Pretending She’s Mine

by Paige, Violet

  I pressed the phone to my ear. The buzzing hadn’t stopped. The sick feeling had gotten worse. It felt like I was being poisoned with every passing second.

  “Mickey, there has been an emergency. I need you to call the Westbrook Securities pilot. Journey—” I stopped myself from going into detail and wasting seconds. “I’m headed to the airport immediately. We leave for L.A. as soon as he can get us in the air.”

  “Sir? I don’t understand. Is it Avajean? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. She’s fine. Just call the pilot.” My voice already sounded horse.

  “You just said not to make any changes to your—”

  “Do it,” I gritted my teeth, unable to look away from the images of Journey on TV. They alternated between the crime scene at the gym, and pictures of her smiling on the red carpet.

  “Please,” I added. “Do this, Mickey.”

  “And your schedule?” she eked.

  “Cancel it. All of it.”

  “Yes sir. I will handle it. It will be taken care of. Anything you need.” The confidence in her voice was reassuring.

  “Thank you.”

  “And sir?”

  “Yes?” I paced the penthouse.

  “If I can help—”

  “I know. I’ll call from L.A.”

  I shoved the phone in my pocket and grabbed my jacket. The door clicked behind me and I hurried to the elevator. I didn’t care that I had left Savannah in the shower and I’d left every light on.

  Somewhere Journey was lying in a hospital. She was all that mattered. I had to get to L.A.

  Two

  Journey

  I cringed. Damn it. Just trying to squint hurt.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  The sound was loud. So deafening I tried to reach out and swat at whatever was near me. It was like an aggravating mosquito I couldn’t find in the dark. It was incessant. Repeating the same monotonous tone over and over.

  Every time I attempted to raise my hands to slap it into silence, I struggled. They were listless. Useless. I wrestled to move the right and then the left, but nothing happened.

  Could someone please turn off that alarm? It’s driving me crazy. Really? The alarm. Does anyone hear it?

  Ouch!

  Something jabbed my upper arm like a fire poker. Did someone inject hot lava in my body? It hurt enough to make me cry, but even my tear ducts were unresponsive. And then I was floating. The feeling was soothing, actually. A nice change from whatever was happening around me. I tried to reach out again, but I gave in to the warmth coursing up my arm. I stopped fighting.

  Hey, this is pretty nice. Just floating and drifting. Drifting and floating. Was I on a cloud or maybe a raft in the middle of the pool. My infinity pool. So pretty. So peaceful. So calm.

  The beeping wasn’t as irritating. The fire was gone from my arm. And I could sleep.

  Something I hadn’t done in weeks.

  I wasn’t the kind of woman who could afford the luxury of sleep. A seventy-million-dollar beach house, sure. But a nap—no way.

  Who could nap when awards season was around the corner? No one slept during this time of year. I had meetings with designers. There were gowns to choose. Diamonds to pair. And someone had to decide what shape to file my nails. Every element of my look was choreographed. The dietician went over my strict meal guidelines. I felt like I’d be zapped for even looking at a carb. And then there was Tristan.

  He was relentless. We met at BodyWerks, a Hollywood term for the place where I got my ass kicked every morning at 5am. My stomach had to be flat to fit in the gowns. My arms had to look sculpted. And my booty had to be round. It was Tristan’s job to make sure I was molded into some kind of impossible Barbie doll.

  There were plenty of other reasons I couldn’t sleep besides the stress of being nominated. By the time I crawled into bed at night, I was exhausted. Ready to sleep for three days. But instead, I stared at the ceiling, warding off fear. Fear that another round of nightmares would start. By the time I fell asleep I had an hour or two before I had to get up and meet Tristan.

  It was the same thing every day.

  I heard someone call my name.

  “Journey, can you hear us?”

  Of course I could hear them. They were standing next to me. But my mouth refused to cooperate with my brain.

  “She needs to get into surgery.”

  “Is she going to have scars?” I recognized Dante’s voice. When had they called my manager?

  “Someone from plastics will be there. It’s the underside of her arm. I wouldn’t be concerned.”

  “Wouldn’t be concerned? You do realize that’s Journey Tessier? Her pinky finger is worth more than your entire body.” Dante’s voice was the highest-pitched in the room.

  I thought Dante was being overly dramatic and rude. His exaggerated tone usually came off as charming but, right now, it made him sound like an ass.

  “Miss Tessier is in excellent care. I’d like to take her into surgery to stop this bleeding. She’s not clotting on her own. And our plastics team will do their best to ensure minimal scarring.”

  There was a long pause and I waited to hear how Dante would handle the information.

  “Fine. But if it’s not absolutely perfect there will be a lawsuit.”

  Shit, Dante. I don’t want to sue anyone.

  “Let us help her. I understand you’re worried, but it doesn’t do anyone any good to start threatening legal battles before we even have her stable.”

  Stable? I’m not stable?

  My stomach flipped before twisting into a permanent knot.

  The calm man continued, “Once she’s out of surgery we can assess if there are any significant brain injuries. But the bump on the back of her head is indicative of the hard hit she took on the pavement. I see no signs of a concussion. We have to stop this bleeding first.”

