Rich Little Poor Girl: An Interracial Second Chance Romance Page 6

  She smiled. Big. As if she knew better than him what his compliment meant.

  She kept her eyes on his hand as she playfully handed him back his change, coin by coin, careful not to touch him.

  “My ‘beautiful face’ can save no lives. Trust me, I know,” she mysteriously replied as she shut the cash register with her hip.

  Time had utterly stopped once Cynthia opened her mouth to say a few more words to him than usual. The line was starting to bottleneck.

  “Have a good one, Cynthia,” he said, taking his time to put his change back into his pocket.

  “Don’t make me have to bring you a plate tonight, Ben,” she shouted after him.

  4

  Present Day

  Indigo Properties and Design is located in Tribeca, a modest-looking office space from the outside, but on the inside is modern and oddly homey, yet it makes the most of the buildings industrial features at the same time. Cynthia’s now signature sense of panache is practically everywhere. Splashes of color, unapologetic comforts and sophistication are there to occupy the eye while waiting to see the guru herself.

  Time seems to have suddenly sped up since he scheduled the meeting to finally lay eyes on Cynthia again. That is until he arrives. Now it seems like he’s perpetually been waiting ten minutes.

  The ten minutes drag on until the big doors at the end of the hall open. A pregnant woman emerges, followed by a casually dressed man with a murse and a long knitted beanie. One or both of them he recognizes as celebrities, but he can’t quite place them in their plain clothes. The guru emerges from her office closing the door behind her, to walk them out into the lobby. She pretends not to notice Ben sitting in the waiting area as she passes.

  Shamelessly he watches her walk by in her expensive garb, relatively unrecognizable from the young, casual girl he fell in love with. She is still very beautiful. Ben’s dating pool has stayed frozen in time since the last time he saw her: young, impressionable ingenues in their early 20’s. But Cynthia is Cynthia. Youth is no replacement for Cynthia’s allure, which cannot be manufactured and remains enticing at whatever age she is. She has a honed sophistication that he sometimes sees in professional women who are chronically successful and unmarried. But unlike most of those women, her air is warm, confident, approachable, like the girl he remembered.

  She’s stylish and sharp, wearing an asymmetrical ribbed khaki-colored sweater and matching skirt, intimidatingly high neutral pumps on her feet. Her hair is long, unparted and combed back like a waterfall, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s seeing her natural chestnut hair without any bold color enhancing. Her Caribbean sea colored eyes sparkle like gems and her red lips pop. No ring of any sort on her hands, which causes the tension in his shoulders to unconsciously release. He wrenches his eyes away long enough to catch her receptionist at the front desk, head lowered and hiding a smirk.

  Once her previous clients are gone, there is no more reason to ignore him. She takes a deep breath and makes a casual turn toward the sitting area. She gives him a comforting glance, the reassurance of her undivided attention.

  “Mr. Dvorak,” she can’t help the fondness in her otherwise professional tone.

  “Miss Gordon.”

  “You’re early.”

  “Hardly. It’s been far too long,” he says as he stands and accepts her outstretched hand. She gives it a cute little shake and a smile emerges on her face. His heart flip-flops as they touch each other for the first time in ten years.

  She is just as intimidating as she’s always been to him. If he’s matured at all in the last ten years, her peacock colored eyes have dwarfed it. She has an age to her face only slightly beyond her years. Is he the cause? The notion makes him sick.

  “Follow me. Jeanine, hold all my calls,” Cynthia casually requests over her shoulder.

  “Of course,” Jeanine replies.

  For a moment he thinks perhaps he is in the clear. That things are going to be as they were before any of the awfulness. Then he remembers that he had to buy a property right out from under her just to get this meeting.

  She leads him to an office space at the end of the hall that’s mostly glass and overlooks the grounds in a small courtyard, a green rarity in the city previously part of an alley. Not as flashy as a corner office on the top floor of the Dvorak building, but impressive nonetheless. She closes the door behind them and they are engulfed in uncomfortable silence.

  Finally, they share the same space after a decade. He is every bit as handsome as he was then, she thinks. Time has chiseled his jaw even further. His mother’s Spanish dark eyes soften his sharp cheekbones and thick eyebrows. His face is more weathered than when he was 24, his features gaunt as if he’s gone through something terrible and survived. His scissored gait is nothing more than a conspicuous limp, the usual pendulum sway of his hips only slightly exaggerated. He must’ve had the surgery. The innocence has been completely stripped from his eyes and she finds herself with a need to know his whole story.

  “Okay. You’re here to talk, so… talk,” she says.

  He huffs a little laugh. His inner optimist loses yet another bet, but a warmth fills his stomach. At least she isn’t still smiling a syrupy smile of forgetfulness.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be?” Ben asks with a nod.

  “You clearly wanted it this way, muscling me out like that.”

  “You forced my hand, Cynthia.”

  “And those are your first words to me in ten years?”

  She’s right, of course. The first words after ten years should be… so many other things. Namely, What did my father say to you? How can I fix this?

