Hudson (5 page)

Ten minutes later as the bourbon from the mini-bar off the living room settled in my stomach, I reevaluated the weakness I’d felt shortly before. Perhaps it wasn’t weakness, after all. It was more recognition of fact than a feeling. There was no doubt I was a disgusting person. No one who knew the extent of my thoughts and actions would disagree.

But there was no one who knew my inner psyche. My secret belonged only to me.

“Better?” I swirled the liquid in my glass before finishing the last swallow.

“Much.” Celia downed her own drink, cringing as she took in the bitter alcohol. “Woo!” She held her hand out to me to steady herself. “Maybe I should have drank that slower.”

“Here.” I helped her to the couch. “Sit while I get your gift.”

She settled into the upholstery. “It’s not my birthday or anything. Why would you get me something?”

“Do I need an occasion? Besides, it’s barely anything at all.” I left her to head to the dining room where I’d stashed my gift on the china cabinet. I’d planned this earlier, and not wanting to be too sequestered with Celia, I’d made sure my present was near the party.

I gathered the items and thought briefly how I owed Mirabelle for the tip of gifting based on knowing someone. Celia hadn’t declared a major yet. She’d spent long hours debating with me about what she should choose. Her heart longed to pursue art, but her parents would never approve of such a frivolous career choice. While I’d listened and consoled, I hadn’t given much input. I appreciated art in all forms, yet I had not a lick of that kind of creativity, and how she could marry her passion with an occupation the Werners approved of was beyond me.

Then my mother hired an interior designer for our home back in Manhattan. By hand, he’d sketched out beautiful new concepts for our living room and den. The work he’d done was creative and artistic and completely something within Celia’s capability. I’d researched programs at Celia’s school and ordered some brochures. Then I purchased a coffee table book with photographs of contemporary designs from the last decade. These were the gifts I gave to Celia.

“It’s merely an option.” I sat and watched her look through the brochures over her shoulder. “You can take or leave the information however you like. I won’t be offended if you think it’s all shit.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s perfect. This idea is perfect.”

I shrugged. But I was quite pleased with the results of my gift.

“Thank you, Hudson.” Her eyes were wet and her face flushed, equally from the liquor as much as from my gesture. “I’m so moved. You can’t understand.”

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Stop being humble. It’s a lot. Thank you.” She wiped a tear from her eye. Then she threw herself into my arms. “Thank you so much.”

I paused for a moment before embracing her back. I hadn’t expected her hug, but once I got over the initial shock, I was glad for it. Warmth spread in my chest, and I couldn’t figure out if my satisfaction was from the progress I’d made in my experiment or from sincere care for my friend’s happiness. Did I have that in me? To care whether or not good things happened to Celia?

It seemed that maybe I did.

So when she pulled back and found my mouth, I welcomed it. I kissed her genuinely, letting my lips move in tandem with hers. She tasted sweet and innocent and also in need, as if she’d yearned for this kiss for as long as I’d worked to get her there. Her urge was so strong it was contagious. I could have kept kissing her. I could have taken her to my room. I could have stripped her naked and learned her body and made her writhe, forgetting all about my experiment, abandoning everything I’d ever believed about myself.

I could have. But how long would it last? Until we’d both come and were spent? Longer, perhaps—a week, a month? Until she realized that I was cold and calculating? Until she discovered that everything that she liked about me was a façade? That everything she thought I felt was a complete and utter lie?

No. I could never let anyone know who I really was. No one could want me if they knew who I was inside. It was better that I could never love in return because I’d never keep anyone anyway. So I had to end it—the kiss. In the name of all that I knew I could never be or have or give.

Also, I had an experiment to conclude.

I broke the kiss and pulled away from her. It was easier than it should have been. She tried to reach for me again and I halted her. “Celia.” My breath was ragged. “You have a boyfriend.”

“Can’t we pretend just for tonight that I don’t?” Her eyes were hopeful, wanting.

But my stoicism had returned and her pleading expression had no effect on me.

