by Ava Claire
“Once they realize that you’re here to stay,” I said, taking the anger and trying to turn it into something positive. Something empowering. “Once you make a comeback.”
She wagged a finger at me. “No Whitmore and Creighton stuff, remember?”
I held up my hands innocently. “I didn't say anything about contracts or Whitmore and Creighton. You’re going to make a comeback whether you sign with us or not, if that’s what you really want.”
She didn’t look remotely convinced of that. “Yeah right.”
“I am right.”
“My mom says that I’m done. That I’ve completely ruined my career.” Her face changed, every line deepening, wrinkles and a world weariness coloring her eyes that seemed like too much for someone her age. “My little sister is her latest project. Maybe she'll get it right this time.”
I didn’t miss the contradiction. “I thought you hadn’t spoken to her since your birthday.”
She pulled her long hair into a low bun, her eyes narrowing. “The media’s already called me plenty. Brat. Idiot. Washed Up. Might as well add liar to the mix.”
I leaned on the counter, dropping my chin in my palm. “I guess it’s genetic then.”
“What is?”
“Lying.”
She reared back a little, double taking. “Excuse me?”
“You lied, and apparently so did your mother.” She looked confused and it was morphing into anger so I explained. “Your career isn’t over, Mia.”
“Oh geez,” she huffed, breezing from the main room to the next and coming back with a black bean bag. She dumped it near the fireplace and slumped down onto it. “I guess this is the moment where you tell me that if at first you don’t succeed blah blah blah, rough patch, blah blah?”
“Nope.” I kicked off my pumps before padding over to where she was slouched, watching me cautiously. I dropped to the floor a few feet from her, folding my legs beneath me. “This is where I tell you that it’s not easy and if you’re not ready to put in the work, don’t.”
“So reverse psychology, then?”
I slashed the air with a hand, dismissing that. “You’ve got enough people trying to get in your head. I'm not one of them. I just want to be the one person that tells you the truth.”
“Is that right?”
I dipped my head. “Yep.”
She sat up a little, her expression softening. “So what did your people say about me?”
“They wanted to send you to a spa, give you a bunch of swag, and sell Whitmore and Creighton to you.”
“Wow,” she snickered, finally looking like a kid. It was a good look for her. “And which of those ideas was yours?”
“None of them. I didn't want to do anything.”
She didn't buy it. “What? But you’re here.”
“After you called me.” I crooked my thumb over my shoulder. “My purse is too small for a contract and you’re the one bringing up Whitmore and Creighton.”
“Yeah, but...” Her mouth hung open, her forehead wrinkling as she racked her mind for some way to support her theory that I was there for some bigger agenda or purpose other than helping her.
I didn’t even tell Missy I was heading over to see her because something in Mia’s voice told me she needed a friend more than a publicist.
Quiet stretched between us as she looked at me, trying to weigh out her options. To trust me or not to trust me.
“Scott’s kind of an asshole, isn’t he?” Mia said finally, trying to seem nonchalant. Like it was no biggie.
I guess she was still testing me. Yet the way she chewed on her bottom lip, she was definitely testing herself. Seeing if she could handle the truth.
I couldn’t answer why I felt a bond to a girl who seemed intent on scaring me away, but the Scott thing was easy. “Yes, he is.”
She sank deeper in the chair. “I confronted him after I saw a video of him talking crap about me. How he told me I needed help. And apparently I pop pills like candy and fired or pushed away anyone that tried to help.” Her voice tightened. “Wanna know how he helps me? By buying weed and alcohol and finding me pills when I run out. When I called him out he said--” Her nostrils flared as she balled the hands on her knees into fists. “He said he should've just let me die.” She spit out a bitter laugh. “Great friend, huh? My fucking hero.”
I wouldn’t be the one that said I told you so. I knew if there were any parts of her that doubted his intentions, he’d proven what kind of person he was. But this wasn’t a victory. There were so few people she had in her life that wouldn’t gladly sign up to be a close source in some tabloid story. Sometimes the most toxic person imaginable can seem better than facing life alone.
“He’s my only friend. How pathetic is that?" she whispered, sucking on her bottom lip sadly. "I never got close to my costars because Mom was always there, telling me that I was better than them. That if I wanted to be the best I didn’t have time for friends. I didn’t believe her, not really, but you just don’t question her. Ever.”
“But you did,” I told her. “You got your own place--”
“And I still can’t bring myself to change my number. Or not answer her calls. Or tell her to go to hell. Because even though she’s the freaking worst, she’s my mom. She’s the only person I got.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mia.” I glanced up at her. “You’ve got me.”
“You?” she snorted. “You’re my publicist.”
“Did you sign something I didn’t know about?” I challenged, standing up with a groan as my muscles popped. Served me right. The only exercise I'd been getting was of the bedroom variety. “You got anything to eat here? I’m starving.”
She was still considering what I said, but she managed a no.
I went to my purse and pulled out my cell, my heart swelling in my chest when she got up and walked over to join me with a smile on her face. A real smile.
“Pizza it is.”
Section Seven
“There’s a Mrs. Whitmore here to see you. I’m sending her back.”
