by Nikki Chase
I find it strange that she doesn't read her own daughter’s writing, but that's not the important thing here.
The important thing is Megan's about to leave, and I need to stop her.
“I didn't think you'd care,” she says.
“Well, I’m here, so obviously I do.”
She looks at me like she still can't quite believe I’m standing right in front of her. If she wants to touch me to make sure I’m not only here in her imagination, I wouldn't object to that.
“Is it true?” I ask.
“Is what true?”
“Your article. Is it all true?”
“Yes,” she says, fixing her brilliant blue eyes on me. She's telling the truth.
“Or did you write it just to get published?” I feel bad for accusing her of trying to take advantage of her fifteen minutes of fame, but I need to hear her say it.
“No,” she answers quickly, an offended frown on her forehead. “I wasn't planning on publishing anything about you. That's what I told Michelle, the editor at The Goss, and that's why I left.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Because I couldn't do that to you, after getting to know you,” she says, using the same words she did in the article.
These words may not sound like much. But I know Megan, even if she thinks she has been hiding herself pretty well from me. The truth is, as soon as I let myself see her as a woman and not as an employee, I started to see her—really see her.
She's too ambitious and organized to end a project prematurely for no reason.
During her time as my assistant, she never so much as misscheduled an appointment, or even forgotten to pick up a piece of laundry. If that's the kind of dedication she shows for an undercover job, she must place even more importance in doing her actual job as a journalist.
And, like me, she keeps her distance from people.
Even though she worked alone with me on our separate floor, she could've hung out with the staff from the other floors. My previous assistants used to do that. But Megan was always content to sit alone at her desk.
Whether as my assistant, my fake wife, or my real lover, Megan has never volunteered much information about herself. She tends to make understatements.
Which means that, when she says she says, “I couldn't do that to you, after getting to know you,” it means... It means she has real feelings for me.
Perhaps I should've known this because she gave me her virginity. But in my defense, you’d be surprised by the number of women out there who’d sleep with rich, successful men and consider it some kind of an achievement, like a tick on the old bucket list.
But Megan's different. She's more serious than most girls her age. Hell, she's more mature than many women my age.
I'm confident in her feelings for me. We have the kind of connection that can't be faked. The only thing I don't know is, will she come back to me, or is she too proud to do that?
“And yet you left without even saying goodbye. How do you think that made me feel?” I ask.
“I… I…” Megan looks around, perplexed by my question. She pauses before softly saying, “Honestly, I didn't think you'd want to see me again.”
“You should've asked me.”
“You went off on me and you drank in your room for the rest of the night.”
“I’d just found out something disturbing about this girl, whom I thought was the best thing to have happened to me in a long time. Give a guy a break.”
“I thought that was what I was doing.”
“Well, you thought wrong. The last thing I wanted was for you to give me a forwarding address for me to send the divorce papers to. In what way would divorce be a way to make someone feel better?”
“It wasn't even a real marriage,” Megan snaps. Good.Maybe now she’ll tell me what's really on her mind. “It wasn't like you actually wanted to be with me. We just had to put on a show for the media. When the media found out it was just a charade, you had no use for me.”
“No use for you?” I repeat. “Jesus, Megan, what kind of an asshole do you take me for? Did you think I was just using you? In your letter, you said it was wishful thinking, for you to imagine that we could last. Why? Why would you not give us a fighting chance?”
“I didn't think—”
“Stop thinking,” I cut her off. “Stop thinking for once and listen to your heart. What do you feel?”
“I… I don't know what kind of an answer you're looking for here.”
“Do you really feel like I was just playing with you?” My heart clenches.
Megan hesitates. “No,” she finally says.
“And were you just pretending, when we were together?” I hold my breath, afraid to move a finger. I don't want to miss her answer.
“No,” she says softly.
“So why would you think I was?”
“I don't know. I mean, you're…well, you. And I’m just me.”
My heart breaks at her answer, and I have to fight the overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms. I have one more question before I feel comfortable taking her back.
“Why me?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you go undercover specifically to write about me? Why did you choose me? Why not someone else?”
“Because I hated you,” she says matter-of-factly, driving a million blades into my chest.
What the fuck does that mean?
Megan
“Because I hated you.” The words slide smoothly out of my mouth. I immediately realize what I've just said and regret it, but it's too late.
Ethan is staring at me, hurt and disbelief overtaking his features. He hardens his expression. “Wow. You hated me because I was a bad boss?”
“No. It was from before you were my boss.”
“‘Hate’ is a strong word for someone you didn't even know, isn't it? You had never even met me before you started working for me.”
“But I had,” I say softly.
“When?” Ethan asks, frowning. “Kitten, I would've remembered meeting someone like you. Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you when you were still my assistant?”
“No,” I say honestly, taken aback by his confession. Ethan was always professional and even distant as my boss.
