“Oh, good you’re here. Let’s talk in my office.”
She walks faster to match Kim’s pace. “What’s going on?”
“Today of all days, Ellen, my top model recruiter, up and decides to go into labor, and now I’m all alone running the show. Damn her and her uterus. One word of advice: don’t have kids. They’ll ruin you.”
“Don’t you have kids?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly why I just gave you that advice. Learn from the voice of wisdom.”
She walks quicker and more frantic.
“What am I doing here? I can’t stay long.”
“Oh, relax! Here, have a coke,” she says, snatching one from a table with refreshments and handing it to her.
“Yay. My favorite cancer-causing product.” She opens the can. “What do you want to talk about?”
Sophie takes a sip of Diet Coke and almost spits it right back out at the sight of Sarah and Alana together.
“Shit.” She wipes at the little dribbles of soda spilled on her shirt.
Kim follows her gaze. Things like frustration and stress are the reason Sophie has high-blood pressure at the shocking age of twenty-five.
“What’s she doing here?” Kim eyes Sarah with a squint over her purple glasses.
“I told her to stay in the car. I have to go get her.”
“No, no, no. She’ll be fine. You come with me.”
As they enter her office, Kim tells Sophie to take a seat and digs in her desk drawer for something. Then, she plunks it down in front of her.
It is a sheave of spiral bound papers, with the first sheet reading:
Screwed Six Ways To Sunday
by
Amelia Sophia Cavall
Sophie looks up at Kim. “What is this?”
“Just a manuscript in progress at this point. Expected publication in one or two years. I’m still thinking about the title. What do you think?”
“Well…fuck.”
“Hmm. That actually might work. Well…Fuck: Screwed Six Ways To Sunday. Genius!”
“Are you joking me?” she says, looking pissed. “Kim, who wrote this?”
“A ghost writer.”
“Where do you plan to sell it? Barnes & Fucked Up?”
“It’s obviously not complete. The foreword and middle is missing, as well as some personal citations. I’m going to need you to fill Sally in on the deets.”
All Sophie hears is blah blah blah. “Who?”
“Here, read the forward,” Kim says, flipping the pages. “I love that part.”
Her pout deepening, Sophie stares at the words on page five.
Supermodel Amelia Sophia Cavall makes her literary debut!
Cavall takes readers on a devastating but uplifting journey, recalling her cruel upbringing in her hometown Trenton, New Jersey; a terrifying abduction, her half-sister, and her relationship with media mogul Oliver Black.
Sophie is furious. “No.”
“No? No what?”
“No. It’s a complete sentence.”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“This is how our relationship works, isn’t it? You tell me what I have to do and I tell you I don’t like it.”
An assistant peeks in through the door. “Hey, Kim, some girls got in a catfight,” she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.
Kim quickly moves around her desk. “You, take the manuscript home. Read it. Write down your thoughts.”
“Now wait a second—”
“Read it,” she snarls.
Sophie rolls her eyes, pushes to her feet, and storms out the door. Kim immediately gets lost below the slew of insanely tall girls. Sophie has nothing in common with all those skinny girls, except that she looks like one and she, too, profits from it. Sophie runs into Sarah and Alana in the vestibule, next to the elevator. She smiles trying to make it look all natural. This business is all about fake smiling. Sophie is left with Alana air-kissing her cheeks. She doesn’t hate her boss; she hates what Alana stands for, from exploiting teenagers and superficial beauty to greediness.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?” Sophie says, stepping aside so people can exit the elevator.
Sarah answers, “Oh, don’t worry. I cut out two holes in a paper bag and put it over my face. Nobody saw me come in.”
“She’s a natural!” Alana raves.
“Where’d you get a paper bag? You know what…doesn’t matter. I don’t care. We should go.”
“Wait! You’ll never guess who just offered me a job,” Sarah shrieks with excitement. “Alana here says I have a lot of potential!”
