A Collateral Attraction (6 page)

By the time Heath arrives to pick me up five hours later, I’m ready. My wardrobe, make-up kit, skin and hair care products have all been packed neatly in two Valestra suitcases next to me as I stand by the couch. The area is now devoid of all the clothes racks, shoes and accessories that had surrounded me earlier. I’m now dressed in a white dress with a V-neckline and flowing skirt with a slit that goes up to my thigh. But Heath barely gives me a glance as he takes care of the bill at the counter, signing his name on the credit card receipt and handing it back to Alicia.

That I can’t pay him back without having to take out a loan from my local bank is something that I’ve learned to accept. Any more worrying about it and I’ll be on my way to a full meltdown. My powers of persuasion may have worked wonders with Alicia earlier that morning, but along with the twirling, the walking about in high heels, boots and even sneakers with a price tag I could have purchased twenty other pairs of shoes from a discount store, the effort exhausted me. That, and the three glasses of champagne I’ve had so far — and a Xanax one of the assistants offers me to calm my nerves.

But courage abandons me as Heath approaches me slowly, his gaze appraising me from head to foot. I don’t know why, but I’m actually waiting for him to compliment me for all the hard work Alicia and the assistants have done to get me up to his standards — whatever those standards are.  But if I’m waiting for Heath to offer me a compliment, it doesn’t come, not at the store. He merely arches an eyebrow, offers me a slight smile and tells me we have to leave.

Shame fills me as we walk to the car where Conrad is holding the door open for me. I’ve just been bought and it’s a terrible feeling, like I’m just merchandise. I want to feel angry even though it’s my choice to be here, all because I want to do all I can to get Blythe out of the mess she’s in. But there’s another feeling, too, one that is slowly overtaking everything else, even the shame.

I feel beautiful, more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before. I’m wearing brand new lingerie underneath my dress, silk ones that feel decadent against my skin. Who knew that certain lingerie exist to highlight every asset, even caressing me at the right places with each move I make. Alicia even tied the laces of my teddy herself, saying that if I played my cards right, I’d have Heath drooling in no time. By the time she’d said that I’d been on my third glass of champagne and the laughter among us had long been flowing by then, along with the dirty jokes.

Despite Heath’s lack of praise at my appearance, I think the women did a great job.  They’ve managed to turn this ugly duckling into something of a swan and as Heath finally turns to look at me in the limo, his blue-gray eyes studying me, I know that I’m not just someone who’s always wanted to be as gorgeous as Blythe. I am just as gorgeous as Blythe.

I’m also undeniably stupidly drunk.

The flight to Castiers, Saint Lucia takes seven hours — or so I remember being told. That’s because my last memories before passing out include raving about the beautiful burl on the eucalyptus panels that line the walls of the jet interior, and the divan berthed to turn into a comfortable bed by two flight attendants as quickly as they could before I literally jumped into it.  All this barely an hour into the flight before Heath suspiciously asks me what else I’ve have besides the champagne and the lunch that he had brought in.

“A Xanax, silly!” is all I remember saying to him just before someone switched all the lights off.

By the time I wake up hours later and feeling quite rested, the rear cabin is in semi-darkness. The muffled sounds of the jet engine almost lull me back to sleep when I realize that I’m alone in the rear cabin. As I turn to look towards the front of the plane, I see Heath lying on a reclined seat, asleep.

When he stirs, I turn away from the middle cabin and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. I try to remember as much as I can about what happened the moment I walked into the plane but come up with only hazy visions, one of them asking someone to undo the snaps of my bra because I couldn’t quite get to them myself — at least sober. At that thought, I lift the covers to see what I’m wearing and realize that the only thing I have on are my lace panties and nothing more. Even the bra and the teddy are gone and as I look around me, I see them at the foot of the bed, thankfully within easy reach. So is my dress.

I struggle to remember who I’d asked to undo the snaps of my lingerie but come up empty.
Oh, please don’t let it be Heath
, I groan as I sit up and move as quietly as I can, reaching for the bra first, then the white V-neck dress with its thigh-high slit.  I have no need for the teddy.

