by CC MacKenzie
"Trust me, I could quite happily live without them."
"Wanna talk?"
"Frigging Fleur has attached herself to Olivier like a frigging limpet and he's not coping with her wandering hands." Bronte's response was to bite down hard on her trembling bottom lip, her emerald eyes dancing. "It's not funny. Jake and him have been bearing their teeth, circling each other like rabid dogs. Then Jake grabbed me in a tonsil stretching kiss. Now Olivier's blaming me, said I kissed him back..."
Bronte's fine brows rose. "Did you kiss him back?"
Anastacia frowned. "For like a split second he tasted familiar and I remembered the good times. But only for a teeny part of a second and then I let him have it."
"Hmm. But it was too late by then?"
Anastacia scowled, accepting the truth of the statement, but still feeling very hard done by it. "There's more to it than that. Olivier saw what Olivier wanted to see. Now he's saying I lied to him about my feelings for him, thanks to Jake who stirred the pot." Now she stood, paced, then kicked a handy paper bin. "Played right into Olivier's personal issues with me. He worries I don't love him enough because I'm not singing hallelujah and sprinting down the aisle in a long white dress." She kicked the bin again, putting a satisfying dent in the metal. "The whole thing is stupid is what it is. I might be wearing his fabulous ring, but I will not be forced into something I'm not ready for just to satisfy Olivier Conti's stupendous bloody ego..."
"Good for you!"
Anastacia blinked at her, somewhat surprised by the comment. Bronte adored Olivier, made no secret of it.
"But..."
"You know how Nico and I feel about you and Olivier. If it works out between you, we couldn't be happier." Bronte's eyes went wide. She sat forward. "But your happiness is just as important to us, to yourself. Follow your heart. What does it say?"
"That even though I love him I'm too young and not ready to settle down. I do love him. The feelings are new and sort of overwhelming. I'm dealing. But he needs to take a big step back and give me space. He's acting as if I'm deliberately setting out to hurt him. I'm not."
"He's scared he'll lose you."
Anastacia opened her mouth to say that was utterly ridiculous. Then closed it with a snap as she thought about it. After a while, she sat, fingers twisting her engagement ring, and then nodded very slowly.
"I understand the fear of losing the one you love. I had a taste of it myself when I met one of his ex-girlfriends, Natalia Loewe."
Now Bronte sat upright in her chair. Her eyes sharp green slits. "When?"
"Just before we came to Paris."
"You want to watch her, Ana. She's poison."
A wave of sheer exhaustion made her close her eyes.
"Yeah. Got the memo."
When Bronte rose, paced, her face serious, Anastacia's gut squeezed.
"It was serious between them, wasn't it?"
Bronte stopped, considered the question and then shook her head.
"He was young. They both were. Although I'd say Natalia Loewe has a very old head on young shoulders. She devastated him. Walked out one week, married another man the next. She used him. It took him time to recover, to lick his wounds."
She didn't want the answer to the question, but she needed to ask.
"Was he in love with her?"
Bronte scowled at the word love.
"Nico reckons more in lust. She's a highly skilled and sexual creature. A creature who knows how to use those skills." Anxious green eyes met Anastacia's. "There's unfinished business between them."
And didn't that news just put the frigging icing on top of the frigging cake?
"Great. Just great."
Now Anastacia rose and paced to the window to stare unseeing down at the river, at the people enjoying a stroll in the sun.
"Who could blame him for jumping into bed with her? He thinks I've betrayed him. Stupid bastard. I should have just said, Sorry, I got caught up in a split second of a moment. I'm not a perfect frigging person." It seriously annoyed her that her breath hitched. She covered her face, pressed fingertips into her eyelids to stop the sting of tears. "Shit. Shit. This is so not good."
Bronte's hand gently stroked her hair.
"Sweetie, you're tired and stressed."
Anastacia dropped her hands, turned to look at her friend.
