“Where are the cameras?” she asks, diving right in.
“There are only three cameramen,” I explain again. “They won’t follow me if I’m not with someone else. So if you’re worried about them coming into this building—”
“I’m not.” She pulls out her smart phone and simultaneously types an email while she speaks to me. “I’m worried that this girl is going to ruin you.”
“Her name is Rose, and she’s not going to ruin me.” She’s never met her, but they’ve both been pressuring me about letting them have coffee together or brunch. I just don’t see what good will come of it. And so I make excuses about my mother never having time to see Rose. And Rose never having time to see my mother. It’s a shit thing to do, but I’m certain they’ll hate each other. I also believe Katarina will try to run Rose out of my life, and I want her firmly by my side.
My mother pockets her phone and her eyes darken with displeasure. “She’s a powerful girl who started her own business as a teenager. She’s driven, independent, and passionate.”
All the things I admire, and yet, I know she’s about to turn every quality into something sinister and wrong.
“Working women don’t have men. We can’t keep relationships. We are married to our careers.” She announces each sentence like a nail in a coffin, pounding down the reality around me. “The children we do have are sent to boarding schools or are raised by nannies. It’s the life I wanted, even at the sacrifice of my husband and my child. You don’t want to walk into that, Connor. You’re smarter than that.”
I refuse to stare at the table, to look away from her dark blue eyes. I meet her powerful gaze with one of my own. Her words may affect me to some degree, but I won’t ever show it.
I don’t talk to my mother about my relationships very often, and any mention of Rose usually accompanies some sort of disparaging snort and blasé brush off. When I told her that I was moving in with Rose, she wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. She’d prefer that my girlfriend moved in with me. Not the other way around. I was willing to uproot my life for Rose, and according to Katarina Cobalt, other girls would have gladly walked into my home. In her eyes, I chose a path that doesn’t benefit me.
I had to use Steve Balm as an intermediary just to talk to her during that time.
Our communication reopened only after I explained the reality show and how it can help Cobalt Inc. if I take the right steps.
“You need to set your sights on a girl like Caroline Haverford,” she tells me. I internally grimace, but I don’t let on that her name sends knives into my spine. I dated Caroline. I fucked Caroline. But it was business. Like my relationship with my mother. Like my life.
Is it so bad to want something real?
“I’m with Rose,” I say sternly. “That’s not going to change.”
Her nails rap on the table, frustrated. Katarina Cobalt always gets what she wants, and this is the first time I’ve put on the brakes, unwilling to give in to her requests.
“Caroline will be there for you. She’ll have time for you. Rose won’t. You’ll grow resentful and bitter of each other. And as years pass, you’ll realize you’re sleeping next to a stranger.”
“Are we still talking about my relationship?” I ask her with an arched brow.
Her lips press in a tight line. “Do you love her?”
“Love is an irrational feeling,” I say. I hate that I actually believe these words. “It makes smart people do stupid things. My relationship with Rose is…stimulating.” I think I’m a sociopath. Fuck. I need to see Frederick.
“Good,” my mother says with a nod. “No need to make this into some tragic Shakespearean tale. At least she hasn’t corrupted your mind yet.”
My mother rises from her chair and straightens her pencil skirt.
“I’d like to meet her,” she tells me for the thousandth time. “Schedule an appointment with Marci, and if you don’t, I’ll call Rose myself. We don’t need you to lie for us anymore.”
Her heels click away, leaving me to picture the impending meeting of Katarina Cobalt and Rose Calloway.
There will be screaming. Yelling. Possible bloodshed.
Though she’s resilient, I’m not so sure Rose will come out victorious this time.
My cellphone chimes and I see the name flash across the screen. Scott Van Wright. Wonderful.
When I answer the phone, I make sure I have the first words. “Scott, how sweet of you to call, I was beginning to suspect you didn’t like me very much.”
“Why would you get that idea?” You want to fuck my girlfriend.
