I didn't realize what I was even talking about anymore, just that Ethan's face was in my mind as Sam helped me to a cab and gave the driver my address. When I got home, I saw that Mick had repaired our apartment door and was sleeping on the couch, surrounded by beer cans. I crashed into bed alone, dreaming of motorcycles and princes, and someone I never knew I wanted.
Chapter Seven
Ethan
"Are you alone? I had hoped you would bring a date." My Mother peered around me as if she expected someone else to be standing on the front porch beside me.
I bit my tongue and refused to make the retort that was burning the inside of my mouth. If my father hadn't been standing beside her, I would have said it: “No, Mother; having dates over has always been your thing, not mine.” But the cruel reminder of her many infidelities would have hurt my Dad too much, and she had already done that enough. I never understood why he took her back after she abandoned us, but I wanted to support him in any decisions he made, so even after all these years, I kept silent.
"Welcome home, son." Dad hugged me warmly, and I returned the embrace. He was thin now, gaunt from the sick liver he'd gotten from being an alcoholic. A lot of people said I should stop trying to fix him, that it was up to him to heal himself, but I always blamed my Mother. If she hadn't broken his heart all those years ago, the rest of his organs wouldn't have followed suit.
Now he had liver damage, just one kidney, and his eyes were failing him. Soon, I'd have to pay for him to have around the clock care, and Mom would be free to have her lovers over in broad daylight without him even knowing. It was just another reminder why I was determined to stay single: marriage killed, it was a plain and simple fact. I was never going to let a woman have my heart and destroy me like my father had let my mother do — even someone as mesmerizing as Kayla Brandt.
"Dinner is ready. We were wondering if we should start without you, since you're late again as usual," my mother chided as we entered the dining room of the house I bought for them and sat down at the elegantly laid table.
"Sorry, I had a problem at work that required my attention."
Mother looked vaguely concerned as the maid served our plates. "Nothing wrong with the new motorcycle line, I hope. What are you calling it? U.S.A?"
"The All-American." My father knew the answer. He and I were still very close and talked almost every day. He was my sounding board for any major decisions I made on the bikes. He was the one who originally taught me how to ride, which is how I got assigned to the motorcycle division at Krueger to begin with.
Shaking my head, I said to them, "No, the new line of the All-American is perfect. We've already got a hundred thousand coming off the factory lines and ready to be sent to the dealers. This had to do with marketing. We're going to feature it on the cover of next month's Speed Magazine, and I want the perfect model to showcase the bike and give readers that all-American feeling I want them to have when they see it. It's the image of the whole line, and very important. So, any little hiccup and I need to give it my full attention."
"So what was the hiccup?" Mother's keen intuition sensed it involved something more than just accounting figures or scheduling conflicts.
"The model we hired for the cover shoot. We couldn't get a hold of her to tell her it had been rescheduled."
"Well, that's easy enough to resolve. Just hire someone else. If this girl can't be reliable enough to keep in contact with you, then fire her." Mother's cold and callous attitude made my blood boil, but I kept my anger in check.
"It's not as easy as that. This girl is the one I want for the cover; no one else even comes close to having her beauty, innocence, and appeal. She is a natural blonde, not one of those bad bleach jobs, and everything else about her is natural, too. She has the most enormous blue eyes, the color of a tropical bay, and her face is like an angel’s. I never saw anybody convey such sweetness and have such a wholesome girl-next-door vibe, while still being sexy as hell. Every guy out there is going to want her and every girl is going to want to be her. The whole world is going to love her."
"It sounds like you already do," Mom said knowingly. "You must be tired of going home to that empty mansion of yours in Beverly Hills and not have anyone to talk you every morning at the breakfast table. Don't you want a wife to share your life with, to take vacations with, and to share the joys of your success with? Stop playing the field with a different date at every party. I want to see my son fall in love and get married. You deserve it."
"Don't start with me and the whole falling in love and getting married thing." We'd had this fight a million times and I was already out of patience for the topic. "I'm interested in Kayla purely on a business level. It will be good for the company if she is the cover girl for our next issue of Speed Magazine, and if readers associate her with our new bike, sales will go through the stratosphere. It's all about money."
"I don't know, son. I think your mother was onto something," my father chimed in. Usually he was so quiet at these dinners, and I was the one trying to get him to join the conversation. Now, I was suddenly hoping he'd butt out. "I saw the way your eyes lit up when you talk about that girl. It's the same way I feel when I talk about your mother."
"Yeah, but Kayla is nothing like Mom. She's loyal to a fault. This boyfriend of hers is a complete asshole, and she's been sticking by him for five years now. You should see the way he treats her. I had to punch the son-of-a-bitch out, and even when he treated like a whore, she still chose him over me. I guess in that one way she is like Mom: she was always willing to pick any guy over me, too."
"That's enough, son," my father stood up from the table in a rage, and I knew I'd gone too far. "I won't have you talking about your mother that way. Sure, we had our rough times when you were growing up, but all couples do. We worked our problems out and I forgave her. One day, you'll have to forgive her, too."
"Maybe then you'll settle down with a girl and get married. I so much want to have grandchildren before I die," my mother chimed in, but it was more than I could take.
"Forget it. I'm never going to expose an innocent child to that kind of misery. Love is a farce, and marriage never ends in happily ever after. It's the one lesson I learned from you two that I don't need to repeat on my own. I've lost my appetite. Goodbye."
I strode from the table, nearly running into the maid and knocking her over as I stormed out of the house. I was furious because they had come so close to the mark.
I had been feeling lately like I was tired of living alone, and I did feel something special for Kayla. Was it love? Was I willing to consider settling down with someone, or at least having a relationship? With Kayla, I thought maybe I was and that, more than anything my parents had said, struck at the very heart of me. I was nervous, scared, and that made me angry. More than that, I was happy, excited, and full of hope.
This Friday, I would get to see Kayla again when she came to the studio for the cover shoot. It would be my one chance to win her over and get her to see that I wasn't a crazy stalker, just a man who wanted to be with her. I just hoped she didn't quit after everything had happened.
If she did, I would leave the company to go searching for her. I would give up my career, my money, everything. I suddenly understood my father so much more than I ever had, and why he was willing to stand by my mother through anything. I already felt that way about Kayla after just one afternoon together. I didn't want to admit it even to myself, but I was already too far gone to ever give her up.
Chapter Eight
Kayla
"Welcome, Miss Brandt. They're waiting for you in hair and make-up whenever you're ready. We'll save fitting you into wardrobe for last. I’m Margie, and I'll be your personal assistant."