by HELEN HARDT
She gazes down at her hand, looking at her perfectly manicured fingernails. “Please. Your immaturity is showing, Skye.”
I resist the urge to whip my hands to my hips. And the urge to bitch-slap her. “My immaturity? I’m not the one sending snide texts and making rude remarks.”
She meets my gaze. “Don’t pin this on me. I told you Braden Black was trouble. I told you to stay away from him.”
This time my hands hit my hips. “Why? Because you want him for yourself?”
“Because I care about you,” she says, though her tone negates her words, “or did you forget that conversation we had at the office?”
“Before or after you fired me?”
She shakes her head. “You’re so young.”
“I’m older than you were when you were involved with him, Addie.” I smirk.
She opens her mouth but says nothing.
Ha! Point, Manning.
“You’re nothing but a spoiled brat,” I say. “You’re obsessed with Braden and you can’t have him. Now, because I have what you want, you’re trying to break me. Like I said, give it your best shot, Addie, because I’m a hell of a lot stronger than you seem to think.”
“Please.” She scoffs. “We both know how you got this job. I can bury you in a minute.”
Can she? Probably. Her platform is much larger than mine. But how will that make her look? Of course I know how I got that job. I’ve been ruminating on it all week, but right now my anger takes charge over my feelings of fraud. For the third time, I say, now through clenched teeth, “Give it your best shot.”
She huffs. “You’re hardly worth it.”
“If that’s true, why the snide texts and comments?”
She huffs again without replying.
“I can’t believe it,” I say as I finally understand her. “You’re insecure. The great Addison Ames is a scared little girl.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Another point, Manning. I can’t help a self-satisfied smile. I’ve hit a nerve, and damn, it feels good. After all her bitchy comments that undermine my confidence, I’m freakishly glad I’m getting to her. “Don’t I? I guess we’ll see.”
As if on cue that our conversation is over, the door finally opens on the twenty-seventh floor. I walk out ahead of her, enter through the transparent doors, and approach the receptionist. “Hi, Lisa,” I say. “Skye Manning for Eugenie.”
“I don’t see you on her schedule.”
“She’s expecting me.”
Eugenie comes walking out to the reception area. “Skye,” she says, “I tried calling you. I got the signed contract by messenger. You didn’t have to come over today after all.”
“Good,” I say, warmth creeping up my cheeks. “I just wanted to make sure it arrived.”
“It did. Thank you.” She looks beyond me. “Addie, come on back.”
Please, please, let a giant hole open up and swallow me. I may have given Addie a taste of her own medicine in the elevator, but at the moment, I look like a complete airhead.
Addison’s face splits into a giant grin as she smirks at me and then follows Eugenie.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Lisa says.
“Who?” I ask, feigning innocence.
A young man approaches. “Ready for your break, Lisa?”
Lisa grabs a purse. “Yeah. Thanks, Brody.”
“How long do you get for your break?” I ask.
“Fifteen minutes.”
That’s enough time to find out more about Addie. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Coffee’s free in the breakroom,” she says.
“Of course.” I smile. “It was nice to see you again.”
Lisa comes out from behind her desk. “Walk with me for a minute.”
“All right.”
We leave the reception area, walk outside the transparent door to the ladies’ room, and enter.
Lisa looks under the stalls. We’re alone.
“I just want to tell you that Eugenie talks about you all the time,” she says. “We all know how Addison is. She makes the company a lot of money, but no one likes working with her.”
“You told me yesterday that she was great.”
“I did. I wouldn’t dare say anything other than that in the office.”
“Are you sure you should be telling me this?” I ask.
“I’m sure I shouldn’t be, but I see the way she treats you. She treats me the same way. She thinks everyone is beneath her. I’ve even seen her treat Eugenie badly.”
“Then why—”
“Money,” Lisa says. “It’s all about money.”
“I see.”
“In a perfect world, only good people would get ahead. Unfortunately, we don’t live in a perfect world.”
I chuckle with sarcasm. “True enough. Thanks, Lisa.”
“Don’t mention it. You just seem like a person I can trust.”
“Absolutely.”
She checks her lipstick and then washes her hands. “I’ve got to get back. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“I’m sure we will.” I smile as she leaves the restroom.
Lisa means well, and I appreciate her candor.
She knows all about Addie, just like I do.
So why do I feel like such a fake?
A fraud?
A piece of shit?
The answer comes to me, only it doesn’t. It’s been there from the beginning of this new venture.
Deep down, I know the truth.
No one cares what Skye Manning thinks.
People only care what Braden Black’s girlfriend thinks.
I’m losing myself.
I’m selling my soul for an influencing career.
Yes, it’s a wonderful opportunity.
Yes, it’s a way to showcase my photography.
And yes, it’s an income stream I need, since I’m unemployed.
So yes, I’m in.
I’m all in.
