Exposed by Fate (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Eliza watched Oliver hang up the phone, already knowing he was about to cancel. It startled her just how devastated she was by the prospect, when just fifteen minutes ago she thought he’d blown her off. She wanted to spend every minute with him that she could. Part of her had even been excited by his decree of
look but don’t touch.
That silly, hopeful part of her that wouldn’t seem to die even wondered if he just liked
being
with her. Even without the sex. Apparently she wouldn’t get the chance to find out.

“Rain check?” She almost winced at the desperate note in her voice.

Eyes closed, he dropped his head forward. The picture of male regret. As always, though, Oliver did it with a special flair. He took a step into her personal space and looked over her face like he wanted to catalogue every detail. She swore he even groaned when his attention snagged on her mouth. “I’m sorry, bunny. It’s really important or I wouldn’t leave. You know that, right?” Appearing fascinated, he traced her collarbone with his fingers. When he spoke again, he sounded as if he were talking to himself. “I’m under some pressure with a project. I can’t put this off.”

“I understand.” Curiosity got the best of her. She needed to know what managed to rattle Oliver from the casual, unconcerned air he reserved for business. “What’s the project?”

Oliver slid the pen behind his ear. “I set up a scholarship in my mother’s name. I’ve been looking through applicants for weeks. Students who were accepted to certain schools, but lacked the funds to pay tuition.” He looked down at the address where he’d jotted down the name of a…cab company? “This girl, Frankie—she’s a cab driver—just jumped out at me, her essay…she sounded like someone my mother would have liked. She even grew up in Middle Village, just like her. But all my calls go to voicemail. I don’t get it.”

Eliza swore she could feel her heart sinking toward her knees with the weight of feeling expanding in her chest. “I didn’t know you’d done that. It’s amazing. Y-you have to go.”

He glanced toward the door, then jerked back in her direction. “Would you…come with me?”

The hopefulness in voice pierced the air. Pierced
her
. “Yes. Of course.”

“Thank you, Jesus.” Once again, he took her hand and strode toward the revolving doors. They stepped out into the warm, spring air and stopped at the curb. Oliver put out his hand, signaling a yellow taxi to pull over and pick them up. “Is it ironic that we’re taking a cab to a cab company’s headquarters?”

“Ironic would be if we couldn’t get a ride back.”

Oliver laughed as she passed him and ducked into the cab. They rode in silence for a while toward the West Side. She sensed Oliver was pulling his thoughts together. Since he hadn’t brought Frankie’s application with him, he had to pull it up on his phone’s email, refreshing his memory on details that might be important during what would apparently be an ambush meeting.

He held her hand the entire way there, resting in between them on the vinyl seat. She didn’t know if he was aware of it, or if the absent brushing of his thumb over her knuckles was an attempt to scramble her brain. But she liked it. Okay, she loved it. In a way that could prove harmful to her health.

When they were almost there, he stowed his phone in his jacket pocket and stared out the window. “If I don’t deliver on this, no one will be surprised.”

She squeezed his hand. “I would.”

His gaze slammed into hers and held. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

The air in the cab felt thin, hard to inhale. “What about you?” Oliver brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. “When are you meeting with Conrad Sterns?”

“Friday,” she managed. “We’re doing an in-house consultation.”

She swore his grip tightened at the words
in-house
, but his neutral expression made her wonder if she’d imaged it. “What’s your game plan?”

How could he expect her to concentrate when his tongue kept licking out to taste the pulse at her wrist? “Um…concealed luxury. Well-hidden flash. Modern bachelor meets overindulged celebrity.”

Oliver hummed in his throat. “It’s perfect. Can I make a suggestion?” He waited for her nod. “Giant phallic symbols everywhere. He’ll love them, and he won’t know why.”

She laughed breathily. “Are you saying Mr. Sterns is overcompensating for something?”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t be finding out, Eliza.”

Surprised by the intensity ringing in his voice, she drew her hand away. If he traced her sensitive skin with that skilled mouth a second longer while sounding so possessive, she’d combust.

Oliver watched her pull away with, his expression once again unreadable. “I thought of something else ironic.”

“Shoot.”

He turned to look out the window. “I’ve brought along one girl who doesn’t want what I’m offering to help convince another girl with the same problem.”

Eliza stared at Oliver, wondering if he’d started speaking in a different language. Or thought she was someone else.
Doesn’t want what I’m offering
. What did he mean? “I don’t under—”

The cab jolted to a stop. With mechanical movements, Oliver drew a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the cab driver. “Keep the change.”

