A Hot Mess

by Brandi Evans

Viv sat on my opposite side while Chad stood in front of the corner TV, the display showing one of those twenty-four-hour news channels. Last I'd looked, my face had been plastered all over the screen, just like I remembered my dad's when I was a kid. I'd hated all the attention my dad had garnered. It had made him angry, but even more tragically, it had broken my mom. She'd retreated into herself, and she'd never entirely found her way back.

  The summer between my kindergarten and first-grade years, my world had shattered. My dad had gone from a Wall Street darling to a social pariah, and my mom and I had been caught in the backlash. We hadn't gone to trial, but in the court of public opinion, we'd been deemed guilty by association, mom more than I. We'd lost our home, our possessions, our way of life, our illusion of the perfect family.

  Everything was gone as fast as the money my father had swindled. Some conservative estimates had put the figure as low as fifty-two million, but others had put the number in the billions. I hadn't wanted to look that hard into it. The exact number had never interested me, especially considering my father's actions had much more devastating consequences than lost money.

  Lives had been lost in the aftermath, including my father's.

  "Oh, god… my mom." I sat up. "She must be worried sick. I need to call her."

  "Okay," Viv said. "Let me just go grab your cell."

  She started to push to her feet, but Chad's voice stopped her. "Bree, you need to see this."

  I shook my head even as I turned toward the TV. Two images of me occupied the top right corner of the screen; the image itself was split. The left showed a picture of me as a child on the courthouse steps, wearing a pale blue dress while crying into my mother's skirt; the right was my bio pic from the Red Light website. The stark contrast between the smiling, professional woman and the scared child was stark and, no doubt, done with intent.

  A blonde reporter filled the left of the screen, seemingly looking right at me as she said, "Janet Lancaster, daughter of notorious conman Phillip Lancaster, has been romantically linked to billionaire bachelor Maxwell Penn of Whitecliff International." The image of me shifted to one of Max overlaid with Whitecliff International's logo, a solid white cliff reminiscent of Alum Bay, England where he'd grown up. "Maxwell Penn is one of the wealthiest men in the world, and at this point, it's unclear if Janet, who's been going by the name Breanne Jennings, has any ill intention toward Mr. Penn. Unconfirmed reports suggest she may be following in her infamous father's footsteps and attempting to get her hands on Mr. Penn's vast fortune. We've reached out to Mr. Penn and Whitecliff International for a statement, but so far, our queries have gone unanswered. We have, however, learned that Whitecliff International's Board of Directors has called an emergency session, and currently, they're sequestered at the company's Dallas headquarters discussing whatever potential threat Ms. Lancaster may pose. This is a breaking story, and we will report additional information as it becomes available."

  No. I shook my head. I knew things were bad, but I'd only been thinking about how bad things were for Max and me personally. I hadn't even thought about how this would affect him professionally, but to learn there'd been an emergency board meeting, I couldn't even fathom that.

  Fuck!

  An emergency board meeting? What exactly did that mean? Did they think I was trying to swindle them? More importantly, did Max?

  I collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut and fell to the floor. Max. He'd suffered too much at the hands of women who'd broken his trust, and after this, I was afraid he'd classify me as one of their ilk. I couldn't stand for that. The shit storm raging around me would have to wait; I needed to clear things up with Max—try to anyway.

  "I have to call Max." I tried pushing to my feet, but my arms and legs wouldn't cooperate. Shock was wreaking havoc on my central nervous system. "I need my phone. I have to—"

  "You need to breathe, mi amiga," Aimée said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you don't, you're going to pass out, and if you pass out, I'm afraid there'd be no way for us to sneak you out of here."

  I nodded.

  "Hug your legs into your chest," Viv instructed, "and rest your head on your knees. Focus on your breathing until you're back in control."

  As if I hadn't been trying to do that very thing since we'd hidden away in my office, but I kept the snark to myself. Viv was only trying to help, and I liked her all the more for that.

  Chad admonished the TV. "Bree's not a vindictive shrew, you little cocknugget."