Oh dear God, Sophie instantly says in the back of her head. She’s bouncing all over the emotional map.
Alana delicately flicks back her black bangs with her French-manicured hand. “Raw potential, Sarah. That’s different. And what did I say about calling me Alana?”
Sarah blushes, as if no one has ever told her such a thing.
“But you have to prove you’re more than just a pretty face. I’m afraid having flawless skin isn’t enough,” says Alana.
Sarah nods eagerly. “So what do you think, Sophie?”
The elevator opens just as Sophie says, “I need a moment.”
She goes inside alone, waits for the doors to close behind her, and screams at the top of her lungs, “What the hell is happening?”
IN THE GYM, Sophie takes out all her pent up anger on her opponent—the dummy.
“What did that poor guy ever do to you?” Sarah asks, sitting on a nearby bench. “Why are you angry?”
She stops and looks at Sarah, then continues delivering a fury of punches.
“Is this about what happened at the agency? Look, Sophie, I don’t have to be a model,” she admits. “I was just excited someone wanted me to be one.”
“If you want to be a model, Sarah, be my guest.”
“But you’re angry.”
Sophie kicks the dummies crotch, startling Sarah.
“I’m serious. I could never be a model.” But she flirts with the idea nonetheless. “I’m too accident prone. And people make me anxious.” A loud quacking noise sends Sarah digging in her bag for her phone.
“Your ringtone is a duck?”
Sarah answers it, and a second later says, “It’s for you.”
Sophie takes one last kick at the dummy and knocks it over, then chugs a bottle of water, quenching her gargantuan thirst, and grabs the phone from Sarah.
Oliver asks, “Question: what’s the point of having a cellphone if you never answer it?”
She wipes her face with a towel. “It’s in my bag.”
“Sophie, where have you been? I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Does something have to be wrong?”
“You sound worried.”
“If you don’t pick up, I do worry.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She looks at her knuckles, red and bruised. “I’m at the gym working out. It’s been a stressful morning.”
“Are you working on your breathing? Putting your whole body behind your punches?”
She stares at the rubber guy on the floor. Right now, she can walk on glass, break boards. “I knocked the dummy over. He’d be dead if he were real.”
“That’s my girl,” he says proudly.
Sophie can’t help but smile at that. “Where are you?”
“I am in Mexico, Señorita.”
“Mexico?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing in Mexico? And more importantly, why didn’t I know about it?”
“Black International is building a natural gas plant. I’m down here overseeing the construction and development…meeting with the clients. I told you this morning.”
“And what did I say?”
“You grunted in your sleep.”
“Sounds like me. When are you coming back?”
“In a few days.” He stands at the edge of a cliff, looking at the water and
rocks below as seagulls fly over. “Hey, if you’re done for the day, why don’t you come down here with me?”
Sophie hears the seagulls squawking. “To Mexico?”
“Yeah. Beach. Sand. Sun.”
“You had me at hey.”
“Great. I’ll have the jet prepared for you.”
“Oliver, I’d love to. You know that. But I don’t think it’s a great idea.”
“Why not? It’s only a day or two.”
“Things aren’t exactly ducky around here. We’re in the middle of pre-trial preparations. I can’t just pack a bikini and take off, not to mention my brain is fried.”
“Right now, it’s a waiting game. My attorney is on top of things. He’ll let me know if something comes up.”
“What about,” she lowers her voice, “you know who? I can’t exactly leave her here.” Even lower, “Even if I want to.”
“Sarah? You’re going to have to bring her too. I’ll tell Cassie. That way, we can be left alone.”
“Are you serious?”
“Like a heart attack. Just you and me.”
“Hey, kid. Do you have a passport?”
Sarah nods excitedly.
Sophie lets this sink in. Her body tingles with the fantasy of their arms snaking around each other at the beach, enjoying the balmy Mexican air. They need some time as a couple without getting lost in work, worries, or other problems. It can’t be all serious and no fun.