The only problem?
I’m not sure who I am anymore.
Chapter Forty
I feel a strange sense of loss when Braden and I leave New York. We leave behind the lifestyle he introduced me to, though I’m not ready to.
I want more of the bondage. I feel whole when I’m tied up, though that makes no sense at all, given what I know about myself.
“You don’t seem like yourself,” Tessa says to me at lunch later in the week.
I can’t fault her observation. “I’m okay.”
“You should be freaking ecstatic. This new contract is amazeballs.”
Again, I can’t fault her observation.
“I’m grateful,” I say.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Skye, but you seem about as grateful as a pig going to slaughter.”
I smile. Sort of. Tessa always has a way of putting things into perspective.
“Come on,” she says. “Dish. What else went on in New York?”
If only I could tell her! That damned NDA I signed is eating at me. I understand. I truly do. Braden isn’t the only high-profile person at the club. The clientele need to be assured their confidentiality will be respected.
But I tell Tessa everything.
And I can’t tell her this.
I can’t tell her that I, Skye Manning, Kansas farm girl, went to a leather club in Manhattan.
I’d never tell her what Braden and I did there, but how I wish I could describe the ambiance to her.
“Hello?” she says.
I swallow my bite of sandwich. “Yeah?”
“You going to answer my question?”
What was her question again? “Not much else went on. Braden was in meetings most of the time, though we did ha
ve some amazing meals.”
She nods. “I’m not buying.”
“You’re not buying what?”
“You’re keeping something from me.”
I stiffen.
“Either that,” she continues, “or something else is bothering you.”
Something is, but I can’t talk about it to her or anyone. It’s so innately personal.
How do you tell your best friend of the last six years that you’re losing something you can’t even put into words?
I’m supposed to sell a new cosmetics line.
Me.
Skye Manning.
Except I’m no longer Skye Manning.
I’m Braden Black’s arm candy.
“Skye…” Tessa urges.
“I’m fine,” I say, a little more harshly than I mean to. “Can you come to my place? I’m expecting a package from Eugenie. Samples of the cosmetics. They launch next week, and I start my posts tomorrow.”
“Uh…no, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Skye…I’m on my lunch hour. Work. Remember?”
Shit. I feel like a bitch. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Tomorrow, then? It’s Saturday.”
“Sure. After yoga. You still do yoga, don’t you?”
Indeed, I’ve been picking up extra classes without Tessa since I no longer have a day job, but I missed the last Saturday with her.
“Of course. I’ll see you there. Tomorrow morning.”
Tessa excuses herself a few minutes later. “I’m meeting Betsy for drinks tonight. Want to come along?”
As much as I love them both, I’m not in the mood for hearing all about their antics with Garrett and Peter when I can’t tell them anything about mine. “No, thanks,” I say. “Maybe next time.”
“Sure. Next time.” Tessa leaves without meeting my gaze.
And I have a really bad feeling.
…
Lip gloss. Blush. Foundation. Eye shadow. Mascara. Nail polish. Daily moisturizer. Tinted moisturizer. Night cream. Toner. Finishing spritz with SPF fifteen.
These and myriad other Susie Girl products lie on my floor after I opened the package from Eugenie.
Tomorrow, I post for the first time under my new contract…and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
I have a lot of leeway. I post what I want, as long as I mention a product. I can be out and about—doing yoga, having coffee, eating brunch, taking a walk…whatever. I have a few guidelines, but for the most part, I’m on my own.
They’re putting a lot of stock in me.
Rather, they’re putting a lot of stock in Braden’s arm candy.
I sigh. Time to get hold of myself. Whether they want me or someone else, I’ve got the contract. I signed on the dotted line.
I must do the work.
I decide to begin with the cosmetics line. I want to use the skin-care line for a week or so before I post about it.
I find a good spot in my apartment, adjust the lighting, and take a selfie. This is my “before” shot. After I’ve used the skin care for a week, I’ll take another selfie, and I hope I see a huge difference.
My skin has never been a big problem. I had a few bouts of adolescent acne, but in the last five years, my complexion has been clear as a bell. My skin does tend to be a little dry, though, so maybe I’ll see a difference. Even if I don’t, I must post about the products. I’m under contract.
I check out the colors Eugenie sent me. I have to hand it to her. She’s good. Each color she chose will work for me.
Those first three posts, though… How am I going to top them? Especially the last one, where I stood in front of Braden’s window wearing a sheet, a black mask, and Cherry Russet lip stain?
I have to top them. I have no choice.
I’m an artist. A photographer. This is what I do.
So why do I feel so inadequate?
Easy.
I know the answer, and I don’t feel like dwelling on it.
Braden and I didn’t make plans for dinner this evening. Maybe I should have accepted Tessa’s invitation to have drinks with her and Betsy. I could use some time with friends—with people who know me and accept me for being simply Skye. So what if I can’t dish about my boyfriend?
