I slam my hands over my face, mortified that I’ve finally let it all out.
Dez pulls at my hands, forcing me to uncover my eyes and look at him. His smile is warm.
“Do you know who that guy was?”
I shake my head.
“The first guy I ever slept with.”
My heart tears and I make a tiny sound because it hurts far worse than I would have ever thought it could.
“We were seniors in high school and he was a nice kid. We had art class together. We were friends for a long time, then we fooled around for a few weeks and went back to being friends. It wasn’t some big love affair. At least not on my end. Anyway, he heard I was going to be at the convention and was curious to see me I guess. But as soon as he laid eyes on you he knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I’d picked you. It pissed him off and he thought that it meant I’d chosen women over men. But you know what I told him?”
He strokes his index finger down the slope of my nose then kisses it lightly.
“I told him that I didn’t have to make a choice between men and women, I chose you. Shannon. And whatever package you came in I’d always choose you.”
“But I’m a woman, Dez.”
“Yes, you are, but I didn’t decide that I prefer women and then went searching for the right one. I opened my eyes one day and you were there. It so happens that you’re a woman, but that isn’t why I chose you.”
“So why did you?” I ask. It’s the question I’ve wanted to ask since that first day he told me he wanted me in the elevator at my office.
“Because you’re Shannon. You’re passionate, you’re fearless, you’re tough but soft, you’re smart and fast and so fucking sexy it slays me.”
“God, Dez—”
“Stop. No speeches about how you aren’t special. You are. You’re everything I didn’t even realize I wanted. So, no, you don’t have a dick, but you also don’t have blonde hair or a basketball career. I’m no more interested in a dick over you than I am in a blonde or an NBA player. I want you, Shannon. Every part of you.”
We kiss then, and I give him every bit of me that I can, and I try not to think about whether a day will ever come that Dez loves me. Because men don’t love me, my father showed me this, and if I hope for it I’ll only drive myself crazy. But I can make do with this, because Dez wants me, and being wanted is almost as good as the real thing.
My father’s name flashes across the screen of my phone and I embrace the hollowness that comes right along with any thought or mention of him.
“Hi, Dad,” I answer, as I see Dez’s head snap up to watch me.
I walk across the room and open the French doors of the conference room we’re in while we wait to meet with a possible sponsor in Spain. After I step out on the balcony I look at the rooftops of Madrid spread out around me. Flat roofs, peaked roofs, towers, spires, tile roofs, garden roofs. Madrid is a compilation of architecture and eras that mesh together like a stew.
“Where are you?” my father asks with his typical finesse.
“In Madrid. We’re waiting to meet with some executives from La Carrera about the sponsorship negotiations.”
“Remember to use our legal guy in Barcelona for that. The Spanish love to jerk around with the percentages on merchandise. As if they don’t get the shit made in China just like everyone else.”
“Yeah, Dad, I have Javier on speed dial. I won’t agree to anything until he looks it over.”
“I need you to do a project for me next week.”
I look at Dez who is still glancing at me every few seconds. I know he’s worried that my dad will upset me, but he doesn’t know that I have no feelings left for my father at the moment, not even hate.
“Okay, what is it?”
“Liam has a local client who needs a sponsorship to get her started. She’s a tennis player, daughter of one of his friends, and she’s on the pro circuit, but ranked too low to get any looks from corporations. We’re thinking something like a regional sporting goods chain would be a good match, or a boutique clothes manufacturer, someone who does women’s sports stuff. Liam doesn’t have time for it with his transition to the new job, but I told him you’d do a nice job for his friends.”
Something inside of me curls up and dies then. Withers like a grape on its way to becoming a raisin.
“Okay.” My voice breaks as I speak, and Dez stands from his chair, taking a step toward me. I wave him off, but he stays put, arms crossed like he can somehow defend me from Dad through the cellular phone waves.
“Great, I knew you’d be the one for the job. I’ll have someone email you the details about the girl and a preliminary list of places to make the pitch. We can talk about your progress at our Friday meeting next week.”
“Okay, Dad.” I have nothing left to give to him, even words.
“Talk to you next week.” Then he’s gone again.
I let my hand drop to my side as I stare out over the city. And I can’t help but wonder if my father feels anything parental toward me at all, or if I’m more like a possession. Something he once bought and immediately regretted, but had a no return policy on.
Dez’s arms slip around me from behind and I work to keep from falling apart. I’m done falling apart over Richard Gunn.
“Baby,” he says as he nuzzles my neck. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” I won’t tell him the truth because I’m so humiliated I can’t bear to say it out loud to someone else. As long as I’m the only one who knows how Dad treats me it’s not as horrible. My own dirty little secret.
“Why don’t I believe that?”
I shrug. “Because you know that my father tends to be difficult?”
He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Difficult? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Careful, Dez, he’s still my father.” I step away from him, grasping the railing of the balcony in front of me.
There’s silence from behind me for a moment and I regret the tone I’ve used with him when he’s the one who’s supported me rather than the one who’s crushed me into the road beneath his feet.