She had no option but to exit the cab curbside and wait for Oliver to follow. Her earlier question was still flickering in her head, but Oliver’s stiff posture dissuaded her from asking it. He took her hand and led her toward the warehouse. Several men milled outside reading the day’s
New York Post
, probably waiting for their shifts to start. Other men exited looking weary, very likely having driven a cab for twelve straight hours. She and Oliver walked through a set of double-doors and into a massive garage. Yellow cabs were parked in rows extending all the way toward the back. An orange-vested man directed traffic in and out, cabs coming in or leaving. Oliver scanned the huge space for a moment, then tugged her along the perimeter toward the offices visible from the floor. A woman with a clipboard and a headset stood blocking the entrance, but she nodded and stepped aside when Oliver mentioned an Italian-sounding man’s name. It brought them into a hallway with offices on either side, which led them to a cafeteria-style room. Tables and chairs were arranged around the room in no particular pattern, all of them occupied.

Eliza watched as Oliver made eye-contact with a burly, mustached man sitting in a group. He nodded toward a table in the corner where a girl sat alone, eating an apple and reading a book. Even from this distance, Eliza could see it was T.S. Elliot. Definitely Frankie. Eliza tightened her fingers around Oliver’s hand to reassure him as they walked toward the girl. As if she had some kind of sensor, both of her unusally light-colored eyes flashed up to watch them approach, but she didn’t lower the book.

“It would appear you’re in the wrong place, folks,” Frankie said with an accent that made Eliza think of the Mets. Or Marisa Tomei. “You’re a good fifteen blocks from Bergdorf’s.”

“So
this
isn’t going to be easy,” Oliver muttered for Eliza’s ears alone. They stopped at the edge of her table. Still, Frankie didn’t lower the book. It might count the first time in history Eliza witnessed a girl completely ignore Oliver. “Actually, we’re here to see you, Frankie. I’m Oliver Preston from the Adele Preston Scholarship Fund.”

Her mouth paused in the act of chewing the apple. Without missing a beat, she gave the mustached man her middle finger. “Last time I tell you anything, Joe.”

“Hear ’em out, would ya?” The man called back, shifting on his bench. “I’m sick of your scrawny ass sitting around the place, reading books and making us all look bad. Go
do
something.”

Frankie’s cheeks turned red, and she let the book drop to the table. Now that Eliza had a full view of the other girl’s face, she realized how pretty Frankie was underneath the baseball cap and grease-smudged face. After a moment wherein she looked to be deliberating with herself, Frankie crossed her arms. “Looks like I don’t have a choice. Have a seat, if you don’t mind your clothes getting dirty.”

They exchanged a look and sat. “I’m confused, Ms. De Luca,” Oliver started. “Why did you apply for the scholarship if you don’t want it?”

She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and shrugged. “I just wanted to know I could do it.”

Oliver nodded as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. “How do you intend to pay for Columbia Business School without the scholarship? Why turn it down?”

“I’m going to do it on my own.” She picked up her half-eaten apple and tossed it into a brown paper bag. “I don’t need some rich guy telling me I’m
worthy
and handing me a wad of cash. The diploma will only be worth a damn to me if I didn’t take any handouts along the way.”

Eliza wanted to speak up on Oliver’s behalf, but she managed to hold her tongue. For now. But she wouldn’t be able to keep her opinion to herself much longer. Not with Oliver’s optimism starting to visibly wear off. In the face of such antagonism, he was maintaining a patient attitude, and she suddenly wanted to crawl into his lap and bury her face in his neck.

“It
would
be worth a damn. The money wouldn’t put in the hard work.
You
would.” He leaned forward when a group of drivers edged past the table. ”There’s nothing wrong with getting help, either. Grants and loans. That’s how a lot of people get through school.”

Frankie raised a dark eyebrow. “Not you, though, right? I’m sure you’re not paying off any loans to Fordham, Mr. Preston. Bet your parents took care of that.”

Instead of bristling at the scorn she directed at him, Oliver tilted his head. “How did you know where I went to college?”

She traced a pattern on the table. “I did my homework, too.”

At some point, maybe even now, this girl had wanted the money. Eliza could feel it. Furthermore, you didn’t do research into the grant manager’s past unless you were serious. Oliver appeared to have drawn the same conclusion. “Look, the grant is yours. I’m keeping it that way for another week, then I’m looking for another applicant. You’d be passing up a great opportunity if you don’t take it.”

Obviously having decided a more abrupt route would get her attention, he stood and Eliza followed suit. Frankie seemed a little dumbfounded that the ball had been put back in her court and that she hadn’t managed to fluster Oliver with her attitude. “I won’t call,” she said. “I don’t want some rich woman’s money. If she was alive, she wouldn’t look twice at me.” She laid her palms flat on the table, but Eliza could see a slight tremor move through them. “What makes you think she’d want me to have it?”

It was the hint of vulnerability in her voice that brought the picture into focus. For all her brashness and prickly personality, this girl didn’t feel deserving of the money. She looked mortified at having revealed such a weakness. Oliver opened his mouth, probably intending to reassure her, but closed it just as quickly.
Out of my depth
, his eyes seemed to communicate.

