Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (39 page)

“I’m sorry,” he replied sadly. “But ‘complicated’ just isn’t on the cards for me right now. Or ever, come to think of it.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I wish I’d let you know sooner.”

“Well, if you had?” he said, pushing himself up from the couch and taking a few paces into the room, before turning to me with a sad smile. “Then I think I would have suggested what I’m about to. That we become friends.”

I stood up too, taking a step towards him before I realized I didn’t know quite what to do next. I didn’t want to touch him or kiss him, lead him on any further, but I felt so sorry, too, so remorseful. After another moment’s pause, I just threw my arms around him and hugged him in a tight squeeze.

“I really am sorry, Josh,” I said, “if I led you on or hurt you. I hope we
can
be friends. I’d like that a lot.”

He pulled away and sought my gaze, his big cartoon eyes lighting up once more.

“Of course we can,” he smiled. “I don’t blame you, Jessica. I guess I’m just a little bit old fashioned. I know this is how the New York dating scene works. It’s all about ‘hook ups’ and ‘seeing other people’. My friend suggested I go on Tinder. It’s terrifying! Like shopping for women. That’s just not for me ... I’m definitely looking for something uncomplicated. I’m a one-girl-only kind of a guy. And maybe yeah, that
is
old fashioned. But it’s just who I am.”

I laughed. “I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “I always felt too ... well, yeah, prim and old fashioned for New York. But recently? I’ve discovered ...” I blushed, unable to find the words to explain exactly what I was trying to get at. “Um, that, well maybe there
is
another side to me, if you know what I mean?”

“I think I get what you’re trying to say,” he replied with a knowing smile.

“But I’m definitely with you on Tinder!” I laughed. “Fallon showed it to me. Oh my God. If you think the girls are bad, you should see the guys!”

We both laughed and shook our heads.

“So, no hard feelings?” I ventured, offering my hand.

“No hard feelings,” he replied, taking it in his own, shaking it softly. “And hey,” he added with a little glint in his eye. “If things between you and Blake really
don’t
work out … Then be sure to let me know, okay?”

I smiled and kissed him softly on the cheek.

I don’t think I’d ever met such a sensitive, thoughtful guy before, and as I gathered my things to leave his apartment, I marveled again at how
easy
things still felt between us. I really suspected that we
could
just be friends …

“You want me to see you home?” he asked at the door to his apartment.

I shook my head and smiled. “I’m a big girl,” I replied. “I can take care of myself.”

§

It wasn’t until the taxi had almost pulled up outside my building that my thoughts turned first to Blake, then to my switched-off cell.

Has he called?

It felt kind of good to have finished things like that with Josh. Sad too, sure, but at least my head felt a little clearer. He was right — I’d known it deep down, too. While I was still tangled up with Blake, it was unfair to get involved with anyone else. I’d got so caught up ‘playing the field,’ I’d never stopped to consider whether that was what Josh wanted, too.

I guess I was still learning such a lot about myself, and one thing I was discovering was that, in the right environment, when it felt safe and fun (like at Blake’s parties, for instance), I did enjoy exploring my sexuality with other people, but when it came to feelings and relationships, I too was a one-man kind of a girl.

And the more I thought about this, the more I wanted to just race up the stairs, to snatch up my phone, to call Blake right there and then, not even caring how damn late at night it was, wanting to demand he come over, right now, right this moment …

After what suddenly seemed like forever, I was finally dashing across the street from the taxi towards my apartment, my coat blowing open behind me, my heels clicking as I breathlessly reached the doors my building and dashed up the two flights of stairs to my studio, flinging open the door and dashing straight for my iPhone, still sitting, switched off, just where I’d left it on the night table by my bed.

I snatched it up and turned it on, staring impatiently at the Apple symbol for what felt like
forever
as it slowly returned to life, eventually feeling it buzz in my hand, signifying one new text message. From Blake, hopefully! Then the phone buzzed again and again. Man, I’d obviously been
popular
in the last few hours!

I opened up my messages, hoping to see something urgent and sexy from Blake, perhaps commanding me to come round to his apartment again, dressed in nothing but black lace underwear, but instead, the first, second and
third
messages were all from Gina.

Not again.