“You like Rose better.” I throw out the bait, testing his response.
“I do like her better,” he tells me. “She’s prettier.” I wait for him to add something crude like “and she has a pussy” but he doesn’t. Either I’ve been hanging around vulgar people for too long or he’s censoring himself.
“Many men would disagree,” I say casually. “So why the sudden call?”
“I’m picking up food from the grocery store. I thought I’d get some of Rose’s favorite things. What does she like?”
“Me.”
He lets out a laugh. “This phone call is being filmed, you know. I have you on speaker.” He says it like he caught me in a spider’s web.
“She also loves my cock, my hair, my brain, my body—”
“Yeah, she loves you so much that she’s still a virgin.” He must have discovered that from an interview. Or maybe footage of someone mentioning it. Rose isn’t ashamed of being a virgin at all, so I could see her admitting it to the cameras.
“And you’re her ex-boyfriend,” I say blankly. “She has intimacy issues, and it’s not a far reach to conclude it’s from your impotence.” None of it is true, but I hope he airs this.
Doubtful.
He snorts.
“Oh, and she loves dark chocolate,” I say.
“I’ll just grab the condoms. How’s that?”
I clutch the phone tighter. “You’re asking for my permission to have sex? That’s kind. And the answer is no. I’m already taken.”
He laughs dryly. “You’re a fucking prick.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I say, my voice casual still. “But I’m the prick with the girl. And she’s not inflatable.”
“I’ll see you at the townhouse,” he says, ignoring my comment. “You’ll be back really late, right? You’ve got work, college. All that shit. Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll keep the girls company.”
He hangs up, and I replay the conversation in my head. He unnerves me more than any other human being, and the fact that I don’t have to impress him makes my lips unnaturally loose.
He called me. To fuck with me.
It’s working.
[ 7 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
“You’re not supposed to look at the cameras,” I remind Lily for the umpteenth time. She’s trying to ignore Ben and Brett as they film us from two different angles, but I can tell they make her uneasy.
At least without Loren around.
Her boyfriend seems to take her mind off of everything else, melting her nerves to a placated pool.
Lily tags along by my side as I bustle around the kitchen and make a Cobb salad to bring with me to the Calloway Couture offices. I try not to overanalyze why she’s become glued to my hip.
She leans in to whisper, “What if I have a booger or something in my nose?” Her eyes flit anxiously to the lens again. “Or what if I get sauce or cheese or peanut butter all over my face? I’m a messy eater. Are they going to use the footage?”
I set the carrots on the counter and when I turn around, I almost bump into her again. She steps back and I place my hands on her shoulders.
“I don’t have any control over editing,” I tell her for another umpteenth time. I also want to tell her that she doesn’t have to do this. That if she wants out of the show, I’ll be okay. I’ll be happy.
But that’s not the complete truth.
The succ
ess of Calloway Couture relies on this show, and the success of the show relies on Lily and Loren.
“I’m going to get over it,” she tells me, reading my expression well. “It’s just new. New things are always kind of scary, you know? Well, you probably don’t know.” She laughs nervously. “You’re not scared of anything.”
That’s not true either. I was scared not long ago. Terrified. Someone—who I will not name—put his thumb in my mouth. And I think I liked it.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I wipe my hands on a towel before I swipe the screen. I have two new texts.
The first: 5 months and 20 days until the wedding – Mom
I’m not even surprised at this point. I receive a daily countdown from her, reminding me that I’ve taken responsibility of planning Lily’s wedding.
I open the second text to distract me from all the things I still have to do.
Prince Charming, Robin Hood, Beast – Connor
Really? I texted him three brilliant female authors and he gives me Disney characters to choose from? Oh, he’s starting a war.
I type quickly, not even having to think twice about my choices. Kill. Marry. Fuck.
Less than a minute after I hit send, I receive another message.
You would fuck the Beast over Robin Hood? Explain.
