Something Like Hate, page 20
What’s with the thin tie? Who wears ties on a Saturday?
“I’m Brock, but my friends call me BJ,” he says, ignoring my question.
I nod, horrified by the way he takes my margarita and drinks it all.
“That’s good,” he says. “What did you order? I need one.”
“Hard lemonade?” I lie, trying to figure out if he even knows what he just drank.
Danielle is a dead woman.
“Giving alcohol to minors is illegal,” I hear a voice right behind me, and my heart stops.
This kid laughs. “I know, I’m 22…”
He looks me up and down. I cringe, this is worse than Anthony Michael Hall showing off a pair of panties in a boy's locker room.
“I have good genes,” he says as he tries to run his hand through his disgusting gelled hair. “You can take them for a spin if you'd like.”
“Nope,” I say.
He sighs. “Damn, I thought that was a good one... Okay what if I’d said ‘I’m 22... but for you I’ll be 69.’”
Someone save me.
“Robbing the cradle, Ms. Solis?” Miller tsks, popping up out of nowhere.
“Shut up,” I say.
“Look, Brock,” I say.
“BJ, I like BJ better.” He winks.
“Cougar,” Miller whispers in my ear, and I shiver as I feel his body close to me.
Be strong, Claire. But think about the children we could have…
Fuck, I’m losing my mind. And to make matters worse, this kid is just letting Miller intrude because there's something he found so fascinating on his stupid phone.
“Listen,” Miller says to RJ, or whatever his name is, “I think this lovely woman deserves a real man, don't you?”
The kid shrugs, getting up from the table. “Yeah. I didn't go to Syracuse to put up with this bullshit. So yeah, man, have at it.”
Un-fucking-believable, I storm out of the bar of my own accord before I get even more pissed at stupid men bargaining for me. As I rushed through the doors and step into the night, I notice Miller next to me. Great.
“Are you stalking me?”
“We already established that you’re the stalker in this relationship,” Miller clarifies. “Look, we have to set some rules. I don’t like to share.”
“Leave me alone, Miller,” I say, brushing off his ridiculous comment.
“We could go to the tavern by our building,” he suggests.
“Stop following me,” I warn him.
“I’m walking beside you, not following you.”
“What do you need from me?” I ask exasperated. “Stop playing the nice guy.”
“I’m not playing any games.”
“You can fool everyone, but not me. I already fell for your act once. I swear, I won’t do it again.”
“Have you thought about running a marathon?” he asks, trying to keep up with me. “You’re unexpectedly fast.”
I don’t answer and just keep going until we arrive at our building. The elevator doors are open. I pick up the pace, trying to reach it before Miller does and close the doors right before he can enter it. Unfortunately, there’s a middle-aged lady inside smiling, while she holds the door open for us.
“Miller, dear, it is so nice to see you,” she greets him and looks at me.
“Mrs. Fabris,” he greets her.
The lady turns to me and says, “Claire, it’s so nice to see you again.”
“Claire Bear, this is Mrs. Fabris you met her—” The chimes from the elevator interrupt him and the doors open.
“This is me. You two have to give me an update. I didn’t know she was back in town.”
Once the doors are closed, I ask, “Who is she, Milo?
He presses his lips together and says, “We met her at my sister’s wedding.”
I toss my hands up in the air. “You’re unbelievable!”
“It’s been two and a half years, almost three.” I show him three fingers.
“It was just a weekend. I’ve been gone for three fucking years—and when I come back—you haven’t told them we were never together,” I say, and my voice resonates inside the elevator.
His eyes darken as he walks closer to me. I take a step backward, but I hit the steel wall. Miller leans forward, his hands rest on my sides.
He’s so close I can smell his scent. My heart beats at a million miles per hour. I want to push him away. As much as I want him to take me into his arms and never let me go.
Carefully, he places a few strands of my hair behind my ear, his lips touch me softly. I shiver.
“We were more than together,” he says, with a low voice that makes my entire body shiver. “I fucked up, but don’t deny what happened between us.”
His lips run along my jaw before he takes my mouth. For one moment, I let myself taste him, but the memories of what happened the last time I believed him pour down like a bucket of cold water.
I push him away. “Never kiss me,” I say, and stab his chest with my finger. “Do not touch me. Stop hinting that I was ever yours. You are nothing to me.”
“Claire,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry for everything I did. What can I do to get you not only to forgive me, but also to give me another chance to win your heart?”
“Nothing. What you did, it’s forgiven but never forgotten. As for us…, I’ve never hated anyone the way I hate you.”
He steps away, closes his eyes for a moment, and takes a deep breath. We arrive at our floor; he moves aside to let me pass. When I reach the door, he finally speaks, “That’s good.”
“That I hate you?” I shake my head and laugh. He’s priceless, “You understand it’s the opposite of what you want from me, right?”
He shakes his head. “Hate is just the same as love, Clarice.”
“You’re delusional.”