"So what? Everyone's tired with all the nonsense going on around here today. And I'm not handling, not dealing with it the way I'm paid to."
"You know Nico doesn't think that."
"Doesn't he? Then he damned well should."
"Being the boss is hard," Bronte stroked her hair again. "And you're good at it."
"Not today I'm not."
"You need a break. Take an early night. Tomorrow you'll feel better and make it right with Olivier and deal with Jake. Correct?"
Anastacia sniffed, scowled. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right."
"Olivier loves you."
The gentle tone made the room blur. "Oh, shit, Bronte."
Bronte just laughed. "And guess what? You love him so much you're stupid with it."
Anastacia's eyes might swim, but she held fast. "You sound like Dr. Phil."
"Why, thank you. Feeling better?"
"A little. My head's splitting."
Bronte bent to lift a black leather bag the size of Paris, took out a packet of painkillers.
Anastacia took the one offered, popped it in her mouth.
"Must be bad. I know your feelings about pills."
"Yeah. If you'd had a mother that popped them like candy, you would have feelings, too."
Now Bronte's eyes went serious.
"You're having to deal with the emotional fall-out of her behaviour, too. You've a lot on your plate."
Anastacia simply closed her eyes at the statement.
Jeez, the next person who said that to her was going to get a kick in the ass.
Instead of kicking Bronte's ass, she opened her eyes and said, "Yep. Dealing with it."
"Good. Maria Rucker is a nice woman, a good mother. She has very broad shoulders. You're not alone, Ana. Talk to her."
She didn't want to think about her new and extended family, or their expectations of her, and her expectations of them. Her fried brain could only take so much.
"I'll think about it. Thanks, Bronte."
Now Bronte dropped the bag on the floor and herself into the chair.
She crossed her legs, folded her arms.
"Natalia Loewe will do everything she can to wreck everything you have with Olivier."
Anastacia sipped water to help the pill go down and shook her head.
"Don't need her for that. I've done a pretty good job of wrecking it myself."
"All relationships, no matter how strong the love, go through hard spots. It's the hard spots that reinforce a couple."
"Yeah, well, Dr. Phil. I can only hope you're right."
***
Oliver was giving himself plenty of time to brood, since he was in the mood for it.
In his mind he went over and over the tender little scene he'd witnessed in the hallway.
Only this time he did it with Nico's words ringing in his ears.
That pretty-boy Jake Thornton had kissed his woman, had put his hands on his woman.
Fucker.
For once Olivier indulged in a couple of glasses of red wine. Alcohol was frowned on by his coach, but what the hell. Tonight he had extenuating circumstances, he told himself. And just to add to his trip to hell, he'd added a fully loaded with bad carbs take-out pizza. Now he sat stewing over a slice of said pizza.
"That looks like a healthy meal," said Nico as he strolled through the door without knocking.
Still smarting from Nico's previous comments on his supposed lack of character, Olivier sent him a black look. "I do not need more ear-bending from you."
"Scusame? Am I supposed to let you sit there wallowing in a misery of your own making?"
"I like wallowing." Oliver took a cranky
bite. "Neither do I need your vast wisdom or unasked-for advice."
Nico whipped a piece of pizza before folding himself into a chair. And with his eyes hard on Olivier's he took a bite.
"Where's Bronte?" asked Olivier.
Stupid question, the expression on Nico's dark face spoke much louder than words.
"Guess."
"With Ana."
"Bingo."
"Bad mouthing me."
"Again, bingo."
"Why is everyone mad at me?" Olivier pushed to his feet, threw up his hands. "I did nothing wrong. I spent most of the day fighting off a raging nymphomaniac. Plus dealing with a guy who kept staring holes in me. Then he was staring at my woman as if she was his. Then I caught him kissing my woman. And trust me on this, my woman was with him all the fucking way. So do not sit there and blame me for this mess."
