by Lauren Rowe
I chuckle with her. “That sounds like him.”
“Yes, it does. Which makes what he said about you all the more remarkable.” She stops scrubbing the plate in her hand and looks at me. “Honestly, this is uncharted territory for me. Reed has never once asked a woman to stay here with him for an extended period. And he’s certainly never asked me to roll out the red carpet for one.”
My lips part in surprise.
“Oh, goodness. I hope I’m not out of line telling you that,” Amalia says.
“No. Not at all.” My heart resumes beating again. “Thank you for telling me. It’s a wonderful thing to know.”
“You’ve obviously made quite an impression on him.” She flashes a sweet smile. “And I can certainly see why.”
Color rises in my cheeks. “Thank you. Reed has made quite an impression on me, too.”
Amalia clearly likes that answer. Smiling, she resumes her work at the sink. “What do you do, Georgina? Are you in the entertainment industry? An actress or model?”
“Oh, no. I’m journalist.” My soul swells with pride to be able to say that sentence. “I write for Rock ‘n’ Roll. The magazine about music?”
“Yes, I know it. How wonderful.”
“I’m working hard to get onto the writing staff of this other magazine owned by the same company, a publication devoted to in-depth interviews and investigative journalism.”
“Oh, how exciting. Good luck.”
Imposter syndrome suddenly hits me hard. “Actually, I should clarify: I’m only a summer intern at Rock ‘n’ Roll. I just graduated from UCLA, and this is my first real job. But I’m going to work very hard, and do everything in my power to nab a permanent writing position after the summer.”
Amalia hands me a plate to dry. “I have no doubt you’ll get whatever position you desire.”
Oh, God. Is Amalia putting two and two together right now—piecing together the facts that I’m a summer intern at Rock ‘n’ Roll, a music magazine, and, huh, what a coincidence, I’m also staying with Reed, the head of a music label, for the entire summer? Crap. When I said I was going to do “everything” in my power to nab a permanent position, did Amalia secretly snicker to herself and think, Everything, including Reed.
“The magazine assigned me to do an in-depth interview of Reed,” I blurt, feeling the need to make it clear to Amalia I got my job because of my writing skills—and not because of any help from Reed. “I’ll be following Reed around and writing about him for my article, so he invited me to stay here for the summer to make things more convenient.”
She smiles kindly. “Well, that makes perfect sense.” She peels off her yellow rubber gloves. “I hope everything works out for you and your career, exactly as you’re hoping, Georgie. May I call you Georgie?”
“Yes, I love being called that.”
Shit. Now, I feel like I went overboard making Reed and me seem like nothing but interviewer and interviewee. Clearly, she knows there’s more to it than that, seeing as how Reed has invited me to stay here for the entire summer, and he’s never done that before. I don’t want her to think I’m a liar.
“But, you know, besides the interview, Reed and I have also clicked personally,” I say quickly. “He’s been so sweet.”
“I’m so glad,” she says. And there’s no judgment whatsoever in her tone. She puts her sponge and gloves and dishwashing soap away, and moves to the refrigerator. Which is where she begins pulling out ingredients and putting them onto the island. “Don’t feel like you have to stay here with me, Georgie. I love the company, but I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“I’m not, actually. I’m just waiting for Reed to finish his calls. What’s all this for?” I motion to the items she’s placing on the island.
“I’m making a big pot of Reed’s favorite chicken tortilla soup for dinner tonight. He asked me to make ‘dinner for two.’”
I blush at the knowing look in her eye. She’s sweet and nonjudgmental, but she’s no fool. She knows exactly what’s going on between Reed and me. Of course.
“Would you like some help making the soup?” I ask, my pulse pounding. “I’m a terrible cook—the absolute worst—so don’t get too excited about my offer. But I can certainly help chop vegetables, if you don’t mind a random finger in with your chopped onions.”
She laughs. “No fingers, please. And, yes, I’d love your help.” She grabs a cutting board and knife for me, and hands me an apron. “Reed likes this particular recipe because my version is filled with super foods. He’s usually quite strict about what he eats. Fitness and nutrition are passions for him.”