“Okay. Sorry,” he says slowly. “I only meant that he skipped over you in his will, his best agent and his own daughter. I see that as being more than difficult.”
I sigh and grip the railing a little tighter before I swing around to face him, smile plastered on my face. “You know what? Let’s not talk about him. How’s that? He’s always short and moody on the phone. It’s nothing to worry about.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but right then the executives from La Carrera walk in. I turn to them and paste on a brilliant smile, holding out my hand.
Dez shakes his head as he follows me to the conference table, and we all sit to discuss how much money a Spanish camera manufacturer wants to pay Rhapsody to advertise their new line.
Meanwhile, the little piece of my heart that’s still intact cracks down the middle. I didn’t think Richard could hurt me anymore, but I guess I was wrong.
Dez
Carson and I are running. Carson ran cross-country in high school, so he’s now kicking my ass as we trek around a huge urban park in Milan.
“Running with Blaze is so much easier,” I huff out. Normally Blaze and I run together. We go five miles tops, and we’re slow enough we can argue while we run, which is half the reason we like to do it.
“Cause he was a football player,” Carson scoffs. “They aren’t exactly known for their distance running.”
“Yeah, I sort of got that. Thanks.”
He chuckles and we round a corner where we see a street fair with all sorts of vendors and performers.
“Oh, dude,” Carson pulls up short. “I love street fairs. Mind if we stop?” My lungs are saying, “yes please,” so I give him a thumbs up.
We spend the next hour wandering around. Luckily we’re not terribly popular in Italy, so no one recognizes us and we’re able to eat street food, listen to an opera singer, and watch a group
of kids do a dance number that’s really amazing. When we reach the end of the row of vendors I see a table full of handmade jewelry and stop to check it out, thinking I might see something to send my mother.
The long table is covered in incredible trinkets in the shapes of animals, insects, stars, and moons. They’re all crafted out of steel and bronze, nothing too shiny or sparkly, but beautiful in a different way—solid, lasting, durable. And that’s when I see it—a pendant that hangs from a thin cable—a steel butterfly.
It’s about the size of a man’s watch face, and its wings are in mid-flutter, forming a V. Each wing is etched with designs and patterns that are a sort of interpretation of what you’d find on a real butterfly. The steel is whisper-thin, and the body of the butterfly is a small cylinder of brass. It’s the perfect combination of delicate and strong, beautiful and practical, a mix of things that should be opposites, but are actually perfect together.
And it’s meant for Shannon.
“You going to buy that?” Carson asks, looking over my shoulder as I hold the smooth metal in my hand.
“Yeah, I am. Excuse me?” I look up at the older woman who’s manning the booth.
“Ah, la farfalla,” she says, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Quanto costa?” I ask.
“You speak Italian?” Carson looks at me doubtfully.
“No, man, I just Googled a few phrases to help get around.”
Carson continues to look impressed, and I laugh at him.
“Five hundred Euros,” the older woman says.
While I take the money out of my wallet, she wraps the butterfly in tissue and places it in a box.
“No scrub,” she says, making a scrubbing motion over the box. “To clean just rub. Gentle.” Then she holds up a small chamois that must be made for jewelry. After she’s packed everything up, Carson and I walk back to the hotel.
“So,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “is that for Shannon?” We came clean to him the day after our Mile High adventure. There was no way we could keep what was going on from him. And really, the only person we feel compelled to keep it from is Shannon’s father, although I don’t see why, since I don’t think she should continue to work for him anyway. But, it’s not my decision to make, so for now Richard doesn’t know.
“Yeah, it seems like something she’d like.”
“So, things are pretty serious I guess.”
We stop and wait at a crosswalk. I laugh. “What? Because I bought her a necklace? It’s not a ring, man.” But I’d get her one if I thought she’d wear it.
He levels a look at me. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“We’re taking things one day at a time.” But only because she’d run if I pushed.
“That’s good.” He sounds thoroughly unconvinced.
“It is,” I answer. “It’s good. She’s good. We’re good.” We walk across the street and head toward our hotel in the middle of the long block. “And it’s just a necklace,” I add, even though I know it sounds defensive at this point, rather than casual.
Carson smiles.
It’s just a necklace.
Shannon
I’m struggling to get the door open, sweat dripping down my face as the phone starts ringing with my dad’s ringtone. I’ve been in the hotel gym, and I can’t believe I forgot that it’s Friday at ten a.m. his time.
I let the door slam behind me as I drop my water bottle and magazine on the floor.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Took you long enough to answer,” he barks.
“Yeah, I had my hands full.”
“What do you have for me on this tennis player?”
I’ve spent every spare moment the last week pitching to companies to get this girl a sponsor. She’s ranked fifty-second in the world, so it’s not easy. No one wants a completely unknown athlete to advertise their product. So, I decided to go with the visibility route. Putting her in ads is a waste of time, but even at fifty-second in the world she’s at all the grand slams, plus a lot of second-tier tournies.
