[Beneath 01.0] Beneath This Mask Read online

Page 16


  I straightened my posture, infusing myself with the imperious I own this place quality my mother had always exuded. “Please tell Simon Duchesne that Charlotte is here to see him.” I had no idea why I used my real name. I supposed it fit better with the attitude.

  My authoritative tone had the desired effect. She replied with a meek, “Yes, ma’am,” and picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Duchesne, you have a visitor. She says her name is Charlotte…”

  Pause.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.”

  Tell me what? If he refused to see me, I was going to … I had no idea what I would do. I hadn’t planned for that contingency.

  She hung up the phone and stood. Fuck. Was she going to call security and have me thrown out?

  Instead, she gestured to one of the sofas. “Mr. Duchesne asked if you would wait. He’ll be out directly.”

  I didn’t sit. The nervous energy thrumming through me made it impossible. Rather, I walked toward the sculpture and read the plaque adorning the pedestal. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d never enjoyed modern sculpture.

  “Charlotte.”

  The door must have opened on silent hinges, because when I spun, Simon was standing rigidly in the doorway. My name sounded cold on his lips. His expression was completely closed off.

  “Simon.” I stepped toward him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  A hushed gasp came from the direction of the receptionist. Apparently she’d never heard Simon use that cutting tone either.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “You’ve seen me.”

  Oh fuck, no. He was not going to shut me out. If this was a taste of my own medicine, it was bitter as hell.

  “I’d like a few minutes. In private.”

  He turned and walked through the open doorway to the inner sanctum. I took that as my cue and followed. I didn’t know this Simon. He was cold, withdrawn, and kind of an asshole. I felt the hope I’d been holding on to leech out of me.

  He stood in the doorway of an office and gestured for me to enter. I stepped inside, and he shut the thick wooden door. The windows faced the Mississippi, and I could see cranes loading shipping containers onto barges—like the one we’d picnicked on the night before last. I wanted to go back to Saturday and redo everything so I could avoid this confrontation.

  Simon sprawled in his leather executive chair, but didn’t indicate that I should sit as well. I sat anyway. Given his behavior, I’d be waiting forever for an invitation.

  He didn’t speak. His hazel eyes drilled into me, chipping away my confident front. His lips pressed into a thin, flat line.

  “I’m sorry.” My apology was sincere but didn’t sound remotely humble. I had come here ready to apologize and explain to my Simon, but the man before me wasn’t him.

  He raised an eyebrow sardonically. “For what exactly?”

  My patience ran out. “Are you going to be a dick about this? Because if you are, I’ll just go.” My nails dug into the leather armrests, and I didn’t care if I left marks.

  Simon straightened in his fancy ass chair, no longer looking like an indolent jackass. “That’s your apology?”

  “I had a better one planned, but I didn’t realize you’d turn into an asshole over night.”

  One corner of his mouth tugged upward, but he beat back the beginnings of his smile.

  “I’ve never had someone tell me ‘I’m sorry’ and make it sound like they were also telling me to go fuck myself.”

  This time the corner of my mouth tugged upward, but I resisted the impulse as well. It was a standoff. A game of verbal and emotional chicken. For a beat, I had no idea who would swerve first. Then I decided it should be me.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I did something … kind of stupid. I would have been here sooner, but…” I hesitated, trying to come up with the right words to explain how I’d gone off by myself, gotten drunk, and gotten knifed.

  Before I could continue, his expression morphed into something hard and angry. His next words sucked the air out of my lungs.

  “Did you fuck Con last night? Or this morning? Because if that’s what you’re going to tell me, you should get the hell out of my office.”

  I shot out of my chair, too pissed to wince at the pain. Simon did the same, his chair toppling over from the force. His eyes blazed with accusation.

  “Did you?” he demanded. I had no idea how he knew I’d spent the night at Con’s, but that was beside the point. The reason for Simon’s personality transplant was now clear.

  “It sounds like you don’t need an answer from me. You’ve already decided for yourself exactly what happened.”