“Well, it was. Now, when was it that I saw you and didn't even notice?”
“It was a long time ago.” My heart starts to race. Am I really going to tell him the one thing I’ve always hidden from him? Is he going to hate me when he finally learns the whole truth?
“How long?” Ethan asks.
“Eight years.” I hold my breath as I watch his face for a reaction.
“Eight years?” Ethan asks incredulously. “But you would've been…thirteen?”
“Yeah.”
“How did we… Where did we even meet?”
“At your office.”
“At my office?” Ethan’s forehead creases as he strains his memory. “That would've been when I was just starting out, at my first shopping centre.”
“Yeah. Here, in Flint.”
“What were you doing there? What was a thirteen-year-old doing at my office?” Ethan asks, his disbelief slowly replaced by confusion.
“Well, I wasn't there on my own…”
“Would you just…” Ethan runs his hand through his thick, dark hair and lets out a big sigh. “Would you please just tell me the whole story and not make me guess anymore? I need to know why you hated me.”
For a moment, I remember tangling my fingers in that hair myself, when he ate me out against the glass wall in his apartment. But this is not the time for dirty daydreaming.
I start to answer, “It's a long—”
“I have all day,” he cuts me off.
“Don't you have to go back to work and—”
“I’m done for the day.”
“I don't even know where to begin.”
“Start from the first time we met.”
“Well, I heard your voice before I ever saw you. It was—”
“Hey, I remember who you are,” Mom says as she suddenly appears beside me.
I didn't even hear her coming. I was too focused on Ethan to pay attention to my surroundings. It takes everything in me to evade Ethan's questions and come up with a way to tell him a story I never expected to tell.
“You’re Ethan Hunter, aren't you?” Mom asks. Her voice sounds more surprised and curious than anything else.
“Yes,” he says, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. From his perspective, this day must be getting weirder and weirder.
Here's my mom, recognizing him but not knowing anything about the fake marriage. Where does she recognize him from? Why doesn't she read the articles about us that are everywhere?
For a moment, I feel embarrassed for my mom because of how weak she has been; and then a wave of guilt comes over me for feeling that way. Mom has been my sole support system for years and she tries her best, even if she's not very good at parenting.
“I knew I’d seen you somewhere.” Mom says.
“And where was that?” Ethan asks, glancing at me. He's finally going to learn the answer.
Panic grasps my heart. Logically, I know nothing disastrous is going to happen here, but I can't help feeling like I’m losing my grip on the situation.
“Oh, you probably don't remember. It wasn't a very pleasant meeting, to be honest. I don't think you want to hear about it,” Mom says.
“I’d actually like to hear all about it, if you don't mind jogging my memory,” he says.
“Oh.” Mom pauses, then says, “We—uh, my ex-husband and I, that is—we wanted to rent some space at the mall, but our store wasn't a good fit for it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ethan says.
“Oh, it's water under the bridge,” Mom says, waving a hand. We’ve never discussed Ethan or the toy store beyond her depressed ramblings, but her indifference still surprises me. She continues, “So you two know each other?”
“You don't keep up with celebrity news, do you?” Ethan asks, smiling.
“No, my partner thinks it's silly,” Mom says.
It's one of the reasons why I’m going for serious journalism—so Mom can read my writing without risking Frank’s anger. It’s also the reason why I dared to agree to the fake marriage, knowing Mom would either not even find out about it, or dismiss it as a lie.
“I see,” Ethan says, glancing at me once again. “Well, Megan and I, we used to work together.”
“Oh, at Hunter Corporation?” Mom widens her eyes when Ethan nods. Turning to me, she says, “You never told me, Megsy.”
“I told you I got a personal assistant job, Mom.” I was relieved when Mom first came and interrupted us, but right now, she’s making it impossible for me to talk to Ethan. I say, “Actually, Mom, Mr. Hunter and I have something important to discuss.”
“Oh, I’ll leave you two to it, then. Wait, are you asking her to come back and work for you again?” Mom asks Ethan. “She seemed really down when she came home and told me she’d gotten fired. If you could persuade her to stay, that would—”
“Mom,” I cut her off. She can be a little too chatty sometimes.
Even if Ethan were just my employer and he were about to offer me my old job back, it wouldn’t be a good idea to talk about how sad I was about losing it. How is that supposed to help me negotiate better terms for this hypothetical job?
“Oh, sorry. I said I was leaving and I’m still here.” Mom laughs, then says, “Megsy, you can do whatever you want and go wherever you want. But I’d love it if you could stay. I’ve been thinking about visiting the city more often.”
“Okay, Mom.” This is the second time today I’m hearing about her wanting to spend more time in the city, which makes me curious, but I have more urgent things to worry about right now.
Like the man at our doorstep who’s staring at me with his piercing blue eyes, as if I’m a puzzle for him to piece together and figure out.
“Okay.” Mom smiles and walks back inside the house.
