Shut Up and Kiss Me Page 13

  “Mila,” he answered, very much liking the sound of her name.

  “And has she met your family yet?” Leila came to stand beside and him.

  Again he made the face of a disgruntled child, and again Leila laughed.

  “She’s a waitress,” he muttered, “and from a small town in the South.”

  “A good and honest trade,” Leila responded, pushing open the door and stepping into the hall, “and small towns usually mean small-town values. Another good thing.” Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder, her smile gone, a look of pity amassing her delicate features. “And your awful family is going to eat her alive. Poor girl.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he continued, rushing up to cut her off and pushing the door of her office open before she could reach for the handle.

  “But if she can handle your family,” Leila said, “then she can handle anything. You remember that.”

  Leaving Leila to her work, he continued down the hall toward his own office. Shouldering open the door, he let it slam close behind him as he headed to his desk. Sinking down into the buttery soft leather, he lifted his legs, settling his feet atop the desk beside his computer.

  His family was most definitely going to attempt eating Mila alive, but the charity gala would be full of people they would be trying to impress, and more importantly an inopportune place to belittle a woman whose only wrongdoing was not living up to their inane standards. It was the perfect setting to introduce Mila to the world he’d come from, after which—and once Mila knew exactly what she’d be dealing with—they could progress to something more intimate, like a dreaded family dinner.

  “Speaking of which,” he muttered aloud. Swinging his legs off his desk, he propelled his chair forward and hit the enter key on his keyboard and his screen brightened.

  Settling his fingertips on the keyboard, he began to type the words “Bergdorf” and “Goodman” into his search engine.

  His family might not approve of the woman he’d fallen for, but he’d be damned if they wouldn’t approve of her dress. Mila deserved nothing but the finest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you serious?” Nikki stared open-mouthed, hands on her hips and her eyes as wide as wine glasses. “Seriously? He’s a Townsend?” she spluttered. “As in a Townsend from the infamous Townsend family? Heir to a fortune the size of…oh my God, his fortune is so big I can’t think of anything worthy to compare it to!”

  I nodded and tried not to giggle. We’d been having this discussion for almost twenty minutes now, with her repeatedly asking me the same questions over and over again, just to make sure that she wasn’t hallucinating this entire conversation.

  “And you’re screwing him?”

  I nodded again and this time I did giggle, my cheeks blushing furiously.

  Nikki grinned when I nodded. “You lucky bitch,” she said, shaking her head. “You lucky, lucky bitch. Why do I never meet the hot gazillionaire?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s really no big deal. I mean, he’s said his family is wealthy and he owns a few clubs, but,” I shrugged, “so what? He’s just Will to me.”

  “To you, yes!” Nikki practically shouted. “But to everyone else he’s one of the richest men in the world! His family is seriously wealthy, and super important. God, you can’t take five steps in the city without seeing their name attached to one thing or another. I can’t believe you didn’t know any of this!”

  I waved her away. “You didn’t know either.”

  “I’m not the one fucking him!”

  Heat rose in my cheeks, even as I grinned. “Shut up!”

  Plopping down on the couch beside me, Nikki stared at me. “Is he…you know, big?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, I’m not talking about this.”

  “He is, isn’t he? And I’m guessing that he’s amazing in bed. He has to be. Anyone with that much money, who is always that good-looking, has to be amazing in bed.”

  “Yes, he’s amazing,” I conceded, no longer able to refrain from laughing.

  “The sex? The sex is amazing? Oh my God, Mila, you’re like my hero.” Jumping up and down, she clapped her hands together. “So, you’re just dating then? Nothing serious?”

  I shrugged and nodded, because there was no way that I was going to tell her—or anyone, for that matter—how much I really was beginning to care for him, or the things he had said to me—the mention of the world forever. I wasn’t a child, I was a grown woman; and grown women did not fall for one-night stands. That was just stupid, wasn’t it? It had to be, and no doubt Nikki would be the first to tell me such. And it wasn’t something I was ready to hear.

  Nikki continued to stare at me, long and hard, her eyes narrowing into slits.

  “Stop looking at me, Nikki.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m in fucking awe of you right now, and totally jealous! I mean, for real, how many one-night stands have I had? I’ll run out of fingers if I even try to count them! And you have one! One! And you bag the rich hottie who also just so happens to be amazing in bed.” She shook her head. “The world is unfair place, Mila.”

  “Nikki!” I shouted, snorting with laughter. “Stop it!”

  She waved me off. “Anyway, I think he really likes you.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Let me count the ways,” she held up a finger. “One, he’s screwing you—a lot, and it’s amazing. Two, he’s invited you back to his place—so you’ve seen where he lives. No man does that unless he likes you, because men are weird like that.”

  Pausing, she arched an eyebrow at me, and I nodded since the reasoning sounded feasible.

  “Three,” she continued, holding up three fingers, “he’s invited you to some charity thing where his family will be. He wants you to meet his actual family—his mother, of all people. A man does not take some random ho to meet his mother.”

  Her dark eyes were wide and swimming in excitement at this revelation, and I struggled to contain my grin.

