by Ava Claire
“I didn’t have anything with you on the books--” I began.
“Right,” Rachel interjected. “Which is why I came in bright and early, hoping to talk to you first thing, but Natasha informed me you weren’t in. I was on my way out of the building when I was cornered.”
So now the on-the-fly press conference my fault because I was running late.
Monique’s lips pursed together as she looked over at me. “In the future, I want anything that involves the Whitmore and Creighton brand run by me first.”
I wanted to protest, to tell her that Rachel was lying, plotting, but she was already up, making her way out of the coffee shop.
Leaving me alone with her.
Rachel picked at her nails dismissively. “Could you be a dear and grab a coffee for me? I’ve been so busy getting our organization up and running--”
“Our organization?” I said incredulously. “The fictitious organization I didn’t even know existed until ten minutes ago?”
“That’s right,” she said coolly. “With your caring and giving nature, I figured you’d be elated that I involved you.”
“I’m not elated about anything that involves our names being uttered in the same breath,” I said brusquely. I jerked my chair back, drawing the eye of the two staff members and not really caring. “I don’t know what you have planned, but I’m going to talk to Monique and tell her that it has nothing to do with me. And if you do anything to Mia--”
Rachel let out a haughty chuckle. “Just what do you expect me to do to her, Leila?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully, standing to my feet. “And that’s what worries me.”
“It’s a non-profit, not a criminal organization.” She rolled her eyes. “And what I said to Monique was the truth.”
“Oh really? All that BS about how we decided to start it together?”
“Well not that part obviously,” she said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “The part about wanting to help someone not make the same mistakes I did.”
“Right.”
“I’m being serious!”
“And honest?” I scoffed. “Sorry, but I don’t trust you, Rachel.”
She almost looked insulted by that statement, her glossy lips creased with hurt. How could she be though? She’d been out to get me ever since she learned Jacob and I had a relationship that was anything but professional. She’d set me up, shamed me, done everything she could to try and break us up. None of that matched up with her supposed kind-hearted nature.
I didn’t buy it.
She sniffed, picking up her shades and pulling them back on with angry, jerky motions. “You don’t have to trust me. You just have to know that when I set my mind to do something, it gets done.”
I let out a snort, finding the clock. 11AM and the last thing in the world I wanted or needed to be doing was arguing with Rachel Laraby. “If you want to pretend like you’re some caring philanthropist over night, knock yourself. Leave me out of it.”
“But you’re already involved,” she said, rising slowly. “You were involved the moment he chose you.”
I went rigid. I should have known it would somehow circle back to this. I was still a little confused as to how she figured setting up a fake organization would lead to Jacob realizing our relationship was a mistake and rushing into her arms.
“This should be good,” I scowled, knowing the smart thing would be to walk away from the craziness but genuinely curious to see what was going on in her head.
“I sat down and tried to figure out what it is, what he could possibly see in you that he wouldn’t have in me in spades.” She pulled her clutch beneath her arm. “It couldn’t be your looks. You’re not that funny. So it had to be your Anne Frank-like optimism and niceness and all that bullcrap.”
I let out a laugh that really made everyone in the room lock their attention on us. When she popped her shades on top of her head to glare at me I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from guffawing.
“You are completely--”
Her eyes shot away from me and her mouth fell open. When everything else seemed to go completely silent, I turned around, smiling when I saw Jacob at the door, then feeling my heart drop when I saw the hurt coursing across his face.
Rachel moved toward him before I could react. “Jacob it’s so good to--”
“Leila.” One word and I knew something happened.
Rachel disappeared and it was just us. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my mother.” His voice was raw, every vocal chord, every emotion exposed. “She’s in the hospital.”
****
If there was ever any question as to whether Jacob loved his mother, it was put to rest when we screeched from the Whitmore and Creighton parking garage.
Under normal circumstances, I would curtly remind him that no matter how many zeroes on the price tag or bells and whistles under the hood, all cars looked the same wrapped around a pole, but I just clutched my seatbelt in silence. That kind of comment usually garnered a raised eyebrow and a comment like, ‘You know this is a Maserati, right?’. I had no idea what my answer would be today because I'd never seen him this way. The mask usually shielded his truth away; time and love gave me the ability to see past it most times but in general, I only saw what Jacob wanted me to see, just like everyone else.
As we shot over several lanes to a chorus of honks and Jacob letting out a hail of expletives, my stomach knotted like someone took my insides and twisted them like a rag. There was no mask. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotion, each one more chilling than the last. I saw the snarl of anger and went through the list of possible suspects. Traffic? It didn't matter that it was an inanimate thing; his chokehold on the steering wheel and the string of profanity that would make a raunchy comedian blush told me that didn't matter.
Was he mad at his mother? That would be understandable. After all the woman put him through, the way she controlled him even after all this time was maddening. I bit my lip, watching the vein in his temple twitch. Or maybe he was mad at himself. The other emotions usually blurred behind a facade of cool were tied to the anger. Sorrow. Hurt.
What if he blamed himself?
"This isn't your fault, Jacob," I murmured. "It's no one's fault ."
