by Whitney G.
“You were never there, Jake.” Riley nearly lost it. “You were never home.”
“I was home that day.” I stepped back.
“Jake, please don’t leave.” My father looked genuine, but I couldn’t help but feel that he was playing another one of his mental magic tricks. “I think your mother—”
“Don’t you dare bring her up! Ever.” I felt an ache in my chest. “And fuck you. Both of you.” I took another step back. “But I am quite serious about that Webster’s submission form. You should hurry up before someone else takes credit.”
I stormed off toward the exit, ready to drink this night away. Something told me to keep going, to not bother looking back, but I couldn’t help it. I glanced over at its sleek white frame, at the light blue and crème emblem on its tail. And just as I was about to turn away and continue heading for the exit, my eyes caught something. Something disturbing and utterly callous.
On the right side of the tail, high enough for all to see was a faded image of my mother’s face in a light sepia tone. Her life span and a few words were written underneath:
I’ll always remember you, Irene.
Love, Nate.
Rest Peacefully,
Sarah Irene Pearson
1949-1999
“It was such a shame, wasn’t it?” An older woman next to me lowered her voice. “Losing his wife in the very first plane he built…I’m sure it still devastates him.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t.” I turned around and scanned the room for my father, catching him mid-laugh. I stared at him with fury running through my veins, waiting for his eyes to meet mine.
He posed for a few more photos with his new, much younger wife at his side and turned around, his eyes meeting mine. He raised his eyebrow, as if he was surprised I was still in attendance. Then he winked at me, mouthing, “Is that good enough?” before turning his attention to someone else.
I clenched my fists, seconds away from walking over and breaking his jaw.
Before I could make that happen, I spotted Gillian standing across the room.
Laughing, she was wearing a short, emerald green dress that left little to the imagination. The dressed stopped at her thighs and clung tightly to her hips, showing off her perfect breasts.
I started to walk over to her, but stopped when I realized she was dancing with someone in a navy blue suit. Someone who was rubbing his hands against her back and whispering something into her ear.
Confused, I watched for several more minutes, assuming that it was some friend of hers, a casual dance with an acquaintance. But as she tossed her head back in laughter, I saw exactly who she was dancing with and all the blood left my face.
Gate B18
Gillian
New York (JFK)
“You’re hurting me…” I smiled uneasily as Evan Pearson, the CEO’s son dipped me low and told another inappropriate joke. He was holding onto me a little too tightly, and I was hoping Meredith would see my “Please come save me from this asshole” text soon.
I’d thought that if I simply laughed at a few of his lines that he would walk away, but my reactions only seemed to encourage him further. To make matters worse, he was drunk. Yet, anytime a photographer stopped and asked for a photo, he would somehow manage to look sober for all of three seconds for the shot. Then he would return to harassing me.
“Did we date once before, Gillian?” he asked, finally letting go and reading my name tag.
“No,” I said. “We’ve never dated.”
“Are you sure? I never forget a face, and…” He looked down at my breasts, smiling. “You look really familiar.”
“I interviewed you, your father, and your wife a very long time ago when I was a journalist.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s it.”
“That’s definitely it. Speaking of which, how is your wife?” I slowly pulled my wrist away from his grasp. “Her name is Sharon, right?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “She left me, but Shhhh! Don’t print that. No one knows yet.”
“My roommate is over there waiting for me.” I started to step back. “I need to—”
“Wait.” He grabbed my wrist again, much harder this time, his fingers pressing deep into my skin. “Were you shitting me about the interviewing me when you were a journalist thing?”
I shook my head. I remembered that awkward encounter all too well. A full day interview where he and his father, unsurprisingly, fed me rehearsed answers about Elite. After blowing off the interview three times in a row, they gave me answers I could’ve found on Wikipedia and turned a simple profile project into an absolute nightmare.
“Did you ask us how this amazing airline was really built?” He grabbed a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray and tossed it back. “Did you ask us how we really started this, by chance?”
“With all due respect, everyone already knows the answer to that.” It was embedded in the history books as the ultimate Cinderella story.
“No.” He shook his head, his speech slurred. “Everyone just thinks they do. Come home with me and I’ll give you the exclusive…You have to swallow, though, I’m clean, so no condoms.” He looked me right in my eyes, giving me a familiar look that reminded me of someone else. “I just hate confirming the lies year after year at these parties…I’m getting very tired. Very old and tired…”
I was slightly curious as to what he meant by ‘confirming the lies,’ but minutes ago he’d claimed that he invented Starbucks coffee machines so I knew this was just the liquor talking.
I started thinking of another excuse to get the hell away from him, but a blonde stepped between us and took his hand—whispering into his ear.
“He’s here?” he asked her, his eyes wide. “He actually came?”
The woman nodded.
“Where?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked away.
Without saying another word to me, he turned away and followed her into the crowd.
