Cards Of Love: Queen Of Pentacles

by Leah Holt

  His smirk sickened me, making me hate him even more. I didn't think that was even possible at this point.

  “I know you can't see it now, but I did you a favor. Do you know who Ash Devoy really is? Do you know why he got fired from Inked?”

  My neck went stiff as I held my ribs. I honestly had no clue. HR was responsible for background checks and making sure all the I's were dotted and T's were crossed.

  “You have no clue, do you?” Chuckling, Clint dragged his hand over his head and down his cheeks. “Wow, I should have known your head was too far up his ass to see the truth. He's the guy who put a cock pic on their cover right before it went into print. Is that the type of guy you want to be with?” Not giving me time to answer, he said, “I don't think so, and he's certainly not someone we want working here, representing us either. I don't know how that passed through HR, but you should be thanking me.”

  I probably should have cared about something like that, but I didn't. I didn't really give a shit about his past. It felt like I already knew Ash and who he was.

  He was the man who made me smile for different reasons. He was the man who made me feel beautiful all over.

  And I gave it up for what?

  For power?

  For money?

  For a world that gave me nothing back?

  I was no better than the man who was holding me hostage.

  People did things they regretted, people made choices they were not proud of. And sometimes people acted before they thought things through.

  We're all human, mistakes and poor decisions happen, it's part of life.

  I acted, I didn't think.

  That's how we got here to begin with.

  “Are we done here? Was that it?” I asked, turning my eyes into slits. “Did you just call me here so you could tell me some stupid childish story about Ash to make yourself look better?”

  “He really got to you, huh?” Licking his lips, Clint's mouth parted as he glared at me. “It really doesn't bother you that he could be a liability?”

  “Liability? Whether he did to a cover of another magazine, really doesn't fucking matter to me. The liability here is you.” Throwing my finger at his face, my lips curled up into an angry scowl. “I did what you asked, I broke it off with him. So erase the video and we can be done with this.”

  “Erase it?” Clint looked at me like I was stupid, as if I had just asked him if the stuff in the history books was true. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I did what you wanted, I ended it with him. Now he's gone and you have no reason to keep it anymore. Delete it, Clint—now.”

  “No, I don't think so. If I delete it, you'll just go running back to that ass and that would defeat the purpose of this entire thing. I'm not getting rid of this video, this is my golden ticket.”

  “Golden ticket to what?!” My arms flew in the air, wild and untamed. “I did what you wanted, what more is there?!”

  “Dinner, tomorrow night at your father's house. I haven't seen the old bastard in a few months, I'd like to visit.”

  Slicing the air with my hand, I sternly shook my head. “No, not a chance in hell. I told you we were done, I meant that. I'm not going to let you do this to me, it's wrong.”

  “You don't have a choice.” His voice turned to stone, hitting me in the heart as he spoke. “I own you, Nola.”

  “Screw you, Clint.” Storming out of the room, my heels pounded into the floor as I made my way back to my office.

  I won't let him control me like this.

  I have to do something.

  Beth attempted to stop me as I approached her desk, but I ignored her, slamming the door behind me as I entered.

  My phone pinged on my desk, so I picked it up. Inside I was hoping it was Ash, telling me he was alright and that he didn't hate me for any of this.

  Swiping the screen, my eyes honed in on the tiny attachment and words in the green bubble.

  'Just so you don't forget what's on the line here, maybe you need to see it again.'

  The video began to play, my moans loud and audible. You could hear Ash grunting as he drove into me from behind, and the soft slap of skin on skin.

  Another message came through, even more threatening and demeaning. 'This will never go away, Nola. Get used to being my bitch, I fucking own you forever. Never forget that.'

  Dropping my phone on the ground, I fell to my knees and cried.

  I had lost all hope. I had lost the strength to go on anymore.

  Curling into a ball on the five by eight oriental rug, I hugged my knees to my chest and cried.

  I spent my life thinking that I was the glue that would keep this enterprise running. I had worked hard, I had put everything into this place.

  I gave up the normalcies of youth, I gave up friendships, memories, laughs, love—and for what?

  To be stripped of it all by some selfish prick who only cared about his ego?

  My world was crashing around me and the safety of the chrysalis I had nestled into was cracking, but there wasn't a beautiful butterfly emerging with glorious wings. I was a disfigured moth, lost and weak, distraught and sad.

  I was withering away, dissolving into someone I didn't recognize or understand. Folding into myself, the tears streamed down my face as I tried to look for a balance in the new world forming before my eyes.

  Sniffling, Ash's face kept exploding into my mind. I had wronged him and that hurt.

  I had taken a deal from the devil and it left me feeling empty. I had it all; money, notoriety, power, but I didn't have the one thing that made me truly happy. . .

  I didn't have the man who made my heart come alive.

  I didn't have the person who made me feel like everything else wasn't important.

  I traded him for a world I wasn't sure I wanted anymore.

  What do I do?

  Chapter Eight

  Nola

  I spent the night and most of the day just staring blankly at nothing. I couldn't sleep, continuously checking my phone, wishing for Ash to message me.

