Reach Me (8 page)

“Please call me Russ.”

“Okay, but why not Logan?”

“My mother calls me Logan.” The way he answers with traces of contempt in his voice quickly reminds me that there are two sides to Russ and while I’m crazy about the side I’ve known for all these years, I absolutely
do not
like the side I met in his office. The man with a sharp tongue and no heart isn’t anyone I’m interested in.

“Oh. Okay.”

Russ drives us down the Las Vegas strip for a bit, eventually pulling into a valet station. He quickly slides out of the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to come to my side. I watch out the window as he slips a one hundred dollar bill the uniformed valet before he opens my door. He takes my hand and helps me out of the low profile car.

As soon as I’m standing, I adjust my shirt and smooth my jeans, feeling inadequate again. “I’m underdressed,” I whisper, feeling stupid and out of place. Tears seem to threaten from nowhere. I’m emotionally raw as it is and adding more insult to injury hurts. I’ll never be more than what I am—an average woman with average clothes and a strict budget. I’m not glamorous or carefree. I’m just Lindsay Fuller, mom and full-time worrier.

“Trust me, Lindsay,” Russ leans in and whispers into my ear, “you’re perfect.”

I nod subtly but keep my head down a little. There are women in fancy sequined dresses and men in suits milling about. This crowd isn’t the normal party crazed type of people that are known to litter the strip. How could I not feel lacking? Why would he bring me here?

Russ enfolds my hand in his possessively and leads us through and around people walking to and from places on the strip. He seems completely unaffected by the crowd, just tugging me gently along into a building.

We walk past three polished women in evening dresses and I glance over to them just in time to see one point at me and lean in to whisper to her friends. I plead my legs to walk faster in hopes that we’re close to sitting down somewhere. Maybe then I can sink back behind a dinner table and do my best to hide the fact that I don’t belong here.

He takes a sudden right turn and we make our way down a corridor to a small elevator. I glance around, confused. I lean into Russ and quietly ask where we’re going.

“You’ll see. We’re almost there.” He squeezes my hand and leads me onto the waiting elevator. The doors close and we ascend to the sixth floor. Once we’ve come to a stop, the doors slide open to a dimly lit hallway. It’s all I can do to not play Maggie’s warning about pepper spray in my head. The figure of a man beside a door at the end of the hall comes into view.

“Sir,” he greets Russ with a nod. Russ nods back while the guy holds the door open for us.

Stunned. Completely and utterly stunned. I walk past Russ and take in the private room that he’s brought us to. Panoramic windows line the entire wall, providing a breathtaking view of the strip. I slowly walk up to the wall of windows and take in the twinkling lights below us. Emotionally raw women should not be provided a dream date with the man they’ve been crazy about for a decade. Tears pool in my eyes, making the lights seem to triple in number and brightness. I can feel Russ behind me. His cologne drifts my direction, making this entire scene more intoxicating than I could ever have imagined. My eyes stay forward, too embarrassed to let him see me this emotional. Russ grips my shoulders and gently turns me so I’m facing him. Automatically I drop my head, too ashamed to face him.

“You can do that all you want, but I’ll just keep fixing it… if you’ll let me,” he says softly, stepping closer to me and cupping my cheek forcing me to look at him. His thumb catches a fat tear just as it begins to slip down my cheek.

“But I don’t know you,” I rebut, wishing so badly that I did.

“Yes you do, Linds. You know me better than you realize. Let’s sit. I’ll list my conditions and then you can decide if you’re willing to give me these thirty days.”

“Okay.” I nod and sniffle.

Russ pulls my chair out for me and we take our seats. The small table leaves very little room for dinner plates, silverware, and glasses. A single tea light flickers in a small glass between us. Seemingly on cue, a server appears with water and a bottle of something expensive. I jump and laugh when the waiter popping the cork startles me.

“Just like canned biscuits, ya know?” I play it off with a laugh. “They get me every time.”

Russ’s eyes seem to sparkle with amusement as I take a deep breath and sigh. The waiter pours two flutes of the expensive stuff, sets the bottle in a silver ice bucket on a serving table beside us, and then leaves us alone.

Russ lifts his champagne flute and holds it toward me. “To a meeting ten years in the making,” he declares with a small smile curving the edges of his lips.

God, those lips.

I clear my throat awkwardly and nod my head. Russ sips lightly on his champagne. I down half of mine all at once.

“Mmm,” I hum my approval.

“Glad you like it.” Russ nods and gives nearly an entire smile. I find myself aching to see him smile. A full on genuine smile. I imagine it’s enough to make any woman melt.

“So… what’s this proposition you have for me?” I ask, setting my half-empty champagne flute back on the linen-covered table.

Russ nods and seems to go into business mode. “I had this drawn up so that you could look at them later if you wanted to,” he explains, reaching for a folder on the serving cart. He pulls a single sheet of paper from the folder and examines it for a moment. “My conditions are fair and I think you’ll agree,” he goes on and passes the paper to me.

I eye him and the paper in his extended hand carefully, like they may bite me. After a long moment of hesitation, I take the document from him. “Condition number one: the agreement is to go on for a period of thirty days,” I read aloud. Condition number one seems straightforward. I knew this was a thirty day thing. “Condition number two: exclusivity. No one else. No exceptions.” I look up to Russ and arch a questioning eyebrow.

“I won’t share you,” he explains with a flash of possessiveness in his eyes.

I’d be a giant liar if I said that it didn’t completely and utterly turn me on.

“Condition number three: discretion. Neither party will openly discuss the agreement or its conditions with anyone.” I wince as soon as I finish reading condition number three.

“Maggie?” Russ asks.

He knows me so well.
All I can do is nod. She’s my best friend and it hadn’t even occurred to me that secrecy would be one of his mysterious conditions.

