Oliver helped me type up a response to FACE. He insisted I include in my response that I was entertaining several offers and my rates were getting competitive. He promised me it was all part of the art of the negotiation and wouldn’t let me take it out. He assured me it would work and that I needed to calm down when I kind of panicked after hitting the send button.
So when the cocktail waitress rounded our table, Oli ordered a shot for each of us and a pint chaser, which we drank quickly. Music pumped through the speakers above and a dozen of the locals had made a makeshift dance floor between several tables and were dancing.
“Right. We have to do that,” Oli said, pointing at the dancers.
I laughed. “Oliver,” I said, holding up my arm cast.
“No worries,” he said, shifting out of his seat and stepping to my side of the booth.
Without preamble, he picked me up, tucking his arms under my knees and back as he always did. Surprised, I let out a little squeal and we both laughed. I wrapped my good hand around his neck and he held me a little tighter than usual. I could only assume the shot had given him a little bit of liquid courage and, goodness help me, I think the same made me let him do it.
Uh-oh.
When we reached the area with the other slow dancers, he let my body slide down his.
“Trust me?” he whispered.
“Of course,” I answered.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed me close. My legs dangled beside his. We smiled at one another, but they dissipated. He swallowed and I followed the line of his throat.
Uh-oh.
“Penelope,” his deep voice grated.
My good arm was folded at the elbow and my hand rested on a broad shoulder. He stared at me, something desperate in the look, and I knew what he was about to do.
“Let’s not do this. Please, let’s not do this,” I begged.
“I have to. I need to,” his pained voice expressed.
“He’s your best friend,” I whispered.
“I know,” he agreed.
“I can’t be that girl.”
“What girl?” he asked, resting his cheek against mine and whispering in my ear. I felt his five o’clock shadow and tried to ignore how it made my heart speed up.
“That girl.”
“You wouldn’t be,” he said.
“I would be, though. Don’t you see?” I asked. I pushed at his shoulder a little and he let me slide down his lean, tall body once more until I gained some footing on my good leg. “I wouldn’t just be the girl who went from one friend to another. I’d also be the next girl. Another notch on Oliver Finn’s bedpost. You’d sleep with me once and grow tired of me just like all the others. I can’t be that girl, Oliver. I’m not that girl. And as much as I like you, respect you in so many other ways.” I swallowed and my eyes burned. “As much as I find you attractive, as much as you seem ideal, as much as I love calling you friend, I won’t be the girl who tumbles around your group. I’m better than that,” I told him.
I broke away from him and limped toward our table. I grabbed my canvas satchel and made my way toward the pub’s exit. I didn’t have a plan. I just needed space, needed air.
Oliver caught up with me, grabbing me by the elbow. “Penelope,” he said, out of breath. “Wait. Please, wait.”
“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,” I told him.
“No,” he said. “No, you haven’t. You’re right. You are better than that. You’re better than me, better than Graham. If you just stay a moment, let me pay the tab and I’ll get us out of here. We’ll talk or not. Whatever you want.”
I nodded and stayed where I stood while he ran in and paid the tab. A few minutes later we walked silently to his car. He helped me inside and we drove back to his parents’ house. Trying to seem as casual as possible, we both gathered our things and said our goodbyes. Eleanor looked a little panicked, but I tried to appease her by being as warm as possible. I don’t think it fooled her one bit.
We left for London and drove the distance in silence. I hated the change in dynamics, detested it. I felt abandoned all over again. Justified or not, it was how I felt. The loneliness was overpowering.
“We never should have talked of it. If we’d kept silent, we’d be okay,” I told the passenger side window.
“A lie,” he said, cutting me deep. “I’ve been quiet for too long. My only regret is I did it too soon. You weren’t ready to hear what I had to say. You still aren’t, but now it’s too late.”
“I don’t believe in regrets,” I told him.
“You don’t, but you’re going to believe in mine, Pen, because you don’t have a choice.” He turned into his garage and parked, whipping his head my direction. “You were supposed to be mine. From the beginning, you were supposed to be with me,” he said, shocking me. “After giving in to Graham, you were an immediate regret. I should have never let him near you. I should have fought him tooth and nail for you, stranger or not, and now I am paying for that in unspeakable ways.
“Do you know what it was like to see him hold you, touch you, and kiss you?” His hands went to his hair and he tugged. “It’s fucking torture! Every time I witnessed his hand graze your skin, his lips touch your lips. Every time he’d run his hand down your hair, hair I’d only dreamt of touching, it was excruciating.
“When the nurse called me that day from the hospital? I had to pull over twice to vomit. I raced through London to get to you. I must have lost five years off my life. I imagined the worst. Seeing you lay there hurt, finding out what Graham had done, I knew I had been the one who’d made the mistake. I knew I should have revealed myself to you that first day, but loyalty won out and what did it get me? Eight months of torment. I waited for you to leave him, waited for you to see what a terrible person Graham was to women, but time went by and you fell in love with him and I watched it happen and it was pure anguish, because as you fell for him, I fell for you.
