Sugarbaby (16 page)

“Well done,” he said.

“She's great. I'm glad Noah wanted to introduce me.”

Simmons headed me off before the questions could come. “Theo's waiting if you'd like to take the car and go shopping.”

I eyed Noah, who was stiffly shaking his head on that phone on the other side of the lawn. “I might be the only female on earth who doesn't enjoy shopping that much.”

Simmons seemed taken aback. “Are there more like you in Texas?”

“Probably. Gee, Simmons, it almost sounds like you have girlfriends who spend their time boosting the economy with their own sprees.”

“I haven't had a girlfriend in . . .” He caught himself, realizing who he was talking to—the temporary titillator. “It's been a long year full of travel.”

Sometimes I forgot Simmons was an actual person, but this proved he had feelings. I wanted to take advantage of that. “Would it be okay if I rode with Noah, wherever he's going? I'd love to catch up with him.”

Simmons thought about it, then nodded. “I'll ask.”

I pressed my advantage. “It looks like his phone call isn't a good one. I thought you said his meeting with his brother went well.”

“It did, and Thomas was going to approach one of their uncles, Silas, this morning. I wonder if that didn't go as successfully as it should have.”

“Damn.” I wished I could help, but what could I do?

Keep him occupied
, I thought. And I wouldn't be doing it for diamonds or pretty dresses or a shopping spree. I wanted to see Noah's dimple again.

He'd clicked off his phone and was staring in front of him, his body tense. As we watched from a near distance, he slowly pieced himself back together, a man of steel once again as he strode over the lawn toward us. Simmons went to meet him halfway, and they spoke in such low tones that all I heard were punctuated words, contained anger.

Even when they were done there was still a black cloud hanging over Noah as he walked toward the mansion, raising his finger to me as he entered. That was his way of telling me that he wanted to say good-bye to his mom.

Simmons went with him, and I spent the time checking my phone. It'd buzzed a couple times with texts, and I returned a message to Carley, telling her New York was wonderful while not mentioning anything about my fake “visit” with my cousin Delroy. I had another text from Evie, who wanted to know how things were going with my so-called gift-giving god. I answered vaguely, thanks to the non-disclosure agreement.

When Noah and Simmons returned, that cloud was still with Noah, looming, and it was as if he was trying to outrun it before it opened up and really let loose.

Then he was standing in front of me, and I offered him a smile. When he smiled back, it seemed as if he was losing his grip and doing everything he could to keep a hold of himself.

I didn't mind that Simmons was standing nearby as I went to Noah, taking his hands and winding my fingers through his, putting us body to body.

“Let's go,” I said.

“Gladly.”

Simmons ended up in Theo's town car while Noah ushered me into his own. I imagined he usually took a limo everywhere, but these days, a town car was lower profile.

The driver raised a shield between her and us, giving us privacy.

Without warning, Noah hauled me over toward him until I was against his side like we had been at his makeshift drive-in movie, and I laid my head on his shoulder.

“Need to get something off your chest?” I asked.

He wound one of my curls around a finger. “It's the same shit. Thomas is on my side, but when he talked to Silas, my uncle balked. He wants to be one-hundred-percent assured that I've secured the support of the majority before he announces his stance, so I'll be calming his nerves today. Dammit, he's always been . . .” He searched for a description.

“Chicken,” I said.

“Exactly. And it means more work for me.” His sigh was ragged. “And I'd entertained hope that this would go smoothly.”

I was nearly giddy that he'd confided in me. Progress! “You've got everything in hand. It might not be going as quickly as you'd like, but you'll get there.”

“Will I?” he asked.

It was as if he was talking about more than business now. Was he thinking of how he wanted all of me, too?

When he slid his hand down my arm, stroking the cashmere, I thought I could be right.

“Thank you for being there today,” he said. “My mom thinks you're quote-unquote, ‘delightful.'”

“That's why you wanted me to visit her, right? To delight her?”

“I was entertaining high hopes about that, too. She's an introverted social butterfly, if such a thing exists. She might not be the life of the party, but she likes the sounds of laughter around her, of people talking and living. It's only gotten more pronounced since Dad died.”

“His accident must've been a shock.”

Noah gripped my arm before his fingers loosened. “My father . . . God, what a waste. He liked his bourbon—he always did—but, dammit, he fully disappeared into that bottle once Harry Diamont started showing his true colors. I told Dad that he needed to stand up to him, but it was as if my brothers and uncles had already broken him apart and he had no will to fight back anymore.” He laughed cuttingly. “Caesar, stabbed in the back by Brutus. Dad never saw it coming, and he tried to dull the slow death with drinking. Still, when he fell down that stairway and broke his neck, I blamed Harry Diamont for it. But most of all, I blame him for what he's done to my mom. She was always . . . sensitive. His betrayal sent her over the edge.”