“I figured as much. No one else, though.”

“But why? I mean… if you’re embarrassed—”

“I’d never be embarrassed of you,” Russ interjects adamantly. “But I make it a point to keep my private life as private as possible.”

“Okay…”

“Go on.” Russ motions his chin towards the paper in my hand.

“Condition number four: upon agreeing, both parties will spend time together as normal dating couples do.” I set the paper down in front of me and look up at Russ. “That one seems pretty vague.”

“It’s simple. I want the thirty days to be used wisely. I’ll want to see you as much as possible and I’ll expect you to accompany me to whatever functions are on my schedule.”

“What if I get another job?”

“You won’t,” Russ says coolly than takes another sip of his champagne.

“Yes. Yes I am. I will,” I say. The bookstore thing might actually work out in my favor, and as curious as I am about whatever
this
is, I’m not going to let it get in the way of gainful employment. “So what happens after thirty days is up? I’m jobless and facing destitution again. I need to have a job waiting for me, Russ.”

He looks down, seemingly to think about what I’ve said. I grab my champagne and down the rest in two gulps. Without missing a beat, Russ tops off my glass.

“Fine. You can continue your search for a job and or work as long as it doesn’t interfere with our agreement.”

“Okay. What about Trey? I’m a mom first, you know. I can’t just go and do as I please.”

“I understand and I admire you for that. You’re an amazing mother. That’s why I wanted to know what you think about us meeting. I still owe him that advice.”

“Russ… I don’t know… I… I don’t want to confuse him or upset him. I’d have to think about that.”

“Fair enough. But if you do agree, I’d like to introduce him to a professional caregiver that comes highly recommended.”

“You found a babysitter?” The incredulity in my voice is hard to miss. Another small smile tilts up one side of Russ’s delectable mouth.

“Caregiver,” he corrects me. “While you and I are spending time together, Trey would also be having a great time doing whatever he wants. Within reason, of course.” Russ quickly adds the last bit when I show my squinty Mom eyes. “Speaking of Trey, I assume he’s with Maggie?”

“Yes. And unfortunately, Maggie doesn’t comply with the ‘within reason’ part of anything. I’m sure he’ll have a fresh cavity by the time he comes home tomorrow.” I smile ruefully, thinking of him and Maggie having a junk food fest and a trip to the dentist that I can’t afford.

“If you agree to this, I promise it will be worth your time and effort. In return for your time, I’ll take care of any outstanding debt. You’re welcome to stay in your apartment. All outstanding debts due the property will be forgiven. You’ll have everything you need and hopefully,” he takes another sip of his champagne, “some things you want too.”

My mouth goes a little dry. The champagne seems to be kicking in. Warmth spreads through my arms and legs. My cheeks begin to heat, but it’s difficult to say who or what is to blame, Russ or the alcohol.

“What about… um… y-you know.” I stumble through the words, trying to figure out how to ask what I want to know.

Russ leans forward across the table and takes my hand in his. His thumb makes slow passes back and forth over the back of my hand. “Linds, I will never hurt you. I’ll never do anything or expect anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

I nod and swallow hard. I trust him and I need this. The only person I don’t trust is myself. I can’t fall in love with Russ. At least not any more than I already am and have been for years.

“Now you’re the one with thirty days,” I say coyly.

Russ gives me an utterly wounding, boyish grin and takes my hand in his. “Fair enough.”

The air in my lungs seems to be stuck in place. I’m like an enamored schoolgirl, frozen, staring and admiring his features. His hand holds mine gently but firmly for the longest handshake of my life. This is going to be an issue.

I watch as Russ presses a button on his phone and less than sixty seconds later the server appears with a cart. This feels so formal. I’ve never really been to a meal this fancy. The array of flatware before me is daunting and it’s all I can do to not slouch down in defeat. The server sets steaming plates of food in front of us and while this meal will probably be the best meal I’ve ever eaten, food isn’t exactly what I have on my mind.

Russ nods and the waiter disappears.

“This looks great, but I’m not hungry,” I admit aloud.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be. What is it that you want to do?” he asks easily.

My attention drifts over to the view of the twinkling lights from the strip beneath us. An idea comes to me and I grab my cell phone. I don’t look up to confirm it but I’m sure Russ is staring at me. I can feel his intense green eyes on me.

I type my text out and peek up at Russ before sending it.

I guess I just want to talk to my friend
.
The one I’ve known for ten years
.

Russ’s phone buzzes in his breast pocket and he checks it. He smiles and begins typing on his phone.

You can always talk to me. It’s me
.

His text reminds me so much of why I’ve secretly loved him all these years. He’s kind, and funny, and compassionate, and the perfect amount of pushy. I’ve loved how smart he is. I’ve loved his wit. I’ve loved how he has made it clear that he wants more from me but never made me feel pressured or uncomfortable.

“Why me?” I ask, doing battle with my emotions again.

“Why not you?”

“Russ,” I say with a sigh, “I don’t feel like I belong to this kind of scene. I’m just me.”

“And you’re enough. You’re more than enough. You always have been.” He stands abruptly, shoving his chair back from the table. He comes to me and pulls me to stand. I’m so close to him. Heat from his body warms the small space between us. His cologne seems to swirl in my brain, making things foggy. “Lindsay, you have no idea what you mean to me,” he says just loud enough for me to hear him.

“I don’t belong.”

“If that’s what you need, to feel like you belong, I’ll make you belong,” he insists. “What would make you belong?”

“I—I don’t know. I’m just not special, you know? I don’t have expensive clothes or a nice car or even much food in my cabinets. You can do so much better than me,” I admit, mostly to myself.

“Why have you kept talking to me all these years?” he demands.