  He never did.

  Work was a blur. I couldn't even tell you what I signed or the decisions I made for any of the issues we were working on.

  Opening the door, I was hit with the smooth sound of old school jazz. Ella Fitzgerald's voice crackled through the speakers, bringing me back to my childhood.

  “Hey, Sweetie, you're early.” My father strolled through the foyer, whiskey in hand, his head gently swaying to the beat. Resting the glass on the floating shelf by the door, he swooped his arm around my waist, taking my hand and holding it up. “You remember this song at all?”

  “Of course I do, it was Mom's favorite.” Dancing with my father, he pushed me away, spinning me in a circle and pulling me back to his chest.

  “That's right,” he said with a soft smile and twinkle in his eye. “Do you know why this was her favorite?” His feet led us deeper into the center of the room, placing us directly in the middle of the flower design on the marble tiles.

  “Nope, neither one of you would tell me the whole story.”

  “Well. . .” dipping me down fast, he lifted me back up with a thin smile on his face. “Today seems like a good day for that.”

  My father let the song play out, his gaze set far, as if he was looking at a movie screen. He looked so much older than he was. Deep lines stained his forehead from years of stress and long hours. The toll his body took was more than visible.

  His voice was no longer as hard, it was soft and understanding. His words held wisdom and advice, unlike the man I had followed and looked up to in the office I was the ruler of now.

  I always thought it was strange as a little girl. My father was two different people. There was the man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders, the cold, harsh handed man who never cracked a smile or a laugh in front of his employees.

  And then there was my father. That person was just a man, he was tender and kind, he spoke to you like you were his equal, he li
stened as if your voice really mattered.

  It was hard sometimes to know which one I was talking to and I think there were times he couldn't decide who he wanted to be.

  After Mom passed, he only became my father, that was the only man I ever saw anymore. The magazine had become too much for him to juggle, so he finally handed it to me.

  As the music fizzled and the next song replaced it, he released me from his arms and picked up his drink. Stuffing his hand into his pocket, he took a long sip, letting his eyes settle on mine. “The first time I met your mother, I was sitting at a bar in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania. I was having a drink with a few other guys I had met along the way.” Waving his drink in the air, he said, “That's how it was back then, strangers didn't stay strangers.”

  Turning on his feet, he started to walk away, so I quickly followed. I had waited years for this story. My parents had given me little bits of it over time, but they always left me hanging, never giving me all the details.

  Glancing at me over his shoulder, he smirked. “Your mother used to tell me that she knew she loved me the second she laid eyes on me, but. . .”

  The silence hung in the air like a heavy cloud, making me even more curious. “But what?” Walking closely beside him, we stepped into the kitchen. “You can't just stop like that, keep going.”

  “But, she had it backwards. I loved her first, because I saw her first.” His lids hooded as he pointed a stern finger at the ceiling.

  “Yeah right, that's not even possible.”

  Nodding his head, he sucked droplets of alcohol out of his mustache. “It certainly is possible.”

  “Love at first sight doesn't exist, Dad, it's a cliché, like every cloud has a silver lining or opposites attract. You can't love someone you don't know.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked, winking at me. “Because it's true, I loved your mother the second I saw her.”

  My muscles shivered as he said it with such conviction, and I knew he truly believed that my mother was the love of his life with just one look.

  Could he be right?

  Ash's face popped into my head, sending those damn butterflies back into a frenzy. My body grew warm, tingling from head to toe.

  No, no it doesn't work that way.

  Shaking the thought from my mind, I asked, “So what's with the song? Why was it her favorite?”

  Standing at the stove, my father stirred a steaming pot of sauce, lifting the spoon to his lips and tasting it. “That's good,” he said, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Want to try it?”

  “Dad, come on, you're killing me here. Why was it her favorite?” My voice was drawn out and exaggerated, making me sound like I was ten years old again.

  Chuckling, he placed the spoon down and grabbed the box of pasta on the counter and poured it into the boiling pot. “Your mother was standing against the wall in the back of the bar, laughing and giggling with some guy. I think they were on a date, she never said I was right about that, but she didn't deny it either.” Pointing the spoon at me for a second, he dropped it into the pot and stirred the pasta.

  Pulling out the seat at the island, I slipped inside and rested my head in my hands. “So if she was on a date, how the hell did you two end up together that night?”

  Turning around, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “I did something a little bold, maybe even rude if you asked the other guy.”

  “What was it?” My voice was eager, ready to finally know the truth about how my parents came to be.

  My mother brought out the best in my dad and he brought out her spark. They were oil and water combined for the first time in history, blending together perfectly.

  They had a love most would envy. Deep down I wanted that too, I wanted someone to love every piece of me. I wanted someone to wake up to in the morning and to hold me at night as my eyes closed.

  Ash's smile exploded behind my eyes, bright and filling. The quick burst sent my heart into a tailspin, making it pump harder and faster.

  Love at first sight isn't real, it's a made up phrase that married couples use to express themselves.

