Tainted Love (Book 1) (13 page)

The stir-fry was really delicious. Rachel had put her foot in it, I swear.
It was absolutely delicious. As I take the empty dish to the kitchen, my intercom buzzes.

“Yello,” I answer, my mood finally picking up.

“Hey, Sully.” It’s Susie at the front desk. “You’ve got a guy out here with a delivery.”

“A delivery?” It must be more cheer-ups from Rachel. “Ok, Susie. You can send the person up.”

I open the door to wait on this delivery and spot my neighbor Mrs. Wade.

“Hello, Sullivan,” Mrs. Wade greets me.

“Hey, Mrs. Wade. How are you?”

Mrs. Wade is a recent divorcee in her mid-fifties, who looks like she has a few more years to offer the world of dating. She is wearing black linen Capri pants with a white sleeveless round-collar linen blouse and black high-heeled thong sandals. She keeps herself in shape and always looks so fresh and well put together. I want to be like her or my adoptive mom when I get older. They age gracefully. My mom is 52 and doesn’t look a day over 40.

“Ah, I’m fine darling. Just heading to the spa,” she answers sweetly, her voice smooth and cultured, obviously once a rich snob.

“Ugh, I’m so jealous.” I lean against the door jam with my ankles crossed and arms folded, wishing I could go, just to get some relaxation and potentially drown my sorrows in a Swedish massage.

“Oh, darling. Come with me. What do you do but sit home all day while you wait for your classes to start?” she coaxes.

“I’m waiting on a delivery,” I tell her.

“Pish tosh, Sullivan. You’ll come with me. It’s on me. Meet me out front in thirty minutes. I will not take no for an answer. Even college students need pampering every now and then,” she implores. How can I turn her down?

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? Oh, darling, please don’t send me into depression with that word. I even hate the name Mrs. Wade – and the man who gave it to me – but I’ll take it over ma’am any day.” She hates being called
ma’am
as it signifies that she
’
s old, when clearly she doesn’t think of herself that way.

I laugh, causing her to laugh also – a rich, wholesome laugh. We are then interrupted by the ding of the elevator and a tall man in a dark suit exits and stalks toward me. I remember seeing him in the Rolls Royce. He’s Ben’s driver. He seems much younger than I had previously thought, maybe his early 30s.

My stomach dips into my legs and I wobble a little knowing Ben sent him, but steel myself as he draws closer with a pretty blue box in his hand and a small gift bag.

“Remember, thirty minutes darling,” Mrs. Wade shouts from the closing elevator. I
hadn’t even noticed that she’d left my side.

The man clears his throat then speaks, “Mr. Hayes asked me to drop these off for you. He says they’re yours. The small bag contains the cell phone that you
’d left in his car last night.” My phone? I hadn’t even missed it.

Taking the items, I wonder what the blue box contains. I don’t remember leaving anything behind at the hotel.

“Have a wonderful day, miss.” The man tips his hat to me and pivots to leave.

I open the box and part the light blue paper that covers the item. It is the black and white silk robe that Ben had bought for me.

“Um, sir?” I call out to the man before he steps into the elevator car.

“Simon,” he says by way of telling me his name. “Yes, ma’am?”

I close the box and shove it into Simon’s hand. “Kindly inform Mr. Hayes that I will not be accepting any gifts from him.”

The man stares at the box in his hand, hesitating; but the intense, no-nonsense scowl I give him sends the message loud and clear
, that no matter what he says, I will not be taking the box.

“Ma’am.” He gives me a curt nod and a tight smile before disappearing into the elevator.

Closing my door, I start feeling bad. What if Ben chews his head off? Or worse, what if Ben fires him for not following his instructions? Poor Simon. That’s why he hesitated. If Ben fires him, that would be so draconian and asinine of him…and also my fault.

I plop down on the couch and pop my phone out of the bag it came in. Thirty-one missed calls and two messages. I open the call log.
Three of the missed calls are from this morning from Rachel, and the rest from last night. Three calls are from a number I’ve never seen before and twenty-five from Ben. I ogle his number.
Twenty-five
? What the hell?

I check the messages. One is from Rae saying that she hoped I was feeling better and that I enjoyed my stir-fry. I type a quick response:

I loved it, Rae! Sorry I missed ur calls, didn’t have my phone. Will explain l8r.

Butterflies flutter through my stomach as I open the other message. It is from Ben:

I’m sorry.

I squeeze the phone in my hand. I feel a tightening in my chest and I know I’m going to cry. Why? I don’t know. Forcing myself not to respond to him, I decide on calling the unknown number.

“Fielding House Business Enterprises. Simone Lawson speaking.”

“What the fuck?” I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. It was just a thought. “I’m sorry.”

“Sullivan?” Simone says.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Sull, what’s going on with Mr. Hayes?” she asks, sounding worried.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I really don’t. He shouldn’t be the one in a funk. He dissed
me
, not the other way around.

“He’s been snapping at everyone all morning. He practically chewed through one of our heads of department this morning. He called Jamison a fucking coward because he couldn’t land a small-business account they’d been pursuing. An account that they didn’t really want anyway. He gave Jamison the day off and told me to cancel all his appointments. Everyone’s been tiptoeing around him all day,” she explains.
“He’s been great these past few days, now he’s back to his old self. What happened?”

My throat becomes dry. What is his problem?

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I tell her. “He’s a powerful Chief of Operations. Aren’t men of his prominence entitled to mood swings?”

I quickly change the subject, “Hey I gotta go. I’m heading to the spa with Mrs. Wade.”

“That hot, old divorcee on your floor?” she asks.

“Yup, same one. She’s treating me.” I giggle, excited that I am going to be doing this after the night I had.

