Know Her, Love Her: Daisy & Belmont, Book ONE (LOVE in the USA 4)

by Z. L. Arkadie

  He stopped at the front desk to see whether Stacy had checked out. She had. That was a smart move on her part. Belmont didn’t know what he would’ve done to her if she had stuck around to bask in the glory of her victory. She had ruined his happiness! Of course, he’d had a hand in it. Out of context or not, he had let himself be intimate with another woman. What he’d done was inexplicable! Inexcusable!

  Belmont made it to his room and showered. He had planned to spend the day in bed making love to his sexy wife. He wanted to ask her to blow off that job. Belmont didn’t want her around Dexter Frampton. He knew Dexter wanted her and would fuck her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Belmont knew that because he knew his species.

  Water sprayed over Belmont as he fought the urge to call Daisy and beg her to forsake her obligations and fly back to Malibu with him. She was angry and had probably lost a lot of respect for him, but if they lived in the same house, he could make sure they came out on the right side of this catastrophe, which had started the day he made the mistake of walking out on her.

  He hadn’t known that Stacy was recording their interactions. One lesson he’d learned over the years was never to tell more than necessary. That rule applies to everyone, even to those he trusts. So Stacy didn’t have much incriminating shit on him, but she had enough to do more damage than what she had already done.

  Belmont considered rubbing off to memories of making love to Daisy last night, but since he didn’t have her erect nipples in his mouth and supple body beneath his, he took his hand off his dick and got out of the shower. He put on a suit and a tie before calling Herald Standard. Herald would contact the appropriate parties to leverage the information Stacy had acquired. Stacy had done a good job on the Voyager project, but she could consider that her last job for him or anyone else. From that point on, Belmont set out to destroy her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  What Happens Next

  “I was with Belmont,” I say and fight to keep myself from crying. I want to say, “my husband,” but would a true husband do what he has?

  What I saw in those photos wasn’t news to me. He’s been taking her to personal events, and he already admitted to having sex with her. But to see it—his passion for her was more than I could bear. His eyes were closed as he kissed her, and it showed in the way his hands grasped her. Not to mention the blowjob. Doggy style? It didn’t look as if he’d had a problem keeping it up.

  “Are you coming in today?” Dexter asks.

  I clear my throat. “Yes. It’s only a short walk over the bridge. I’ll be in soon.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’ll be nice to see you, but you can work from home.”

  “It’ll be nice to get out of the house. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay!” He sounds chipper about my decision. “I’ll order lunch. Unless you’ve already eaten?”

  “I haven’t, and I’m starving.”

  “Good. Are you on the California-bird diet?” he asks.

  I snicker. I’m happy he got me to laugh. “Not today.”

  “Then I’ll order pizza. The big, thick kind with lots of cheese.”

  I tell him that’s fine. I’m pressed for time, but in order to get through the rest of the day, I must take a relaxing bath. Once the tub is full, I slide in and close my eyes.

  I remember the first time I saw Joella. I felt a deep sadness because deep down I knew I had to say good-bye to her. I had a dream, or maybe a vision, the night she was born. I was heavily sedated, so it comes back to me in pieces. It was pitch black, but I heard Daniel say, “I have this, Ella. Just hold the other side and watch your hand.” I can’t see “Ella,” but I know she’s my daughter.

  I get out of the tub, put on a stretchy flower-printed jersey dress, and rush into the humid, eighty-something-degree weather. There’s a parade of strollers being pushed up and down the sidewalks. I see lots of dog walkers and people running off their nonexistent fat. I remember what Dexter said last night about the scene being jarring. I get it. There’s too much of one thing.

  I make it to the office. Kristin is sitting in front of Dexter’s desk when I arrive. She looks at me with a grim expression. At least Dexter is smiling.

  “Hey, sit down,” he says.

  I sit next to Kristin, and she musters up a weak smile. Whatever issues she has with me are her own.

