Scrooge

14. Haylee

14

HAYLEE

“S o, did you have fun?” I tease as we push out of the door of the bowling alley and walk toward the car.

“I got annihilated and filled my arteries with so much saturated fat that I feel like I want to vomit,” he growls, looking annoyed when I know he clearly enjoyed himself.

“Just wait until—” My words get cut off as the media scrum outside starts shouting.

“Alexander! Who is the new woman?”

“Alexander! Are you buying Benny’s Bowling Alley?”

“Alexander! Is it true that you got her pregnant?”

“Shit,” Alex mumbles as I stand like a deer in headlights at the crazy scene in front of me. “Dan!” he yells as he tightens his hold on my hand and pulls me forward.

“Head down, Sunflower,” he instructs me gruffly as he strides forward, seemingly used to this kind of situation as I quickly try to follow his lead, the media pack pushing into us, not giving us any space.

“Haylee! How did you two meet?” I hear someone shout.

“Alexander! Would your father approve?” someone else yells.

It is crazy. Like nothing I have ever experienced before, and while I wouldn’t say I am scared, I’m definitely out of my depth. As I follow Alex’s steps, I feel like we should nearly be there, but I’m unable to see where the hell we are because the cameras are flashing incessantly, and people loom around us. They start to clamber over each other, everyone trying to get the perfect shot. My grip on Alex remains tight, but one photographer trips, falling straight into me. I would like to think I have some strength, but he is larger and rounder than I am. The force of him pushes me to the side and I hit the pavement.

“Ouch!” I whine as my knee collides with the sidewalk, the graze stinging my knee and ripping a small hole in my jeans.

“Haylee!” Alex shouts, and I look up to see his concerned face, the camera lights blinding, the media pack now in a frenzy, getting exactly the shot they wanted.

Without a word, Alex bends down and picks me up, one hand under my knees and the other around my back bridal style, pulling me to his chest. I loop my hands around his neck and tuck my head. I close my eyes, this frantic mess becoming too much. Alex strides a few more steps to the car, where Dan is waiting with the door open, and places me inside.

“Penthouse, Dan,” he grits out as I slide along the soft black leather seats, and he climbs in after me. The noise ceases to exist the minute the door is closed.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice deep, his hands running over my face and down my shoulders, looking me over inch by inch.

“Just my knee,” I tell him. I feel short of breath, like I have run a marathon, even though I literally walked like ten steps. His hands continue to cover me, worry etched in his expression. I swallow, trying to calm down a little as my heart races.

“Show me,” he says as his large hands encase my knee and he lifts it over onto his.

Dan starts to drive away, the flashes and yells now behind us as Alex gently looks at the rip in my jeans.

“A small graze,” he says, his jaw clenching.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” I attempt to pull my leg from him. It all feels stupid, really. Apparently, I am not as coordinated as I thought.

“They are such assholes. I will increase our security. I had no idea that they were that big of a scrum tonight; otherwise, I wouldn’t have walked us out of there.” His eyes are still assessing me as he shakes his head in frustration.

“All part of the contract, right?” I say lightheartedly, because I thought media attention is what he needed. He finally looks up to meet my eyes, not happy, and I roll my lips. He has been grumpy for most of the time I’ve known him, but now he just looks angry.

“You should stay at my penthouse tonight. I will fix up your knee,” he says as his hand warmly holds my leg, one of his fingers lazily running up and down my calf in a soothing motion. I’m almost too distracted by the tickling motion that it takes a moment for what he just said to sink in.

“What?” I ask, my heart pounding harder. “I’m fine. It’s just a graze.”

“Well, we are being followed, and at some point, you are going to have to start staying over to make what we’re doing more believable. Plus, it is getting late… and I want to look at your knee properly.”

I look at my watch; it isn’t late. It’s only almost nine. But it’s like my brain is completely rendered useless.

“But I don’t have an overnight bag…” I say, a little unsure.

“It’s fine. I can get you anything you need just for one night,” he says, looking adamant that I stay. I roll my shoulders back and think for a moment before I start pulling at my ear.

“I have a spare room and guest bathroom. You will have your own space,” he tells me, and I feel a little more at ease.

“Oh, um…” I haven’t spent the night with a man for many months now. My cheeks heat thinking about it, and I look outside the windows and take in a deep breath. He’s right; we’re going to have to do this soon anyway. And I’d rather not have any media following me to my sister’s. I’ll be safest with him, and I can keep my family safe too. “Okay… sure. That makes sense,” I say, nodding, dropping my hand and wiping my palms on my jeans. Like he knows I need some comfort, his hand lands on mine, giving it a light squeeze.