“Girl, I would give anything to go to a spa and escape this sour mood Mr. Hayes is in. Have fun girl.”

Hanging up, I contemplate calling Ben to ask him what was up his bu
tt, but I decide against it. He’s no longer on my radar. I shouldn’t even feel this way. I’m a love ’em and leave ’em type of girl, aren’t I? Or am I upset because I didn’t get to say it first? He was a good lay after all.

Or maybe…

Nope. Not giving
that
another thought. I don’t want him. Nope. I don’t.

I get a quick shower then slip into a knee-length white, Grecian style dress, flared at the waist with
gold banding cinching under my breasts. I put on gold, Grecian wedge-heeled, thong sandals with crisscross ankle straps to round out the look.

Outside, I await Mrs. Wade as I’m five minutes early.

“Darling!” she calls from behind me. She air kisses me as she nears. “You look lovely, darling. Like a beautiful, dark tan Grecian goddess.”

I blush. “Thank you, Mrs. Wade. Just trying to rival you.”

“Why, thank you.” She gives me a twirl, showing off her outfit.

“Hayes,” she drawls happily as she faces me,
her eyes looking beyond me.

I freeze.
Please don’t let it be Ben. Please don’t let it be Ben,
I pray.

“Hello, Mrs. Wade.” It is Ben. His voice caresses my ears. I let out a quiet, shuddering breath as his voice warms every part of my body.
Oh, dear God.

I had thought it was the chill of the morning breeze making my hairs stand, but I should’ve known better. Only
he
can make my body react the way it does when he is close. It is locked into him somehow. I hate that shit.

“What brings you to these parts?” she asks.

“I’ve come to see Sullivan actually,” he says.
Shit.

I cringe, wishing the ground would swallow me up.

“Good day, Sullivan,” he greets me.

I turn to face him, avoiding his eyes. “Good day, Mr. Hayes.”

“Would you care to accompany me for a drive and subsequent lunch?” he requests.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hayes. I have plans with Mrs. Wade,” I answer, with a snooty look.

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Wade exclaims. “We can reschedule.”
Oh, come on! Work with me lady!

I sigh, shaking my head, “Mrs. Wade–”

“Darling,” she whispers through gritted teeth as she comes closer to me. “When a man as handsome and available as Benjamin Adonis Hayes asks you to accompany him for a drive and subsequent lunch, there is only one right answer.” She then smacks me on the butt and I leap with fright toward him.

Adonis
? I want to splutter into giggles at how apt his name is and how much of a match we are…if only he knew, if only Mrs. Wade knew. She’d probably rush us down the aisle if she knew my middle name was Aphrodite.

Delilah Aphrodite
. My birth mother was a real peach when she named me. A slut from the Bible and the Greek goddess of beauty together makes for one fucked up kid. Yeah, those two names should never be seen together.

Mrs. Wade makes her way back toward Ben and hugs and kisses his cheek. “Tell your mother I’ll be visiting soon.” She seems to know Ben really well.

“Will do, Mrs. Wade.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, making me fidgety.

Mrs. Wade hops into her waiting Mercedes and winks at me just before her chauffeur closes her door.

People flow around us, but I still feel like we’re the only two people on the sidewalk.

“Shall we?” He extends his hand and without hesitation
, I take it.
Way to put up a fight.

We ride in silence for fifteen minutes
until frustrated, I ask, “Where are we…” I suck in a sharp breath as I turn to see Ben staring at me. “Going?” I release softly.

“Sullivan, I’m sorry.” I close my eye
s and shake my head, not wanting to hear it.

“Please, Sullivan. I know what I said was wrong,” he pleads, pulling my hand to his lips. “I really am sorry.”

“You can’t imagine how I felt when you said that to me,” I say stone-faced. “Why would you say that?”

“I was an asshole. I felt bad because you said you wanted to leave and I was mad at the reason you wanted to leave. I guess I wanted you to feel the same way,” he explains.

“That’s childish, Ben.”

“I know, I know. And I’m
sorry.” He brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

“It hurt me, Ben. I cried all night,” I confess
– why, I don’t know – tears threatening.

“I’m sorry, Sullivan. I don’t mean to make you cry.” He pulls me to him and embraces me. “Please don’t cry.”

I feel his heart thumping in his chest. The tears trickle down my face as I place my hand over his heart and breathe him in. He breathes a relieving sigh and clutches me tighter to him. Once again we’re in silence, but this time, the silence isn’t awkward. We are content in being in each other’s arms.

We finally come to a stop. I look out the window
to see an art studio. I turn to him, starry-eyed.

“We’re seeking to do business with these dealers.” He has a wry smile on his face. I wonder if he is telling the truth.
“They’re a small company and they deal in contemporary art. We believe that with our name as backing, that they can go places, while extending our new market reach,” Ben says further, as if to answer my unsaid concern.

“I love art,” I profess.

He smiles at me and kisses my forehead. “Me, too.”

Inside the studio, we’re greeted by a pleasant gentleman who shows us around.
The sculptures are at the front of the studio, basically ushering us further into the space. These sculptures are sensual and evocative, mostly of women or female body parts. In some circles, a sculpture of a woman touching her clit would be seen as lewd, but someone must have loved it if the “sold” sign is already on it. I’m a little jealous about that.

After a few pieces, Ben excuses himsel
f to find the owner. I stare at each piece in awe. The rest of the studio is filled with clay moldings, more sensual sculptures, drawings and photographs. But I am most intrigued by the paintings. One painting catches my eye in particular.

It is a large canvas painting
of a woman clutching her lover’s foot as he walks away from her. Both are naked and the woman seems to be locked in an impassioned plea for him. I don’t know why the situation with Ben and me flashes across my mind. It isn’t the same.