by Tia Wylder
Zachary doesn’t say anything. He just gets up and walks through the door, but before he leaves, he turns around with a smile. “I have faith in you. Just use the names in my online Rolodex. Password to log in is in my desk drawer. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” And with that he disappears down the hall, leaving me to figure out how I am going to convince the people who run record companies currently to take a chance on an untested musician.
I spend the day calling every record exec I can find who I think might be receptive to Bethany. A few ask me what she sounds like, and I realize, I have no idea either. I must remind myself to ask Zachary for a sample of her music later because I’m doing my best not to sound like an idiot. However, within forty-five minutes, I have a list of fifteen different executives who have leaped at the chance to a free vacation. I don’t think they’d care if Bethany played electric tuba backward through a broken champagne bottle.
I’m just hanging up with one of the executive’s assistants when Zachary comes back. His tie is gone, his shirt is unbuttoned down to his pecs, and he looks like he just went ten rounds with a prize fighter: he’s soaked in sweat, and I realize that he’s wearing sneakers instead of his dress shoes. I hold up a finger to let him know I’m almost done, wrap up, then give him the most confused look I’m capable of.
“Did you just run to Topanga and back in your suit?”
He collapses on the floor with a huff and starts laughing. “It feels like it! I did run to accountant’s office. It was quicker than trying to drive.”
I lean over the desk and look at Zachary as he lays on the floor, taking long, deep breaths. Sweat has soaked through his shirt, and it’s clinging to his muscles. I sit back down and shake my head. It’s like he’s sculpted from marble!
“So, you’re telling me running in the hundred-degree heat was a better option? Whatever you say, sports fan.”
“Trust me,” Zachary says with a long sigh, “I can run faster than downtown Los Angeles traffic moves. Anyway, with a little persuasion, and a small financial incentive, we have the entire resort for this weekend.”
I almost fall out of my chair. “This weekend? Like… Friday? How are we supposed to get these people on a plane and on an island by this Friday?”
“Not a problem. We have a plane on retainer that will hold everyone, then you and I can take my private plane.”
“Hold up,” I say, my heart beginning to race. “Me? I’m not going with you. Why would I be going with you? You don’t need me to go with you. I can’t go with you.” I am babbling, but I can’t help it. Zachary sits up and brushes away a long piece of his hair from in front of his eyes. I am continually amazed at how he looks so much younger than his thirty-seven years.
“Of course, you’re going with me. You’re planning the trip, and Bethany has made it very clear that despite having never met you, she trusts you more than me. So, if you don’t go, we might as well cancel everything.”
I scowl. “Are you working me, Graham? If I say no, Bethany’s whole career is dead on arrival?”
Zachary shrugs. “You said it. Not me. But I think she’ll be tremendously disappointed if you don’t agree to the trip.”
I put my head in my hands and groan. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. I feel him watching me, so I look back up, pushing my hair away from my face. “Alright, fine. But please just put me in a room in the hotel. I don’t want anything fancy. This is all way outside of my comfort zone. I live in a shoebox in Venice. I’m not going to feel okay about staying in anything super fancy.”
“Nope,” Zachary says shaking his head, “you’re staying in the main house with me. It’s a five-bedroom estate house about a mile from the main resort. You’ll have your own room, bathroom, private balcony. But I need you close so we can keep working, regardless of the hour. I can’t keep driving back and forth to the hotel in a golf cart every time I want to talk you about something.”
“You could call me,” I say under my breath.
“I may be fifteen years older than you, Ava, but I have exceptional hearing. Anyway, it’s settled, so you may as well start packing a bag. In the meantime, I need you to call Professor Sam and set up a recording session for tomorrow. Then call Bethany and fill her in on everything. And Ava?”
I look up from the notes I’m jotting down. “Yes?”
“Thanks,” he says as he jumps off the floor in one fluid motion, then heads into the private bathroom attached to his office. I hear the shower start running, and try not to think about what he must look like… naked… in the steam and hot water.
Stop that, Ava. Get your shit together. Do your job.
Suddenly, Zachary sticks his head around the door from the bathroom, and I can see that he is both naked, and wet, his hair slicked back and just the faintest hint of a towel at his waist.
“Can you also call the private airline? Don’t want to put that off too long.”
He disappears again, and I am left, mouth agape, the visual of Zachary’s glistening chest burned into my retinas.
* * *
I get home that night and find that for the first time in ages, I’ve beaten Liza back to the apartment. She must have gone out with Anthony, assuming he managed to remember to show up for a change. I’m exhausted after a day of chaos with Zachary, and part of me just wants to go to sleep. But I know I have to figure something out about what happened between Zachary and my sister, and I need to figure it out before I got anywhere with him, let alone a Caribbean island.