  Nikki held up a fourth finger. “Oh, and let’s not forget, you’re screwing him. And it’s amazing.”

  I laughed so hard that tears sprung to my eyes. “That was number one!” I gasped.

  “Yes, but with the amount you two are probably screwing, it deserves to be mentioned more than once.”

  Biting down on my lower lip, I glanced away. It had only been less than a full day since I’d seen him last. After leaving his house, I’d gone straight to work, but for the duration of my shift I’d been distracted with thoughts of him—the way he smelled, the way his arms felt around me, the adorable unruliness of his hair. In fact, I’d been thinking about him endlessly since meeting him, and with every passing day my obsession seemed to only grow. Will was in my head 24/7. When I wasn’t with him, I was thinking about him. It was both exciting and frightening.

  “Oh my God… Mila, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  My gaze snapped back to hers “What? Don’t be silly!”

  She smiled fondly at me. “I’m so happy for you, Mila. You deserve this, after everything. You deserve to be happy.”

  I blushed again and looked down. She was right: I did deserve a little happiness. Even I could relent enough to agree to that. But with that happiness came the threat that something could destroy it—namely my past—and that worried me.

  “What’s wrong?” Nikki asked.

  “I haven’t told him,” I whispered, looking up. “I know I need to, and I almost did, but then…”

  “You don’t need to tell him,” she said. “Not if you aren’t falling for him. But if you are, you have to tell him—especially if he’s feeling the same way, Mila. His family is…well, his family is important, and if they’re the assholes that he says they are, they are going to burn you at the stake when they find out that—”

  “I know,” I said, cutting her off. Sighing deeply, I stood from the couch and began pacing the room. “Believe me, I know. I’ll tell him soon, before the charity thing. T
hat way he can find someone else to go…”

  Nikki appeared beside me and pulled me into a warm hug. “If he’s worthy of you, Mila, he’ll understand.”

  I stared over her shoulder at window frame, seeing only the lines of abuse it had taken over the years—the chips and dents, scratches and cracks. Much like me, this windowsill needed someone to love it. It needed someone to care for it.

  Though part of me wondered if it was too late for me. I had been perfectly content with my life since moving in with Nikki. I had a job, security, an amazing friend… I’d successfully started over, and after…after what had happened, did I have the right to try for more?

  And what if… God, I couldn’t even bear to think it—to wonder what would happen if my past caught up to me.

  “Mila? Are you okay?”

  I looked at Nikki, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Well you wouldn’t have met Mr. Fancy Pants ‘my family own half the world,’ that’s for damn sure.”

  I laughed. “You’re right—you made me go to his club.”

  “Ohmygosh! His club.” Holding the back of her hand to her forehead, she swayed dramatically.

  Laughing again, I leaned in and pulled her into a hug. Holding tightly to her, I cringed to think of where I would be if I hadn’t found her. I was so grateful every day that I’d met her, because if I hadn’t, if I’d had to keep running, I had no idea where I’d be, but doubted my situation would have resembled my life now. My life had changed so much, and it was because of the strength that Nikki had given me, the belief that she had forced me to accept: that I was better than my past, and I deserved a better future.

  Pulling out of our hug, I saw the twinkle in her big brown eyes, the telltale sign that she was getting emotional, and I kissed her quickly on the cheek.

  “God, if I didn’t have to go to work, I could talk about this all day!”

  Pushing her toward the hall, I blew her a kiss. “Go! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Grabbing her purse, she paused in the hallway. “And we’ll discuss the fact that he has brothers, right? And that you’re going to take pity on your poor, single friend and hook a sista up, right?”

  Laughing, I waved her off, listening for the sound of the front door closing, and then heading toward the kitchen.

  Pulling out a pot, I filled it with water and set it atop the stove and began rummaging around in the cupboards for pasta. While I waited for the water to boil, I slid my phone free from my jeans and typed out a quick text to Will.

  Mila: Miss you.

  Seconds later, my phone vibrated, signaling a response.

  Will: I can’t stop thinking about you. See you tonight? Your place or mine?

  Grinning, I typed another reply.

  Mila: Mine. I have ice cream.

  Will: I love your ice cream. See you tonight.

  Feeling full and happy, I set my phone down so I could finish cooking. While the pasta softened, I set to chopping vegetables, adding them into the pot as I went. When everything had cooked, I brought my meal into the living room and turned on the television. I was halfway through my third mouthful when…

  “Pennsylvania authorities have identified the body of twenty-nine-year-old Monica Shearling, who’d been reported missing from her hometown in Tennessee over a year ago…”

  My fork clattered to my feet as I stared unblinking at the screen, at the face of the woman I’d once called my best friend.

  I stared for a long time, wishing I could pause the image and erase it all at the same time. With a shaking hand, I picked up the remote and turned up the sound, listening to the words fall out of the news reporter’s mouth, memorized, clipped, calm. Words that held no emotion, no care or feelings for the story they were talking about. This was just words on a screen to them, another news story, another day at work. They would probably finish up and go home to be with their family after they’d finished.

