Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (7 page)

I glanced out the window. Shops and countless people were gliding by. We were minutes away from Cafe Sun.

I formed the next words in a way too dry mouth. “So I was thinking that perhaps you’d like to get dinner sometime… since I’m in town,” I quickly added.

“Dinner,” she slowly repeated, as if it were a foreign word.

“Yes. It wouldn’t be a big affair. Just a casual, friendly thing. A lot of my friends have moved away from the city, so I need to work on making new ones here.” I bit my tongue before saying anything else. I was over-explaining big time. And talking way too fast.

“Oh,” Claire said in a small voice. “I guess…”

I cringed. Damn it. I’ve lost her.

“What about coffee?” she asked.

“Coffee is great,” I quickly responded. “I’m going to get some now.”

Claire giggled, the sound light and airy. “Yeah, it is great.”

“Do you…?” I held my breath, almost changing my mind.

“What’s that? Sorry?”

“Would you like to meet me?”

I felt the question coming before she said it. “Now?”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you can’t. I understand you’re probably busy.”

“I’m not,” she replied in a much cooler voice than mine. “Where should we meet?”

I couldn’t help the smile from breaking across my face. “There’s this place in the East Village I like to go and sit and read sometimes. It’s called Cafe Sun.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve walked by that. It’s cute.”

“Would that be all right?”

“Sounds good. I can be there in thirty.”

“Wonderful. See you then.”

“Bye.”

She hung up, and I took in the first real breath since dialing her number. Mentioning dinner had almost killed the entire conversation. I should have known such a suggestion would make it sound like I wanted a proper date. Thank God things had gotten turned around.

Coffee. Yes, coffee was good. It was casual. Friends and acquaintances got coffee all the time.

We pulled up to the cafe, and I paid the driver before hopping out. The little bench out front of the spot was full of the college types that frequented Cafe Sun in the mornings. Inside, though, the line was blissfully short. Apparently, I’d walked in at one of the rare slow moments.

I ordered a black coffee and then waited for a table to open up. After a few minutes, the older men sitting at the little table for two by the window left, and I plopped down into the empty seat, facing the door.

I’d done it. I’d invited her out. Mission accomplished. I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug and tried not to stare at the entry way.

I don’t know how much time passed before Claire came walking down the sidewalk, but when she did, I noticed her immediately. It was like I had a string tied around my waist and as soon as she entered my vision that string was tugged. I sat straight up, my eyes locked on her. Wearing a simple blue dress, her hair in a loose side braid, she managed to make looking casual seem like the next haute couture. I stood up as she entered the coffee shop, not sure if she would recognize me or not.

Her eyelids fluttered quickly as she set her gaze on me, and I got the sense that she hadn’t forgotten what I looked like. Tentatively, she took the few steps needed to clear the space to my table.

“Hi.” My tongue felt thick.

“Hello.”

“Let me get you a coffee.”

“No.” She turned away quickly. “I got it, thanks. I’ll be right back.”

Before I could offer again, she left, disappearing between a space in the middle of a group of chattering young women.

In a few minutes, she’d returned, a glass of iced coffee in her hand. Slipping the little brown purse off her shoulder and setting it on the table, she settled down then tucked some wild strands of hair behind her ears. She adjusted her weight, and her chair creaked. I tried not to stare.

“So why did you say you’re here again?” she asked. “Sorry. I was kind of groggy when we spoke earlier.”

“That’s all right. I don’t know that I was very specific. It’s, uh, mostly pleasure. I do have an engagement on Monday.”

She picked up her coffee, her ivory fingers clutching at the glass. “What’s that?”

“The Met Gala.”

Claire choked on her coffee, spitting a bit of it onto the table. “God, I’m sorry,” she sputtered, covering her mouth.

I chuckled, handing her a napkin. “That’s all right.”

“Did you say the Met Gala?”

“Yeah. I did.” I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I had more to add to that statement and feeling incredibly stupid for not.