I stood, brushing my hand through my hair. “I told you I’m done pretending.” Done pretending with myself. I had to finally be honest. It wasn’t that I suspected I was incapable of love—I
knew
I was incapable. If I wasn’t, I would have been able to keep kissing Celia. And I couldn’t.

She rose and stepped toward me, but froze when the sound of loud voices came from the kitchen. My parents’ voices.

I hurried to them, Celia at my heels. At the archway to the kitchen, I stopped, peering around the corner to see what was going on. Along with my parents, I saw my siblings and their nanny, Erin.

“You don’t think I know?” my mother was shouting at my father. “You and your whores.”

I looked across the room out toward the party that thrived outside. All the windows were shut, thankfully. Likely no one could hear this going on inside.

“How many have there been, Jack?” my mother spit out. She was drunk. She was often drunk, but she generally was able to hide it. That she couldn’t hold it together when we had company irked me to no end.

It had a more devastating effect on my siblings.

“Mom.” Mirabelle pulled at the edge of Sophia’s dress. “Stop yelling. You’re making Chandler cry.”

“Erin.” My father motioned to the nanny. “Take Chandler up, will you? And Mira.”

Mirabelle protested. “I’m old enough to stay up. I don’t want to miss—”

“Go. I’ll be up when I can.” There was no disagreeing with my dad when he had that tone. Mirabelle followed Erin out the other kitchen door.

Then Dad turned to my mother, putting a hand on her upper arm. “Sophia, let’s talk about this later.”

She shrugged out of his grasp. “Just go now. Pretend to look after your children when you’re really after that piece of ass. Everyone here knows you’re fucking her.”

“No one here knows anything.” He corrected himself quickly. “Because there’s nothing to know. You’ve had too much to drink, that’s all. Planning this party has exhausted you. Lie down for a bit—”

My mother slapped him. Hard enough that it left a mark. “Don’t you fucking patronize me. I know, Jack. I’ve known forever. And I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore. You’re going to fuck who you want whether I’m around or not, but I don’t have to have it under my roof. Your skanks are no longer welcome in my house. You are no longer welcome in my house.”

“Sophia.” Despite his aching jaw, my father reached again for his wife.

“You can stay in the guest house from now on. Fuck whoever, whenever. Not in my house. Not in front of my children.” She threw her hand in the direction that the nanny had gone. “And Erin’s no longer on my payroll.”

My father finally lost his cool. “It’s not your fucking payroll, Sophia,” he shouted. “I’m the one who brings the goddamn money to the household.”

“Is that so? And just how is it that you have companies to run in the first place?”

“Yes, yes. You’re right. I owe you every fucking thing I’ve ever earned. I forgot.” This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this argument from my parents. It had been my mother who had the money when they’d married. My mother who’d given him the companies that he’d turned into Pierce Industries. And she never let him forget it.

My father scrubbed his hands over his face. This seemed to calm him. “Look, you can yell at me about this all you want, Sophia. Tomorrow. Later tonight, even. But now, we have a garden full of guests that I’m going to tend to. With or without you.” He turned away from her and headed toward the patio doors.

“I’m serious about the guest house, Jack. Don’t even try to come back in here to sleep tonight,” she yelled after him, but he was already gone.

I watched her as she fell apart. Her face contorted and she doubled over as if in physical pain. The sob she let out was shattering. This because of love.

Thank God I was incapable of that. My parents were the best example of look-what-you’re-not-missing that ever existed. Maybe I owed them more than I thought.

“Do you think you should go to her?”

I’d forgotten about Celia until that moment.

“Not my problem.” It was more callous than I wanted her to believe I was. I backtracked. “I didn’t mean that. I just don’t want to embarrass her by letting her know we saw that. I’ll go in a minute.”

“I’ll help,” Celia offered.

“No. No, let me. She’s drunk. You don’t need to deal with that.” It was a humiliating scene. I hated that Celia had witnessed it.

I glanced toward her and found her biting her lip.

“Did your dad really…” She took a deep breath. “Did he really sleep with the nanny?”