“I’ve wanted you for so long. And that’s the terrible part, Pen. For you, this is sudden. For you, this is but days. For me, though? For me, it’s been eight months of trying to forget you, trying to move on, trying not to dream, to think, to want you.”
His chest panted from the acknowledgment. He looked at me, expecting something, but I was struck speechless.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, feeling incensed.
“It wasn’t my place to break you up!”
“You knew what he was and you let me make the mistake!”
“It was not my place!” he yelled.
“You let me fall in love with the wrong guy!”
“You were supposed to see him for what he was. You were never supposed to love him.”
The tears started streaming. “That’s an issue, Oliver, you know why? Because I did fall in love, but it was the version of him he wanted me to love. It’s the most damaging consequence associated with sociopaths. You love the person they want you to love, and then you’re left with the aftermath when they finally decide to show their true colors. You could have spared me that, but your gosh damn loyalty to that snake in the grass overpowered these so-called feelings you hold for me!”
“Are you questioning me?” He looked offended, but I didn’t have time for offended.
Because I was pissed, I didn’t respond. I let my answer hang in the air.
“You think I don’t want you?”
“Look at your patterns, Oliver. You sleep with every girl who will look at you. You claim that you’ve liked me from the beginning but let Graham have me,” I bit out. “I don’t really think you want me, not really. I think you want what you gave up. I think you want the closure, the triumph, the victory. Now I’m expected to believe that your yearning for me is sincere?”
“Bullshit!” he shouted. “That’s bullshit,” he said again, quieter. He grabbed my shoulder and brought me closer to him. “You know it is.” He searched my face for something. “You felt something these past few days. I didn’t imagine the sear
ing chemistry between the two of us. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”
I refused to acknowledge how right his words were. “Answer for yourself, then,” I said instead.
“For what!”
“Have you struggled these last eight months because it’s actually me you want, or was it the missed opportunity for another conquest?”
“I want you,” he said without hesitation. The heated, searing declaration melted me to my seat.
“I-I don’t believe you,” I lied. I did believe him, but I couldn’t let it go. Things had gotten too complicated and I needed an out. Don’t hurt him like that, though.
His shoulders sagged, and I regretted my words immediately. He opened his door and climbed out. He came to my side and helped me from the car but wouldn’t look at me.
“Oli,” I said, hoping to apologize, my head swimming.
“Don’t,” he insisted. “Don’t, Penelope.”
In an instant he went from hot to cold.
“Listen to me,” I told him, hoping to talk further.
“Penelope!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.
I clenched my jaw shut and scrambled up the stairs to the metal door. I waited for him to open it and moved aside when he entered first. He tried to help me over the slight hitch between the door and the floor, but I wouldn’t let him. I headed for my room and closed the door behind me.
I packed all my stuff as quickly as possible and sprinted as fast as my cast would allow toward the garage door and opened it, tossing everything I had down the steps, hobbling after it and booking it toward street level, waiting at the curb for a passing taxi.
“Please, please,” I whispered, praying for one to pass by.
“Penelope!” I heard from the garage.
“Shit,” I whispered toward the street.
“Pen! What are you doing?” Oliver asked.
“Just let me go, Oliver,” I pleaded as a taxi pulled around the corner. I shot my hand out for him and he pulled up beside me.
“You are not fucking leaving right now,” he said, hitting the top of the taxi, signaling for the driver to keep going.
The driver drove away, looking for another rider.
I stuck out my hand again. “What the hell, Oliver?”
“Come back inside,” he asked softly.
I shook my head. “It’s all a little too much to take, for me to take.”
“I understand,” he said, “but let’s not jump the gun here.”
“Graham ripped my heart to shreds.” He nodded. “I’m not healed enough to look at you the way my heart wants me to. And, to be honest, neither are you.” A look of disappointment flashed across his face. “You need to deal with the heartache Brooke caused that still lies at your feet.” He bit his bottom lip and looked away from me. Another taxi pulled next to me and the driver got out to put my bags inside. “I lied before,” I told him. “I know it’s me you want. Know it’s you I want too, but there’s a canyon between us neither of us are ready to vault over. Neither of us would survive it.”
Oliver’s jaw gritted. I reached for it and smoothed my thumb across his cheek. The muscle relaxed and he turned his face into my palm. I pulled him down and placed a firm, trembling kiss on his mouth. Altogether too soon, I forced myself to push away and sat in the taxi. We took off and I refused to look back because that brief brush of our lips did more for me than a thousand passionate kisses from his best friend. If I’d let my eyes meet his, I wouldn’t have left.
And I needed to leave, because Oliver had been right. I had changed for Graham. It was time for me to find myself again and hope I was still there.
6 Months Later…
Bargain
[ Bahr-guh n ]
noun
1. An agreement between parties settling what each shall give and take or perform and receive in a transaction.
Penelope Beckett offers whatever it takes to get things back to what they were, even and often, her dignity.
I shoved the key in my London flat’s lock and opened the door, pushing the mountain of mail that had slipped through the slot in my door onto the floor. My business landline was ringing so I raced to catch it, ignoring the slight wince of pain I still felt in my healed leg.