Eliza felt a rush of relief at the chance to be useful. Maybe even help. She sat back down at the table across from Frankie. “Mrs. Preston, Oliver’s mother, worked three jobs when she was your age. She wasn’t born into money. She just happened to fall for a man who had some extra cash lying around.” A touch of a reluctant smile. “I never had the chance to meet Mrs. Preston, but I know she raised two children who have all her best qualities. They’re smart and thoughtful. Genuine. They’re my two favorite people in the world.” She could feel Oliver’s gaze boring into her back, but didn’t have the courage to turn around. Didn’t want him to see how completely she meant what she’d said, afraid he’d see more. “I had nothing growing up. We survived on a truck driver’s salary that fluctuated every week. Without help, I never would have gotten through college. Would never have gotten a job I love.” Frankie’s intelligent eyes were weighing everything she said. “If you won’t take Oliver’s word for it, even though you should, take mine. I think if there were one person Mrs. Preston would have wanted to get the scholarship, it would be someone who was worried about disappointing her.” She lowered her voice. “The only person you can disappoint is yourself, Frankie. I’ve only spent a few minutes with you, and I already know you won’t let that happen.”

Chapter Seventeen

When Oliver was twelve years old, he’d won the hundred yard dash at his middle school relay race. He could still remember how he’d felt right before the race, the surging adrenaline, the fear of failure. His parents and sister had been in the stands, three serene faces among the cheering crowd. It’s not that they were any less enthusiastic, they just played their emotions close to the vest. Always had. He’d been like a Monopoly pawn that had accidentally been stored with the chess set. Waiting for the race to start, it had struck him for the first time. How different he was from his overachiever sister, his former working-class mother, his quietly overbearing father. He’d thought,
maybe if I win this race, I’ll be let into the club. They’ll realize I’m one of them, it just took me longer to get here.

Time stretched during the race, feeling interminably long. Like he was running under water. He didn’t see anyone on either side of him, but for all he knew, the race could be over. Reality was so blurry and fast he couldn’t grab onto any semblance of thought. When he crossed the finish line and realized he’d won, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He remembered it so clearly, not knowing whether to raise them over his head or prop them on his hips. When it dawned on him that no one was cheering, he’d turned toward the stands and noticed everyone’s attention was still fixed back towards where the race had started.

One of his opponents had tripped halfway through and gone face-first into the track. Blood streaked down his face and dribbled off his chin. The poor kid had looked miserable, probably mortified at having so many people witness his fall. Parents, coaches, girls. But as Oliver watched, the guy smiled. The other runners had stopped mid-race to help him to his feet and walk with him toward the finish line. Everyone except Oliver because he’d been too far away, frozen to the spot.

Whenever he looked back as an adult, he picked it out as one of the worst moments of his youth. Not because it wasn’t an amazing moment to witness. Five self-centered pre-teens banding together to do the right thing didn’t happen every day. No, it was seeing so much good in front of him and knowing he’d never be able to touch it. He didn’t know how to have those moments. They played out in front of him like a movie, something he could watch but never have a role in.

He felt like that now. Walking away from the table, he’d felt like he won the race. Then he’d looked back at the starting line and realized he’d missed the whole point. Frankie hadn’t needed someone to play hardball with her. She’d needed someone to be
good
to her. He’d set up the program in his mother’s memory to commemorate her spirit. A spirit he didn’t have.

Eliza had it. Watching her so sweetly put into words something he would never be capable of saying had put him back at the finish line of that race. Staring back at what he would never be. For God’s sake, he was trying to convince Eliza to love him? He really must be a special kind of idiot. He’d encountered so many women over the last decade of his life, all of them worthy of love, but him incapable of giving it. Now, he’d met the only girl who made him feel exultant and scared and desperate, all at the same time. And he couldn’t have her. Didn’t deserve her. Hadn’t earned the right to pleasure her. Or have lunch with her. Or marry her.

Oliver felt like he’d had a steel bar driven through his middle. Oh yeah, he’d actually had the notion in the back of his head, but hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it until now. He’d sell his soul to the devil to marry Eliza, but the bastard was already in possession of it.

What was that old saying? If you love something, let it go. Whoever the hell had come up with it must have walked a mile in his shoes at some point. Probably a former recipient of the New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelor title. He’d been deluding himself to think he could have Eliza. What would she get out of the bargain? A guy who wore a tux well. A guy she’d probably wonder about every time they were around other women. Him.
Nothing.
He’d given himself away.

She turned and smiled up at him, her expression guileless and gentle. It disappeared slowly, though, in degrees. It seeped away, the same as his hope, and replaced with concern.
Don’t be concerned, babe. It’s all over now.