Hastily I dress, and barefoot, I tiptoe towards the far end of the rear cabin, grateful to find the lavatory on my first try. It’s three times bigger than the usual airplane bathroom, with portholes with view of the clouds against a moonlit sky. It’s so beautiful all I do is stare for a few minutes till I remember why I need to go to the bathroom in the first place. After finishing my toilette, I go through the drawers and find a brand new toothbrush still in its plastic bag, a tube of toothpaste and floss. Perfect.

My make-up, however, is a mess, but at least even as I awoke with my face smushed against my pillow, I don’t think I’ve lost any more lash extensions. I do what I can fix my make-up, wiping the smudged eye liner from my skin before fixing my hair. I wish I hadn’t taken the Xanax but it’s done. Whatever it is I’ve done or said in addition to whatever little I remember, I have to take responsibility for my actions. Besides, I have to have an honest talk with Heath and if I don’t step out of the bathroom right now, I’m afraid one of the flight attendants might suspect I fell in.

I could have remained in the rear cabin and choose from over fifty movies stored in the inflight library to entertain myself, but I’m too nervous. As the flight attendants efficiently convert the bed back into a divan and put away the down comforters and pillows, I make my way to the middle cabin and sit across from Heath as he sleeps, rehearsing what I need to say to him.

But it’s difficult to rehearse lines when an angel sleeps across from me. Hard to believe it’s the same man, but it is, and I lean back against my seat to watch him before he wakes up. Asleep, the muscles on his face are relaxed, and a face that always seemed hard and cold when glaring at me seems completely angelic now. Even his mouth, slightly open as he breathes softly, are kind. There’s a lock of hair that lies across his forehead, and I almost walk over to his seat and brush it away from his face. He seems so vulnerable.

Until he wakes up, and the scowl returns for he’s caught me watching him.

He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as his other hand presses a button and the seat back moves upright.

“How long have you been awake?” Heath asks as one of the flight attendants inquires if we need anything.

“Coffee,” he says, turning to me. “Would you like one?”

I nod. “Coffee sounds great.”

“I hope you slept well.”

“You should have taken the bed,” I say. “These seats aren’t as comfortable as the bed back there.”

“Actually they are,” he says, smiling faintly. “Besides, you claimed the bed first.”

I groan. “I was drunk and I’m so sorry if I did anything stupid.”

“No, you didn’t do anything too stupid, or at least not so stupid that the pilot would have requested you off my plane,” he says, pulling aside the blanket and I see that he’s wearing a dark shirt over a pair of sweatpants. It makes him seem more youthful, as if outside of all the business dealings he has to attend to, there’s actually a man who knows how to laugh and have fun, and look darn good while doing it.

“You kept saying you had something to tell me over and over again earlier, just before you conked out,” he continues as a flight attendant gathers his blanket and stores it in the rear cabin.” Do you remember what it was?”

I don’t speak right away for our coffee is ready and I need the caffeine to really wake up.  Something tells me I need to be on my guard when dealing with the likes of Heath Kheiron.  And considering I’ve never dealt with the likes of him before, I know I’m on uncharted territory. I wait till the flight attendant leaves before I answer him, taking a deep breath and steeling myself to remember every word.

“I don’t care what you say, but I will not take charity from you, and I definitely will not be accepting everything you paid for this afternoon like it were some present to a girlfriend of yours — because I’m not your girlfriend. I’m only here because I want to get to my sister and help her.”

He listens as he sips his coffee, black.  “Is that all?”

“Also there’s a question of my name-”

“Your name?” Heath asks, his left eyebrow arching as his blue eyes narrow. “What about your name? Are you telling me you’re not who you say you are?”

“No! I mean, my name is not Not-Blythe,” I reply. “It’s Billie. Billie Rose Delphine. I was named for my grandfather, William, but everyone called him Bill, so I’d like you to respect that — if you can. He was a good man.”

He cocks his head slightly. “William is a good strong name, and so is Bill. Billie Rose it is then.”

“Billie,” I say.

“I like the sound of Billie Rose,” he says.

“Whatever. Just…no more Not-Blythe, because I’m not…” I pause, exhaling. “I do keep saying that, don’t I?”

He nods.