  Dexter hands me a plastic folder. “Here’s the script. Reword it if you like.”

  I read the first page. “Wow. You’ve pulled the dialogue straight out of my book.”

  He smiles. “Thanks to your writing, it was easy to do.”

  I want to smile, but I can’t. “Okay. I’ll call my contacts and let them know I’m coming.”

  “Wait,” Kristin says. “I was just talking to Dexter about this. I want to arrange a test shoot since you don’t have any on-camera experience.”

  “Oh.” The thought of performing in front of a camera just got real. “If you have any doubts that I should be the host, then by all means, recast.”

  Kristin raises an eyebrow. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. I don’t think she expected me to relinquish the role so quickly. I really, really, really don’t want to do it.

  Dexter taps the desk. “You’re the host, Daisy. And there won’t be a test shoot. I was telling Kris that Ted and I had our own conversation.”

  Kristin snorts. “Okay, but I still have concerns.” She touches my arm. “Not in your ability, Daisy. You’ve been great as a producer.”

  Dexter and I wait for her to say more, but apparently that’s all she has to say. I had hoped she wouldn’t give up so easily.

  The team assembles in the conference room as the pizza arrives. When we compare notes, I’m thankful for the team. They’ve made all the broad strokes. Making TV is what they do for a living, and now all I have to do is shade in the space between the lines.

  There’s still a lot to be done, and I welcome the distraction. At the end of the day, I decline Dexter’s invitation to grab a drink, and I turn off my cell phone when I get home. Belmont has been good about not contacting me, but I’m expecting calls from Angel and Maggie once they get word of what happened.

  I make baked fish tacos and sit alone at the table, forcing myself to not cry. Being idle makes me remember my heartache. I get up, put on my workout clothes, and hit the home gym. I run on the treadmill until my legs turn to jelly, until I can’t breathe, until I’m drenched in sweat. Then I stop and do rounds of exercises that Belmont taught me. Three months after we lost Joella, I started joining him in our home gym. He taught me how to combine cardio and strength exercises to decrease my workout time while giving me better results. Of course, we always made love afterward. He’s always so consumed by me. I would’ve never guessed he could have intimate relations with another woman. I guess I was wrong.

  I take a shower instead of sitting in a warm bath and then revisit my notes from my trip to Africa. Javar Les accompanied me. We had a good time eating, dancing, and taking thrilling, and oftentimes dangerous, excursions with locals off the beaten path. I couldn’t include a lot of our destinations in the taxicab series because we also used buses, trains, and rented cars. To further distract myself, I start writing an article on South Africa. I remember the touches, the smells, the sounds, and the feelings of our trip.

  At one a.m., I start making calls to my contacts in France. Regardless of my unpolished French, I convince them to sign release forms to be on the show. I don’t mention that I’m the host because the jury is still out on that. By the time I turn in, I’m too exhausted to be haunted by images of Belmont and Stacy. I go straight to sleep.

  My biological alarm clock wakes me at eight a.m. on the dot, but I’m as drowsy and dreary as the cloudy day. I get dressed quickly, grab a bite to eat, and head out. I decide to leave my cell phone on the dresser because I’m not ready to take calls from my family. As soon as I get to the office, I finish compiling the contact list and email it to Damien so tha
t he can work on the releases.

  I work with Braden on finalizing segment content. The camera crew will capture establishing shots, and I’ll accompany them, along with the director, whose name no one seems to know. Apparently he’s European and knows the French countryside like the back of his hand. I decide to work during lunch because I don’t have much of an appetite. My desk phone rings.

  “This is Daisy.”

  “Daisy, it’s Angel. What’s happened between you and Jack?”

  I stifle a groan as I collapse on top of my desk. “How did you get this number?”

  “Maggie. Are you okay?”

  “So you know about the photos?”

  “I do, and I’m so sorry,” she says.

  “Why are you apologizing for what he did?”