I risked a glance up at him, and when I saw the pall in his gaze, I rested my hand on his chest, half expecting to feel no heartbeat, just a still sense of loss. But there it was, a soft thud . . . thud, barely there.

He didn't say anything for a bit, and I didn't push it. It wasn't until the city loomed into view, spangling under the afternoon light, that I spoke again.

“Your mom was in Miami with you, wasn't she?”

“In a home I thought she'd like. I wanted to get her out of the city, away from memories of Dad. But she hated it there, so I moved her back to this house. They're good with her, and she loves her friends, even if she doesn't take part in their croquet or card games.”

“She likes watching,” I said. “She likes feeling a part of things, like your life.”

“Thank you for making her feel that way today, Jade.”

He pressed his lips to the top of my head, and I went dizzy. But I had to ask him about the real reason he'd brought me to meet Mom.

“Was I supposed to be your girlfriend today?”

He paused, then held me away from him. It was as if I'd thrown a sucker punch to his gut. “Is that what you think?”

“I'm not sure what to think. You told me before that you've never had time for relationships, but I wondered if you were trying to make your mom happy by showing her that you had one—a fake one. Moms worry about their kids less if the kids have someone in their lives.”

At least, that was how I thought it worked. I hadn't had a mom for most of my years.

Now I could read confusion in Noah. The deep black centers of his eyes had expanded, almost like the same holes were inside of him.

“Jade,” he said, tucking my hair behind my ear, “do you think that all I can manage is a fake relationship?”

“No. I'm just not sure what we do have.”

He framed my face with his hands, his gaze intensifying. “The day you accidentally texted me, I looked up your number. I saw a picture of you, and I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.”

My head, swimming wildly now. My heart, flapping, trying to take off.

“At first,” he said, “my curiosity overwhelmed me and, yes, I needed a distraction, something to lift my spirits. As I told you, I needed some normal, or at least what my idea of it was. And you gave it to me.”

“I thought you needed the peace that the country could give you.”

“Yes, but then I met you, learned about you, fell for you.”

He leaned down, kissing me, and it was like that day in the gym when his entire heart and soul had been in his kiss.

I'm his peace
, I realized. He hadn't been looking for a place to find it—he'd been looking for someone to bring it.

As we held each other, lost in kisses for the rest of the ride, I couldn't stop thinking about what Simmons had told me earlier.

Don't be something you're not
.

Once again, I wished I knew what I was and wasn't so I could follow his advice.

The rest of the day dragged, mostly because I couldn't stop thinking about what was happening with Noah. Would his uncle Silas switch sides soon? Or would everything fall apart like a house of cards?

Even wandering the cobblestoned streets of SoHo and then among the polished displays of Bloomingdale's couldn't divert my focus from Noah. To tell the truth, I couldn't bring myself to spend the money he'd given me, anyway, even if I knew it would please him. Ever since I'd had that thought about being on his payroll, the cash seemed cheap.

All I bought were a few absolutely ridiculous rainbow-haired troll key chains from one of those guys who hung out in Times Square, peddling his wares. One for Noah, one for Simmons, one for me. Maybe the ugly doodads would make us all laugh . . . except for Simmons. If I got a smile there,
I'd
be tickled.

When I got back to the penthouse, I expected Noah to still be out and about on business, but he wasn't. No, he was standing in the dimly lit room by the dusk-hushed window that overlooked Central Park, and the sight of him made my steps slow.

He was wearing black pajama bottoms and nothing more except for a towel draped around his neck; he held onto the ends as he stared at the view, his usually styled hair wet and ruffled. I'd never seen him so . . . I supposed “askew” was a good word.

It was as if he hadn't heard me come in, so I quietly took one of my new key chains out from my purse and put my bag on a table. I eased off my long coat and laid it over a velvet-lined chair.

“Noah?” I asked softly.

He lowered his head, then used one end of the towel to dry his hair as he turned around. It almost seemed as if he wanted to look as if he'd been busy.

“How was your day?” he asked in a voice so monotone that my stomach clenched. I dreaded what might've happened today with his uncle Silas.

“Great,” I said carefully, moving toward a standing light, turning it on so the room would be a little brighter. I lifted up the key chain. “Lucky you—you're now the proud owner of a freakishly hideous troll with spastic hair. I snagged three of them. Simmons is going to love his, I just know it.”

He scanned the room, as if checking to see if I'd brought in any packages with me. “All that time and that's what you bought?”

“It's all I wanted. It's a gift for you, Mr. Man Who Has Everything But a Troll, so accept it graciously. Who knows, though—you might even have one of these hidden somewhere.”

