Page 71 of Single-Minded
Daniel seems so fearless to me. It’s like he’s not even worried about the possibility of things ending in a big ball of flames. I’m not sure I could ever do that.
On Thursday night, two days before Daniel’s opening, we get all dressed up for a big night on the town, and end up in an epic Yahtzee battle for the mermaid statue from the storage room. We never quite manage to make it off the boat.
Because if you’ve ever had a Yahtzee smackdown with a guy with deep and dreamy blue eyes, you know what a turn-on that can be.
59
It’s almost noon on Friday and Daniel and I are still wrapped up in the sheets and each other’s arms. We stayed up late, all night and into the morning, making love and talking about everything under the sun, like we wanted to know every single thing about each other before a giant meteor hit the planet and the world ended. I know it’stechnicallybeen less than a week since our first date, even though we’ve known each other for a couple of months, and I wanted to take things slowly—but we’ve been spending practically every minute together and he feels like someone I’ve known forever. Maybe it’s weird to feel this way so soon, even when I swore to myself I’d be cautious, but he feels safe, trustworthy, like we belong in each others’ lives.
Also, he’s sexy as hell and my willpower reserve is completely, down-to-the-dregs depleted. Not even emergency measures like granny panties or hairy armpits could have kept me out of his bed by this point.
Sunlight streams through the skylights and the breeze off the bay gently billows the sheer curtains to the rhythm of the sea. I lean against Daniel, nestled in the crook of his arm, and he tenderly strokes my hair and plants tiny kisses on the side of my face, as though he’s memorizing every detail. I’ve never slept on a boat before, and even though the ship is large and steady, there’s still a barely perceptible movement with the water—I slumbered more deeply and had more vivid dreams than I could ever remember having had before.
“Are you hungry,cher?” asks Daniel, and I nod in response. I’m starved. Daniel sits up to get out of bed, and I marvel at his firmly muscled back and strong shoulders. The kind of muscles that come from working hard, a lean strength earned from enjoying every opportunity of living life by the ocean: paddling a surfboard, windsurfing, kayaking, and swimming out to the sandbar.
“How could you, Daniel?” a furious, clearly distraught woman screams from the top of the spiral stairs. She storms in, her face red with rage and heartbreak. She’s tall, maybe six feet, with long black hair cut bluntly, angry dark eyes, and the pale skin of a vampire. I have no idea who she is to Daniel, but I feel like the worst sort of woman. Panicked, I gather the bedsheet around me, and scramble to find my clothes, which are strewn about the floor.
“Sasha, please calm down,” says Daniel, holding a pillow in front of his manhood. Like that’s going to save him. This woman is pissed, and from the looks of it, she has every right to be.
“I will not calm down,” she screams at him. “How could you do this to me? Who is this… woman?” She says it like it’s a dirty word, and I feel the shame coloring my complexion.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I mumble, yanking on my dress and scooping up my shoes, my bag, and horrifically, my bra, which is lying just a few feet in front of this tall, screaming woman. She glares at me as I speedily retrieve it. I have no idea where my underwear has gone, but I’m sure as hell not going to stick around to find out.
“Alex, wait,” says Daniel, but I’m already halfway down the spiral staircase. Barefooted and brokenhearted, I sprint past the workers on the boat and run down the dock in my bare feet. The ground is searing hot, and I hop onto a little patch of grass to slip on my shoes. I promise myself I won’t cry until I’m safely alone in my car, but the tears start coming and I can’t stop them. I lecture myself that it’s only been a week with Daniel, there’s hardly anything between us, that I clearly don’t know him as well as I thought I did if he would do this to another woman, and involve me, just as I’m getting back on my feet again. By the time I reach my car, my body is wracked with sobs. Desperately searching for a Kleenex or even an old drive-through napkin to stop the snot now streaming out of my nose, I tell myself that it isn’t just Daniel I’m upset about, that the experience with the screaming woman just brought up my feelings about Michael. But on a cellular level, I know that isn’t the truth. I’m crushed that Daniel is not the person I thought he was. I liked him, I really liked him. And even though we’ve only been romantic for less than a week, what we have together felt bigger than the amount of time we’d acted on our feelings. What we have together felt real.
I allowed myself to let go with him. And I hate the fact that my instincts have steered me off a cliff once again.
60
“He’s an asshole,” says Darcy. “You can do better. I’m coming over tonight and we’ll drink mojitos and talk smack about him.”
I’m sitting in my car at the stoplight near the kissing statue.
“As much as I appreciate the offer,” I say, “I can’t drown my sorrows in mojitos tonight. I have the wildlife fund-raiser and I should have been at the job site an hour ago. I’ll bet Olivia is completely freaking out.”
My phone buzzes, speak of the devil. It’s Olivia herself.
“I’ll call you later,” I say to Darcy. “My client is on the other line.”
“Which one?” asks Darcy.
“The socialite,” I say.
“Well, that manicured ball of insanity should keep your mind off anything to do with Daniel,” Darcy says. “Call me later.”
We hang up, and I switch over to speak with Olivia Vanderbilt Kensington.
“Olivia, hi, how is everything going?” I ask, driving home as quickly as traffic will allow. I need to get home, shower and change, and make it back to the Ritz-Carlton for Olivia’s event as quickly as possible. I should never have spent the night at Daniel’s. For lots of reasons.
Olivia is in full-blown panic mode.
“Whereareyou?” she hisses. “My event is in six hours!”
“I’m on my way,” I lie. “I’ll be there within the hour and I’m yours for the rest of the day.”
“Unacceptable,” says Olivia curtly.
“I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” I say. “See you soon.” The phone line goes dead suddenly. Did she hang up on me? What grown-up person goes around just hanging up on someone, just because they’re angry? My irritation at the manners breach is short-lived; mostly I’m relieved to get off the phone with her. I love my clients, at least most of them. But I know I’ll feel relieved once Olivia’s event is over and I don’t have to deal with her ten calls a day and her random and irrelevant dog grooming skirmishes and hatred of tourists and ball gown issues, ninety-nine percent of which have absolutely nothing to do with me or the Wildlife Foundation. I’ll smooth things over with her once I arrive at the Ritz-Carlton. I’ve done a dozen events there over the last few years, and I’m always pleased by how elegantly and efficiently they pull together my event plans. Olivia’s wildlife fundraiser is going to be amazing, and I have full confidence she’ll get that 20 percent bump in donations she hired me for. One more day, and I’ll be done with her.
