Designated Alpha

by Crissy Smith

  “Twenty-fifty,” she called to Franklin, giving him her code for the gate to the private garage at her building.

  “I still remember your code. I may be getting on in years, but I remember the important things.”

  He pulled up to the private elevator that led to the penthouse and jumped out to assist her. Katherine was too quick. She’d already hopped from the back seat by the time he’d rounded the car. Despite the warm June day, the concrete floor of the garage was cool beneath her bare feet.

  “Do you want the bags out of the trunk, Miss Katherine?”

  “Yes, I suppose I’ll need them. The three pieces of Louis Vuitton are mine. The rest belong to…Mr. Taylor,” she said, speaking of her now ex-fiancé’s luggage.

  She’d completely forgotten about her baggage. She’d assumed they’d already been delivered to the room at the Plaza where she and Nathan were supposed to spend the night. Thank heaven for small miracles. That would be one less thing she’d need to take care of. The driver placed the largest bag on the ground then sifted through the other items in the trunk. Impatient and knowing she was on borrowed time, Katherine reached in and slung her carry-on bag over her shoulder then grabbed the small suitcase in her left hand.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got it.” She popped the handle of the larger bag up to pull it behind her. Looking earnestly in the driver’s eyes, she pleaded, “I won’t need you anymore today. Feel free to do whatever you want from here. This little…snag has no effect on your pay. If you choose to return to the church, please tell no one where you brought me and please don’t bring anyone here.”

  “Of course, miss. If it’s all the same to you, I could really use the evening off. Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word of your whereabouts to your mother.”

  “Take the evening off with pay. If my mother tries to say otherwise, don’t listen to her. I’ll have my assistant see to it that you’re paid. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me.” She squeezed his hand in appreciation, wishing she knew where her purse was in her collection of bags, so she could slip him a hefty tip.

  Dragging her luggage behind her, she hurried to the elevator, punched in her access code then rode all the way to the top. Thankfully she had the option of keypad access to enter her apartment as well, since she didn’t want to spend the minute to rifle through her bags for her keys. She knew that time was of the essence. It was only a matter of moments before someone, her mother, Nathan or Tiffany—her personal assistant—showed up at her door. She could barricade herself inside and put off the inevitable by changing the access code to her apartment door. At least then no one could come inside. Of course that wouldn’t stop them from beating on the door or blowing up her cell.

  As though on cue, the electronic device started ringing. She heard the muffled bleeping noise coming from the attaché case slung over her shoulder. Picking a six-digit code at random, Katherine went through the necessary steps to change her access code. She could scratch that item off her to-do list. In doing so, she’d held off the wolves for a little longer.

  After dumping her luggage in the middle of the foyer, she tore at the gown, trying to get the constrictive piece of clothing off her body. The bodice laced up the back and fit her figure like a glove. It had taken the help of two people to get the dress on her. It wasn’t likely that she could get it off without the help of another person. That was, of course, unless she didn’t care if the damned thing remained intact. At the moment, she didn’t. She grabbed a pair of scissors, then went to work on getting the offending garment off. The dress had been designed especially for her. It was an exquisite piece of clothing. She knew cutting it was a selfish move.

  It could also have a cathartic effect, like a snake shedding its skin or a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Destroying the gown could be therapeutic and the first step in claiming her new identity. Gone would be her old life, the old her. The new Katherine would surface from the horrible event stronger, better and more vivacious—like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

  “Shit, I’ve lost my mind.”

  Enough with the transformative metaphors. Just do it already.

  The sound of the shears ripping through the heavy silk fabric should have mortified her. After all, she’d spent most of her life in the fashion industry. To any other apparel heiress, what she was doing was a crime so heinous she should be punished with a life sentence on the worst-dressed list. That was the thing about her. She just didn’t care. Never had and never would, she realized, as she tore through the dress. When it lay in a shredded pool of fabric at her ankles, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air for what felt like the first time in an eternity.

