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It’s Jacob calling, and as much as I want to ignore it, I answer him just to make sure he’s not dying. The rain is coming down in buckets now, and even through the thick stone walls of the house, I can hear it flooding the yard.
“If you’re not dying, I don’t want to hear it,” I say in the driest tone I can muster.
“Please, Taylor, just give me one second to explain,” Jacob whines. “I wasn’t trying to leave you out, and I thought you were cool with Emily. I don’t even really like her.”
I laugh. “Oh, fuck off with that shit, Jacob. We’re not in high school. You’re a grown fucking man taking out a grow fucking woman on a date when you already have – oh, I meanhad– a girlfriend. You don’t get to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness now. I’m not buying it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, babe. I’m not screwing around. You know how crazy this sounds? I can’t even go to the beach with a friend?”
“Are you gaslighting me?” I ask, having witnessed it done a dozen times already. I’m not the stupid girl I used to be, and I’m not going to fall for it this time.
“I’m not. I swear, I’m just trying to make you see reason. This is crazy.”
“You’re crazy for thinking you’re going to win me back by begging like a pussy,” I reply, hanging up and tossing the phone back on my bed.
I’m so done with Jacob it’s not even funny. I’m going to drink myself into a coma tonight and finish myself off with a nice long session with my vibrator.
2
Danya
The way the rain is coming down, I feel like I’m in my nuclear submarine instead of my Bentley as my driver rolls through the iron gates of James’ estate.
Finally, we’re here.
It’s a long trip from Russia to the states, but it’ll be worth it for the prize. James has already shown me pictures, and I’m itching to taint her in ways she never thought possible.
My driver parks and I order him to stay in the car as I walk out to greet James. He’s already at the door, shouting something over the rain, waving his hands at me like a stranded man trying to attract the attention of a plane to rescue him.
I open my umbrella, taking long steps across the flooded brick walkway as lightning cracks in the air behind me, lighting my way for a fraction of a second before coating the night in thick, velvet darkness again.
James meets me under the overhang in front of the door, eagerly trying to shake my hand as I close my umbrella and stomp the rain off my leather shoes. He always acts like a giddy little boy when we speak over the phone, and he’s even worse in person. He wouldn’t last a day in Russia.
His daughter had better be different.
“I hope the drive was alright,” he says, finally grabbing my hand and shaking it hard but loosely, as though he’s trying to rub the skin cells off my palm. “It’s really raining cats and dogs out there.”
I raise my eyebrow as we step inside together. “Cats and dogs? This must be an American idiom.”
“Oh, sure, sorry,” he says, taking my jacket and handing it to his butler. “It’s raining really hard. We just say cats and dogs because... oh, well, I’m not sure, really. It’s just a saying.”
I nod, waiting for him to invite me to the lounge. If I’m going to deal with this idiot all night, I need a strong drink and a full-bodied cigar. I hear they have good tobacco in the United States, grown locally.
James stares at me for a moment, as though awaiting direction before he remembers that he’s the host. He jumps to attention, pointing down the hallway and smiling. “Would you like to smoke before dinner? I heard you were a big fan of cigars. I’m somewhat of a connoisseur myself.”
“Lead the way,” I reply with a half-smile. I must be nice to poor James. These are his last days, after all.
“Right, right, let’s go,” he says, hurrying down the hall.
I follow after him, watching his legs move like one of those miniature dogs that women like to keep in their purse. It’s like he’s paddling the air to move himself along.
We arrive at the lounge, and I’m not disappointed by the layout. He has several walk-in humidors along the east wall, all lit up in a welcoming yellow glow and filled to the brim with cigars of all different shapes, sizes, and colors.
I knew James was rich, but I wasn’t certain that he knew how to use his money properly. I trust him a little more now after seeing the lounge.
“Make yourself at home, please,” he says motioning to a faded honey-brown leather couch. “I will go get something for us to smoke. What do you like? I have a new batch of Cubans if you’re interested in those. I fancy one myself.”
I sit down, sinking deep into the leather and letting out a long breath. As comfortable as the seats on my private jet are, there’s nothing like a good leather sofa and a smoke to take the weight of the world off a man’s shoulders. It’s just a shame I have to share it with James.