You’re not even going to mention me killing Prince Charming? Deflection in a text is my specialty.
Not surprising. I would kill Prince Charming as well. Always believing every girl needs to be rescued from a tower. He’s an asshat.
I smile, my stomach fluttering at his words.
“Is that Connor?” Lily asks, eyeing my smile suspiciously.
My lips level and she peers over my shoulder to try and read the text. I hold it close to my chest, and her eyes twinkle in amusement.
“Are you texting naughty things?” she asks with glee.
Should I be? What couple texts about killing off Prince Charming? If I seriously evaluate my relationship with Connor, it will rank somewhere closer to strange than normal.
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t pull it away from the security of my blouse. “What do you and Lo text about?”
Her face wrinkles in thought. “Well, I text him things I’d like to do. And he usually replies with a generic okay even if at times he’s a big fat liar and we don’t do it anyway.” She shrugs. “He’s a brief texter.” Her smile brightens at another thought. “But sometimes he’ll randomly send me messages like this…” She holds up a finger for me to wait while she opens her flip-phone with her other hand. The old device doesn’t have internet or apps. The less temptations for her to look at porn, the better. “This is what he texted me last week.”
She raises the phone to my face. Brett and Ben’s cameras try to zoom in on the screen. Lily cups her hand around it protectively.
I read the text quickly. I miss your pussy. – Lo
How eloquent. Lily practically beams. “He doesn’t do foreplay texting,” she explains. “So whenever he sends something dirty, it’s like Christmas.”
She motions to my phone. “What does yours say?”
“Just work stuff,” I answer evasively.
I type back: Robin Hood is a manwhore. I’d want to join the Merry Men, not join a notch on his bedpost. The Beast is probably a virgin.
As soon as I hit send, my stomach falls. What the fuck did I do? I blame Lily who peers over my shoulder as I type, distracting me from rereading the message.
I basically just admitted to wanting to have sex with a virgin.
Connor is not a virgin.
I don’t have time to think. The doorbell rings. I pad across the kitchen and living room to answer it, leaving Lily by the refrigerator. I glance back for a quick second to make sure she doesn’t crumble without my presence. I relax when I see her focused on my salad, slicing cucumber.
Ben follows me with his steadicam contraption, and without Lily constantly eyeing the lens, I have an easier time pretending he’s invisible.
When I open the door, my entire mood shifts. I hope I’m giving off the “I’d rather murder an entire bale of sea turtles than be near you” look. Scott Van Wright’s lips upturn into a cocky, holier-than-thou smile.
I must be doing something wrong.
“Most girls answer the door with a hello,” he tells me.
“Don’t you have work?”
“You are my work, Rose.”
Great. I still haven’t fully wrapped my head around the fact that Scott lives with us. I woke up at five in the morning with Connor just to use the showers when no one else (mainly Scott) was up to view the outline of my naked body. I know you can see shadows through the misted glass doors. I’m not an idiot.
And now he’s here.
He will always be around, I realize. I just have to fucking deal with it.
He holds up plastic grocery bags. “I come in peace.” His eyes dip down to my dark blue blouse with gold buttons on the shoulders. The cut is just slightly lower than the one I wore for the psychic party, but a gold necklace disappears between my breasts, the chain accentuating my small C cups more than usual.
“I see you changed your wardrobe. We’re out of the nunnery and now in grade school. Not perfect but we’re getting closer.”
I try to slam the door back on him. His hands are filled with groceries so he has to use his hip to keep it open.
“Talk about my clothes again,” I seethe, “and we’ll just see how close my foot is to your ass.”
“Fair enough,” he says easily, no snarky retort. I think he’s just trying to buy time to avoid spilling milk on the floor.
I let out a strained breath and open the door wider, leading him into the kitchen.
Lily looks up from the salad bowl, eyes big with questioning. She hasn’t been alone with Scott without Loren present. But it was only a matter of time before it happened. Everyone has places to be during the day.
