*I can’t believe I just did that.
One final shiver of pleasure ripples through me as I stand up. I take a deep breath and move on shaky legs to my door before stumbling down the hall to the bathroom.
That went even better than expected. I know I should feel ashamed, or at least a little embarrassed, but I don’t. I feel completely victorious.
Well, okay—not completely victorious. Calder hit me by surprise with that one. I should have seen it coming. I know from experience that he plays dirty.
But for a minute, I felt like us again. There was no weird tension, no stress or secrets or scandals. Just us, without the rest of the world. I couldn’t see Calder’s face, but I heard his voice and I know he felt it too.
I lean over the sink and splash water on my cheeks. My skin is still flushed, but there’s not much I can do about that. I can, however, pull off my panties, which are uncomfortably wet at this point.
As I clean myself up, I start thinking about what I’m going to ask him to do on his turn. Now that I’ve had this reminder of how things can be between us, I’m going to throw everything I have into this game. Besides, after that dare he gave me, I’m aching for a little payback.
By the time I return to my desk, I have half a dozen completely wicked ideas floating around in my head. I force myself to finish with the class registrations first—just to make sure I get something productive done today—and then I pull out my phone.
Your turn. Truth or dare?
He never told me where he was going these next few days, but I hope I catch him somewhere good. Maybe the airport. Somewhere with a lot of people. I’m already playing out the scene in my head when he texts me back.
Truth.
Wait a minute—after what he put me through, he’s going to wuss out and pick truth? What’s wrong with him? My response is fast and furious.
Chicken.
Just trying to mix things up a little, he replies.
I roll my eyes. I’m sorry. I can’t hear you over all of that clucking.
Well, that throws a wrench in my brilliant revenge plan. But I’m not going to let this stop me. I might not be able to knock him out this round, but maybe I’ll be able to pick up some useful information. After a few minutes of thought, I send my response.
All right. Truth time. What’s your filthiest fantasy?
I lean back in my chair, satisfied that I’ve made the best of this situation. Besides, I’m a little curious about his answer. Based on our brief but intimate acquaintance, I’m sure he has more than a few kinky desires hidden away in that brain of his. I want to know them all.
But his reply isn’t the elaborate, detailed answer I anticipated. Instead, it’s two words.
La Tomatina.
I blink. What the hell? I was expecting something with whips, hot wax, toys—I have no idea what to do with La Tomatina.
I begin typing. You mean… that huge tomato fight in Spain?
In Valencia, technically, he replies. But yes.
I’m still confused. I’ve seen clips of La Tomatina on the travel network on TV. It’s basically a huge food fight with thousands of people and literally tons of tomatoes. I get that. But where does the fantasy part come in?
So… you want to have sex in the middle of La Tomatina? I’m not sure how to work with that.
Him: No. I just want to go. Always have.
Me: How is that a fantasy?
Him: I’ve fantasized about going. Just never actually done it.
Me: That doesn’t count. It’s not even sexual.
Him: You never specified ‘sexual.’
Me: I said ‘filthiest’!!!
Him: You can’t tell me I wouldn’t be filthy after La Tomatina.
I can’t believe it. I can’t freaking believe it. He’s wheedling out of a real answer by arguing semantics?
Okay, scratch that. I can believe it. He’s pulled this shit before. I bet he’s having quite the laugh at me right now.
Me: Ooooh, you’re going to get it.
Him: I’m shaking in fear.
Me: You’re a cheater. I think that’s an automatic forfeit.
Him: I didn’t cheat and you know it. It’s not my fault that your question wasn’t specific.
He’s just toying with me now. The more I argue, the more he enjoys it.
Besides, he texts, I don’t think you’re ready for this game to be over yet.
He’s right, damn him.
Just you wait. I reply.
I swear, I can feel that smug smile of his even through the phone.
It’s your turn again first, he reminds me. But I’ll give you a little break first. I’ll call you tonight.
Fine, I type. But I still think you cheated.
Goodbye, Lily.
I send him a farewell and drop my phone back down on my desk. I still can’t believe his audacity. There’s no way I’m going to let this slide without a little payback.
I reach down to my purse beneath the desk. I shoved my dirty panties in there when I got back from the bathroom, but I have a better idea for them now. I yank a large manila envelope out of my desk and seal them up inside.
He might not have given me the chance to get my revenge during our game, but I have a few other tools at my disposal. And I’m going to make sure Calder has a fun little present waiting for him with his mail when he gets back from his trip.
*
That night, as promised, he calls.
“Truth or dare?”
Right to the point. I’ve been waffling all afternoon over which one I should pick this time, but I don’t realize I’ve decided until it slips out of my mouth.
“Truth.”
He must have been ready for that choice. He has his question ready.
“How many men have you been with?”
Well. He’s not messing around, is he? We’ll just have to have a little fun with that.