It wouldn’t have surprised me. I had little confidence in my father’s fidelity. Really, I didn’t blame him. My mother was not the easiest woman to live with. If I had to blame anyone for the lack of humanity that existed in me, I’d blame her. She taught me to be cold. She forced me to put up that wall.

But Celia didn’t need to know all my family secrets. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Like I said, my mother’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Celia cleared her throat in a way that let me know she didn’t believe me.

Then her hand settled softly on my back. “I’m sorry, Hudson.”

I forced myself not to tense under her touch. It was harder than it should have been. She’d touched me a lot recently, and it never bothered me before. Right then, though, when I wasn’t in control of the connection, when I was on the verge of some kind of vulnerability that I couldn’t explain—then, her hand on me was difficult to tolerate. But pushing her away would undo all the work I’d done that summer. So I endured.

Then the strangest thing happened—a wave of grief rolled through me like a bout of nausea. Like my mother crumpled over in front of us, I felt like any moment I could fall apart. I had a strong urge to turn to Celia, to let her hold me, let her comfort me. As if I were Chandler, crying at the sight of my mother’s tears. It was the most concrete emotion I’d had in longer than I could remember. I was out-of-control. I was fragile. It was horrible.

I had to make it end. I had to get away whether it ruined all my work on the project or not. “I’m going to her now.” I didn’t turn around, didn’t let Celia see what was in my eyes, too scared of what she’d find there. “I’m helping her to bed, and then I’m going to bed myself. I’ll see you at the Brookes’ tomorrow. Goodnight, Celia.”

I took a step toward the kitchen and was stopped by Celia’s hushed call of my name. I stayed but didn’t turn to her.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to feel.”

Fuck, what did she think she knew about me? It angered me, which only added to my grief. I wanted her to go, to stop assuming she understood. If this was what it was like to feel, I didn’t fucking like it one bit. But she was right that it was okay. I would get control back. This wouldn’t overcome me. I’d get past it.

Now if she’d just fucking leave, it would be so much easier.

But she didn’t. “And I understand if you need to go through this alone. I’m here for you when you’re ready, Hudson. I love you.”

I nodded once, acknowledging her declaration. I didn’t attempt to speak. I wasn’t sure I could. Her words were at once frightening and exhilarating. They burned me and freed me and, above all, confused me. I’d wanted those words—they were the words that led to confirming my hypothesis. But there in that moment, they threatened to destroy my other theory. Because a part of me wanted to return those words to her. A part of me believed that I might be able to love her back.

The mix of so many warring emotions paralyzed me. The grief, the pain, the joy, the release. So, I simply stood there, frozen, unresponding.

In front of me, my mother recovered enough from her breakdown to right herself. I’d waited too long to help her. She was going to help herself. She did that by heading to the counter where she refilled her glass from a bottle of vodka that she thought she kept hidden from us under the kitchen sink.

I realized that was how she did it. When the cold-hearted woman that was my mother felt a shred of anything—which was rare—that was how she suppressed it. She drank. She drank to ease her torment. To quiet her sorrow. To kill her love.

I understood her motivation. But the pathetic creature she’d turned into because of it was not someone I ever wanted to be.

Right then I vowed that I’d be stronger than that. I wouldn’t need alcohol to stop the feeling from creeping in. I could control it on my own. Just like I could control everything and everyone else around me. The greatest example of that was still standing behind me. Celia had just declared her love for me.

Clueless about the power of the moment or her impact on it, Celia whispered a goodnight. The
flip-flip
of her feet in her shoes told me she was leaving. The silence that followed said she’d left.

A slow smirk eased across my lips as the whirlwind of emotion dissipated inside me. As suddenly as I’d lost it, I’d regained control. The familiar numbness settled in my chest, replacing any semblance of feeling. My mother was drunk, but on her way to passing out. My father was a cheating asshole, but he handled my mother with as much skill as he was handling the party outside. Erin might be a slut, but she was doing her job tending to my siblings.

Nothing was falling apart. Everything was fine.

And Celia loved me.

I had to believe a break-up from her boyfriend was imminent. My experiment was nearly complete. Exactly as I’d planned.