  “Why isn’t she awake then?” Dante asked.

  Good question. I’d like an answer.

  There was a buzz of activity around me. I couldn’t open my eyes to see it, but I could feel it. Everything had shifted into another gear and there were more people in the room. People were whispering as they moved in all directions.

  My body started to float and I realized I was being rolled somewhere. The wheels squeaked on linoleum.

  Wait? I’m having surgery? What’s wrong with my arm? I need answers before you do this to me.

  Dante called, “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be right here waiting for you. You’ve got this. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  A chill ran through me. Isn’t that what Tristan said just before…before…I couldn’t remember. It sounded familiar. It sounded so recent. But something inside told me not to try and figure it out. I shouldn’t press too hard. I shouldn’t question it. It was better to follow the sleep. Just sleep.

  Three

  Asher

  I hated hospitals. Fucking despised them. This one wasn’t any better. High-dollar art on the walls and classical music in the waiting rooms didn’t erase the smell of antiseptic in the air. They could lay as many marble tiles as they wanted, set out expensive orchids—it didn’t change what this place was. Celebrities died and decayed like everyone else. I wondered if they thought adding this gloss and shine could change the outcome.

  My two best agents followed closely behind me. I rarely traveled without them.

  It shouldn’t have been so easy for me to gain access to this wing. I glared at the security guard watching as I walked past. Amateurs. They had no business being in charge of people’s safety. The press was camped outside, and I hadn’t seen any attempts to ask for their credentials or keep them from infiltrating the hospital. Who was in charge?

  I had time to think on the flight to L.A., but not enough. The last couple of years should have been all the time I needed, but I had developed and fine-tuned a mechanism for blocking out anything related to Journey. I never saw her movies. I turned off the TV if she was being interviewed. I nev
er read the articles about her. I focused on building Westbrook Securities for my daughter. I wanted an empire that would keep her safe. It kept me away from Journey. I had deceived myself into believing it was a better alternative.

  Until now.

  We continued past the nurses’ station as I scanned the numbers on the doors. I heard the men’s heels hit heavy on the floor behind me, announcing our arrival. I was tempted to call in more of the Weston Securities force to fortify the entire wing. I had to face Journey first. I stopped in front of her door.

  Room 321.

  I wasn’t ready for this.

  “Wait here,” I directed the agents. “Don’t let anyone in. Keep an eye on this hallway.”

  “Of course.”

  I pushed open the door. My chest pounded from the deep breath I was holding in. Dante Peacock hopped up from his seat, balancing three different cell phones in his hands.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he screeched.

  But I didn’t answer. My eyes were on her. Journey was still. Her pale blue eyes were closed and for a second my heart felt shredded. It was hard to breathe. She shouldn’t be in that bed. I wanted to scoop her up and run out of here with her in my arms. There were lines and tubes running into her arms. A thin hose for oxygen was taped to her nose. Fuck. No.

  “How did you get in here, Asher?” Peacock was agitated. It didn’t take much to rile him up. “No one called you.”

  My gaze broke away from Journey and landed on him. I’d never seen him look this bad. The man was always put together. He had dark circles under his eyes. I looked down at his hands. His nails were bitten and raw.

  “How did this happen?” I felt the heat rise in my neck.

  He shook his head. “No. No. No, Asher. I’m not letting you barge in here like this. You really think she wants you here? I didn’t call you.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question. Answer me.”

  Dante nodded and pointed toward the door. He wanted me to follow him to the hallway. I sighed as he led the way. He closed the door behind us. We stepped away from my agents and moved into a family counseling room with glass windows.

  “I don’t know what Journey can hear,” he explained. “We shouldn’t argue in front of her.”

  I eyed my agents from the where I was standing. They had an eye on the activity in the hall as well as Dante and me.

  “I don’t see a need to argue,” I replied.

  His shoulders relaxed. “Good. I thought you were going to start acting all commando again.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t know about commando, but I want a full debrief. Every eye witness account. Every photograph from the scene. I need a full rundown of her schedule for the past two weeks and any cross-referenced encounters. I’m going to need the security camera footage and a list of all members of that gym.”

  Dante rolled his eyes. “See? Commando. You haven’t been on Journey’s security detail in two years. Not since you became Mr. Billionaire. Don’t think you can prance in here with your hot agents and take over. You aren’t in charge of Journey. I am.”

  I huffed. “Look what happens when you’re in charge. She gets shot.” I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck. “Get me what I asked for.”

  “You’re not my boss. Journey is. You can’t order me around. Or anyone for that matter, Asher. You haven’t been a part of this family for a long time. We all know it. Most importantly, Journey knows it.”

  I wasn’t going to engage in my personal history with Dante. I was here to do something much more important. “Trust me. I have no interest in hiring you, Dante. But until the suspect is in custody, Journey isn’t safe. I’m taking over as of now. I can protect her. You clearly aren’t cut out for it.” I glared at him. Beads of sweat covered his brow. He would argue, but he always folded in the end. It was only a matter of time before I wore him down.

  He sputtered. “This is not my fault. I’m as shaken as anyone. I’m not a bodyguard. I’m her manager. Don’t put this on me. She makes her own security calls.”