“When you say ‘been with,’ what are we talking about here?” I ask playfully. “Do you want the number of boyfriends? Sexual partners? Blowjob recipients?”
“Are they all different numbers?”
“Do college experiments with women count? And how do you want me to calculate that orgy I attended a few years ago? You see, I was blindfolded and I’m not sure how many—”
“All right, all right, I get it. Very funny.”
I grin. “Your question’s not very specific.”
“Fine. Sexual partners. Blowjobs don’t count. College experiments can, if you think they’re important.”
“Are you going to get jealous if I tell you?”
He hesitates just a little too long before answering. “Of course not.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I kind of like that he’s a tad jealous. I like that I have that little bit of power over him, that I’ve cracked that shell of smug confidence.
And I have no reason to be ashamed of my answer. He knows I wasn’t a virgin when we got together. I’m twenty-five, for God’s sake. I had a sex life before him. He met Garrett, so he knows about one of my exes already—though that experience probably didn’t give him a very good impression of my taste in men.
“Six,” I tell him. “Including you. Plus one girl in college—which was fun, but not quite the same.”
He takes a moment to consider this, and my mind is racing. Is that number higher than he expected? Lower?
“So,” he says finally, “how do I compare with these other lucky fellows?”
I laugh. “You already asked your question. I’m not required to answer any more.”
“You torture me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Tomatina. Are you unhappy with my response?”
“Yes, smart-ass.”
I lie back on my pillow, grinning. “Do you doubt your own skills in the bedroom?”
“Not for a minute. I just want to hear you say it.”
“Well, if you insist, I can go through each of my exes one by one and rate their—”
“Now you’re just teasing me.”
“No. Teasing would be telling you that I’m lying naked on my bed, wishing you were here.”
“Play fair, Lily.”
“You can have me any time you want,” I remind him. “You’re the one putting restrictions on this relationship.”
“It’s good for us,” he insists, but even he sounds less-than-convinced by the argument.
I could continue, but as he’s out of town that would only frustrate the both of us.
“It’s your turn,” I say cheerfully. “Which will it be this time? Truth or dare?”
He exhales a long breath. I’m sure he’s nervous about what I might throw at him after the stunts he’s pulled so far in this game.
“Truth,” he says finally.
Seriously? Again? He’s no fun.
I sigh loudly, just so he knows I’m disappointed. I could just return his last question, but honestly I’m not sure I want to know how many girls he’s slept with. He can keep that secret.
But there is something I do want to know. As much as I’d like to think I have some self-control, my curiosity gets the better of me.
“Where are you?” I ask.
I feel the shift immediately. Like a wall sliding down between us.
“Lily, I don’t think—”
“I’m following all the rules,” I remind him. “You’re welcome to refuse to answer, but then you have to tell me about that phone call.”
I shouldn’t have asked. We were fine, when we were just playing the game. I should have asked him something dirty and let him tell me when he was ready. But there’s no backing out now.
When Calder does finally speak, his answer doesn’t do anything to set my mind at ease.
“I’m in New York City,” he says.
“On business?”
“There’s a lot to deal with right now.”
“That’s very vague.”
“Purposefully so. Lily, this has nothing to do with you. I’ve already asked you to let me deal with this on my own.”
The defensiveness of his tone stuns me.
He must sense something in my silence because the next time he speaks, his own voice has softened.
“I know you’re trying to help,” he says. “But please, I don’t want to drag you into this. You are—you are the one thing keeping me together. The one perfect, beautiful thing in my life right now. The only thing set apart from all this bullshit. I need that. Please, Lily, I need that. I need you.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“You know I’m here for you,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“But you can’t go around calling me perfect.”
He chuckles, and though it does little to reassure me, it eases the tension a little.
“Just take the compliment, Lily.” He’s starting to sound like his old self again. “You know, one of these days I’m going to tie you down and make you listen to an entire lecture on how amazing you are. And you won’t be allowed to refute a word of it.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ll probably have to gag you.”
“Bound and gagged? I like where this is going.”
He laughs again. “Nice try.”
“I’m going to keep trying,” I say, dropping my voice low. “Until you give me what we both want.”
“In all seriousness, though,” he says. “Thank you, Lily.”
He sounds so vulnerable. I wish I could reach out and hold him.
“Of course,” I murmur. “I’m here.”
*
His words linger in my head the following morning.
You are the one thing keeping me together right now. I need you. It warms me and terrifies me all at once.
Still, I feel like I understand him a little better now. If he needs some time and space to figure things out, then I need to let him have it.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t do a little investigating on my own.
It’s amazing how quickly this scandal has spread across the internet. Most of the major news outlets have picked up on the story by now, but it’s the gossip blogs that have completely exploded. In a matter of days, Calder has gone from “world’s most eligible billionaire” to a joke—or at the very least, someone to be pitied.