In what feels like record time, the car stops at his apartment, and Dan opens the door.

“Elevator is already waiting, sir,” he says to Alex, and we slide out.

“Shall I carry you?” Alex asks, and I smile at his chivalry.

“I can walk,” I tell him, but his frown still hasn’t disappeared. He looks down to my knee like he is unsure, but I take a few steps, and together we enter the elevator.

My heart is almost thundering through my chest, and I am pretty sure my ear is bright red and swollen as the private elevator arrives at his penthouse.

“We’re here.” He puts his arm out, and I step forward in front of him, standing right inside his domain. I swallow as I take it all in. It is like something out of the movies. Almost exactly how I envisioned. Shiny marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, everything shiny, polished, and cleaned to a high-shine perfection. No photos, no magazines scattered on the coffee table, no random remote control on the sofa. Everything has its place. It looks like a showroom, one that doesn’t allow sitting on the furniture.

“Let me take your coat,” he offers, grabbing it from my shoulders, and I shrug it off. Well, I guess we are doing this. I am not sure if this is entirely bonkers or completely savvy. Either way, as far as the media are concerned, I am staying here tonight and we are now officially a new couple about town. He hangs my coat in a small cupboard recessed into the wall. No handle, entirely inconspicuous, and absolutely brilliant in its design.

“So have you lived here long?” I ask, my sneakers making a small squelching sound in the otherwise silent room as I walk on the polished marble floor. My heart races, feeling renewed nerves. I don’t know why; it is just business. An agreement. A seasonal fake fling. Yet my palms are sweating like it is a real date, and ever since he grabbed my hand at the bowling alley earlier and pressed his lips to mine, my senses have been on overload.

“I’ve had this place for a while. Lived here for the past twelve months or so. Here, take a seat on the sofa. Let me get a cool cloth.” As he walks past me and into his kitchen, I take a seat on his sofa. I look around again. It’s like he just moved in and hasn’t had time to finish decorating.

“I’m fine now, really,” I tell him as he strides over and kneels on the floor.

“Just let me look at it,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for pushback, so I let him lift my leg again and peer at my knee. The jeans are ruined, the hole in them looking much larger and much more damaged than my injury actually is.

“How is that?” he asks as he touches the graze softly with the cool cloth, and I close my eyes.

“It feels nice.” The soothing coolness against the raging red graze calms it all down a little.

“I will buy you some new jeans,” he murmurs, and I open my eyes, seeing him looking straight at me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him, shaking my head, giving him a small smile.

“I don’t like to see you injured.” His thumb rubs my calf muscle as he removes the cloth and takes another look. I have a sudden urge to run my fingers through his hair as it falls forward onto his forehead. I grip on to the pristine sofa until my fingers are white-knuckled to prevent them from moving. Him kneeling on the floor at my feet twists something in my gut. His soft touch, his caring nature. All of it makes my body tingle, my temperature soar.

“I’m fine. It was all just a little unexpected.” I ease my leg from his grip, needing to create some space. He remains kneeling for a minute, again looking over me thoroughly until he obviously is happy that I am being truthful, then he stands.

“Nightcap? Whiskey? To settle the nerves?” he asks as he walks to his bar area and pours himself one.

“Thanks,” I agree, looking over what I think is a pretty established collection of whiskey at a bar. It doesn’t look like a home where he invites people over. He also isn’t that person, I don’t think.

I walk across the room to the windows and peer out. The lights are sparkling, New York’s on full show, and she looks glorious from up here. “This is amazing,” I say, gazing over the familiar streets and buildings I have come to love over the years.

“It’s quiet,” he says, walking toward me, and I take the glass, the weight of it surprising.

“And you like quiet,” I state, coming to understand Alex is a pretty simple man.

“I like simple.” He can read my mind, and I snort.

“Well, that is something I am not,” I say, huffing a laugh at myself. I am the complete opposite. Crazy, messy, secondhand clothes, live with my sister and her kids. My life is chaotic, but I love it.

“So I am coming to learn,” he murmurs as he watches me intently. I take in a sharp breath. It’s like he might kiss me again, but I need to remind myself this is an agreement.

“A toast to a successful partnership so far,” I say, trying to instill some professionalism into the situation. Because that is what this is. I can’t go thinking this is anything else.

“To a successful partnership.” His eyes never leave mine as we clink glasses.

The whiskey burns when I drink too much and start coughing.

