It’s the nighttime security desk clerk, and the sheik and his entire contingent of bodyguards are standing there with him, watching us. Their shell-shocked faces tell me everything I need to know. All I can do is shake my head and push the penthouse suite button. Tess and I burst out laughing as we shoot back up to my floor.
CHAPTER18
TESS
I can’t get that Aerosmith song out of my head. Love in an elevator indeed. I might be twenty-four, but I still think that Aerosmith is one of the best things to come out of the eighties because it certainly wasn’t the fashion, and the song’s video is a lot of fun. Whenever I make love to Roscoe, I find it’s fun as well as being intensely erotic. He never fails to surprise me with how he manages to bring me from cold to boiling hot so fast it has the power to leave me breathless.
But this can’t be love because I know Roscoe too well…too well to allow myself to have warmer feelings. I feel compassion for how love has eluded him for so long because he’s such a business-minded grump and passion for how he makes me feel when he’s staring at me with those gorgeous green eyes while he drives me crazy in bed. I would be lying if I failed to admit I have to restrain myself on every level not to fall deeply in love with him. Just like every other woman has done before I came along.
I’m not the woman to tame him. I'm not strong enough. He needs a boss woman to stand up to him and bring him to heel. For one moment, I play around with the idea of my ex and me swapping partners. His boss lady lover could probably tame Roscoe in a heartbeat and then I’d have my ex back, and the mere idea brings a pang to my heart, weirdly enough, but I don’t want to dwell on that. And I don’t care to linger on that idea because…well, because I don’t want to lose Roscoe, not yet. Besides, I’m not the kind of girl to go back to someone who cheated on me and then threw me out of their apartment when I ‘had a fit’ about it.That’s what he called it, believe it or not. Having a fit.
When I don’t think too much about the future or the past, I’m ecstatically happy to be with Roscoe.
Going to the nightclub was a fiasco for both of us, but as far as Sarah goes, maybe it was all a load of coke-fueled nonsense she was spouting at me last night. I have more pressing concerns on my mind because this morning is the first time I wake up in Roscoe’s bed. I vowed I wouldn’t succumb, that I wouldn’t become another notch on his bedpost, but he’s too hot and I’m too enraptured with the way he makes love to me to say no to him. I was emotionally and physically too weak to walk down those spiral stairs back to my studio. So, we ended up making love all night.
I feel so bad for the mean things I said to him. I have to remember that he’s still my boss at the end of the day. When did the lines become so blurred? I can’t blame myself and I certainly can’t blame him.
“We need to talk about how sex might end up interfering with the deal,” I said to him last night the second I was able to think straight again after coming for the fourth time. I was trying to assemble my chaotic thoughts and make sense out of it all. Roscoe climbed off me and lay beside me. Then he seemed to feel the need to connect with me while we spoke, so he slid his arm under my neck and brought me in closer for a cuddle. One thing I will say about Roscoe, he never leaves me hanging or feeling neglected after we’ve made love. In fact, I’ll go as far as saying he craves intimacy even more than I do after we’ve had sex.
“I’ve always been kind of good at separating sex and my feelings,” he drawled, but gave me a squeeze to let me know he was trying to be on the level with me, and not being cocky. “But I’m not such a Neanderthal to not know it’s different with women. When men come, it makes them tired, when women come, it makes them fall in love. Something to do with the different hormones being released.”
“I’m pleased to see you have a subscription to the Men's Health blog,” I said dryly. He gave my ribs a poke with his finger. “Hey! No fair. I’m trying to make an effort to understand here.” I paused to think, but my mind just turned in circles in one place like a hamster on a wheel. I was too scared to analyze my feelings in more depth because I was scared of what I would unearth. There was a lot to hate about Roscoe Bridges, but there was so much more to find loveable. He was so ruthless in the boardroom, but wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable in the bedroom. I found that trait adorable in him.
“Would you be open to maintaining the relationship after the Ishida deal closes?” he asked me straight out. He didn’t even stumble over the words. It was me who stumbled. “I-I don’t…I mean, I’m not sure if—.” Then suddenly it dawned on me whom I was dealing with. Roscoe ‘Three Strikes and You’re Out’ Bridges. “Would you go back to the three-strikes rule?”
He looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, and what he said next caught me by surprise.