Right now, people are still getting over the initial shock of what appears to be an “overnight” change in the family’s means. There’s very little beyond pure speculation about the reasons for that change. Certainly nothing that offers me any clues about the truth. Still, I can’t look away. It’s like a sick, twisted addiction. I click through site after site, and though I grow more nauseated with every post, I don’t know how to stop. It’s like when you have a sore tooth and you can’t stop poking at it with your tongue.
I’m probably an hour into my search before I come across the pictures from the park. I gape in horror at the photos—at Calder’s stunned, angry expression, at my own wide-eyed shock. There’s no clear shot of my face, though. I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I scroll through the images I realize that Calder was doing everything in his power to block me from the cameras. He has his arm out in front of me in most of the shots, and he seems to have positioned himself between me and the lenses.
Judging by the captions and comments, no one has been able to identify me, though there’s plenty of speculation about my relationship with Calder.
“Knock knock.”
I nearly jump out of my skin at Dad’s voice, and I quickly click away from the images on my computer screen.
“Are you in the middle of something?” he asks.
I shake my head. “What’s up?”
“You talked to Gina Billings yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Oh, God,” I say, turning away from my computer. “Is she still putting up a fuss? She canceled on us yesterday and kept insisting that we refund her non-refundable deposit.”
“Did you send her another copy of the contract?”
I nod. “And I reread it to her over the phone about sixteen times. Even offered her credit toward a future date. I thought I’d settled everything with her.”
“Well, apparently it’s not quite settled yet. She left us a pretty scathing review online. Essentially called us criminals.”
Great. We’re still new enough to the facility-rentals business that we need all the good word of mouth we can get. I’ve snagged a few nice testimonials from other clients, but a heated rant could topple that good press very quickly.
“But that’s not the worst of it,” Dad tells me. “I just got off the phone with someone from Holeman & Parker. She said that Gina called their offices this morning and tried to convince them that we’re crooks and that they should cease all donations. Apparently she found the list of corporate sponsors on our website and is calling the businesses one by one.”
“Are you serious?” Geez, this just gets better and better, doesn’t it? “Let me give her a call.”
“I’ve tried. I left her a message, but we’ll see if she gets back to us. I just thought I’d pop in and see if you had any good ideas for damage control.”
“I’ll try and figure something out,” I tell him. Assuming she hasn’t turned off half of our donor base already.
He nods. “We’ll need to get some positive buzz around here after this. At least we have that Intown Voice article coming out soon.”
My stomach tightens at the mention of the article. Things didn’t exactly go poorly with Asher Julian over the phone, but I’ve had a knot in my stomach ever since our second interview. He really wanted to hit the Cunningham angle of our story, and I made it clear that he wasn’t going to get the information he wanted from me. What if he decides there isn’t enough of a story without it?
As soon as my dad leaves, I scrabble around my desk until I find Asher’s card. He picks up on the first ring.
“Asher Julian.”
“Hey. It’s Lily from the Frazer Center for the Arts.”
“Ah, Lily.” He sounds genuinely pleased to hear from me. “I was wondering when you’d call.”
I hope he’s not expecting me to suddenly change my mind. “I just wanted to know when you thought the article might run.”
“Well, that depends,” he says.
“On…?”
“On whether or not I get the story my editor wants.”
Crap.
“I’ve told you everything I know,” I tell him. “I know you’d prefer something with a little more drama, but I’d like to think that you have an interesting story already.”
“Interesting doesn’t always cut it in this world,” he says. “I’m going to be blunt with you, Lily. My editor has promised me the cover if I do this right. This Cunningham business has been all over the national press this week, and we have a piece of the story right here in our own community. This is huge. I wouldn’t be surprised if the article gets picked up by one of the larger weeklies. Think of what that would mean for the Frazer Center.”
I do. It would be huge for us. But saying even one word against Calder’s family feels like a betrayal. I won’t do it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know anything else about the Cunninghams. But if there’s anything else I can do, any other questions I can answer for you, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I have a couple of other ideas for how we might spin this story, but let me run them by my editor first. Can I give you a call after I’ve talked to her?”
“Of course.”
“It was never my intention to be pushy about any of this,” he says. “And I don’t want you to think that I don’t believe the Frazer Center is worthy of a cover story all on its own. It’s a remarkable organization, and if I had my way it would get not only the cover but an entire ten-page spread. But my editor loves the flash, and I have to walk that fine line between writing something of substance and giving her what she wants. Believe me, it’s an ongoing battle.”
His words make me feel a little better—but only a little.
“Give me a call after you’ve talked to your editor,” I tell him. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says.
I breathe a sigh of relief after I hang up. It’s not a magical solution to our problem, but it’s a move in the right direction. Sometimes I feel like I’m just putting out one fire after another around here.
I only wish I could shake this feeling that my whole world is about to go up in flames.