“Yes, he’s mentioned that. Not that he needed to say it out loud. His body makes it pretty clear he takes excellent care of himself.” I press my lips together again. What the hell is wrong with me? This is Reed’s second mother, and I’ve just implied I’ve seen him naked? Seriously, I know I grew up without a mother, but this is ridiculous.
Thankfully, though, Amalia seems unfazed by my stumbling. In fact, she seems nothing but charmed—the same way CeeCee was when we had coffee together after the panel discussion.
Without missing a beat, she gives me some instruction, including showing me how to make a claw with my left hand while chopping so I don’t cut off my fingers, and then puts me to work. And, in short order, I’m a regular sous chef, chopping away at vegetables while Amalia sautées onions at a burner across from me.
As we work at our stations, we chat easily, and Amalia’s maternal demeanor calms me, reassuring me with each passing minute she’s not judging me for having a fling with her much older, and powerful, boss. Amalia asks me questions, and, soon, I’m telling her about my life—my schooling and family. And I return the favor, drawing her out by asking her questions about her large family, which, it turns out, includes lots of beloved grandchildren.
Finally, about twenty minutes into our conversation, I feel comfortable enough to broach my primary topic of interest.
“So, Reed tells me you’ve known him his whole life?”
“Yes, I was there when they brought tiny little Reed Charlemagne Rivers home from the hospital, looking as sweet as can be.” She chuckles. “He’s not tiny anymore, obviously, but he’s still as sweet as can be.”
Yes, he is, I think. Followed immediately by, Wow, what a difference a day makes. Because, as late as yesterday, I never would have believed anyone would describe Reed Rivers as “sweet.” But here I am, thinking that word describes him perfectly, after the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. Indeed, just this fast, I’m thinking there might be even more sweetness to Reed than I’ve seen. More than I ever thought possible.
But back to work.
I’ve got a job to do.
And I’m pretty sure Amalia, who’s known Reed his entire life, is the perfect person to give me insight into this fiercely private man.
I say, “It’s clear Reed feels exactly the same way about you, Amalia—that you’re sweet as can be. Just this morning, he was telling me about his family, and he explicitly said he considers you a member of his family.”
She stops what she’s doing and looks at me, floored. “Reed said that?”
“He did. In fact, he said he loves you. And that he missed you so much after his father went to prison, when he was thirteen, he hired you as an adult, ten years later, the minute he was financially able to swing it. He said having you back in his life was so important to him, he hired you even before he bought his first sports car.”
Okay, yes, I’m extrapolating and expanding ever so slightly from the actual words Reed said. But why else would Reed have hired Amalia the moment he was able to do so, even before buying a sports car, if he hadn’t missed her terribly after she’d stopped working for his family—which Reed did explicitly say, coincided with his father going to prison?
From Amalia’s body language, it’s clear she’s blown away by what I’ve said. Indeed, if I blew on her, she’d tip over. She leans her hip against the island and puts her h
and on her heart.
“It means the world to me to hear Reed said all of that. Thank you so much for telling me this, Georgie.”
“You’re welcome.” My heart skips a beat. It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out in a kitchen with a kind, older woman, and helped her cook a meal. The experience is causing my heart to flutter like crazy. “Reed actually referred to you as his second mother.” Am I fibbing? Did Reed say that, or did I? I can’t recall. But either way, even if I was the one who said it, Reed certainly didn’t correct me. And he did say he loves Amalia, and a photo of his mother and Amalia is one of the few personal shots in the house... So, I think it’s safe to say I haven’t told a lie.
“I love that sweet man so much,” Amalia says, more to herself than to me. For a moment, she looks lost in thought. But then she shakes off her reverie, sighs, and smiles. “I’m frankly quite surprised Reed said all this to you. Especially, the part about me being with his family until Mr. Rivers went to prison. Reed is an extremely private person. Especially about his father, and his childhood. I think he doesn’t like being reminded of anything unpleasant. He prefers not to think about it.”