But as I read through them, I felt a weird panic begin to mount inside me. Because although the messages were no less urgent than usual, but this time there was a kind of desperation to them, too, and furthermore, they began to make less and less sense:

Where are you?

Come over I need you xx

Nobody has ever really truly loved me I understand that now.

Sorry for bothering you. You wont hear from me again.

And then
more
messages too, from later in the evening, this time from Blake:

Jessica, call me as soon as you get this. Something has happened. I think Gina’s done something stupid.

Jessica where are you? Call me. This is bad. She’s ODed.

Why aren’t you answering your phone? You need to come to Bellevue NOW - this is serious.

I’m at the ER with Gina. Get over here as soon as you see this message.

The shock of it all speared right through me, pinning me to the spot for a moment.

But then I sprang into action, turning and racing straight back out of the door again, hoping my cab might still be out there on the street.

Oh God, Gina, what have you done?

I hurriedly raced through the double doors of the busy late-night emergency room, scanning for the reception desk. My heart was pounding and I just hoped and prayed I wasn’t too late. I’d never really had much to do with hospitals before that moment, and the strange antiseptic smell further turned my already-nauseous stomach.

“Yes?” the receptionist asked me, rather coldly, as I rushed up to the desk.

“I’m here to see Gina …”

And then I paused, realizing with a pang of frustration that I didn’t even know her last name. I felt a fresh lurch of sadness, as I remembered just how
interested
she’d been in me — in my life, my story — and yet, despite what little information about herself that she’d offered me, I hadn’t even bothered to ask her full name. What kind of a friend had I really been?

Oh Gina, I’m so
so
sorry …

“Please,” I pleaded. “She was admitted just a few hours ago,” And at this I pulled out my cell to show the receptionist both Gina and Blake’s messages. “She’s taken some sort of overdose I think. I’m her friend. I really need to see her.
Please
.”

And as I began to describe her, scrolling through all her messages on my cell, the receptionist’s face finally softened and she relented with a knowing sigh. Maybe she just wanted to get me and my manic rambling out of there or maybe she really did believe me, but either way, something changed.

“Alright, I
do
remember her,” she said in a quiet voice. “She’s resting up in the Extended Observation Unit, just down the corridor on the left.”

She scanned her notes, then tapped something into her computer.

“Room six,” she told me.

“Thank you so much,” I replied, quickly turning and dashing down the corridor.

It was only as I was approaching the small ward that I realized something else: Blake would be there too, and I wondered just what kind of mood he’d be in.

I took a deep breath, pausing for a moment outside the door to room six, then gingerly turned the handle.

There was Gina, asleep in bed, looking surprisingly fragile and even younger without her usual thick layer of makeup, her mouth hanging open a little, her auburn hair damp and dark and matted. And sat by her bedside, in a crisp black suit, Gina’s thin, birdlike hand clutched in both of his, was Blake.

He turned sharply when he heard the door opening, his face a mask of concern, but when he saw me, something changed, his expression growing colder and harder.

“How is she?” I asked, timidly.

“She had to have her stomach pumped,” he replied quietly. “She’s sleeping it off. Where were you?”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, stepping softly into the room, closing the door behind me.

“The hospital checked her phone, trying to find clues about what drugs she might have taken,” he continued, his voice brimming with hurt and anger. “She’d been messaging you
all night
, Jessica. Why the hell didn’t you answer her? She was crying out for help and you just ignored her. Where
were
you?”

I stood there frozen, looking for a way out of this mess, but knowing deep down that there was no way I could lie to him now.

“I’d turned off my phone,” I began. “I didn’t even see the messages until I got home. I was out … at a friend’s.”

I watched him flinch at the word — of course, he could see straight through me. It was as if he knew exactly what was coming next, as if he wanted to force me to say the words.

“Who? Who were you with?”

“Nobody, just a friend,” I ventured, but my voice rang with guilt.

“Who?” he persisted.

“Josh,” I said, quietly.

“This is a guy you’re seeing, isn’t it?”

His eyes sought out mine and when I didn’t reply, I watched his expression fall. My silence had said everything for me, and to my surprise, for once, Blake Matthews actually looked
devastated.
This wasn’t the confident, steely, out-for-himself playboy I’d come to expect. This guy was … heartbroken.

