by Leighton, M.
The Peachburg accounts are the ones that Daddy and I went to the Caymans to look at. At the time I thought nothing of him bringing along a “team” to help and to familiarize themselves with the accounts, but now it seems like much more. Now, it makes sense.
“No, ma’am. I think Garrett Dickinson is handling most of that now.”
The blow is crushing. The disappointment of reality sits on my chest like a five-hundred-pound gorilla. My suspicion was correct.
“Okay, thank you. I’ll be in touch with a date when you can open up my schedule.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I’m ready to hang up when Del stops me. “Marissa?”
“Yes?”
“Is everything okay? I mean, you can talk to me if you need to.”
I can tell her offer is genuine. If anything, I think her kindness actually hurts. It’s not that I’ve ever been mean to Deliane, but I’ve never treated her as anything more than an employee. A lowly one. I’ve never given her more thought than a go-between for all the people I know and the activities we’re involved in. She could’ve been automated for all the credit I gave her.
But now I see very clearly that she’s a real person, one much better than me. She’s extending an offer of help and comfort to someone who’s never given her more than the most basic of polite gestures. She’s rushing to the aid of someone who doesn’t merit her consideration.
“Thank you, Del. I might take you up on that,” I say, even though I know I won’t. She doesn’t deserve me unloading on her.
“You’ve got my cell. Call me anytime.”
“I appreciate that, Del. I’ll be in touch.”
After we disconnect, I let my phone drop to the carpet between my feet. I think back over the years since I graduated law school and passed the bar exam. I think of all the accounts my father has “brought me in on” or told me he’s “grooming me to take over.” Each one, for one reason or another, ended up being someone else’s baby while he moved me on to something else. Every meeting he ever asked me to attend was more an informal kind of meet-and-greet than anything with teeth, anything where we actually reviewed numbers or talked real business. What my father has been grooming me for is to be the wife of an important person. He’s taught me how to conduct myself in the company of some of the richest, most powerful people in the world. He’s taught me how to raise tons of money for causes that make us look like decent people, and he’s taught me how to throw a party with the best of them. But not once has he ever trusted me with something that’s actually important, that requires the knowledge I went to school for years to obtain.
Not. Once.
All along, he’s seen me as the wife of a politician, one he can carry in his hip pocket to use for favors and influence when he needs it. He’s raised and groomed a pawn, nothing more. And the realization is devastating.
All sorts of random memories come crashing down around me—my father asking me to sing for an Asian diplomat when I was a child; my father refusing to let me date any boys other than the sons of his influential friends; my father getting me into law school when I was still undecided on my major; my father introducing me to all the “right friends” in law school; my father asking me to wear a nearly transparent dress and “forget” my underwear when I went with him to dinner on an oil tycoon’s yacht. I was seventeen at the time. I didn’t object because I was always so happy when Daddy gave me attention, I didn’t care what it was he was asking me to do. It’s been that way all my life, anything to win Daddy’s approval, anything for a smile or a pat on the head. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been vying for his attention, begging for his love and doing anything to get the tiniest drop of it. I didn’t even realize how twisted it was or what a monster I was becoming. Like my father, I gave no thought to anyone but myself and saw everything and everyone as a means to an end. My end. My father’s end.
I’ve been the ultimate party favor since I was able to “perform.” A whore. Not always for money and not always using sex, but a whore nonetheless.
Like living a lifetime in a daze, I feel shell-shocked and bruised, bruised by the harsh light of reality.
Since the kidnapping, I’ve felt like a stranger in the world around me. Now I know why. It was a lie. All of it. One big lie.
Feeling claustrophobic, I slip on some slacks and heels and grab my purse. I need to focus on something real, something genuine. If not, I might shatter like a crystal goblet, explode into a shower of diamond-bright drops that hit the ground and disappear into nothingness.
Tears are streaming down my face as I climb into my car and race down the street, away from the familiar. My phone signals that another text has come in. I glance at it and my heart squeezes even tighter inside my chest.
Two words. From someone I’ll never be good enough for.
U ok?
I ignore it as my sobs fill the quiet interior of the car. Purposely, I think of Olivia. I owe her what little bit of goodness I might have inside me. I owe it to her to get the dangerous associations of her boyfriend’s family off the streets, to get her out of harm’s way if I can.
I guide the car to the jeweler that my family and most of the partners at the firm have always used to buy gems and settings that dazzle. I laugh bitterly as I pull into a spot outside the small, unassuming shop.
I’d always thought we were in the business of justice, albeit the corporate, financial kind. But that was never the case, I feel sure. I think on some level, I always suspected my father used influential people to get certain things, but I never wanted to see it. I never really wanted to see past the beautiful lie of the outside. I went along with it all. I let him use me in some of his manipulations. Because I was weak.
