Page 21 of Tempest

The way Odette is speaking with that man tells me it wouldn’t. Her hand rests on the lapel of his stuffy jacket. It’s nearly eighty degrees out today, so why is he wearing a blazer? Then again, maybe that’s what Odette is into. Maybe he knows more than I do. She leans in whenever she says anything to him, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I’m jealous.

Is she dating him? Are they something to each other? Does he make her come?

Fuck.

A familiar feeling takes over me. One I know well, it’s in my blood and my bones.

Competition.

I welcome it, and like every time I take the ice, I play to fucking win.

7

Odette

We didn’t get to catch up.

Dinner Wednesday?

Gavin

The card is attached to a large bouquet sitting on my doorstep when I get home. It’s like the one I had in the foyer the day of the party. But bigger. Enormous, really. He must have spent a pretty penny. Gavin’s number is written below his name.

Regardless of how pretty the flowers are, regardless of how pretty Gavin Vaughn is, and good grief has that man aged to perfection, he’s not my fucking type.

He’s single. Unattached. Available.

Which can only lead to strings, complications, heartache.

I think I’ll pass.

Even though I rub my finger across his name and number, remembering those weeks we spent together…I can’t make myself call him. My time with him was happy and stress free. I bloomed into a woman with him. But those memories are tainted by something else. By the sharp pains of rejection and heartbreak. That’s not who I am anymore, though. I reject; I don’t get rejected. Avoiding situations that cause me any kind of hurt is a specialty of mine. It’s how I maintain sanity with what’s been a busy lifestyle.

It’s not so busy anymore. Fallon is succeeding in his attempts to take over my client list. He hasn’t needed me, and the amount of downtime I have now far exceeds what I anticipated.

So much so that I’m now trying to find hobbies. Hobbies. Something I never had time for before. Vanessa has been firing off ideas, but none have stuck. I’m not a yoga class type of girl and the only thing appealing about a wine and painting night is the wine.

Odette Quinn is quickly becoming a homebody, it seems. If only New York City could see me now. I’ve gone from rarely eating in to rarely eating out. Granted, I eat a lot of takeout because my skills in the kitchen haven’t been honed over the years. That was another thing Vanessa suggested…take up baking. With eating gluten free, it wasn’t a bad idea. So, I bought some cookbooks and went on a horrifically expensive grocery trip. I can’t believe how much more it costs to live allergen free. What kind of bullshit is it when poison costs less than actual healthy sustenance?

I know I’ve been privileged with the amount of wealth I’ve amassed in a relatively short time. Truth is, I’ve done little with it. For myself or for others. I ignored it, mostly, pretending it wasn’t there unless I was buying myself some rare and expensive article of clothing or pair of shoes.

Or this house with more history than most. Some would say I squandered a fortune on this place, and they’d not be wrong. I’m committed to her now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have money to put elsewhere. Somewhere needed, someplace that helps others. I’ve been a workhorse and a socialite for twenty years, maybe it’s time to be a philanthropist and use my meager superpowers to make a difference in more than just making people look and feel fabulous in their clothing.

Charity can be one of my newfound hobbies. It’s long overdue.

I suppose I could say the same thing about Gavin. Our meeting again is long overdue, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

After reading the small card a few more times, I deposit it in the trash and try not to think of it again. Seattle is a fresh start for me, a chance to change my life, and bringing old stresses in won’t help me.

Preston:

There is a showing at a local gallery Friday night. Promising new artist. Accompany me? There is a piece I think will be perfect for your dining room.

My phone chimes with the text message.

Whatever relationship Preston and I are nurturing hasn’t progressed much. In some ways he’s been brave, texting me often. In other ways, the man is far too timid, as if he’s afraid to make any advancements. Whether he’s afraid of me, himself, or his estranged wife, I’m uncertain. Which only keeps me holding him at arm’s length. While I’d love to fuck the man, I don’t think he’s ready for that. I don’t chase any man.

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