But all he does is pack up a garment bag. Filling it with two suits. One blue, one black. “I’ll put your dress in here with my suits,” he says.
I have no idea what a funeral is like in the dead of Montana winter, but I’m going to assume it involves a black dress. The only ones I have almost seem inappropriately pretty. So I choose the plainest one, and offer it over to his outstretched hand.
We stare at each other for a moment. Eye to eye. I see questions in his. I wonder what he sees in mine?
But then he turns away to pack up my dress. “Hurry. It’s going to take a while to get where we need to go. They’re having the service on the ranch but the funeral is in town.”
“Ranch?” I say, picturing this in my head as I look out the window. It’s too dark to see anything, but I have an idea of what winter in Montana looks like. Closed roads comes to mind.
“We’re not going to stay at the ranch, don’t worry.”
“Then where are we gonna stay?”
“Just pack, Nadia.” It could’ve been sharp and dismissive, but it doesn’t come out that way. It comes out… sad. With a long sigh. And a frown.
OK. He’s taking me to meet his parents. He’s letting me beyond his walls. And isn’t this what I was after? When they asked what I wanted from this? Wasn’t this my whole plan from the very beginning? I won. So I should win gracefully.
“Here,” he adds a few seconds later, opening up a suitcase on the rumpled bed. “We’ll just take one bag. Put your other stuff in here with mine.”
I do. And it’s all very intimate. Packing with him, I mean. Our clothes in there, together. Toothbrushes. His shaving kit. My underwear and hairbrush.
He closes the case and drops it on the floor. Looks at me. “Ready?”
“Do we have a flight?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I’m going to take you downstairs and—” He stops to drag a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I forgot. We’re not at the Club.”
What does that mean?
“I’ll drop you off at the White Room. You can eat while I make arrangements.”
The drive over to the Club is not long, but it’s far too silent to be anything other than uncomfortable. It’s not busy when we get inside. Still far too early on a Saturday morning for that. So after Bric disappears I sit at a large back table in the White Room and stare down at my coffee.
“Oh. Hello?”
A tall, dark-haired woman I’ve seen around here before is standing at my table when I look up from my steaming cup.
“Ah… hello.”
She slips into the other side of the booth, folds her hands on top of the white tablecloth, and smiles. “I’m Chella. I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“No…” I say hesitantly. “We haven’t. I’m Nadia.”
“Are you waiting for Bric?”
I nod. “Yes. He’s making arrangements.”
She cocks her head at me, like she has a lot of questions about that. “Are you his new player?”
Just like that. Are you his new player? “We live together,” I say.
“You do?” she asks. “Well.” An uncomfortable laugh squeaks out of her mouth. “I’m… I don’t mean to be rude, but Bric and I are business partners. We own the Tea Room next door. And he hasn’t mentioned you before.”
“It’s new,” I say, feeling stupid for admitting I’m part of his sick game.
“Are you living here at the Club?”
Jesus. What business is it of hers? “No,” I say, staying calm on the outside. “We bought a house. Yesterday, in fact. In Cherry Creek.”
“You bought a house together?”
“Can I help you with something? It’s not a good time. His brother died and we’re going home for the funeral.”
Her mouth falls open, like I just stunned the words right out of her head. But before she can say anything, Bric walks up. “Chella,” he says in that deep voice he has. “Can I talk to you in private?”
She looks at me again. Smiles. It seems genuine. And says, “Nice to meet you, Nadia. I hope you’ll come by the Tea Room when you get back so we can get to know each other better.”
“I’ll do that,” I whisper, watching Bric lead her away.
Did I win? I wonder. Did I really? Because right now I feel like someone’s mistress who was just caught by his wife.
They talk at the front of the restaurant, their eyes shifting to me once or twice. And then Chella kisses Bric on the cheek and disappears into the lobby.
Bric’s attention is focused on me as soon as he starts walking back to my table. And before he even gets here, he’s saying, “If I tell you something, Nadia, you don’t repeat it. I didn’t make that clear before now, so I’m not going to make a big deal about this. But I’m making it crystal clear now. I am a private man. If I wanted her to know my brother was dead or that we’re living together, I’d have told her myself.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“Don’t let it happen again. If you let anything else slip, I’ll have you signing an NDA agreement so fucking fast—”
“Whoa,” I say, putting up a hand. Because I suddenly realize I’m not sorry. “What the hell? She came over to me. Started asking me—”
“Don’t,” Bric growls down at me through clenched teeth, finger pointed at my face, “talk about me to anyone. Do you understand?”
I have a lot of things to say to that little outburst. Things like, Fuck you. And, Fuck off. And, Go fuck yourself.
But I don’t say any of them. I take a deep breath and decide I am winning after all. Because he’s losing his cool. Mr. Big Bad Bric has a weakness. And now I know what it is.
His privacy.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I say. In the most serious voice I can muster. “I won’t do it again.”
I let him have his dick moment. I let him think he’s the one in control here. I let him see me frown, look properly admonished, and when he relaxes and takes that finger out of my face, I even let him think he’s won.
“We have a flight to catch,” he says, snapping up the handle on our shared suitcase. “The car is waiting, so let’s go.”
The journey starts off typical enough. We go to an airfield where a private jet has been chartered. We get in, they offer us drinks. Just like any other plane. But I’ve never been in a private jet before, so the luxury stuns me silent for the entire two-hour journey.
Not that I have anything to say because Bric is silent too. He reads the Wall Street Journal and sips coffee like this is just another day in the life of Elias Bricman. He smiles and chats with the attendants. Like his brother didn’t just die. Like we’re not on our way to a funeral.
When we land in Great Falls, Montana, he rents a car. Not a car, a giant truck that looks like it really wants to haul a trailer filled with cattle or horses. It’s snowing, the wind is blowing, and it’s painfully obvious that I did not dress properly when I step outside and feel frost form in my nostrils.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, the first words I’ve spoken to him since we left the Club.
“To a hotel, Nadia.” He says it like it’s meant for me. His Nadia voice. Not his flight attendant voice.
“Where?” I ask, standing at the passenger door of the giant truck, shivering.