Eliza rose and took his arm. “Frankie, please think about what we said. You have Oliver’s number. Call to let him know what you decide.”

He sent the command to his brain to smile and nod at Frankie as they walked away. She really would be perfect for something in his mother’s name. Another person who knew how to feel, to be
good
, even if she kept it hidden. They’d only made it halfway through the break room when a bench squeaked and the younger girl’s voice carried across the space to meet them.

“I’ll take it. I-I want the scholarship, please.”

A cheer went up around the break room. Joe left his table full of men and scooped his niece up into a bear hug. At first, Frankie look startled, but she sent them a thumbs up over her uncle’s shoulder. One by one, cab drivers came over to congratulate her with whopping back slaps that were usually reserved for men much bigger than Frankie. The scene felt intimate, private. Eliza must have felt the same way because she tugged him back down the hallway and onto the main floor.

They snagged a ride just outside the entrance, thanks to the steady stream of cabs leaving the facility. As he slid in beside Eliza and watched her turn to face him expectantly, Oliver realized he had a decision to make. An important one.

He couldn’t have her. Not permanently. As much as the idea of orbiting around her forever without being able to touch her made him want to jump out of the moving taxi, he had to walk away. She’d find someone worthy and—

Fuck fuck fuck
. He couldn’t think about that just yet.

He pressed two fingers to his right eye where a painful throb had started. Did it make him a selfish prick to want her one last time? A night to engrave on his memory? He could unearth it every time the world felt like a shitty place and remember that Eliza was in it. Being with him one last time wouldn’t affect her negatively. She’d expressed to him several times her understanding of how he operated.
Come on, playboy. That’s quite a line, playboy.
No, she’d walk away unscathed, heart intact. The least he could do for her was live up to his end of the bargain. Make sure she never went into a situation without the armor of knowledge. God, if he couldn’t have her, he at least needed her to be safe. With someone else.

Oliver pondered the door handle, wondering if the cab was going fast enough to break any bones.

“Are you all right?” She scooted closer on the seat and took his hand. “It went great in there. You did it. She’s in.”

He pushed her hair away from her face. “That was all you, bunny. You’re incredible.”

“No, that was classic good cop, bad cop. We nailed it.” She ran a finger down the center of his chest and his lungs seized. How could he live with wanting her this bad? “You know, if you ever considered a career in law enforcement, you’d look great in the uniform.”

Her mouth looked so delicious, only a few inches away.
No
. If he kissed her now, they’d be at his apartment within minutes screwing on the first surface he could plant her ass on. Then it would be over. Lessons complete. His body begged for her, while the rest of him screamed:
Put it off. You only get her one more time. Don’t make it a quickie in between meetings.

“Eliza—”

“Hmm?” She popped open the top two buttons of his shirt. Keeping her gaze locked on him, she licked the hollow up his neck, tracing a path up to his ear. “Okay, we’ll ditch the uniform and keep the handcuffs. Sound fair?”

Oliver groaned, feeling so hot he actually pondered fulfilling the urge to drag Eliza onto his lap and sink her down on the erection for which she was responsible. He could throw a handful of bills at the cab driver and tell him to keep driving. The guy probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash. She hadn’t ridden him yet and that suddenly seemed like the crime of the century. Still, his heart won. He couldn’t stand for his time with Eliza to end so soon. He
couldn’t
.

“Stop, babe.”

She went still, her tongue pausing in its exploration of his ear. “O-
kay
.”

The hurt in her voice made him feel sea sick. “I have to get back to the office. There’s a meeting…people are there…”
Nice one, fuckwit.

As if she’d been climbing on an electrified prison fence that had suddenly jolted to life, she all but dove back to her side of the cab. One shaky hand came up to tuck a lock of blond hair behind her ear. She hadn’t bought his excuse. No one would have. “Yeah, me too. M-meeting.”

Christ, he couldn’t let her go without setting their final lesson. As soon as the cab stopped moving, she’d be running toward her building. He’d hurt her feminine pride and she probably couldn’t wait to start avoiding him. Forgetting about him.
Not yet. We’re not done yet.

“
Eliza.
”

Her head whipped around at the dominance in his voice. The sheen of tears in her eyes transformed on the spot into a glazed look, one she got when he spoke to her this way. Dammit, why did she have to be so perfect for him? Following him seamlessly between both sides of his personality without any prompting beforehand, like they’d been doing this their whole lives
. Not fucking fair
.

He took her chin in his hand and held it firm. “Wednesday night at seven. My place. You’ll arrive without a bra or panties on. In
this
dress. I want your hair up so I can see all of you.” Knowing it was a risk, he leaned in and kissed her, a slow brush of lips that exacerbated both of their breathing. “Your final lesson, Eliza. I plan to make sure you graduate with honors.”