My heart is galloping. I have a feeling, if I handle this conversation right, I’ll walk away with a goldmine of insight into parts of Reed he never shows the world. And I won’t have to pull it out of Reed to get it. “Reed actually told me a very poignant story about his father last night in the garage. A story about how Reed used to golf with his father every weekend. The point of the story was to explain to me how devastated Reed was when he realized his father had actually committed the crimes he’d been accused of. So much so, he doesn’t play golf now, because it brings up too many bad memories.”
Amalia’s jaw drops. Quickly, she looks down—and there’s no doubt she’s getting a grip on her emotions. When she looks up again, she looks pale. “I wish so badly I could have done more for Reed after his father went to prison. But there was only so much I could do.”
“Oh, of course, Amalia. I’m sure Reed knows that. From what he said, you’ve been a very calming, nurturing presence for him his whole life.”
Again, she looks shocked. “Wow. Reed really has shared a lot with you about his life, hasn’t he?”
“Well, I have been assigned to write an in-depth article about him. But even more than that, we’ve really clicked, maybe because I’ve shared things about my life with him, too. I told him about my mother, who died when I was nine, and that’s something I never, ever talk about with anyone. The same as Reed, I’m a person who prefers not to talk too much about things that make me sad.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry about your mother.”
“Thank you. I think me opening up about that made Reed feel comfortable to do the same with me.”
“Well, that makes a lot of sense. You and Reed have a shared experience. I mean, it’s not the exact same thing, but both of you did lose your mothers at the exact same age.”
I’m stumped. Reed lost his mother at nine? “Right,” I say, like I know exactly what Amalia is talking about... even though, in truth, I haven’t a clue. If Reed lost his mother at age nine, then who’s the mother happily doing yoga and painting in Scarsdale with her boyfriend, Lee? Also, if Reed lost his mother at nine, why on earth didn’t he mention that fact to me after I told him about my mother? I mean, not last night, when I was screaming at him like a freaking maniac. But this morning, during our amazing, intimate conversation in the gym, when we were both so open and apologetic and kind?
I’m thoroughly confused.
Did Reed’s biological mother die when he was nine, and then his Dad somehow remarried before being shipped off to prison, and the woman in Scarsdale is actually his stepmother—a woman Reed always thinks of as his mother? That could be it. But, damn, if that’s the case, Reed’s father got married after the death of his wife awfully fast. As quickly as my own father did. Which, again, I would have expected Reed to mention when I was telling him about my father and Paula.
My head teeming with thoughts, I chop some carrots for a long moment, and finally cast out my fishing rod. “I’m so proud of Reed for all he’s accomplished in his life,” I say, “especially after everything he went through as a child.”
“Oh, yes. I’m enormously proud of him for that, too. It breaks my heart, just thinking about everything he went through. But he’s come out the other side and made all his dreams come true, while still retaining his kind heart. That’s the best thing of all, if you ask me—that he’s as kind and generous and sweet as ever, despite all his success.”
Okay, who the fuck is Amalia talking about? I mean, yes, Reed has been enormously generous and sweet with me, but Amalia is making him out to be a saint.
“He really is so generous and sweet,” I agree. “I mean, he didn’t simply let Henn throw his wedding here. He paid for everything.”
“Oh, I know. But that’s Reed. If he cares about you, he’ll move heaven and earth to make you happy.”
“So I’m discovering. You know what I think? Reed is terribly misunderstood by people who don’t know him well.”
She stops what she’s doing on a dime. “Oh my gosh, yes, he is! I’m so glad you understand that about him, Georgina, so you can show the world the real Reed in your article. So many people don’t see his heart. They think he’s only a shrewd businessman. But he’s so much more than that.”
“That’s what I like about Reed most. That he’s got so many layers.”
Amalia nods enthusiastically.
And we both fall silent for a moment.
Finally, Amalia says, “To be honest, it shattered me to watch poor Reed’s world come crashing down the way it did.”