Like the jewelry my father purchased here, I was nothing more than a shiny bauble to dangle in front of just the right people. Without even realizing it, I was in the business of bedazzling people. And I learned from the best how to use something bright and shiny to distract others from what lies beneath. I’m nothing more than a diamond-encrusted space. I’m hollow on the inside. Full of nothingness. Empty.
Wiping my eyes, I drag myself from behind the wheel. A delicate bell signals my entrance to the store. An attendant greets me in the foyer. She calls me by name.
“Ms. Townsend, so nice to see you again. What can we help you find today?”
“Something emerald. For a friend.”
The shop is set up so that there are different foci in different areas. You can walk from room to room via adjoining doors, but if you know what you want, an attendant will simply take you to the room with the type of jewelry or stone you’re looking for. I know from past experiences that emeralds, rubies, and pearls are in the third room on the left, so I follow the girl down the long, wide hallway, glancing in at each luxuriously appointed room as we pass.
A familiar profile catches my eye and my step falters. I’d probably recognize it anywhere, especially in a place like this where his ponytail and goatee are particularly out of place.
It’s Nash. But what in the world is he doing here? He’d said he was with Cash, which means he lied.
He’s alone in the room, with only one male attendant. He’s looking at bracelets, likely diamond ones considering which area he’s in. But why? And for whom?
He had to have asked Cash where he could go for jewelry. This place isn’t exactly on the beaten path. But why would he lie? Unless he didn’t want me to know, didn’t want me to ask questions.
I feel betrayed and near tears, and I jump when the attendant speaks to me. “Would you like to look at the diamond bracelets instead?”
“Uh, no. No, I’m only interested in emeralds.”
I hurry to move away from the doorway, unwilling to get caught in such a humiliating situation. My feet feel leaden as I follow the girl farther into the back of the store. I’m having trouble focusing on why I even came to the jewelry store in th
e first place. My enthusiasm for picking out a wonderful present for Olivia is even more dampened now.
It only takes me a few minutes to find the perfect gift for her, but I browse a lot longer. I don’t want to risk running into Nash.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, I make the purchase so I can leave. On my way out, I look cautiously into each room as I head down the hall toward the exit. I’m relieved that there seems to be no sign of Nash.
As I’m getting into the car, my phone sounds again. It’s a text. And it makes my heart hurt. Again.
U ok?
Again, I ignore it. Nash is playing games that are far beyond my ability to withstand. I thought I could take the heat, but I think I gave myself way too much credit.
I refuse to shed any of the tears that threaten the backs of my eyes. I give myself a quiet talking-to, something to help me keep my focus where it needs to be.
I’m going home to pack a small bag and then I’m heading to Salt Springs. I’ll see if Ginger needs any help getting things ready for Olivia’s party. I gave Ginger Cash’s number. If she didn’t tell him to invite Nash or if Cash didn’t think to, it’s not my fault. He can just stay in Atlanta and wonder where everyone went.
That thought gives me some small amount of satisfaction. I like the idea that he will realize he doesn’t have me under his thumb. Everything that has happened so far, I’ve let happen. I’ve been a willing participant. But the instant I decide it has to stop, it will. The end.
A tiny, irritating voice speaks up from the back of my mind. It’s laughing at me, asking if I really think it will be that easy to just walk away from Nash.
Much as I did Nash’s text, I ignore it.
My jaw aches from clenching my teeth in determination, but I feel somewhat accomplished an hour later when I zip my small overnight bag closed. The prospect of getting out of this condo, out of Atlanta is incredibly appealing at the moment.
I hear the front door slam and my heart stutters in my chest. I wonder if I’ll always have that reaction now, whether rational or not. Once my brain kicks in, it reminds me that it’s got to be either Olivia or Nash. Or Cash, although unlikely. They’re the only ones who could even possibly have keys and I locked the door.
I wait a little breathlessly for the footsteps to make their way to my bedroom. When Nash’s big body fills the doorway, my heart skips another beat. He’s so incredibly handsome. And so incredibly angry.
“Why the fu—hell haven’t you answered my texts?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was required to.”
His teeth are gritted. I can practically hear them grinding. He hisses through them. “You’re not required to. It’s just common courtesy. I thought you rich, snobby bitches were all about pretending you have manners and putting on a good show.”
Although I know he’s probably using it as a generality, it still stings to hear him lump me in with bitches. “Maybe we rich, snobby bitches don’t always follow the rules.”
I see the anger in his eyes dim. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I suspect that he didn’t, but I refuse to ease his conscience by saying so.
“Maybe you should learn to watch your tongue.”
“Believe me, I don’t say half of what I’m thinking when I’m around you.”
“Well, then maybe you should say what you mean.”
Nash stomps across the room and stops with less than an inch between us. At nearly five nine, I’m tall for a girl, but he still towers over me. I resist the urge to back up. Rather, I raise my chin and meet his eyes in defiance.
