The Other Side of Greed by Lily Zante

Chapter Forty-Three

KYRA

Brad drops me back home, and I can’t sleep.

I have a spring in my step. A smile permanently etched on my face. At this rate I’m going to need to staple my lips together to stop myself from grinning like a lovesick teen.

I lie in bed thinking of the helicopter ride and the sights of the city which I will forever see with new eyes because Brad showed it to me in a new light.

He’s leaving Redhill, but I am not as upset as I thought I’d be. Now that we we’re together, I can’t see anything pulling us apart.

Not surprisingly, I wake up late the next day, and then, because I have no idea of what he has planned, I panic. And then I panic some more when I remember that he is taking me back to his place and this could be the night.

I wonder what prompted that. He seems to be making an effort to rectify things. I look forward to having another insight into the enigma that is Brad Hartley.

I’m not prepped. I start to hunt around for my best underwear. I don’t have sexy lace and satin. My undergarments are practical. Decent. Sexy-ish, but not Victoria’s Secret worthy.

Brad taking me on that helicopter ride and then that upscale restaurant makes me stress even more. Do I have time to go shopping? At two o’clock on Sunday?

I do.

But then I also need to wash my hair, shave my legs, and put on a face mask.

Listen to me.

I’m changing who I am based on who I think he is.

I stop.

My ex used to moan that I was too tired to have sex with him. And then he got sick of me always being at the factory, and always being in sneakers and jeans.

I didn’t change for him and maybe that’s why he went and found someone else. I don’t want to think that I lost him because of something as fickle as the clothes I wore.

It’s what’s inside that matters. I am not going to shop for sexy lingerie. Brad knows who I am. He’s with me because of who I am. He likes me for me. Just like I like him for who he is.

BRAD

She opens the door and instantly I catch a whiff of exotic fruits. She’s wearing a different scent. “Ready?”

“Curious.”

My hands slip around her soft, slender frame, and we kiss for a few silent and happy moments.

I don’t dare get too comfortable around her, but I have a treat in store for her. Because she’s usually working on the weekend, I hope this will help her to relax.

“We’re going to be late,” I say, hating to pull myself away. She pulls at her lower lip with her teeth, unsure and hesitant. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

“A little hint?”

“No.”

“Wait and see.”

She giggles as we get into my car. “I feel like a child, excited about a journey. I don’t even care where we go, I just want you to know that I’ve already had a great time.”

Gratitude pours out of her, the way malice seeps out of Jessica. Everything Kyra says is the opposite to my interactions with Jessica.

“I’m hoping you’ll like it.” The ancient baths are a treat. I’ve been a few times, when I’ve had hard-hitting negotiations to take care of, and though pampering isn’t my style, I was persuaded by Emma to try them. She’s seen me at my most stressed and difficult and she booked me a session. I loved it so much, I bought the company.

Emma.

Each time I think of her, I feel bad. She’s back home now, and I still have her on full pay for as long as she needs. She can take a year if she needs it. She might be determined not to come back, but I’ll create a role for her, even if it is so that she can keep an eye on that new PA.

I need Emma around somewhere. She’s too good to let go of, and the guilt consumes me because I’m the reason she’s injured.

“Hey.” Kyra’s hand settles on my thigh, a warm and gentle pull back to the present. “Where did you go?”

“Work stuff. Nothing important.”

“You’re thinking about work when we’re on a date?”

“I was thinking about Emma.” It slips out before I think.

“Emma? How is she related to your work?”

My jaw tenses.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she says quickly. “If you don’t want to. Not yet.”

She always gives me an out. Always lets me get away with it.

“What’s this?” Kyra glances out of the car window as we pull up in front of a building. It’s a restored factory and has been converted into an exclusive spa treatment place which offers out-of-this-world multi-sensory bath experiences as well as a whole range of special and exotic treatments, massages and therapies.

A woman’s paradise. I hope that Kyra, who probably would never come to something like this, will appreciate it. At least I hope she does.

“This is Fortuna Baths,” I tell her. “You must have heard of it?”

“I have.” We get out of the car. “Is this where we’re going?” she asks, slowly.

“Unless you have something better to do on a Sunday afternoon?”

Because I now own this place, I’ve instructed that it be closed to the public today, and that only the best staff are here. I’ve also instructed them to treat me like a guest and not be too familiar.

As soon as we walk inside, I see Kyra’s excitement rocket. Her jaw hangs open, then inches open slightly more as she admires the interior. An aura of tranquil calm abounds. The space is scented, the light bright in the lobby, but dim in the individual rooms and spaces which have hot baths, and ice-cold plunges. There are warm pools, jet pools and a saltwater flotarium.

“Wow.” The word escapes Kyra’s mouth, and her eyes widen with delight. “I don’t know what to say.” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me.

“Don’t say anything,” I tell her. “Just enjoy it.”