Relieved, I headed to the other side of the hangar, in desperate need of some space. I pushed my way through the guests and past the packed restrooms. Noticing a “Silent Auction” sign hanging above a door, I stepped inside a room full of glass cases and mirrored walls.
The curator immediately handed me a blue sheet of bidding paper and smiled. Then, as if she knew I wasn’t in here to bid on anything, she rolled her eyes and whispered, “You came here to check on your makeup, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m just trying to get some space.”
“Sure.” She pursed her lips and snatched the blue paper from my hands. “You can ‘get some space’ on the far side of the room for twenty minutes. Then you need to get out.”
“Thank you.” I stepped away and stared at my reflection.
Even though there were small bags under my eyes, Meredith had done wonders with my makeup. The second I told her my flight was diverted and there was a gala tonight, she’d insisted on dressing me from head to toe.
Although I still wasn’t sure about the revealing green dress she’d made me wear, the bronze glittering eye shadow and bright pink lipstick were nothing short of amazing.
I dug through my clutch for the lipstick and suddenly heard the sound of glass shattering onto the floor.
“What the hell? You can’t just barge in here, sir!” The curator gasped. “Sir, you have to get out. Now.”
My head snapped up and I saw a red-faced Jake through the mirror’s glass. His eyes met mine in the reflection.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He bellowed.
I looked back at him, completely confused. The few guests that were in the room headed for the door, murmuring their shock.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gillian?” He repeated, even louder this time.
“Excuse me?” I spun around.
“I didn’t stutter.” He gritted his teeth and walked over to me. “Why the hell were you talking to Evan Pearson?”
Sh
aking her head, the curator picked up her brochures and left the room, leaving the two us alone.
I wasn’t sure why he was glaring at me right now but my blood was beginning to boil at his rude ass intrusion. “I’ll talk to you when you calm down,” I said. “Whenever you realize who you’re talking to.”
“I’m talking to you.” He hissed. “And I’m talking about Evan Pearson, someone I need you to never, ever talk to again.” He stepped closer, pressing me against the wall. “But since you’ve already done it, I need you to tell me why the fuck you were talking to him, and I need you to explain it right now.”
“I wasn’t talking to him. He approached me when I got here, insisted on getting a dance, and telling me stupid jokes.”
“You expect me to believe that shit?” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“I don’t care what you believe.” I felt my face turning red. “And I don’t have to explain anything to you. Do you really think you can tell me who I can and can’t talk to?”
“When it comes to certain people, yes.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, Jake,” I said, feeling angrier than I’d ever felt before. “But you don’t own me.”
“I’m aware.” His forehead touched mine and he slid a hand under my dress and between my thighs, tapping my bare pussy with his fingertips. “But I’m pretty sure, for however long our arrangement lasts, that I do own this.”
My breathing slowed as he pressed his thumb directly against my clit, but I didn’t back down.
“Our arrangement only covers sex with other people, not conversations with other people.”
“Is that so?” He moved his hand away, leaving my pussy throbbing. “Do we need to add a common sense clause about not letting other people put their hands on you and you fucking laughing about it?”
“He’s the CEO’s son, Jake. The press was watching his every move. What was I supposed to do?”
“Before or after he tried to fuck you?” He damn near shouted. “Do what you do to me so easily, walk away.”
“That’s your specialty, not mine.” I felt the sudden urge to slap him. “He was drunk and I was simply being nice in entertaining him.”
“You can be nice to anyone but him. As of this moment, he no longer exists to you, so don’t say as much as one word to him again.”
“When I see him on my way out, I’ll be sure to say goodbye. I might even say, ‘Nice seeing you again’.”
“Then consider this arrangement over.”
“Because I talked to Evan Pearson?” I was on the verge of losing it. “Because you feel like he’s some type of threat?”
“Because he’s my goddamn brother.” He said it so loudly that the woman who’d just walked into the gallery stopped dead in her tracks.
“Exactly.” His attention was still on me. “So, tell me right now, Gillian, is staying the hell away from my brother while you’re fucking me going to be that much of a problem for you?”
“No.” I stared him right in the eyes. “Because I won’t be fucking you anymore. I don’t need this.” I pushed my way past him and left, not even caring that the woman who’d walked in on us was Miss Connors.
Gate B19
Jake
New York (JFK) --> Los Angeles (LAX)
The flashing white fireworks from the gala lit up the sky as I sped out of the parking lot. My blood pressure heightened with every passing second, and I was sure if I didn’t make it home within the next hour, I was going to do something I might later regret.
I was used to seeing my father’s face plastered all over magazines and commercials, used to reading his words and rolling my eyes at his every lie, but actually seeing him face to face tonight made me realize just how much I still despised him. How much Elite and everything he stood for repulsed me.