  “You’re angry with me,” he says.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “It’s business, I get it. The permits were becoming a nightmare anyway. It’s a beautiful house.”

  He means the past, but it seems to not be open for discussion. At least not yet.

  “I’ll need someone to remodel it.”

  “You will.”

  “I trust you know the plans well enough.”

  “I do. And whoever you get to design it has a challenge on their hands.”

  “Cynthia…”

  “You could try just saying what you want, instead of trying to force us to share the same space.”

  Was any of it real? Why else would you be like this? Were you really just using me to get back at the company? What did he tell you? Why’d you take the money? Why would you trust his words over mine? Why? Why? Why? What are you doing later? The rest of your life? Have you found anything that tops what we had?

  “I can’t,” he says instead.

  “Why not?”

  Because there’s ten years of bad information between us, and it seems like you hate me now, even though I don’t hate you at all.

  “I received your check.”

  “I noticed. It was meant for your father.”

  “He didn’t receive it. In fact, he doesn’t receive any correspondence because he has Alzheimer’s.”

  Cynthia does her best to hide her genuine shock. And what Ben could swear is concern.

  “How long?”

  “Not long. Less than a year, but it’s a bit more aggressive than we anticipated.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No one knows. We’re not quite ready to announce it. I’ve been running the business side of things. Val handles the rest.”

  “I see.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your mother. She was a cool lady. You have my condolences.”

  “Thank you,” she says, quickly. Without flinching or emotion.

  It’s no surprise to him that her mother is a carefully guarded topic, now that she’s gone. The two were closer than any mother and daughter he had ever seen.

  “It’s good to see you,” he confesses.

  “Is it?”

  “Of course. My Junior VP raves about how happy his wife is with their remodel.”

  “And I’m s
ure you couldn’t wait to drone on about how I used to pour gravy on your mashed potatoes. And how you banged me once.”

  “Once?” he asks. He eyes her provocatively. Her body responds immediately, reminding her how long it’s been. With anyone, but particularly this one, whose chemistry she’s yet to match. The thought leaves her noticeably witless. She turns to face the window as she walks behind her desk.

  “In your stories, I’m sure it was only once,” she finally replies.

  “I’m surprised we’ve managed to avoid each other as long as we have.”

  “It wasn’t easy, but I was devoted to the task.”

  “Until now?” he questions her.

  She shrugs. “I suppose, but it was a risk I was willing to take. Check had to be written,” she says, drinking the sight of him in a bit more. “Obviously, it was never meant to get to you.”

  “No. I’m sure whatever private confidence you shared with my father was typically respected.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It’s just a little disturbing that after all these years you’d rather reach out to my father instead of me.”

  “Returning blood money is hardly ‘reaching out.’ Besides, it didn’t concern you.”

  “The hell it didn’t,” he said, showing his agitation. When she didn’t respond, he spoke again.

  “What were the terms? 100K to get out of my life and never come back, or else?”

  “More or less. You seemed to bounce back quickly.”

  The comment is a dig. Did he detect a tinge of jealousy? Ben relinquishes a smile.

  “Well, I have to applaud you. Must’ve been very hard for a girl like you to amass that amount of excess wealth.”

  Heat rushes her face and her heart jumps to top speed. And just what the fuck is “a girl like you”?

  “Actually, asshole, it was. When you have less than nothing and are less than no one, with no one to protect you from wolves, it takes a bit of time. Not all of us… wait a minute. Did you just come here to goad me?”

  “You mentioned extortion.”

  “Yes.”

  “Plus interest.”

  “Correct.”

  “That day you were fired… that’s when he offered you the deal?”

  “Right again.”

  “…Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why would you take his money?”

  “Because fuck you. That’s why, Ben. Any other questions?” she dares him. She looks him square in the eyes as she answers.

  He scoffs, raising his eyebrows. “I guess not,” he blinks. It’s a sore spot, for sure. Off limits. He senses that it wouldn’t be if she didn’t still feel guilty on some level. The thought is enough to soften him.

  Cynthia’s arms remain folded in front of her as she maintains her icy stare. She wrestles with what to say next, the temptation to continue exhuming the bones of the past overwhelming her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to Melanie?”

  His eyes dull with a flash of guilt, the pang of old mistakes.

  “It wasn’t important enough to mention. At the time.”

  “I see. Sounds like we don’t understand each other the way that we thought,” Cynthia sighs.

  The observation leaves him feeling hopelessly bitter but he has to concede.

  “Seems that way.”

  “I hope you didn’t come here looking for an apology. Or an explanation,” Cynthia warns.

  “I didn’t,” he lies.

  “Because you’re not getting either. I hate what happened, but it happened. Don’t think because of what I just told you that I regret my decision one bit, because I don’t. Because now I’m here. I’m my own person now and I’ll never have to make a deal like that again.”

  “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”

  “I don’t have to tell myself a damn thing. I suppose now you’re gonna tell me that you were in love with me? You were gonna break off your engagement for me?”