Chapter Six

After

At a quarter past six, I approach Norma Anders’ open door. As my chief financial manager, I’m not surprised to see her working after hours, but her assistant’s presence is unexpected. He’s leaning over the desk facing her, and their discussion is hushed. I knock on the doorframe to announce my presence.

Her assistant straightens immediately, and he moves out of the way so Norma can see me.

I catch her gaze. “I need to sign that power of attorney if you have it ready.”

“Of course.” She nods to her assistant. “Boyd, will you—”

“Certainly.” The young man rushes past me to his desk, presumably to get the paper I require. I wonder briefly if he’s always this anxious or only when the owner of the company stops by. Honestly, it’s rare for me to venture down to Norma’s office. She’s usually summoned to mine.

Despite my infrequent visits, I’m relaxed in this setting. I don’t wait for Norma’s invitation to come in.

“Make yourself comfortable, Hudson,” she teases after I’m sitting across from her. “I expected you to ask for this earlier this afternoon.”

“I lost track of time.” It’s not entirely dishonest. I’ve had my mind on other things, such as my plans for later that evening, but I purposefully procrastinated making this visit. It’s a waste of my time to spend hours signing for the acquisition of The Sky Launch. Giving Norma power of attorney to do so in my stead is practical. But signing the paper is, in very many ways, my official declaration that I’m pursuing this insane plan.

So I didn’t request her to bring it by. I put it off until long after my secretary and most of the building had gone home. In the end, though, here I am. With my pen ready in my breast pocket, no less.

Boyd returns and hands a file to Norma. “If that’s everything, I’ll be leaving.”

“Yes, right.” She peers at her watch. “It is rather late. Thank you for staying. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right. Tomorrow, Ms. Anders.”

A glance passes between them and I realize that the two are fucking. It’s not likely obvious to most others, but I’ve studied human nature and relationships extensively. I know an “I-see-you-naked-on-a-regular-basis” look when I see one.

I don’t mention it or let on that I recognize the situation, though. If I did, I’d have to be willing to reprimand Norma. Social relationships are not permitted between management and staff, and it’s a terminable offense. But she’s too valuable of an employee to care about something so unrelated to what I employ her for.

With Boyd gone, Norma opens the file and finds the paper I need to sign. She briefly looks it over before handing it to me. I don’t read it. I sign and date where appropriate and hand it back.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks as she takes the document from me. She’s already putting it back in the file, knowing I’m not going to change my mind even though we’re going to have a conversation about it.

“I’m positive.” I’m not positive. I’ve never entered into a business deal with as much doubt as I have now. It’s not the financials that bother me. Even if I lose money, it’s too small of a company to even scratch the surface of my holdings.

“The price is reasonable enough, but, Hudson, this is not a good business investment.” She’s not trying to belittle my decision, I remind myself. It’s Norma’s job to question me.

“Is it a particularly bad one?” I should at least hear her out.

She scans through the prospect sheet regarding The Sky Launch. “Not necessarily. If you’re willing to give it some time and attention.”

“I am.”
Too much
time and attention. I’m lucky everything else at Pierce Industries is running smoothly at the moment.

She closes the file and leans back in her chair, her elbow propped on the armrest, her chin held in her palm. “Why are you so set on a nightclub?”

“I own nightclubs in other cities.” I have one in Atlantic City. Another in Miami and two in Vegas. This won’t be my first venture into the industry, and as the current owner has assured me, the staff at The Sky Launch is self-sufficient. Whatever happens with Celia, I plan to have Alayna groomed to take over as general manager as soon as possible. Once that takes place, my involvement at the club will be minimal.

“Let me rephrase, why are you so interested in
this
night club? I could get some people looking, and we could find something else local that’s going to take less of your time and be more profitable.”

I dodge the suggestion. “How’s your family?”

“I love how you think changing the subject will distract me from pursuing this. I’ll make you pay by actually answering your question. My brother’s home now. I wish I could say fully recovered, but that will take time.”

Norma’s brother had a breakdown recently and had been admitted to a mental hospital. While I normally try not to get involved with my employees’ private lives, Norma had explained the situation so that she could get some emergent time off.

