“I don’t know about you, but I’m very excited about this. Your internship doesn’t technically start until January, but I would love to get started right away,” Hannah said.
“Yes, certainly,” Willow quickly agreed.
“Good,” Hannah purred as she pulled out her phone. “My schedule is insane until after the holidays. I’ll be all over the globe for the next few months. It would be easier if you could give me your class schedule, and I’ll work something out.”
While Willow recited her class load, Hannah typed the information into her notes on her phone. After she was finished, Hannah asked, “Do you have any other time commitments I should know about?”
“Nothing that I have to be at besides my classes,” Willow answered.
“Fabulous,” Hannah said. “We’re going to have so much fun together. You do have a passport?”
“No, not yet, but I can get one.”
“Do it,” Hannah commanded, “right away. You should probably see if it can’t be rushed. We’ll do Paris in February and Milan after that. While we are over there, we might want to stop by some German fashion houses as well.”
Paris, Milan, Germany—Willow’s head was spinning. In all of her twenty-two years, she had yet to leave the state of Texas. They would have so much fun together? Fun didn’t even begin to describe it. Stealing one of Hannah’s signature taglines, this was going to be fabulous.
Later that evening, Hannah relaxed in her bathtub. As the soothing aromas filled her senses, she closed her eyes and imagined Willow. It was hardly a stretch to recall her smooth porcelain skin or sparkling green eyes as Hannah had thought of little else in the last six months. Like everything else in her life, when she was obsessed, she did it big time.
It seemed such a shame, given Willow’s pathetically morose childhood, that fate had intervened and given her the ability to thrive in such mediocrity. Homeless shelters, an absentee father, and, no doubt, a dead-junkie mommy had all the makings for a perfect pet. And Willow would be perfect.
From the moment Hannah saw her on stage, she knew Willow was the one, the only one. A smile curled her angel-bowed lips as she imagined all the things she could do with her. The possibilities were endless. The only tricky part was negotiating that razor-thin line of things she could do and things that might be deemed illegal. If she were given complete and free reign, Hannah would start by locking Willow in her room and keeping her there forever. With Willow as her pet, there would never be a need to leave again. It would be the perfect world.
Zachary Bell was the one dark cloud in her otherwise beautiful vision. Long term, he wouldn’t work for Hannah. Where was Dmitri when she needed him? Stashed away in a Russian prison for the rest of his life because the damn fool got sloppy. Hannah felt herself grow tense and forcibly made herself relax. There were other ways to depose of the loser musician.
Once again, Hannah started to recoil in disgust. He wasn’t just a loser—he was a goddamn pimp. What could Willow possibly be thinking? Didn’t she know she deserved better? She deserved Hannah. Now that Willow was hers, she would never need to degrade herself again. No more stripping for strangers. Willow would be treated like a princess, like royalty, because now that she was Hannah’s, she was.
Chapter 4
Hannah played nice for the first week. By the start of the second week, Willow was beginning to realize what she meant by good days versus bad days. Hannah had failed to mention that in between the days, she also had good minutes and bad minutes. Her mercurial emotions flipped with the ease of a light switch. One moment she was happy and giddy and the next she was cursing a blue streak.
Most of the time, Willow sat back silently, watching mesmerized, like standing in front of a fire and waiting for it to explode. Willow figured Hannah had some serious anger issues or quite possibly the worst case of PMS since the dawn of time. Occasionally, Hannah’s verbal attacks were more personal, more directed towards her, but she held her tongue. Still being new on the job, and not knowing Hannah well enough to know how she might react, she thought it might not be in her best interest to tell her to quit being such a bitch.
But the storm would pass just as soon as it blew in and, once again, Hannah was back to being sweet and outrageously generous. Whenever she was in town, Hannah came each morning with a bouquet of fresh flowers. At first, Willow assumed they were for the office and sat them in the empty reception area as Hannah had yet to hire a receptionist.