  “And who lets her do that? Where is the guard for her door? Where was her bodyguard this morning?”

  He blinked. “She went to the gym. She never takes security to the gym. It’s her personal time. She is very clear about that.”

  I groaned. “See? You don’t understand how important her security is 24-7. It’s not part-time. It’s never part-time. In fact, her security should have doubled after her nomination. Did it?”

  Dante looked confused. “I-I don’t deal with that part of her management. You know that.”

  “Get me the information I need. The agents with me should have full access to all the reports. They will be working this with me. Also, set up a meeting with her doctor within the hour. I want to speak to her doctor immediately. Journey needs to be moved tonight.”

  “Tonight? She just got out of surgery. Dr. Mills wants her to rest.”

  I fought the urge to let my heart rip open again. Journey should never have had surgery. She shouldn’t be here. There was an attack on her life and Dante had no idea how to handle it. She needed me now more than ever. I had to stay focused and get her out of here.

  “She can rest in a safer place than this hospital. I’ll take care of her from here on out.” I walked out of the family conference room, and stopped in front of Journey’s door. I wanted to make it clear he wasn’t stepping foot back inside until I had what I wanted. My agents flanked the entrance behind me.

  Dante twisted his lips together. “You’re honestly going back in there?”

  “Yes.”

  He rolled his eyes. “She’s going to kill me for doing this.”

  “At least she’ll be alive to carry it out,” I mocked.

  “This is seriously messed up. She hates you, Asher.”

  “I don’t care how she feels. I’m going to do what I’ve always done—protect her.”

  Dante shook his head. His hands rested on his hips. “Fine. But if you’re going back in there don’t upset her. Just stay quiet. She needs calm right now. Don’t even talk to her. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  I nodded and walked inside room 321.

  I took the chair in the corner and watched Journey sleep. Her dark blond hair was pulled to the side in a braid. I guessed that was one of Dante’s touches.

  I should have been here. I could have stopped this from happening. I could have kept her safe. I never would have let her go to the gym alone. How stupid and lax had this team become since I left? Was this how they had operated for two years?

  I knew they hated me. Dante’s words weren’t a surprise. I walked away. Turned my back on her. I abandoned her.

  Watching her sleep like this, I couldn’t come up with a single reason why I wasn’t spending my life with her.

  My elbows dug into my knees as I buried my face in my hands.

  The machine beside her beeped. She sighed lightly in a deep sleep.

  I did something I never did—I prayed.

  I swore then and there, that I would never leave Journey unprotected again. I’d make whatever deal God wanted me to make, to ensure she woke up and smiled. I wanted to hear her laugh. I wanted to watch her walk on the beach. I wanted to catch her curled up with a book. I wanted to see her dance around the kitchen to silly 80s songs. I’d do whatever it took. Whatever sacrifice God came up with, to give her all those moments again.

  Four

  Journey

  I didn’t want to wake up. This bed was deliciously comfortable. But my head was pounding and I was thirsty. I could get up, grab some aspirin, and crawl back into this perfect bed. I could stay here all day and relax. Wouldn’t that be a luxury? I could do something people thought movie stars did all the time.

  I knew that wasn’t something I could do. I had to start my day. First, with a detox tea and my morning meditation on the dais overlooking the ocean. I hoped by the end of my practice, the headache would be gone.

  I let one eye open an
d then another.

  I shrieked when I saw the stern woman sitting next to me.

  “Who are you?” I croaked. My voice was hoarse. “Wh-what are you doing next to my bed?” It was an absurd question. One I was certain I had never asked anyone before.

  “Look who’s awake.” She patted my wrist. “I’m your nurse.” Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she had deep lines on her forehead.

  “Nurse?” That didn’t make sense.

  The headache pounded at the base of my skull. I looked around. I didn’t recognize this room. I wasn’t in my Malibu beach house. I looked over the nurse’s shoulder at the towering trees outside. Nothing looked familiar, yet I felt a strange connection to the room. I couldn’t place it. Everything felt a little fuzzy and distant.

  She rose steadily and placed the back of her hand on my forehead the same way my mother did when I was a child. “Yes, I’m your personal nurse. Mr. Westbrook hired me to take care of you and assist with your recovery.”

  “Mr. Westbrook?” I eyed her. I must have misunderstood. There’s no way. No possible way.

  “You don’t mean Asher Westbrook?” I asked again.

  I tried to sit up. Everything was wrong. As I pushed into the bed with my elbows a stinging pain shot through my arm. I looked down at the bandage wrapped around my left bicep.

  “Yes. He has personally seen to everything. He’s been worried,” she whispered. “But I knew you’d be fine. Just a scratch on the arm and a bump on the head. Just a few stitches here and there.” She smiled. “But he wanted everything a certain way. His instructions.” She patted the back of my hand. “Don’t know that I’ve met a man like him before.”

  I think she was trying to comfort me, but I still hadn’t processed I was here – wherever here was – because of Asher.

  Asher was a name I had wiped from my existence. My staff wasn’t allowed to say his name. The fact that this woman said it so casually meant she had no idea what that man had done to me.