Last Heartbreak Read online

  I moan.

  "That never gets old," Graham says, flashing that easy smile of his. "I feel like I should be paying you for this, not the other way around. You sound like porn when you drink your coffee."

  "Nah, if it were porn I'd sound more like oooh. Oh. Mmmh. There. Yes! Right there. Don't stop. Please. More. Yes. YES! Harder. Ohhhh!" I do my best sex voice, running my free hand through my hair before sliding it down the length of my body. Once my little fake orgasm is over, I wrap both hands around my mug and take another sip of my coffee. Damn, they make one helluva good flat white here.

  Graham is unusually quiet, so I look up from over my steaming cup. His mouth is hanging open. He manages to blink a couple of times and swallows loudly. "Uh. You can't do that anymore. Okay?"

  I laugh. "Why? Does that fall in the weirdness zone along with all the naughty things I've done with Mr. Sin? He sends his regards, by the way. He's such an animal." I run a finger in the thick, milky froth and bring it to my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, licking off the foam, and giving my finger a final suck. I moan again.

  Graham bends down behind the food cart and lifts up the tablecloth that hangs over the trays underneath. "I don't need to know what your sex sounds are like, and, please, tell me that plastic dude is still a virgin."

  "He is. Poor Mr. Sin. He needs a purse dog to keep him company." Graham and I have been accessorizing Mr. Sin. He's now wearing a lab coat, glasses, latex gloves on his hands, a Fendi handbag hanging from his shoulder, my six-inch Louboutins on his feet. He's a cross-dressing, fashionista, virgin in desperate need of Viagra.

  "On a different note, stay right there. I have a surprise for you. Well, it's mostly for Lori, but, still, wait here." I run to my room and retrieve the envelope that arrived yesterday. I hand it to him, watching his reaction.

  "What's this?" Graham turns the envelope over in his hands.

  "You and Lori mean so much to me, I wanted to give you something special. Please don't be angry."

  He opens the envelope and pulls out six concert tickets.

  "Backstage passes? Are these backstage passes to see Trystan Scott in concert? Tomorrow?"

  "I know it seems expensive, but it's nothing really. I know a lot of people, and when Lori professed her undying love for him, I had to arrange a way for her to meet him. Please don't say no. This concert could be a fantastic dream come true for her." I'm babbling words out, hoping to squelch any of his arguments against accepting the tickets.

  "This is... Wow. You did this for Lori? I—" He clasps a hand over his mouth and shakes his head from side to side.

  "So, it's okay?" I venture.

  He nods, and removes his hand from his mouth. "You are a fantastic woman, Kia. Thank you. No one has ever done anything like this for her." He tucks the tickets back into the envelope and slides it into his jacket pocket. "I'll set up breakfast while you finish getting dressed."

  I head to my room feeling giddy. I dress quickly, but when I return there are multiple voices in the dining area.

  "... two additional orders of whatever she's having. I'll have a double espresso, and Mr. Dougherty will have?"

  My father's deep, commanding voice booms out, followed by Stephen's self-important, bored tone. "Same."

  I make my way toward them, hands clammy and shaking. Graham stands tall and straight, taking notes on a small pad of paper. "Anything else, Mister Delacroix?"

  "Yes. While you call down to place the order, inform your superior you'll be needed here for the remainder of the morning as our personal waiter. They can reassign your other duties to someone else."

  "Yes, sir. I'll place the call now, sir." He's all politeness and professionalism as he heads to the black antique landline phone in the foyer.

  I may be sick. Seeing my father always makes me feel three inches tall. Spending any prolonged length of time with him is unbearable and, with Stephen here, it will be ten times worse. And they want Graham here the entire time? Oh, God! I place a hand on my churning stomach and inhale sharply.

  My father and Stephen turn in unison toward me. Stephen smiles, my father scowls. My demure smile is in place, my back is straight, my shoulders are out, my chin is up. I don't know how I'm supposed to pull this off without cracking under pressure, but the sooner we can get this over with, the better. I want to get back to my real life. Unless the past month with Graham has just been a break from my real life and now the vacation is over. My smile falters. I can feel it slipping, my gaze dropping to the ground. My heart feels heavy at the thought, and I feel it instantly pulling me down. My father clears his throat, snapping me back to the task at hand.