That morning, Hannah walked into Willow’s office, which was just across the hall from her own. “Do you have allergies?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“You put my flowers out front,” Hannah said, sounding almost hurt.
“I thought they were office décor.”
“Who the fuck is going to come in here? One of our zero clients? You haven’t even designed anything yet,” Hannah hissed. “I bought them for you.”
“Sorry,” Willow said, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize.”
The flowers were only a small token. One of Hannah’s more costly presents was allowing Willow to decorate her office. Hannah said that she didn’t want to impede Willow’s creative process by filling her surroundings with furniture that wasn’t to her taste, and repeatedly told her that money wasn’t an object. They spent an entire afternoon huddled together in front of Hannah’s iPad, shopping online.
Considering the small fortune Hannah dished out, you would think that the stuff might come preassembled, but that wasn’t the case. Box after box was delivered, and once all was said and done, there had to be at least a thousand different pieces. Hannah remained uncharacteristically silent. She didn’t pop in until late in the afternoon. Willow was standing helplessly in the middle of a pile of oak planks, or was it bamboo, her numbed brain couldn’t remember.
Hannah started laughing. Unlike the polite chuckles that are reserved for people you don’t know that well, Hannah was truly full of mirth, and the sight was so dazzling Willow’s heart did a strange little flip-flop.
After a moment, she wiped her eyes. “Do you want some help with that?”
Willow’s brow puckered with frown. On any given day, Hannah seemed like a lot of things, though a handyman was never one of them. Still a little put-off by her strange reaction, Willow shrugged, “Have at it.”
Much to her amazement, fifteen minutes later her office was fully assembled. “I never knew you were so good with your hands,” Willow admitted.
“That’s because you thought I was just a pretty face,” Hannah playfully chided with a wink.
Yet, Willow could not ignore all Hannah’s faults. The paper she kept on her at all times was just a classic example. Hannah had called it a schedule; Willow thought of it as a color-coded monstrosity. At first, Willow thought it was some sort of joke, but she quickly discovered Hannah fully expected her to follow it to the letter. Every minute of every day had been carefully plotted out in a spreadsheet. It took Willow a few days to get over feeling slightly resentful—after all, Hannah had only allotted one hour per week, on a Thursday evening, for what she coded as private time with Zach. And the internship hadn’t even officially started yet.
Just when she was beginning to have second, third, and fourth doubts about signing the contract, one conversation changed everything. After her office was officially organized, Willow sat down at her new desk ready to create, but nothing came to mind. The problem was she wasn’t creating for herself. She was designing for Hannah’s label and the one thing she hadn’t been clear about was her expectations. Willow’s personal tastes always ran slightly outside the lines, but with Hannah’s name and reputation attached, she didn’t want create anything too far out there. The self-imposed limitations were putting a plug in her creative well.
For three days, Willow fretted and stewed that nothing looked right. Hannah tried to remain inconspicuous, but Willow was well aware of her impatient hovering. When she finally told Hannah she had something for her, Hannah was so excited she practically ski
pped into her office.
On pins and needles, Willow watched as Hannah silently studied the drawing for several long moments. After what felt like an eternity, Hannah said flatly, “I like it.”
“You hate it,” Willow said. It felt strange that they had only worked together for a few weeks, but she knew Hannah was lying. Truthfully, she didn’t know much about Hannah. Nothing more than her public persona, but Willow knew what she hated.
“No…” Hannah denied, biting her lip, “…I don’t hate it…” She paused and let out an impatient breath. “What the fuck is this? This is nothing like your portfolio.”
“I just thought…” Willow started to explain.
Hannah quickly interrupted. “You just thought what? That I wanted to sell naughty underwear at some goddamn discount department store?”
“I didn’t know what you wanted.”
“I wanted what I saw,” Hannah answered honestly. She reached out, placed her hands on Willow’s shoulders, and began massaging away her nervous tension. “Stop worrying about what I want. I want the Willow that first caught my eye. Let her come out and play, and anything you create I’ll adore.”
