32. Hayden

THIRTY-TWO

HAYDEN

My head is a fucking mess.

I can't unsee the bewildered expression Juliana's been wearing since I left that bathroom—which is a whole other problem. She hasn't spoken a word to me, not on our drive to the airport or since takeoff, a half hour ago.

I sneak a glance her way.

She lounges on the couch that hugs the plane's right side, her heels discarded on the floor. Twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, she stares out the window, lost in thought. I sigh, returning to my own window, sinking into a plush recliner on the opposite side of the plane.

And that's how it goes, for a while. I steal a glance, hoping to catch her eye, but don't, then return to my window to contemplate the last three hours of my life. Rinse and repeat. Until she gets up, moves to the side of the couch nearest me, and breaks that silence.

"It's because I'm different, isn't it?"

I inhale sharply, but she holds up a hand, halting my protest.

"That's why you couldn't give me a straight answer—instead said I deserved better, to soften the blow. I'm not a billionaire or a millionaire or some celebrity, like everyone else in our section..." Her shoulders slouch, spiking urgency in me to counter her harsh self-assessment. "I didn't belong."

"That's not true."

She gives me a yeah right look, to which I raise an eyebrow.

"Even Clara knew it."

"Fuck Clara," I say—and mean it. "You were the most beautiful woman there."

Fuck subtlety, too, apparently.

She looks away. Even though I catch the blush staining her cheeks, it does little to lift her frown. I make my way over, sitting right beside her, speaking to the backside of her head. "You think I belonged?"

She snaps back around. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one."

"You're stupidly rich, Hayden," she huffs. "One of the wealthiest men in New York. Of course, you did . "

"Are you so sure?" Now I'm the one who can't meet her gaze. "I was given everything I have."

A pang of sadness strikes me as the jet's hum fills the space between us. I wouldn't know how to respond, either.

"And your brother wasn't? You're just describing generational wealth."

He was given more, actually, I don't say. Rather, "He's got something to show for it. He used that privilege to better himself, while I've never worked a real day in my life."

Her forehead creases. "Huh?"

There it is.

The true reason she deserves someone better. I swallow, contemplating the best way to deliver the blow, but it turns out I don't need to as I watch those wrinkles fade, realization dawning on her features.

"You're not under your father's wing, are you...?"

I laugh bitterly. "What do you think?"

"But why were you taking notes that day? During my presentation? It looked like you worked at Kingston Entertainment."

"I do. Beneath my brother, as an assistant. I was taking notes for him. It's supposed to be an internship, but really, it's just a means to humiliate me. I sit right outside Elias's door, where everyone can see. All I'm assigned is scut work, no opportunities to actually grow or learn anything. And you know what? I don't blame them. I don't want to work, knowing I'd just screw it up. I'm not like Elias. I'm just a waste of—"

I fight back a sting of tears, but fuck, they come, anyway. Whipping my attention elsewhere, I suck in a jagged breath, feeling their warmth slide down my cheeks.

Pathetic... Elias's words ring true.

"Don't say that— Hayden."

Tender hands cup my jaw, reeling me back into focus. I'm met with the hugest, most concerned green eyes. As I blink away another warm stream of tears, shame shudders through me, but she's holding me hostage, coupled with the soft thumb pads sweeping along my jaw, catching those tears.

Juliana whispers, "Don't ever think such a thing."

"Even if I didn't, I still haven't earned a damn thing. Not my trust fund. My apartment. Now my public humiliation, a reminder of just how useless I am to the family. Truly, my father's given me everything in my life. He controls me. It's just the truth."

I blink furiously, my gaze drifting from hers once more. I should've never opened my mouth today. Now, look where it's gotten me. Trudging up trauma no one wants to hear about, least of all Juliana, who's had to fight for her accomplishments. She's just being nice. Saying the right thing. She doesn't actually—

Her touch grows in strength, her nails nicking my skin as she whips me forward. "Look at me," she says—and I do. What I see, though... I feel it in my soul. Gone are those doe eyes, crushed by defiant fury, so potent it shouldn't belong to someone so gentle, except...