I took a step closer towards him, gently putting my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

“So, do you love him?” he asked, his face buried in his hands.

Love? When did we start talking about
love
?

“No,” I said, honestly. “You don’t understand. It’s over between Josh and me. Nothing even happened. Not really.”

I paused, wanting to say so much more, wanting to tell him that it was
him
I loved, but still so scared that he might throw it right back in my face …

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“I’m sorry for what I’ve turned you into. For what you’ve become. The girl
I
first met used to care about people. But I don’t think I know who you are any more. I’m going to leave you here, Jessica, with your
friend
, where you should have been all along.”

At this, he pushed himself to his feet and began pulling on his raincoat.

I wanted to throw my arms around him, to kiss him and plead with him not to go. But instead I just stood there, mute, watching him prepare to leave.

He pushed past me and I turned, just as he paused in the doorway, his grey eyes blazing.

“Ever since you came back,” he said coldly, “it’s like you’ve put up this wall around yourself, and nothing I do is enough to break through it. What do I need to do to get through to you, Jessica?”

I don’t know where the words came from, but suddenly I found myself lashing right back at him. “Don’t be angry at
me,
” I said, with surprising force. “This isn’t my fault, Blake. This isn’t a re-run of you and Brett.
I
didn’t cause this.”

But at this, he just shook his head and smiled sadly to himself. “Whatever you think you know? You don’t. Open your eyes, Jessica. You used to be so perceptive.”

And with that, he was gone, pulling the door closed behind him as he left me alone in that dark little hospital room with Gina, just the faint bleep of the monitor for company and, after a moment or two, the soft sound of my tears.

The following morning, I found myself perched nervously in the large, elegant reception room of Makepeace-O’Connor’s Park Avenue offices, still a few minutes early for my ten o’clock with Elizabeth.

I’d stayed in the hospital with Gina all night. And around eight a.m., she’d finally woken up. I’d been
so
relieved to watch her eyes finally open, and there she was: the old Gina I knew, my friend, smiling back at me.

“I’m sorry,” she’d rasped, her throat parched.

“No,
I’m
sorry,” I insisted. “But there’ll be plenty of time to talk this over later. Right now, you need to get your rest.”

Just after that, the psych team had arrived to assess Gina and I’d had to leave her with them. And as I stumbled, dazed and dazzled, out into the bright morning light, my phone had buzzed into life. A calendar reminder – I had a meeting with Elizabeth in
half an hour
.

I’d mentally pulled myself together. After all, I
had
to make this meeting. And as I walked the short distance to Park Avenue, I was so wired I didn’t even feel tired despite my sleepless night.

As I waited, there in the reception room outside Elizabeth’s office, I tried in vain to stop my head swirling with all kinds of nervous thoughts and worries. Even though Gina was safe in the hospital and finally getting the help she needed, there was
still
the issue of Blake.

I hadn’t even really processed what he’d said to me last night, in the hospital. He seemed genuinely upset that I’d been seeing someone else. He’d used the word ‘love’. And what did he mean by “Open your eyes”?

And what’s more, even this business meeting would be clouded over by Blake Matthews. After all, Elizabeth knew about us, didn’t she? He’d made it abundantly clear to her at the Mermaid’s launch that something was going on between us. And this made me feel frustrated.

I think I’d enjoyed the anonymity of nobody knowing about what was really going on between Blake and I. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want the gossip; amongst the powerful, glamorous people of this new world I was now moving in, well, I wanted to be judged on my own merits, not merely as Blake’s girl …

I wondered if this might change the tone of the meeting with Elizabeth, too: whether she’d behave differently towards me, whether it might even affect how she thought about me and viewed my work.

After all, she obviously cared deeply about Blake, giving off an almost motherly vibe when she was around him, and I hoped to God she wasn’t about to warn me off him or give me a stern talking to.

Just then the receptionist’s phone chirped into life. I watched nervously as she picked it up, spoke a few soft words into the receiver, nodded, then looked in my direction. “Ms O’Connor will see you now.”

I stood up and headed, calm and collected as I could, through the heavy double doors that led into Elizabeth’s office.

“Wow!”