“He’ll get there,” I assure her.

“I know he will. And Gwen’s still at Eighty-Eighth Floor.” Her brows lift with an idea. “Now that’s a nightclub you should look into buying.”

She’s not going to let it go until I give her a more satisfactory reason for wanting Alayna’s club. “There’s asset in The Sky Launch I can’t get elsewhere.” It feels wrong to refer to Alayna as an asset, though, legitimately, she is. “A star employee. I peg her as an up-and-comer in management and I want to be her employer when that happens.”

Norma considers for a few seconds. Then she sighs. “I can’t decide if you’re being honest or blowing smoke up my ass. Whichever, you win. I’ll stop giving you my two cents.”

“You’re one of the four most important people in my life other than my family. I value your opinion.” Though I’m grateful that she’s dropping this issue, I usually do appreciate her input.

“Really?” She leans forward, her elbows braced on her desk. “Who are the other three?”

I reply without missing a beat. “My secretary, my assistant, and my unofficial head of security.” That’s as good a title for Jordan as anything.

Norma frowns. “Isn’t it sad that they’re all on your payroll?”

“It’s not sad. It’s the way I like it.” I brush invisible lint from my pant leg, not meeting her eyes. I don’t find my relationships sad. I’m content. But is that how I want to live the rest of my days? Merely content?

Her frown remains. “Did I see Celia Werner here the other day?”

I don’t like Norma’s concern about my social life or lack thereof. It gives her an excuse to play matchmaker and I’m not interested in that at all. So I let her believe what she wants about Celia. It’s easier. “Yes, she was here.”

“You’re not redecorating anything right now, are you?”

I don’t answer, but my expression tells her that I’m not. It’s the only work-related reason that Celia would be around—if she were handling a redesign of one of the offices.

Norma assumes as I guessed she would. “As much as I’m happy to see you with a woman in your life, I really wish it wasn’t her.”

Now that’s what’s sad—that Celia
is
the woman in my life. That my past has tied me to the person who I despise and look down on more than anyone…other than myself.

I stand, unwilling to continue the conversation. “Thank you for your help, Norma.”

I leave quickly, as if by escaping the discussion I could escape the reality that the discussion centered on. But there’s no escape from this reality. I’ve made my bed. Time to lie.

***

It’s near ten that evening when I pull my car into the lot at Columbus Circle. My grip tightens around the steering wheel. I clutch on, pouring all my aggression into my grasp. Then I let go. The action helps center me. I’m anxious and I need to burn off some tension.

Really what I need is to go home and run a few miles on the treadmill. But I’m here already. So I get out of my Maybach and head toward the front doors of the club.

I’ve been to The Sky Launch twice before now. Both times were during the day, once with the seller and another time with my appraiser. I’ve never seen it in operation nor have I met any of the employees. Before I do, I want the opportunity to observe them in their environment.

That’s my excuse for this visit. It’s bullshit. I want to observe
Alayna
in her environment. I don’t give a fuck about anyone else. The schedule posted to the wall in the staff room indicated that she was taking the next week off. Tomorrow is her graduation, so I assume she’s using the time to celebrate. Tonight is my only chance to see her at work. When she returns, the transfer of ownership will be complete, and I will be her boss.

It’s a weeknight and not yet summer, but there’s a line outside the club. I manage to get in quickly—an expensive Armani suit is an automatic ticket into most anywhere. Inside, I spend a few minutes surveying the dance floor. The DJ is good and the layout works well. I glance up at the bubble rooms that circle the second floor. They’re the highlight of the club. With a little emphasis, they’d draw an even bigger crowd. In fact, it’s not hard to imagine how well the place could do with a few tweaks.

I catch myself brainstorming and stop. That’s for Alayna. Marketing was her area of interest at school. After her presentation, I have a feeling her ideas for the club would blow mine out of the water.

Thinking about Alayna and her ideas, I can’t wait any longer. I have to find her. The schedule I saw indicated she was to be tending the first floor bar. I make my way through the crowd that thickens as I close in toward the counter.