"She had a heart attack, Leila," he said hollowly. "She's in shape, is OCD about eating and living healthily so that leaves one other thing: stress."
"But that doesn't mean--"
"The last thing I said to her was 'No amount of mothering now will change the fact that you did a shit job of it for 28 years.'"
A silence spread throughout the car. I'd wondered why he went quiet when I joked about cutting her off. He'd already done it.
He let out a groan of frustration as the car in front of us wasn't feeling adventurous and opted to not run the light. He yanked his tie loose then pulled it off altogether, hurling it over his shoulder.
"I told her the only connection we had, would ever have, was the fact that she brought me into this world." His voice lowered, jaw ticking. "I said junkies did the same thing everyday. It didn't mean she'd earned a place in my life." He tilted his head in my direction, regret wetting his eyes. "That can't be the last thing I say to her, Lay. Even after all she's done."
I cradled his cheek in my hand and said the only thing I could think of. The only thing I wanted to believe because the alternative would destroy him.
"It's gonna be alright." The eyes that slayed me every time were slits of disbelief, so I said it again. "It's gonna be alright, Jacob."
They softened, then hardened to sea glass when someone laid on their horn behind us. There was something dangerous brewing and I told him we were just a few blocks from the hospital so he didn't jump out of the car and bash someone's head in. We hit no more lights and the traffic seemed to thin out almost as if they knew Jacob couldn't take much more.
The paparazzi were waiting, but security kept them away from the valet drop off and entrance. Jacob was all
thumbs with his money clip, so I put a steady hand over his shaking ones. "I'll take care of the valet. Go find out about your mom."
I watched him dash in the building then turned to the young valet, her face red with adoration like she was committing the precious seconds Jacob was right there to memory. When I cleared my throat, the red darkened as she gave me an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, I just love the show."
I smiled back and pulled a twenty from my purse and took the tag. I heard the screech of the reporters questions, bulbs pulsing like strobe lights. Fact was, the last thing I wanted to do was go inside and face some terrible news, but that meant standing out here with them; and if something happened and I wasn't by Jacob's side, I'd never forgive myself.
I stepped inside and muttered, ‘You gotta be kidding me’ as soon as I saw Nurse Deadwood's brutal face. Jacob wasn't in the lobby so I assumed he'd put the fear of god in the woman. I didn't have that kind of presence and I sure as hell didn't have a wad of cash to bribe her with. I took a deep breath, banishing the defeatist attitude. You're getting through that door, Leila. One way or another.
I marched to the desk, replacing the nurse's squirrelly eyes with Rachel's big ones, making what came next easier.
"You're going to let me through that door," I said firmly. "And not because I write you a check. I'm family. That's my fiancé and future mother-in-law back there. I belong with them."
It was out. I stood my ground and waited for her to tell me to promptly turn my butt around and exit before she called security. Instead, she held out a name tag, hand trembling. "Mr. Whitmore is waiting for you."
I frowned slightly before raising my chin. "Good." I strut into the secure area seeing, Jacob at the end of the hall. He held up a finger and came toward me. I must have still been smiling like I'd slain a dragon or pulled a sword out of a stone because he gave me a weird look.
"Everything okay?"
I shook off my grin, but I could still hear it in my voice. "Yeah, it's just that nurse--"
"Deadwood?" His eyes narrowed. "I know she fleeced you and Missy. She should thank whatever deity she believes in that she still has a job." His voice blazed. "Did she give you any problems?"
I shook my head slowly, still stunned. If she was on Jacob's shit list, I actually felt sorry for her. I gestured at the nurse who was at the end of the hall, waiting patiently. "How's your mom?"
He sliced a hand through his hair, the stern look in his eyes fading into annoyance. "Doctor's in now. No visitors until he says so."
As we made our way back to where the nurse was waiting I realized it was more than just patience rounding her stance. It was the confidence of someone that was desensitized to celebrity. Under different circumstances, she might've been as star-struck as the valet. She had an average build, dirty blond hair and tired green eyes. The kind of woman that worked hard and swapped the tabloids from the checkout rack to escape her life before heading home to rambunctious kids. None of those glittering lights mattered here. Within these walls, she was in charge.
Jacob wasn't nearly as accepting of that as I was.
"This is ridiculous,” he growled. “If she's awake and alert as you claim, why can't I see her?"
"Because she's in the ICU," the nurse answered simply. "As soon as Dr. Schaub comes out--" She turned to the back as the doors clicked open and an older man in scrubs shuffled into our area. "Here he--"
Neither one of us waited for introductions, breezing over to the doctor, dread sinking in at his melancholy expression.
Jacob was a force, not wasting a moment. "I want to see my mother."
The doctor's weary gray eyes scanned Jacob's face. "Mr. Whitmore, your mother cannot handle a high degree of stress."
"Look--" Jacob stopped, taking a deep breath and calming himself. "I just want her to see me and know I'm here."
The doctor gave him a look that made me wonder if he did some tabloid reading himself. “If I let you in to see her, nothing should be brought up that could upset her."
"Understood."
He gave him a final look over then nodded. "Follow me." When I took a step in that direction he stopped. "I'm sorry, family only while she's in intensive care."