KYRA

Fortuna Baths is the sort of place only a select few visit. I don’t know anyone who’s been here, but these places aren’t on my radar.

I’m surprised to see that it is empty, but then again, I could be wrong. The place is like a huge cave, with different rooms coming off the hallways.

Within minutes, a stunning modelesque looking woman greets us and tells us that she and her team will take good care of us. She ushers us into a changing room that looks so opulent and plush that I could happily just sit here all day and read a book. Then she tells us to get changed.

“Into what?” I look at Brad because I am completely unprepared for this.

“Relax,” he says, taking my hand.

“We have bikinis and swimsuits.” She opens the door to a closet, and what look like new items of clothing, hang inside covered with shiny wrap.

“Knock on the door when you’re ready,” she says, and discreetly leaves. I gape around the room, content just to stay in here.

“How about this?” says Brad, pulling out a bikini.

My face flushes. I should have prepped. “And what about you?”

“I’m going to put on a fluffy white robe.” He winks at me, then hooks a thumb over his shoulder at a door. “I’m next door. Get changed. I’ll see you in five.” He disappears through the adjoining door, leaving me staring at the clothes rack.

I get changed into the bikini he picked. It happens to be one I like. We both knock on the adjoining door at the same time, both wearing a fluffy white robe.

“Come on,” he takes my hand.”

“You’ve been here before.”

“A couple of times.”

We’re in a dimly lit room, inside which is a hot tub, only, it’s taller than a normal hot tub. The therapist tells us about the treatment which involves sinking into a tub filled with antioxidant, rich red grapes.

I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

“Trust me,” says Brad, slipping off his robe, to reveal swim shorts. The sight of those finely chiseled abs and that body with its perfectly defined ridges makes my heartbeat soar. Down to his swim shorts, Brad’s body is a vision straight out of a Calvin Klein ad.

Hot damn.

My skin prickles. He climbs in and watches me. I take off my robe, and feel suddenly self-conscious, even though he has seen me almost naked before. I rush to get into the tub. I’m slightly wary and dip into it slowly. It’s like sinking into a vat of warm honey in a hot tub except that we can’t see into it because the liquid is dark, but velvety and comforting.

Brad watches me the entire time.

The therapist places a small metal object on the aquamarine mosaic tiles. “I’ll leave this buzzer here. Press it if you need anything.”

“You orchestrated all of this just to get me into a bikini?” I ask him when she leaves.

He tilts his head, wearing a sexy grin. “It worked.”

It’s just as well we were submerged up to our necks in grape juice. I sit back, fighting the urge to step towards him because that would just end up with me kissing him again, and feeling as loose and as relaxed as I am now, I would have no qualms about things turning red hot in here.

“Feels good?” he asks, his dreamy voice making my eyelids fly open.

“You have no idea.” I lower my head. “You’ve given me two perfect days. Such glorious days, I’ll never forget them.”

“I wanted you to slow down and have a good time.”

“I had a good time from the moment you turned up at my door.” He steps towards me. One stride is all it takes, before he pulls me up to standing, our bodies warm and wet as our hands tangle around one another, and our mouths sink together.

I feel his boner before his tongue welcomes mine. In the warm, dimly lit room, with our guards down, our bodies relaxed, I press against him, my hands reaching over his shorts, then inside. He’s so hard, I have the urge to want him now. He moans against me each time I stroke him, his member engorging in my fingers. Each time I stroke his silky tip, he shudders. The excitement is off-the-chart crazy; a reminder of our storeroom days.

“We could be caught,” he husks, his breath catching the harder I stroke him. He thumbs my nipple through the flimsy bikini top fabric. Heat pools between my legs. This feels dirty, and sticky, and forbidden, standing in a tub full of grape juice, doing this.

“I don’t care,” I moan in between our kisses.

“You don’t?” he asks, lifting his head. His hot breath tickles my face. The grape juice seems to have seeped through my skin, intoxicating me.

“You could do anything to me now, Brad, and I wouldn’t care.”

He unties my halter-neck top bikini and pulls it down. My breasts perk up. They’re sticky and wet, like our entire bodies, neck downwards. We’re covered in juice, but Brad lowers his mouth and sucks hungrily at my breasts. An electric charge skitters across my skin, making my back arch as I rake my fingers through his hair. He sucks each breast in turn, greedily, thirstily, as if he has been wanting to do this forever. I could come just from this.

And then I start to worry. Reality and common sense prevails.

“She’s going to come back,” I murmur, lifting my leg and hooking it around his waist. Even as I say the words, my body reacts as if it doesn’t care about the therapist. I mewl, shuddering in ecstasy as his fingers slide into my bikini bottoms, then slide inside me. I rock against him, wanting more than just his fingers.

This is messy and unhygienic. These thoughts crop up in my mind, but Brad’s fingers and tongue soon push those away.

I fall back, panting and sighing as I float down from my high.

He watches me as I try to put myself together.

“Where is she?” I say finally.