“People don’t understand those two feelings. They confuse them as being the opposite of each other. Indifference is the opposite of love. They're two strong emotions, both driven by passion. One wrong move and you transform love into hate. But a billion right moves could tip the needle just where I want it. Sweet dreams, baby.”
I gawk. He’s so insufferable.
“Didn’t you just hear what I said? I hate you! Stay away from me.”
He smiles. “You were right.”
“About?”
“You’re a shitty liar.” He says as he enters his apartment and I hate him even more.
Who does he think he is?
Forty
Claire
Sunday morning, I go to yoga with Danielle.
The first thing I say when I spot her is, “You set me up with a little twerp.”
“Welcome to Vinyasa Three, everyone,” the instructor says, glaring at me. “Take your places at the center of your mat and…”
“Once we’re out of here,” I mumble. “I’m going to teach you the opposite of namaste.”
“I take it you didn’t get lucky because you’re still angry,” she says and smirks. “May I suggest the guy next door?”
“You’re dead to me,” I mutter.
After we finish the class, we head to the juice bar at the promenade. We chat about the class; she suggests a couple of other studios. One of them has pilates too.
“Why did you set me up with that guy?”
She pulls out her phone and shows me the picture of the kid.
“That’s his brother, maybe even his dad,” I tell her. “The face is almost the same, but the kid was…twenty-two.”
She shrugs. “Next time—”
“Stop trying to set me up, please,” I beg her.
“How are things with him?”
I glare at her.
“Okay, so just get some closure after a few rounds of sex,” she suggests.
“He spent the day with us,” I admit.
“Wait, you shared your special aunt day with him? That’s interesting. Would you like to give me more? Because that’s not enough.”
While we have breakfast, I recount my Saturday. From the moment the little monsters arrived at my house until I shut the door after my failed date.
“I’ll start scouting wedding venues in Cancun,” she says.
“Danielle!”
“You keep saying no, but what did you do yesterday? You spent time with him. Just accept it.”
“That’s it, I’m moving in with Thomas,” I declare, wiping my face. “I’m going home. We can meet at Thomas’ around two. He’s driving us to the parents’ place.”
She smiles. “Thank you for including me.”
“Hey, you’re like family. My parents love you.”
When I arrive at my apartment, there’s a flower arrangement on the welcome mat. The card reads,
Would you have dinner with me?
MA
Stupid Miller Archer and his beautiful flower bouquet trying to…what the hell does he want with me?
I knock on his door, carrying the beautiful arrangement that looks a lot like the one he gave me for my birthday. There’s no response. I try several times and nothing. Then, I go to the terrace to see if by any chance he’s just hiding, or if I can see inside of his apartment.
“Miller Archer,” I call out. “I know you’re there.”
“Lady, it’s Sunday! I’m trying to relax,” someone yells from somewhere in the building.
I ignore him and keep calling Miller.
After a few attempts my throat is sore, but he comes out to the balcony, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and a smug grin. “Is there a fire, Princess?”
“The flowers.”
“You’re telling me that you’re knocking on my door as if the world is ending, and disturbing the peace of the entire complex because you received a bouquet of flowers?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing?”
God, I’m hate his smugness.
“You’re being a passive-aggressive asshole. When someone tells you to stay away, you stay away.”
“You said you hated me, not to stay away. And technically, you’re the one knocking on my door…so.” He shrugs and turns around. “Have a lovely Sunday. I’ll send my mother your apologies.”
“Wait, I demand you explain yourself. Why do I have to go?”
He doesn’t stop.
“Come back here, Miller. You’re not going to drag me to another event, do you hear me?”
“Dad’s birthday is tomorrow, but we’re celebrating it today,” he says. “It’s a surprise party. Mom wanted you there, but as I explained to her, you already made plans with your parents.”
“You’re still living your fantasy. Why don’t you tell them we’re over?”
“On his birthday?” He shakes his head. “That’d be harsh, not even the ice queen would do that, would she?”
I huff and offer him the flowers he left me. “Take your flowers.”
He shakes his head. “If you don’t want to keep them, give them to your Mom as a welcome present. It’s from the two of us.”
“You have your own mother. Leave mine alone.”
“See you soon, baby. I have to run a few errands for my parents before heading to their place.” He winks and goes back inside his apartment.
This morning Miller didn’t knock on my door, nor did he wait for me to walk to work. I should be relaxed and happy. He finally got the message. Except, when I arrive at the office, he’s right next to the elevator, holding two cups of coffee and smiling at me.
“Good morning, Clarice,” he greets me, handing me a cup.
“Hannibal.” I take the cup and squint. “What is this?”
“Tea,” he says, calling the elevator.
“I meant, why are you waiting for me with a drink in hand?”
“We had an early meeting with a client in France,” he answers. “The least I could do is welcome you to the office before you start your day.”
I look at my watch. “It’s not even seven in the morning. Let me have a nice morning before you show up with some bizarre gesture. I don’t have time to figure out your scheme.”
As we arrive at the twentieth floor, he says, “Have a good morning. I’ll see you soon.”