I spot her when I’m still twenty feet away.

In the days that followed the symposium—weeks now, three to be exact—I’d often wondered if I’d imagined the effect that Alayna Withers had on me. My sanity isn’t exactly indisputable, after all, and the way I’ve obsessed over and transfixed myself on this stranger is indeed crazy.

But even across this distance, with the music blaring so loud that I can’t hear her voice and the lights so dim I can’t make out the details of her features—even now, she pulls at me with a magnetic force that is neither explainable nor rational. My eyes cling to her as though she were the only glow in a dark room. And isn’t she?

She’s swept away in her work. The way she shuffles around her fellow staff members to serve her customers—it’s a dance, beautiful and mesmerizing. The smiles and nods she shares with those around her are so engaging that I’m instantly jealous of every recipient. I want her smiles. I want her nods. I want to engage her.

It’s more than my competitive nature at hand here. It has nothing to do with my past games or experiments, though the feeling of exhilaration is identical. It’s perplexing and I’m not a man who’s easily confused.

I tear my focus away long enough to make it to an empty seat at the far end of the bar. Then my gaze returns to her. My constant staring will likely be attributed to a thirsty customer trying to signal the wait staff, but frankly I don’t care what Alayna thinks of me just as long as she thinks of me at all. I yearn for her attention with such a deep ache. Yearn for the instant that she looks at me, connects with me. I’ll turn down any service that isn’t from her. I need to know if I have any of the effect on her that she has on me.

As I watch her, one of the other bartenders—a man that I imagine is David Lindt, the manager of the bar—gathers the staff around him. Soon he’s distributed shots and all are partaking.

If I were really here to spy on my staff, this would be the episode that might grab my attention. Drinking behind the bar is not an acceptable way to run a club. However, though I can’t hear exactly what’s being said from my side of the counter, the cheers and hoots seem to indicate a special occasion.

From the way everyone’s focused on Alayna, I gather it’s about her.

“Woo hoo!” she screams, as if to confirm my thoughts. “Goddamn, that’s nice!”

She’s fun, I realize. Besides being smart and responsible, she knows how to enjoy herself. It’s so different from me, so foreign that it should be a complete turn-off. Instead, it intrigues me more. As if that were possible.

Once the shots are consumed, the staff disperses. Alayna stays behind the bar. I’m more relieved than I want to admit. My relief is replaced with envy as she moves to embrace a customer. Who is this man? I’ve had Jordan tailing Alayna for the better part of two weeks. His findings have shown she has a limited social life, her outings relating only to work, school, and exercise—namely, running. There has been no evidence of a boyfriend or even a close friend. Has Jordan missed something important?

I strain to hear the conversation between the two. Quickly, I deduce that the man is simply a regular customer. My relief returns. Though I may have to step in if he continues to stare at Alayna’s breasts the way he is. I don’t blame him. They’re exceptional breasts. I can’t stop staring myself. But they should not be shared with the likes of drunk assholes who only want a quick fuck.

Thank God I’m neither a drunk nor someone who wants a quick fuck. Slow. That’s how it will go with Alayna. I’ll take my time when I fuck her and it won’t be just a one-time thing.

Jesus, where did that thought come from? I hadn’t planned to pursue Alayna sexually. It certainly wasn’t part of Celia’s scheme. But now that I’ve thought it, I can’t seem to get the idea out of my mind.

It’s her damn outfit. She looks like sex on legs.

I make a mental note to speak to Alayna about her wardrobe choices for work.

I manage to stop thinking about my cock by concentrating on the other information I’ve gleaned from my eavesdropping. Alayna has admitted she has no plans for her vacation. I don’t like that. She should be celebrating her accomplishments. Furthermore, the hint of disappointment in her posture leads me to believe she wishes she had plans.

But I can’t dwell on this. Because she’s sliding down the bar toward me. Finally, her attention is mine.

“Now what can I get…you…?” Her words trail as she meets my eyes. The intense grip of her gaze on mine nearly takes my breath away. It leaves her speechless as well, her jaw slack as she takes me in.