by Elle Casey
“She ain’t my mother,” says Tarin. He’s probably glaring at me, but I don’t even spare him a glance. I have zero respect for him right now. He’s just a project to me, something that is broken that must be fixed. This game he’s playing with this stupid girl is wrong on so many levels I don’t even want to think about it. She just needs to be gone so I don’t hurt him or her.
“Ricky, please escort her out of the building,” I say calmly.
Nick places his hand gently on my upper arm to get my attention. “Would you like me to call security?”
I nod and his hand disappears. He whispers to the receptionist and then I hear the phone coming off the hook.
Posey detaches herself from Tarin’s side and reaches up with jerky motions to adjust her hair, obviously uncomfortable but still determined to see this mess through.
“Tarin invited me up here, which means Tarin wants me here, so you can just get the hell out of my way because nobody and nothing is going to stop me from being with him.” She looks at Tarin, and seeing no argument coming from him, becomes even bolder. “You’re just jealous because he doesn’t go for sloppy skanks like you, and you struck out. But it’s not my problem that you shop at Goodwill and don’t appreciate him like I do, so I advise you to just get out of the way before you get trampled.”
She reaches out to push me aside, and I grab her wrist.
That’s all I need to do to stop the foolishness. This girl is obviously no fighter. She cringes with the pain. Gripping it tightly, I step closer. “Don’t be stupid, Posey. Touch me again and I’ll bust open that plastic nose of yours and make you so ugly your own friends won’t claim you.”
She tries to yank her hand away, looking desperately at Tarin. “Tell her, Tarin! Ow! She’s hurting me. Tell her!”
Tarin has the decency to look embarrassed. “Aw, man, come on, Scarlett. Let her go. We were just playing around.”
I throw her hand down and away from me while I stare at him. “Was it fun?”
“What?” he asks stupidly, pretending he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
Coward. I deliver up every ounce of disappointment I have in him with my expression. He has the decency to look slightly ill.
A crowd of people has gathered in the reception area. I can see secretaries and a few lawyers standing in the field of my peripheral vision.
I’m not done with Tarin, though. He’s pushed me too far this time. “Was it fun playing with this young girl’s emotions and making a fool of her in front of all these people?”
Tarin says nothing, but his face goes white.
I probably should stop, but I can’t. I’m overwhelmed with disappointment and sadness. I feel his happy future slipping away from me. “Was it fun leading her on? Making her think she’s special to you … that she’s going to be in your life now?”
“Tarin?” says Posey, her voice full of the tears that are staring to fall. “Tell her.”
“Is it fun making her cry? Breaking her heart in front of an audience? Treating her like she means nothing, like she’s not a human being with feelings?” I’m on a roll now. Even Scott’s hand squeezing gently on my arm is having no effect. “Does this make you feel important? … Doing these hateful things to people who are guilty of nothing but loving your music, loving how your creations make them feel inside?”
“That’s enough, Scar,” says Scott gently.
It’s then that I feel the pain I’m causing him too, and realize it is enough. Tarin’s heard all I have to say to him right now. Maybe ever.
Ricky takes Posey by the shoulders and turns her around to face the elevator. She stumbles forward, bawling loudly the whole time.
When she reaches the elevator doors, she looks over her shoulder. “I love you, Tarin! I love you! Please don’t make me go!”
My heart cracks for the poor girl. Her face is a mess of bleeding mascara, saltwater tears, and snot. She reaches for him and barely touches his arm with her fingers, but he yanks himself away and takes a step forward to get farther from her. She cries louder.
The doors to the elevator open up and Ricky steps inside, pulling Posey in with him and putting his arm around her; it looks like it’s there for the dual purpose of supporting her and keeping her from running out after her man.
“Turn around and say goodbye,” I grind out, my voice low enough only for him to hear.
“Fuck you,” Tarin says back.
“Do it. You owe her a goodbye at least.”
