Social Media

by JA Huss

  “It’s Kinsella. And you can call me Grace.” I look up at Vaughn, questions all over my face, because he just starts explaining as he leads me to the stairs.

  “Bigmy is new. A local, incorruptible, at least for the right price. And my price was right, wasn’t it, Bigmy?’

  “Yes, sir. No one gets in the door without an access card.”

  And then Vaughn produces said access card and places it in my hand. “That’s yours. It’s the only way to enter the building. You have to key in a code as well. Two-step security.”

  I look around for a second. My lobby has been transformed. In addition to the desk, there’s a new hardwood floor, new drapes on the two windows that face the street, a fire in the fireplace that used to look like it hadn’t been lit in a hundred years, and a cozy seating area in front of the flickering flames. “I don’t understand.”

  “I bought the building, Grace. The day I had to cancel our first Twitter date. I’m sorry for that, by the way. Conner gave me a heads-up on the reporters lurking around Sam and I took it one step further and included you in my heightened security.”

  “You bought this building?” It’s sort of blowing my mind.

  “And upgraded your security. And your apartment, as well. That asshole across the hall, gone.”

  “Gone?” I’m still staring at the lobby, but he’s leading me to the stairs now.

  “I wanted to put in an elevator, but these old buildings. Too many permits. I had to grease a lot of palms to get this done while you were out of town as it is. Maybe later we can put in an elevator?”

  “Later?”

  We walk up the stairs and he continues talking. “Whole new apartment, Grace. Everything new, but of course I kept all your old stuff too. The decorator said you have nice taste, she…”

  I stop listening because I’m just too stunned to understand what’s happening. When we get to my floor I don’t even know where I am. There used to be a small hallway here. That same hallway where I gave Vaughn a blow job in front of the neighbor. But now it’s gone. In its place is a door.

  “Here’s your new apartment.”

  Vaughn punches in a security code and the door beeps. There’s a man standing off to the side looking a little too much like a Secret Service guy with his wrist microphone and dark sunglasses.

  The door opens and the sunshine floods my face, making me cover my eyes from the glare. I step inside and move away from the sun.

  My apartment is huge. As it should be when one knocks down walls and combines two places into one. “I have this whole floor?” There were only two apartments up here to begin with, and now there is only one. “Laundry room?”

  “Oh,” Vaughn says, pointing down the hall. “Inside now. I can’t stand the thought of you having to leave the apartment to do laundry. That’s a security risk I won’t have.”

  I walk forward and my fingertips trace down the smooth silver granite countertops of my brand new kitchen. The cabinets are black and the appliances are stainless. There are so many details I love about this kitchen, I can barely take them all in.

  I look over at the new living room. It’s decorated in neutral grays with pink accents. It softens the modern colors in the kitchen and makes it much more feminine.

  “Well.” I take a big long breath and let it out. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  And that’s when I see the cat. Sitting on the windowsill, licking its paw so it can clean its face.

  “You said you loved cats, remember? Back on the beach in Saint Thomas? But the building had a no-pets policy.”

  I squint my eyes. Did I say that? How does he remember all that stuff?

  “She’s a shelter cat, Grace. Adoption is our thing, right?”

  And then I smile. And relax a little. “It is, yes.” I walk over to the cat. She’s big and orange and has some subtle tiger-striping. She stops her cleaning to peer up at me, then promptly goes back to her business.

  “They called her Layla, but you can name her whatever you want.”

  “Layla,” I whisper. “I have my own cat.” I turn around and look up at Vaughn. “Why did you do this?”

  “I want to keep you safe and make you happy.” It comes out so quickly, it has to be true.

  I want to ask him so many more questions. Why? All of them are whys. Why me, mostly. What the hell does this guy see in me? I really don’t get it. And it’s not like I don’t think I deserve a great man, or to be spoiled like this. And that’s what this is, plain and simple. It’s spoiling. That’s not it. It’s just… he could have anyone. And I’m such a pain in the ass. And I have so much baggage. And I’m not even nice, actually. I’m sorta mean to him.

