Fall for Me, page 5
“Mhm, I hate to interrupt.” Fitz clears his throat. “Now that you’ve said hello to each other, can we start working?”
“Hi, you must be Fitz,” Willow greets him. She looks beautiful as she blushes and bites her lip. Then, I introduce her to Jensen.
It doesn’t take long to pack her things. Jensen offers to drive Willow and Hazel while Fitz and I carry the boxes to the truck. When we finish, we drive back to Manhattan. As we unload her things, I realize she had come to her grandfather’s house the night we met. Grant Beesley is one of our biggest clients. Like Jensen, Grant was one of the few people who helped us after my parents died.
“Coffee, yoga, a bar?” Fitz asks Hazel, who nods mouthing bar, and they disappear without uttering another word.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask Willow, circling back to her comment where she says she wants to forget.
I’m wondering what I could do for her. I don’t want to sound like a cocky bastard, but I’m an Everhart. Besides being a lawyer, I own part of Everhart Industries. The conglomerate my grandfather started, and my father expanded. We have several subdivisions among them, a brokerage firm, investment solutions for mid-size companies, and an advertising company which is one of the largest integrated marketing services. Throughout the years, I’ve met interesting people. I represent celebrities and a few producers. There’s a chance one of them can get me an audition for her. Lending her money to pay her rent is out of the question. So is buying her a house in Brooklyn where I would love to move. I’d do anything to dissipate the sadness in her heart. My brothers, however, would send me to a mental health institution if I bought her a home.
“No. I’m fine,” she says with a straight face. If it weren’t for the twitch in her left eye and how she sets her jaw, I would believe her.
“Fake it until you make it?” I joke.
“I’m fine,” she repeats, ignoring my joke.
The next step would be saying, I know you’re not, sweetheart, and I’m here for you. But dating 101 doesn’t include shoving your foot in your mouth within the first weeks of dating. That’s more along the lines of the six-month mark, when you get an eye glare and the word, idiot. If I could give anyone who wants to go past the third date a piece of advice it’d be to never invalidate the other person’s feelings. Even when they’re lying.
“Do you want to do something?”
“I don’t want you to get involved. My life is chaotic.”
“I noticed. Which is why I propose we go first to Bed . . .” I pause, licking my lips. The flat line painted on her lips is my cue to stop the nonsense. “Bath and Beyond while we decide where we go for our next date.”
“Today isn’t a good day.” She’s set on shutting me down when her phone buzzes. Scanning through it, she sighs.
“Care to explain?”
She scratches the base of her skull, pressing her lips together. I hold my breath, about to give up for good.
“I’d rather not.” She pulls her shoulders back, pushing her chest out. Her somber face hardens even more. “It’s easier for everyone to avoid my mercurial personality.”
“Easier for you or me?”
Her eyes open wide, her nostrils flare. The combination of surprise, anger, and something else seem to grasp her entire body. “It’s not a good day,” she repeats.
“You mentioned some stuff you needed while we were unloading.”
She scratches her skull again. I swear I can hear the roughness of the movement. Am I agitating her so much that she’s losing her shit?
Willow reminds me of a chick I met during camp—a mental health camp for teenagers. It’s a program created to help each individual cope with different traumas or mental illnesses. Viola was her name. She had suicidal tendencies, bipolar disorder, and abused drugs. Is that what’s wrong with Willow? With my own fucked-up mind and hers, can we make this work?
It’s not that I’m heartless, people might see me as a normal, hot lawyer in New York. Those closest to me know that’s only on the outside. My mind is anything but normal. I speak to myself eighty-five percent of the time. It’s not voices in my head, but the coping mechanism I used when the only person I spent my day with was, well, me.
“You mentioned some stuff you needed while we were unloading.”
She studies me. Not a muscle in her moves, and I wish I could be inside her head to decipher her puzzling mind. I’m not the best person to do such a thing. Walking to her, I kiss her cheek.
