by Liz Durano
The sight of the black credit card on the writing table in the living room surprises me. It bears my name and with it another note from Heath.
This is for you to use for whatever you need. - Heath
I frown. Whatever feelings of elation I had felt minutes earlier come crashing down at my feet as I angrily search for my phone, which is in the living room. My hand is shaking as I dial his number.
"Hi," Heath murmurs. "How are you feeling this morning?”
"I'm not sure.”
"Are you alright?"
"No, I'm angry, and I feel cheap. Like I've been bought."
"If you're talking about what happened last night-"
"I'm talking about this credit card you left for me with my name on it," I snap.
"I requested one for you when we left New York, but since we've been flying so much, they've only been able to courier it this morning..." Then he pauses. "Wait! If you think that that card is for last night—"
"Isn't it?"
“No, it’s not, Billie. Last night was beautiful. It—”
"—is not happening again," I snap. I'm angry and ashamed, humiliated even. Most of all, I'm so disappointed with myself for letting last night happen at all. Maybe Blythe was right. I am desperate—so desperate that I'd end up sleeping with the first man I’d meet.
"Billie, listen to me, that card—"
"I don't care about the card, okay? You already bought me, Heath—all of me.”
"We need to talk about this in person, not over the phone," he says. “I'll be right there."
"No, you won't," I snap at him. "You're going to stay where you are and do what you need to do, which is to hold off whatever legal shit that's coming down on Blythe, and you better keep that end of the bargain. I'm here to do one thing, and I will do it. So don't you dare come back to the hotel just to calm me down. As far as you and I are concerned, last night was just business."
There's silence on the line, and I hear him exhale. "Are you done?"
I don't say anything, the edge of his voice enough to make my belly tighten.
"Does everything have to be associated with money for you, Billie? Are you that hard on yourself that you won't even allow anyone to give you anything at all? And I don't mean money."
"Last night should never have happened. It just made everything complicated between us."
"If anything, I'd like to believe that it's made things simpler between us, Billie. I trust you. I like you—a lot, in case you haven't noticed. And I'd like to think that you feel the same way about me."
"As far as you and I are concerned, Heath, what we have is a business arrangement—one that involves my sister's safety," I say before hanging up the phone.
Taking a quick shower, I unzip the makeup bag that Alicia’s makeup artists had put together for me. This time, I apply my makeup the way I’ve seen Blythe do, and it feels like I’m putting on someone else’s armor. But I don’t care. I don’t want to be naive Billie anymore, not if she's supposed to be playing in the bigger pond.
I pick a white dress with red and pink flowers to wear, along with a big hat perfect for a visit to the country club where I hope to catch Blythe. I even wear high heels, just like Blythe would wear. I feel like a kid again, back when we used to fool people that we were the other twin, and even though I know it’s just a way for me to distract myself from what I’m really feeling, it works. When I stand in front of the mirror and preen the way I've seen Blythe do, I even feel like a million bucks.
As I make my way to the lobby, I see Fred reading the Wall Street Journal, looking so unlike the security specialist that he is. Unlike Wally, who is probably in his late 30's or early 40's, Fred is much older with salt and pepper hair and probably in his 60’s. He even reminds me of my dad.
"Good morning, Miss Delphine," Fred says as he gets up from his chair, tucking the newspaper under his arm. He has this habit of wearing sunglasses everywhere, and there’s a clear plastic earpiece looped behind his ear that I’ve seen the rest of the security people wear. “Where would you like to go?"
"You're in charge of me today?"
"Yes, Miss," he says. "I can drive you anywhere you want to go.”
“So is your name just Fred?”
“It’s short for Fredricks,” he replies. “And Wally is short for Walthers.”
“So they’re your last names?”
He nods. “It’s much easier that way.”
”How long have you worked for Heath?"
“My company has provided security for the Kheiron family for almost thirty years," he replies.
If he notices how snarky I'm being, Fred doesn't say anything. “So you know all about his father’s mistresses?"
"It's not my place to say anything about their personal lives, nor their choices. But yes, he did have lady friends."
I can’t help but chuckle at the way he says lady friends. He’s a man who keeps secrets well, but then, it’s part of his job.