I couldn’t help but say the word aloud when I first laid eyes on Elizabeth’s
amazing
office space. It was everything I’d imagined it might be and more: stylish and kind of other-worldly, with a subtle seventies vibe. Some aspects were so masculine — the bare brick walls and Arne Jacobson chairs, for example – but there were some exquisite feminine touches, too. The place was filled with plants, and I felt instantly calmed by the lush sea of green leaves.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, my eye drawn upwards to the distinctive white lily painting hanging behind Elizabeth’s desk — no doubt a Georgia O’Keeffe. “Is that an
original
?”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “I picked it up
years
ago. It was my first real investment. Even back then, it cost me a crazy amount of money, but I’ve not regretted it, not for a second,” she said modestly. “Take a seat, Jessica.”

“Thanks,” I said, a little embarrassed that maybe I hadn’t played it quite as cool as I’d hoped, rushing in here and geeking out over all Elizabeth’s beautiful furnishings, instead of keeping icy and calm, the way I’d planned.

I took a seat and waited for Elizabeth to begin. The pack of things I’d sent over — a selection of sketches and notes — were laying open on the desk in front of her, and to my relief, she seemed happy and relaxed. 

“I’ve had a look over what you’ve sent,” she began, “but I’d like to hear it all again, from you, in your own words.”

“Of course,” I replied, surprised at how relaxed and at-ease I now felt. This was becoming easier and easier with each new pitch meeting. “Well, as I mentioned in my notes, the bare bones of the house are absolutely beautiful, so I don’t think we’ll need to do much major structural work. Apart from the living room that is, which I strongly suggest you raise to a normal height.”

At this, Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “That living room!” she agreed. “It looks like something from a porn set!”

“I also think we should totally strip out the kitchen and bathroom fittings and start again. And all the furniture is going to have to go, too. Maybe we could donate it to Goodwill or something?”

I wondered if I was perhaps getting too carried away here, talking like she’d already offered me the job, but Elizabeth seemed in total agreement, smiling and nodding at each of my suggestions, like we were both on exactly the same page.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “That furniture is hi-de-ous! The only reason it’s even
there
is because the previous owner was in such a hurry to sell up, and one condition of purchase was that
everything
was sold together …”

As we talked through my plans, I got the sense that perhaps I really had got this job. But still, until Elizabeth actually outright offered it to me, I guessed I was still pitching. And of course, I didn’t know how many other designers might be in the running, too.

I almost felt confident enough to just outright
ask
her whether or not I had the job, there and then, but at that moment she said something that caught me completely off guard, pushing the conversation in a whole new direction:

“So, how did Blake enjoy his little trip down memory lane?”

And I couldn’t help it. I felt my face drop, no doubt giving away the fact that things with Blake weren’t exactly going smoothly.

“Oh dear,” Elizabeth said with real concern. “That bad, eh? Let me guess: some people down there just can’t seem to move on.”

“And he’s been acting weird ever since,” I added. “I don’t even know what
happened
, Elizabeth,
and he won’t tell me. He just won’t open up. And the thing is, I don’t even care what he did. I keep trying to tell him that, but he just won’t listen.”

At this Elizabeth sighed, removing her elegant wire-frame glasses to rub the bridge of her nose.

“So how much
do
you know?” she said gently, folding her hands in front of her on her desk. “How much has he actually told you?”

“Practically nothing,” I replied, exasperated once more with how in-the-dark Blake had kept me about all this business from his past. “All I know is that there was some kind of ‘accident’ and it was somehow Blake’s fault. But that’s it. That’s all I’ve been able to gather …”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said, nodding to herself. “Well for a start, you need to understand that that’s what people
wanted
to think: that the accident was Blake’s fault. But it wasn’t, not at all.

“You see, Blake and Brett were the best of friends. Had been ever since the first day of Dalton. The were inseparable. Sure, they were different in many ways, too, but they just had a kind of special connection. And come the summer, there was no way that Brett was going to spend ten whole weeks without Blake. So, every year, Blake accompanied Brett to Southhampton and stayed in the Carters’ summerhouse, where they got up to all the usual kinds of stuff naughty kids get up to. But nothing serious, of course …”

She caught my eye for a moment, a flash of sadness in her face, as if the events of that summer came tumbling back on her again, all at once.