I head into my bedroom and wipe off all of my makeup from the day, then sweep up all of my long blonde hair into a bun and slip into my favorite flannel pants. If I’m going to do detective work, I can at least be comfortable while I do it. And after a day spent confined in restrictive designer wear, all I want to do is curl up in my PJs and sleep for a year.
The day had ended better than I had expected. I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone with Bethany, filling her in on all of the things we’d planned, and letting her know that her recording session had been scheduled with Professor Sam. She had been so excited, I thought she was going to explode through the phone just so she could hug me. As nervous as I was about spending any sort of time trapped on an island with Zachary, Bethany’s enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself excited about the trip by the end of the day.
But now, as I sit in my room, trying to figure out where to start going through Josie’s past, my excitement is waning. Trying to sort out anything about Josie and who she was when she died is going to be a nightmare. She didn’t have social media, she used a disposable cell phone for everything, and she didn’t exactly have friends. When she’d call me, she’d only want to know about my life, and what was going on with me. Josie would never tell me anything about herself, no matter how much I begged her to. So, the only thing left for me to do is start sorting through the few things she had in her possession the night of her accident.
I take the box containing her belongings down from the top of my closet and feel a pang of sadness in my chest when I realize that this is all that is left of her. It’s nothing but her purse, her wallet, a cell phone that is long since dead, her favorite old sweater, and wrapped up in the sweater is…
A diary?
I mean, it looks like a diary. It’s a beaten-up notebook with her name and phone number written on the front cover. Inside, I flip through and see page after page of her elegant handwriting, until suddenly, her handwriting becomes more erratic, scattered, confused almost. It is obvious that before her accident, something was wrong. Something worse than just whatever was going on with Zachary. And I’m almost afraid to read her last entry, knowing that it might reveal things to me I don’t want to know.
But I also know I have no choice.
The last page was written the same day as Josie’s accident. It could have been hours before, for all I know. And that makes me feel even worse as I begin reading…
Dear Diary,
I don’t think anyone is lis
tening, even you. I’ve been making plans, trying to figure out how to make things better, how to make things easy for Ava. I’ve been running for a thousand years, and all I found was Zachary Graham. One stupid date. One pointless meeting. A dinner. My heart. Lost. Gone. My self-respect. Lost. He took it. He took my soul.
He is a dragon. A demon. He devoured me alive and left me bleeding on the floor. He did the same to others. I’m so alone. He left me alone. I don’t know what to do.
I feel like I’ve been trapped in my own head forever, so lost. Zachary broke me. I don’t know where to go. I won’t bother Ava with this.
I think I will go for a drive, diary. Maybe that will give me some clarity.
~J
Tears begin to well up, and I don’t know how to process what I’ve just read. Nothing about it makes sense, not in any sense of the word. Josie’s train of thought was completely off kilter when she died, and while she seemed to be thoroughly convinced of Zachary’s guilt, I just don’t know what to believe. Were they even dating? Did Josie even know what she was doing?
And now, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I want to do something to make up for what happened to Josie, to maybe give her a little peace in death that she was never able to find in life. But I’m not sure that Zachary is the answer. What if Josie had everything wrong? She tended to fixate on things, especially when it gave her something to focus on outside of her own troubles. Was Zachary that latest fixation?
I may not know anything more than I did before I started reading her diary, but one thing is for sure… I won’t find answers without following this all the way to the end of the line. I need to pack my suitcase, after stealing some clothes from Liza appropriate for a posh island vacation and start figuring out how I am going to ask Zachary the question that is currently driving me insane.
What did you do to my sister?
Chapter Four
We are riding in a limo on our way to the private airport, and I’m trying not to make a fool of myself by pressing random buttons and drinking everything in the mini-fridge. I didn’t think limos like this existed outside of 80s Wall Street movies, but Zachary looks unfazed, so I assume this normal for him. He’s on his phone, making calls to executives and finalizing plans, and I am just watching the scenery go by with a stunned look on my face, totally unaccustomed to luxury like this.
When we get to the airport, a bevy of flight attendants and pilots greet us, all fussing over whether or not Zachary is comfortable, even though we haven’t yet stepped foot on a plane. I just stand behind him, looking both terrified and confused, but mostly invisible. Finally, the pilot who will be flying us to Turks & Caicos comes over with a giant grin and an outstretched hand.
“Mister Graham, what a pleasure to meet you. I am Davis, and I’ll be your pilot today. And who is your lovely friend here?” The pilot winks at me, and I instinctively shrink back. Zachary gives him a wilting stare that almost seems jealous, but it can’t possibly be jealousy. Can it?
“This is my intern, Miss Webber. And unless you have some sort of neurological condition, I’ll thank you for treating her like the professional she is,” Zachary says with a tone so flat, it almost gives me a chill. Holy shit that is jealousy.
Davis nods. “My apologies. Our flight time is six hours so I will try to make it as smooth as possible. One of your lovely flight attendants will direct you to the aircraft, and from there, just make yourself comfortable.”
