by JA Huss
“Ellie?” Mac calls after me. I hear him whisper something to Stonewall Senior, but I don’t catch the actual words. A few seconds later he’s walking next to me with his arm around my shoulder. “Are you OK? What’s going on?”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath as I look up at him. He’s so perfect. That square jaw, still slightly unshaven. His broad shoulders. Just imagining them without the precisely-tailored short and suit coat makes me wish this was all real. And those cerulean-blue eyes.
They want to claim me.
I want them to claim me.
“Mr. Romantic called this morning.”
Mac takes a step back, his touch gone, the warmth and togetherness it implied gone with it.
“And maybe I would’ve been OK with who you really are if you had told me first. I’m not sure. But I’m not OK with how the truth unfolded.”
“Ellie,” Mac says, his expression softening. “I didn’t lie to you on purpose. I just didn’t want to come here as that guy. You know?”
I do know. I totally know. Not one bit of that is unreasonable. “I also saw your texts to Heath. Yes, I looked. It was wrong and I’m a bitch. But you got to see inside me, Mac. And never once during the past two weeks did I really get to see inside you. So I looked and I didn’t like what I saw.”
“That’s not fair,” he says.
“I know. But it wasn’t what I saw inside you that bothered me. It was the way you saw me. It’s the way everyone here sees me. Ridiculous Ellie Hatcher. That’s who I am here and I that’s not who I am inside. I’m a serious person inside, Mac. I’m smart, and driven, and occasionally funny. I am not a joke to myself.”
“I never thought you were, Ellie.”
“You did. You threw my little fantasy with Heath in my face every time I pulled back. You called it delusional, you called it crazy, and you think it’s silly. But I don’t think it’s silly.”
“Heath—” Mac says.
“I don’t want your brother, Mac. But I like that fantasy. I don’t think it’s crazy to want the perfect life. But you, Mac. You’re not my Mr. Perfect.”
“He doesn’t exist,” Mac says.
“Oh, he does,” I say back as I tap my head. “He exists in here. And maybe that’s as close as I’ll ever get, but who are you to tell me to give up on my dream?”
“I never said that.”
“‘Get help, Ellie,’” I snap. “‘You’re delusional, Ellie.’ Well, OK. Maybe I am. Maybe I do need help. But I’m not going to find it here. All I’m going to get from you are calculated moves, and half-truths, and a guarded heart. And I’d just like to point out that you are the one who has been lying. Not me. You got to see the real Ellie from day one and I never once got to see the real Mac.”
“Ellie,” Mac says, looking around. There are dozens of people watching us have this conversation. No one is smiling. “Let’s go in my office and talk, OK?”
I shake my head and turn away.
“Ellie!” Mac calls after me.
But I’ve already checked out and I’m going out in style. And this time, when I grab the handle of the slide and swing my body in, there is no fancy skirt to slow me down. There is no battle cry of victory, either, but I smile the whole way down. And when my body shoots out of the twisted plastic tube seven stories below, I come to a full stop with my feet planted firmly on the floor.
I stand up and straighten my shirt.
“Ellie!” Mac shouts. “Watch out!” But as soon as I turn, he comes shooting out of the slide and barrels into me.
Chapter Thirty-Two - Mac
I spread my legs, wild grin on my face, as I crash into Ellie. She goes flying backwards, but I wrap my arms around her tightly and we fall together instead, me landing squarely on top of her.
“Are you OK?” I ask, checking to see if she hit her head.
“What the hell are you doing?” Her eyes are flashing mad and her cheeks flush with heat once she realizes everyone is watching us. “Get off me!” She squirms under my body and I shoot her a cock-eyed grin.
“Don’t move around too much, Miss Hatcher. I’m warning you. That weekend of sex we just had is still fresh in my mind.”
She clenches her jaw and her small fists pound on my back, but I just grab her wrists and hike them over her head, pinning her to the floor. “I get to have my say, Ellie. You’re not walking out of here with half the information. It’s not happening. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we’re doing this.”