Usually, Noah might've teased me for being reluctant about spending all the money he'd given me, but he didn't do that. Even from here, the shadows in his gaze were ominous.

He lifted his hand as if he wanted me to toss the troll to him, so I did. He caught it easily, inspecting it. “Thank you.”

Still so monotone. “Don't mention it.”

He inspected his new prize. “Simmons is going to contact Dr. Egoyan at NYC Grace, the hospital my mother mentioned. He's going to set you up with an internship.”

The sudden news blew me back a step, and so did the implications of it. I didn't live in New York, so why was Noah trying to relocate me? It was almost as if he wanted me to be around him long term, but that couldn't be true.

He'd relocated his mom, too, taking her to Miami and out of her beloved first group home. Was I wrong in thinking that he was moving us around like chess pieces in his personal life to compensate for not being able to do the same in business? Maybe I was just jumping to conclusions again.

“Let's sit down and talk about this,” I said lightly.

He ignored my request. “Are you still bent on an internship near Aidan Falls instead?”

“That would suit my situation better, but . . . let's talk.”

He walked toward a baroque table and laid down the troll. “I thought you wanted to get out of there, Jadyn.”

My full name. It put me at a distance, put me on even higher alert.

“What's wrong?” I asked. “I can tell there's something going on, and it's not about an internship.”

He was drying his hair again, avoiding my gaze, stubbornly refusing to move off the subject. “The schools you could go to here are top-notch and—”

He stopped, noticing how I was shaking my head. He meant well by going out of his way to arrange an internship for me, but it didn't feel right.

I went to sit on the sofa. I'd need to be sitting down with what I was about to say. “If I didn't know better, I'd venture that you're arranging my life as if I'm your mistress or . . . something. As if you'll need me close to you in New York.”

There.

He went back to the window, where I couldn't see his face.

I went on. “Or are you paying me off with a sweetheart deal so you can wipe your hands of me?”

My pulse was knocking around, running in place, not knowing where to go.

When he didn't answer, my nerves screamed. “Talk to me. Dear Lord, I can't stand how you're leaving me hanging, shutting me out.”

“I don't mean to.”

I could barely hear him. “Would you just turn around? Do me the favor of at least facing me if this is the day you let me go.”

Oh, it'd hurt to say that. I didn't want this to be the end. Now that it was right in front of me, every cell in my body protested, clawing to hold on and leaving marks inside me.

Slowly, Noah turned around, fisting the ends of that towel. He was beautiful in the room's faint illumination, framed by a city gradually falling into night. If I got up from this sofa to take him in my arms, to feel his naked chest against my cheek, would that end this conversation? Would he want me to stay and see if I could be more than just his happiness dispenser?

Or would it be the last time I could embrace him before everything crumbled around us?

“Look at you,” he said, his voice thick, his gaze cloudy. “This is what I do to you. Make you sad.”

“If you'd talk to me I wouldn't be that way. What happened today?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Noah.”

It must've been something in the way I said it, because he wearily leaned back against the window, looking at the ceiling. I had a clear view of that scar on his neck, a network of white, tortured skin. A burn.

Who had burned him in the past besides the usual suspects?

In that flatline voice, he said, “Uncle Silas is still hemming and hawing. I don't know if he's going to come to my side or not because he's afraid of the consequences. He says that Diamont is too powerful now and he'd be sacrificing his position in order to back me. My own uncle.”

His grief echoed through the room, and I hurt for his sake.

“But you've talked to other shareholders on the sly,” I said. “Doesn't that matter to Silas?”

“Fear matters to Silas, and that's unfortunate because I need him more than ever right now, even more than the other shareholders and board members. He can help me get to my other brother and uncle, and
that's
what would put the nail in Diamont's coffin.”

Bitterness traced his words like slow-acting poison, and I found myself leaning away from him. He'd become a black hole of hatred, far worse than what I'd seen in him before.

“Silas is going to come around,” I whispered. “Just keep trying. Keep being patient.”

“You don't know that'll happen. Don't say it if it's just bullshit.”

I flinched. He shut his eyes as if he regretted his comment, as if he despised himself for it.

His words had snapped at me, a clear warning to keep my tongue, but I couldn't help thinking there was something more profound going on here than just a thirst for revenge, and even if I hadn't known Noah more than a week—Lord, only a week—I cared too much about him to get up and leave him in this mood.

I'd gotten sucked in to a guy's life yet again, and I hadn't been able to fight it.

I didn't want to fight it with Noah.

“There's something else bothering you,” I said, the nurturer until the end. “What is it?”

“Maybe you ought to change medical gears and be a psychiatrist. You seem to enjoy tooling around in my head.”

