Everything is embarrassing

Rafe Cameron didn’t mean to fall in love. Truthfully, he didn’t even want to like you. He was meant to focus on work, his investors, and money. And surely, not his investor’s daughter.

Rafe had spent years of his life learning how to separate what he needed and what he wanted, and what he needed was for his company to grow. His investors and business partners trust him enough to keep his name untarnished. He didn’t need the distraction of a twenty-two-year-old woman who looked at him like he hung up the moon and not the man who dominated the finance industry. He didn’t need the way you remembered intricate details about him, the way you laughed when he did his hair differently, or the way you let him rest his head in your lap when the silence of his environment became unbearable. 

He especially didn’t need the terrifying realization that somewhere between business meetings and late-night conversations at random bars, you’d become the one thing he found impossible to leave alone. Rafe couldn't convince himself to let you go. He could walk away from his family easily. Lay off employees or drop partners. 

But you, he was stubborn about you. 

The first time you two met, Rafe didn’t think anything of it. That definitely bothered him later. 

There wasn’t some grand moment where the entire room went quiet and he saw you in slow-mo and rose colored lighting with your hair blowing in the wind, no stumbling over his words. Rafe always believed people exaggerated those things. He thought love was something people edited too much, something that was made to sound more magical and full of bliss than it really was. He thought he never had space for it anyway, so why should he care. He’s spent years making sure he was never in the right place for anything like that. Love was vulnerability.

Rafe Cameron was not vulnerable. 

He hated the idea of exposing himself, letting someone reach into him and know the parts of himself he hated. He wanted everyone to know him as a businessman before they knew him as a real person. It was easier. Easier for respect, rather than love. Easier to be feared than to be disappointed. 

Love meant getting hurt and being left in the burning house. Rafe couldn’t go through that again.

So went he walked into an investor gala one night, he had no intention of finding anything besides another conversation, a few more handshakes, and plans of deals that would benefit his company. That’s what all these events were for. 

Your father’s company has been one of Rafe’s biggest investors for two years now. Rafe already knew who you were before you ever introduced yourself. 

He knew your last name, your family, and he knew the world you came from. 

He didn’t think you were a bad person. He was aware you grew up around money, you have money, and you spend said money a lot. You’ve had lavish birthday parties since 18 on “The Y/n”, the yacht your father named after you. You wore near $400 dollar sweatpants because “it has angel wings on the waistband”, and you got an Aston Martin DB9 just last year as a graduation gift from your mother. There were a lot of markers that you weren’t lacking in money or material items. 

At the gala, you’d been around people your age on the terrace drinking and passing around a cigar. He wasn’t very far off from you, his assistant was telling him who he would talk to and who he should avoid. You looked at him and pointed, which made everyone one else in your group look at him. He couldn’t hear what he said, but he could read your lips. You’d said something along the lines of “why the hell” and “he looks dumb”, chased with laughter from you and the others. 

Rafe felt his face heat up out of embarrassment. The nerve of you. Maybe you were exactly what he thought you were. A spoiled prissy rich girl with no regard for anyone but yourself. Gosh, why’d he feel so embarrassed. He’d closed multi-million-dollar deals but he’s managed to feel hurt by a drunk woman 12 years younger than him. 

He’d been looking in your general direction for awhile and basically tuning out his assistant. He didn’t hear her say,”You got that?” 

She tapped his shoulder,”Mr. Cameron?”

Rafe blinked and tore his eyes away from you like cold water had just been splashed on him,”What?”

His assistant stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a long sigh, flipping back through the portfolio in her hands. “The CEO of Whitmore and Whitmore. You need to speak with him before eight. Then Mr. Bennett and his wife. After that, the Klein merger discussion.”

Rafe nodded and checked his watch,”Right.”

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?”

“I was.”

“No you weren’t.” 

Rafe straightened his jacket cuff, clearing his throat as though that somehow covered the fact that hed just spent the better part of five minutes watching a girl he’d never met making a mockery of him from across the terrace,”I just got distracted.”

His assistant followed his previous line of sight before looking back with an expression he couldn’t really place,”Oh.”

“What?”

She smiled to herself,”Nothing.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes,”What?”

“I just…didnt think you’d be distracted by…” She glanced toward you again “…that.”

His jaw tightened,”I’m not.”

“Right.”

“I’m not.”

“If you say so..”

She walked off before he could argue, leaving him standing there with an irritation that had nothing to do with her or this dumb gala. It had everything to do with you. Usually when he got ridiculed (which was more often than he’d admit), the logical part of his brain told him to forget the interaction entirely. Somebody laughed at him.

So what? 

People would always laugh, always talk, and always have something to say about what one does or doesn’t do. He had more important things to worry about. He literally had investors waiting, contracts that needed signatures, and a whole company with hundreds of employees depending on him to make the right decisions.

He shouldn’t have cared. 

He didn’t care.

Then why the fuck did he keep looking back? Every few conversations, his eyes would wander back toward the terrace or he’d try to find a glimpse of your dress or your hair or your face. 

