It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him to go to hell. That I wasn’t his patsy and I saw right through him. As sure as if Austin was standing right next to me, I could hear his voice whispering,“Don’t be stupid, Cort. The guy is using you.”
Maybe he was. And in a way, wasn’t I using him to help with my own loneliness? I’d manipulated him into this job without giving him a chance to say no. I’d pushed him to come and stay with me. But last night when we danced…I could swear he felt something too. Maybe it had something to do with all the beer he’d drunk, or…maybe he wasn’t ready yet to admit a man might turn him on. As I studied him, sitting at my table, waiting for me to answer, all I knew was that I could no more turn my back on him than I could Austin or Frankie. Not yet.
“Yeah, sure. I don’t mind.”
Chapter Six
HARLAN
“Harlan? That’s reallyyou? I can’t believe it.” Race peered at me over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Who knew there was a face under all that beard and hair?”
I ran my hand over my smooth jaw; it still felt strange to be clean-shaven. I’d hated the beard and was never one to like my hair long. Getting rid of my facial hair was a huge step back to the reality of Harlan DeWitt. Appearances meant everything.
“It’s me. In the flesh.”
When I took off my coat, Race whistled. “New clothes too? Damn, what’d you do, rob a bank?” He quirked a bushy, gray brow at me, and I grinned. “Wasn’t it only last week that you were stealing the leftover cheese and crackers after the book readings?”
My smile faded. “I, uh, didn’t think you noticed.” I put the plastic bag with the other T-shirts, underwear, and socks I’d bought next to the chair where Cort sat reading the latest Dean Koontz book. The heat of shame flooded me. “Sorry. When I start making a steady income, I’ll pay you back.”
He waved me off. “Don’t be stupid. I was teasing you.” The phone rang, and when he reached across the desk to answer it, he gasped. “Oh fuck, that hurts.” After taking a customer’s order, he set the receiver down and winced. “Hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“What’s the matter?” Cort had put his book on the table. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“I am.” Race sat in the chair behind the counter. “My back’s been giving me a shitload of trouble lately.” As if to prove his point, he rubbed it.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Got an appointment tomorrow morning. Which is why I’m glad to see you here, Cort. Can you do me a huge favor?”
I’d picked up the Sunday newspaper to peruse the different sections, and a headline caught my eye:Toby Mortimer, Partner at the Law Firm of DeWitt and Wynters, Marries Department-store Heiress Chelsea Madison.
The paper fluttered to my lap. I don’t know what floored me most. The fact that Toby was now a partner…or that he’d gotten married. I shook myself out of my stupor and snatched the paper back up, scanning the article and the accompanying pictures. There, in all his dopey-faced glory, was Toby in a tuxedo, looking fatter than ever, with a huge, shit-eating grin on his face, holding the hand of a skinny, blonde, young woman in a formfitting gown that could barely contain her large breasts. Toby always was a boob man.
I didn’t care about breasts. I liked lips. Lips that could suck me down and make me forget everything.
For the first time in a year, I saw my parents. The photographer had snapped a picture of them dancing, handsome as ever: my father in his formal wear, straight and smiling, as thrilled as if Toby were his own son, and my mother in her diamonds, blonde hair shining under the lights from the crystal chandeliers. The caption read, “Roderick DeWitt, senior partner at DeWitt and Wynters, and his wife, socialite Leticia Harrison DeWitt.” No one could tell from the tender way he held her that they hadn’t slept together in over ten years and took separate vacations.
The wedding had taken place at The Pierre, which made sense, as Toby’s family owned a majority share in the company that owned the hotel. “The happy couple will be taking a trip around the world, starting with a two-month-long honeymoon throughout Europe.”
Where Toby would most likely do nothing but eat, drink, and screw his wife, having no interest in anything other than his physical pleasure. The man cared about nothing but his dick and his stomach and was the biggest fool I knew. He’d told me several years ago that his family and Chelsea’s had hoped they’d marry. They’d known each other since they were children.
“One is as good as the next. At least she’s got money and big tits. But I’m not doing it until I’m ready. I wanna live a little.…You know what I mean. Let’s go party.”
It wasn’t his marriage that shocked me the most. It was that he’d been made partner in my family’s firm. A position I’d always assumed would be mine. Having lived without money for the past year, it now hit me how much my family only cared about the almighty dollar. Toby’s family, with their hedge-fund billions, satisfied their needs, it seemed, much more than their son ever had. Toby had supplanted me.
I began to shake, and with a muttered, “I’ll be right back,” ran out of the bookstore and down the block to the liquor store on the corner. Lucky for me, everything I’d bought had been on sale, so I still had close to fifty dollars left. I picked out a beautiful bottle of vodka and purchased it, then stopped in the Starbucks next door. After waiting a few minutes to use the bathroom, I cracked open the bottle and drank several gulps, wincing as it burned through me, while welcoming the blessed warmth pooling in my stomach as it settled.
I raised my gaze to the mirror, half expecting to see the stranger I’d become to myself, but instead I looked remarkably familiar—the same blond hair, blue eyes I always had. My lips trembled, and I raised the bottle and took another healthy swig. That sweet oblivion seeped through me, and I smiled.
Who gave a fuck if Toby was married? Who gave a fuck about any of them? I blinked and stared at the bottle in my hand, wondering how I’d get it past Cort. The man wasn’t dumb. Far from it. He knew me, and it would take all my brainpower to keep him off my scent.
I exited the bathroom and purchased three coffees. I set the tray with the cups on the table and poured the rest of the vodka into my coffee, finishing off the extra. I met the disapproving gaze of an older man with my own glare and tossed the empty bottle into the trash can.
When I reentered the store, Cort had replaced Race behind the counter, and he cocked his head at me.
“Where the hell did you go, runnin’ outta here like a herd of elephants was chasin’ you?” A pucker of worry creased his brow, and his eyes searched mine.
Did I feel guilty? Hell yes. I knew Cort was a sweet man, probably one of the few genuinely nice people I’d ever met in my life. He’d also proven to be one of the smartest, as he’d picked up on my drinking pretty quickly. But he had no idea what lived inside me. The drinking numbed the fear.