  He’d found her. In Pennsylvania, no less—a mere hop, skip, and a jump away from New York.

  New York…where I was.

  * * *

  It had started to rain on the way to Mila’s apartment, the dusky evening sky darkening as the gray clouds overtook the white ones and claps of thunder reverberated from above.

  Due to the lack of parking on her block, Will had Richard drop him off on the corner just as the sky opened up and the light rain became a full-on downpour. All around umbrellas were opening as he increased his pace to a steady jog, weaving quickly around other pedestrians while shielding his eyes to see through the wall of water.

  Several yards from her stoop, squinting through the rain, he slowed his steps, stopping entirely when he realized it was in fact Mila that he was watching drag a large suitcase down the steps and hand off to a waiting taxi driver.

  Looking flustered and panicked, she spun around, her wet hair flailing in thick clumps around her head, and ran back up the steps, disappearing inside her building.

  Confused, Will hurried forward, reaching the first step as Mila burst out from the door again, another bag in one hand and her purse in the other. With her eyes downcast, watching her steps on the sodden ground, she didn’t see him until she had almost bumped into him, nearly knocking them both over. Their clothes made a slapping sound as they connected. Will gripped her arms to stop her from falling as her eyes lifted to his.

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes widening at the sight of him. “Oh, Will, I’d forgot you were…” Blinking rapidly she trailed off, her words being swallowed as her bottom lip disappeared beneath her teeth.

  He was soaked to the bone now, his clothing drenched, hanging heavily off his body and clinging uncomfortably to his skin, becoming restrictive across his broad shoulders. “Going somewhere?” he asked with a nervous laugh, though the situation felt anything but humorous.

  “I…um…I…um…” She shook her head wildly, her eyes still wide, and Will could have sworn there was real fear in her expression. “I’m sorry, Will, but I have to go,” she finished quickly, breathlessly, her features twisting as if it pained her to say the words.

  Unease unfurled in his gut, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold fall rain soaking him to the bone curled its way up his spine. “Mila,” he said, his voice sounding gruff and broken, even to his own ears. Reaching for her arm, he curled his hand around her wrist, tethering her to him. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” He stared down into her face, feeling desperate.

  “Nothing,” she answered softly, the lie appearing to pain her even further. “Nothing. I just have to go. I’m so sorry, Will, I never meant hurt you… I didn’t know…” She stuttered and stammered for several moments before releasing a hard breath, her body tensing even further. “I have to leave,” she whispered, the stark note of finality in her tone not at all lost on Will.

  “Where?” he demanded in a loud yell, dread curdling in his gut. “Where are you going? When are you coming back?” Suddenly finding himself inexplicably angry, he fired off his questions, one after another. “You can’t just go, not like this!” he shouted, sounding desperate and pathetic to his own ears but unable to stop himself. “Were you even going to tell me?”

  Mila averted her eyes, giving him his answer and worsening his rising anger.

  “Mila,” he demanded, her name sounding hard and demanding upon his lips. He held tighter to her wrist. “Look at me.” He gave her a slight shake, but she still refused to look up. This was all so wrong, he couldn’t help thinking—this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. His thoughts, already ablaze, began spinning around and around before finally settling on the only possible scenario he could think of.

  “I’m sorry I lied,” he continued, his words almost begging, “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “It’s not you,” she cried, her gaze finally lifting to his. Staring up at him beneath her wet lashes, rain or tears or both rolled down her cheeks and onto her wet T-shirt, the dusky pink fabric soaked and nearly s
ee-through. “It’s not you!” she repeated, attempting to free her arm from his grasp. “It’s me! I’m no good for you, Will.” She shook her head wildly. “You don’t understand!”

  “So tell me—help me to understand. Please, Mila.”

  A horn blazed loudly from behind them. Will glanced over his shoulder to find the cab driver glaring at them from the open window, dismissing him and turning back to Mila, feeling panicked. She was leaving? With no explanation and with what looked like nearly everything she owned, save her furniture?

  “Mila, please,” he practically growled, feeling both helpless and furious. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help you.”

  “You can’t help me!” she shouted, and with a hard jerk wrenched free of his grip. Taking a stumbling step backwards and up the stairs, she glared down at him. “You can’t fucking help me. No one can help me.”

  There was no doubt in Will’s mind that they were drawing unwanted attention, but in a city this large, with such a large variety of people, such spectacles were commonplace, and at the moment he couldn’t care less who was watching. All he cared about was Mila, and the fact that he was losing her after just barely finding her—and for a reason he couldn’t even begin to guess at.

  Her eyes were darting to and fro, looking anxiously around him and toward the waiting cab. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please, Will, I need to go! I’m so sorry but I need to go!”

  Locking his jaw, he folded his arms across his sopping jacket and shook his head. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  For a moment he thought she was actually going to oblige him. Her pressed lips parted, the panic in her features seeming to ease fractionally, but just as quickly as her expression shifted, it changed course once again—this time to determination. She swung the bag in her hand forward, forcing him to move to the side to avoid it, and the moment he did, she raced down the remaining steps and ran for the taxi.