“Penelope Beckett!” I answered.
“Penelope, it’s Georgiana from FACE London.”
“How many Georgianas do you think I know?” I teased her. “How are you?” I asked.
“I’m well except I’ve had the toughest time reaching you! Where have you been?”
“I took a week off to visit home.”
“Right. Good on you. Did you have a lovely time?”
“It was awesome to see my family again, yeah, but good to be back home.”
Home.
“Wonderful! And so good to hear, because I have another proposition for you. As you know London Fashion Week is approaching on the sixteenth and FACE wants you to be the, no pun intended, face of our campaign.”
I was flattered and a little flabbergasted. “Georgiana, let me just sit down for a minute,” I begged and fell into my rolling desk chair. “You want me to be the face of FACE’s campaign for fashion week?”
“Yes, darling! What do you say?”
“I say yes! Are you kidding?”
“Good, sweetheart. We like how fast you’ve been growing, your reach, and we love your face, darling. I think it’s such a fab idea. We’ve known for days, and we were dying to tell you!”
“Thank you, Georgiana, this is fantastic news. I’m so honored.”
“Brilliant! I’ll send the contracts over soon. Have a look at them and I’ll see you on Thursday?”
“Thursday then. Bye, Georgiana.”
“Cheers, darling!”
I hung up the phone and swirled around in my chair, beyond giddy. My first inclination was to text Oliver, but I set my phone down, ignoring the pain in my chest I always got when I thought of him. I’d gotten over Graham tolerably well. Never thought of the (Picking up the vernacular ;) —>) sodding bastard, to be honest, but Oliver was different. I still thought of Oliver daily and wondered what he was up to.
Every now and again I would google him or Finn Leathers and read up on what he was up to. He took my advice and built a better online presence. I even noticed he’d published the rough commercial I had shot for him. I checked out the Zoe bag when I saw it was available for purchase and was floored to see during the past six months that the price had gone from a staggering six thousand pounds to a whopping twenty thousand, which meant the bag was in demand and was doing well. I’d seen several celebrities photographed with it in the tabloids and was happy for him.
My heart sank a little imagining Oliver at his workbench, churning out his masterpieces and no one really knowing what all went into making them. So many times after I had left him that day, I longed to show up on his doorstep unannounced, but pride and a little bit of common sense reeled me back in.
Tears pricked my eyes. “God, if you just give me back a little bit of peace, I promise to try and stop thinking about him.”
I jumped up, determined not to let myself get down. I walked into my galley kitchen and went straight for the fridge, grabbing yet another bottle of water, my fifth for the day. Downing water was a coping mechanism for me, kept the hands busy. My skin had never looked better.
I had a sweet little flat. I’d bought it in cash with the proceeds of the first viral ads I’d done for FACE, the offer I’d gotten while at that pub in Bray with Oliver. His tactic had worked and they offered double what was considered standard.
That viral advertisement had rocketed me forward and I got so many offers for more, I actually had the option of being choosy for a change. I’d often wondered if Oli had seen that first vid and what he thought of it.
I’d decided to stay in London because I loved the city. I’d remembered something Oliver had told me about living for the adventure, but I was also staying because of what I’d said to his mothe
r about wherever my heart wanted to be would be my home. And my heart was in London. It didn’t belong to anyone, not really, but it did wander the streets every now and again hoping to spot its mate. I wouldn’t argue with it. It felt right in London. I knew that could change, but for the moment, I was going to go with my gut. For six months, I figured myself out, discovered who I was, and remembered why I liked being me. London had helped me do that.
I’d gotten on well with a downstairs neighbor named Claire who’d introduced herself to me the first day, and we’d bounced around the city together often. She was an import as well, but from not quite as far. Manchester, actually, and since she was fairly new to the area, she didn’t know anyone either, which made me feel a heck of a lot less lonely. She traveled so often for work, though, that our meetups were sporadic at best. I found myself going out most nights with the girls who worked at FACE, who were wonderful in their own right, but a little too rambunctious for my taste. I could barely keep up, to be honest. Quintessential “Oh-my-gawd!” girls, if you catch my drift. They were great when I wanted a few hours of wild, but I would break off from them most early mornings and retreat to my place to bask in the quiet, which was a reprieve, let me tell you. I really did have a sweet little flat. Full of books. Lots and lots of shelves full of lots and lots of books. Sigh.
Several days after Georgiana sent over the contracts and my attorney had gone over the terms, I signed them and had them couriered over just in time for the first photo shoot the next day, which I had every intention of documenting for several upcoming vlogs I had coming up for a fashion week blitz. I was stoked. I fought yet another urge to text Oliver and tell him my good news.
I found myself often asking God if He would consider taking my pain away in a swap for many other things when I was getting over the fictitious version of Graham I had fallen in love with. But it quickly graduated into bargaining for a reprieve from the hole I felt when I thought of Oliver, which brought that sharp chest pain back with the added exception that it felt even more acute when I thought of Oli, despite having only really considered him for a few days and in the wake of Graham.