Another ouch. Another remorseful expression from Noah.

“Dammit,” he said, “I told you I don't want to talk about it.”

As he dwelled by himself over on the darker side of the room, all the jigsaw pieces in my head started floating together: Noah, looking at his mom today with that haunted shade in his gaze. Noah telling me early on,
“It's not so crazy, even if most areas of my life are.”

The recklessness, the flare-ups of anger, the erratic sleep habits . . . I thought about Noah showing up at my door in Aidan Falls before dawn to take me on a fishing trip. I thought of how he might have never even come back to the penthouse last night, after his meeting with his brother. And then there was the fact that he didn't touch most of his food, just the brownies I'd brought him that once.

I didn't know a lot about clinical depression, but I thought it could be hereditary. Was I seeing proof of it now? Was he worried that it'd been passed down from his dad and his mom? Did it run in his blood and that's why he constantly needed to find new adventures to keep him feeling lively?

Now everything Simmons had done to encourage me to make Noah happy even made sense.

In the aftermath of Noah's harsh words, he'd been watching me, his head tilted, a yearning in his eyes that he extinguished as soon as he saw me notice it. He trained his gaze over my shoulder, as if he couldn't stand to see me anymore.

“And you wonder why I'm so good at fake relationships,” he said. “It's what I'm best at.”

“Don't say that.” I was repeating what he usually told me, but now it was my turn. “If you'd just open up and let me in, we could—”

“Do what? Work it all out? Make Diamont go away?”

I hadn't been referring to Diamont, but if that's what Noah wanted to think, I'd let him. Yet the longer he fixed his gaze beyond me, the lonelier I felt.

Hadn't I mattered to him at all? Was this what I boiled down to for him—a good-time girl who'd learned too much and needed to be let go?

“Jadyn,” he said, “if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the past always has a way of manifesting itself. Diamont came from my father's past, and now he's out of his hole, striking at Dad's legacy. We all inherit problems, and there's no escaping them. Sometimes we even spend a lifetime making up for what's in the past.”

Was he finally talking about his mom's depression, as well as his father's? Did he just not want to admit there was a connection out loud?

My gaze settled on his scar again, but he pulled away from the window, blocking my view of his wound.

“I was selfish for even wanting to bring you here,” he said.

“I wanted to come with you.” I stood from the sofa. “Noah, you had a setback today. Don't let that get you down.”

His laugh wasn't pleasant.

“Come on,” I said, “let's just get out of here, regroup. Is there anything you want to do while we're in the city? A Broadway show, dinner at your favorite restaurant . . . ?”

“I can arrange either one for you, but not tonight for me, Jadyn.”

With that, he headed for his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

As the city winked at me from outside, I walked to the window, to the table where he'd set down that stupid troll.

I held it to me, wishing Noah had taken my gift with him.

***

Soon, I shut myself behind my own closed door, trying not to let Noah's setback bring me down.

I took out my laptop; I'd brought it with me to do some studying that I hadn't remotely gotten around to, and I sat straight up on my bed, firing up the computer. That's right—I didn't have time for sadness. After a summer of it, I'd decided it was useless. You know what wasn't useless, though?

Research.

I typed in “major depressive disorder” and followed the first link, my emotions already pushed to the bottom of my chest. I was already aware of the basics: depression can be caused by neurotransmitters in the brain, trauma, stressors. Noah definitely had that last qualification down pat, but had his parents' physical makeup contributed to how his body functioned?

The thought made my stomach churn with nerves, and it only got worse when I read about depressive symptoms, many of which matched what I'd already noted in Noah.

But another symptom was hopelessness or self-hatred, and I'd certainly gotten glimpses of both tonight. In fact, hadn't there been flashes of them before, including in the gym when he'd clearly been fighting off a dark mood? Hadn't he said he'd needed the endorphin rush from the exercise?

Exercise was a way of managing depression, and he'd been going at it like he was warding off demons.

I swallowed as I realized that Noah had looked as if he'd just gotten out of the shower today. Could it be he'd been battling another bout of depression in the hotel's gym?

As I read on, I found the most telling symptom of all—the loss of interest or pleasure in activities that a person usually found to be enjoyable.

I lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, more of the puzzle locking into a bigger picture.

As you might know
, Simmons had told me,
Noah's been in need of some fresh air . . . so getting him some seemed like just the thing
.

He'd come to Aidan Falls to find more than peace; he needed something—anything—to make him believe he could experience joy again. Good Lord, all this trouble with Diamont might have only been a trigger for depression.
Had
it always been inside him, lurking, waiting to come out?

Something else Simmons had said punctuated everything.

“It's more than just a few bad moods, Jadyn.”