Scarred Beautiful (4 page)

An unsettling feeling stabs at my stomach and jolts me awake. I look beyond Ryan snoring quietly beside me and see why. We are dropping. The plane is falling out of the sky.
This is it
. This is how it all ends for me. My breathing picks up as tears fill my eyes. Without realizing it, I let out a strangled noise and Ryan stirs. When he sees the panic overtaking me, he immediately sits up and reaches for my hand.

“Fran, what is it?” he asks, my terror reflected in his eyes.

I squeeze his hand, my nails biting into it, shaking my head frantically as the tears fall down my cheeks and slap against the silk fabric of my blouse. “We’re…I…I d-don’t want to die yet.”

Ryan looks at me, his brow crinkling, unable to comprehend my emotional breakdown. He places his other hand over mine and attempts to stop the trembling that has finally reached there. “Fran, what are you talking about? You’re not dying,” he assures, his voice soft and even, a valiant attempt at talking me down from the ledge I’m about to fall from.

“I-I can feel it,” I sputter, “we’re d-dropping fast….I never should’ve…should’ve gotten on the plane.”

There’s a momentary flicker of recognition in his eyes before he takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “Fran, we’re not dropping. We’re descending. We’re about to land at LAX.”

I blink several times, trying to process his words. “You mean, we’re not plunging into the ocean? W-we’re not going to die?”

He chuckles, wiping away my tears with his calloused thumb. “No, baby, we’re not dying. We’re very much alive and about to make our presence known to all of Los Angeles.”

My mouth hangs open and I immediately cover my face, the sheer idiocy of my actions washing over me. Ryan reaches over and pulls my hands into his lap.

“It’s okay, Fran. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I get it. I used to be deathly afraid of heights. I’ve since overcome it, but it hindered me for many years.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” I ask, relaxing under the soothing touch of his fingers.

“I do want to make you feel better, but no, I’m not just saying that.”

A smile edges the corner of my mouth. “Thank you,” I say quietly, noticing how his eyes have sailed down to my lips. For a split second, I want his mouth on mine. I’m silently willing him to kiss me, needing a connection, but he doesn’t.

The voice of the pilot comes over the speaker: “Welcome to Los Angeles. On behalf of Delta Airlines we hope you had a pleasant flight, and we hope to see you again soon. Enjoy your stay.”

Ryan reaches up to the overhead rack and pulls both of our bags down. Unable to help myself, I take a quick glimpse of his ass in the worn jeans he fills out so completely, licking my lips that suddenly feel parched.

I stand up, stretch the kinks from my arms and legs, and stuff the notepad back in my purse
.
There’s a line forming in the aisle and Ryan ushers me out before him. We follow the crowd inside the terminal to the baggage area without a word, only periodic glances at one another.

He sees his luggage and pulls it from the conveyor belt then heads back over to me, stopping just a few feet away. “It was really nice meeting you, Fran. Hope you enjoy your trip,” he says, popping the handle of his suitcase up and turning to leave.

“You, too,” I reply, but then realize I need to say more as he’s walking away. “Ryan, wait!”

He stops instantly and spins around, his dark hair falling over his questioning eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I answer, smoothing the sides of my skirt. “I just wanted to say thank you.” I reach out and place my hand on his arm. “For what you did on the plane, for calming me down. I really appreciate it.”

He eyes my hand and then raises his brown eyes to my green. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He lets out a small laugh. “And alive.”

I smile, the recent memory of my ridiculous behavior painting a layer of red on my face. “Yeah, me too. So I guess I’ll see you around.”

“See ya, Fran.” He flashes me that brilliant smile before he disappears, and I smile right back.

I steer my Aston Martin up to the circle drive of The Ritz Carlton and Caleb and I step out, heading to the back of the car to retrieve my suitcase and his portfolio. As I hand my key to the valet, Caleb quirks a brow and shoots me a quizzical look. He doesn’t have to say anything, I can already read his mind. That’s what happens when you’ve been friends for twenty-five years. Caleb Brody knows everything there is to know about me, including the simple fact that I don’t trust anyone with my baby.

“Are you seriously valet parking your reason for living, your one true love?” he asks, keeping his voice down so he doesn’t offend the guy looking at my car like he just won the fucking lottery.

“Caleb,” I say, raising a hand in gesture at the display of wealth and understated elegance behind us. “Does this look like a place where I need to be worried about my car?”

He looks back at the hotel, nodding his head and chuckling softly. “I guess not. It’s just that I think this might be a day to go down in history.”