You’d be talking. You’d be laughing. You looked like you belonged nowhere near a room full of people discussing quarterly earnings and market forecasts. Everyone else around you did belong here, no matter how hard they tried to pretend.

It didn’t make sense.

You were your father’s daughter. Hell, you’d grown up around these people. You should’ve been inside schmoozing executives and memorizing names you would probably need twenty years from now. Instead, you were sitting on a wide stone railing overlooking the city,  heels hanging on by the pads of your feet while you absentmindedly swung one foot back and forth.

Rafe frowned and muttered to himself,”Well, that can’t be safe.” As if you heard him, you strategically put yourself back on the ground. 

A waiter walked past you, carrying a tray of drinks. Before the man would continue, you reached over and stopped him, not to take a glass, but because one of the champagne flutes on the tray had started to slide. You’d caught it before it fell. The waiter smiled gratefully and you smiled back.

“No,” you answered with a laugh,”Thank you. I mean, you’ve been carrying those things all night long. So what? That a bunch of rich people could ruin their livers even more?” The waiter laughed at your joke and went back to work.

Rafe looked away almost immediately. For some reason…that irritated him. Because it didn’t fit.

Spoiled girls weren’t supposed to help waiters. They didn’t say thank you with genuinity. They weren’t supposed to laugh with the staff. 

He found himself seriously searching for reasons to dislike you. Undoubtedly, there had to be one. 

Then, as if sensing someone watching, your head turned. Your eyes met his own again. To Rafe’s surprise, you smiled instead of pointing. You lifted your glass a little in his direction, mouthing something he couldn’t quite make out.

He stared—squinting his eyes, and mouthing back,”What?”

Your lips moved again,”Sorry.”

Rafe blinked. Sorry?

You laughed a little, them more but you covered your mouth with your hand and walked back into the crowd, leaving him more confused than before. He didn’t know why that bothered him. Maybe it was because he decided you were a bitch before he saw how you acted. 

And now, less than ten minutes later, that version of you he’d made up in his head and hated so much, was already dissolving. 

That was a problem. A big problem. Because Rafe Cameron spent the entire night trying to prove you were exactly what he expected. But somehow, without even trying, you’d done the one thing nobody had ever managed to make him do.

You made him curious.

Unfortunately or Rafe Cameron, curiosity was dangerous. Curiosity meant he was thinking about you now.

Rafe had spent years of his life making sure he didn’t think about things that didn’t matter. He didn’t wonder about people. He didn’t replay conversations in his head or analyze the meaning behind someone’s smile. That was a waste of time, and Rafe Cameron did not waste his time. 

At least, that was what he told himself. The truth was that he had thought about you more than we wanted to admit. Not enough to concern himself, but just enough to be irritating. He kept remembering the way you looked at him during the gala, completely unaware that you were supposed to be intimidated or take him seriously. He remembered the way you laughed when he looked confused. He remembered the way you apologized, like you actually cared that you had embarrassed him.

He hated that he remembered, because remembering meant you had left some kind of impression. Rafe didn’t let people leave impressions. People came and went. Relationships changed. Partnerships ended. Friends disappeared. Family disappointed you.

That was life.

That was normal.

So when your father invited him to the country club a few weeks later to discuss future investments and business plans, Rafe didn’t think anything of it.

Or at least, he convinced himself he didn’t.

It was business.

That was all it was.

A meeting.

A conversation.

A few hours of talking numbers with someone who had helped build his company into what it was today. Nothing more. Definitely not an excuse to see if you were as interesting as you had seemed that night.

Definitely not.

The golf course was exactly what Rafe expected. A place filled with wealthy men pretending that standing outside in designer polos somehow made them more relaxed. It was the same world he had always existed in. The same conversations. The same carefully planned smiles and handshakes.

Everyone wanted something.

Everyone always wanted something.

Rafe had just finished speaking with one of the club employees when he heard laughter. Not the fake kind.Not the polite, controlled kind he heard during meetings. A real laugh.

He knew it was yours before he even looked.

That annoyed him.

Because he shouldn’t have known. He turned his head anyway.

And there you were.

Except you looked nothing like the version of you he had created in his mind.

At the gala, he had seen expensive clothes, champagne, and a group of people who looked like they had never been told no.

Here, you looked completely different.

You were standing on the grass in a simple golf outfit, your hair pulled back, sunglasses resting on top of your head. Your dog was running around you happily tugging against the leash, completely ignoring the fact that the two of you were probably ruining someone’s perfectly maintained lawn.

“Cameron!” Your father’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He looked over and immediately straightened his posture.

Business mode.

“Good morning.”

Your father smiled and shook his hand. “Glad you could make it.”

“Of course.”

They exchanged a few words about the course, the weather, and the upcoming meeting.

Rafe tried to focus. He really did.

But then you looked over and smiled like you were actually happy to see him.

“Finance guy.”

Rafe stared.