  Her cell phone chimed again. She’d received a text message. Choosing to ignore it, she strutted into her bedroom and pulled off the white strapless bra and matching thong. She grabbed a black tank top and a pair of running shorts. Her cell phone rang, and she decided it was time to face the music—or at least see who was calling her, and see what kind of texts and voicemails they’d left.

  A glance at the device’s screen told her she had twelve voicemails. Somewhat methodically, she listened to the messages. The first ten were from her mother. One was from her assistant and the last was a hang up. Tiffany offered to help her in any way she could. She’d even gone so far as to ask if she could handle the press or hold her calls, emails and social media profiles until further notice. Her mother’s messages weren’t quite as friendly.

  She’d threatened her with disinheritance, which was just a bluff anyway, since Ivy and Plaid was her father’s company. Like so many other things in life, her mother had simply taken over the clothing line when they’d married. True, she was mostly responsible for where the company was today. She’d breathed new life into the line. She’d expanded it, reinvented and strengthened their brand. The reality TV show had been her baby as well.

  Sighing, she dropped her cell phone on the bed. She didn’t want to think about her mother or her enterprising ways. Experience told her that her mother wouldn’t take her leaving Nathan at the altar lying down. She’d do everything in her power—and if it was one thing her mother had, it was power—to make sure Katherine mended things with Nathan.

  Grabbing the remote, she flipped on the flat-screen TV that hung on her bedroom wall. Torturing herself, she headed straight for one of the twenty-four hour cable news channels. Standing stock-still, she watched and listened for any mention of her name. She lifted the remote, ready to turn the TV off. She’d been vain to presume running out of her wedding would merit a story on a respectable news station. TMZ or E! sure, but CNN? Probably not. Just as she was about to flip to another channel, she read her name as it came across the crawl at the bottom of the screen.

  Katherine Dawson of Ivy and Plaid Apparel leaves groom Nathan Taylor at the altar. Dawson serves as one of the judges on her family’s reality TV show, A Cut Above, which Taylor executive produces. There is speculation over whether the reality show will come back for a fifth season. An official statement from Dawson’s personal assistant was declined.

  Wonderful. Her life was unraveling and all the public could worry about was whether the show would continue or not. Letting loose with a guttural growl, she threw herself onto her mattress in disgust. Rolling onto her belly, she aimed the remote at the TV and flipped through the channels. On each news and entertainment channel she saw more of the same. Her name scrolling across the bottom along with similar questions. She muted the sound on the TV and hopped off the bed.

  Her face had the waxy, plastic feel of too much cosmetics and she remembered that although she’d stripped out of her wedding garb and loosened her hairstyle, she hadn’t removed her makeup yet. She flipped on the bright lights above the wide mirror. Leaning against the marble counter, she peered at her reflection. The heavily made-up face and false eyelashes juxtaposed with her running attire looked ridiculous. She scrubbed over her cheekbones, eyes and forehead with a washcloth and carefully removed the fake eyelashes. Her fac
e was bare, her skin smooth from lack of cosmetic gunk. Turning her back to the mirror, she leaned against the bathroom counter and folded her arms across her chest.

  She needed to get out of there. Pretty soon—if not already—her apartment would become ground zero for the press, at least until the next celebrity fucked up. Oh how she wished a young starlet would go to rehab or a rapper would assault a member of the paparazzi—anything to turn the spotlight off her life. Looking around the plush white carpeted bedroom, she wondered what she could do.

  Her eyes landed on a photograph of her with her grandma. She walked to the dresser and picked up the heavy silver frame that held the snapshot. In it, she and her grandma stood smiling at the base of Seattle’s famed Space Needle. Running her fingertips over the glass, she stroked her grandmother’s cheek. The picture had been taken nearly ten years ago, when Katherine had still been a teenager. Her grandma had died a couple of years ago. In a move that had outraged and perplexed her mother—the rightful heir—her grandmother had left the majority of her fortune to Katherine instead of her own daughter.