It's my same old Jules.

"Look at me, Hayden," she repeats, my name pleasing on her tongue. "Look at me, and answer one question. Can you do that?"

I nod, the movement an untraceable whisper, because, despite her faith in me, no words could change my circumstances, the privileged lot I've blown away. The control I lack, seized by the heartless man who passed me his genes and great fortunes, but revels in reminding me of my astronomical failures and meritless existence and lack of—

"Did Warren Kingston give you your talent?"

Every. Fucking. Ounce. Of air. Seeps from my lungs.

"W-what...?"

Despite her startlingly calm demeanor, Juliana's nails dig deeper, low at my nape, commanding my attention. "It's a yes or no question. Did your father give you your talent?"

"I-I..."

His words flood my headspace, drenched in poison.

You never change, do you...?

Don't play dumb with me, boy...

It's like you're still in school...

Scribbling little doodles, when you should be working...

No wonder you never learn anything...

"No..." I breathe out. "He didn't."

Little doodles little doodles little doodles...

My. Little. DOODLES.

I gasp audibly, choking on my own saliva. That's why! Why he never acknowledged my artistic talent—like my teachers had in my youth. Why he diminished their praises, belittled and cast aside the one single thing that set me apart, and still does. Because—

"Then he can never take it away from you."

I wrench free from her grasp, eyes blown wide, my tears long forgotten by ways of understanding. All these years, I've been so blind, conditioned to loathe myself. I should've known, should've seen through my father's deceit. And yet...

Juliana did.

"How...?" I ask, and of course, she understands my question.

"Ohhh, Hayden. Don't you know?" There's a slight humor to her tone, yet her eyes still gleam with seriousness. "Something strange happens when insecure people see someone happy in their uniqueness. They catch a glimpse of something they themselves want, but are too fearful to take their own steps toward it. So instead, every now and then, they'll knock you down a peg or two, in hopes that one day you'll be miserable, right alongside them."

Holy shit.

Stunned isn't really the right word, yet I soak in hers. Each one of them, unsure of how to conjure up a response, but I think my expression does the job just fine. Mouth ajar on a fixed gaze, I'm consumed by a profound amazement of the woman before me.

Who just called Warren Kingston insecure.

"Or... What the hell do I know?" She winks at me. "I just program a little game all day."

Wow... Did she scoop inside my brain? I guess I overlooked the part where I invited a mind reader into my apartment, who I apparently share more in common with than I've ever thought. And her passion... the determination she had to set me straight and rid me of my sorrows...

Shame consumes me. "After the way I treated you all those years ago, I don't deserve your kindness."

"Maybe not," she admits. "But... after what happened on the terrace, I saw how my silence hurt you. As a friend, I should've talked to you. Sure, I had the right to be upset about the necklace thing, but..." Her voice wobbles, effectively scraping a shard of ice down my throat, before she steadies herself. "We were quite young. I don't blame you, for not knowing how you felt about me. I know you said I deserve better, but I'm sure that's how you feel now about—"

There she goes again. About to forget me.

"No," I interject. "My feelings were as real as they are now."

Her breath hitches, emotions rolling through her stare, as her body gravitates toward me, closer and closer, before she jerks back to center. "You don't need to sugarcoat it, Hayden. What happened, happened. Perhaps you lost interest or—"

"No. Just... no. Stop right there."

Her shoulders slouch in confusion.

I huff a sigh. Five years, and the mistake still haunts me. There's a reason I never speak of it, let alone think of the ways I must've hurt her. Sometimes, though, I dream about it, of how she must've found out. On a tabloid or some gossip site.

I look away, hoping to make it easier.