  God. I wrenched my eyes closed until white swirling lights filled my vision.

  "Although I still can't believe you kept the fact you were screwing the boss a secret from us. I mean, I understand why you didn't tell the world, but we're family, Bree—wait." He paused. "Do you still want us to call you Bree? Or do you want—"

  "Chad!" Aimée shouted. "Not the time!"

  "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Bree, I wasn't thinking. I was just—"

  "I know, Chad." And I did. This had to be quite the shock for them, too. "And, yes, I'm still Bree. I've been Bree for so long that I hardly remember who this Janet person even is."

  "Then you're still Bree to us," said Aimée.

  "Thank you." With tears playing at the backs of my eyes, I glanced around the room at the trio trying to keep me same. "I love you all, and—"

  My office door whispered open. Adrenaline forced me to my feet, readying me to defend my friends from some overeager reporter or crazed victim of my father's. To go for the mace I always kept in my desk might be easier than trying to physically fight anyone off, especially in my current state, but the three men stepping into the space filled me with so much relief that I couldn't stop the tears that were suddenly streaming down my cheeks.

  "Brock!" Viv rushed into her lover's mighty arms. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but what are you doing here?"

  "Max called us." He pointed over his shoulder to the two men standing behind him, Big Dom and Smaller Dom. "He wanted to make sure Bree was delivered to his office safely, but first…" He gave Viv a hard squeeze. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," Viv whispered. "I was terrified for about a split second, but Bree barreled through those reporters like she'd been shot from a cannon. And she dragged the rest of us along with her. The asshats never stood a chance."

  "Good." He gave her a quick kiss and then turned to me. "Grab what you need, and if you have a pair of sunglasses and a hat or hoodie, I suggest you grab that, too. The boys and I will get you out of here safely, but I can't guarantee we can get you out unseen."

  Before I could respond, Aimée pushed to her feet, too. "I have a better idea. Give me the glasses and hoodie. Chad and I will go out front and try to distract them. It won't distract them for long, though." She held her arms out. "While I consider Bree a sister from a different mister, we don't exactly look alike. It won't take those asshats long to figure it out."

  My Cuban compadre was right, but with the right pair of gloves, glasses, and the big, black hoodie hanging on my desk chair, it could give me the opening I needed.

  "Are you sure?" I said to her. "Reporters are cockroaches. One, you can step on, but when they're out in force, they can—"

  "Shut it, Bree." Aimée stepped in for a fierce hug. "We've got your back.

  Chad stepped close and joined the hug. "What she said."

  My tears started again. I love you both. But the words didn't make it past the emotion lodged in my throat. Chad and Aimée were more than just co-workers; they were more than friends. They were family, and I had a feeling I was gonna need them more than ever.

  As the sleek metal lines and vast curving windows of Whitecliff International's headquarters came into view, I couldn't stop the dread spreading through me. I wasn't sure about the wisdom of Max bringing me here. I sort of felt like a criminal returning to the scene of her crime, and I was pretty sure the reporters lining the front entrance would see it the same way.

  Security had been bumped up a few levels.
The place was usually secure, but Max—or quite possibly his Board of Directors—were apparently not taking any chances. I counted at least five more guards than usual patrolling the grounds, and then, I stopped counting. It just made me feel that much shittier.

  I pressed my face into my palms and folded myself over my bent legs, making myself as small as I could in the backseat of Viv's SUV. If I could wake up and this be a dream, that'd be great.

  What did Max think of me right now? Did he hate me? The idea he might had my intestines knotting into pretzels.

  Brock pulled around the back of the building to the executive parking lot. Viv was in the passenger's seat, and I was sandwiched between Big Dom and Smaller Dom, better known by their actual names, Steel and Ewan Haynes.

  Brock stopped at the guard shack and rolled down his window. Steel and Ewan each sat taller and leaned into me as if shielding me from whatever might happen next. I, on the other hand, didn't move a muscle.