"Do you know what time Ethan and his party left?"
He glances at his watch. "Mr. Kheiron left at seven, and your sister left at ten, along with the rest of Mr. Kheiron’s staff.”
“You mean, Ethan?”
“Yes.”
I glance towards the front desk, remembering my plan yesterday when Heath and I first returned from the country club. With Blythe's driver's license and passport inside my purse, I figure if I do this right, I can find out where her suite is. I could even make it inside, and maybe, I could even find the letters myself and delay Blythe’s departure.
No letters meant no passport.
"I'll be right back," I tell Fred as I turn around and head for the reception desk.
A young woman is standing behind the reception desk closest to me, and I flash her the biggest, sweetest smile I can manage.
"I just realized that I left something in my suite, but forgot my key card,” I say, my voice going an octave higher.
She smiles. "I can give you another key, Miss Delphine, no problem. I just need to see your identification. I’m sorry, but it’s company policy, even if I know you came with-”
“That’s okay. I totally understand.” I pull out Blythe's driver's license from my clutch and hand it to her.
She takes a few moments to program a new key card, and as she hands it to me, along with Blythe's driver's license, my resolve almost crumbles when she narrows her eyes.
"Do you know your suite number, Miss Delphine?” she asks.
"Remind me again," I say carelessly, pretending to stifle a yawn before giving her a sad pouty face. "I haven't had my coffee yet."
Minutes later, I'm inside the suite where Blythe and Ethan are staying. I slip off my high heels and hook my fingers under the straps, carrying it with me as I take a few steps into the living room. I shouldn't be doing this, but it's too late to turn back now.
I pull my phone out of the clutch to check if Blythe called but other than my call to Heath that morning, my phone has been pretty quiet. Setting it to silent, I slip the phone back into my clutch and make my way to the writing desk. I don't even scan the room for Heath has the same suite, with the living room that has a full view of the gardens and the ocean, and the adjoining bedroom with the king-size bed. The thought of the king-sized bed makes my belly knot painfully, but I force myself to focus.
Letters, I tell myself. Find the letters.
As I reach the writing desk, I see that it's covered with fashion drawings. They're in pen and ink, even washed in bright watercolors. And below each graceful, lithe figure is Blythe’s signature. There are fabric swatches taped on each sheet and as I pick one sheet after another, the realization of what she's doing dawns on me, the friends that surrounded her back in New York, her constant talk about fashion.
Blythe is launching her fashion line.
On the table, underneath a sketchpad, I see that she's written out her upcoming schedule in a travel journal. There are meetings with fabric houses, shops in the Fashion District for cus
tom buttons, photographers, models and hair and make-up artists for her Lookbook, the industry name for the set of photographs depicting a designer's fashion line, as well as publicists and even accountants.
The dates start from a year earlier up to next year, though for the two weeks we were supposed to spend together, Blythe has blocked out her entire schedule and highlighted it with just my name and drawn hearts before her schedule fills up again with more meetings and deadlines. She even narrowed down the choices for the name she's going to pick out to represent her brand, and my throat tightens at one of the choices she has written down.
Before I lose myself in nostalgia and regret over thinking the worse of Blythe, I tear my gaze away from her drawings and make my way to the bedroom where I spot their Louis Vuitton luggage. As I unzip the first suitcase, I discover it's Blythe's, with clothes folded neatly, their designer labels still attached. She must have had to shop for her clothes while on the trip like I did with Alicia. But there's nothing that resembles a stack of letters in her luggage.
I set my shoes down on the floor next to a pair of Blythe's shoes and open the next suitcase. This time, it is filled with Ethan's clothes. I rummage through them, past the perfectly folded T-shirts and jeans, his dress shirts probably packed in the other rolling suitcase that stands next to the luggage rack. I'm feeling for anything that seems like a stack of letters, and I close my eyes and hope that I'm right.
If Ethan wanted to earn his old Top 20 ranking back, the last thing he would be taking along with him to the country club would be the letters, which means it would make sense he'd leave it here. I just hope he didn't store it in the safe. But as I search through the suitcase, there's nothing that resembles letters at all, at least not in this one. I hope he didn’t hide it in the hotel safe.