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear that.”
“Maybe not, but maybe I need to hear it.”
His fingers wind around my upper arms like bands of carbon steel and he pulls me tight against his chest. I get the feeling he’d like to shake me. “I haven’t given you enough reason to hate me? To stay the hell away from me?”
“Maybe now you finally have,” I spit through the tight line of my lips. He’s not the only one who can get angry.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
We stare at each other, both unwilling to give an inch, but both unwilling to walk away. For the first time, I can see past his carefully crafted façade. He doesn’t want to want me, he doesn’t want to feel anything for me, but I think he’s beginning to, despite all the warnings and reasons that he shouldn’t.
After what feels like an eternity, Nash releases my arms and takes a step back. He reaches up to smooth hair that isn’t mussed back into his ponytail. His eyes flicker to the bed and stop.
“Going somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact I am. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His eyes slide back to mine and narrow. “Were you even going to bother telling me?”
I narrow my eyes right back at him. “I figured I’d text you later.”
Since you’re so fond of that method of delivering your lies.
“Later, huh?”
I can see the sparks in his eyes again.
“You don’t check in to tell me every detail of your life and your day.”
It feels good to get a little dig in, especially considering his recent trip to the jewelry store, a trip that he lied about. But when I see his lips twitch, I realize my barbs aren’t even making a dent. He finds it amusing.
Of all the times to get a sense of humor . . .
It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating!
“Somebody’s got a temper,” he says playfully.
I feel like stomping my foot. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
When Nash takes the step to bring him back closer to me, it’s not in anger this time. There’s something else in his eyes. And it makes my knees weak.
He reaches out and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, tugging until my nose is nearly touching his. His voice is little more than a whisper when he speaks. “I can be very . . . therapeutic if you need to get some of that anger out. Want me to show you?”
Looking into his eyes, listening to the velvet of his voice, I feel dazed. Mesmerized. Hypnotized. If not for his secret trip to the jewelry store, I’d press my lips to his and sink into the distraction of him like a stone in water.
But I can’t get past the lie so easily. Of all the things I can tolerate from him, that I can overlook and deal with, dishonesty isn’t one. When most of my life is built on lies, I need something that’s real and honest. And I thought that was Nash.
But I was wrong.
Holding his gaze, I take a purposeful step backward. I let a chill drip into my voice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
One dark brow rises. I don’t know if it’s in surprise or in challenge, but it causes a little shiver to skitter down my spine.
“Fair enough.” Slowly, he turns and walks back to the door. He looks back at the last minute, his lips still curved. “I’ll leave you to your packing, then.”
I don’t move until I hear the front door open and close. As I carry my bag into the living room, I can’t help but feel like I just lost some sort of battle.
TWENTY-ONE
Nash
Cash mentioned Olivia’s birthday in passing. Her present was one of the things I went with him to pick out today. What he really wanted me along for, though, was to ask me if I’d be his best man. He’s planning to propose to Olivia.
“I know it seems like it’s too soon, which is why I’m not doing it now. And definitely not around her birthday. But I want to go ahead and get the ring, so that when the time is right, I’ll have it,” Cash said this morning on the way to the jewelry store.
“What the hell do you need me for, then? I’m no diamond expert.”
Cash shrugged. “Mainly because I wanted to ask if you’d be my best man.”
I’m sure my shock resonated in the car like the thud of a bass drum.
“No offense, man, but why?”
“There’s no doubt I know Gavin better. He’d be the logical choice. And I happen to like him a lot better, too.” He glanced over at me and grinned. I know he was probably telling the truth—no doubt he does like Gavin better—but what he was saying is that I’m his brother. I’m his blood. And it’s the one thing that can’t be erased, the one bond that can’t be broken, no matter how estranged we are.
And I understand what he feels. I feel the same way.
“But I’m your brother. I get it.”
He looked away from the road long enough to glance at me again, then nodded. That’s how I knew we were on the same page.
“So, you in?”
I took a minute or two to consider what he was asking, as well as my willingness to make such a commitment. I wouldn’t tell him yes if I wasn’t sure I could hold up my end of the bargain.
“Yeah, I’m in.”
Cash nodded again. He knew what I meant was that, come hell or high water, if I’m alive when his wedding rolls around, I’ll be there. I’ll be his best man.
After that, we fell into a fairly comfortable silence. I went with him into the most unconventional jewelry store I’ve ever seen. It was more like an old house converted into a posh store. It had different rooms for different types of jewelry. I’d never seen anything like it. Cash said it was one his law firm favored. He’d probably bought something for Marissa from there, although I didn’t bring that up. Not really out of deference to him; more because I didn’t really want to know.
He picked out a nice bracelet for Olivia for her birthday, then went off by himself with some woman into a room where they keep loose diamonds. Evidently he’s going all-out and having something unique crafted for her.