  "Mr. Penn said he'd sent word ahead that he was expecting us."

  "Of course." Pause. "On the left side of the building, you'll see a door. The spot in front of it's vacant. Park there, and someone will be waiting outside the door to greet you."

  "Got it," Brock answered.

  I didn't lift my head again until we'd pulled to a stop and Brock cut the engine. Even then, I hesitated until everyone else had stepped from the vehicle.

  Max's head of security, an African-American man whose name escaped me, was waiting for us and escorted us through the building.

  Max's presence haunted me as we made our way through the complex, but the feeling intensified as we made our way through the bustling activity in the long corridor outside his office. I hated the leers I received from the Whitecliff staff as I passed. I tried not to look, but I couldn't stop myself. If they looked at me with this much hatred, how much more intense would it be when I looked Max in the eyes?

  As we stepped into the outer recesses of Max's office, Todd stood. I willed myself not to look through the bank of windows separating Max's inner office from the exterior, but I was as drawn to Max as ever.

  He stood at the end of a rectangular table, knuckles of his fisted hands resting on the flat surface. Seven men and three women sat around the table and, from the looks of it, were talking over themselves.

  Max…

  My fingers itched to reach for him even as my feet itched to flee. The need to comfort versus self-preservation. This entire fucked-up scenario was breaking my heart.

  "How is he?" I asked Todd, my gaze remaining on the man I loved.

  "Angry," Todd answered simply. "I've never seen him like this before."

  I hugged my arms around my middle. I wasn't much of a praying person, but if ever I'd pray for anything, it'd be for Max's forgiveness.

  Todd pressed the button on his desk that connected to Max's office. "Mr. Penn, she's here."

  Max looked up, gaze snapping instantly to mine. Too many emotions played over his face simultaneously, and I couldn't decipher them. His expression so utterly and so heartbreakingly mimicked what I was feeling.

  With a flick of his arm, Max dismissed the people at the table; it was a gesture I'd seen him use many times. I'd always thought it a powerful, masculine move that relayed his strength. Right now, I couldn't shake the feeling it was a dark omen. Would he dismiss me with the same calculated coolness?

  Everyone at the table stood, save for the man opposite Max. His balding head gleamed under the fluorescent lights as he lifted his chin defiantly and said something to Max. I couldn't make out his words, but whatever he said, it set Max off.

  Max slammed his fists on the mahogany table and shouted at the man with such ferocity that I could hear the words from where I stood.

  "Get the fuck out of my goddamn office!"

  I reached for Viv's hand, hoping the act telegraphed my unspoken plea. Please don't leave me.

  Was that about to be me? Was I about to face Maxwell Penn's rage?

  I remained like granite as what I assumed was Whitecliff's Board Members filed past us. I didn't make eye contact with any of them. I couldn't turn away from Max even as he turned away from me. He moved to stand behind his desk, back to me as he stared out the bank of windows stretching the entire back wall of his office.

  "You can go in, Ms. Jennings," Todd said softly.

  Ms. Jennings. At least, Todd hadn't called me Ms. Lancaster. I didn't think I could have handled that and kept any semblance of my wits about me.

  "Do you want me to go with you?" Viv asked.

  I shook my head. As much as I wanted the moral support, I needed to do this alone. I owed Max that much.

  "Okay." Viv hugged me. "Just know I'm here if you change your mind. You'll always be Bree to me."

  "Thank you." I turned to the three men behind Viv. "Thank you all, too." I'd likely be a quivering ball of frayed emotions in my office if it weren't for them.

  "Anytime," Brock said. "Just give us a call if you need anything." For a badboy lookalike who wore menace like a second skin, Brock was a damn nice guy.

  "I will," I promised. And with that said, they left me with only one thing left to do: face the man I loved and beg his forgiveness.

  Chapter 9

  I'd only been in Max's office at Whitecliff a handful of times during regular business hours, and being here today felt as weird and tense as ever. This time, it wasn't the secretive nature of our relationship that had me on edge, though. Everyone knew about us. Our relationship was the furthest thing from a secret as anything I'd ever known.