Your father looked between the two of you.

“Finance guy?”

You shrugged, scratching behind your dog’s ears.

“I didn’t know his name at first.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“And now?”

“Now I do.”

You smiled.

“Mr. Cameron, or as my dad calls you, Rafe.”

Something about hearing his name from you felt strangely different.

Which was ridiculous.

It was his name.

People said it every day. Employees, Partners, friends.

But from you, it sounded less like a title and more like you were actually talking to him. Not the company. Not the reputation.

“You remember me,” you said.

Rafe looked at you,“I’m not sure if that’s surprising.”

You laughed, “It is. I embarrassed you.”

“You did.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh again, “Wow. You really hold onto things.”

“I remember things.”

“Like people laughing at you?”

“Especially that.”

The smile on your face widened.

And despite himself…

Rafe almost smiled back.

Almost.

Your father eventually walked away to speak with another businessman, leaving the two of you standing there. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Strangely, it wasn’t uncomfortable. That was the part Rafe noticed. Usually silence with people felt like something he had to fix. Something he had to fill with a question or a business conversation.

You just stood there, watching your dog run around.

“You don’t golf,” Rafe finally said.

You looked over,“What?”

“You’re holding a club, but you haven’t actually played.”

You looked down at the club in your hand then back at him.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You’ve been watching me.”

Rafe immediately regretted speaking,“I noticed you.”

“That’s a nicer way of saying watching.”

“It’s not.”

You smiled,“It kind of is.”

Rafe looked away and for some reason, that made you laugh. He realized something he didn’t particularly like. He didn’t mind you. Not even a little.

Rafe stopped asking if you would be there. You just were. Sometimes you would sit next to your father quietly writing notes in the margins of meeting papers that nobody else bothered to read. At times, your father would find you walking around the lobby with a coffee stopping every few feet to talk to someone. It didn’t matter who they were. Receptionists, security guards, assistants, janitors. You spoke to all of them in the way like they were people before they were employees.

Rafe noticed this. He noticed everything. He noticed that you always bit your thumbnail when you were thinking, he noticed that you couldn’t sit through a meeting without drawing little stars in your notebook, he noticed that you didn’t like coffee but you drank it anyway when you forgot to order your usual vanilla latte, he noticed hat your laugh changed depending on who you were with. It was softer around your father and way louder around your friends.

He noticed things that he should not have noticed…every new thing he noticed stuck with him until he couldn’t think about anything else. It got so bad that Rafe started looking for you before he looked for your father. This made him feel sick.

Your father was his investor. Your father was the reason Rafe went to these meetings. Your father was the man who could change the course of Rafe's company with his signature. So why was Rafe looking for you everywhere? Why did every conversation feel long if you were not there? Why did he remember things about you more clearly than the numbers he had been memorizing all week?

It was near impossible to understand. Rafe had built his life on being disciplined. Discipline got him through tough negotiations, tough years. It kept his emotions in check. It kept him alive. So why was discipline not working for him now?

It was one thirty in the morning when Rafe finally admitted to himself that he had not done anything in over an hour. The lights from the light posts and opposite office buildings shone through the windows of his office making the glass look like mirrors that reflected a man he did not know. His laptop was open in front of him with three contracts waiting for his approval. His phone buzzed with emails that he normally would have answered away.

He had not even read a word, staring at the sentence for forty three minutes. Rafe rubbed his eyes slowly. Leaned back in his chair letting out a tired breath. "What is wrong with me?" he asked. There was no answer. He laughed. It’s not funny. It was due to the fact that  the alternative was admitting that he had lost control of himself. 

Rafe had survived times. Hostile takeovers, public scandals, the end of relationships that were supposed to last forever. He had buried people he loved. He had rebuilt companies from nothing.

The thing that was breaking him was not another businessman or money or failure. It was you. A woman who laughed loudly who thanked waiters like they were old friends, who remembered that Rafe liked to sit by the window during meetings because he liked watching the city.

Rafe put his head in his hands. He didn’t get why his chest felt tight whenever you smiled at him. He did not understand why he looked up whenever he heard your voice from the side of the room. He didn’t understand why after twelve years of making sure nobody could matter this much you had walked into his life and changed everything.

His eyes burned. It wasn’t  because of tears . It was because he was tired. Tired of pretending he was not looking for you. Tired of pretending his heartbeat did not change whenever your name came up in conversation. Tired of telling himself that this would pass if he just ignored it enough.

It wasn’t passing. It was getting worse every day, every conversation, every time you smiled at him. Every smile chipped away at the walls he had built around himself. Rafe got up and walked around his office stopping in front of the window that looked out over the city. His reflection stared back at him. A thirty four year man who had built an empire who could negotiate big contracts without getting nervous who never doubted himself.

Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about one person. One.

 Rafe's throat felt tight. Quietly he whispered to the office "I do not know what is happening to me." The silence that followed felt unbearable. Because for the time, in years Rafe Cameron did not have a solution.