by Claire Adams
Why should I hand over my money to this slimy, little jerk? Why does he deserve to have the money I've worked so hard to earn with 20 years of sweat, innovation, and sleepless nights? I pulled my hand out of my pocket and crossed my arms in front of my chest, with a lift of my chin.
"You know, I've just been thinking. I built up Speed Motorcycles out of nothing and turned it into the biggest motorcycle company in the country. Sure, I was a dumbass and almost let drugs destroy my life when I was young, but it was a mistake I learned from and I got clean.
“I'm not going to let it ruin all that I've acquired now. I'm not going to be intimidated by your chicken-shit attempt at blackmail. Do your worst. Tell every newspaper in town that Speed Motorcycles stands for getting loaded on speed. Tell every television reporter that I was a junkie that first year of my company. I'll even confirm that it's true."
"You can't do that. The bad press will ruin your reputation. Your model girlfriend will leave you. Think about what your parents will say. Your fans will hate you. You'll be a laughingstock and no one will ever want to buy one of your crappy bikes again."
"That won't happen. Because I'll tell an even more compelling story about how I traded the misery of drug addiction for the even better high of speeding on a fast bike. Speeding on motorcycles is the kind of high that can't be beat, and my rise from the fall will inspire everyone who hears my story. I won't be a laughingstock — I will be a hero."
"You can't do this to me. You owe me money. Pay me now." He sounded like a spoiled kid throwing a temper tantrum in the grocery store, but I no longer cared. Let him rage and kick and spit all he wanted. Still, he was a reminder of what could have become of me if I hadn't gotten clean, and I felt compassion for him.
"I don't owe you a dime. We were friends once, and because of that, I am willing to pay for you to go to rehab, but that's it. Take it or leave it."
My offer was sincere and I hoped he'd take it, but instead he turned his red eyes on me with a look of pure hatred. Flipping me the finger, he shouted, "Fuck you. I don't need rehab. I need money. If you won't pay to keep me quiet, then pay because you owe me. The name of this company was my idea. I came up with a lot of the product ideas, too. I deserve to be paid for it."
His screaming didn't scare me, but the fact that he truly believed what he was saying terrified me. Speaking in a calm voice, I said to him, "You didn't create this company, and you didn't even come up with the name. We were two dumb kids getting stoned together. That's not an epiphany that turned into an empire. That's not 20 years of hard work. Let me help you get clean the way Garden Hope Center helped me. Let me check you into rehab."
For a moment, he looked hopeful, as if a part of him yearned to be made well, and I thought he might take the help I was offering. But it only lasted for a moment and then the dark demons of addiction took over and morphed his expression back into something ugly.
"Fuck you. You're going to pay me the money you owe me. I'll sue if I have to. I'll take you to the highest court. We'll see what a judge and jury say when they hear the truth, and I won't settle for just a million dollars. I want a billion dollars now. You're going to pay, and when you do, I'm buying you out and you'll be back to nothing again."
Just then, the door to my office opened a security team appeared. Gary had heard the shouting from his desk and called them. I watched as they hauled away one of my oldest friends. Then I closed the door, slumped into my chair, and held my head in my hands. That could have been me if I hadn't gotten cleaned up, and was grateful that it wasn't.
I was a blessed man. I had my health, work that fulfilled me, a business I could be proud of, more money than I could spend, and now an incredible woman by my side. Thank God I hadn't fucked it up — yet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kayla
"I wish Ethan would open up to me about what's bothering him," I said to my mother over the phone.
It was so nice to be able to call her up again. I missed be able to turn to her for advice when I was with Mick all those years, and I was so grateful we’d reconnected.
We were so close when I was a child; I couldn't wait to come home from school every day to tell her everything that happened, and she would listen in rapt attention while she fed me a homemade, grilled cheese sandwich, all warm and melted, fresh from the skillet.
Then, when I was in high school, somehow we grew apart, and my relationship with Mick put a wedge between us that drove us even further apart until we were no longer speaking. By the time I realized it had been a mistake to run off to L.A. with him, I was too embarrassed to call her and admit that she'd been right all along.
Now, I was glad the rift between us had been mended and we were now closer than we had ever been before. I could talk to her now, not as a child talking to her mother, but as best friends. We were now two women sharing secrets and advice, and I cherished every moment.
"What did he say when you asked him? Was he secretive? Did he refuse to answer? Because if he did, that's a huge red flag, sweetie, and you should get out of the relationship before you get in any deeper. Don't stay with a man you can't trust."
"Actually, I didn't ask him," I confessed, and felt my cheeks flush with chagrin.
My mother laughed into the phone. "Well, sweetie, you can't expect a man to read your mind. If you want to know what's bothering him, ask him."
"I know you’re right, I just don't want him to feel like I'm prying."
"It's not prying to care about the problems of someone you love. I'm sure he'll be grateful to know that you're there for him. Heck, he's probably wanting to talk to you about it, but fearful that he would be burdening you with his problems. Men are silly that way. It took years for me to get your father to talk to me. He thought it would make him less of a man, but once I convinced him otherwise, the floodgates opened and now he won't shut up."