“Jesus, I forgot how potent this stuff is,” I say, my eyes watering. “My lips are burning. Are they swollen? Red?”

“Show me.”

I look up, and a lone tear runs down my cheek, but his eyes are firmly on my lips. I suck the bottom one in, licking it to remove any excess whiskey that spilled over, and I watch his eyes flare.

“It’s one hundred proof,” he says as his eyes lock back on mine. His free hand cups my jaw, his thumb brushing across my lip, following the path my tongue just made. The temperature in the room just increased tenfold. No one can see us, there are no media here, no reason for him to be acting so sweet. The way he cups my head and touches my lips has me feeling things I haven’t in a very long time.

“It tastes like gasoline,” I tell him, coughing again, and his lips quirk a little.

“Don’t let the Whitemans hear you compare their whiskey to gasoline.”

I look back at my glass, knowing that if it is Whiteman’s Whiskey that fills it, a bottle probably costs more than my annual income.

“It certainly warmed my chest.” The taste isn’t too bad after giving it time to settle. He removes his hands from my face, and I watch him as he throws back the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, then slides the empty glass on the mirrored side table next to him. I already miss his touch, and I have to shake off that feeling.

“There is a kids’ soccer game coming up. Sheridan talked me into donating or something,” he says, dismissing it like it means nothing. “I think you should come with me.”

“Sure, I mean, that’s another date, right? We should probably be doing those kinds of things together.” I nod. It makes sense. “Do you do any other community or charity work?” I ask because that is something I am interested in and can really get behind. I would like to bond with him more on those kinds of things. Charitable causes, community support. It is important to me, and if it is important to him as well, then we will have some common ground.

“No,” he says firmly.

“No?” I question as I take another tentative sip of the whiskey. It feels much better gliding down my throat this time around.

“No. The city provides for the homeless, the hospitals provide for the sick. The education system is there to provide for the kids,” he says, and my eyebrows rise.

“So you really don’t donate anything?” I confirm, frowning, not liking this side of him at all. A slither of disappointment fills my veins.

“No,” he states, looking out the windows at the city below. “It’s not my responsibility to fund those types of things. I am not even sure how soccer got through, to be honest.” His shoulders tighten, obviously not happy about it. I am surprised, and I look around his place again. Although it is amazing, it is lifeless. There is nothing here. That thought makes me sad. Like he is alive, but not really living. And that’s reflected in other areas of his life too.

“Do you take vacations? Go away a lot?” I ask, thinking he must spend most of his time elsewhere. From everything I know about him, he is a billionaire. If he is cutting budgets, increasing leases, not donating to charity, then he must spend his money elsewhere.

“Not often.” He shakes his head, jaw tight. He isn’t angry that I am talking about this, more like he is unhappy with himself.

“Huh…” I mutter, looking around again, trying to get a read on him. I’m confused, and understanding washes over me that I don’t know this man like I thought I was starting to.

“Do you have any other family or close friends nearby?” I know his father died, but maybe a long-lost uncle or something.

“No. I was an only child,” is all he says, and sympathy pulses in my chest.

“You know, I did some research on you yesterday…” I start tentatively, not sure if he will find my research palatable. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and I raise mine back in challenge.

“You researched me; it is only fair.” I shrug, and he nods.

“Go on,” he prompts, and I bring myself back to the present, taking a breath.

“Well, it seems that you have a nickname around town…” I tell him, and I see him roll his eyes.

“I know,” he says on a heavy sigh.

“Scrooge… I mean, I can see how that may—”

“I’m turning in. Spare room is down the hall. There are three of them, take your pick.” He turns on his heel and strides away, his shoes clicking on the marble floor.

I was trying to be delicate, but that was obviously the wrong thing to bring up. I sigh as I watch him go, hating that I offended him. He seems lonely, not overly welcoming or warm. A bit like this apartment. Large, lots of space, all the mod cons, yet cold, distant, and uninviting.

Opening my tote bag, I rummage around until my hand hits on what I am looking for. A small, glittery pumpkin that I tossed in my bag the other day when I was cleaning up the store window. I thought it would be nice at home for my nephew, but then I forgot about it. I look at it, the glitter already falling off and onto his clean floor. I should feel bad, but I don’t, so I place the pumpkin on the coffee table and dust my hands off over the sofa and floor rug, smiling.

I might as well add a bit of sparkle wherever I go.