The line went dead before I could tell Natasha that under no circumstances did I want her to send Jacob’s mother to my office. Figures. If I were anyone else she would have checked with me first, but I was Leila Montgomery, her sworn enemy or whatever. Apparently the play nice at work thing Missy and I were trying out hadn’t trickled down to her friend.
I had bigger fish to fry than Natasha’s attitude. Two knocks sounded at my door and I didn’t need two guesses to figure out that it was Alicia. I jumped to my feet then sat back down and opened every folder on my desk. Maybe if I looked really busy she’d go away. I doubted she’d come all the way here just to bother me. We’d trade barbs and she’d slink off to Jacob’s office to tell him what a huge mistake he was making if he married me.
I might as well get it over with. “It’s open.”
She strutted into my office, wearing head to toe cream, pairing a sheer blouse with wide leg trousers. Her salt and pepper hair was held back with a pair of oversized shades and her gray eyes stormed as she took me in, paying no mind to my desk as she eased into one of the chairs in front of me.
“I hope I’m not intruding,.”
I didn’t even bother playing this little cat and mouse game. “Would it matter if you were?”
“Not really,” she answered, at least doing me a favor by not pretending this was some sort of social call between friends. “I know you’re a busy girl so I’ll get to it.” Right. She said it like she thought the extent of my busy-ness was trolling the internet for new ways to spend Jacob’s money. “I’ve been following that poor actress’ story through the news.”
I raised an eyebrow, guessing she was talking about Mia, but not sure why she would care.
She pulled her shades from the crown of her head, black and gray layers moving to frame her face. “I’m unfamiliar with her work, honestly.”
“That’s not surprising,” I commented, closing folders since this
obviously wasn’t gonna be a drive by situation. “You don’t strike me as a fan of teen shows.” Or happiness and joy.
“Hmm,” she mused with a chuckle. “Right. Still, I found myself drawn to the child’s story. Very tragic.”
“Well, the media does a good job of playing it up for ratings.”
“I’m sorry, is suicide not a serious issue?” Her painted lips were a burgundy line of disapproval.
Alicia Whitmore disapproving of anything was a problem for me and I was not gonna be lectured about the seriousness of suicide by her. Not after what Jacob told me.
“You tell me, Alicia. Is suicide a serious issue?”
Her face paled slightly and the grin that curled her lips cut as she recovered. “You and Jacob have been talking I see.”
“That’s right,” I fired back. “Healthy couples talk about things.” My voice was already high and agitated, my emotions on my sleeve. “I suppose you’re unfamiliar with that concept, given your history.” It should have been a zing, plus one to Leila, but it just felt mean. I could see the effect the words had on her despite her best efforts and it made me feel guilty. She’d probably celebrate if I fell off the face of the earth yet she was making me feel like a horrible person. Ugh.
Alicia rolled her shoulders back, shrugging away my comment. “You’re young, Leila. You know nothing of what a healthy relationship really entails. Or how something good can turn rotten.”
“True. But I know I’d never use mental illness as a way to control my husband and child.”
“Fair enough, but how can you know how married life will change you? How the years will change Jacob?”
I hated to admit that Alicia Whitmore got anything right but if I put aside my intense dislike of the woman, I knew she had a point. I did wonder how marriage would change things. I knew he was a good man and that he loved me, but his childhood scarred him. I felt like I was still peeling back layers of the things that shaped him. That haunted him. As much as I wanted to believe our love could conquer all, it couldn’t fix the holes in his heart.
I’d never tell her that.
Ever.
I drummed my nails on the top of my desk. “I’m very busy, Alicia. What is it that you want?”
“Mia Kent--” I let out a groan but she held up a hand. “--Let me finish.” Her face changed, looking almost...human.
I pulled my hands to my lap. I guess I’d let her talk. I was slightly curious where this was going. “Okay.”
“Her story reminds me of myself.” When I ducked my chin down a few inches and gave her the most incredulous look I could muster, she added, “Not that. When I was younger. When Carlton and I first married.
I told you about how in love I was, but I talked like we never had any good times. Like he was always cheating.” She gave me a hint of a smile, lips curling into something that resembled something genuine. “You should have seen us. We turned heads.” She twisted her mouth to the side, her eyes twinkling at some memory of then. “Turned stomachs. We kissed so much our lips were practically glued together. And we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. A year in and people thought we were newlyweds. I couldn’t stop smiling I was so happy.”
Smiling? Happy? Both were words that just didn’t line up with the cold woman I knew.
“The first time he cheated, I was numb. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening to me. Sure, he had a reputation, but he broke other woman’s hearts. Not mine. Not his wife.” She brought a finger to her ear and started spinning her pearl earring. “It didn't help that he promised me it wouldn’t happen again. That he loved me. So I shrugged it off as something that happens. The price I had to pay for how great things were 99% of the time.” She stopped fiddling with her earring, her face darkening. “And then he did it again.”