“But then, one year, when they about were sixteen, Brett changed. He’d started to get in with a bad crowd, and he was drinking. I mean
really drinking
. Not just the occasional party, some teenage fun experimentation. This was waking up and downing a sixth of bourbon kind of drinking. And I don’t know all the details, but I think there were drugs involved too …”

She balled her fists in frustration, looking like she wanted to slam them down on the elegant wood of her desk. But instead she took a deep breath, calmed herself, then continued.

“For the first time that summer, I saw arguments between them. I think Blake was trying to get Brett some help, but he just wouldn’t listen. And of course, the way it always goes with boys and cars, there was a crash one night. Brett wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. He died instantly.”

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with hurt and sadness.

“
Brett
was driving, Jessica. That was proved at the inquest. But nobody in the village wanted to believe it. And to this day most people still won’t. You see, Brett was one of
us
. Brett was the eldest son. The heir to the Carter fortune. A God-damn prince of the Hamptons. And nobody could quite believe he was gone. So of course, it was easy to blame Blake, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks who should never have been there in the first place. The one who, in their minds, must have led Brett down that dark path to his destruction …”

“Wait,” I replied, leaning forward in my seat. “What do you mean ‘wrong side of the tracks’?”

And at this, Elizabeth paused for a moment before shaking her head again, a thin sad smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, my dear,” she said softly. “He hasn’t told you
anything,
has he?”

§

“Good afternoon, Miss Clark!” Collins said cheerily when he saw me approach, his face breaking out in a genuine smile. “It’s lovely to see you again. Up to the top floor?”

“Thank you, Collins,” I said, comforted by his presence as I stepped into the elevator, my nerves barely at bay.

I gave myself a glance in the polished chrome. I was dressed so differently to the
last
time I’d ridden this elevator. After the meeting with Elizabeth, I’d dashed home, changing out of the clothes I was wearing: the outfit I’d put on in what seemed like a different lifetime to seduce Josh. I’d been wearing those same clothes
all night
at the hospital, and every glance in a mirror had reminded me how much I’d screwed up.

There’d been no time to change before meeting Elizabeth, but before meeting Blake, I needed a fresh start. A clean slate.

So that afternoon, after a long shower, I’d found myself standing before the clothing rail that stood in for a closet in my tiny apartment, wondering who I even
was
anymore.

Who was the girl who owned this dowdy pencil skirt, this flowery vintage dress, and these tight leather pants? Was this really the same person?

And choosing the right outfit to confront Blake in suddenly felt very important.

After what seemed like forever, I’d finally made my decision: a Marni dress in bold black, cream and pink. Fallon had helped me choose it, but the design was so totally me. It was elegant without being stuffy. And furthermore, it had received compliments from Blake in the past.

Just then, the elevator pinged and the doors swished open. I took a deep breath then strode out into the lobby, tracked by the envious green gaze of the girl in the painting as I made my way towards the heavy mahogany door to his apartment.

I only needed to knock once before it opened, almost as if he’d been waiting right there for me. And as usual, when I saw him standing there, dressed in a casual white shirt and his favorite old Levis I felt my heart flash with a whirlwind of emotions: desire, regret, sadness, lust, and ... yes,
love
, all wrapped up into one.

I didn’t even need to tell him why I’d come, my presence on his doorstep seemed to tell him everything he needed to know.

He nodded, slowly and sadly, then stepped aside to let me pass.

I made my way through to the living room, this room I’d spent
so
much time planning and designing. I knew every square inch of it off by heart, but standing here now I felt like an imposter.

I took a seat gingerly on the sofa and Blake came to join me, the small distance between us feeling, at that very moment, like a whole ocean.

There was no point in delaying this any longer, I realized. I should just come right out and say it.

“I’ve been to see Elizabeth,” I began. “She told me what happened with Brett. She told me everything, Blake. I know it wasn’t your fault. Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t believe you?”

And as I spoke, Blake’s features flickered between sadness and relief.

“It’s much more complicated than that, Jessica,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I had to bury all that down inside myself for
so
long, just to survive. So you see, I’d made a pact with myself
never
to talk about it again. It was just so painful. It still is. And besides …”