Too late now.
I jerk when my phone buzzes. Hmm. Not a number I recognize, but I don’t hesitate to answer. It might be opportunity knocking.
“Hello.”
“Hi, is this Skye?”
“It is.”
“Great. This is Kathy Harmon. We met at Bobby Black’s. Remember?”
“Oh, sure. How are you, Kathy?” And why are you calling me?
“I’m fine, thank you. This may sound a little out of the blue, but I was wondering if you were free for dinner tonight. My treat.”
If only Braden and I had made plans…
Now what?
“Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I just want to bend your ear a little. About influencing.”
“I’m pretty new at it,” I say.
“Oh, I know, but you certainly know more about it than I do. How about Ma Maison at seven? I’m in the mood for some escargots.”
“Sure. Sounds good. I’ll see you there.”
“Looking forward to it. Ta!”
I text Braden quickly.
Your father’s girlfriend, Kathy, invited me to dinner tonight at seven. Will I see you later?
The three dots move.
Be at my place by ten. Don’t be late.
Okay, I text back.
Three hours for dinner with Kathy will be more than enough. Especially once she finds out I don’t know shit about influencing.
Chapter Forty-One
The escargots at Ma Maison are scrumptious. I take a selfie. Maybe the restaurant will appreciate a freebie. Their food is delicious.
Snails, anyone? The escargots at @mamaisonboston are fabulous! #yesieatsnails #escargots #frenchcuisine
“I find what you do fascinating,” Kathy says. “It’s so amazing that people are interested in what you’re eating.”
“I won’t lie,” I say. “It’s pretty surreal.”
“Like I said. Fascinating. Do you mind taking a selfie of us together?”
Publicity. That’s what she’s after. She’s not interested in influencing at all. But what will it hurt? The more I post, the more I seem like a normal person to the people I’m trying to influence. Why not post that I’m having dinner with a new friend?
“Not at all. Come around to this side of the table.”
She nearly jumps out of her seat, her head bobbing. “Do I look okay?”
“You look great. But don’t even worry about that. I edit all my photos. You’ll look great no matter what.”
“Perfect.”
I click a few photos of the two of us and show them to Kathy.
“Use that one.” She points.
I shake my head. “There’s a glare in the background. The third one’s the best.”
“But I don’t look as good.”
In reality, she looks identical in each one. “Don’t worry. You’ll look amazing when I’m done.”
“Oh, perfect! Don’t forget to tag me!” She smiles wide.
“What’s your Insta handle?”
Her cheeks flush.
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her response.
“It’s at Harvard law hottie,” she finally says. “Underscore between each word.”
I hold back a chuckle. “Got it.” I quickly make the post.
“So how are things with you and Braden?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“He’s an amazing catch,” she says.
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I simply
nod.
“His father’s a tiger,” she offers.
Yeah. TMI. I smile and pop another escargot into my mouth.
“When he first asked me out,” she continues, “I almost said no. I mean, you know. The age difference and all. But he’s so handsome.”
Am I supposed to comment? “Yes, he is.”
“My father about had a nervous breakdown when I told him, but my mother’s thrilled.”
“Oh?”
“Well, of course. Isn’t yours?”
“I haven’t really talked to her about my relationship with Braden.” Try not at all.
“You haven’t?”
“No. My parents live in Kansas.”
“So? You haven’t told them anything?”
I take a sip of water. “I’ve told them I’m seeing someone.”
Her eyes are round as dinner plates. “Someone? You’re not seeing someone, Skye. You’re seeing Braden Black.”
Kathy makes a point. Why haven’t I told my parents more about Braden? Or that I lost my job with Addie and am now influencing on my own? We have a perfectly fine relationship. I speak to them once every two weeks or so, but that’s it. They’re not really into email or social media, and neither of them has an Instagram account, so they know nothing about my recent posts.
It’s just that… It’s all so new. So…different. Especially the relationship with Braden. Not that my parents need to know the kind of sex we have. It’s not like I ever described my sex life with any other boyfriend.
“Our relationship is still pretty new,” I say.
“He brought you to Bobby’s for dinner. According to Bobby, Braden almost never brings a woman home.”
I resist the urge to lift my eyebrows, but I can’t deny her words make me a little giddy. “Oh?”
“Yeah, that’s what Bobby says. I believe his exact words were, ‘He seems serious about this one.’”
“Like I said, our relationship is still pretty new.”
“I’d grab on to him and never let go if I were you.” She smiles coyly. “I’m just sorry you saw him first.”
“Don’t you work at his office?”
She nods. “It’s been a fabulous opportunity.”
“Then you probably saw him first,” I can’t help saying.
“A few times,” she admits, “but we never formally met, and he never gave me the time of day. Bobby says he doesn’t get involved with people at the office.”