If she’s wearing the product, it gets visibility. And luckily the girl is attractive, which helps immensely. I also included some killer social media add-ons with my pitches, explaining how she could wear the clothes and live-stream from the events, even grab some quick meet and greets with bigger names in the locker rooms or practice courts. Luckily, I found a taker, Nielson’s, a Swedish women’s athletic clothing company that’s been trying to expand into the international market. “We haven’t signed the paperwork yet, but I found her a great deal with a Swedish sportswear company.”
“Swedish? We’ve never worked with any Swedish companies.”
“Which is why it’s a good thing for the firm too. We’ll develop a new relationship and she’ll get free clothes, plus all of her travel and housing to grand slams paid for, and a stipend for second-tier tournaments.”
“How much is the stipend?”
“Two hundred fifty a day for the duration of the tournament, plus one day on either end for travel.”
I hear him saying something to one of the staff passing by. I’ve fucking lost him again.
“Sounds good, kid. Send Liam the details so he can present it to the parents. And I’ll ask him if he can give you a percent since you did the whole thing up fast.”
“A percent?”
“Well, you didn’t think you were going to get the whole cut, did you? It’s Liam’s client.”
“I did, actually, Dad. I put the deal together. I found the company, did the pitch, worked with their marketing department to hash out a social media campaign to coincide with the sponsorship. Why the hell wouldn’t I get the full fifteen?”
My dad is silent for a moment, and my heart beats like a bass drum in my chest. I’ve never pushed him on anything. But I’m too wounded to care. In fact, I’m feeling like I want to push him, push him into choosing me for once.
“I’ll discuss it with him,” my father says. “Maybe we can do a fifty-fifty split.”
It’s not what I deserve, but it’s probably more than I ought to hope for. “Okay, thanks.”
“We’ll talk next week. I’ll be in New York, but I’ll call between meetings.”
“Talk to you then, Dad.”
As usual he hangs up without saying goodbye.
I sit staring at the wall of the hotel room for a very long time. I can’t keep doing this. I know it. Dez has been saying so ever since that first night when my dad gave the agency to Liam. He’s not ever going to do it. He’s not ever going to give me what I need—put me first, choose me over everyone else, love me. The only parent I’ve ever had is never going to love me. It’s hard as hell to admit, but I think it’s time I do.
The question is what do I do about it? Do I quit my job, find another firm to work with? I haven’t been able to bring myself to, because when I do, it’ll be the end of whatever relationship I have with him. He’ll never keep in contact with me if I’m working for another firm. Our relationship is based entirely on me working for him. Which is one reason I foolishly assumed it meant he viewed the firm as a family business. I was obviously so wrong about that.
I stare at the phone in my hand. There’s only one person in the world who truly understands my twisted relationship with my father. And I haven’t told her that he cut me out of the will because I can’t bear to hear her say, “I told you so.” But I think I need her now. I think she might be the only one who can help me.
I put the phone to my ear and listen to the ringing, nerves prickling up and down my arms.
“Shannon? Is that you?” Gram answers.
“Hi, Gram.” I feel tears pull on my eyes the second I hear her voice.
“You haven’t called in nearly two weeks. Where are you now?”
I usually call Gram on Sunday nights, but I told her I’d be pretty busy during the tour, so she was prepared. Of course it wouldn’t have been a problem to call her the last two Sundays, except I’d have had to tell her what my father did.
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“We’re in Italy—Milan.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. Do you like it?”
“What I’ve seen. We’re only here for twenty-four hours, so we don’t have much of a chance to sightsee.”
“Well, take some pictures anyway and send them to me. If they had a cute Italian man in them I wouldn’t mind either.”
I smile to myself. Grandma has had a very nice gentleman friend in town since I graduated from high school but I guess that doesn’t preclude a little eye candy.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re a good girl. Now, tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Who says something is bothering me?”
“Oh, sweet girl.” She sighs and her voice goes gentle. “I’ve known you since you were two days old. You think a few miles means I can’t tell when you’re upset about something?”
“It’s Dad.”
“What did my idiot son do this time?”
“He’s giving the company to someone else.”
“Giving the company? He’s giving up the company?”
“Not now. After he dies…” I explain my father’s master plan, the competition he put us all through, who he chose to make his heir. When I’m done I’m exhausted. So exhausted I’m not sure that I even care anymore.
“Well, Richard’s really outdone himself this time,” she snaps. “I thought I’d seen every stupid thing that man could dream up, but he’s surprised even me this time.”
“It’s okay, Gram, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, sweet girl. I’m not upset. I stopped being upset by your father decades ago. You forget that I raised him, and while I’d like to say it’s my fault that he’s how he is, honestly it happened when your grandfather died. Your granddad and your father were as close as any father and son I’ve ever seen. When your granddad died it broke your father. Richard’s never been the same.” Her voice is sad, and I feel bad for dredging all of this up for her.
“It’s okay, Gram, it really is. I mean, in some ways he did me a favor—I have a job for life and I don’t have all the responsibility of running the place. Some people would say I won the contest, not Liam.”
Racing to Rhapsody: A Rhapsody Novel Page 14