  “Well, I’m just… disappointed. I knew there was something about that woman.”

  “She’s not the one who’s married.”

  “Jack said the pics were taken out of context.”

  I lower my voice. “His penis was in her mouth. What other context is there?”

  “Oh, I know. It’s just a wakeup call. I never thought Belmont would… on you. Charlie can’t keep his hands off me. Would he cheat too?”

  I roll my eyes. She has such a flair for the dramatic. “Don’t internalize this, Angel.”

  “I’m not. It’s just you can never know. But then what? Is it over now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you delete the pictures?”

  I sigh. “No.”

  “Are you going to delete them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should.”

  “I guess so.”

  Angel sighs. “Gosh, Dais. Charlie and I definitely have to rethink some things.”

  “Rethink what?”

  “Just some things. Like our engagement party. You’re still coming aren’t you?”

  “Oh shoot!” I pull up my calendar on my computer. “I’m supposed to be in Provence.”

  “You have to be there, Daisy.”

  “I’ll try, but—”

  “Don’t try. Promise me you’ll be there. This is me and Charlie, for goodness’ sake!”

  I roll my eyes. She’s being dramatic, but how can I deny her? “Maybe I can arrange a private flight.”

  “You could use Charlie’s service.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to the team, and I’ll see you the week after next.”

  “Wait. No, it’s next week.”

  “What?”

  “I gave you the wrong date,” she says. “It’s next Saturday.”

  “The seventh and not the twelfth?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re killing me, Angel.”

  She chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll make the trip worth your while.”

  “It’s just…” I close my eyes. “I don’t think I’m ready to see him yet.”

  “Oh, Jack won’t be there.”

  I frown. “Oh?” The Belmont I know would never miss his only brother’s engagement party. Perhaps he has changed for the worse.

  “He said he’s going to Oslo on business.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  It sounds fishy to me, but I’m too exhausted to push for further details. “All right then.”

  I actually feel much better after talking to Angel. Maggie calls fifteen minutes later. She wants to know how I’m doing and considers immersing myself in work the best form of therapy.

  “By the way, I told Jack he’s an asshole,” Maggie says. “I have my own problems with a chick who wants to bone my boyfriend. Emily,” she says mockingly.

  “Who’s Emily?” I ask.

  “Oh, she’s his ex-girlfriend. They were in love in high school.”

  “And Vince hired her?”

  “Robert hired her.” She sighs dreadfully. “It’s a long story, Dais.”

  “Yikes,” I say. “This is not the season for love. What’s her job?”

  “First it was executive PR. Then after I quit, very embarrassingly…”

  “I heard,” I say.

  “Yep… They wanted to slip her into my time slot.”

  “What’s a time slot?”

  “I meant my old job,” Maggie clarifies.

  “Oh! Well, is she qualified?”

  “Not even close, which is why she’s back to executive PR.”

  “Whoa.”

  “She likes executive PR better because now she’s stuck to Vince like white on rice. It’s complicated between them because what happened between Vince and I, and she and Vince, and… more.”

  I flinch. “There’s more?”

  “Gosh, Dais. I have to get you caught up.”

  “Soon,” I say.

  “Yeah…”

  “Fourth of July?”

  “Martha’s Vineyard.” I’m smiling, and I know she is too.

  “Although Emily and I are like night and day. She always does herself up as if she’s on her way to shoot a magazine cover.”

  “Oh, she’s a magazine girl?” I ask.

  “In more ways than one.”

  “And how is that?”

  “She’s just not real. Or she’s real but has no depth. What you see on the outside is all she is.”

  I nod. “Ah, right. Maybe we can hire her to be the host of our show. I sure don’t want to do it.”

  “What? Wait? You’re the host?”

  “Um-hum.”

  “It won’t work, Dais. Viewers don’t want to tune in and see you, in all of your sexiness, being uninhibited and carefree. It’s like a trim woman saying, ‘Buy this bathing suit, but only if you have my body.’ Get it?”