  Oh God, had she really not known? How could she not have known? What nonsense had she been telling herself for ten years?

  “I did break it off.”

  “And I’m sure it took a lot out of you. Telling a woman that you didn’t love the truth.”

  “As a matter of fact, it did. You think she gave a shit if I loved her? I ruined the plan. We had our whole lives mapped out, since freshman year. My dad lost business when we broke it off. People like me have our lives written out in advance, and it’s very hard to go against it.”

  “Which is why people like you also fuck the help, so excuse me if I don’t play my violin for you. Do you really think you can make me feel bad for looking out for myself?”

  “No,” says Ben.

  So cold. She has indeed changed. At least he got that explanation he was after. Though she didn’t mean to give it.

  “Your father looked out for me more than you did.”

  “No argument there,” Ben retorts somewhat bitterly. His mouth becomes a thin line as he twirls her business card absent-mindedly in his hand. Either she couldn’t, or didn’t want to see that his father’s money was still getting him what he wanted after all these years, which was to see the two of them apart. Even though she’d paid it all back. With interest.

  “He gave me a story about you, by the way. A completely different story.”

  At that, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed.

  “What did he say?”

  “So you do care what I think about you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you’re curious?”

  “I certainly believe that he lied to you about me. It’s the only thing that would explain…” She stops herself. This is exactly what she was afraid of. Him coming back around and bringing up unchangeable memories. Now he is doing worse. He is messing with her mind.

  “Look. Mr. Dvorak. There’s a small part of me that feels… endlessly guilty. Endlessly. But it’s my guilt, and I am very protective of it. I won’t have you coming up here, judging me, understand?”

  “Completely,” Ben replies, switching gears at the sound of his formal title. “Forgive me, we’re off topic here. I know you’re a busy woman. As I was saying, I’ve recently acquired a property—”

  “No, Ben.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just… we can’t work together. But it was good to see you and all. Really. It was foolish to avoid you this long. Honestly, I’m embarrassed about the whole thing.”

  “I understand. You must’ve been… afraid.”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know, I don’t think your father cared much after year six.”

  “Oh, believe me. He would’ve loved for you to make a wrong move.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that, Ben.”

  Ben has no idea what Cynthia can mean by that, or how she could have more insight than he does on his own father. It’s so perplexing, in fact, that he lets it go without another thought.

  “Tell you what, I will let you sleep on this… business decision. A half million dollar inconvenience fee plus another unknown amount for a bathroom or two was a bit steep, as you can imagine. It only made sense to pay half that for a rundown house you already had time set aside to work on.”

  “You overpaid. By a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I know. Compared to this shitty house, you’re a bargain,” Ben remarks.

  Cynthia goes rigid, her chest noticeably rising and falling rapidly.

  “You bastard.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I am. But you sort of walked into it.”

  Cynthia breathes, letting the remark roll of her back.

  “Fine. Consider us even then, Ben. But one of those is all you get. Understand?”

  “Fair enough. Anyway, I was happy to overpay. It got me what I wanted.”

  “Which was?”

  “This meeting.”

  Cynthia shoots him a look but says nothing.

  “Th
ink about it. Get back to me. Maybe we’ll have more time to reminisce.”

  As he is walking out, he remembers another tidbit of information.

  “Oh, and I took the liberty of tracking down your partner. Gabriel? Nice guy.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “I told him Indigo Properties could name their price, and if hired would be given an unlimited budget. He seemed very excited.”

  There’s no way she’s going to be able to talk Gabe down from the ledge he would jump from if Ben really has gotten to him first. Suicide or none, she would have to find herself another business partner.

  “I don’t understand, Ben. I’m being as civil as I know how. You know I’m just going to be a bitch now.”

  “I’m sure you can manage to maintain the professional demeanor your clients have come to expect.”

  “Why are you forcing me to do this?”

  Ben gave a shrug as he stood up, slowly and with obvious pain. He buttoned his coat.

  “Like father like son, I suppose,” he said over his shoulder as he let himself out.

  * * *

  “Jeanine, kindly see Mr. Dvorak out.”

  “Of course, Miss Gordon.”

  “What else do I have today?”

  “Nothing else until three.”

  “Cancel it.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Cynthia’s professional exterior gradually begins to crumble after Ben’s dramatic exit. She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out an expensive bottle of Glenlivet, the small glass tumbler wobbly in her shaking hand. Emotion starts to well up, pining at the door of her soul like a stray cat, begging to be let in. She opens the door and welcomes a brief deluge of sobs at her desk as ten years worth of tension is finally released.

  She wishes she had cigarettes. And also smoked. He had an appointment, and she still wasn’t ready. The moment she closed the door behind them, a peculiarly strong urge came over her to instantly grab him by his lapel and let nature have its way. Peculiarly strong for being a decade old. They had to do a lot of sneaking back then. They became adept at sensing when the coast was clear, when a room had thick enough walls, only one entrance. A corner office like this was a perfect place to get her rocks off with Ben. And one hell of a reunion.