  “Don’t overthink it, Grace. Just let it happen.”

  I walk over to the window, not the one framing the cat, and look out. This is the old neighbor’s side of the building and he has a view. I have a view. And it’s a cool one. Looking straight down onto Wazee. A mall bus rumbles down 16th Street and it begins to sink in.

  Vaughn Asher built me a dream house in five days. Four, really, if you don’t count today.

  I turn back to him and smile. “I really… I have no words, Vaughn. Only thank you, but it seems so inadequate.”

  He simply shrugs and smiles. “Does it make you happy?”

  I nod. “It does. But—”

  “But? Oh, please don’t be one of those women who can’t accept a gift, Grace. Don’t.”

  “No, that’s not what I was going to say. Never mind. I love it.” I walk towards him and he opens his arms and wraps them around me.

  “Shall we christen the new bed?”

  “Do you have time before your meeting in LA?”

  “Sweets, there is always time for pussy.”

  Chapter Sixty - Grace

  #JustWhatTheFuck

  VAUGHN GRABS me by the waist and jerks my hips forward until I slam against the hardness beneath his jeans. “I’d rather you stayed with me in LA, but I get it. I have to share you with your friends and family here. By the way,” he says, cocking his head a little. “You’ve met mine, so when do I get to meet yours?”

  His question catches me off guard and I find myself holding my breath. I don’t have a good answer.

  “Grace?”

  “Sorry,” I say, shaking my head a little. “I just…” I look up at his movie-star face. His perfectly chiseled jawline. His deep blue eyes. His hair is a little bit messy, just the way I like it. His smile is still large and genuine, but as the seconds tick off, it falters.

  “Grace?”

  “I just… I’ve never brought a man to meet my…” I shrug my shoulders a little. “I don’t bring people to meet Mr. and Mrs. Chambers. I mean, I never have.”

  “You call your parents Mr. and Mrs. Chambers?”

  I duck my head so I don’t have to meet his gaze. “I just never knew what to call them. I called Bebe’s mom Marjorie when she was my lawyer, but then…” Shit, why is this so hard?

  “But then… you couldn’t bring yourself to call them Mom and Dad once they adopted you?”

  I nod.

  “Felicity calls me Vaughn. Or V. I’m not her dad. But sometimes I feel like her dad.”

  I look back up at him and even though the smile is gone, he still looks… OK. Happy. “I don’t call them Mr. and Mrs. Chambers to their face, obviously. Or in front of Bebe. I do call them Mom and Dad. To make them feel good. But it’s never felt right for me. It feels fake. It’s dishonest to tell strangers that they are my parents. They aren’t. They didn’t raise me, Vaughn. They saved me, yes. But they didn’t raise me.”

  “Felicity said the same thing. She was not born to worthless people. She just… didn’t win the family lottery like I did. That’s what she told me when we discussed what she wanted to call me. Of course, I never expected her to call me her father. She just wanted me to know where she was coming from before I took financial responsibility for her.”

  I like hearing about Felicity. It makes Vaughn so much more
real. And he’s probably one of the few people I’ve met who might understand my feelings.

  “Hey, wanna watch TV? Look at this baby.” Vaughn points to the sixty-inch flatscreen on the wall. He leads me over to the new couch. It’s light gray leather with pink pillows. Much nicer than the one I got from the thrift store that is nowhere to be found. Whoever did the design in here must have deduced correctly that it was trash, not treasure.

  I sit down and the buttery leather almost makes me moan. “Don’t you have to get back?”

  “Sure, but the plane doesn’t leave until I get there.”

  We kick our feet up on the coffee table and he pulls me into his chest as he flips the TV on. “ESPN or ESPN?” he asks.

  I laugh. God, how weird to have a man in my house.

  Shit, how weird to have this house.

