“Wow,” Evie finally says. “So, he’s like…a millionaire?”
“Try billionaire,” Harlow says. “Paradisus rakes in more money per year than the gross domestic product of most small countries. And probably a few medium-sized ones.” She grips my forearm, squeezing tight. “One of the richest, most powerful men in the world is obsessed with you. How does that feel?”
I scowl at her, but Evie jumps in before I can say something I’ll regret.
“That doesn’t matter to Jess,” Evie says, petting my thigh again. “You know she doesn’t care about money or big gestures. She would like Sam just as much if he ran a sandwich cart and brought her flowers he picked in the park.”
“I’d like him more,” I say, tossing my tissue on the table. “Because then he wouldn’t have a god complex or think he can get away with being an egomaniac who manipulates people like little puppets in his ‘Sam Knows Best’ puppet show.”
Harlow sits back in her chair, crossing her arms with a considering sound. “Yeah, but I have to confess that I sort of get why he’s like that. I would probably be the same way if I were obscenely rich.”
Evie reaches past me to poke Harlow’s shoulder. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re a good person.”
“I try to be,” Harlow agrees, “but I also like to fix problems for the people I love. If I had butt loads of money and power at my disposal, I might be tempted to take that too far.” She cocks her head my way as she adds, “Do you think that might be at the root of this? That he truly just wanted to do good things for someone he really cares about?”
“Probably,” I say in a voice so grumpy it would be funny if anything were funny right now. “But I don’t care. I hate it and I hate him. I’m not a child or an idiot or a puppet. I don’t want anything up my butt, especially not Sam’s entire hand.”
Harlow hums beneath her breath. “You say that now, but butt stuff might turn out to be more fun than you think. Try to keep an open mind about that.”
“Ew, stop,” Evie says. “We’ve been over this. If I have to hear about how much you love spanking and butt stuff again, I’m going to stab out my eardrums.”
“You need to loosen your inhibitions,” Harlow says with a sniff.
“And you need to remember that Derrick is mybrotherand thinking of him doing butt stuff with my best friend makes me want to take off my own skin.”
Harlow’s head rears back. “Wow. That’s a visceral image. Like…peel off your own skin? Or unzip it like a suit and hang it in the closet?”
“The latter, probably,” Evie says, waving a hand in the air. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it that much. Just keep the sex talk PG-13 around my delicate sisterly ears, okay? Seriously.”
“Fine, yes, fine,” Harlow says with an eye roll that makes it clear she still thinks Evie’s being overly precious. “That’s not the point anyway. The point is that we all show our love differently. And we’re all capable of changing tactics when the first thing we try doesn’t work out so well. We’re not middle-aged people with neural pathways like the Grand Canyon, with like…deeply grooved, almost inescapable patterns we’ve formed from decades of doing the same thing over and over the same exact way. Our brains are still young and flexible and capable of change.”
“Actually, the latest research shows brains are capable of change at any age,” I say. “And growth and regeneration. Basically, all that stuff they taught us in elementary school about killing off brain cells that can never grow back is a lie. Several sectors of the brain show daily cell growth into old age, as long as they’re stimulated by regular mental exercise. Brains are like muscles; you have to use ’em or lose ’em.”
“Well, if I’d know that, I would have huffed more glue under the bleachers growing up,” Harlow says dryly. “Once again, you’re focusing on the wrong part of the conversation. I understand that you perceive what Sam did as disrespectful—I would, too, honestly—but you also really like him and have been having the time of your life with this man.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as happy as you are with Sam,” Evie adds. “You’ve been glowing, honey.”
“Sparkling like you fell into Evie’s glitter stash,” Harlow agrees.
I hunch lower in my chair, shaking my head. “No. That happiness was a lie. Just like the rest of it.”
Harlow sits up straighter, shooting a hard look down her nose at me. “Really? So, finding out that he was conspiring to get you a great job he knows you deserve and an incredible first time free of worries about him comparing you to the other women he’s banged before is a dealbreaker?”
“They were lies!” I insist. “And those lies prove he doesn’t respect me as his equal. If he did, he would have told me the truth.”
“And you would have turned down both the job and his dick,” Harlow says bluntly. “And then you both would have been miserable, just like you are right now. Because you know he’s miserable, too. That man is ridiculously in love with you, Jess. He looks at you like he’s an art freak and you’re the Mona Lisa.”
“Or the last sunset he’ll ever see before he loses his eyesight forever,” Evie says in a hushed voice. “Can you imagine losing your eyesight? I have nightmares about it all the time. Not being able to see art anymore would be so hard. If I’m ever rich, I want to start a charity that funds research for fighting diseases that cause blindness. Everyone should be able to see art and sunsets.” Her eyes get shiny again. “And the faces of the people they love. I know they can feel them with their fingers, but I bet it’s not the same.”
Her words take my thoughts to a new place.
What if I never see Sam again? Never see his smile or his adorably goofy, slightly cross-eyed thinking face or the pained expression he makes when I’m making him feel so good that he can hardly bear the beauty of it?
God, that would be…awful. Unspeakably awful.
Fresh tears stream down my cheeks, like two twin spigots twisted all the way on.
“But I don’t know how to do second chances,” I blubber, swiping at my cheeks with fresh tissues. “I don’t know how to do first chances. All I know is that I feel so stupid and scared and…blindsided. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to trust him again. It’s like I rolled over and showed him my vulnerable underbelly and he threw a knife at it while my guard was down. Now, I just want to bite his leg and run away and hide in my closet with a giant bag of burnt pretzels.” I push the ice cream carton away with a snarl. “I’m over my sweet phase. Ugh, I can’t believe I ate almost the entire thing. I can feel myself developing active diabetes.”