  Her grandmother’s reasoning was that her daughter had slowly eaten away at her inheritance while she’d been living. Besides that, she’d made plenty with her marriage to Katherine’s father. She had controlling interest in a successful clothing apparel company, was a judge on a reality TV series and had landed a multi-million dollar endorsement deal with a high-end wrinkle cream. She bit her lip and giggled as she thought about her mother in the ads. She claimed that her smooth, unlined face was due to using the miracle potion, when in reality her mother had undergone cosmetic surgeries more times than Katherine could count.

  The chirping of her cell broke her out of her reverie. She recognized the special ringtone she’d programmed for Tiffany. She set the frame down as gently as she could then walked to the bed and picked up her cell. She needed to get this over with. She’d have her assistant cancel the honeymoon she’d booked in Bora Bora.

  “Hey, Tiff.”

  “Oh my God! I didn’t expect you to actually pick up. Are you okay?”

  “Well, considering…yes. I’m great. I know that makes me sound like a bitch, but I just…couldn’t do it.”

  “That’s not the story your mom’s feeding to the public. I just thought you should know.”

  “What? She’s already talking to the press?”

  The question was unnecessary. Of course she was. Damage control was practically her middle name. A sick feeling spread throughout her gut. What in the hell was she saying about her? Had she used temporary insanity as her daughter’s reasoning? A drug problem maybe?

  “She’s on TV now, so if you’re near one flip it to any of the news channels. You’ll find her recorded statement there. It’s practically all anyone’s talking about.”

  Whirling around, she glanced at the TV and, sure enough, a close-up shot of her mother’s face filled the flat-screen. Katherine reached for the remote to turn up the sound. She caught sight of the phrases ‘still together’ and ‘working things out’ scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Surely she hadn’t told that blatant a lie?

  She had better not have.

  “I assure you my daughter and Nathan Taylor are still together. I ask that you give my family privacy and time to deal with this hiccup.”

  Katherine let out a gasp. Her mother had some balls, that was for sure. In her ear, Tiffany called to her, asking if she was okay. She shook her head, unable to form words.

  “Yeah, Tiff. Look, I need you to do a few things for me. Number one, keep my mother away from me tonight. Number two, tell no one you’ve talked to me. Three, cancel the trip to Bora Bora. Hell, change the names on the reservations and take your boyfriend on a vacation. Paid in full by me.” After a moment of silence Katherine wanted to ensure her assistant was still on the line. “Are we clear? Silence and keep my mom at bay in exchange for a vacation. I don’t care if you have to bind and gag my mother. Just make sure she gives me my space.”

  “I’ll try. You of all people should know how…persistent she can be. I promise to try to do my best.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you for the free vacation. You’re awesome. What are you going to do, Kat?”

  “Look, I have to go. Enjoy Bora Bora.”

  Katherine hung up before her assistant could ask any more questions. The less she knew, the easier it would be for her to keep their conversation a secret. Her blood boiled thinking about her mother’s lies. If she actually believed that she’d be able to bully her daughter into continuing a relationship with Nathan, she was sorely mistaken. Talking heads on the television continued to chatter about her life. The room spun around her. How had things come to this? Feeling lightheaded, she sat on her bed and looked around her room as though she’d never seen it before. The walls started to close in on her. She knew the signs well enough to know what was happening to her.

  A panic attack was coming on.

  Her pills were in her attaché case, which was still in her foyer where she’d dumped her bags. Experience told her that she was too woozy to walk that far at the moment. She turned her TV off. It didn’t matter what was happening. Right now there was nothing she could do to stop it. Closing her eyes, she tried the deep-breathing exercises that her doctor advocated. Her adrenaline was spiking. Her heart pounded in her ears like a bass drum. She tried to fight against the onslaught, dragging air in and out of her nose. It felt like her lungs were in a vise. Her breathing was shallow. Her hands were shaking.

  God, I need my pills.