  “I’ll take ESPN, thanks.”

  “Thought so. Now if I can find the damn channel. I think it’s one forty-five.” He flips through the channels, hunting for sports talk, and my face flies by.

  “Go back. I saw me.”

  “Noooo. That’s a bad idea, Kinsella. You learn to ignore that shit quick. Just pay no attention to it or it will drive you wild.” He finds the sports channel and sets the remote down on his leg.

  “But it said something about a wedding. It must be about Kristi and I want to see what she’s saying.”

  “But it’s football stuff, sweets,” he says, pointing to the TV.

  I grab the remote and start flipping channels. “It’ll take like two minutes.”

  Kristi’s face appears, smiling and happy. The camera pans down to her obvious baby bump.

  “No questions,” she says, placing a hand over the camera. But it’s in a good-natured way. She’s not running anymore, she’s content. Johnny Blazen steps forward, the media darling personality taking over.

  “He didn’t tell me anything. I barely know the guy. Vaughn Asher was only interested in one thing when we were together last week, and that was making sure Grace was safe.”

  “Hey, he’s talking about you.” I look over at Vaughn and he’s gone white. “What’s going on?”

  The reporter in the TV redirects my attention. Vaughn is reaching for the remote in my hands, but I jerk it away as I read the crawl at the bottom of the screen.

  Vaughn Asher marries Daisy Bryndle in a three AM ceremony in Las Vegas last Thursday.

  “What the hell?” I look over at Vaughn and he’s staring at me.

  His mouth is a tight line, his eyes pleading with me. “Just… change the channel and we can talk.”

  “What? Why are they saying we’re married?”

  Silence. Just more staring.

  I bite my lip as I wait, but the seconds tick off and I can’t be patient. “Please, for the love of God, tell me they’re lying.”

  He says nothing, but his head shakes out a no.

  “Vaughn, this isn’t funny. There’s no way we got married that night. I was passed out drunk.”

  His stupid head just continues to shake. “You weren’t drunk, Grace.”

  “I was. I have no memory of any of it.”

  “You weren’t drunk. And I’ve been trying to tell you—”

  “You’ve been trying to tell me?” I stand up and he reaches for my arm. But I smack his hand off. “You were trying to tell me what?” I walk across the room and stand near the window where the cat is now curled up in a ball, fast asleep. “You did not marry me knowing full well that I never wanted to be married. You did not.” He stands up and starts towards me, his arms reaching. But I put a hand up. “Stop. Don’t. Tell me right now, what the hell happened that night?”

  “Grace… you were so insecure. You were talking about your parents—”

  “I never talk about my parents, Vaughn. And all that was before the media ambush. That’s the only reason I talked about them this weekend, OK? So I know—”

  “You don’t know, Grace.” His words come out stern and strong. They stop my outburst mid-sentence. “You don’t know anything. Because you don’t remember. I was there. That,” he says, pointing to the TV, “proves everything I’ve been telling you.”

  “Telling me? You haven’t told me anything, apparently.”

  “I’ve been telling you how I feel. And that wedding was proof. I married you. You,” he stresses, “married me too. We got married.”

  “No. How could you? After everything I told you?”

  “Everything what? I don’t get your aversion to marriage. Haven’t I proved I’m in this for real? What more do I have to do? I told you I love you.”

  “Oh my God. You told me that because you married me. You told me that so when I found out, I’d think it was real!”

  “Grace! Listen to yourself. It’s real. We’re married. We signed the license. You,” he stresses again. “signed the license.”

  But I’m not listening. My mind is reeling from this fact. I’m married.

  No! I am not married. My mind says it over and over and over again. I’m not married. I’m not married.

  “Grace.” Vaughn grabs me by the shoulders so hard it hurts. I push him off and fall to the floor, my head spinning. “Grace? What’s wrong?”

  I crab-walk backwards across the floor as he moves closer. “Stay away from me!”