  "Kienna. Dining room. Now." He barks out the order coldly. No greeting, no asking. "Stephen, please, after you, son." He extends a hand, showing Stephen the way to the dining room. The change in Father's demeanor while talking to Stephen is striking—like Stephen deserves respect and affection.

  I glance toward the foyer, to where Graham is placing the call to the kitchen. His eyes flick to mine so quickly I almost miss it. He shakes his head discreetly.

  "Kienna. Now." I flinch and make my way toward the dining room. I have to put Graham first. If I step out of line and reveal our friendship, he could lose his job. For him, I'll be what they want me to be, for now.

  CHAPTER 20

  Graham makes his way around the table, placing coffee cups in front of us and filling our plates with food. It kills me to have him serve me like this. He's not my servant. He's my friend. My fingers grip my napkin tightly on my lap. I hate everything about this situation.

  "Preserves for your scone, Miss Delacroix?" My heart sinks lower even as my smile widens. I nod, and Graham deposits a small spoonful of the jam on my plate. A soft, feather-like touch brushes up against my arm as he pulls away. I try not to look at him, but it's impossible. He's standing behind my father. He winks at me once and goes back to stand in the far corner of the room, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for a sign that we need him. I want to scream. I need him right next to me, holding my hand. I want him to sit with us instead of standing aside as our servant.

  My father clears his throat. "Kienna, sufficient time has passed. I'm willing to disregard your embarrassing and disrespectful behavior from last month. Your mother reminded me women often have uncontrollable hormonal spells, but I want you to understand I will not tolerate this type of behavior in the future."

  I rip my scone apart, maybe a bit too forcefully. Little currents fly through the air and fall to the ground. Graham is quick to pick up the mess, crouching down at my feet. His fingers discreetly caress the inner side of my ankle. I don't react, but the small gesture lets me know he's there for me. Either that, or he's telling me to take a chill pill.

  As Graham returns to attention against the wall, Stephen catches my eye. He waits until he has my full attention, then slides a hand across my thigh and up my skirt, an unspoken challenge on his face.

  My fork catapults into the air and smacks the wall. Stephen’s hand pops immediately back to his own lap and all eyes rest on me—except for Graham's. He's expressionless, save the flexing muscles in his cheeks. My father's eyebrows furrow as he follows my gaze. He waves Graham over to our table.

  "Young man, you are dismissed. My daughter will call when we've finished our meal so that you can come clear this away."

  Graham nods once. "Very good, sir." He turns swiftly on his heel and leaves us. It's like I'm stranded in the middle of the ocean and a shark just ate my life jacket. I sit silently poking at my food. I've lost my appetite. Stephen and Father discuss a few impending lawsuits against my father, Stephen suggesting ideas for how Father's lawyers should handle the cases. I am forgotten, but, unlike Graham, I have not been dismissed.

  Stephen pulls up his sleeve and makes a show of checking out the time on his Rolex. "I have another meeting in less than an hour. Kienna, I’ll see you in the office. Mr. Delacroix—" His voice perks up, and my father's face softens slightly. "As always, it has been a pleas
ure to do business with you."

  Both my father and Stephen stand and make their way to the elevator. I don't show them out. I remain in my chair, letting the anger bubble up within me. The moment the elevator door closes behind them, I grab my plate and throw it at the wall, screaming. I yell out all the ugly words building inside me but left unspoken. Once again, my father rendered me mute.

  CHAPTER 21

  I'm living in blissful denial. For this instant, my life is wonderful. I refuse to think about my father or my fulfilling career working to help an asshat become mayor of New York City.

  The limo pulls up in front of Graham's apartment building. The exterior is red brick with a black iron fire escape ladder zigzagging its way to the top. Shops and restaurants line this stretch of street. Nestled between a small market and a café is the entrance to his building. Next to those, a dry cleaner and small toy store. I wonder what made Graham choose this location—access to close cleaning facilities or toys.

  The limo driver opens the door for Mindy and me, rushing to open the lobby entrance as well. Pedestrians stop to watch our every move—it's not every day they see a limousine in East Harlem.