  “Goddammit, Charlie. Answer my fucking question.” I almost did tell him to go fuck himself this time, but his voice wavered on the last words, and I studied his posture. His hands were fisted so tightly it looked like his knuckles might pop out of their sockets. He held himself perfectly still, as if expecting to shatter with my answer.

  I raised my chin and met his gaze. “No. But you can go to hell for asking.” I turned and reached for the door handle, intent on pulling it open. Simon’s hand slapped against the wood beside my face. His knuckles were raw and split open, and I wondered what the hell he’d done last night. The thought vanished as his body surrounded me. This seemed to be a recurring position with us.

  I could feel his heart pounding against my back. The heavy thud-thud, thud-thud matched my own. The sound of his harsh breaths echoed in the silence of the room. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

  I memorized the wood grain of the door. “Don’t tell me what to do. It doesn’t work out well for us.”

  He pressed the entire length of his body against me and spoke directly into my ear. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Last night it gutted me. Today, it will break me.”

  My forehead thumped against the door, and I squeezed my eyes shut as tears threatened to spill over. Once again, his honesty leveled me, demolishing my walls. I turned in the circle of his arms—the place I most wanted to be—and stared up at him. His eyes were closed, as if waiting for the executioner to raise his ax and swing the lethal blow. I didn’t know what to say to erase the pain etched on his features. So I went with the simplest truth.

  “It would break me too.”

  Lowering his forehead to mine, his eyes flicked open. This was my Simon. “Jesus, Charlie. You don’t know what you do to me. You could destroy me.” His words trailed off as he cupped the right side of my face and angled his lips to take mine. The kiss was hungry, desperate, and I opened to him as his tongue delved inside. I kissed him back with the same passion, but the entire time, his words echoed in my head. You could destroy me. It was true. I was almost thankful for the knock at the door that forced us apart.

  I stepped out of the safety of Simon’s arms to reach for a tissue out of the box on his desk. Dabbing at my tears, I tried to salvage my makeup. Given the amount of concealer staining the white tissue, I was doing a shit job of it. Simon took several deep breaths before opening the door a crack.

  “Simon, what the hell? Open the damned door. I just got off the phone with Arthur Jackson, and he’s agreed to head up your campaign. He’s pulling the committee documentation together, and this thing will officially be off the ground.” Simon let the door swing wide, and an older, gray-haired version of him stepped into the room, leaning on a cane. He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “You’re going to do me proud, son.”

  “Dad, could we discuss this another time?”

  Simon’s father looked up and then around the room. His posture turned rigid when he saw me. I shifted slightly so my right side dominated his view.

  “Well, now. Aren’t you going to introduce us, Simon? I’m assuming this is the … friend your mother mentioned. The one who couldn’t join us for supper because she had to work at … what was it? A tattoo parlor?” He studied me like I was a circus freak. “What was
your name again?”

  Simon’s features hardened to granite. “This is Charlie, Dad. She’s my girlfriend.” Simon moved to stand next to me. “Charlie, this is my father, Jefferson Duchesne.”

  I held out a hand, and wondered if he’d deign to shake it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  He gripped my hand for a moment before dropping it. “We have important matters to discuss. If you’re finished with your … girlfriend … perhaps we could chat.”

  Simon pulled me against him, and I winced at the twinge in my side. Looking down at me, he stiffened and said absently to his father, “I’m not actually. We can talk tomorrow.”

  Confusion darkened Simon’s expression. Reaching out a hand, he tilted my face toward him so he could see my bruise more clearly. My thought about doing a shitty job salvaging my makeup was confirmed.

  “Simon, this is important,” his father insisted.

  “Dad. Not now.” Simon’s tone was implacable. His father spun, leaving the office in a huff, the door banging shut behind him.

  Simon exploded. “What the fuck happened? Did someone hit you?” His thumb skimmed my cheekbone.

  “I … I made poor choices last night.”

