“Do you want him to break up with me? He likes me. He’s going to think you and I…”
I exhale, fighting very hard to recover my patience and self-control. I’m mad, but I don’t want to make a big deal out of it and alert Trent that something is up, so I open the glove compartment in an effort to retrieve my panties.
He reaches them first. He pockets them again, his expression unapologetic, a muscle working in his jaw. Then he nods at Trent, who’s looking at me. “Your prince charming awaits.”
THANKSGIVING
I tell no one about the panties and throw all my energy into the Thanksgiving holiday—I want it to be special since it’s the first holiday I’m spending with Trent. I ask him over for dinner at my place—and he’s “looking forward to it.”
It’s a bit complicated, having a vegan boyfriend. I spent the whole day yesterday trying to figure out what to cook for us. I researched online and end up trying a quinoa recipe and a cranberry sauce. We have a nice dinner at my apartment, and thankfully Trent seems to enjoy the meal. He brought wine and lifts his glass.
“I’m thankful for you this Thanksgiving, Gina,” he says.
“I’m thankful for you too.” I smile. We kiss a little, but I tell him I need to go to bed early, so he reluctantly goes home.
I want to get a good night’s rest so I’m ready for the Black Friday sales tomorrow. It’s one of the busiest days of the year at the department store. But even after going to bed early, I still have a restless sleep and spend an extra twenty minutes on my makeup the next day, trying to cover the bags under my eyes as I head to the store at 5 a.m.
THE PERFECT GIFT
It’s the first week of December, and I don’t know why I’m surprised that my parents can’t make it for Christmas. They can never make it. It almost feels like they would rather spend Christmas anywhere in the world, with any other person, than with their only daughter.
“I hope you make plans with one of your friends,” my mother says over the phone. “I don’t want you spending the time alone in your apartment. And I’m very sorry about the loan, but with all this traveling, we really can’t afford the expense.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll figure something out.”
I knew it was a stretch to ask them for a loan, but a part of me is still loath to leave my apartment.
I have the first half of next year to figure out my new situation, and although I’ve been working overtime to pay my rent, I still need to buy Trent a Christmas gift.
*
I schedule a shoot with a photographer for the first week of December, and on the second week, I go pick up my pictures. Since Trent left a few days ago to visit his family, he’s taking a little longer to answer my texts.
Peering into the manila envelope with the pictures, I sit and ponder what to do.
I call Tahoe’s cell phone. I don’t know why it’s his opinion I want, why he’s the first one I’m going to show these to, but I tell myself it’s because he’s the player that I’m closest to and maybe I also want to start our friendship back up.
“Hey. Hi. It’s Gina. Hey, could I come over to your place today?”
“Yeah, sure, Regina. Everything alright?” I imagine him frowning.
“Oh yes. No…hospitalizations.” I laugh at my own joke. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not busy. You know, doing…”
He chuckles a low, lazy chuckle, catching my meaning. “Come by my office, I’ll be here for a while.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there. I won’t really take up much of your time. Oh and hey.” I pause. “Thank you.”
*
His office is in the corporate building that handles most of his enterprises, a massive forty-floor skyscraper that could not be more modern had it been built a hundred years into the future. After being allowed inside by the receptionists in the lobby, I take the elevators to the executive floor.
I introduce myself to a young, handsome guy who is probably Tahoe’s PA. He greets me cordially and shows me down a hall with dozens of black-and-white photographs of oil rigs. The floors are dark wood and the furniture light in color; the combination simple and powerful.
“Miss Wylde is here, Mr. Roth,” his assistant says as he opens a massive brass door.
He keeps it wide open and there sits the dark prince of the playboys. The blond beast in his cave.
Tahoe Roth knows how to rock his suits. But every time he wears one, I’m struck by the ruggedness that still seeps through, like he’s more of an outdoors kind of guy —an adrenaline junkie and a nature lover, one who hit a gold mine when he struck oil and invested well. There’s smarts and pride behind those eyes. He owns the suit but it looks like his cage; the beast is prowling within.
His blue eyes flare when he sees me. His lips curve up in a smile as he stands. He moves like a lazy feline, stretching his muscles after a long nap.
I’m massively impressed as I head inside. “Nice cave,” I say appreciatively.