Hell on Heels (13 page)

All men liked beautiful women. However, most men liked their beautiful women like they liked their golf clubs: expensive and shiny, and only taken out when they wanted to play or impress their friends.

And maybe if I was honest, over the years, I’d played that up.

And maybe that was on me.

Most of the time, I got what I needed from them and they got something they wanted from me. Like Doctor Colby had said, a mutual exchange and sometimes even a relationship, but even I was learning now that I was looking for something from them that they could never provide. Something not even the best high could overshadow.

I was looking for me.

Because what I really needed, more than a good fuck or someone to make me come, was to feel at home in my own skin.

To feel like I understood the person I’d become.

I’d spent nearly a decade throwing myself off cliffs, because I didn’t know how to simply look out the window. I only knew what it felt like to go all-in and ride the high until I fell.

I’d become so perfectly disguised, a masterpiece of life’s unjust suffering.

Like all masterpieces were, I was admired but feared all the same.

Women fell apart at the seams and lined up for a chance to bed some of the men I’d dated in my lifetime. It had never been enough. It had never been sustainable. Neither them nor I had benefitted in the long run from my joining the leagues of those women. Yet still, so frequently I found myself in that role, playing that part once again like a well-taught starlet.

In the last days, I’d found myself beginning to wonder if perhaps I didn’t want to act that way anymore, but how did you quit? How do you quit the lie you told yourself for nearly a decade?

Addicts don’t quit overnight, and I had an addict’s blood, through and through.

“We’re not the same, you and me. I was never as strong as you, Charlie bear.”

The memory of my dead brother scolded me.

He’d been wrong.

We were the same.

I settled on a black dress with a hem that ended past my knees and fit like a second skin. It was low cut in the front, enough to be sexy without being slutty, and it had three-quarter length sleeves, which in my mind made up for the display of cleavage.

When dressing, a lady should choose but one asset to expose, never two. Beau had seen my backside at the gala, and tonight, I planned on showcasing my generous front side.

I paired the outfit with an original style tan Burberry dress coat should it rain, and matte red stilettos. Twisting my hair into a messy yet elegant chignon, I pulled a few pieces out to frame my face and finished the look by applying a blood red lipstick to my full pout.

Just in the nick of time, as luck would have it.

The buzzer to my unit sounded as I was transferring my necessities from the large day-to-day boho purse I carried to the smaller black Chanel I’d selected for tonight.

I hit the answer button on the base unit of my home phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Beau.” His smooth voice came through the speaker.

Instead of answering, I pressed the number to buzz him in.

I checked myself over in the hallway mirror, adding one more spray of perfume to my neck and wrists while I waited.

The knock came and I smiled at my reflection.

Sliding the deadbolt, I pulled the door open to find Beau Callaway leaning against the wall in my apartment building, wearing a pale grey suit and holding nearly two dozen long-stemmed white roses in one arm.

Looked as though he’d dressed to stop a heart or two himself.

“Hi.” I rested the side of my head against the open door.

He stayed put. “You look beautiful.”

I blushed. “Thank you.”

We remained like that for a beat, him leaning against the wall, watching me, me leaned into the door, watching him.

“Is white too boring?” He held out the bouquet and stepped towards me.

Shaking my head, I bent down and smelled the flowers. “White is perfect.”

“In that case, they’re for you.” Beau dipped down and kissed my forehead.

I wanted more, but his little touches made me feel important, so I took them, beating back the disappointment that he had yet to kiss me.

“They’re gorgeous, thank you.” I took them from his hands and kicked the door open a bit more to make room. “Do you want to come in? I’ll just put these in some water before we go.”

He gestured for me to lead the way and shut the door behind him. “Are they renovating your building?” he asked, as I chose a Mason jar vase from underneath the sink.

“No.” I winced, grabbing scissors from the knife block. “A pipe burst on the floor above me last week. The damage up there is pretty bad.”