“The easy way is with you straddling my body, holding my hands over my head?” she yells.
“That was just my way of getting your attention, Miss Hatcher.” I get up off her and extend my hand. “I’m happy to do it like this instead.”
She looks up, past me. I look around, then up. Hundreds of faces peer over the sides of the Atrium, all the way up to the seventh floor where Alexander Stonewall is one of them. I can’t tell from this distance if he’s raging mad or smiling.
I’m going to go with raging mad, but I don’t care.
“Take my hand, Ellie. Come on, let’s do this.”
She does, and I pull her up to her feet. But she leans in and growls out her words past her gritted teeth. “Do what, Mac? Make a fool of me? Don’t you think Ellen has done enough of that?”
“Raise your hand if you give a shit about Ellen Abraham!” I shout. Ellie and I look around for several seconds. We even look all the way up the Atrium, searching the hundreds of people leaning over the balcony railings as they watch us, but not one hand is raised.
“OK,” I yell again. “Raise your hand if you care about Ellie Hatcher.” Hands start raising before I even finish the sentence. “Give me a big, ‘Hell, yeah,’ if you think she’s adorable.”
They don’t really shout it. It’s kind of unconventional and I’m just getting them warmed up.
But Jennifer shouts down from the seventh floor, “Hell, yeah!”
“Hell, yeah,” someone else says a few feet away. Then another, and another.
“Ellie Hatcher, we don’t think you’re ridiculous, we think you’re adorable.” More people shout out in agreement. “I like the fact that you have days-of-the-week outfits. I like your M&M-sorting skills, and how you keep celebrities on time and on their toes. I especially like the fact that you almost killed a rock star two weeks ago. I like that you nickname people, even if it’s a little insulting, and I’m jealous that I wasn’t on that list. I’m dying to know what you’d call me.”
Ellie is starting to look uncomfortable, like she has no interest in hashing this out in front of the entire population of Atrium employees. So I switch back to me.
“Look, Ellie, I was going to tell you the truth about who I was.” I look around to everyone now. “All of you. I was going to tell all of you. She just distracted me that first day and took over my life.” I shrug. “What can I say? I fell in love with her immediately.” I look back and Ellie and take both her hands in mine. “But I had every intention of coming clean. So I’m just going to do that now.”
“Mac, look, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I do, Ellie. You’re right. I saw inside you without your permission when I read those messages. And I never gave you that opportunity.” I take a deep breath and drop her hands, turning to face everyone else. “I’m not Alexander Stonewall’s son.” People gasp in surprise and then all the whispering begins. “My real name is Maclean Callister. People still call me Mac, so that hasn't changed. And you probably know me better by the moniker the media gave me ten years ago. Mr. Perfect.”
It takes a few seconds, but the whispers begin. The rumors, the accusations, the final outcome. I hear bits and pieces of all of that as I wait.
I turn back to Ellie. “I’m Mr. Perfect but I’m definitely not perfect. I’ve made a lot of mistakes but I didn’t rape that girl and not one of us had anything to do with her death. I’m sorry she died because her lies live on. No matter what, no one will ever hear her admit that she set m
e up. She set up my friends. She got us kicked out of school, almost put on trial, and made our lives a living hell for two years. No one wants to believe people are capable of such evil, but they are. All we have to do is look at Ellen Abraham here at Stonewall to see this kind of evil play out on a smaller scale.”
I hear more whispers. Agreement? Disagreement? I’m not sure. But I started this so now I have to finish it.
“I left college ten years ago and never went back. None of us did, you know. Mr. Romantic opened some clubs out in San Diego. Mr. Corporate started a high-level headhunting business. Mr. Mysterious… well, disappeared, to be honest. I haven’t heard from him in years. And Mr. Match opened a dating service with one of his sisters. He was only eighteen. Did you know that? Mr. Match’s life was ruined at eighteen. For two years this kid sat around trying to figure out what he ever did to that girl. We all did. Two years.”
