Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Five
Hunter
A new approachhasn’t done anything for me. It’s Friday, and I haven’t seen Willow since our date. She’s throwing me off-kilter, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got this.
I know the dating game inside and out. I know what to do and what not to do during the first weeks to seal the deal: dinners at the most expensive restaurants, trips, galas, and shopping sprees. For the past three days, I’ve tried to woo Willow. She’s evaded me for two. The first one because she didn’t have cell service. Once she connected it, she said she’d be busy for the next couple of days. I called Hazel to ask, once again, for advice. She told me to rent a moving truck and get my ass to Queens.
Not the suggestion I expected to hear, but I do as I’m told. Impassively, Fitz joins me.
“Thank you for coming,” I emphasize as we walk to the run-down-three-story building.
“You owe me something,” he insists, walking to the door.
“Do you want me to call a moving company?” Jensen, our beloved personal assistant, asks. He came along because he thinks we’re a couple of useless men.
I shake my head. “This should be easy enough.”
“As you wish, Hunter.” Interpreting his tone, he’s saying something along the lines of, I can’t wait to see how you fuck up this time, Hunter. “I’m just glad you’re expanding your horizons.”
Expanding my horizons, don’t fuck up . . . way to have faith in me, old man.
Jensen’s lack of confidence in what I can accomplish tonight is a challenge I accept.
“I can’t believe you didn’t pack your shit, Willow.” Hazel’s voice comes from the upstairs window. “This is what I was talking about. You sabotage yourself.”
“Are you going to lecture me?”
“Yo, Hazel, we’re here,” Fitz calls out toward the window.
In a matter of seconds, her long curls make an appearance. “Oh good, my minions and Jensen are here.” She waves and smiles. “Hi, Jens! The door is open.”
My eyes open wide as I realize the lock is broken. There’s no alarm system or other security features in the building. Who the fuck runs this place? The floors are dirty, the walls need fresh paint, and the door requires more than the one lock it has.
“Hi, gorgeous.” I walk to Willow, taking her hand and kissing it. She serves me with a sad smile.
“What is it?” I whisper in her ear.
She shakes her head, scratching the back of her head.
“Tell me how to make everything better?” I raise my hand, touching her delicate face. My breath hitches as she runs her lips across my jaw, almost touching my ear.
“I hate change,” Willow murmurs. “For a minute, I want to forget the stress.”
The best way to make her forget is sex, but that’s off the table. At least until we know each other better. How do I connect with her when she ignores me? Choosing to take an alternative route, I slide my hand into her long, dark hair, soft strands running through my fingers. Her green eyes brighten. That beautiful mouth parts slightly as I lean closer. My mouth waters remembering our long, deep kiss and the softness of her tits. Lifting her chin with my index finger, I run a thumb along her delicate skin. It’s so close to her mouth, she shudders.
Leaning my head, I slant my mouth to hers. The coconut scent of her skin reminds me of her beautiful body pressed against mine. The night we shared watching old musicals while talking about her passion for the theater. My tongue caresses hers. It’s slow, deep, and full of promises of what we can be if only she lets me in. The atmosphere around us changes as each molecule in my body vibrates with the energy we create. The fire within her ignites my soul. More, give me more. Give me all.
“Mhm, I hate to interrupt.” Fitz clears his throat. “Now that you’ve said hello to each other, can we start working?”
“Hi, you must be Fitz,” Willow greets him. She looks beautiful as she blushes and bites her lip. Then, I introduce her to Jensen.
It doesn’t take long to pack her things. Jensen offers to drive Willow and Hazel while Fitz and I carry the boxes to the truck. When we finish, we drive back to Manhattan. As we unload her things, I realize she had come to her grandfather’s house the night we met. Grant Beesley is one of our biggest clients. Like Jensen, Grant was one of the few people who helped us after my parents died.
“Coffee, yoga, a bar?” Fitz asks Hazel, who nods mouthing bar, and they disappear without uttering another word.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask Willow, circling back to her comment where she says she wants to forget.
I’m wondering what I could do for her. I don’t want to sound like a cocky bastard, but I’m an Everhart. Besides being a lawyer, I own part of Everhart Industries. The conglomerate my grandfather started, and my father expanded. We have several subdivisions among them, a brokerage firm, investment solutions for mid-size companies, and an advertising company which is one of the largest integrated marketing services. Throughout the years, I’ve met interesting people. I represent celebrities and a few producers. There’s a chance one of them can get me an audition for her. Lending her money to pay her rent is out of the question. So is buying her a house in Brooklyn where I would love to move. I’d do anything to dissipate the sadness in her heart. My brothers, however, would send me to a mental health institution if I bought her a home.
“No. I’m fine,” she says with a straight face. If it weren’t for the twitch in her left eye and how she sets her jaw, I would believe her.
“Fake it until you make it?” I joke.
“I’m fine,” she repeats, ignoring my joke.
The next step would be saying, I know you’re not, sweetheart, and I’m here for you. But dating 101 doesn’t include shoving your foot in your mouth within the first weeks of dating. That’s more along the lines of the six-month mark, when you get an eye glare and the word, idiot. If I could give anyone who wants to go past the third date a piece of advice it’d be to never invalidate the other person’s feelings. Even when they’re lying.
“Do you want to do something?”
“I don’t want you to get involved. My life is chaotic.”
“I noticed. Which is why I propose we go first to Bed . . .” I pause, licking my lips. The flat line painted on her lips is my cue to stop the nonsense. “Bath and Beyond while we decide where we go for our next date.”
“Today isn’t a good day.” She’s set on shutting me down when her phone buzzes. Scanning through it, she sighs.
“Care to explain?”
She scratches the base of her skull, pressing her lips together. I hold my breath, about to give up for good.