"Everything I said to you that night, in your room... it was true. I don't care if we were young, I knew how I felt. Didn't want to, honestly, but there was no denying it, once I found out you weren't coming to Princeton. I was angry—so, so angry—and couldn't bear the thought of all the pricks who'd throw themselves onto you. So, I thought I'd give them something to look at. Maybe then, they'd realize you were off limits. Or that you'd remember me, from time to time."

"Is that why you gave the same necklace to that actress? Ensure everyone in Hollywood knew she was taken?"

I cringe, her sour tone delivering a stinging blow. Looking her in the eye, I say, "I'm sorry," and mean it, deeply, even though I know it'll do little good, especially since I took advantage, knowing she was inexperienced, and stole her first kiss, needing that claim on her.

"I was dumb. Insecure. Something I'd never dealt with before, not when it came to girls. When I left, I was convinced you'd forget about me, no matter what. So... I convinced myself that I didn't care, that I'd forget about you before you did me. I moved onto new flings—models, influencers, fucking anybody—flew through the dating scene like I was speed running Monopoly, and kept doing so, until you came back into my life. I even gave that stupid actress—I don't even remember her name—the exact same necklace, hoping I'd feel the same way about her, about any other girl, but I just couldn't. And I still can't."

A glossy film coats Juliana's eyes, but she blinks rapidly, fighting off the emotions. I don't blame her for hesitating. Why would she trust a word that passes my lips? She pushes anyway, and even though she stares straight down into her lap, she asks on a mere whisper, "What are you saying, Hayden?"

I pinch her chin, lift until she meets my gaze, and reveal those doe eyes I know so well. God. She's so beautiful. I keep saying it, but... how is she this breathtaking? How could any man not help but fall for her?

I lean in, encroaching on her space, my heart clenching when her eyes flick back and forth between mine.

"That I treated you as if you were just another conquest, when I should've treated you like you were everything."

She melts into my touch, drawing closer, so near that her cherry scent wafts through my nostrils, bathing my senses in all things her, and deterring even the simplest thoughts. Her eyes flutter down to my lips, and mine hers. Soft and supple, they part on a jagged, minty breath—a tantalizing preview of the second taste I've craved for five years.

"What about my brother?" she manages to ask.

I barely hear her question over the blood pounding in my ears. What about Jeremy? Oh yes, he'll kill me, no doubt, but I'll die a happy man, if only I seize another shot at the other night. Except... I realize something, in her nearness, in the wake of all that's been said.

I don't want to ruin Juliana. I want to cherish her.

If she wants to take it slow, we'll take it slow.

If she wants more, I'll drop to my knees in worship.

Anything and everything can be hers.

As long as it's from me.

Which poses quite the problem, you see, for these feelings insult the most cardinal rule of them all...

Rule #10: A playboy never falls in love.

"Fuck it."

I crash my lips to hers, my eyes fluttering shut. On contact, I pry the most deliciously addicting whimper from her—as if she's yearned for this exact moment for just as long as I have. The sound rumbles against my skin, and it's all I can manage to keep still, to only cup her jaw lightly.

Letting her decide how far to take this.

Our lips resound on her withdrawal. Short and sweet, exactly what I expected. Not much different than our first kiss. She's probably just testing the waters. She's a virgin, anyway—

Before I can take a full breath, she crashes back for more, her tongue bruising my lips in a blinding kiss that splits my mind in two. I groan as her fingers thread through my hair and her tongue darts past my lips, wanting nothing more than to see her writhing beneath me.

But still, I hold the reins on my control. Meeting her, stroke for stroke, savoring her sweet taste, trying not to think about where she tastes even better. Indeed, I banish those sinful thoughts, as I'm unsure of how far her intentions go...

That is, until a hand presses between the lapels of my suit, flat against my chest, and pushes me to lounge back into the couch. With her lips still on mine and my eyes still shut in darkness, her body cranes over me with the movement, farther and farther, until I feel the full weight of her on my lap.

As she straddles me.