His chin juts out and he hesitates, but eventually he turns to face her.
As soon as she sees him, she reaches out and screams. “Tarin!”
“Goodbye, Posey,” he says. It comes out more as a growl than real words, but it does the trick.
The expression of sheer pain and disillusionment on the girl’s face is physically painful to see. It’s the last vision we have of her before the doors press closed.
As soon as I turn around, the onlookers scatter, pretending they were just passing through and not noticing a thing.
Scott takes me by the hand and laces his fingers through mine, and I don’t fight him on it. Right now, I need my best friend to be this close. He and I have been through this shit before, and it never stops being painful and it never becomes easier. Every time we witness an innocent heart being broken, ours break just a little bit too. I’m surprised either of us even has a heart left to break at this point.
“Well, that fucking sucked,” says Tarin flippantly.
I give him a tight smile, but Scott responds out loud.
“Yeah, it sure did. Well done, asshole. Way to break a young girl’s soul. You’re such a fucking stand-up guy, you know? No wonder Austin hated your ass. Big mystery there.”
This shocks me so much I can’t hide my reaction. My mouth drops open. I turn to look at Scott and catch Tarin’s expression. Tarin doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as I expect him to be. In fact, if I’m not completely lost, I’d say he looks … guilty.
“What the hell, Scott?” I whisper loudly.
He lifts my hand up and gives it a quick kiss on the back, just above my watch. “Sorry. Slipped out.” He’s looking at the ground when Nick interrupts.
“The … um … conference room is ready whenever you are.”
I let go of Scott’s hand and leave him behind with Tarin. “Thanks, Nick. Lead the way.” My voice is strained, but at least it’s working. I half expected it to break mid-sentence, my throat is hurting so much. Unshed tears can be very painful sometimes.
I walk behind Nick, my mind swirling with images of Tarin and Scott, memories of things they’ve both said getting tangled in my brain and making me think that there are things happening here that I’m not completely aware of. Things they know that I don’t.
We reach the conference room before I can make heads or tails of anything. My focus shifts to lawsuits pending against my dickhead client, and I pretty much forget what it was that was bothering me. Only one word remains floating around in my head for the hour that Tarin stares across the conference room table at me, silently brooding, his dark good looks threatening in the way they almost consume my ability to think of anything else.
Guilty.
Nick and I make plans for dealing with all the vultures looking for legal settlements from Tarin. We review the legal documents that will need to be signed and filed to manage some investments he’s made. We discuss Tarin’s future legal dealings and contractual commitments he’s made, ensuring he knows what to do to follow through on his promises.
Yet all the while this is going on, even though we’re knee-deep in legaleze and intricate business dealings, that one word never leaves me. It hovers. It haunts. It floats in the ether, on the outside edges of my consciousness, and eventually takes shape in the form of a tattoo I saw earlier today.
Guilty.
Chapter Twenty-One
I SEND TARIN ON A two-mile run with his bodyguards when we get home. I can’t even stand to look at him, and beg off partici
pating with excuses of having to call my office and deal with messages. Half hour after they’re gone, Scott and I are sitting in the family room, on the couch by the video game Taj Mahal. My feet are hanging off the edge and my back is wedged up against one of the arms with a pillow behind it.
“So …,” Scott says, fiddling with a game console absently. The television isn’t on. “That was pretty ugly, huh?”
I nod, staring at a stack of books on the coffee table. I pick one up and page through it, not paying much attention to the photographs within. “Yeah. Ugly as hell. Let’s not do that again.”
“I’m worried.”
I look up at Scott, the weird tone in his voice catching my attention. “What about?”
“You.”
I snort. “Why me? I’m not the one with the problem.”
“No, you don’t have a problem, but you’re letting him affect you way more than you should.”
I frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t play games with me, okay? It’s just me here.”
I sigh, going back to paging through the book. “It’s no big deal. I’ll get over it.”
“I don’t think so.”