“Sophie, I need my girlfriend. We’ve been caught up in a frenzy of things, important for sure, but we need to be spend time alone. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course I agree.”
“Besides, I sleep much more peacefully with you by my side.”
“But I snore and toss and turn all night.”
“It’s more of a gentle snore now. So what do you say? A little tequila, a little fun, a little…privacy?”
She can hear his flirtatious tone over the phone. “Well, I guess my legs could use some sun.” Her smile threatens to turn into a chuckle.
“Don’t worry about your legs, darling. I’ll see to them the second you arrive.”
Jesus.
T W E N T Y - O N E
* * *
Casa Diamante
THE JET REVS its engines. Everyone is in their seats, buckled in, ready for takeoff. Cassie lounges in front of the widescreen TV, flips off her sandals, and slides on a pair of earphones.
Sarah Summers. Sophie reads the passport and looks to Sarah next to her, gripping the arms of her seat like a cat claws into a tree.
“Get me chocolate milk.” Sarah’s palms are sweaty, heart rate is speeding up.
“They don’t have chocolate milk, Sarah.”
She closes her eyes and focuses on happy thoughts. “I’ve never been on a plane. I’ve never been anywhere.”
“Then why do you have a passport?”
“My foster mother insisted. Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“We needed to leave.”
“And go where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sarah, I don’t think I know where your foster mother is.” She knows exactly where Anna Summers is.
“She’s dead. John killed her.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Lucky for Sarah, the flight attendant appears. “Good afternoon. My name is Amanda. I’m here to ensure you have an enjoyable flight. Mr. Black has requested the location remain a surprise. Sit back while we wait for takeoff clearance from air traffic. Feel free to enjoy the entertainment system while I serve from the full bar service. We expect to arrive in four hours and twenty-five minutes. Enjoy your flight.”
One safety procedure explanation later and they are off.
Somehow, Sarah forgets they are forty thousand feet in the air and decides to revel in chicken, baked potato, and a Root Beer while flipping channels on the TV.
“Way better than peanuts, huh?” Cassie says, but Sarah doesn’t get the joke because she doesn’t know there is a special place in hell for regular airplane food. She puts her chair back and props her feet up, soon snoring so loud it almost interferes with the jet’s communication system.
Sophie pops a Dramamine. She has her fair share of flight miles, but hates planes. If there is even the slightest human miscalculation, most likely everyone dies. Flying is a necessary evil. With the stupor from the pill, the whirr of the motor, and the monotony of endless clouds changing shapes, she falls asleep.
“SEÑORITAS, BUENAS TARDES! We’ve arrived at our destination. The local time is 4:15 PM. Current temperature is twenty-nine degrees Celsius. Please remain in your seats with your seat belt fastened until the jet has come to a complete stop and the seat-belt sign has been turned off. It has been a pleasure serving you today. Welcome to Mexico!”
“Thank God for Mountain Time,” Cassie says.
Sophie wakes up to a bright sky, looking like she belongs at a casting call for a zombie movie. “Oh, God,” she says, the light hurting her eyes. She throws on a floppy hat and is last to get off. Still dozy, she trudges wearily off the plane, the glorious Mexican sun beaming down on her.
A nice customs officer by the name of Ruben checks passports and suitcases, then sends them on their way. Like a mirage in the middle of the Sahara desert, Oliver appears. Except, he’s real. Very real. Real as the grin on his face. The man is a sight to behold. He’s leaning against a Jeep Wrangler and his arms are crossed over his chest, oozing casual power. She drinks him all in—aviators, khaki shorts, white breezy button-down, and boat shoes.
Are you kidding me?
As she descends the steps of the jet in her maxi dress that is swaying from side to side with the breeze, Oliver stops breathing.
Cassie and Sarah hop in the back seat of the Jeep.
“Welcome to Cabo,” Oliver says as Sophie approaches.
