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Emotions swirled through Taylor’s head. She was angry that she was here and stuck with this mess and paired up with Derrick. She was scared that she was going to mess this whole thing up, that she would fail and let everything that was good about Preston Corp. be left in the dust, just a memory. And most of all she was sad because she had no one to turn to. When she was honest with herself, she knew deep down that Derrick could be the one person she could hang onto, but once again Derrick Fletcher had let her down.
He was right, though. She would have come back eventually; she never would have been able to lie forever. He just brought her back before things were totally irreparable. She should thank him.
But she wouldn’t because she had been happy and free, and he had taken all that away from her too soon. And now look at the mess she was in. And who the hell was he now? Going off the deep end about a text message like a freaking lunatic, scaring the crap out of her.
The thick steam in the room alerted Taylor that it was time to step in and wash it down the drain. She showered, scrubbing herself until she was bright pink. She stepped out and dried herself. Then she went to the mirror and wiped away the steam. She stood and stared at herself like she had the night before. She was waiting for a pep talk to come and give her hope and confidence like the one she had gotten the night before. But she had nothing.
“You have to move forward, Taylor. You have no choice.” That was all she had. She gave her reflection a quick nod, and then she went to the bag and pulled out a pair off lacy underwear and a camisole. In the bottom of the bag she saw what appeared to be lingerie.
In spite of her mood, Taylor smiled. Marty, the eternal romantic, was always looking to set the mood. She dug more and was grateful to find some leggings and a loose tunic.
Too bad Marty had wasted so much time on lingerie, Taylor mused. Because if it was business she had come back to handle; it was business she was going to keep with her and Derrick. NOT romance.
Chapter Four
The door slammeddown the hallway, and Derrick hung his head in defeat.
“Well, that went well,” he muttered sarcastically to the air.
If someone had told him as a child that there would be a time when he and Taylor would not be friends, a time where she would not like him, even hate him, and not want to be in the same room with him he would have laughed.
But here it was.
His mom used to say they had just clicked, just gone together like puzzle pieces, made to fit together. And even though they had drastically different personalities—he short-tempered, and she thoughtful and slow to act— together they just made sense.
And nothing had made their mothers happier than the two of them getting along. Both his mom and Taylor’s mom had not come from money and felt totally out of place being thrust into the spotlight after marrying two legacy-laden billionaires. It was their discomfort in their new haute-couture reality that formed their thick bond, and the fact they married best friends helped too. When Taylor and Derrick came along, Delia Fletcher and Elizabeth Preston thrust the two together, and it had worked.
All through childhood it had been him and Taylor. They played, schemed, pranked, and plotted, Taylor the thorough, thoughtful, brainy one, and Derrick her eager footman. It was never dull, and Derrick smiled, remembering the time they stole every sugar cube from both mansions in order to build a fort that promptly melted in the scorching California sun and led to a nasty ant infestation.
And then it happened seemingly overnight. Suddenly Derrick was thirteen and he noticed what he never had before: Taylor was a girl. And not just any girl, but a really pretty girl with pretty eyes and a mouth he wanted to put his on. She was a girl he didn’t just want to hang out with but that he wanted to kiss too.
But he wasn’t the only one who noticed Taylor’s gender and appeal; his friends did too.
“Hey, D, can you talk to Taylor for me?”
“No.”
“She is hot man!”
“No, she is Taylor!”
It suddenly became a full-time job to try and keep his friends away from Taylor. And she was no help.
“Some of the guys think you’re pretty,” he told her one day, expecting her to be as disgusted at them as he was, but it didn’t happen.
“Really? Who?” she had asked excitedly.
And it pissed Derrick off big time, “Does it matter?” He had been hoping to play it cool, smoothly lead up to the fact that he too thought she was pretty, but apparently it wasn’t going to work out that way. Instead she eagerly awaited his answer.
“Yeah,” she answered, “I think they are cute too.”
He never did answer her. He just spent time with other girls, trying to make Taylor jealous. That tactic always seemed to work for his friends. And his time with the other girls let him test out and perfect his moves while he waited for Taylor to become enraged.
But it didn’t work out that way.
Instead, Taylor—ever polite and interested in Derrick’s life—would ask about his new girlfriends, what they were into, what they would be doing.
What was he supposed to do next? Ignore her, his friends insisted; it worked every time.