I look at Ellie and try to read her face. It’s not very telling. She’s holding her cards close.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything but take that girl on a date, buy her dinner, drop her off at her apartment, and then go home. But I’m the privileged offspring of a one-percenter. My father is so rich, he owned fifty percent of this company and no one knew it. He never set foot on this campus. Just collected dividends every year. And this girl and her partners wanted to take that privilege away. Steal it by any means necessary.”
It’s sad. Everything about this story is sad and I hate talking about it, but I owe Ellie more than what I’ve been giving her. I owe her the truth, but beyond that, I owe her some sort of reassurance that I’m not the monster the media turned me into.
“They made it all up,” I say. “All of it. And that girl was a victim, but not my victim. She was the victim of the evil men who came up with that plan and decided she was nothing but collateral damage. I don’t even blame her. They plucked her out of obscurity and student loan hell and made promises that were far better than anything she had going for her at the time. Bigger than anything she could ever imagine. So no, I don’t blame her for falling into their trap. They used her like an animal. And when their plan started falling apart, when I made all the Misters come together and form a united front against these bogus charges, when her history started being the front-page news instead of my present—they killed her.
“And then it was all about me again, right? Not only was I a rapist, now I was a murderer. I killed her. We all did. Somehow. Some way. No one knew how because the five of us were all accounted for the night she died, so you know, most people would say that excludes us. But we’re rich. We’re privileged. We work magic with money and buy people off. That’s how it’s done, right? We have power.
“Well, that’s true. I do have power. I have the power to do a lot of things, but clear my name wasn’t one of them. I do not have the power to change the public perception of me or my friends. I do not have the power to create genuine respect from people. I do not have the power to make people trust me.” I pause and look around. Meet hundreds of sets of eyes. It feels so good to be able to finally say this. And to these people especially. People who matter to me.
“But I do have the power to change the world. To make it less hateful, less angry, less difficult. And maybe if someone had helped that girl’s family out when she was younger she wouldn’t have fallen into the trap her co-conspirators laid. So I took my trust fund and set out to make a difference. I’ve been gone for ten years, but I haven’t been hiding. I’ve been changing the world one family at a time through my charity, Change the World. I can’t change anything big,” I say. “I can’t change governments, or stop wars, or prevent draught or famine. But I can take one family at a time and change their future.”
The whispers get louder and the confusion and tension eases out of the faces.
“Because I learned a very valuable lesson from the woman who falsely accused me of rape. I learned that something as small as a few words can have a profound impact on the future of five boys. And if words can do so much damage, then surely there are things equally as small that do so much good. A few dollars in Africa can feed a family for a week. Give out a million of those dollars to the right people and I just fed the population of a city.”
“Shit, Mac,” Ellie says with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “You didn’t know. No one knew. I didn’t want to do good deeds to be rewarded for them. I just wanted to do them to prove to myself that not everyone is bad. That I’m not the greedy kid they made me out to be. And when I found out that Alexander needed to retire to take care of his health, and he wanted me to come claim my fifty percent interest in the company and head up the North American branch while Heath took over the developing market in Asia and Camille ran Europe, well, I was reluctant. Why should I leave behind what I built for this? For people I don't know and, more importantly, people who might not need me as much as the ones I’m walking away from?”
I turn to the Stonewall employees. “I came here to sell it,” I say, raising my arms. “Just sell it off. I didn’t see the value. Not compared to the work I was doing. But I was wrong.” I turn to Ellie. “You, Ellie Hatcher, have value. You’re an exceptional employee. And I know you have big plans in your future, so I’m not going to ask you to stay. But I want you to know that I value you.
“I value all of you and if Alexander still wants me, I’m in. I’d be honored to help keep Stonewall Entertainment the number one corporation to work for. Not just America, but the world. I’d love for us to change the future together.”