  I wrapped my arms around my middle and willed myself not to cry. "Max—" My voice cracked, as did the feeble dam I'd constructed to hold back my tears. I was breaking fast, and I was breaking hard. "I'm so sorry."

  "You're sorry?" he asked over his shoulder, still not looking at me. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for?"

  I didn't understand his question. I knew he'd seen the news.

  "Please, Max, what they're saying about me, it's not true. Not all of it anyway. Yes, Phillip Lancaster was my father, but the rest of it, about me trying to take advantage of you, I swear that's all fake." I wanted to go to him; I wanted to run. "My mom made a deal with the feds. She'd cooperate with the prosecution, and they'd relocate us. They're the ones who gave us new identities. Changing my name wasn't part of some nefarious plan to try to hoodwink you."

  "I know, Bree." He finally turned to me, his desk a mountain between us. "I know exactly who you are. I've known for a while."

  "You… what?" No, I must have heard him wrong.

  He hung his head, and what looked very much like shame made his shoulders slouch. It was such a non-Max stance that part of me wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but shock rooted me to the spot.

  "I don't understand," I said. "You… knew?"

  He nodded and double-fisted his fingers into his blond locks and held on for a heart attack-inducing second before removing an envelope from his desk and handing it to me. "That packet arrived at the office about a month ago. There was no return address."

  With shaking hands, I took the envelope and sat in one of the two visitors' chairs opposite him. The packet was weighty and filled me with dread. I hesitated for a long moment when I gripped the pile of documents. I really didn't want to know what these showed. God, I really didn't. But today wasn't a day where I was getting anything I wanted.

  As I took a deep breath, I pulled the pile free and placed it on Max's desk in front of me. On top, sat an 8x10 picture of my father. Written in red marker across the bottom were four words that chilled me to the bone. Do you like riddles?

  Ants crawling in my stomach, I set the photo aside. Giselle had said something to Max earlier about a riddle, and he'd about lost his shit. Now, I was starting to understand why. She'd sent this to him.

  The next page was a photocopy of a family portrait that used to hang over our mantel, with me, dressed in my kindergarten best, seated in front of my smiling mother and father as if we d
idn't have a care in the world. The image was a reminder of happier times. Well, an illusion of happier times anyway, before my father's sins destroyed our lives.

  Red letters trailed across the bottom of the image: Phillip Lancaster was murdered in prison, but what do you think ever happened to little Janet Lancaster?

  The word murdered was underlined three times, making the threat to little Janet—me—unmistakably clear.

  A shiver chased down my spine as I flipped to the next document. Photocopy after photocopy of newspaper articles followed. They covered everything from my father's crimes to his trial. There were even pieces on the six victims who'd committed suicide in the aftermath.

  I closed my eyes, feeling as guilty by association as I had during the trial, when the court of public opinion had cast their verdicts regarding my mother and me.

  Aside from making my heart break, each article had one other thing in common: I was pictured somewhere, each occurrence circled and penned with some variation of What happened to little Janet?

  After the articles on my father, the sender had chronicled my life—elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. My first job after graduation and, finally, culminating with my employment at Red Light. It was very thorough. There was even a picture of Max and me together in his basement pool, the doors to the space thrown open as we enjoyed a moonlight skinnydip in the hot Texas night.

  The last document was a sheet of printer paper with simple text:

  We've found little Janet Lancaster. What a busy girl she's been. What a private world she's made for herself. Now, tell me. What would you be willing to do to keep all the following information from finding its way into the sunlight? Or perhaps, little Janet Lancaster isn't as innocent as she seems. Perhaps, she's just a daddy's girl who wants to reclaim the lifestyle taken from her. And maybe, just maybe, she's found her perfect mark.

  My brain was firing too fast to fully process everything. Giselle was trying to leverage my past against Max? Why? To make him miserable? She was using Max's past against him, too, by hinting at my possible betrayal. She was a bitch and a half.