They lock stares and kiss.
Sophie swallows a sigh. “Oliver Black, do you have to look like that?”
His charming smile transforms into a full-blown chuckle. “Like what?”
“God, you’re just too good-looking for my sanity.” It doesn’t help that his cologne is a seductive fog whirling around her.
He snakes his arm around her neck and steals another kiss, then opens the Jeep’s front passenger door and she slinks in.
Oliver gets into the driver’s seat and says, “We are staying in San José del Cabo. It’s a forty-five minute drive. It’s the quiet side of Baja.”
As the car picks up speed, Cassie and Sarah kick back in their seats and put their hands up in the air; the glory of riding with the roof down.
“So, how was your flight?” he asks Sophie.
Sophie takes her hat off, letting her hair fly around in all directions. “It was fine. I’m a little jet-lagged, though.”
“Word on the street is sex will fix that.”
She bursts out laughing. “Of course you would say that!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be your willing participant.”
“Aw, really? How very thoughtful of you.”
“That’s me. Always taking one for the team.”
“Please. You think sex is the cure for everything.”
He turns to look at her with an enticing smile. “I’m a guy. I’ll tell you sex cures everything from migraines to insomnia to frozen shoulder and athlete’s foot.”
“Uh huh.”
“Did you know that if mosquitoes had more sex, we’d get bitten less and they’d carry less diseases?”
“How about we listen to some music rather than talk about insect porn?”
The jeep has a center console, so Oliver can’t pull her close like he wants to, but Sophie finds his hand and slips her fingers through his.
He tells them about the city as he drives in. A distance away is the beach and sugar-like blankets of sand. It’s a picture-perfect spot, quiet and soothing, the air salty with ocean spray. It is heaven; just what they need. The private sanctuary comes into vi
ew. The villa is burrowed on a hilltop with exquisite coastline views, surrounded by lush gardens.
Oliver pulls ups and says, “Casa Diamante.”
“What’s that?” Sophie asks.
“The name of the villa. Do you like it?”
“It’s enchanting.”
They step out of the car to get their luggage from the back. Sophie already feels peaceful and relaxed.
“Is this a hotel or an art museum?” Sarah probes, walking past Cantera stone columns with trailing vines.
“It’s ours for the remainder of our trip,” Oliver says.
Vibrant artwork, wrought iron chandeliers, and Spanish furniture create an elegant Tuscan design inside the villa. From the kitchen emerges a stocky woman with a tray—a festive feast of chips, salsa, guacamole, and margaritas.
“Dibs on the guac.” Cassie plucks a chip from the tray and dunks it in the green goo. It’s transcendent. “Try it Sarah.”
Nothing says Mexico quite like a margarita. “I’ll take one of these.” Sophie grabs a cactus stem glass.
“This is Imelda,” Oliver introduces. “She’ll be with us for the remainder of our trip. If you need anything, just ask her.”
AFTER REJOICING IN lunch, Sophie wanders to the master suite and lounges on the four-poster bed. The sliding doors to the private terrace are open, a lovely breeze whooshing. Oliver joins her a minute later, saying, “Alone at last.”
“Careful,” Sophie warns. “If my boyfriend finds you in here, you’re going to be in big trouble.”
“Is that so?” he says, unbuttoning his shirt.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Is he the jealous type?”
“He’ll kill you.”
He walks to the bed and perches over Sophie. “Well, we’ll just have to be extra quiet so he doesn’t catch us, won’t we?” he whispers into her lips.
“Impossible.”
As the day drags on, Cassie and Sarah go for a dive in the infinity edge pool while Sophie and Oliver explore the city. They walk lazily down the marina boardwalk. Not a care in the world. Time in Mexico seems to pass slowly and no one rushes for anything. A lively mariachi flounces toward them, sending them recoiling in surprise. Street vendors with handcrafted jewelry, candies, and donkey collectibles dressed in sarapes bombard them.
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