  “What kinds of poor choices?” He started to wrap both arms around me, but stopped when I recoiled. “Seriously, Charlie, what the fuck?”

  I swallowed. “I kind of … got knifed?”

  All of the color drained from Simon’s face, and his eyes flicked over me maniacally. “Where? Jesus Christ! What the hell?” He was roaring now, and I was glad the door was closed.

  “In the Quarter, just off Bourbon. I was drunk and by myself.”

  He looked like he wanted to shake me. He gathered the skirt of my maxi dress and lifted it up.

  “Hey—wait.”

  “Shut up.” I would have taken issue with his words if he hadn’t dropped to his knees in front of me. He shoved the bunched skirt into my hands. “Hold this.” His touch was light as he surveyed the angry red slice.

  “I’m fine.”

  He ignored my words. “Con do this?”

  “Of course not!”

  “No, I mean, did he glue you up?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I was passed out. Don’t remember anything after calling him.” I hastily filled him in on the other hazy details of the night.

  The hurt in his eyes at not being the one I called for help was obvious. “At least you had the sense to call someone.” He pressed a kiss to my stomach beside the wound. “I owe Con then.”

  After a long moment, he stood. I dropped the bunched fabric, once again covering the evidence of my idiocy.

  “You got knifed, but still put on a dress to come apologize.” He sounded a little awed.

  Embarrassment flushing my cheeks, I bit my lip and stared at the ground. “Yeah.”

  He tilted my chin up again and leaned down to kiss me. Just the barest brush of his lips across mine. And then he kissed my bruise.

  When he pulled away, his expression was serious. “For a first fight, that was a doozy.”

  “So we’re good now?” I asked.

  Simon nodded. “We’re good.”

  “I guess getting knifed means no makeup sex?” I asked, trying to interject some humor into the intense moment. But my statement knocked another question loose. “Why did you think I had sex with Con?”

  “Saw your … goodbye on the street this afternoon.” His jaw tightened. “It was … pretty friendly.”

  “That’s because Con is a friend. I’m not going to apologize for my history with him. You just … need to get over it.”

  “Let’s just say I’m still working on it.” Simon threaded his fingers through mine. “How do you feel about dinner?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  “Don’t you need to talk to your dad?”

  “No. Whatever he’s got to say will keep.”

  I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. I was going to let him in. A little. Starting now. “You’re lucky, in the same situation, my dad would’ve gotten very quiet and given you this look that would have shriveled your balls to raisins. And after you’d slunk out of his office, he would’ve smiled like nothing had happened and continued on with the conversation he intended.”

  Simon stilled. “You’ve never talked about your parents before.”

  I kept my eyes trained on the floor, terrified I was giving too much away. “They’re not a part of my life anymore. They’re not … the nicest people. Especially my dad. And my mom … well, she only ever really cared about keeping up appearances. We were never close.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Thank you. For telling me that.”

  I finally met his eyes and shrugged. “I’m trying.”

  “I know. And that matters. A whole hell of a lot.”

  I tugged him toward the door. I needed to change the subject before I was tempted to tell him everything. “Feed me.”

  “Whatever the lady wants.”

  I smiled, but it felt forced. My confession had unsettled me. And what’s more, I couldn’t stop thinking about what his dad had said about Simon’s campaign getting off the ground. How the hell could I stay out of the spotlight and hold on to Simon at the same time? You can’t, the realist in my head whispered. The bitch was undoubtedly right. But I wasn’t giving up yet.

  Thirty-Two

  Charlie

  Simon was holding out on me, and it was starting to piss me off. Correction: I was pissed off.

  No sex.

  For two weeks.

  It wasn’t like he and I were engaging in all out Sexual Olympics before I decided to make poor life choices, but now there was nothing. Simon was adamant about me not doing anything too taxing, which apparently included all forms of sexual activity, until he was satisfied that I was fully recovered. I supposed I should be happy that we were, after our first fight, firmly back in the honeymoon phase. Except honeymoons included sex. Well, honeymoons without knife wounds did.

