mouth. Then his fingers would dip down into my bra to squeeze my breasts and pinch my nipples.

  We’d always have sex after that. Always. It drove me crazy.

  But before I can say anything—No, we’re not doing that, or, Back off, mister, I’m not yours—he backs away and he’s heading for the door, tugging me along.

  I sigh, missing his attention so much in that unused moment.

  Outside it’s got to be ten degrees warmer than it was when we first got here. Blazing hot. The house is not cool, not by any means. But it’s tolerable. Outside, the fact that I’m in the tropics hits me in the face with the hot wind.

  This cay, and all the other cays that I can see as we walk the ridge leading back to the beach, is about a mile long and half a mile wide. There are few smaller ones close by. Just sandbars sticking up from the sea, really. They don’t count. But the biggest one is a couple miles to the south. It looks like it should be inhabited. But from here I can’t tell. Most of the interior of the island is trees and brush.

  West and I came to the Exuma Islands several years ago, but we stayed at a resort on Great Exuma and chartered a boat. This is nothing like that. Yes, it’s stunning as far as the view goes. The beaches are all pristine white sand. The ocean is too many shades of blue, and green, and turquoise to name, and the palm trees are perfect. But the isolation… I’m OK for a few hours. A day is fine. But the thought of getting stuck here…

  Well… I don’t do alone very well. Not in isolation. I live in my building in the city. And there’s so many other people living in that building with me, I don’t ever feel alone. Plus, the city is filled with millions of people. Granted, most of them would not give a fuck if you were being stabbed to death on the sidewalk even if they were standing six feet away. But they’re there. And not all of them are bad. Someone is always there to help if I need it. I can always call 911.

  Here there is no one but us. And while I know Weston would never hurt me, it’s the thought of being hurt that frightens me more. The thought of being hurt and being alone when it happens.

  That fear consumed me when I was younger. It almost ate me up.

  And Weston Conrad’s perfectly toned ass isn’t enoug
h to stop me from worrying about it as I watch him out in front, eager to get to the beach. When we get back to the ridge near where the pilot dropped us off he jogs down the bank and dives into the small waves.

  I look over my shoulder to the north. The purple clouds are still far away. The ocean seems calm and the wind is not crazy.

  But those clouds…

  “Come in!” West calls. “Stop looking at the sky and come in. It’s fucking amazing, Victoria. It’s warm and perfect.”

  That pilot is coming back. I know it. We were friendly on the flight down here. He was chatty and happy. There has to be some kind of logical mistake.

  I walk down towards the beach and take a seat in the sand. West is smiling at me, shading his eyes.

  “Maybe whatever was going down on this island was cancelled due to weather, West? Do you think that’s why there’s no one here?”

  “He’s coming back, Tori. Just relax. Come in the water and have a good time. I’m sure you could use a nice vacation. Think of it as a one-day vacation.”

  There is no logical reason for that pilot to not come back. If there was a storm coming here he’d know about it. He’d have warned us. Isn’t that part of his job?

  We don’t even have food. And if the power goes out we won’t have water, either. Hell, who knows how much water is even available now?

  “Tori,” West says, walking out of the water. At least his hard-on is gone.

  “What?” I say, not looking up to meet his eyes.

  “It’s fine,” he says, standing over me. “Just… come in the water and swim with me. It’s fine.”

  “I don’t want to get my clothes wet. I love this shirt.”

  West grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. “I love it too. So just take it off and… and come have some fun.”

  Chapter Ten - Weston

  Victoria Arias is… complicated.

  Everything about her is complex and convoluted. She’s a maze of emotions and a labyrinth of feelings that requires careful navigation or the wild comes out and can’t be put back.

  “Tori,” I say again when she ignores me. She’s thinking about those clouds. Why the fuck did I even mention it?