"You really think Ethan wants to tell me, but just doesn't have the courage to open up?"
"Absolutely. He's probably dying to confide in you, he just needs to know that you want to share in his worries, as well as his joys. So, the next chance you get, ask him. It will make your relationship all the stronger."
"Thanks, Mom," I beamed. We talked for a little while longer about life back home and the sprinkler system Dad tried to install in the back yard before Mom finally called a professional to come in and fix all the damage he'd done. Then we said our goodbyes with tears misting in the corners of my eyes.
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, too, sweetie. Call again soon, or better yet, come visit again."
"I will," I promised and hung up the phone.
It was getting to be late in the morning, and I had to get going with my day. I did a workout in the awesome home gym Ethan had on the second floor of his mansion. It had more equipment than the one I used to pay a membership for downtown. Then, I took a relaxing steam in his sauna room, followed by a nice, cool shower to wash away all the sweat and grime. His shampoo smelled fantastic and was imported from Sweden. When I went back to the bedroom, a new dress had been laid out for me by one of the maids.
I wondered when Ethan found the time to shop, or if he had a secret storeroom filled with clothes that the maids kept drawing from. It didn't matter. It was just fun to have fabulous new dresses appearing out of nowhere every time I needed, and knowing that Ethan cared enough me to make sure it happened.
This time, it was a fashionable design from Christian Dior, in a lovely blue, floral print that was feminine with just a touch of sexy. Blue strappy sandals matched the dress to perfection, and gold bangles with gold and sapphire earrings and a sapphire pendant necklace in shape of a flower completed the look.
When I peered at myself in the mirror, I was amazed how the right clothes made me look sophisticated, chic, and desirable. I was the woman on the cover of the spring fashion magazine that every man wanted to date and every girl wanted to be. I was iconic.
Feeling happy and confident, I had Ethan's driver tak
e me to my new agent's office. I'd hired him with the money I'd made from the Speed Magazine shoot. So far, he was amazing and made me see just how much time had been wasted when Mick was my manger. He wanted to take my career to greater heights, and he had the connections to do it. I felt good having my career in the hands of seasoned professional, and I knew I could trust him. His name was Dave Dynamo, which was obviously a pseudonym, but if he could get results, he could go by any name he chose.
Dave had already left a series of messages on my phone, sounding increasingly desperate to talk to me. I could have just called him back, but I thought dropping in on him in person would be more fun.
"Kayla, wow! Just the client I was hoping to see." Dave's grew wide with excitement. He was short with a goatee and kept his graying hair pulled back in a ponytail. His taste in clothes was questionable, but his list of clients was impressive, and he practically guaranteed results. As I sat down, he looked me up and down with surprise. "What have you done to yourself? You look incredible!"
"Thanks. Just a little update to my wardrobe." I blushed. I still wasn't used to receiving compliments or the kind of attention I'd been getting lately.
I took a seat in one of the uncomfortable, plastic, padded chairs in front of Dave's desk and he got right to the point. "Offers have been pouring in ever since Speed Magazine hit the shelves Friday morning. And, being seen at that party with the owner was the kind of publicity you can't buy. Brilliant."
I wanted to tell him dating Ethan wasn't a publicity stunt, but I couldn't get a word in, Dave was rambling so fast. He pulled out a stack of papers and thrust them at me, saying excitedly, "Look at all these messages. A lot of the job offers were crap. I threw them out and told the companies to call back when they were serious. But this one right here is the one we've been waiting for. This is the big time. This is how you'll make a name for yourself that everyone knows."
He handed me the paper and I read the letterhead. Gasping with surprise, I couldn't even read the rest of the memo. "This is from Jay Wendt, director of marketing for Revving Engine Bikes. R.E.B. is the second biggest motorcycle company in the country right now and Speed Motorcycles’ biggest competitor."
"I know. First Speed and now R.E.B. Overnight, you've become the face of America's motorcycle industry. I have offers for everything having to do with motorcycles, from engine parts manufacturers to bike dealerships, but this is the offer I think you should take. If you do this ad campaign, back-to-back against the Speed Magazine cover shoot, you'll be an overnight success. You are the it girl for motorcycles right now, and Jay Wendt wants you bad."
"How bad?" I knew it was a betrayal to Ethan to work for the competition, but my curiosity was piqued. I'd never had anyone clamoring for me to model for them. Up until now, I had been the one begging for jobs, and now a major company was vying for me to accept an offer from them. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't at least a little curious to know what that offer was.
"See for yourself. You've got the job proposal in your hands." Dave tilted his head towards the memo I'd forgotten I was holding. I read it from top to bottom, and then I read it a second time, and then a third just to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me.
"They really want to pay me this much for one, simple photoshoot?" I could hardly believe it still, even after reading it three times.
Dave laughed, practically giddy with excitement as he thought about his percentage of the take and what it would mean for him to have another successful client to put on his wall of fame.
"This is more than just an ad page in a magazine, or even a magazine cover," he said. "This photoshoot will be the center of the ad campaign for their whole brand. You will be the Revving Engine Bike's girl. Your face will appear on billboards, magazine ads, and if everything goes well, maybe even television commercials."