Zachary still looks like he’s fuming. But he’s already moving on to business matters, and he hands me his briefcase so he can pull out his tablet.
“Did the other plane get off okay? Was everyone on board?” he asks as he scrolls through the list of executives meant to meet us on the island.
“Yes, sir. They left an hour earlier because they will have to refuel their plane in New York City and it might take a little longer for them to reach the island. We wanted to time things so you’d arrive in unison. Miss Day also left earlier today, but she took a commercial flight with that… producer.” There is a distaste on Davis’ tongue when he says “producer” that catches my attention, and I really want to ask him why. But I’m suddenly being hurried on to a plane bigger than my apartment and certainly fancier, and we’re on our way to the island.
For the entire six-hour flight, we talk about nothing but the parties and dinners we need to finish planning as soon as we get there. We talk about Bethany’s demo, and her recording session with Professor Sam, to which I swear I hear the pilot scoff all the way from the cockpit. But I can’t bring myself to ask Zachary anything about Josie. Not when we’re on a plane, and all he has to do is shove me out and make it look like an accident.
Before I know it, we’ve barely scratched the surface of the planning we need to do and already landed on the island. Another car is whisking us across the island; first, we go through a small town, before suddenly we are in the middle of nowhere. Beautiful nowhere. Stretches of gorgeous beaches and green mountains and I think for a minute that I could live here forever.
The car pulls through a huge gate, and then we’re driving down a long driveway, that opens up in front of a massive, romantic tropical hotel. When we step out of the car, I can smell the ocean, but because of the huge palm trees and the size of the hotel, I can’t quite see it. The way the hotel is so secluded is almost disorienting, and soothing at the same time. I look over and Zachary, and he’s pulling down his sunglasses, and I can see in his eyes that he is thinking the same thing. He glances over at me with a smile.
“Well done, Ava. Seriously. I couldn’t have chosen any better myself.”
I laugh. “You did choose this. Before me, as far as you knew.”
“Nevertheless, we’re here. And it’s as much your doing as mine. So, let’s enjoy it while we’re here, huh?” Zachary grins and gestures for me to walk into the lobby of the hotel first, and he follows behind me. When we get in the lobby, we find that it opens up at the back and we can, at last, see the huge expanse of beach and ocean behind it. It’s stunning, and I immediately want to run out into the water, but I restrain myself. Partially because it would be unprofessional but mostly because I’m wearing one of Liza’s designer outfits and she would kill me.
Within moments, we’re surrounded by people who look more important than I could ever hope to be, in clothes that probably cost more than I would make in a month as a nonprofit attorney. Everyone is chattering, and shaking hands, and patting backs, and I am just standing there, unsure of what to do or who to talk to. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl who looks as out of place as I feel. She is tiny, so small I could practically fit her in my pocket, and her hair is the color of cotton candy. She is wearing jean shorts and an oversized white sweater and sitting on a small palm planter with her arms wrapped around her chest. Her massive sunglasses are hiding most of her face, but I can already tell there is something sad about her. So, I walk over with plans to introduce myself.
When I get to her, she looks up without removing her sunglasses, so I hold out my hand.
“I bet you’re Bethany, right? It’s so nice to meet you in person! I’m Ava! How was your…”
Bethany lowers her sunglasses, and I can see she’s been crying. Her blue mascara is smudged all over, and her eyes are bright red. She sniffles.
“Pleased to meet you,” she whispers. I look around to make sure no one is looking, grab her hand, and pull her into the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind us. The bathroom is sparkling white in every direction, and so bright you almost have to squint to see anything, but I can still see that Bethany looks devastated. She hops up on the sink and scoots back, so she’s sitting in the corner, then tucks her legs against her chest, and sighs.
“Bethany, I know we barely know each other, but I like to think I’m pretty perceptive. And given we are in one of the most perfect places in the world, in this amazing resort, and you look like you’re about to break down into sobs, it’s clear that something is wrong.
So, I’d like you to tell me,” I say as I jump up on the sink next to her.
Bethany groans. “I don’t think I can tell you, Ava. I don’t think I can tell anyone. It’s… awful. But it’s also unlikely that anyone will believe me. I know how it is in this industry and there is just no way…”
I reach out and take her hand, giving it a quick but reassuring squeeze. “I will believe you. I can promise you that. Whatever it is you have to tell me, it will feel better if you get it off your chest. Holding it in never helps, I can promise you that.” I speak from experience.
Bethany reaches over for one of the plush white towels sitting on the countertop and uses it to wipe the mascara from her eyes. Once the mascara and the rest of her eye makeup are gone, her pink hair makes her huge blue eyes pop, and I can already see why Zachary believes she’ll be popular. Between her voice and her look, she is a star. But right now, she looks like a little kid whose heart is breaking. Bethany pulls her sweater tighter around and takes a long, slow breath.