  “Grace, please. Just… calm down and listen.”

  “No. Get out.”

  “What? No, I’m not getting out. That’s bullshit. You’re done running, baby. You’re done running. We’re talking this out like adults and you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on? You fucking married me!”

  “I love you.”

  “You don’t love me. You don’t even know me!”

  “Why are you freaking out? Just tell me.”

  “You know why.” I stare at Vaughn, the tears burning the back of my eyes until they burst forth in long streams. Not drops. Streams. Rivers of tears run down my face. “He tried to convince me we were married. He brainwashed me. He had me so convinced I was his wife, I fucking wept for him on the front lawn of the hospital when he let me go!”

  Chapter Sixty-One - Vaughn

  #TheCouchIsMyFriend

  HER WORDS echo in my ears.

  I was right. He fucked with her head and when he left her, she didn’t know how to process it.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Grace, just relax. OK? We can get an annul—” I stop before the word finishes. But it’s too late. She heard it and I can’t take it back. “I don’t mean that.”

  “You do mean that, Asher. You do mean that. Because now that you know how broken I am, you don’t want to touch me.”

  I shake my head, force myself to stay calm. “That’s not true. I want what’s best for you.”

  She covers her ears like a child and shakes her head so hard her hair whips across her face. “Leave.”

  “Grace—”

  “Leave!”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  She stops her childish tantrum and says very clearly, “You are leaving. Get out!”

  I weigh my options. I can stay and fight with her. Or I can go wait in the hallway for a little bit, give her a chance to calm down and keep an eye on her.

  I opt for the hallway.

  “OK, I’m gonna go out in the hallway. But I’m not leaving, do you understand? I’m not leaving. I’m gonna give you space to calm down and think this through, see that this is nothing like what happened to you as a child, and then I’m going to call you. Do you understand? We will talk about this. I refuse to go home until we talk about this.” I start backing away from her, towards the door. “I’m gonna be right outside.”

  She shakes her head. “No. If you stay in this hallway, I will call the police. I’m not fucking around.”

  “I own this building, Grace.”

  “You do not own me, Asher.” She says it with such venom I recoil.

  “I know that, sweets. I do.”

  “The
n leave. Respect me. For once. Respect me.”

  That hurts, I have to admit. I do respect her, but I’ve got no good excuse for why I didn’t tell her what we did that night besides fear that she’d react badly. And why did I fear that?

  Because I knew it was wrong when we did it. I knew.

  And she knows I knew.

  I give in and retreat. I walk to the door, open it, step through, and close it behind me. The chain lock engages and I force myself to walk towards the stairs. I take them slowly, telling myself the whole way down to the lobby that once she cools off, we will talk about this and figure it out.

  But until then, I walk over to the chair in front of the fireplace I had refurbished for the building lobby and take a seat. Until then, I will sit right here and wait.

  Chapter Sixty-Two - Grace

  #NotMyInvisibleMan

  THE BUZZING of my phone wakes me. My eyes are so swollen from crying, I have a hard time opening them to see the screen.

  Unknown number.

  Vaughn.

  Meet me on the roof.

  Jesus, can’t that guy take a hint? Why doesn’t he ever give up?

  Do I want him to give up? I ask myself honestly. Or is this whole freakout a test to see how committed he is? Isn’t it a good thing that he’s still hanging around? I know he was down in the lobby because there’s reporters outside now. I was watching TV for hours as they set up camp in front of my building. If Vaughn hadn’t put in the new security features, they’d probably be camped out in my hallway.

  But the marriage…

  Bebe called and I told her I can’t talk about it yet. Not to her. I need to figure it out and I don’t need all that old psycho-babble they used to feed me when I… came back.

  I need to think about it in new terms. Vaughn was right. I was traumatized when I was let go. I’m not sure if any of my therapy sessions mentioned that or not. I refused to talk to any counselors. Just refused. I went for more than a year. Three times a week. And never once did I say a word.