Willow began to relax. Hannah did have the magic touch. Her scalp massages were to die for. At first, Willow didn’t know what to think of Hannah’s overly demonstrative nature. Whenever they were in a room together, Hannah was always touching her, petting her, or massaging some part of her exposed skin. When they left to go on an errand or to lunch, Hannah insisted on holding her hand. Honestly, in the beginning, Willow privately began to wonder if Hannah was trying to come on to her, but as there was nothing particularly sexual about her touch, she just as soon dismissed the notion. It was just Hannah’s way. With all her quirks, she was an impossible riddle to solve.
This was just another one of her long list of oddities. If Willow wasn’t mistaken, Hannah had just given her complete and utter creative freedom. This from the same woman who had also given her a bedtime—per the schedule, she was supposed to be in bed by eleven o’clock on the weekdays and midnight on the weekends. Yet, in the only aspect of their working relationship that could have a direct impact on Hannah’s career, she had surrendered the reigns without a thought.
It was because of that little piece of freedom Willow no longer minded the hours or the fact that her life, for the next several months, now revolved around Hannah. The hours of the day dragged until she got to the office and every evening Willow dreaded leaving it. As promised, Hannah was frequently absent. Willow still loved the work, but she could not ignore how quiet and subdued it felt without her. When Hannah returned, the office was alive and filled with energy—sometimes an insane energy as Hannah still had her crazier-than-a-loon moments, but Willow’s creative spirit poured until sometimes her hand couldn’t work fast enough for her mind.
Always being very open, particularly when it came to her sexuality, it was strange that it was Zachary who had to point out the obvious. It was in the middle of January during their weekly happy hour. They were sitting on the couch together watching a porno. Zachary was beginning to worry about Willow’s increasing lack of libido. Although she tried to reassure him several times it wasn’t him—it was the work. Being on such a high all day long, she often came home drained and exhausted. He had thought that the skin-flick might be just the thing to get her juices flowing. They were watching a not-so- impressive blowjob scene when a thought raced through her brain. Instinctively, she reached for her phone and started to text Hannah.
“Come on, Willow,” Zachary groaned in frustration.
“What?”
“You’re texting her now.”
“It will only take me a second. I just want to get this down before I forget,” Willow murmured without looking up.
Zachary pulled the phone out of her hands. “No, it won’t. You’ll text her, she’ll text you back, one of you will call the other, and you’ll go back to the bedroom and talk until you fall asleep. It’s the same thing every night. Seriously, what do the two of you possibly have to talk about? You see her all day long.”
“Zachary…” Willow pouted. “I’m sorry, but this is really exciting. We’re both just really excited about it.”
“It’s more than that—at least it is for you,” Zachary denied. “Even when you’re not talking to her, all you ever talk about is her. Willow, this is me, babe. You know you can talk to me if there is something you need to say.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re attracted to her,” Zachary stated.
“I work for her,” Willow denied. “We have a professional relationship.”
“I’m not saying you don’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck her too. Look Willow, its fine. I’m cool with that. At this point, I just wish you would do it and get her out of your system. Maybe things would get back to normal,” Zachary explained.
As if on cue, Willow’s phone began to ring. He looked down and then handed it over. “It’s Hannah,” he said and then kissed her cheek. “I’m going out tonight. See you in the morning.”
Once he stood to leave, Willow answered, “Hey, I was getting ready to text you…”
Later that night after they had hung up, Willow thought about what Zachary had said. As she had been frequently attracted to other women, it was hardly an earthshattering revelation. For the past several weeks, Willow had shared long hours in close quarters with a dynamic, phenomenally beautiful woman, so on some level it was almost to be expected. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple and uncomplicated as Zachary suggested. There would no fucking Hannah out of her system. For starters, Hannah wasn’t a lesbian. Secondly, even if she were gay, Willow was sure she would have some equally fabulous girlfriend stashed away in her closet. She decided that like many great artist before her, she would use her unrequited desire constructively by redirecting it into her art.