  When I purchased the tickets for the Trystan Scott concert, I suggested Mindy join our group. Graham wanted to meet my friends, and Mindy is the only person I’m comfortable enough with to invite into my secret life.

  I press the button that matches the number he gave me. A tiny voice crackles through the speaker. "Hello?"

  "Hi, Lori! It's Kia. I'm in the lobby."

  "Hi, Kia! Cracker is still getting ready. He's worse than a girl. Come on up." She puts emphasis on the word still, in her overly dramatic way, as if Graham's been prepping for hours.

  A buzzing noise lets us know that she's unlocked the lobby door. I climb the stairs as fast as I can in my knee-high combat boots and torn skinny jeans. I've dressed for comfort. Mindy takes things slower in six-inch heels and a scandalously short skirt.

  Today is the first time I've ever visited this kind of apartment complex. It's plain but clean, with gray industrial carpeting on the floor and fluorescent lighting overhead. Also, it's so, so small. In the space allotted to an upper-class weekend flat, they managed to fit eight families. How can they live in such tiny spaces?

  When we reach their floor, Lori is waiting in the open door. She jumps into my arms for a huge bear hug and the scent of her fills my head—strawberries and cream. It must be her shampoo. I smile and put her down.

  "Hi, Sweet Cheeks. Where's Graham?"

  She's so cute. She's wearing an I Love Trystan Scott t-shirt she clearly made herself, spelling his name all wrong and adding hearts and stars with glitter paint, and pink leggings that match her sneakers. "He's still in the shower. Wow, Kia! You look beautiful—like a vampire hunter. I hope I'm pretty like you when I'm old."

  I smile at her, stifling a laugh at her comment. She's nine. Of course, mid-twenties would be old to her. I introduce her to Mindy, but she seems less than interested in talking to a kid.

  Lori bounces up and down tugging on my hand. "Hey, Kia! Want me to show you around? I can show you my room."

  "Sure. Mindy, you coming?"

  Mindy turns around and plops down on the couch in front of her. "Nah, that's fine. I already saw the whole place."

  Her bitchy comment pisses me off, and I hope Lori didn't catch on to it. I already regret bringing Mindy, and we only left my place twenty minutes ago.

  Lori pulls me past the main living space, which combines the kitchen, dining, and living rooms. It's super-cute. With an exposed brick wall and polished hardwood floors, it has a warm, welcoming feel to it. There's a brick fireplace, but by the looks of it, it hasn't been used in years. Most of these fireplaces are condemned due to the owners' inability to maintain them safely and purchase the proper insurance. The small kitchen space is clean and modern, with small stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The dining area contains a small round table pushed up against the wall and two accompanying chairs. The living room has one couch, a TV, and some folding chairs hanging from hooks on the wall. The wall decorations are simple—a couple of framed movie posters and some photographs.

  We get to the end of a small hall and enter the door to our left.

  "This is my room." Lori runs in and hops on the bed. She jumps, which makes her curls bounce up and down.

  Graham wasn't lying. Lori is obsessed. Posters take up every inch of wall. Most are of Trystan Scott, but a selection of superheroes are also well represented. On her bedside table, there's a framed picture of a woman holding a newborn baby in her arms. I bend down and study the woman. I don't say anything, but I can feel Lori watching, holding a stuffed animal close to her chest.

  "That's my mother. She's pretty, too, isn't she?"

  Her words sound guarded, and my heart pounds in my chest. I know I'm in forbidden territory, so I choose my words cautiously. "She's beautiful, just like you." Graham has avoided the topic so strongly, talking about it with Lori seems wrong. I quickly change the subject. "You have an awesome room. Did you want to show me anything else?"

  "Yeah! Come on!" She hops off the bed, tosses the stuffed unicorn on the mattress and pulls on my arm. She opens the door to the room across the hall from hers and pulls me into it.

  "This is Cracker's room."

  "Hello? Where's my main squeeze?" A male voice echoes down the hall and Lori squeals.

  "Stark!" She runs out of the room, leaving me stranded in Graham's bedroom.

  Oh, snap! I’m in his bedroom.