It’s a lingering kiss.
A goodbye kiss.
A don’t make me go kiss.
It’s a pathetic attempt from my side. An attempt to change her mind.
“Goodbye, Willow.”
Her eyes watch me with sadness. I serve her with a smile and leave.
A couple of hours later, I’m back at the Beesley’s penthouse.
“What’s all this?” Willow looks at my loaded arms.
“Organizers, hangers, mirrors, wall art, wall accents, and a few linens.” I point at the bags, boxes, and lamps the doorman helped me bring upstairs.
One of my biggest issues is the fear of being alone. For all I know, Willow is bad for me. Maybe she’s as addictive as cocaine or meth, but for now, I assume she’s a chocolate chip cookie—my mother’s recipe. I’m dependent on them. I eat at least one a day. My attraction to her is so strong there is no fucking way I would leave her as easily as she assumes.
“I thought—”
“That I’d leave you?” I pull my hand from behind my back, handing her a bouquet of flowers.
Her shaky hand grabs it. Her gorgeous eyes fill with moisture as she presses them gently to herself and sniffs them. “They’re beautiful. How did you accomplish all of this so late?”
I shove my hands inside my pockets, looking at the gray carpet. The long explanation includes help from her sister who told me what she likes. Then calling in a few favors, and convincing the owner of Tyler’s Flowers to create a bouquet with lavender, light tones of blue, and some pinks right away. Here’s another dating tip: always find what makes her heart happy. In her case, it’s flowers. I accomplished all these while talking to my therapist over the phone.
“Why do you feel you have to talk to me right away?” he asked.
“No one has enough experience to give me advice,” I explained.
“I recall telling you to stop living through other’s experiences. Perhaps this is a good place to start.”
“Willow, I, myself, have several quirks. Since we both live in the land of oddities, I propose we give this a chance.”
She blinks a couple of times. “What’s this?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I respond without giving it a thought. “There’s an attraction between us. We connect easily. Why not have fun together?”
She stares at the flowers, then at everything I brought her. “I don’t want your money. All these things make me uncomfortable.”
I pretend to write down her wishes in the air. “Got it, no frivolous presents or flowers.”
Touching the flowers with the tip of her hands, she angles her head, her shy, green eyes poke out from behind her long, dark lashes, and she smiles. “I love the flowers.”
I make a big show by exhaling deeply, taking my phone, and pretending to tap on it. “Let’s get this straight. Expensive presents are a no-go while flowers are a daily must.”
Looking around, I find the pastel mirror vase I bought at West Elm. In a way, I hated to find out so much about Willow through Hazel. Like the fact she loves flowers, pastel colors as much as black, gold, and silver. She’s a romantic underneath the armor. Life wasn’t easy for her. Her parents traveled often. They left her and her sister with strangers for days, weeks, and even months at a time. Am I capable of handling her? It’s easier to find out than to let her go.
“How about you keep all the stuff I brought, and from now on I focus on flowers?”
She shakes her head, frowning as she stares at the bouquet. “Not daily.”
“We have to compromise, gorgeous girl,” I object.
She’s throwing off my game. I won’t let her. There’s no way I’m giving up or letting her walk away without letting me show her I can be an adult and win her heart. Those are my two goals. I want her to give me a chance to show her that I’m ready for this kind of commitment. Not only monogamy but letting myself touch the flame; allowing the flame to consume me to my core.
“This is a bad idea.” She walks away, holding the vase and flowers. I follow behind, focusing on her tiny shorts and the ass they barely cover. My dick gets hard. What happened to slow and behaving like a gentleman? Fuck. The gentleman left the building when I noticed those long, toned legs. “I’m not equipped to deal with heartbreak or feelings.”
It appears no one has faith in me. Add to my list of goals, convince her we won’t have a heartbreaking moment. This has to be like a walk in the park.