I turned on the radio so I could focus on something else, but as thoughts of my father slipped away, thoughts of Gillian came into focus. The sight of her in that half-of-a-dress and flirting with Evan. The fact that it actually made me react.
“Our arrangement covers sex, not conversations with random people…”
Bullshit.
I made it to the valet at The Madison and didn’t bother waiting for the attendant to approach my car. I stepped out and left the keys in the ignition, quickly rushing up the building’s front steps.
“Good evening, Mr. Weston.” Jeff held the doors open. “How are the skies lately?”
“Turbulent.” I went straight to the open elevators and up to my suite, still appreciating that I no longer had to double check security each time I came home. I opened all the windows in my living room, letting the cool night air sift inside. Then I walked into my kitchen and pulled out all my shot glasses, filling them with bourbon.
I knocked back two and my voicemail system turned on.
“Welcome home. You have two new messages. Would you like to hear them?”
“Yes.”
“Please say the password.”
I tossed back shot number three. “One, eight, seven, two.”
“Message number one…” There was a beep, then a raspy voice. “Hello? Is this Deluxe Catering? This is the number that’s—”
“Next.”
“Message number two.”
“Jake, it’s me.” Riley’s whiney voice echoed throughout the living room. “Jake, I know you’re home, so pick up…Okay, look. Regardless of how you feel about me, Evan and your dad, we need to talk to you. It’s really important and we’ve been using any means necessary to get your attention for years. Can you not see that? Can you not see?” She sounded as if she was actually crying. “If you’re still listening…”
“Next.”
“No new messages. Would you like me to delete the most recent messages?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You now have thirty-six archived messages. Goodbye.”
I picked up my fourth shot, ready to toss it back, but there was a loud and sudden knock at my door. The type of rude and inconsiderate knock that could only come from Riley.
With the words, “Stay the hell away from me” on my tongue, I walked over to the door, but when I swung it open, I saw Gillian.
Soaking wet, she was still dressed in the emerald green dress from the gala. Her face was flushed red, and her chest was heaving up and down.
“Yes?” I raised my eyebrow.
“We need to get a few things straight,” she said, walking straight past me and into the condo. “We’re going to get through this right now and I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.”
I slammed the door shut and tossed back my shot.
She crossed her arms and waited for me to look at her as her dress dripped water onto my floor.
“You can’t talk to me the way you did at the gala. You can’t ever talk to me like that again. I’m not your fucking doormat and I’m not some little doe-eyed girl who’s so desperate for your cock, that I’ll let you treat me any kind of way.”
“Gillian—”
“I’m still talking.” She cut me off, seething. “I am still talking, Jake. Not you. You’ve said what you had to say in the rudest way possible and right now, it’s my turn.”
I blinked.
“I know that you don’t really know me, that you don’t even want to know me outside of the bedroom, but you need to know this anyway. I have to be respected. Always. You will respect me for as long as we continue this arrangement and if you have a problem with something or “think” I’ve done something to betray what we’ve agreed on, you will talk to me like I’m a human being and not a goddamn possession.”
She paced the floor as she spoke, keeping her eyes on mine. “I’m the one who’s risking the most by sleeping with you. If we’re reported, I get an automatic termination, but since you’re a pilot you’d only get a slap on the wrist and a write-up. So, the least you could do is try to show me some respect. And you can start with an apology for blowing up on me the way you did in that gallery.” She suddenly stopp
ed walking and let out a breath. “That was cruel and unnecessary, Jake. It was also very humiliating.”
Silence.
“Is that everything?” I asked once she looked like she had nothing more to say.
“Yes. Yes, I believe that’s everything.”
“Good,” I said. “You can get the hell out now.”
“What?”
“Do I need to say the words a bit slower for you?” I glared at her. “I said, you can get the hell out now. Tell the cab service at the back entrance to take you home and charge it to me, and then don’t come back. Ever.”
“No.” She walked over to me, stepping so close we were nearly touching. “I’m not doing anything until you say you’re sorry.”
“I’m not sorry.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but I beat her to it.
“I’m not sorry, Gillian.” I made it perfectly clear. “I’m not sorry for a goddamn thing I said to you at that gala. I meant every single word, and if my delivery was a bit blunt for you—”
“If it was a bit blunt for me, then what?”
“Deal with it.”
“Deal with it?”
“Are you partially deaf or do you just enjoy randomly repeating everything I fucking say?” I crossed my arms. “I didn’t stutter.”
“Jake…” The strap of her dress fell down her shoulder, exposing the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, but she made no move to fix it. “Regardless of whether you’re really sorry or not, it’s the respectful thing to do.”
“The door is right behind you. Make sure you shut it when you get tired of talking to yourself.” I turned away and headed down the hallway, back to the kitchen for more alcohol.
I finished off my shot, sent Jeff a quick text to make sure he looked out for Gillian on her way downstairs, and then I took off my suit and slipped into the shower.