I slap the book shut. “So what’s the deal with you? You’ve got some kind of secret I don’t know about, apparently. Don’t think I didn’t pick up on that. Since you’re in such a mood to share, why don’t we start with that?”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Bitchy much?”
I’ve completely failed to intimidate him and that pisses me off. I kick him with my foot. “Shut up. Stop trying to deflect. I’m not going to let this go until you tell me what it is.”
He tosses the controller onto the nearby chair. “Shuh… Don’t I know it. Talk about a dog with a bone.” He picks up my foot and puts it in his lap, wigging my toes one at a time, staring with the biggest one. “This little piggy went to market…”
I lift my foot to put my big toe closer to his face. “This little piggy is going to be up your ass in a second if you don’t start talking.”
He wiggles my toe again, talking right to it, his eyes crossing it’s so close. “This little piggy is not going to be up my ass. This little piggy is going to shut up and just relax before I bite it.” He gives it a good snarl for effect. The combination of his crossed eyes, his goofy declaration, and his vampire teeth make me giggle uncontrollably.
A voice comes from the doorway, laugher barely veiled. “Sorry to interrupt the love fest in here, but dinner’s almost ready. Where should I serve?” Josh is standing there, his coat buttoned up and bright white, showing no signs that he’s just whipped up a gourmet, healthy meal for eight. I have no idea how he stays so neat all the time.
“Let’s eat outside,” I suggest, looking to Scott for his preference. He’s too busy trying to fold my toes over on each other to pay attention.
“Got it. What time?” Josh asks.
I look at my watch. “Seven? Tarin should be back any minute, and he’ll want to shower first.”
“That works. It’ll be ready then. Just let me know if there’s going to be any delay.” Josh is used to the fickle moods of our clients and has on more than one occasion had to make changes on the fly. It never pisses him off or causes him to ruin the food, so in my book, that makes him a superhero. The worst thing in the world I can do with a cranky celebrity who’s coming down out of the clouds is feed him bad food.
As if on cue, the front door opens and voices fill the foyer. When it slams shut, I throw the book back onto the table and pull my feet out of Scott’s lap, sliding them back into my sandals. Zach walks in moments later, covered in sweat.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
“Good, if you skip the part about being chased down by lunatics.” He walks over and drops into the armchair on my left.
Scott’s smirking, looking at Zach’s sweat-stained shirt and dripping face. “They must have been fast lunatics.”
Zach leans his head back on the seat and closes his eyes. “Never underestimate the adrenaline levels of a horny teenager.”
“Teenager?” I ask, trading a worried glance with Scott.
“Yeah. Posey and the Pussycats, actually. Fucking nutcases, all three of them, but that Posey chick is the worst.”
I stand up, my nerves going back to frazzled with just those few words. “Are you serious? It was really them again?”
“Again?” Zach asks, sitting up. He looks worried for the first time.
“Yes, again. They caused a huge scene at the lawyer’s office today. Didn’t Tarin tell you?” My quiet zen moment with Scott dissipates like steam into the air around me.
“No, he didn’t. He just ran the entire time with his mouth shut.”
“Is that normal? For him, I mean,” asks Scott.
“Yeah, right. First of all, normal for him does not include running. So maybe after he’s in shape we’ll know what’s normal in the talking department, but at this point, I think he was just focusing on breathing. Talking would have been too difficult. All that partying he’s been doing for the past two years has messed him up.”
I move to the doorway. “I need to go talk to him.”
“Did he engage?” asks Scott. “Did he mess with that Posey girl again?”
I hear Zach’s answer as I leave the room. “Mess with her? What do you mean, mess with her?”
He better not have messed with her. I stride down the hall and into the foyer. Leonard is there by himself doing stretches. He’s covered in sweat too.
“Where’s Tarin?” I ask, looking around.
“Upstairs. Taking a shower, I think.”
