Page 14 of Shopping for a CEO's Fiancee
Oh, no.
She cannot settle in for a nap while my brain burns with the need to know the name of the guy who deflowered her.
“She didn’t like the way I kissed,” I say with a sigh.
Amanda sits up fast, like someone’s pulled her up by her hair. “What? Is she crazy?”
“We were sixteen. She went to a different school. We had three dates. We texted with flip phones. She was shallow and said I kissed like a sloth with an overproductive salivary gland.”
“She said that?”
“Worse. She texted it. There was no Twitter back then. Do you know how determined she must have been to take the time to text all that on a flip phone?”
One corner of Amanda’s mouth curls up. Her nostrils flare as she purses her lips, trying not to laugh.
“Quit shining me on.”
“I’m not!” I stick my tongue out at her and loll it to one side. “See? Wet-tongued sloth.”
“Andrew.”
I pretend to snore, tongue hanging out.
“You are impossible.”
“What’s his name?”
“Who?”
“The first guy you slept with.”
“You really want to know?”
“No. But yes.”
“Fine.” She thinks about it for a few seconds, just long enough to make my brain turn into ribbons of pain.
“And?”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie? You date him for long?” The thought of some gawky teen slobbering all over Amanda awkwardly makes my gut hurt.
“We never really dated. Just hung out a lot.”
“He didn’t take you out? Buy you dinner? Go to the movies?”
“No. He was more of a stay-in kind of guy.”
“Bastard.”
“He did have this kink.”
I freeze and close my eyes.
“What?”
“He liked to pee on shoes with laces.”
I open one eye. “Charlie, huh? Last name wouldn’t happen to be Kulls?”
“How’d you guess?”
I snort.
She laces her fingers through mine. “It’s okay. Just never, ever tell Shannon you dated Jessica.”
“Why would I?”
“It could slip out.”
“That’s not the kind of statement that just slips out.”
She cocks one eyebrow at me. Huh. She has a point.
It just did.
“Telling you is different.”
“Why?”
“Why did I tell you, or why is telling you different?”
“Both.”
“You always say both!”
“I always want to know as much as possible.”
“So do I. Tell me his name, Amanda.”
We’re at a standoff. I crack first. And that’s okay, because relationship negotiations are different from business negotiations. In business, if you crack first, you lose.
In relationships, if you don’t crack first, you lose out on sex.
I hate losing.
“I told you because it felt dishonest not to.”
She just nods.
“And telling you is different from telling Shannon because she doesn’t need to know.”
“And I do?”
“I think so. Otherwise, there’s too much power to the information.”
“Did you love her?”
“Hell, no!”
“She was just a fling?”
“It was high school. She was a schemer then, just like she is now. Our parents were in the same circles.”
“And she’s easy on the eyes.”
“No.” My answer precedes thought. “She’s not. Not anymore.”
“She’s gorgeous, Andrew. Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not. Swear.”
“But back then?”
“Back then I thought that surface looks were a clue to the inside of people. Before I learned better.” I reach over and stroke her cheek with the back of my hand.
She falters. “Am I supposed to be flattered by that?”
I chuckle. “You’re beautiful inside and out. Jessica is a Barbie doll on the outside, and nothing but molded fakery on the inside.”
“Why did you break up with her?”
“Tell me his name.”
She dips her head and smiles. “Al Barkin. Senior year of high school. Prom night. We were in school band together. Clichéd, I know.”
I can’t breathe for a moment. Amanda’s look says, I showed you mine. Show me yours.
My turn. “I dumped her because she went after Declan.”
“And that,” Amanda says in an arch tone, “is why Shannon can’t know any of this. Wow. Jessica tried to date Declan while she was your girlfriend?”
“Ambition. Why date a Milton guy when he had a Harvard brother?”
Amanda frowns, the skin between her eye crinkling, the expression adorable. “Your junior year. That was Declan’s freshman year?”
I know where she’s going with this.
“Yes.”
“Right after your mother died.”
“About six months later, yes.”
“That sleazy little psycho bitch.”
“Don’t hold back, honey. Tell me how you really feel.”
Rising up out of her seat, Amanda starts to stand, her fingers curled into claws, as if she’s about to go find Jessica and cut a bitch. I push her down gently by the shoulder.
She is a live wire, eyes bulging, her fight response primed.
This is so hot.
“How can you even talk to her now? Anterdec does charity work with her family’s foundation! I see you chatting with her at events. She’s gone after Shannon in such a distorted way, and now you’re telling me she used you to get to Declan?”
I shrug. “She has no actual power.”
“She can ruin someone with one tweet!”
“You consider that to be power?”
“Yes.”
“No. Wrong. Let’s stop right there.” A flash of insight. “Jessica has no intrinsic power.”
“Intrinsic power?”
“The only influence she has comes from other people. It’s basic popularity, which is a mirage on top of an optical illusion.”
“Huh?”
“Popularity comes from getting enough people to say you’re a hot item that others believe it. Critical mass and all that. It’s fleeting, and relies on the masses propping up your influence. That’s all Jessica has. She’s a paper tiger.”
“But she’s so powerful on the social scene.”
“I think you give her way more sway than she really possesses. Stop reacting to her. Stop reinforcing her with others.”
“She made fun of Shannon’s poop.”
“She is just a paper tiger.”
“Was she always like this?”
I have to think about that one. “Yeah. I guess so. I never really got to know her.”
“Didn’t date long enough?”
“No. She just wouldn’t let me in.”
“I didn’t mean sexually.”
“I didn’t either. She was tight as a drum emotionally. Our month of dating was mostly focused on my getting her into big parties at Milton so she could social climb. Then taking her to Harvard to visit Dec. All it took was one Cambridge party and bam—I found her on his lap.”
“Whoa.”
“He was shoving her off it.” I remember it perfectly. ‘These things happen’ was all Jessica said, as if that explained everything.
“Why are we in a private jet, finally truly alone for the first time since the wedding, and we’re talking about Jessica Coffin?”
“You brought her up.”
“Actually, you did, Andrew.”
I restrain myself from replying immediately. In the space of a few breaths, I find a more authentic answer.
“I wanted to give you a piece of me. That means sharing more with you.”
“What do you mean?”
My inner life is a spiral staircase that ascends and descends to infinity. I brace myself and confess, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Share?”
I shrug.
“How to be in a relationship?”
“Any of it.”
“It’s new to me, too.”
“Not the newness. Being new is the easy part. I get that. I don’t know how to lose myself in you without losing all of myself. How do I let go and trust that you’ll give me the freedom to figure out who I am and at the same time trust that you’ll be right there with me?”
“That’s your idea of a relationship?”
“It’s wrong, isn’t it? Jesus, Amanda, I don’t even know how to describe my own confusion properly.”
“It’s not wrong,” she says slowly. “Just interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“I never thought of it that way. Guaranteed freedom and guaranteed company. That’s such a paradox.”
“Which means it can’t exist.”
“Can’t it? Why not? Says who?”
I don’t have an answer to that.
“We both know how to manage systems, Andrew. We’re experts at looking at processes and understanding how to make a process work. How to use systems to serve people—with an end goal in mind.”
“So?”
“Isn’t a relationship just a series of emotional processes?”
“You sound like Declan.”
That’s not a compliment, and she knows it.
“I’m not wrong.”
I make a derisive sound that I cut off, because I suddenly sound like my father.
“This is a lot to take in after the insanity of the last week.” She looks at her ring finger.