Leaning a hip against the counter, he watched while I cut the stems one at a time, placing them in the vase. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me too.” I looked at him and shrugged. “It happens.”

“Will you be put out of your place?” He looked around my apartment as he spoke. I gathered he was searching for gaping holes in the ceiling, like he’d no doubt seen on his way up.

I added water to the vase, rearranging the flowers while I spoke. “Thankfully, no. Just a small section of insulation will need to be replaced over the sofa.”

He nodded. “When will that happen?”

His tone was less curious and more matter-of-fact in the way business minded people often were. They had a ‘get it done’ mentality.

I was often that way too, though only with work. In my personal life, I could procrastinate with the best of them.

“They should begin repairs end of this week,” I told him.

He seemed pleased with my answer, and we made small talk about my apartment and his campaign while I finished, eventually setting the flowers on the breakfast bar and standing back to admire them. “They really are lovely, Beau,” I said.

Wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, he rested his chin on my shoulder. “So are you.”

I enjoyed his embrace, feeling the comfort spread through my system. “I guess we better go.” When I spoke, it was out of obligation, not because I didn’t enjoy standing in his arms in the middle of my kitchen.

“Mm. We’ll likely be late as is,” he said, and lifted his head, stepping back. “It was worth every second.”

Emotion raided me, so I simply went about shutting off the lights.

He waited for me to lock up before holding out his elbow to me. “Shall we?”

I slid my arm into his waiting one and smiled. “I’d like that.”

Beau was the perfect gentleman. In fact, in my experience, many great men were. The difference was he did it in a way that felt honest and as if it was deeply ingrained into his sense of self. He was the type of man who would lay his jacket down over a puddle so a woman’s feet wouldn’t get wet in her heels.

He was the end of an era of good ole boys.

Maybe even the last.

I leaned into his side as we descended in the elevator, and listened as he hummed to a tune I recognized but couldn’t put my finger on exactly. He waited for me to step out first from the elevator, and then the front door, before he led me to a black town car.

“Sir.” The driver nodded at Beau. “Miss Smith.”

“Hello,” I greeted him, before turning to my date. “Will you tell me where we’re going?” I asked as he opened my door.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, no. You’ll just have to wait.”

“What if I told you I hated surprises?” I settled into my seat, looking up at him.

Leaning into the open car door, he grinned. “I’d tell you that was too bad for you.”

I laughed.

He closed my door, and that’s when I decided perhaps I was a bit smitten with him.

He took the seat next to mine and casually held my hand as he spoke. “Tell me about this event in which I am solely responsible for turning your staff into… What was it you said?” He smiled, searching his memory, and I immediately thought it was cute.

“Monsters,” I finished for him.

“Ah, yes. Tell me.”

We drove for a short period of time through the city lights, and I told him about our plans for VanDusen and what his money would allow us to do where the charity was concerned. He seemed to delight in the way I spoke, accepting and encouraging each new sentence I brought to the conversation, and he never tired of asking me what I thought.

“What made you want to run for mayor?” It was likely a question he’d been asked many times before, but I genuinely didn’t know and was very curious.

Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, he turned somewhat to face me. “I was born privileged.” This, I did know, but waited for him to continue. “I don’t wear that as a burden, like some people I grew up with chose to, but instead I thought of it like a blessing. How many other people could say they were born into a family with the resources to make a difference at their fingertips?”

“Not many,” I imagined, but also said out loud.

“There’s really no profound reason why I do what I do, other than I wanted to use my wealth and privilege to make a difference.” My hand reached out to trace his jawline while he spoke. “That’s the only way I could justify the life I was blessed with, was if it meant something more than just fancy schools and big parties.” He chuckled. “Though, I still have those too.”

“You’re a good person,” I told him, and I meant it.

He could have done anything or been anything, and what he wanted was to influence other people’s lives for the better.

He wanted to support charities like Henry’s, and he cared that they’d succeed.