* * *

After finishing my whiskey in front of the New York skyline, snapping a photo, and sending it to Jillian, I wander down the hall and select the first room I come across. I look at the perfectly made bed and fall onto it, exhausted, yet I’m not comfortable whatsoever. After all those mozzarella sticks and a glass of gasoline, I’m bloated and my jeans are digging into my waist.

Jumping off the bed, I walk to the closet and flick on the lights. The space is amazing, with room for hanging, shelves for displaying, shoe racks and drawers, but it is all completely empty. I pull out each drawer and find them all entirely clean. Not a spare t-shirt in sight. Taking a deep breath, I look around before walking to the bedside tables and pulling out those drawers. Again, they are completely empty. Not even a bible, a pen, or anything that you’d think these drawers might contain. He probably has something for me to wear somewhere in this apartment. But after I upset him, he obviously forgot about giving it to me.

I saunter into the adjacent bathroom, my hands skimming the bed linen as I walk past, feeling the softness. At least he doesn’t skimp on linens, and I see a small trail of glitter left behind from my fingers. In the bathroom, I switch on the light, and the room sparkles. I don’t think it has ever been used. There is a large tub that I am very tempted to slide into, and the windows are low enough to look out at the skyline. The shower is open and frameless, which is a luxury I’ve never experienced. Once more, I open the drawers, and to nobody’s surprise, there are no amenities. I know it isn’t a hotel, but there is no soap, no creams, no toothpaste or spare toothbrush. No tissues. The whole room is like a new build that no one has moved into yet. I would prefer to brush my teeth before bed, but I also don’t want to ask him now.

Rubbing my head with the palm of my hand, I groan. I know that I won't be able to sleep unless I wear something more comfortable, so I decide to bite the bullet and walk down to his room and ask. I mean, I am not expecting him to say yes, but who knows? He might throw something my way.

I open the door and pad down the hallway, wondering what his room looks like. Is it warmer, cozier, more welcome and inviting? As I peer into the other rooms as I pass them, I’m surprised by how big this place is. I spot an office, which is huge, and a small gym, which is surprising, a large bathroom, which I assume is for day guests, but again, completely empty and sparkling clean. There’s one door left down the hall that I assume must be his. His door is ajar, so I tap lightly.

“Hello,” I say quietly, not sure if he is already asleep or not. But as I peer in, his lights are on.

“Hello? Alex?” I say a bit louder as I push the door open a bit farther. I look around quickly, taking in his space. The curtains are drawn, the closet full of suits that all look the same. He has an armchair and a few other bells and whistles that aren’t in any of the other rooms, but it is still reasonably sparse.

“Alex?” I say again, taking a few more tentative steps in. His bed is vacant, and he isn’t in his closet. But then I still. The bathroom door is wide-open, and I have an unimpeded view. My eyes widen, and I am rooted to the spot as I watch Alex, entirely naked, water gushing down his body. I swallow, heart in my throat.

His body looks hard. Perfectly sculpted. Like he has never eaten a piece of chocolate in his life. My hand moves to my stomach, feeling the familiar soft folds that spill over the waistband of my jeans. His head is back, his eyes closed with the water streaming onto his hair. I should walk away, but I can’t. It is like I am transfixed. His mouth opens slightly, and I hear a moan before my eyes flick lower, and I almost stumble. His hand is on his dick, moving up and down as he palms himself. He is big, hard, thick, and I am barely breathing as I watch this physically perfect man in the middle of self-pleasure.

“Fuuuckkk…” I hear him groan, so needy that I feel my pussy pulse.

“Oh my God…” I whisper, my body heating up almost instantaneously. I look up at his face again. He bites his lower lip as his other hand slaps on to the tiles of the shower wall like he needs the stability. His hand jerks harder, faster, and my pussy starts to pulse in time with his strokes. I move my legs, needing some friction from my jeans, yet that does very little to help. I think I might come just from watching him. I didn’t know this was something I would like. I haven’t liked it before, but then again, I have never watched a man in secret like this. I have never even seen a man like this, who is tall, dark, handsome, someone who looks like he literally stepped out of a movie screen and into my life.

I need to move. He could open his eyes and see me at any moment. I start to step back, but then I hear it.

“Hayleeee…” he groans out, and I swear my heart stops. Looking back at him, I watch him empty himself into the shower with my name on his lips. I have never been so turned on in my entire life, but as he puts his head under the stream of water, I take the chance to escape. But not before I see a t-shirt on his bed and swipe it, gripping it tight as I run out the door and down the hall, not stopping until I get into my room, where I close the door and lock it for good measure.

Not to keep him out. But to keep me in. Because for the first time in months, my body is burning. And it is burning for him.