Chapter Thirty-Three - Ellie
I am at a loss for words. My mouth opens, closes, then opens again. I feel like a fish gasping for air.
“Ellie?” Mac is staring at me with a worried look on his face. “Ellie? Are you OK?”
I look up. All the faces staring down at me. Stonewall Senior is up there. And Jennifer. And Stephanie and Mr. Sowards.
“Ellie? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
I shake my head as I let out a long breath. “I can’t.” I really can’t. So I just turn on my heel and walk out the building. Outside it’s bright, and the morning sun is beating down on the parking lot, making me instantly feel much too warm. I press a finger to my temple as I head for my car.
“Ellie!” Mac yells from behind me. “Wait!”
I can’t wait. I can’t deal. None of this makes any sense at all.
“Ellie,” Mac says. He grabs my arm hard enough to pull me to a stop. “Where are you going? Don’t you have anything to say? No comment? Not even a shrug?”
I stop because he makes me, but I don’t turn to look at him. I stare down at my feet. Study the small cracks in the concrete parking lot. Count a few stones.
“Goddammit, Ellie. What the hell is going on with you?”
“You want to know?” I ask softly.
“Yes,” he says loudly. “I’d really like to know.”
I turn to him, willing myself to be strong. Not to cry or appear any more ridiculous than I already am. Mac is so handsome. His face, his body, his suit, his shoes, his car, his apartment. Everything. “I thought you were the one floundering and I had it all figured out. But it turns out I’m a joke in every sense of the word.”
“What?” Mac asks. “What does that even mean? Ellie, you’re not making sense to me right now. What is the deal? Do I need to convince you I’m not guilty of those crimes they accused me of? Or—”
“No,” I say, putting up my hand to stop him. “No. That’s not it, Mac. It’s got nothing at all to do with those ten-year-old accusations, it’s got everything to do with your life since then.”
“I don’t get it,” Mac says. “I don’t understand what you hate about what I’ve been doing with my life, Ellie. Just tell me and I’ll fix it. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I’ll fix it.”
“You’ll fix it?” I ask, doing my best to stifle a small snort, but not entirely succeeding. “You can’t fix it, Mac. You can’t fix it because it’s not about yo
u, it’s about me.”
“Ellie,” Mac says again, but this time his voice is stern. “I don’t understand.”
“I know,” I say. “I know you don’t. How could you? You are Mr. Perfect. You are accused of a heinous crime and instead of bowing under, you take control. You segregate yourself from society and start feeding the world.”
“What’s so bad about that?” He yells it. His patience is over. “What the fuck is the problem here? I thought you’d be proud of me. I thought you’d be happy to finally find out I really am a good guy and not this asshole you’ve conjured up in your head.”
“I am proud of you, Mac. It’s the perfect turnaround, right? But I’m good at that conjuring. All those delusions and pretend babies.”
“Ellie, just stop, OK? I told you I like that part of you.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I hate it.”
“What?”
“I hate it. And you know what? You should be proud that you’re Mr. Perfect. You certainly earned the title. Do you know what my biggest contribution to society has been, Mac? Buying designer clothes from a charity shop. Unless you count feeding the egos of celebrities worthwhile. Or pretending that I’m some world-wise woman who can help people sort out their life goals.” I can’t contain my snort this time, it comes barreling out through my nose. “I am so pathetically ridiculous.”
“Ellie,” Mac says, his voice softer. He places his hands on my shoulders. “It’s not a competition. You and I are in different places. I’m able to give the way I do because of money I inherited.”
I sigh and nod my head as I stare at my shoes. “You’re right. We’re in two totally different places. You have arrived and I haven’t even started my journey yet.”
I turn away again and start walking to my car. I don’t look back, but I know Mac isn’t following me. I click my key fob, hoping to slide behind the wheel and get out of here without any more talking. But Mac doesn’t grant me that last wish.