He pulls up my bikini top, then turns me around to tie it at the back. His erection pokes in between my butt cheeks and I reach back in order to grasp him, but he moves away.

“We have more treatments to get through yet.” He picks up the buzzer and presses it. A few moments later, the therapist returns and asks us how we are doing.

I’m too ashamed to look her in the eye, but Brad replies and tells her that we’ve been doing just fine.

My mind is frazzled, and my body feels as if it doesn’t belong to me. The scent of orange blossoms permeates through the air. Now, lying on a table on my stomach, I moan in quiet ecstasy as another therapist massages my body from top to bottom.

I’m having an out-of-body experience. It’s as if I’m floating above the table and looking down. Brad is on a table next to me and another therapist works on him. I am not only in post-sex haze, but also soft and relaxed from the bath, and now my senses are further loosened with this massage.

Every knot of tension, every crease of worry, is being slowly and gently ironed out of me. I feel myself become lighter, as if I have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about.

Later, we end up in what’s called a relaxation room, where we loll about on a heated marble stone surface, sipping mint tea.

I feel rejuvenated. Born again. Refreshed and recharged and made new. I catch Brad watching me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He made me come in a tub filled with crushed grapes. That’s something I never thought I’d end up saying, or doing.

I smile at him, because talking seems like too much effort, because my muscles, all of them, my vocal chords, too, are having an afternoon siesta. It’s a miracle that I can sit upright and hold up this glass of mint tea.

“You’re glowing,” he comments, as we sit there wearing fluffy white terrycloth robes.

“I’m floating on another planet.”

The smile he gives me melts my insides like butter. “That’s what I wanted for you. Time to relax.”

“You need it, too.” I lean back against the wall.

“Not as much as you. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you hefting those food boxes and cartons when I first joined.”

The memory makes me chuckle. “I called you because Fredrich had injured himself, and I wanted to test you.”

“Test me?”

“I called you on the spot. Asked you to come and help me. I didn’t tell you what the job entailed.”

At first, he frowns, then realization dawns and his face lightens. “I was ... I was at dinner with a friend.”

“At dinner?” That is funny. “You should have said. I wouldn’t have expected you to come then.”

“I sensed you were testing me. I dropped everything and came.”

We sit in silence. Me revisiting my memories of that day. Him revisiting his. I yawn, suddenly feeling drowsy, even though I have done nothing strenuous. I feel nicely tired and ready for sleep. This has been the most I have ever been pampered, and if I never have another moment of it in my lifetime, this will have been enough.

“Thank you, again, for another awesome day.”

“You’re welcome.”

I yawn again.

“Shall we go?” he asks, as I let out another yawn.

“Yes, we should. How long have we been here?”

“A few hours.”

It’s only when we get changed and step back into the lobby that I find out. It’s late evening.

Late evening.

We have been here for the better part of five hours.

Time slowed, then stopped, then sped up again. Being with Brad is like that. I’ve had more fun and adventure in one weekend than I’ve had in years.

I stop and give him a big, wet, sloppy thank you kiss as we reach his car. He stares into my eyes, and we exchange something, thoughts, feelings. Words aren’t needed.

I kiss him again, bringing back the memories that we had left abandoned in the tub of grape juice. The fibers in my body come alive and he responds with an urgency that is still new and surprising.

Knowing that it is late, and that we have work tomorrow, I’m about to ask him if he wants to drop me off, but he tells me to get in and then starts to drive. He has that same serious expression on his face again. The switch from light to this is so sudden that I can’t help but notice.

He is battling with something, maybe it’s something he wants to tell me, and believing this to be the case, I say nothing, but let him lead.

But as he drives and we leave the part of Chicago I’m familiar with, and we head towards the more upscale part of the city, I try not to look around too much or be too surprised. I feel another surprise is looming. Another shock to my system. Another revelation.

When he parks up outside a tower building, I stare at him. “You live here?” I might not know a lot of the upscale places, but who in this city doesn’t know about The Water Tower Building on Michigan Avenue?

“My dad owns a condo here.”

He’s from a rich family?

My knees are like jelly. My insides slowly sliding out of my stomach. I feel weak. As if this is a surreal dream in a surreal world.

“Your dad?” It’s the first time he’s mentioned his family. He nods.

The dominoes are falling and it’s all starting to make sense. But he is normal, I tell myself as we climb out of his battered old Toyota. Grounded. Normal. A guy who’s fighting his rich family’s legacy.

“I can’t believe you live here,” I whisper as we ascend the shiny black marble elevator. It whooshes up, the sound barely discernible. Everything is plush, and fast, and shiny clean.

“I live here.”

He swipes a key card to open the door, pushes it open, and all I see is a vast room, blacks and teals, and copper and gold. It reeks—positively drips—of luxury. Money. Wealth.

He closes the door, and I try to close my mouth, but it has fallen open and I am having difficulty getting my jaw to shut.