“That’s… wow… that’s cool.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you in fashion?”

I crossed my arms and set them on the table. “No, I’m not. I can appreciate it, certainly.”

“Ah.”

She still studied me. I could practically hear her thoughts. Then who are you? Are you famous? Anna Wintour’s secret son?

They were typical thoughts for a person to have when meeting me. I wasn’t much of anyone, truthfully. Just a guy who happened to be born into the crème de la crème of money and fashion. My mother had been a model for two decades, gracing the cover of nearly every magazine in the Western world. That was before she’d hooked up with my dad and taken to investing in business endeavor after business endeavor with her new husband. By the time I was born, they’d probably started and killed over a dozen businesses. Not that it hurt them any. They had the billions my grandfather had left them, after all. Though Dad didn’t exactly have a knack for investing, his own father had. The eldest Burke had amassed billions years before I was born, thanks to his involvement in industries varying from hotels to steel.

My parents’ latest passion was vineyards. They wanted to follow in the Coppola’s footsteps and start making celebrity branded wine.

Not that the whole family was famous. Really, it was just my mother. My dad popped up in Forbes pretty frequently, yeah. But me? I wasn’t much of anyone. My yearly invitation to the Metropolitan’s ultra-exclusive fashion fundraiser came simply thanks to my genes.

“My mother was a model,” I explained. “So she still gets invited to those kind of things.”

“What’s her name?”

“It used to be Melinda Roberts before she married my dad.”

Claire tucked her chin into her hand, then her eyes widened. “Melinda Roberts. Wow.” She kept her eyes on me, studying me. I felt I needed to look away, to busy myself with doing something so I wouldn’t be rude and stare back. But there was nothing in the whole place half as interesting as the girl in front of me.

Suddenly Claire laughed. It was short and partly dismal sounding, but it was still a laugh. “I can’t believe Gwen gave you my number… and then forgot to tell me.”

I cringed, wondering if I needed to apologize again for the situation.

Claire waved her hand as if knowing what I was about to say and dismissing the words before they escaped my lips. “It’s not your fault though. It’s… nice that you called.”

Warmth bloomed in my heart and spread through the rest of my chest. “Good. I was worried about coming across as a little too forward.”

“Why is that?” She didn’t look at me, instead keeping busy by playing with her hair and gazing out the window.

“Because,” I slowly began, “We don’t know each other very well. By the way… I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her entire posture changed when I said those last words. Her shoulders tensed, and the fingers in her hair tightened then drew together into a fist. The only thing that didn’t change was her line of sight. Her eyes remained fixed on the window.

“Thank you,” she rasped. “I guess Gwen told you.”

“She did…” I took in a deep breath but didn’t know what else to say.

Claire looked back at me. Her eyes were impossible to read. “She probably wanted to explain to you why I ran away from the bar.”

That was exactly what happened.

“I figured you were tired.”

“Hm.” She looked down at the table. “So, those flowers… is that why you sent them? As a condolence?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Her face was tilted down, but I could see her bite her bottom lip. And were her cheeks coloring?

My heart rate sped up. Did she think the flowers had been a romantic gesture? Should I have alluded to them being just that? At the time I sent them, I had thought it would be wildly inappropriate to be romantic in any way.

But should I have been?

You’re thinking too much. Just shut up.

“He died suddenly,” Claire said to the table.

I held my breath and waited for more, unsure if more was coming.

She turned her face back up, but her eyes went to the window. I got the sense that she’d half-forgotten I was even there. She was lost somewhere else, gone on a trip to another time and place. A place I didn’t exist.

I worked my throat. The desire to know more burned inside me. I had to be careful though. I needed to be tactful and anything but pushy.

“How long were you together?”

She smirked — an odd gesture, but again, I didn’t know what was going on inside of her.

“Um, a little while.” Her head snapped towards me. “So how come we never ran into each other in Crystal Brook before?”

“My parents only bought the house there a few years ago. We haven’t spent much time in it.”