I didn’t want to pity this woman. She’d been awful to me. And as far as Jacob? There were no words to describe my anger at the way she’d treated him. The way she was still trying to control him. But I was human and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“The second time was different,” she continued, crossing one slender leg over the other. “And it wasn’t the fact that the woman was my best friend. That rolled right off me. That meant nothing. It was the lie that hurt. Feeling like I wasn’t enough. Wondering if this would really be my life--never having him fully. I felt like such an idiot for thinking infidelity was the price of doing business. That I was dumb enough to think that it was just a one-time thing.
I looked myself in the mirror and wondered if it was me. If I wasn’t pretty enough. Sexy enough. Just...enough.” She rose to her feet, unbuttoning the cuff of her sleeve then slowly rolling it back to her elbow.
She held out her arm toward me, the pale skin smooth and luminescent.
I quirked an eyebrow. “What am I looking for exactly?”
“Look closer.”
We were already too close for comfort, but I inched a little closer, squinting. My mouth opened in shock as I made out the delicate lines near the crease where her forearm met her bicep. Tiny silver scars that were nearly faded, making them easy to miss. Now I couldn’t help but see.
I peered up at her in disbelief. “You were a cutter?”
She yanked her sleeve back down like she was embarrassed by the term. “I was just overwhelmed. I couldn’t control him. I couldn’t control the way he made me feel or my inability to leave him. But that...” She buttoned the cuff in a single motion. “I could do that. But each new betrayal and I sliced a little deeper, wanting to drag it along my wrists. Wanting to...” She cleared her throat and gave her head a shake like she was clearing out the images and feelings. When her eyes opened and met mine it was almost like she hadn’t been talking about how she harmed herself. That intricately maintained image was back in place.
“I know that you think I’m a monster, but believe me when I say that Jacob made me happy. When he was a baby and looked up at me with those eyes, his father’s eyes--”
Just the sound of Jacob’s name was enough to remind me what person in this sordid tale deserved my sympathy. “The things you did to the son you claim you love are horrible.”
“I’m not a good mother, I know that. But Carlton--”
I brought up a hand. “Stop right there. Carlton Whitmore was a prick when you met him. You admitted as much. You said he even told you he was bad news. Maybe you were trying to get attention from your parents, feeling adventurous, whatever, but you made the choice to be with him, Alicia. I’m not sorry you did because Jacob is alive because of it and I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s a great man in spite of you and your husband. He is the only thing that matters to me. Not your sad love story.”
“I’m trying to explain that Carlton is the reason--”
“NO!” I snapped, bringing a fist down hard on my desk. The sound was like a gunshot, quieting her. Even I paused for a moment, surprised I’d done it. “You are the reason, Alicia. Your husband cheated because he was horrible, but YOU enabled him by not leaving. You made the choice to stay in an unhappy marriage and bring a child into your messed up reality. You made the choice to punish the son for the sins of his father.
Carlton is dead...he can’t atone for what he did. But you’re alive and kicking and instead of starting over with your son and trying to be the mother he deserves, you’re, well, you.”
She locked her jaw, still not hearing me. “I know how this looks from the outside--”
“No you don’t. I swear you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t be in my office right now trying to explain yourself to me,” I said, crossing my arms. “You’d be explaining yourself to your son.”
If nothing else reached her ears and really sunk in, I hoped it would be that. Hearing about her past, her hurt, it helped me piece together the things that played a role in the woman she’d become. But none of that mattered to me in the long run. Jacob mattered. Her sob story was just that--a river of tears about a society girl who fell for a bad boy. The only thing that made it
worth listening to was that they had a child. Jacob.
They could have sat down and determined that they weren’t in love and subjecting their child to their unhappiness wasn’t fair to him, but that conversation didn’t happen and Jacob paid the price. He was the one that grew up thinking that his parents didn’t care about him. If Alicia was being honest and there was love there, he deserved to hear that. Not me.
But Alicia didn’t even flinch.
She rose to her feet. Chin up. Ice on. “Thank you for your time.”
The anger erupted as I hurled a folder at the door as it clicked closed behind her, watching the papers flutter lazily to the floor.
Section Eight
I stood a few feet from the elevator, so excited I felt like I was gonna explode. The doors slid open.
“Surprise!”
His eyes drifted downward, taking in the new piece of furniture I was sitting on, his mouth quirking into a smile. "You brought Mia Kent on as a client. I should be surprising you." The smile broadened.
He really liked it.
A brand new spanking bench.
His briefcase was discarded unceremoniously as he circled the thing. Since I ordered it online, I knew I ran the risk of falling in love with something underwhelming and cheap in person, but the pictures didn’t do it justice. The mahogany was rich, the dark stain giving it a sleek, modern edge. The plush leather cushion had a sloping design that catered to a woman’s curves. Sterling silver hooks hung below it, waiting for rope or handcuffs or whatever bondage material that tickled one’s fancy.
He leaned down, brushing the material, still digesting what stood before him. “You bought this? Had it delivered and assembled?”
I nodded demurely. “Something for us.”
Jacob’s stony face reaction when I told him about meeting with his mother flashed in my head. I gave the woman the benefit of the doubt, wrongly assuming her conscience would have led her to at least talk to her son instead of putting me in an awkward situation. She hadn’t even stopped by his office after paying me a visit, leaving me to tell Jacob that she felt comfortable baring her soul to a stranger that she hated instead of her flesh and blood.