“Have you told your mom anything at all, anything related to your life?” Ethan asks when she’s out of earshot.
“What does it matter to you?” I snap, annoyed at how intrusive he’s being, although I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.
I feel like he’s crossing a boundary by coming here to my family home, speaking to my mom, and judging me. But what I did to him was so much worse. I lived in his home and enjoyed being treated like family, while I was actually gathering evidence against him so strangers could judge him.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that Mom doesn’t fare well with change, so I prefer her to think that my life is normal and stable. I don’t want to stress her out.”
“Maybe you don’t give her enough credit,” Ethan says.
“Maybe you don’t know her enough to comment,” I say, unable to restrain myself.
“Okay, fair enough,” he says. “So based on what your mom said, we met when your parents wanted to rent retail space in the mall?”
“Yeah.” I can already feel heat starting to creep across my cheeks as I get embarrassed over my own prejudice.
“And that’s why you hated me?”
“Yeah.” My face is so hot it must be flushed red right now. I add, “But that’s all. That’s not the whole story.”
“Okay. So tell me the whole story.”
“That was the day everything in my life started to go wrong. My parents lost their livelihood. They got stressed out. They started to argue more often—a lot more often—and eventually, they got divorced. I never saw my dad again, and my mom fell into deep depression.
“Things have never quite recovered to the way they were before that meeting at your office. It was… I started to look at my life as being divided into two: before you got involved, which was when everything was good; and after, which was when everything started to go wrong.”
“Wow, that’s…uh, that’s a lot of things I wasn’t even aware of causing, kitten,” Ethan says, sounding more than a little confused.
“I know it was stupid now,” I admit. “I was confused, you know? Everything went wrong and I didn’t know why. I needed to blame it on something, because things couldn’t have changed that much from nothing.
“In my mind at the time, you were the one who ruined everything, and getting back at you would fix things somehow. I know now how messed up my thoughts were.
“But I never questioned myself because, well, there are many people out there who hate your guts and tell the media that you’re basically scum of the earth. So even if I didn’t arrive at my conclusions logically, it still seemed like the right thing to do. I’d be helping a lot of people by making you pay for everything you’d done.
“Sorry,” I say softly.
I feel a little better after vomiting out all my secrets, even if I realize how embarrassing that whole tirade is. It reminds me of the time I went out clubbing with Kira until four in the morning and threw up on the sidewalk—I instantly felt better, but also embarrassed.
I slowly raise my gaze to look at Ethan. I’m nervous to see how he reacts after hearing everything.
Would he think I’m stupid? Would he think I’m just a blonde airhead? Or a vengeful person who spends all my time concocting evil schemes?
Please don’t hate me, I plead quietly in my heart.
Only minutes ago, I was resigned to a life without Ethan. I had accepted my fate as a villain in his eyes.
But now, with him right in front of me, I can’t help but hope.
I know it’s dumb and I know it’s entitled. But the very fact that he’s still here, even after listening to my nonsensical thoughts…
That must mean something, right?
Even if we can’t go back to the way things were, maybe we could be civil to each other, at least?
Ethan
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say.
“What for? I told you I’ve realized that it was all in my mind. If anything, I’m the one who should apologize to—”
“You’ve apologized enough,” I cut her off. “You know what your problem is, kitten?”
She squints at me with her beautiful baby blues as the afternoon sun shines on her face.
“You don’t ask enough from the world,” I say as I step in front of her, blocking the sunshine so she’d be able to see me clearly when I tell her this important truth.
“Huh?” Megan reacts like that’s the last thing she expects to hear—and maybe it is. Judging by the way she speaks, she still seems to believe that everything is her fault and she’s the one responsible for how messy everything is.
“You heard me. You have such low expectations from the world, that all you wanted was to get back at me by publishing some gossip article on me. Do you know how fast it would be buried by some other piece of celebrity news? Do you really think people care?”
Megan parts her lips, but she doesn’t say a word. The gears in her mind are turning. She’s trying on this new perspective for size.
“Here’s a hint: they don’t care,” I say. “And even if they do, it wouldn’t affect me at all. My shares might dip by a few points and a handful of people might even boycott my shopping centers, but do you see any of those things having any long-lasting impact?”
“No,” she says tentatively.
“Exactly. I’m too big now for my shareholders to concern themselves with gossip. And if you were only going to write about how ruthless I am, that could even be a good thing because it would show that I put my investors first. Did you think of that?”
Megan shakes her head slowly.
“And what’s the deal with the letter that you left me? You were going to pay me back everything I’ve ever paid you for your work? Who does that? You know the richer spouse is the one who’s supposed to pay alimony, right?” I ask.
“But I was secretly spying on you,” she says. “I was doing some other job, and my work at your office was just some kind of a cover.”
“Yeah, but you did a better job than some of the assistants I’ve had in the past.”