“You go a lot of places with your parents?”

“Not really. Sometimes.”

She cocked her head. “So what do you do? Like, what’s your job?”

“I don’t have one.” I tensed, not sure how she would react to that news.

“Oh. What’s your field? Are you looking?”

“No, I’m not.”

I wanted to say I was “taking time off” but that would have been a lie. To take a break from your career you needed to actually have one to begin with.

Her lips twisted. She wanted to say something else.

“It’s all right,” I told her. “You can ask me.”

She smirked, looking relieved. “It’s kind of rude.”

“It’s fine. Really.”

“Okay, then. Um, so what is it exactly that you do with your time?”

I arched back in my chair, stretching the lower part of my back. “Well, I volunteer with Habitat for Humanity some—”

“That’s right. I remember now that you said that.”

“And support numerous other charities. I read a lot,” I offered. “I studied English at Brown.” I chuckled.

“What?”

“That sounds kind of pathetic.”

“I know you’re not saying going to Brown is pathetic.”

“Right. I’m talking about the other part.”

“Reading?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. How much do you read? Like, in a month?”

I scratched my chin and thought about it. “Maybe four to eight books.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “Fiction or non?”

“Both. I like history.”

“Which segment of it?”

“All of it.”

“See,” she gestured, stretching her palm out as if showing me something. “That’s worthwhile.”

“You think so?”

She chortled. “Yeah. I do. I mean, what? Is getting a job in an office or a department store more beneficial for yourself or society?”

I opened my mouth to answer that it depended on who you asked, but she went on.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re feeding your mind and learning about things most people will never bother to learn about. And then you go out and interact with other people… so you’re influencing the world in that way.”

“Like a teacher?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip from her sweating glass. “Have you ever thought about teaching? Isn’t that what a lot of people who study English do?”

“No, I’ve never really thought about it.” I laced my hands together and dug deep into the well of my memory. Claire wasn’t the first person to suggest I teach, but I couldn’t remember a day in my life when I’d even half believed I could really enjoy or be good at teaching. Talking and sharing ideas with people one on one was my favorite thing to do. It fueled me and gave me enthusiasm and love for life. But it was the intimacy of those talks that I loved. The thought of standing up in a big room of forty or fifty people just didn’t do it for me.

“I never really wanted to do anything other than read,” I admitted. “And then talk with one or two people at a time.”

“What about writing?”

“Nah. I don’t think so…”

She didn’t say anything.

“So you really mean what you said?”

Claire smiled slightly. “About you educating yourself being important and useful to the world? Yeah.”

“Even though I just told you I have no interest in teaching or writing?”

“You like to share your ideas in a small group, right?”

“Yes… very small,” I grinned.

“So, yes. Of course I still mean what I said. You share ideas. Like right now.” She gestured at us both. “You’re educating me now.”

I cocked my head. “Am I?”

“Yes. We’re talking about jobs and worthiness and all that stuff.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, not able to take my eyes off of her. The more Claire talked, the more she got involved in the conversation. Her head bobbed, and her hands gestured excitedly.

“God knows enough of us are dumb asses,” she said. “Take me, for example.”

“You’re not dumb,” I quickly said.

One of her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you have a pretty important job. New York head of a realty office that spans the English speaking world. You can’t be an idiot and have a job like that.”

If it surprised her to hear I knew so much about her job it didn’t show on her face.

“Come visit my office and meet everyone who works there, then you might be singing a different tune.”

I chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She pretended to zip her mouth shut.

“I’m sure it’s fine. It’s likely no one overheard. None of your co-workers like to frequent hipster coffee shops in the village, do they?”

She laughed a bit. “Here’s hoping they don’t.”

I leaned farther back in my chair, finally starting to feel fully relaxed. Claire was already cheerier than she had been in Crystal Brook, and it seemed a great sign. Now I knew why I had been immediately drawn to her. There was a lightness that seemed to be an integral part of her being. She almost glowed with it.