“Thanks.” I take the steps at a jog, stopping at the top to look around. I realize I have no idea where his room is. Looking down over the railing I meet Leonard’s eyes. He doesn’t say a word, he just points off to my right.
“Thanks.” I walk down the hall and push open doors as I go. I pass bedroom after bedroom, then a laundry room, a bathroom, a storage closet and finally a closed door at the end of the hall. Tapping on it, I listen for sounds telling me Tarin might be inside. No one answers.
“Tarin? Are you in here?”
“Not yet.” The responding voice comes from so close behind me, it makes me jump and squeak with fright.
“Holy shit, Tarin!” I spin around and back into the corner of the hallway. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I can feel it from inside. My hands are gripping the wall and door, as if I’m going to do a Spiderman move and crawl up to the ceiling backwards using sticky-fingers.
He’s smiling, obviously very proud of himself. “What’s up? Come to join me in the shower?”
“Ew. No.” I grimace at the idea, stepping away from the wall and letting my hands drop to smooth my hair and shirt. He’s covered in sweat, and all I can picture is him running deliberately slow so Posey and her goofy friends could catch up to him and fawn all over him. He’s nothing but a tease and a mean-boy in my eyes right now.
His smile drops away to replaced by a hurt expression. “Ew? Seriously? Man, talk about a shot to the ego.” He leans in really close, his chest almost touching mine as he puts his hand on the door handle and turns it. “Sure you don’t want to join me?”
The musky smell of his sweat mixed with cologne or deodorant or something woodsy filters up into my nose. His smile is so close I can see his individual teeth and the way his eyes crinkle up in the corners a little. I want to say something sharp and quick, cut him down to size, but the words won’t come.
“I need to talk to you,” is all I can manage.
The door pushes in and he walks past me, pulling his sweaty shirt off and letting it drop to the floor. “So talk.” He moves towards the bathroom that’s connected to his bedroom.
I stare at his tattooed, lean and muscled back as he moves away, trying to correlate the feelings of anger I have towards him because of what he did today with the feelings of desire his semi-n
aked body creates in me as I stare at him. It makes no sense how I can hate him and want to see more of him at the same time. It infuriates me, making me want to blame him for something I’m sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing.
Once he’s out of sight, I step into his room, remaining near the door. If he decides to do something stupid, I can always run out easily. Not that I expect him to do anything I should be worried about. He flirts like this all the time with every girl he meets, I’m sure. I’m no one special to Tarin Kilgour.
“I want to talk about Posey and her friends,” I say somewhat loudly so he can hear me in the next room.
His voice is tiny, like he’s far away or maybe in a closet. “I don’t.”
“Too bad.” It’s easy to be bold when I can’t see his half-naked body.
The shower goes on, so I move farther into the room. “I think she’s a bigger problem that we anticipated.”
“She’s harmless,” he says. “Let’s talk about you instead. I’d rather talk about that than Posey.”
I sigh. He’s being frustrating on purpose, trying to scare me away from pushing him, but I’m not falling for it.
“How often do you see her?” I wander over to his dresser and pick up a framed photo. It’s him and the other guys in the band a couple years ago. They look so much younger. My heart skips a beat when I realizes the scruffy guy in the back, standing just behind Stick is Austin. I pull the photo closer, trying to pull in more detail. Tarin is shirtless. Everyone is sweaty, making me think they just finished a show. Something about Tarin is different, other than the fact that he looks so much younger. What is it? My finger traces over the outline of his body. When I get near the bottom of the skin he’s showing, I realize what it is. That tattoo is missing. The one that declares him Guilty.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I see her a couple times a week? More if she’s on break from school.”
“Couple times a week?” I whisper mostly to myself. Crazy bitch. “That’s a lot,” I say louder.
“She’s definitely one of the more dedicated ones.”
I shake my head, putting the picture down again. For some reason I don’t like the idea of it being that close to me anymore. All my pictures of Austin are put away. Scott and I decided a couple months after his death that seeing him so alive like that was just too painful.