  Her eyes flew open at the thought, and she started to cry. Not just cry, but weep uncontrollably. Heavy sobs racked her body and it pissed her off. This was not the kind of person she wanted to be. Just another poor little rich girl plagued with anxiety and popping pills to help deal with shit. Adrenaline, anxiety and anger all blended as one in her veins. Frustrated, she let out a wail and a curse. Getting some of it out helped a little.

  Her heart rate slowed, her breathing became deeper. Opening her eyes, she tried to find a focal point. Her gaze came to rest on the photograph of her and her grandma in Seattle. That had been one of the best trips of her life. She tried to take herself out of the painful and stressful events that had transpired today and go back to that time, focusing, on the emotions and experiences she’d had nearly ten years ago.

  She breathed deeply and remembered the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Smiling, she thought of the way the sun had bounced off the waters of Puget Sound. Or the sounds of chatter around her, while she, her grandmother and her grandmother’s friend Marie had shopped at Pike Place Market. Suddenly it all made sense to her.

  The anxiety attacks, the need to escape her impending nuptials with Nathan, the desire to run away? It was because she didn’t belong here—not just in New York City, but in her life, in the role she’d been given as Katherine Dawson, heiress to one of America’s largest clothing dynasties. Socialite extraordinaire. Reality TV star. Fashion plate.

  That wasn’t her. It wasn’t who she really was. She’d become a character, shaped and molded by the media and her mother.

  But if that wasn’t her, then who was she?

  What did she want? What did she like? What were her interests? At age twenty-six she should be able to answer such questions without hesitation, but she couldn’t. She’d always loved to eat and the few times she’d tried her hand at cooking, she’d loved it. Things like stirring a pot or dicing vegetables soothed her. She also liked travel, not that she’d been able to do much of that in the last five years or so. If she wasn’t taping the TV show, she was promoting it or the new fall or spring line. When the show or clothing line wasn’t keeping her busy, she was being photographed for a magazine or being interviewed on a talk show.

  That was the thing about life as Katherine Dawson. It just never stopped. She’d never had a chance to really slow down and discover who she was, what she wanted or even what she was good at. Instead, what she’d become good at was pleas
ing her mother, becoming the face of Ivy and Plaid and later A Cut Above. Had she gone through with marrying Nathan today, she would’ve added ‘wife to a rising TV mogul’ to the list.

  But none of that made up who she was. Not really. Not by a long shot. At her core she must really be someone else, or else she wouldn’t be reacting this way. If she loved being in the limelight, she wouldn’t suffer from crippling anxiety. If she’d wanted to continue to garner money, power and become a pop culture icon, then she wouldn’t have left Nathan at the altar. As her body restored itself to a normal rhythm, an idea began to take shape.

  What if she just left it all behind? What if she went back to Seattle and tried to figure out who she was? She was already packed for her honeymoon. She could just swap out some of her flashier, tropical weather outfits for some less conspicuous warmer clothes.

  She dragged her suitcases into the bedroom and dumped the contents onto her bed. The mattress was littered with lacy negligees, a silk teddy, bright-colored bikinis and sundresses. She tossed several hoodies, some fleece and flannel garments, along with a pair of rain boots and jeans, into her empty bag. Satisfied that she’d packed enough, she grabbed a ball cap and shoved her hair under it. She donned a large pair of sunglasses then tossed her purse into her attaché case and put it along with her duffle bag onto her shoulder and left her apartment. She went back down the private elevator to the back entrance. Once she was in the parking garage, she set out on foot to where her car was parked. Thank heavens she hadn’t listened to her mother’s snide comments about driving a Prius. She’d pressured Katherine to upgrade the hybrid to a vehicle that made more of a statement of wealth, preferably a German luxury car or a gas-guzzling Hummer.

  Pulling out of her building’s garage, she turned her head to the left and saw several reporters had gathered at the curb. None of them even glanced at her Prius. Not wanting to tempt fate, she made a right turn out of the parking garage and away from the paparazzi camped out front.