Chapter 5
“Hannah, did you call someone about the thermostat?” Willow called out from her office.
When she came in this morning, it felt a little stuffy, but now in the middle of the afternoon it had to be at least ninety-five degrees in here. Willow felt like she was literally sweating to death. There was no way she could work in this sauna.
“They said they would get here later today,” Hannah yelled back just before her phone began to ring.
For someone on hiatus, her phone rang constantly. Because of their open doors, Willow could hear Hannah’s side of the conversation and knew most of them were work related with an occasional sprinkling of old friends. She wasn’t the type of person who believed in individualized ring tones, but there was call that came through at least twenty times a day that had that special honor. Most of the time, Hannah wouldn’t answer, but when she did, she closed her door so Willow couldn’t hear. Every time the door closed, Willow grew insatiably curious.
Willow became so hot she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She pulled off her layers of clothing until she was sitting at her desk wearing only a black bra and a pair of jeans. She felt only marginally relieved. Hannah’s special tone began to ring for the tenth time that day. Willow smirked when she heard Hannah groan a loud, “Fuck!”
Hannah angrily reached for her phone and started to move towards her door to close it when she spotted Willow sitting there in her bra. She did a double take before she closed the door without her usual finesse. Leaning back against the closed door, Hannah closed her eyes and let out of a soft groan before answering with a spiteful, “What?”
“I need you,” the voice called from the other end. “I can’t live without you.”
“Considering you managed just fine for several years before you met me, I think that is a bit of an overstatement.”
“Hannah, please,” the voice begged through her sloppy sobs.
“Francesca, this has to stop. I already told you it is over. What part of that are you not getting?” Hannah questioned impatiently.
“HANNAH!” Francesca screeched with a piercing
cry and then proceeded scream a bunch of nonsense.
Hannah rolled her eyes as she pulled the phone away from her ear. She sat the phone down on her desk and started looking over a document on her laptop, ignoring the tirade. After several minutes, she picked it back up and spoke calmly “This is why I don’t take your calls. You don’t make any goddamn sense.”
“I mean it this time, Hannah. If you won’t see me, I’ll kill myself.”
Hannah began to rub at her temple. The atrocious sound of Francesca’s blubbering was causing a headache. Two weeks ago, she had threatened with pills. Last week, she had a blade. Hannah could hardly wait to discover what she had in store this time. Some might call these cries for help; Hannah thought they were just pathetic ploys for her attention.
“I can’t keep doing this,” Hannah said flatly. “Obviously, you need help. Next time instead of calling me, maybe you should phone a medical professional.”
“I want you to watch me die. I want you to see what you’ve done to me,” Francesca said with an eerie, childlike voice. “I can see you.”
Hannah whirled around in her chair and looked out the large glass window that overlooked the downtown skyline. “What the fuck, Francesca?” she growled. A few seconds later, she spotted Francesca—a lone figure standing on the roof of one of the skyscrapers. The psychotic bitch actually waved at her. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Get the fuck off that roof!”
“I’m going to jump,” Francesca called gleefully with her arm stretched wide like a wing.
“This is it!” Hannah screamed. “This is absolutely the last fucking time I am dealing with you. I’ll be there in a few minutes, but if you don’t stop stalking me, I swear I’ll get a goddamn restraining order.”
Hannah hung up the phone and tossed it angrily into her purse. Of all fucking days, she grumbled under her breath. Francesca decided to jump on the one day Willow was working half-naked. Now instead of enjoying the view, Hannah had to go deal with her lunatic ex-pet. The arrangements always ended badly, but Francesca took the cake. Hannah had never had a more annoyingly insistent stalker.
Crazy Bitch (Bitches and Queens) Page 3