“We can’t venture into a relationship only thinking about the ugly consequences.” I use my closing argument voice. “Think positive. I’m fucked up, too,” I swear, touching my temple. “Two wrongs might make a right.”
She laughs. “It’s like someone is sending two blind people to watch the sunset.”
“We’ll feel it, Willow.” I take a few steps toward her, grabbing the flowers and vase, placing them on top of the counter. Taking her hands, I kiss them both. Then I kiss the tip of her nose.
“We are going to make it fun. Coffee, pizza, parties, and long walks to get to know each other.” I kiss her cheek, tracing her jaw with my mouth and pressing my lips to the back of her ear. “Trust me. I’ll never let you down.”
Chapter Six
Willow
“Where were you all night?” I ask as Hazel enters my room and makes her way to my bed.
She frowns, scanning the boxes and items littering the floor. “What happened to ‘I’ll fix this right away’?” Picking up the box of hangers, she places it on top of my unmade bed and opens it. “Yara can help us arrange everything.”
“The housekeeper is only here to prepare meals and do the basic cleaning, Willow.” I mock my grandfather’s voice. Hazel laughs. I open one of the bags. She continues opening the shopping sacks and perhaps judging the trivial purchases. “Hunter bought all the stuff I mentioned I wanted.”
Closing her eyes, she takes a series of breaths. “Wills, I didn’t come to your room to pick a fight.”
“Where were you all night?” I repeat my question.
She chuckles, opening her eyes. “Why would you assume I was out all night?”
I point at her yoga pants and the red Stanford hoodie that belonged to her ex. “Are you and Fitz a couple?”
Hazel rolls her eyes and laughs. “Where shall I start?”
She takes some of my dresses, walks to my closet, and hangs them up, doing the same several times. My little sister isn’t in a good mood. She doesn’t snap or go bat-shit crazy. Instead, she has an entire conversation in her head before responding.
“Fitz and I are close. We went through similar breakups and understand what the other is going through.” She pauses, twisting her lips she swallows hard. “Last night we went to a Buddhist temple. My therapist recommended it.”
“Wait, therapist? Temple?” I lift my hands, leaning backward. “Whoa, why are you going to a therapist? I’m the crazy one.”
“You aren’t crazy. That said, you might want to go back to therapy, just saying,” she advises with a firm tone.
I snort, slanting my eyes. Is she for real? Like I haven’t tried that before. I’ve tried to find a cure since college, comfort or something, to make the emotional pain go away. Depression, said one therapist. You might be bipolar, said the second one. I refuse to go back to him. His diagnosis seemed harsh. Another one suggested my career caused the emotional turmoil and to search for another career. My last one fired me because I couldn’t go through one session without yelling or crying.
Not long ago, I met a wonderful lady at a bookstore. The bathroom of a bookstore to be specific. It was during a panic attack. She helped me through it, handed me her card, and said she might know what’s wrong with me. But since my grandfather cut me off and I didn’t have insurance, I couldn’t afford therapy. With my salary, I can’t afford to pay three hundred dollars a session.
“Why do you feel you have to go to therapy?” I ask curiously. We never talk about her emotional state. She fidgets with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “If it’s to get rid of his shit, I suggest we burn it. I’ll charge you less than what you’re paying.”
She laughs, looking down at her ex’s large garment. I could offer to shoot him, too. The fucking asshole hurt my sister so bad she was a ghost for a couple of years.
“Have you heard from him?”
Hazel shakes her head.
“It’s been two years since you broke up, maybe it’s time to move on.”
“The divorce has been finalized,” she mumbles.
My heart breaks when I see a tear rolling down her cheek. A part of me hates Elliot McFee. I wish the end had been different. Hazel and I grew up with him and his family. I witnessed their relationship, envied every moment they shared. For years, I wished to find someone who’d make me as happy as he made Hazel.
“Are we allowed to say his name?”
Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head. “Not yet.” She wipes the tears off her face. “It’s a long process. We made a lot of bad decisions. I focused my entire life on him. Our parents’ absence was a big factor.”
“What do you mean?” I try to breathe. Hazel and I have an agreement. We don’t discuss them.
“I filled their absence with his company. The pain of their neglectful behavior with the dream of having a family like his.”
“Like the stupid dream of having half a dozen children?” I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms. Elliot has three sisters and a brother. “That’s fucking insane.”
She nods. “Insane, but doable. That’s something I might try to have someday.”
“Children?”
“Why not?” She shrugs as I give her a you don’t learn, do you look. “That’s what I mean. Our parents are good people, they just had no clue on how to raise us. I’m working on redirecting the way I think and to validate myself and my emotions. We were too small and didn’t know how to react to their behavior.”
“Be free little birdy,” I say, hooking my thumbs and pretending my fingers are a pair of wings flying around. She nods.
That might be true. Michelle and Grant Beesley Jr. had a unique way of raising us. It began with the philosophy, “You’re on your own. Learn from experience.” For a small child, not having boundaries is scary. I wanted them to cuddle me, hug me, and kiss my scrapes. Instead, I stood up and kept on going. That’s the only way I learned to stand up for myself. Hazel had Elliot, his family, and me. I tried my best to kiss her boo-boos. Maybe that’s why she’s the normal one.
“I’m thankful for you, for everything you did to protect me from their . . .” She taps her head twice with her fingers. “Craziness?”
Staring at her feet, she speaks. “I make good money. I can pay for the therapist.” Her big puppy eyes open wide as she lifts her chin.
What did she just say? Her words let a flame loose inside my mind. Inside my head, I yell at her, Like hell will I let you take care of me. I take care of myself. If I’m here, it’s because no one wants me. The only help I need is to get a real job and out of your life.
Detaching from myself, I point at the door. “Would you mind leaving me alone?”
That’s much better than the words I want to blurt. You fucking bitch. You’ll never understand me. You’re no different than the rest of them.
Suddenly, I’m on the edge of a cliff, not understanding how I arrived there and looking into the abyss, ready to jump. Touching my throat, I loosen up the tightness in my chest that prevents me from breathing. Hazel wants me to be perfect. I’m an old dog she wants to housebreak so our grandfather can accept me. I’m raging in anger, but the fear to express myself, because she might kick me out of her life, keeps me quiet. This is too much for me. I want to run inside the walk-in closet and lock it tight. The intensity of my emotions, the rapid change from fear to sadness, and then anger, is killing me.
Searching for the box of bathroom items, I realize it’s a fucking mess. One thing my sister and I have in common is we can’t be around messes. They create chaos inside our heads. If my grandfather would allow it, I’d ask for his housekeepers’ help. A stupid thought, I’m sure he hates me. I instead look for my purse. I’ll walk to the pharmacy for razor blades. Then a public bathroom where I can release the turmoil created by Hazel. I stop as I find her light-brown eyes observing me, fearful.
I hate you, I think. If it weren’t for her, the pain inside me would be gone. Over. I’d be free from everything and everyone.
She gives me a pitying smile. Maybe it’s sad. “I love you, Wills.” Using the sleeve of her hoodie, she wipes my face. How did I not realize I’m crying? Wailing like an unattended baby, I curl into a ball on the bed. Useless, at the mercy of the pain that won’t leave me, I heave. My sister hugs me tightly, though, I still feel alone.
“Everything will get better, you’ll see.” Her reassurance is futile, but those words loosen up my tight chest. If only they could take some of the pain away from me. My soul hurts as much as my heart.
Chapter Seven
Hunter
Planning for an entire day of fun was easy. It included going to watch a play. The logistics were easy to handle, too, except I was unable to reach my date. Willow didn’t answer her phone. Hazel called around five, telling me it wasn’t a good day to visit. Her clipped response after I asked what happened worried me.