“I went to a boarding school in Switzerland since I was eleven. When I was in my second to last year of school, life was good and full of possibilities.” I was shocked to silence, but I didn’t know what this was about but I didn’t want to miss a single word. He told me how the investment portfolio he’d kept since leaving home showed he had a flair for seeing business opportunities before others did. How he had the choice between sleeping with at least a dozen high school girls or bored Gstaad housewives, depending on his mood and inclinations. How he was on the ski team and the shooting team, and there was talk about him representing his country in the Olympics. “Then Cammie Van der Bosen came to my school.One look and I was smitten. She was perfect. She was fourteen when we fell in love, and fifteen when we started sleeping together. I was a senior at the time.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were distant. He told me how he refused to leave Switzerland while she was still attending the academy, instead choosing to work in one of the Zurich investment banks so that he could drive to visit her every weekend. “The year of her graduation, we got engaged. Cammie looked at the garish white blue diamond set in platinum and said yes, but not before her mother had the stone rated and certified by a jeweler in Geneva and made me sign a document saying Cammie could keep the ring if the wedding plans fell through. I was young and in love. Too blind to ask questions. I was just so happy that she said yes, that I wanted to share the news with everyone, so I called my parents.
“When I told them, my dad didn’t say anything, but a private investigator arrived in Zurich on the next jet. All the man did was hand me a sheet of paper stating Cammie Van der Bosen and her mother had no personal fortune. A wealthy relative had paid for her schooling and board at the Swiss high school. My parents ever only wanted for me to be happy, so they left any decision about my future to me, but my dad advised me against spending any more money on my fiancée until she turned twenty-one. I didn’t care that she had no fortune, and of course, by then, it was already too late anyway. I was crazy in love and couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.” He seemed like he was miles away. Out of reach. I just wanted to hold him close. But his tale wasn’t done yet. “The wedding date was set…and then postponed. Cammie said she wanted to see a bit of the world first. Starting with Paris.
“I couldn’t leave my internship at the bank, so we went back to spending our weekends together, only this time, in Paris. Cammie said she was looking for a job, but wasn’t sure what she wanted to do next. In the meantime, she thought it was a good idea to keep staying at our Paris apartment until she made up her mind.” He looked so lost. So hurt. “When Cammie announced she was pregnant, I was over the moon. Even mom was enthusiastic about the possibility of a grandson or granddaughter. So, we set a new wedding date. Cammie was Catholic, so it was agreed to have the ceremony in Paris and have the rest of the family fly out for it, because Harrison and Mitchell were attending the Swiss academy now.
“Then came the miscarriage.” His wince was visible. He was still looking at the ceiling, instead of at her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I was devastated but Cammie was sanguine. The wedding was canceled until she recovered. Then, one morning, I woke up to find a letter waiting on the breakfast tray my landlady always prepared for me.I read it three times to make sure I was reading it right. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I remember the words as if I’m reading them now.
Dear Roscoe,
It’s going to take years for you to become a billionaire and when my mother contacted your father to ask for money, he said no. That’s not acceptable.
I don’t need to remind you that my bloodline is part of one of the most ancient family trees in Europe, and this has always bothered me because you’re just a common American whose great grandfather got lucky with property development.
I have met someone else. He needs no introduction; his father is a descendent from the Duc de Montgeroult, which makes him a Marquis of sorts once the family title is reclaimed. This title is more suitable for me, because I don’t want to end up a society dame in the Hamptons like your mother.
Don’t worry about me, Roscoe. I’ll get over this. I don’t believe in high school romances anyway. They are so shabby genteel.
Warmest regards and good luck in your career as a banker.
Cammie VdB
“As soon as the words finally made sense, I got in my car and drove all the way from Zurich, along the twisting European roads like a madman, hoping and praying I could reach her in time before she left the Paris apartment. It wasn’t meant to be, though. I searched all the rooms and she had taken all her things. But I did find something.”
He was silent for a moment, and a tear escaped down the side of his face. It broke my heart. He briefly looked at me then and what he said next brought me to my knees.
“I found a receipt on an otherwise empty drawer. For an abortion. But the kicker is, she used my credit card to pay for it.”
Tears were now falling down my face. I was unable to control them. He was back at staring at the ceiling.
“I fell off the wagon a bit after that. Became one of those louche, slightly misanthropic European gentlemen that sit around wine bars, smoking Turkish cigarettes and wearing black sunglasses.” He laughed dryly.” Yes, even the black polo neck sweaters.” He was slowly shaking his head as if disapproving of something. “My parents eventually came to visit. Said it was time for me to come home.