I continue chopping methodically, even though my mind is reeling. Is that a reference to Reed’s father’s arrest and conviction? Or a reference to whatever happened to Reed’s mother when he was nine? “Yeah, from what Reed told me,” I say, “it seems like everything was extremely difficult for him.” What “everything” am I talking about? Honestly, I have no idea.
“I just felt so powerless to do anything to help him,” Amalia laments. “And then his father was arrested, only a few short years later, and I thought, ‘Oh my gosh. How much can that poor boy take?’”
“You did everything you could,” I say vaguely, even though I still don’t have a clue what we’re talking about. “Reed knows that.”
Amalia exhales deeply and stops what she’s doing at the stove, so I stop chopping and give her my undivided attention.
“I tried to take him in when his father went to prison,” she says. “But the judge said I wasn’t a relative, so I couldn’t have him. It broke my heart to watch him get sent to live with some distant relative he barely knew, rather than with me. I wanted to be the one to take him because I loved him like my own. I truly did.” She wipes her eyes with her apron. “I still do.”
Well, this is new information. When Reed’s father was arrested, Reed was sent to live with a distant relative? Why? Where was Reed’s mother... or his stepmother, if that’s who the happy woman in Scarsdale is? Oh, God, I’m so confused. I move around to Amalia on the other side of the island, and put my hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure Reed knows you did your best, Amalia.”
Amalia shakes her head. “I cried when I couldn’t get custody of him. I cried for myself and for Reed, and for his poor mother, too. Of course, I would have preferred his mother could have taken care of him, but that simply wasn’t possible. Truly, it was just a tragedy, all around, for all of us.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t be here with Reed now, all these years later, if he felt anything but love and gratitude toward you.”
“Thank you. I only want the best for him.”
“Of course, you do. I think that’s what Reed appreciates about his relationship with you. How uncomplicated it is. When he told me about his mother... and her life in Scarsdale...” I trail off, not sure how to complete the sentence. What the hell are we talking about?
/>
“Yes, I know Reed wishes she’d agree to transfer to the facility in Malibu. But she won’t leave the one in Scarsdale.”
And there it is. Finally. The truth. The word that explains that tightness I thought I saw on Reed’s face last night when he talked about his mother’s happy, perfect life in Scarsdale with her boyfriend, Lee. Facility. As in mental facility?
“Yes, exactly,” I say calmly, even though my synapses are exploding. “He said he gets out there to visit as much as he can, but I’m sure it would be easier if she’d transfer to the facility in Malibu.”
“Of course, it would. I’m sure it hurts Reed, more than he lets on, that she won’t move to a facility closer to him, so he can spend more time with her and take care of her the way he wants to do.” She looks toward the door of the kitchen, and then back at me. “I’m not surprised Eleanor won’t move closer, honestly. She never put her boys first, right from the start. That was the hardest thing for me to watch, as their nanny. A mother should always put her children first, whether she’s got a nanny or not.”
Holy fuck burgers. My brain is whirring and clacking now, deftly processing the shreds of new information Amalia just supplied to me. Eleanor. Note to self: gather every bit of information you can on Eleanor Rivers of Scarsdale. Boys. Plural. Amalia said Eleanor never put the boys first. And that Amalia was “their” nanny. But Reed didn’t mention he has a brother. Only a sister. And I don’t think Wikipedia mentioned a brother.
I put down my knife, every molecule of my skin buzzing. “Hey, Amalia. I’m sorry. I just remembered I have to research something for one of the articles I’m writing. I’m sorry to ditch my duties as your sous chef, but—”
“Go, go. This is my job, not yours. Thank you for the conversation. I’ve wanted to talk to someone about these things for a very long time.” She smiles kindly. “You’re absolutely lovely, Georgie. It’s no wonder Reed is so taken with you.”
My heart squeezes. “Thank you. It’s no wonder Reed loves you so much. I’m looking forward to cooking and chatting with you a lot this summer.”