  “No…”

  “Frampton is thinking with his second head,” she mumbles. “Tell Frampton to get a ruggedly handsome and brash male host. Okay?”

  “Okay…”

  “Anyway, I have to go, but I love you, and Jack will always love you. You’re the one for him. So try to find a way to forgive him?”

  I nod. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  Maggie says she’ll see me at the party. After we say our good-byes, I feel the dread of convincing the team that I have to fly back to the states in order to attend an engagement party only a day after we arrive in Paris. Considering the enormity of my responsibilities as the talent and a producer, I jump out of my chair and walk over to Dexter’s office. The receptionist is sitting at his desk, legs crossed and giggling.

  He stands as soon as he sees me. “Hey.”

  “Hey, can we talk?” I ask, ignoring how disappointed the receptionist is to see me.

  “Talk to you later, Melissa,” he says.

  “So we’re still on for dinner?” she asks him.

  “Sure, why not,” he says.

  “Excellent, I’ll make the reservation.” She scurries out of the office without looking at me.

  “I just learned two things—her name and why she treats me the way she does,” I say.

  “How does she treat you?” he asks as we sit.

  “Rudely. Nasty. Not very welcoming.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  I shrug. “I can handle it. Don’t say anything to her. You’re taking her to dinner? You must like her.”

  “A bunch of us are going to this pop-up restaurant on Wabash Avenue. Want to come?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. But I do want to talk to you about a few things.”

  He narrows one eye. “Like what?”

  “Well, I have to attend a party next Saturday.”

  “A party? In France?”

  “No, in Louisiana. My sister and brother-in-law are having an engagement party.”

  “Did you say sister and brother-in-law?”

  I sniff a chuckle. “Yes, Belmont’s brother is engaged to my half sister. We’re keeping it in the family.”

  “Wow, that’s something.”

  “Yeah, but Charlie and Angel are not like us. They�
�re destined to make it. I’m pretty sure we’re going to get a divorce.” I can’t believe I revealed that.

  “Oh… Sorry to hear that.”

  “Well… it’s a pitiful spot to be in.” I nod through the awkward silence. That was definitely too much information. Suddenly, I remember my conversation with Mags and finally understand her analogy. “Oh, I don’t want to be the host, nor should I be.”

  He balks. “Oh? Why not?”

  I channel Maggie. “It’s not what I do. Plus, viewers don’t want their women as adventurous as I am. Maybe in an article but not in person.”

  He chuckles. “And what makes you think that?”

  “Well, you’re not trying to make a sexy show, and my taxicab series has a pinch of sexiness in it.”

  “We.”

  “We what?”

  “We are making a show.”

  I smile. “Okay—we. Unless we’re only going for the L.A. and New York demographic, then for exploration and adventure, we need a male host. Someone ruggedly handsome and brash.”

  Dexter sits back in his chair and rests his chin on his steepled hands. He studies me with narrowed eyes. “That’s exactly what Kristin said. She said you’re too sexy, but damn, your voice in those articles… I want to manifest it.”

  “Then manifest it.”

  He sniffs. “Nice pun. Are we really still that backward as a society?”

  I shrug. “What about Javar Les? He’s handsome and rugged and self-assured. I gave you his number and—”

  He throws up his hands. “He’s our director, Daisy.”

  I nearly choke with shock. “What?”

  “He wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well, surprise!” I shake my head. “Is Javar the reason you reached out to me?” I don’t know how I feel about that. I thought Dexter was really a fan of my work.

  “Perk up.” He smiles convincingly. “After reading your book, I was more on board than he was.”

  I study his expression. It would be easier to ditch this entire project. As far as Javar is concerned, it sounds like an elaborate scheme to get me to sleep with him. I sort of feel as though I should give Javar what he wants just to get even with Belmont, but that wouldn’t be me at all. “I’ll continue working on the show, but we’re going to get a male host.”