Nico said nothing, waited until Olivier whipped another slice of pizza and dropped into his chair. "Okay, today, three things happened..." he began as if talking to a very stupid ten year old, "...that were beyond anyone's control. One, Teresa fell and broke her wrist, the company sent Jake as a replacement director. Two, the model booked did not turn-up, and we will get to the bottom of why later, so the agency sent what they had, namely Fleur."
"A nightmare," muttered Olivier under his breath.
"Si. But you are a big boy and should be more than able to deal with a girl so far out of her depth on this job, and so star-struck, she is behaving like an idiot. Deal with it. Three, Jake's kiss was not Anastacia's fault."
Olivier dropped his slice of bad carbs before again pushing to his feet.
He thrust his hands in his jean pockets. "You want me to feel bad about how I feel, the things I said to her? Well, I will not."
But he did feel bad.
He felt like crap.
Worse, he felt stupid.
Nico got to his feet, walked towards him.
Eyes on his, he clipped him around the ear.
Olivier's mouth fell open even as his ear rang.
"What the fuck was that for?"
"You behave like a three year old, I will treat you like one."
To control a temper spike Olivier walked away before he did something really, really stupid, like take a swing at Nico Ferranti.
Fury spurting like lava, he spun back.
"Fuck you, Nico," he yelled.
"Fuck you, Oli," Nico yelled right back.
"Excuse me, children," Bronte said from the doorway in a soothing tone she usually reserved for her four year old twins.
Both men turned on her, both yelled at the top of their voices, "What?"
Instantly Bronte's eyes went like green slits of solid ice.
"Far be it for me to break up your male-bonding session. Next time you want to act like a pair of juvenile delinquents you might want to close the door as the whole place can hear your brilliant repartee. T.C. is with a very upset Ana. So I suggest both of you get your very fine asses in gear. Now!"
Olivier snagged the chilling sweep of Bronte's glance before she spun on her heel and left, and decided he felt like a big heavy shovel of dog-poop.
Hell, now he'd upset Bronte.
"I will handle this," he said, voice stiff, body rigid.
"If you want a fat lip, keep carrying on like an idiota and see what happens." Nico stalked out of the room ahead of him.
Olivier sustained a seething silence all the way down the hallway to the large room Anastacia was using as an office. Amid the desks, PC's and chairs, she sat, face white, with her best friend's arm tight around her.
"You pathetic toad-faced-little-weeny," said T.C. to Olivier.
"In your own words and in your own time, Ana," said Nico.
Anastacia raked a hand through her hair and pulled.
"Today's been one of those days, Nico. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. Linda told me, warned me, Jake was in the building. We decided I'd stay here, do the back-office work while Linda took the floor overseeing the filming. She's capable. More than capable."
"Here." Bronte pushed a large glass of white wine into Anastacia's hand.
"Thanks," she said and took a sip. It did nothing to ease the pounding stress headache behind her eyes. "Anyway, that bright idea was a mistake. I should have faced Jake right from the start. But I didn't, and gave the bastard time to come up with a strategy.
"So I slipped in at the end of the shoot. Saw what was in the can.. it was a disaster."
"Unfortunately, Jake's father is a director of the company we use. He's a VIP in the business," muttered Nico to an out-of-his-depth looking Olivier.
Anastacia blinked.
If Jake's daddy decided to cause trouble for Ferranti Communications, he had the ability to make her working life more than difficult. She'd only met the man once, and he'd seemed a nice person, unlike his son.
"I'll resign, Nico. This is the third mess-up in as many weeks."
Cue a very long and very stunned silence.
And all the while she ignored the way Olivier eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her.
She could feel the waves of animosity coming off him.
Well he could just bugger off.
Bastard.
"Did you arrange for two men to mug you in London?" asked Nico in a reasonable tone that made her wince, a Nico who kept his dark eyes steadily fixed on hers.
"No."
"Did you start trouble with Olivier's fans in the Blue Lagoon nightclub before they attacked you?"
"No."
