“Juliet, sweetie? It’s Ann.” One of the nurses.
My heart clenches. “What happened?”
“Just so you know, everything’s fine now.”
Now. Meaning they weren’t, before.
“Your mother had a bit of a spell. She started looking for someone named Bill and crying when she couldn’t find him.”
The knot pulls tighter. “Bill. My father.”
“Oh,” Ann says. “Is he… ?”
“Gone. Yes. A long time ago.”
I barely remember the man who walked out on us. This news makes my stomach drop. She’s never mentioned him before. Sure, sometimes it takes her a while to remember me during our visits, but eventually, she comes around. Those moments of clarity always gave me hope that one day, she’ll return to the smart, sassy woman who raised me.
Even if I know she never will.
“Is she alright now?” I ask, concerned.
“Yes. We gave her a sedative. She’s sleeping. But we thought you should know.”
“Thank you,” I exhale in relief, making plans to pay her another visit, as soon as possible.
After I hang up, I imagine what my mother would say, if Alzheimer’s wasn’t tangling up her mind: I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.
Like I can do that. My mom raised me on her own, sacrificed whatever it took to keep me safe and happy.
Now it’s my turn to do the same for her.
And maybe with this new Sterling Cross job, I can.
The walk-up I share with Kelsey is in a rundown area of Chinatown, on the fourth floor of an old walk-up above a dry cleaner’s. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to die from the fumes one day, but the rent is just about affordable, and there’s a great bodega on the corner. I haul myself upstairs, and find the door already open, with Kelsey pouring the finest cheap wine into glasses.
“Congratulations!” she cheers, shoving a glass into my hand. We’ve been friends for years, ever since we wound up sharing an apartment with a married couple who would have screaming fits at three a.m. We decided to move into a basement studio together to get away from them, and have been roomies ever since. It’s an unlikely pairing—she’s the blonde bombshell, I’m the one who remembers to pay the electricity bill—but she’s been a great friend to me.
We toast. “To new beginnings!”
I take a sip, then flop onto the couch and let out a relieved sigh. It’s been the longest day.
“So... tell me everything!” Kelsey demands. “Did you meet him? Was he hot? I heard he was scorching.”
I gulp my wine. Scorching just about summed it up.
“Come on, details?”
I look down at my shirt. His shirt. “He’s… Handsome. In a kind of unyielding marble statue way. Like a Greek god,” I decide.
Kelsey sighs happily.
“All the women at the salon do is talk about him. Not only is he blessed in the looks department... Supposedly, he’s blessed in bed.”
I flush. “They talk about that?”
“Girl, that’s the only thing they talk about.” She snorts with laughter. “Who he’s fucking, where, and how much. Supposedly, it’s a lot. Supposedly, he made a woman come so hard, she passed out.”
I snort on my wine. “That’s not possible!”
“I like to think it is.” Kelsey grins.
But what do I know?
I lean back. Maybe it is possible. Maybe there’s a whole lot more to sex than the grasping, sweating, and thrusting I seem to wind up with. Men whose idea of foreplay lasts all of five minutes—or, worse, are so determined to make you come to score points that they turn it into a dull Olympic event.
You can tell so much by the way someone kisses.
Going by that kiss, I have a feeling that I would be in serious trouble if I ever found myself in bed with Caleb Sterling.
A little shiver runs through me at the thought.
What it would be like to be pleasured by Caleb—to the point of sheer oblivion?
The doorbell buzzes, and Kelsey hops off the couch to answer.
“Uh . . . Juliet? Did you order something?”
My eyes fly open. “Of course not. You know my budget would be blown to smithereens if I so much as threw a new Great Lash Mascara in our grocery order.”
“Then what’s this?”
She hoists a giant white Bloomingdale’s box toward the sofa. It’s bigger than I am. How did it even fit through the door?
I jump up to help her. “It’s probably been delivered to the wrong address.”
“Then why does it have your name on it?”
I catch the yellow slip stapled to the front.
Juliet Nichols.
I stop. “I have no idea.”
“Open it!” she squeals.
“OK, OK!” I laugh.
I pry off the lid, slip aside the tissue paper, and find some of the most gorgeous clothing I’ve ever seen. And the designers? Prada… Gucci… Alberta Ferretti…
“Oh. My. God!” Kelsey lifts up one of the items, a crepe dress in ink blue. “Jules… Look at this stuff!”
I am. I can’t stop staring. Silky blouses… Chic skirts… Professional blazers… And there are shoes and handbags to match. It’s like a fairy godmother just waved her wand and gave me the wardrobe of my dreams.
“There’s a card.” Kelsey snatches it up. “‘I require appropriate clothing. CS.’ CS!” she gasps. “Caleb Sterling. He sent all of this?”
And just like that, my excitement fades. “That’s… Weird. He thinks he can dress me up like some kind of doll?”
“A fashionable doll,” Kelsey says, holding up a gorgeous sweater that looks like cashmere.
I put it back in the box. “I’m not keeping anything.” I say, remembering the taunt in his blue eyes. And Olivia’s warning. He’s used to getting everything he wants.
“Are you crazy?” Kelsey gapes. “There’s some great stuff here. And it’s free.”
“Yes, but it’s like he’s insulting what I was wearing. Choosing my wardrobe. What’s next? My hair? Makeup?"
“Maybe he’s just being nice,” she suggests. “Maybe he realizes that you don’t have the budget for a new work wardrobe and wants to help.”
Right. The sex-god who makes women come so hard they black out, who is possibly screwing over his partner, is so benevolent. A regular Boy Scout.
I may be naïve, but I wasn’t born yesterday. People rarely act this way unless they’re expecting something in return.
My pulse flutters with anticipation as I think of what.
‘We’ll see about that…’
Kelsey throws the sweater to me and winds a Hermès scarf around her neck. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”
I touch the fabric absently. Definitely cashmere. How many times have I wished for a cashmere sweater?
And did I ever think, in my wildest dreams, I’d own beautiful things like this?
“Fine. I’ll play dress up.” I agree reluctantly. “At least if this all goes to hell, I’ll be able to get decent resale prices for them.”
“Or, Caleb Sterling will go full Pretty Woman on you, fall in love, and live happily ever after,” Kelsey says with a grin.