I shake my head as I walk over to the valet attendant and slap a fifty in his hand. “Take care of my baby,” I instruct, forcing a laugh, but my underlying tone says there’s nothing funny about it. He smiles, knowing he’s about to get in my car. The moment he pulls away, I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

I look over my shoulder one more time, watching until the last remnants of black disappear from my vision. We enter the hotel and Caleb stops short beside me, taking in our surroundings: the ultra-modern lobby with rich, dark wood and warm, leather seating, modern artwork in muted ocean blues hanging on the walls, and a soothing waterfall built into one of the side panels.

“Holy fucking shit,” he mutters, and a middle-aged, smartly dressed woman reading a newspaper looks up, pursing her lips and tossing him a sneer before becoming engrossed in her paper again.

“Caleb! Keep your voice down,” I scold. “I don’t feel like being kicked out of here before I’ve even checked in.”

Caleb is like a brother to me. We grew up together in Pleasantville, New York, starting with elementary school all the way through college, where we both received a Master of Architecture from Parsons. I moved to California immediately after, while Caleb stayed on and landed a job at a firm in Manhattan. With the financial help of a family friend, I started my own company, which I ended up selling to our current CEO three years ago. After Mr. Brody was transferred to California and Allison ended things with him, Caleb was ready to move here to be closer to his family. Once a position opened up, I immediately had Caleb flown out to interview and the rest is history.

It may sound strange, but in many ways Caleb has been like a lifeline for me. When Mom and Clara passed away from breast cancer, it was Caleb’s family who was there by my side, and Brad’s, every step of the way. With my father’s lack of presence in my life, it was Caleb’s parents who supported me,
his
family who I drew strength from when I needed it the most.

“Okay,” he says quietly, raking a hand through his dark, cropped hair, “so now I get why you want to stay here. Why am
I
not staying here? Oh wait, I am staying here. I’m staying in your room.”

“Caleb.” I smirk, foolish me thinking that I could actually have a week to chill out. “I booked an extra room, and you’re more than welcome to stay. We’ll just need to get your clothes later.”

“Fuck, yeah!” he calls out, slapping me on the back and earning another dirty look from the lady with the newspaper. “You need to loosen up…and we’re going to have some fun!”

I look over at him, my brows rising and a half-smile crossing my lips. “I have one condition, though.”

“What?” he asks innocently, popping a mint in his mouth.

“Well, that you keep whatever
roses
you decide need watering in your room with the door closed.”

He grasps my shoulder and lets out a hearty laugh. “I will, man. I promise.”

The ride in the shuttle from LAX to The Ritz Carlton is nothing like I expected. The traffic in LA is crazy yet the driver seems relaxed, his arm leaning against the open frame of the window, his fingers gently tapping the steering wheel to the beat of a song I can’t quite make out. I wrestle the cell phone from my bag to call Peyton, but her phone instantly goes to voicemail so I send her a text.

Arrived in LA, safe and sound. Call when you can. xox

Everything around me is at a low hum. There are no horns honking or drivers screaming out their windows like I’m accustomed to in Manhattan. It’s a welcome change and I feel an unusual sense of calm. As much as I didn’t want to come on this trip, I desperately needed to get away. Work has been absolutely insane since my promotion and I’ve barely had time to go out and have any fun. Gabby moved in with Brad so I rarely see her now. My heart squeezes in my chest as if it’s trying to escape. Happiness seems to be floating all around me, yet it doesn’t stop to land on my shoulders.

What happened to that girl? The girl who fearlessly passed out watermelon Jolly Ranchers in elementary school knowing full well what the consequences would be once the teacher inhaled the sweet smell wafting through the air; the girl who smiled as she got thrown off a jet-ski, the wind whipping through her hair, only to get right back on and ride it again; the same girl who told Gabby to get her head out of her ass and live her life when her fiancée died. I want
that
girl back.

I close my eyes and steady my breathing. I refuse to continue down this path, so I make myself a silent promise. I’m going to have a great time on this trip and get back to being fun-loving Fran, tucking away all the painful memories that threaten to steal her from me.

This hotel is fucking amazing. For the second time today, I have to close my mouth for fear the drool is pouring from my lips. I look up at the massive skyscraper, beaming, visions of basking in elegance and massages from seriously hot men in my future.

The driver helps me out and pulls my suitcase from the back. I give him a twenty-dollar bill and have absolutely no idea if that’s too much or too little, but I’m guessing from the grin on his face that it’s just right.