  Granted, I had much bigger things to worry about, but focusing on the sexual drought I was experiencing was easier. Safer. And if it made me a coward, I could live with that. For now.

  I’d worked tirelessly trying to make progress with the notebook. I’d even considered asking Con for help. But I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but the need for secrecy was crushing. People would kill for the information I had. I was pretty damn certain of that.

  I also considered telling Simon the truth more times than I could count. But just the thought of admitting to all of my lies had bile rising up in my throat and eating away the words like battery acid.

  “If you keep begging, I’m going to make you wait longer.”

  I glared at him. “I’m fine.”

  We were sitting on the couch in his den, watching a movie. A movie. Like high school freshmen on a handholding-only date.

  “You’re pretty hot when you’re pissed.”

  “Then you’re going to think I’m goddamn gorgeous if you won’t fuck me tonight. Why am I the guy in this relationship? Why can’t you be as hard up for it as I am?”

  Simon’s smile turned sinister. “Did you really just call me the girl in this relationship?”

  “Hell yes, I did. You’re giving me a complex.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Charlie, you really are something else.” He reached behind the sofa and produced a large box. “If I were the girl in this relationship, I think you’d be giving this to me and not the other way around.” He set it in my lap.

  “What is that?”

  “A present.”

  “But why?”

  “Just open it, okay?”

  I looked down at the blue box with black lettering. It was from a fabulous boutique specializing in 1950s and rockabilly dresses. Eighteen months ago I could have bought the whole store; now, I could only afford to look.

  As excited as I wanted
to be about what was probably inside the box, I feared we’d end up at another impasse. Or worse, another fight. “Simon—”

  “Just open the damn box, Charlie.”

  I lifted the lid and handed it to him. I parted the tissue paper to reveal a gorgeous red dress and a black and red-feathered mask. I lifted the dress out. It was one I had drooled over in the window—ruched sweetheart neckline, thick straps and a full skirt. It was fabulous.

  My heart sank as I lifted my eyes to Simon’s face. He wasn’t smiling.

  “I’m not giving you an ultimatum. I’m simply extending an invitation. I would love to have you next to me on the Fourth, but if you can’t, I’ll get over it. What I won’t get over is losing you again.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut against the sting of tears. He lifted the box from my lap and folded the dress and put it back inside. Once again the words of confession bubbled up inside of me. But when Simon pulled me close and tucked me against him, the thud of his heartbeat and my desperate need to savor the moment pushed them back down.

  I am a coward. A lying coward who doesn’t deserve him.

  Thirty-Three

  Simon

  I stood on the deck of the Steamboat Orleans and sipped my scotch. Derek stood next to me, leaning against the railing. We hadn’t seen much of each other since his wedding in May. Between his honeymoon and newlywed status, and my chasing after Charlie, we’d lost touch. But he was here tonight because I’d asked him to come. I was still holding out hope that the other person I’d asked to come would show up. Because of the fireworks, the Orleans was staying docked all evening. There would be no excuse of missing the boat. I’m not sure if that made it better or worse.

  “Your dad’s in fine form this evening,” Derek said. He was scanning the crowd for Mandy. She’d gone off to the ladies room to readjust her mask. Apparently, it was ruining her hairstyle.

  I tipped my scotch back, swallowing a healthy swig. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  My father had arranged for Arthur Jackson, his choice for a campaign manager, to attend. They’d cornered me for an interminable fifteen minutes before I could escape to the bar. I was here tonight to support two great causes—and to help gain support for my own. I wasn’t here to talk about campaign tactics or fundraising or any other bullshit that my dad threw at me at every opportunity. It wasn’t even time to officially kick off the campaign, and I was already sick of it all. The urge to tell my father to forget it was strong and growing stronger every day. Local politics was one thing, but the idea of jetting off to D.C. and kissing every ass on Capitol Hill to accomplish anything left a sour taste in my mouth.