The Virgin Duet(17)

Pulling myself from the bed, I go through my normal routine. First calling Sam, who I still haven’t heard from other than a couple of random ‘I’m fine’ texts but nothing more. I feel guilty for not trying to locate him, but for once I just don’t want to get wrapped up in Sam’s mess. If he needs me, I’ll come, but until then I’m going to give him his space. At least I know he has a place to stay. I wanted to go pay the rent on the motel for the next few weeks but Bray was adamant that he would handle it. He doesn’t want me going down there. I thought it was silly, but maybe he is right. I don’t want to risk running into Nico.

Cleaning up from the previous night’s dinner, I plan what I’ll make tonight and do some prep work for it. There isn’t much more to do around here and when I informed Bray of this, he asked me what I would like to do. I told him I could do anything he needed but his response was, “What do you want you do, Tinkerbell?”

“Paint,” I said. Something I hadn’t done in a long time. Something that was only a luxury I would do when I was in school. The next day one of the spare rooms was filled with paints and canvases. At first I just started stacking my pieces when had completed them. Then Bray started hanging them on the walls, adding color to his once-cold home. It doesn’t seem so cold anymore. It makes me feel like he wants me to be a part of his home. Like it is becoming mine too.

I don’t feel like painting today, I want to see Bray. Plus I haven’t been out of the condo in over a week and I’m getting cabin fever. Maybe Bray will take me somewhere. It’s the first day of spring and it looks beautiful out. Maybe we can find somewhere with an open patio to have lunch.

Going to the bedroom, I slip on the one dress I own. It’s a dark violet sundress that I’ve always loved. It shows off my curves and makes me look like a perfect hourglass with how it falls on my hips. The color makes my eyes glow a lighter shade of purple, which works well with my pink-and purple-streaked hair. Grabbing my chunky, studded, ankle-high boots, I slide them on and make my way across town in a taxi. I can’t help but hope Bray will have me lie across his desk, make me lift my dress and put on another show for him.

When I reach his office Cindy is on the phone but gives me a puckered face like she swallowed a lemon. I roll my eyes and stroll past her right into Bray’s office.

“Hey you can’t—” Cindy shrieks but I just ignore her, pushing the doors to his office open.

“Vanilla, you gonna take me to lunch?” I ask, making my way over to him, plopping down in his lap, and ignoring the two men in his office staring at me with smirks on their faces. But none of their faces beat Cindy’s, who looks like she might die of shock.

Bray’s hands lock onto my hips and squeeze. A soft moan escapes my mouth, because it’s the first time he’s really touched me and it caught me off guard. I hear Bray growl behind me.

“Sir, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Cindy,” Bray says, cutting her off. “I actually could use your assistance with Rebecca if you don’t mind.” His words make my stomach clench. The idea of having to do anything with Cindy makes me want to pound my head up against the nearest wall.

“It seems she doesn’t have a proper wardrobe.”

I feel shame hit me and I’m sure it shows on my face. All my fight seems to leave my body. I should have some smart comment, but I probably look as shocked as Cindy did moments ago, and now she has a smirk on her face.

Maybe I’ve read far more into Bray and I than we really are. Over the past few weeks I came to think he liked the way I am. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. This feeling that I’m not meeting someone’s idea of what I should be. That who I am isn’t good enough. To make it more painful, I thought I was past caring what others thought. But for some reason it’s worse coming from Bray than when it came from my own mother or one of my foster parents. I guess it’s okay to slum it with me in the privacy of his own home, but not in public where people could see.

I try to stand so I can get away from him, because the touch I was craving moments ago now feels like it burns me. He locks his hold on me, and I give a hard pull to yank myself from his grasp. I nearly trip over my own feet, and increase my embarrassment.

“I didn’t know there was anything wrong with my clothes,” I snap, refusing to look at him. I focus my eyes on the far wall, not wanting to look at any of them, but I can feel all four pairs of eyes on me.

“It’s inappropriate,” is all he says in his cold controlled voice. Not the voice that I’ve heard for the past few weeks, the one that fought with me over how many towels I use when I take a bath. Or the voice of the man who came into the guest room and worked on his laptop so he could watch me paint.

“Sir, it’s fine. I’ll call your personal shopper and have her set something up.” Eyeing me up and down with distaste, Cindy adds, “It’s probably best we have her come to Rebecca, so we don’t have to drag her into all the formal shops.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Set it up.” Nodding in approval, Cindy turns and leaves the office.

I have the urge to flee as well. No point in sticking around for another group chat of ‘why Rebecca isn’t good enough’. Without looking at him I make my way to the door.

“Rebecca,” he calls after me. A spark of hope lights in my chest. Maybe he sees how big an ass he’s been. How he just embarrassed me in a room full of people, one who might even be his side piece. Maybe you’re the side piece floats through my head, but I push it away. Maybe he’s going to apologize.