  “You alright?” my father asked, eyeing me. “It looks like you just left me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Keep going, I'm listening.”

  “I couldn't take my eyes off her, your mother was a light in a somber world. Her smile, her eyes, the way she would look up at the ceiling when she was laughing; I was hooked the second I saw her.” Taking a step forward, he pulled a bottle of wine out from under the island and grabbed a glass out of the rack. Filling it half way, he slid it over to me, and laid his elbows on the granite, cupping his hands together. “Embrace Me came on the jukebox, and one of the guys I was sitting with made a comment about how I'd never get a girl like that.” Letting his head fall forward, my father started laughing. “So, I bet him.”

  “You bet him?”

  Nodding, he took a drink of his whiskey. “I did.” His eyes peered into his glass, and I could tell he was reliving that night in his mind.

  “What was the bet?”

  Chuckling, my father scrubbed his jaw. “I bet him twenty bucks and the watch on his wrist.” Tapping the top of the watch on his arm, his smile grew wide.

  “Are you kidding me? You won that watch from a bet involving my mother?”

  “Yup, it was the easiest bet I ever made. I walked right up to your mother, ignoring the guy at her side, and took her hand.”

  “Just like that? You didn't say anything?”

  Thinning his lips, his jaw jetted out to the side. The crinkles by his eyes deepened as his smile reached his ears. “I didn't say a word. I just took her hand, pulled her into my chest, and started dancing with her.”

  “That's it? You met mom on a bet and danced with her to that song?” Angling my eyes, my head tilted. “So why did it take you so many years to actually tell that story?”

  “Because after the song was over, the guy she was with tried to act all tough and threatened to kick my ass.” Shrugging his shoulders, he wriggled his brows. “So, I socked him in the face, broke his nose, gave him two black eyes, and had to plead guilty to an assault charge.”

  Choking on my drink, my eyes shot open as I swallowed hard. “What? You got arrested?”

  “That's right, spent the night in jail too.”

  “My father has a record. . .” Letting my voice fade, I giggled. “I can't believe you guys never told me that before.”

  “That was your mother who wanted to leave that part out, she thought it would be a bad example for your brother.” Tasting the sauce again, he asked, “You sure you don't want to try this? It's incredible.”

  Shaking my head no, I kept my eyes on my glass. “How is Finley anyway?”

  “He's good, he's in Paris right now, studying foreign policies or something. You haven't talked to him?”

  “Not recently, the magazine has had me swamped.”

  “I told you to let others take over some stuff, you don't have to do it all, Nola.” His back was facing me as he cooked dinner. I could hear it in his voice, the sound of frustration.

  “I know, it's just hard, you understand that.”

  Glancing at me over his shoulder, his brows dipped. “And that's why I told you not to burn yourself out. I missed out on a lot of stuff because of that magazine.”

  “But you wanted it.”

  “No,” he corrected me, turning around to face me. “You want it, I just wanted to give you something you could be proud of. But I went too far, letting it consume me for all those years. I never wanted that for you or your brother, I wanted to create something that would last and give you two the chance to live lives others only dream of. Your brother is doing that, he's studying abroad, he's experiencing life. But you're trying to run something that can run itself if you let it. You can live your own life too, Nola.”

  “I am.” My defensiveness kicked in, forcing me to cross my arms over my chest and sit up straight. “And I don't n
eed to leave the country to be living. Everything is good right now, it's perfect.”

  It was hard for me to ask for help. It was even harder for me to tell him that I had fucked up.

  Laughing out loud, he titled his head. “You're lying to me.”

  “I'm not lying, it's true. Things are just fine.”

  “Nola, I know you. And you've always had this little screech in your voice when you're lying or trying to hide something.”

  “I didn't screech.” Shifting in the chair, I snatched the glass off the counter and took a heavy sip.

  “You screeched, which means there's more to your little story there.” Spinning his spoon in my direction, he gave me a stern look. “What's wrong?”

  Thumbing the stem of the glass, I let my head fall into my shoulder. “It's nothing I can't handle.”

  “Is it Clint again? I know you were really upset when he dumped you.”

  “I wasn't upset, I was just pissed at how he did it.”

  “His father told me you two were trying to work it out, he said Clint thinks you're being difficult.”

  “Clint doesn't have a damn clue, he has no idea what I want.” Closing my eyes, I let my head fall forward. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course, you can ask me anything.”

  “What did you feel when you saw mom? I know you said you knew you loved her the first time you saw her, but what did it feel like?”

  “Well, I guess I'd say I felt warm.” Letting out a deep breath, he scrunched his eyes. “Do you remember what if felt like when you were little and would come inside after being out in the cold, and your mother would make you a cup of hot cocoa?” Nodding my head in agreement, he said, “It kind of felt like that, only it wasn't just in my stomach, I could feel it all over my body, everywhere.”

  Is that what I'm feeling? Is that what I feel with Ash?

  My father peered at me, his eyes observing my face. “What's bothering you kiddo?”

  Pulling my eyes away, I looked up at the ceiling. “There's something I want to tell you, but I don't know how.”