When he said I’ll see you soon, I assumed Thursday when we had to meet at the airport. Nope, he meant eleven-thirty. He brought me food. The receptionist didn’t stop him, and conveniently, Danielle wasn’t by her desk.
“Huh,” he says as he enters. “My office is right on top of yours. We could always swap. I know how much you enjoy being on top too.”
“Get out of my office,” I order, pressing my legs together.
This man has to stop talking to me. Everything he says just sets me on fire. I’m about to jump out of my chair and push him on the couch so I can ride him.
“You’re being unprofessional,” I say. “Danielle, why did you let him in?”
“She’s not around,” he says.
Well, isn’t he helpful? He sets a bag on top of my desk. “Warm it up in the microwave. You can bring the bag and the containers over to my apartment after work and I’ll feed you.”
My eyes remain trained on my screen. My hand is holding my stylus tight. I don’t make a move because I don’t want to mess up the logo I’m working on, and honestly, I’m trembling too hard to even try. He’s not going to notice how much he’s affecting me.
“Thank you?”
“Let me know if you want to talk about the Gyles account before Thursday.”
I haven’t spoken to my boss about it, I want to say. Well, they aren’t exactly my bosses, but we discuss everything, and during today’s meeting, I just told them about the trip—23 wasn’t part of the discussion.
“Have a nice day, Archer,” I say.
Forty-One
Claire
Thomas is an alcohol aficionado. Not to confuse him with an alcoholic. He started a brewery. Now, our conversations go from, ‘I think this new beer is going to be amazing’ to, ‘I think I want to start a vineyard.’
On rare occasions, he’ll tell me about the sports bar or the girl he met. When I told him about my impending visit to the Gyles Estate, he begged me to bring him with me.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Thomas,” I said. “I’ll be working.”
I regret my rejection because now that I'm stuck in what Mr. Gyles calls the guesthouse: a small two-bedroom house in the middle of nowhere. We have to use a golf cart to get to the main house. I’m not a snob by any means. I wasn’t expecting the Ritz Carlton. When you grow up in a state where everything happens outdoors, you learn to sleep almost anywhere.
What I can’t do is have him as my roommate.
Miller Archer somehow made this happen, I just know it. If I could, I would leave, but I can’t tell the client goodbye and thank you for your hospitality. Would they notice if I buy camping equipment and I sleep outside?
I look at Miller and say, “Somehow, I think this is your fault.”
“Interesting,” he replies. “What’s bugging you this time, Princess?”
“Let’s start with you putting on a shirt,” I say.
“It’s hot and they don’t have air-conditioning,” he says
I check my weather app and show him that it’s not hot enough to be parading around the house shirtless. “Sixty-five degrees isn’t hot.”
“You seem stressed. Have you thought about taking some time off? If you need something fast, I can always help.” He throws that arrogant smile I love and makes me hot.
I won’t let him see how much he affects me. “Do I look like I’m losing my shit? I’m calm and cool.”
“You’ve been on edge all week,” he says. “Every time I see you, you’re flushed, fidgety, and anxious.”
“You’re a passive-aggressive bastard,” I say.
He points at himself and asks, “Who me?”
“I asked you last Sunday to leave me alone, and what have you been doing for the past week?”
He looks at me with those unnerving, calm eyes and smiles lazily. If that’s not being passive-aggressive, I’m Batman.
“Let’s set some rules for the weekend,” I say before I lose my shit like I did last night, when he purposely was in the terrace, playing guitar and singing my favorite songs.
“Chill, Princess. Look at this beautiful place. You should relax.”
“We’re here to work.”
“No, you’re here to learn about the client and understand what it is they are looking for. There’s a reason they think our companies should share the account.”
“You’re confirming what I just said. This is a business trip. Not some romantic getaway to wine country. If I wanted that, I’d be somewhere else.”
“Like Tuscany?” he suggests.
“You owe me Tuscany.”
“I owe you the entire city?”
I glare before I say, “I don’t find you amusing.”
“I’ll buy you a villa in Tuscany.”
“Wow, you’re going from flowers, balloons, coffee, and food to ‘I’ll buy you a villa in Tuscany’. What if I want a castle next?”
He smiles and shrugs. “Then I’ll give it to you. You can’t accuse me of not trying.”
“This is how things are going to work this weekend. You’ll wear clothes at all times. We don't speak to each other unless necessary and be at least three feet away from me at all times.”
“This is like a restraining order.” He looks at the floor. “So, three feet apart. Your tiny feet or mine? And what if you fall down and I need to carry you or … if you want me to kiss you?”
“I assure you nothing like that will happen.”
“You’ve tripped at least five times since we arrived,” he reminds me. “I’ve caught you all five of them. Those boots are hot but not practical.”
I look at my new Prada boots, which are muddy, scraped and so fucking tight I swear, I’m bleeding.
“The boots are beside the point. Do you understand the rules?”
He nods. “I should keep my distance unless you ask me nicely to ignore the rules.”
“Put a shirt on,” I say.
He checks his watch and says, “I’m going out for a run, Princess.”