"Did you book Jake Thornton for this job?"
"No."
"Correct. You are not and never have been stupid, Ana. Do not start now."
She took his I've-had-enough-shit-for-one-day tone on the chin, got to her feet, paced to the window and back.
She turned and her eyes met those of her boss.
"I know. But this whole shoot is a complete disaster. I'm responsible."
"What is the worst thing that can happen?"
She slumped into her chair, hunched her shoulders and wished she could kick the damned bin, or something or... she glanced at a stony-faced Olivier... someone. "We cancel the shoot."
"Exactly. The hotel is not yet ready for guests. It is not the end of the world as we know it if the schedule is pushed back until after charity fashion week. We hire a new model and a new director. Nessun problema," drawled Nico. "I will deal with Jake Thornton and the agency who sent us Fleur. I deal with people at the top, which is no reflection on your ability. It's a political thing. It's business. In the meantime, you and Linda can base yourselves here and take a well-deserved break. Enjoy Paris."
As Nico and Bronte, and a scowling T.C. left, Anastacia rose and moved to stare down at the busy river Seine flowing through Paris. Oh, it stuck in her craw that her boss had had to clean up her mess. It was the first time she'd failed so spectacularly, and she had no intention of ever repeating the incredibly humbling experience.
"Ana..." Olivier took a step towards her, and Anastacia hardened herself, and her stupid emotions, against what she knew was coming.
"I can't do this with you." She faced him, took the hit to the heart, but for once in her pitiful life listened to her head. "In fact I won't do it. Let's just keep our relationship professional. Get the job done. Go our own way."
She removed her ring and placed it on the table.
He stood utterly still, as if made of stone.
Any flicker of warmth in his eyes for her now gone.
He picked up the ring, slid it into his pocket.
"If that is what you want."
"It is what I want."
She told herself to just hold it together.
She could do this.
"Ana..."
When he shifted to take a step toward her, she held up her hand in the universal signal to halt.
He stopped dead.
Logic in total control now, she spoke,
"I want my life back. I want me back. I want the life I had before y
ou were in it. I was happy then. I'm not happy now. I want a life where I'm not abused on social media. I want a life where people don't care if I'm too fat or too thin, too tall, too short. Where people don't fucking care about my hair or whether my breasts are my own. Where I am not measured by what my boyfriend does for a living." Her steps were jerky as she stalked to the window and back again. Her hands thrust through her curls to her scalp, gripped and pulled. "Jesus, all this nonsense, all this hassle because of football. It's crazy!"
She took a deep and cleansing breath, desperately trying to ignore how grave, how devastated and how shocked he looked.
Her eyes found his and held firm as she said, "So... I'm stepping off the crazy."
"I did not handle today well," he said, his deep voice a rumble in his chest. And she could see by his face how much that admission had cost him. But she refused to listen to the clarion call of her heart. A heart begging her to forgive and to forget. Eyes fixed on her face, he continued, "I did not realize how much the negative attention of my fans has affected you..."
Her double hand-swipe through the air had him stop again in his tracks.
Was he serious?
"Yes, you did know, because I told you time and time again. But you just shrugged it off as part of the circus that is your life. That circus is not my life, Olivier. I knew it going in. I knew it was a mistake to get involved with you while trying to work together. I knew it and I did it anyway."
All of it, every single part of the mess they were in, was all her own damned fault.
She refused to acknowledge how sad, how pale, he looked.
His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "So, this is it?"
"Earlier today you dumped me. You made your feelings crystal clear," she reminded him with a bite to her tone.
He nodded. "I was upset..."
"Yeah, well, we're both upset. Let's for once be adults about this."
A wave of exhaustion swept over her and washed away all the conflict, all the anger, leaving her feeling nothing but empty.
His dark eyes burned into hers and she thought, Here we go, he's going to fight.
"I will not give you up."
She merely raised her brows.
"You do not get to choose my future. I do."