"But I can't act." I felt like this job was way out of my league, but Dave wouldn't hear of it.
"You wouldn't have to. Just sit on their bikes looking sexy and sweet they way that you do, and let the camera do all the work. A little editing, a little Photoshop, a little voiceover work, and you're an instant television star."
"The people in my hometown would flip out. I wish I could see the looks on their faces when a huge picture of me appeared on the side of the motorcycle store on the corner of Wilson Street," I mused wistfully.
"You can. With the kind of money they're offering, you could fly home every week and see them all. You could buy the motorcycle shop if you wanted to."
"Forget buying a shop. I could finally move into a decent apartment and buy a car that actually runs. I could even pay off my parents’ mortgage on their house. I'm sure they only have about five years left on it, but saving them from having to make those payments any more would be a huge help to them, and my way to repay them for always being there for me, even when I didn't deserve it."
"There you go. That's every kid's dream. I'll call Jay Wendt at R.E.B and tell him to draw up the contracts. This is the best decision you've ever made. Your career is going to skyrocket with this job. Congratulations."
Dave's excitement was contagious, and I felt happy and energized as I took the bus home to my tiny apartment. Ethan's driver had offered to wait outside Dave Dynamo's office for me, but I didn't feel right about that. He wasn't my employee, and it wasn't my car. It would have been taking advantage of Ethan's generosity to monopolize them that way.
The ride home on the bus only reinforced how right it was to accept this job. So, what if it was for my boyfriend's biggest competitor? Love was love, but business was business. I was certain Ethan would understand.
Besides, he's the one who encouraged me to soar with my career. He wouldn't want me to give up an opportunity like this. He'd be proud of me, I was sure. I sent him a text, saying, “Got big news.”
He texted me back right away, saying, “Me 2, Can't wait 2 C U. Meet me 4 dinner at my place tonight.”
It made my heart flutter with happiness. Tonight, when we saw each other, I would ask him what had been bothering him lately. I didn't know what to expect, but whatever it was, I wanted him to know I was there for him. Then I could share with him my happy news about the job and we could celebrate by making love.
It seemed like up until now, sex was the only thing we shared. I was ready to go deeper now and take our intimacy to a new level, one where we trusted each other with our hopes and fears, joys and miseries — a level that transcended sex into love.
When I got to my crappy apartment, it looked even smaller and dingier after having spent so much time in lavish hotels and Ethan's glorious mansion. I had been getting spoiled by so much luxury and it was time I reminded myself what the real world was like. Just because I was the girlfriend of a billionaire didn't mean I could shirk my life.
It was good to be reminded where I stood in the grand scheme of things. It would keep me from losing my motivation to keep climbing until I was a success in my own right. I wanted to make everyone proud of me: my parents, Ethan, and most of all, myself.
I put a load of laundry in the washing machine in the complex’s utility room, went to the market for a few groceries, and picked up the mail from my overstuffed P.O. box. There was nothing there but bills, only this time I actually had the money to pay them. It felt wonderful not to have to struggle over which bills I could pay and which ones to have to risk becoming delinquent. I'd have even more money once I did the R.E.B. job. I vacuumed the scraggly living room carpet and then I returned to the laundry room to fetch my clean clothes.
I carried the basket back to my apartment, sat on the couch, and flipped on the television so I had something to watch while I folded.
A local news reporter was standing out front the corporate headquarters for Speed Motorcycles with a man I thought I recognized from the launch party. He had a creepy quality that was hard to forget. He was standing beside a heavy-set man in an expensive suit with an orange mustache, and the reporter was speaking to them. Curious, I turned up the vol
ume and watched intently.
"So, Mr. Miles Schultz, you are the attorney representing Mr. Charles Dorsey in this case?"
"Yes, Becky, I am," the mustached man agreed while his creepy sidekick nodded mutely beside him. "Big corporation owners like Ethan Colson think they can get away with taking advantage of average men, like my client. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen and regain justice for Mr. Dorsey. Get results with Miles Schultz."
"On what grounds are you suing Ethan Colson?" the reporter asked the creepy man, but his portly attorney grabbed the microphone and answered on his behalf.
"Mr. Colson went to college with my client, during which time they developed the idea for Speed Motorcycles together. Have you ever noticed how Mr. Colson refuses to say how he came up with the name of his company and the motorcycle designs? That's because he wasn't the one who did it: my client was.
“In the years since, Mr. Colson had denied my client his rightful share of proceeds from the company he named, so Mr. Dorsey has finally been forced to taking him to court."
I couldn't believe it. No wonder Ethan refused to talk about naming the company.
Why hadn't he at least told me he'd developed the idea with a friend from college? This dispute and impending lawsuit must have been what was weighing so heavily on his mind. I felt hurt that he hadn't confided in me about it. This was big deal, and could cost him half his company and a lot of money. No wonder he'd seemed stressed and distracted. I was just glad I'd been there to help him let off some tension.
His former college buddy looked like a pathetic junkie, and it made me wonder if Ethan had ever done drugs in college. From the looks of this guy, he was hooked on speed. Is that the addiction Gwyneth had tried to warn me about? Was Ethan on speed?