  I really shouldn't be here. I know it's a total invasion of privacy, but now that I'm in the man cave, I don't want to leave. My feet stick to the ground, not daring to move while my eyes wander freely. His room is simple and comfy, just like Graham. There's nothing pretentious about it. His bed is a double with only two pillows instead of the mountains of plush decorative pillows I use.

  On the dresser, a single bottle catches my attention. The elusive cologne, the scent that I've been struggling to figure out: Graham's scent. I walk to the dresser and analyze the bottle. It's not one I'm familiar with, so I read the description. Upon closer investigation, I realize the bottle has a superhero insignia on it. His geekdom has reached new heights. He wears Eau-de-Nerd.

  I put the bottle down. Now that I've officially snooped, I might as well keep going. Like Lori, he also has a framed picture on his bedside table, and I gravitate toward it. It's a photo of Graham, a woman, and a baby. I recognize the woman as Lori's mother, photographed on the same day as the image in Lori's room. Graham is much younger in this picture, late teens, perhaps sixteen, maybe eighteen at the most. They look happy.

  A hand reaches out from behind, startling me. Graham wraps his bare arms around me to retrieve the picture. He doesn't say anything. The atmosphere thickens with unspoken words and unanswered questions. I know I should shut up, but the words come out. "Is this Lori's mother?"

  His fingers trail down the glass-covered picture. "Yes. We took that photo when Lori was only a couple days old." He places the frame back on the nightstand as gently as if the frame were bone china. He was so young when he became a father, and this woman could be twice his age. Maybe it was a forbidden secret love affair between a married woman and her teenage lover?

  I feel terrible for snooping. I start to apologize as I turn to face him. "I'm sorry, Graham. I didn't mean to intrude. Lori was giving me a tour and then—" My jaw disjoints.

  Oh. My. God!

  "And then?" Graham rubs his damp hair with a towel.

  "A-A-And you need to get dressed!" I turn quickly to block the vision from my mind. I need to think about boring stuff like press conferences, and polls, and my mother’s next pedicure.

  I knew he was toned, and I've sneaked a drunken peek at his abs. I knew he was good looking, but the sight of him right now is simply... Wow! Everyday Graham is hot in a teddy bear way. This half-naked man standing behind me wearing only men's tighty-whities is underwear model hot. I would k
now. I've dated some.

  He's all muscle. Not bulky, but lean and cut. Oh, and those legs! There's nothing like sinking your teeth into a pair of muscular man calves. I bite into my lip at the thought.

  "Kia? What were you saying about Lori giving you a tour?" I hear shuffling behind me, and hope he's getting dressed.

  "Uh, yeah. She was showing me around, but ditched me here when Stark arrived. Then you pranced in wearing those Grahamy Panties of yours and—"

  "Grahamy Panties? You make it sound gross. Wait. Is it gross? Are you more of a boxers kind of chick?"

  "NO! I mean." I shut my mouth and try to regain my composure, but who are we kidding. I'm talking to a wall while a future male model is dressing behind me. "I've seen your almost-naked body. I saw the shape of your package, Graham. How is this not going to be weird?"

  "You could take off your clothes, and we could make it even." He grabs my shoulders to turn me around. I shut my eyes closed tightly. "Kia, I'm dressed. It's safe." I open one eye just a sliver. Graham is fully dressed, glasses back on and wearing a t-shirt. This one has the periodic table of elements, but I'm pretty sure it's a joke because one square reads, "Ba: Bacon." He searches my eyes to make sure I'm okay. "See? No weirdness. It's just you and me. Are we good? Because if it's still weird, you should take your clothes off—for the sake of our friendship, of course."

  I slap his chest and leave my hand there. "Don't be an ass."

  He covers my hand with his. "So, now you know where I live. It isn't very impressive. It's nowhere near as big as your penthouse, but it's mine, and it's home." I hate that he feels he has to justify the size of his home to me.

  "Graham, please don't."

  He looks down at my hand, then into my eyes. "Don't what?"

  "Don't make excuses. I don't want this to be an issue between us. The money thing, I mean. I was born into my life, just as you were born into yours. I never asked for any of it. I worked for none of it. You, on the other hand, have every reason to be proud of everything you own because you worked hard for it. I kind of admire you for that."