I saw Jacob gear up for a fight, so I just took a step back, hands up and non-combative. "It's alright. I'll be right out here." He didn't look ready to drop it, so I added, "It's alright. Go be with your mother."
I stood there, watching his taut back fade as he stepped into the ICU ward.
****
Leaving the hospital was like leaving a piece of me behind. I'd waited in the waiting room, sipping terrible coffee and watching terrible daytime shows about paternity tests and small claims court cases for what seemed like ages until the nurse who refused to let us go back sauntered over and delivered a message. Apparently Alicia was okay and I could go back to the office. For a brief moment, I wanted to send one back and say I'd wait out there for him, as long as it took, but pride and a sinking suspicion that she wouldn't deliver it anyway made me get up and exit. There was a car waiting and I barely had time to pout before I was being deposited in front of the Whitmore and Creighton building like a piece of luggage.
I knew that was overreacting. He wanted time alone with his mother. It was understandable. He deserved it. But I couldn't help but take offense to the fact that it was so easy to dismiss me. Why couldn't he deliver the message himself?
His mother had a heart attack, I chided myself. It makes sense that she's his focus right now. The little reminder didn't help my mood so I decided to focus on my heavy workload instead. As much as I dreaded a guilt trip from Missy, I had to get a recap of the meeting I'd missed. I made it to the floor and thanked god no one was waiting for the elevator before zipping up to the top floor instead. I was delaying the inevitable, but I was sure whatever Missy needed to say could be said after I had a minute to catch my breath.
I was hoping Natasha would be at lunch, but I saw her perched behind her desk, bright eyes on her computer screen until she saw me and her demeanor went from professional to Stick Up My Butt.
"Somebody's been popular today," she frowned. "I started wondering if I was Jacob's secretary or yours."
"Good afternoon," I said with the biggest smile I could stand. She wanted a confrontation and as much as I wanted to yell and scream, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "I take it you left the messages in my office?"
She glared at me from behind her bangs. New haircut. Something short in the front and long and flowing in the back that would have softened anyone else but with her perma-frown and ice colored eyes, she looked fiercer than usual.
"Like I said, I am Mr. Whitmore's secretary," she said haughtily. "You do have a visitor waiting in your office even though I informed her that God alone knew when you would be arriving."
As much as I wanted to snap back, I knew I needed to save that for the person waiting in my office.
Rachel.
Ugh.
From Natasha's eyes shifting back to her computer, I figured the conversation was over. For the first time since I'd met the woman I found myself wanting to linger. Ask about her stylist. Was she Team Vampire, Team Were, or Team Zombie? Anything that would prolong the inevitable. I just wasn't ready to see Rachel's face.
Sensing that I missed her end of conversation nonverbal cues, she slowly lifted her gaze back to me.
"Can I help you?"
Think of something! "Uh, thank you for all you do." Wow that was terrible. I was surprised I'd gotten the lie out with a straight face.
She rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. Look, the poor girl has been waiting to see you for hours--"
A spark of hope flashed through me. "Girl?"
"Yes. Mia Kent."
A smile dashed across my face. "Oh, thank God."
Natasha pushed blond strands behind her ear, eyeing me strangely. "I wouldn't thank him yet. She wasn't happy when she stomped in two hours ago and I imagine she's even less so now."
Uh oh. I
booked it down the corridor, pushing into my office as I dropped my smile and picked up a frown. The desk was littered with takeout cups and empty pastry bags. I would have let the mess and clear disrespect for my things slide if she hasn't made herself at home, feet up on the desk, powdered sugar covered digits typing away on my keyboard.
"What the hell?"
She froze mid-sentence, fingers posed above the keys, aqua eyes jumping from the computer screen. "Where the hell have you been?" She kicked her worn chucks off the table and stood up. Her getup was somewhere between rockabilly and cocaine chic. She paired a sheer, oversized blouse with liquid leggings. Her hair was tucked under a trucker hat. The only thing worth noting was a lack of ten layers of makeup on her face. Without the stuff gunked on her eyelids, I had no problem seeing just how pissed she was.
I put aside my annoyance at the mess. "I was at the hospital."
Her anger dissipated. "What? Are you okay?"
I nodded, moving to the chair in front or my desk and balling up a pile of empty wrappers and lowering myself with a sigh. "I'm fine. It's Jacob's mother that's not doing so well." I looked up at her. "Heart attack."
She peered at me curiously. "I'm sorry?"
I gave her the smallest of smile. "We don't get along, but I don't actively wish her ill."
She smirked, repeating the two words with more authority. "I'm sorry. For Jacob." She made a face like she was remembering she'd come for a reason and it wasn't to deliver a verbal Hallmark card. "So when were you gonna tell me about Project Save Poor Mia?"
I cringed. "Yeah, about that..." She stood there, hand on hip, waiting. What could I say? It was bad form to gossip about one client to another. "I'll take care of it."
"Righttt," she said, voicing dripping with sarcasm. "Just how are you going to take care of it? I have people texting and emailing me, asking me things like, 'Is Rachel as hot in person as she is onscreen?' and 'How sweet is Rachel for trying to help you?'. As if I needed any other proof that this whole thing had nothing to do with me."