Me: Calloway Couture in New York. The commute is killing me, so I rented an office in Philly. But I drop by the main office once a week to check in.
Connor: Penn or Cobalt Inc. in Philly.
Loren: His comic book business in Philly.
Daisy: Prep school in Philly.
Ryke: Well, I’m not quite sure where the hell he is. Maybe indoor rock climbing at the gym. He graduated last year like me but has made no move to do anything with his journalism degree. He even stopped working for The Philadelphia Chronicle.
And then there’s Lily.
Now that she takes online classes from Princeton, she’s the only one home alone. I’m nervous about Lily spending so much time with Scott. Maybe I can convince her to come to the Calloway Couture offices with me.
Scott sets the plastic bags on the kitchen counter, and Lily scoots out of his way, avoiding his eyes, his body, anything that belongs to him.
“I don’t bite,” Scott tells her.
“I know, I just…” Her gaze stays firmly planted on the ground.
Frown lines crease his forehead.
I’m sure he imagined my sex addict sister to be this confident, unabashed girl who falls on her knees at the presence of a cock. Most people do. All it takes is a five-minute conversation to understand that my sister is none of those things. She is shy, nervous, and plagued with social anxiety. Her confidence is only in sex.
Sometimes, I believe we’re opposites.
“She’s shy,” I say for her. “Don’t take it personally.”
“A shy sex addict?” He stares at Lily like she can’t possibly exist. “Are you fucking with me?”
She flushes almost instantly, and I glower. “Leave her alone.”
Lily raises her hands. “No, it’s okay. I want to explain myself…” Her eyes flit to the cameras.
“Don’t look at the lens,” Scott scolds like she’s a child. “It’s not a hard concept, honey.”
“Can you say anything without sounding like a pig?” I ask.
He grins like I offered to blow him.
Ughhh. I am a challenge, I get that. I am the bitch he wants to ensnare. But my insults really, really shouldn’t turn anyone on this much. If I started complimenting him, would he suddenly be disinterested?
Lily gives Scott her attention. “I want the viewers to have a real, honest portrayal of sex addiction. At least one story. My story. So maybe if there’s another girl who’s like me, she won’t feel so alone.”
“All right,” Scott says with a nod. “I’ll bite. Why the hell do you look scared around me? Shouldn’t you want to get on your knees about now?” He opens the refrigerator and shelves the sour cream and milk.
“I’m in recovery,” Lily refutes. “I have a boyfriend. I don’t want to have sex with anyone but him. So, no, I don’t have any desire to drop on my knees. And I’ve always been shy. Just not…during…it.”
She’s told me that she feels like a completely different person during sex: empowered, strong. It’s the only thing she believes she’s good at, and she’s taken the knowledge to heart. After sex, she’s flooded with shame, thinking she’ll never amount to anything more—that she’s truly just a slut, that her one talent in life is fucking. And she’s compulsive with the act to the point of being unhealthy. A female who’s great at sex—who has it five times more than the average male—is not something she can gloat about. Not in a society that easily labels her as a whore.
Lily’s lifestyle is filled with humiliation. There’s no triumph in that.
And I wish I could protect her, but you can’t shield a girl from the world without taking her out of it.
“You can’t even say the word sex?” Scott says with a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and turns to me, trying to ignore him but I see the hurt shadowing her face. “I’m going to start some homework,” she says in a small voice.
“Hey…” I wipe my hands on a towel and touch her shoulder before she leaves. “Don’t listen to him,” I whisper. “He’s disgusting.”
“I know. Connor told me the same thing this morning.”
I frown. “He did?”
“Yeah, he said that Scott would make fun of me and I just had to remember that everyone hates Scott and loves me.” She laughs but her eyes brim with tears. She wipes them before they fall. “I don’t mean to cry so much this week, honest. I think I’m on my period. I can use that excuse, right?”
Kiss the Sky Page 7