“And two more things-”

“Yes?”

While I want to tell Heath about the switched ID’s, I plan to do that after I make another point first, one that’s already making my face turn red. I need to set boundaries with him, that way there’ll be no misunderstanding between us, especially if that hazy memory of me asking someone to unhook my bra wasn’t a dream. “I know you said I’m your personal wind-up doll, and while I don’t mind whatever it is you plan to do to get me presentable to whoever we’re meeting, there will be no…no sex between us.”

He tilts his head to the side.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“No sex.”

He looks amused.  “Now why would I assume there’d be sex between us?”

“Well, just in case, you know, you’d think that just because you bought me everything — this dress, and everything else, the make-up, the skin and hair care products, you might assume that I’d, you know…” I stammer, not knowing how to say it without my face turning any redder, not when Heath is eyeing me like I’m suddenly on the menu, his eyes narrowing as he watches me.

“Enlighten me, Billie.”

”That’s why I’m going to pay you back,” I continue. “As far I’m concerned, you’re after one thing — whatever it is Ethan took from you — while I just want to get my sister out of trouble. So what we have, with the shopping sprees and the private jet and all, is just an arrangement. But no sex.”

It takes Heath a few minutes to answer, and the entire time he’s just watching me as squirm in my seat across from him.

“And what would it take for us to have it?” he asks slowly, his voice edged with an anger I hadn’t expected at all.

“Excuse me?”

Heath pushes his coffee to the center of the table and leans forward, crossing his forearms on the table between us.  Gone is the angel’s face and in its place is the cold and hard mask he’s worn since I met him.

“You said it yourself back at the shop – that you’re my personal wind-up doll,” he says.  “So, I’ll ask again, Billie, what will it take for me to have sex with you?”

“Are you out of your mind? Who do you think you are to say such a thing?” I sputter as I get up.

“Sit down, Blythe,” Heath says sternly and like an idiot, I do as he says. The flight attendants have disappeared, probably retreating to the front of the plane where the crew normally sit.

“I thought we agreed about who I am.  I am not Blythe. I’m Billie.”

“Really?” he asks, chuckling mirthlessly. “Is this just another one of your games, Blythe? Even that whole act about being drunk? Xanax with your champagne? The charade of playing the innocent coy virgin and telling me about how it’s been three years, blah, blah blah, since you’ve been fucked, while at the same time trying to seduce me, getting me to undress you because you somehow couldn’t get to the snaps of your bra and the laces of your teddy?”

“I’m not going to say I didn’t enjoy it,” he continues, “but is this just another game to distract me while your sister is playing my brother for a fool while she robs him blind and ruins whatever’s left of his reputation with the company? Did you prompt her to post that thing about Saint Lucia — OJ and papaya with a view of the Pitons?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Was it some message to you — some code to tell you it’s A-Ok on her end?” he continues.  “Or was it a recycled picture from one of your earlier trips with Ethan and they’re really somewhere else, perhaps alerting the rest of the board that I’m this so-called fraud?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Heath. I’m Billie Rose Delphine, named after my grandfather-”

“-William, I know. You told me already,” he drawls. “But how do you expect me to believe that when you’re clearly just lying to me, playing me like you play my brother whom you have wrapped around your finger like a dog on a leash? Did you meet him a long time ago, Blythe, persuaded him to keep your relationship secret till you had all your ducks in a row and all the private accounts set up before you made your move and had him set you up as his employee? Is that how you managed to make this embezzlement scheme of yours work, by fucking my brother silly while you steal from-“

“Stop this!” I exclaim, slamming my palm against the table top as coffee spills from the cups.  I don’t even care if they’re scalding against my skin for I’m too angry to notice anything else.  What I would like is to throttle the man’s neck in front of me.  “I’m not going to sit here and let you just insult me over and over again. How else do you expect me to convince you that I am not Blythe?”

He shrugs, unaffected by my outburst. “I don’t know, Blythe, though I’m open to suggestions — sex being one of them, maybe even a bit of BDSM in between if you really want to convince me,” he says, each word meant to sting and it does. “But as I’m not interested in sloppy seconds, I’ll make it easy for you, though this time, you’re on my leash.”