“I’d rather not.” She pulls her shoulders back, pushing her chest out. Her somber face hardens even more. “It’s easier for everyone to avoid my mercurial personality.”
“Easier for you or me?”
Her eyes open wide, her nostrils flare. The combination of surprise, anger, and something else seem to grasp her entire body. “It’s not a good day,” she repeats.
“You mentioned some stuff you needed while we were unloading.”
She scratches her skull again. I swear I can hear the roughness of the movement. Am I agitating her so much that she’s losing her shit?
Willow reminds me of a chick I met during camp—a mental health camp for teenagers. It’s a program created to help each individual cope with different traumas or mental illnesses. Viola was her name. She had suicidal tendencies, bipolar disorder, and abused drugs. Is that what’s wrong with Willow? With my own fucked-up mind and hers, can we make this work?
It’s not that I’m heartless, people might see me as a normal, hot lawyer in New York. Those closest to me know that’s only on the outside. My mind is anything but normal. I speak to myself eighty-five percent of the time. It’s not voices in my head, but the coping mechanism I used when the only person I spent my day with was, well, me.
“You mentioned some stuff you needed while we were unloading.”
She studies me. Not a muscle in her moves, and I wish I could be inside her head to decipher her puzzling mind. I’m not the best person to do such a thing. Walking to her, I kiss her cheek.
It’s a lingering kiss.
A goodbye kiss.
A don’t make me go kiss.
It’s a pathetic attempt from my side. An attempt to change her mind.
“Goodbye, Willow.”
Her eyes watch me with sadness. I serve her with a smile and leave.
A couple of hours later,I’m back at the Beesley’s penthouse.
“What’s all this?” Willow looks at my loaded arms.
“Organizers, hangers, mirrors, wall art, wall accents, and a few linens.” I point at the bags, boxes, and lamps the doorman helped me bring upstairs.
One of my biggest issues is the fear of being alone. For all I know, Willow is bad for me. Maybe she’s as addictive as cocaine or meth, but for now, I assume she’s a chocolate chip cookie—my mother’s recipe. I’m dependent on them. I eat at least one a day. My attraction to her is so strong there is no fucking way I would leave her as easily as she assumes.
“I thought—”
“That I’d leave you?” I pull my hand from behind my back, handing her a bouquet of flowers.
Her shaky hand grabs it. Her gorgeous eyes fill with moisture as she presses them gently to herself and sniffs them. “They’re beautiful. How did you accomplish all of this so late?”
I shove my hands inside my pockets, looking at the gray carpet. The long explanation includes help from her sister who told me what she likes. Then calling in a few favors, and convincing the owner of Tyler’s Flowers to create a bouquet with lavender, light tones of blue, and some pinks right away. Here’s another dating tip: always find what makes her heart happy. In her case, it’s flowers. I accomplished all these while talking to my therapist over the phone.
“Why do you feel you have to talk to me right away?” he asked.
“No one has enough experience to give me advice,” I explained.
“I recall telling you to stop living through other’s experiences. Perhaps this is a good place to start.”
“Willow, I, myself, have several quirks. Since we both live in the land of oddities, I propose we give this a chance.”
She blinks a couple of times. “What’s this?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I respond without giving it a thought. “There’s an attraction between us. We connect easily. Why not have fun together?”
She stares at the flowers, then at everything I brought her. “I don’t want your money. All these things make me uncomfortable.”
I pretend to write down her wishes in the air. “Got it, no frivolous presents or flowers.”
Touching the flowers with the tip of her hands, she angles her head, her shy, green eyes poke out from behind her long, dark lashes, and she smiles. “I love the flowers.”
I make a big show by exhaling deeply, taking my phone, and pretending to tap on it. “Let’s get this straight. Expensive presents are a no-go while flowers are a daily must.”
Looking around, I find the pastel mirror vase I bought at West Elm. In a way, I hated to find out so much about Willow through Hazel. Like the fact she loves flowers, pastel colors as much as black, gold, and silver. She’s a romantic underneath the armor. Life wasn’t easy for her. Her parents traveled often. They left her and her sister with strangers for days, weeks, and even months at a time. Am I capable of handling her? It’s easier to find out than to let her go.
“How about you keep all the stuff I brought, and from now on I focus on flowers?”
She shakes her head, frowning as she stares at the bouquet. “Not daily.”
“We have to compromise, gorgeous girl,” I object.
She’s throwing off my game. I won’t let her. There’s no way I’m giving up or letting her walk away without letting me show her I can be an adult and win her heart. Those are my two goals. I want her to give me a chance to show her that I’m ready for this kind of commitment. Not only monogamy but letting myself touch the flame; allowing the flame to consume me to my core.
“This is a bad idea.” She walks away, holding the vase and flowers. I follow behind, focusing on her tiny shorts and the ass they barely cover. My dick gets hard. What happened to slow and behaving like a gentleman? Fuck. The gentleman left the building when I noticed those long, toned legs. “I’m not equipped to deal with heartbreak or feelings.”
It appears no one has faith in me. Add to my list of goals, convince her we won’t have a heartbreaking moment. This has to be like a walk in the park.
“We can’t venture into a relationship only thinking about the ugly consequences.” I use my closing argument voice. “Think positive. I’m fucked up, too,” I swear, touching my temple. “Two wrongs might make a right.”
She laughs. “It’s like someone is sending two blind people to watch the sunset.”
“We’ll feel it, Willow.” I take a few steps toward her, grabbing the flowers and vase, placing them on top of the counter. Taking her hands, I kiss them both. Then I kiss the tip of her nose.
“We are going to make it fun. Coffee, pizza, parties, and long walks to get to know each other.” I kiss her cheek, tracing her jaw with my mouth and pressing my lips to the back of her ear. “Trust me. I’ll never let you down.”