Bending forward, he kissed my shoulder again. “I try to be.”

He was wholeheartedly content with my being there, and I was too.

It was nice.

There was no drama with Beau.

It was just easy.

Seconds later, the town car pulled up to the front of The Queen Elizabeth Theatre and I gasped, “No,” looking from his face, out the window, and back again.

His hand squeezed mine. “Leighton said at the gala that this was one of your favourite movies.”

My eyes got big and I nodded. “It is!” I beamed.

Beau helped me from the car and my eyes drifted over the posters announcing the show for this evening:
Dirty Dancing: The Classic Story on Stage
.

I was ecstatic. I’d heard it was coming to town, but Leighton and I hadn’t been able to get tickets before they sold out.

He exchanged words with the driver, who nodded, while I stood in awe.

“Ladies first,” Beau said, holding the door for me.

We walked through the now empty lobby and I crossed my fingers that it hadn’t already begun. Though, I did briefly notice no one asked for our tickets as we entered.

I stopped at the small shop and Beau bought me a magnet for my fridge. “I collect them,” I told him. “From anywhere new I’ve been. It’s tradition.”

“To the first of many new experiences.” He winked at me when he handed the little plastic bag to me.

After that, we took a private elevator up one level and stepped out onto a floor of private boxes. It was swanky, and also very, very empty, due to our apparent tardiness. Though Beau was right; it had been worth every second.

The lights went down and he held my hand still as he led us to the first box closest to the stage. I’d only ever been in a box for a hockey game or a concert, nothing like this. This was wide and elegant with luxurious seats.

He waved to the other couple in our both. I didn’t recognize them, but smiled anyway.

I was practically bubbling with excitement.

An usher took our coats as we settled into our seats, the spotlight appearing on the curtains to indicate the show had begun.

“I’m excited,” I whispered.

He placed our joined hands in his lap and smiled. “Me too.”

The show started, and immediately I was enthralled. It was like the movie had come to life in front of me, and I couldn’t quit the smile on my face if I’d wanted too. The voice of Johnny even sounded nearly identical to that of Patrick Swayze. The women in the audience had swooned on cue with his appearance on stage. Then both men and women had gasped when the dancer nearly dropped Penny in their opening number. He recovered quickly, but my heart was still beating wildly at the anticipation.

Eventually, the lights came up and intermission was announced.

I leaned over and whispered in Beau’s ear that I had to make a trip to the ladies’ room.

“Do you need me to come with you?” he asked, and squeezed my hand.

I shook my head. “No, stay. I’ll be right back.”

Sliding from our viewing box, I followed the signs in the hall for the bathroom.

It took a minute, but eventually I found it, but even more so, I was surprised to have found it not in use by any other patrons. I supposed being on the floor of private boxes had its perks.

Turning the lock on the stall door, I tugged at the hem of my sheath dress until the stubborn and overpriced fabric stretched itself to the max over my round ass and piled around my waist.

God, I had to pee.

I hooked my fingers into the sides of the lace thong that had been driving me crazy and I shimmied it down my thighs. Finally, and I’ll admit eagerly, I began to squat onto the toilet seat, but startled almost instantly after the feeling of eagerness swept over me.

The heavy wood door to the theatre’s bathroom slammed against the tile wall with a thud.

I winced at the callous nature of the sound and my eyebrows shot up to my forehead in surprise. Like everything in life, someone always wanted it more, or in this case, I guess there was always someone who had to pee more than you did. The one woman with whom had likely had one mimosa too many and could barely walk in her shoes. But when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go, and I of all people could understand and sympathize with that in that moment.

Poor girl.

Resting my elbows on my knees, I’d come close to approaching that blissful state where you know you finally get to pee after you’ve been holding it for some time, and it was going to be really, really amazing.

That fell short.

My bliss was interrupted when the door to my stall was, for all intents and purposes, ripped off its hinges.