I move to the briefcase closest to the bedside table and flip it open, going through some folders that represent stock figures though I don't stop to read the names or understand the numbers. There is a laptop and a travel journal, but other than his handwritten polo schedule for the rest of the year, I don't see any letters tucked between their pages.
I move towards the other rolling suitcase and pray that it's unlocked. It is. Laying it down on the floor, I unzip it open. This one has his some of his polo shirts and trousers, and his shoes, each pair in their drawstring bag. My hands are trembling, but I can't stop now, not when I'm in too deep, and I've already broken the law many times over.
Fraud and trespassing, for starters. And if I find the letters and take them with me, theft.
When my fingers brush against sharp paper edges, my heart leaps. It's a stack of envelopes stored inside one of the shoe bags, beneath a pair of smart dress shoes. The paper has yellowed with age, and the handwriting is neat and almost formal, complete with the flare of a confident pen. It's addressed just to Rosalie, and not mailed at all for there's not a single stamp on them. But I can see that they've been opened, neatly cut along its long edge with a letter opener.
I can't remember if Heath ever told me his mother's name but this could only be what Ethan had stolen from his mother. I quickly put everything else back where I remembered them, shut the suitcases and hurry to the living room. I stand by the writing table again, taking one last look at Blythe's sketches. And then I see it. In black ink and enclosed in a circle to represent a brand, was the name she'd picked out.
Blythe + Billie.
The beeping sound from the door startles me, and I realize too late that someone is at the door. I grab one of Blythe’s sketches and fold it around the letters just as the door swings open, and a woman steps inside.
21
Deeper
"What are you doing here?" I demand as the blonde woman looks up, startled. She’s carrying a leather briefcase in one hand, and as I glare at her, her eyes widen in surprise.
“I thought you were at the country club,” she says. “When did you get back?”
“A few minutes ago,” I reply, wondering if this is Charlene since she’s the only person I’ve yet to meet from Ethan’s team of assistants.
“Why the dress change? I thought what you wore was fantastic.”
"Until someone else walked in wearing the same thing," I say, pretending to be indignant. “But I think I looked way better than she did. But it still meant I had to change into something else.”
“It looks good,” she says, looking around the room. “Are you heading back out?”
“I am, yes,” I reply. “Was there something you needed?”
She pauses, then clears her throat. “Um, Jackson sent me to get something that the left behind here from last night’s meeting with, um, Ethan.”
“What did he leave behind? I might know where it is.”
She shrugs. “Just…just stuff. While you're here," she rests her briefcase on the table, right on top of Blythe's drawings and pulls out a stack of papers, "I need you to sign a few things. Sign and date them for me where it's highlighted."
"What for?" I reach for the stack she has in her hand, but she pulls it back, looking at me strangely.
"Just the usual stuff, that's all. I'm a paralegal, remember?" she says, before her expression turns serious. "I thought we talked about this already, Blythe. He's financing your fashion line, for crying out loud."
"It's a loan.”
"Oh, please," she laughs. "A loan, my ass. You and I know that Ethan just wants you to succeed with your dream, though how you can do that with just a third of the original amount the accountant told you, I have no idea. Didn't I say that a million was still way too low if you're really serious about your clothing line?"
"You know I am.”
"It costs an average of three million to launch a ready-to-wear fashion line, Blythe, and Ethan would have given you four, heck, five million easy. One million is nothing. You'll run out of funds in no time if you haven't run out already. And then you'll have to ask Ethan for more money."
"Then I will, no big deal. But for now, I'm doing fine."
She pulls out a pen from her briefcase and pushes the stack of papers and pen towards me again. “Just don't come crying back to me, Blythe. Sign here and date. And there's another piece of paper in the bottom. I'll have it notarized afterward."
"Shouldn't I be present when this is notarized?”
She stares at me, a quizzical expression on her face. “Blythe, since when have you ever been present for those things?”
“Since, like, now. Since I’m, you know, trying to be more aware of money. But why don’t we do it later, when I get back for the day? I need to return to the country club and watch Ethan play.”
I try to slip past her, but Charlene blocks my way. She’s studying my face, and I force myself not to look away. Blythe would never look away.
“What?” I ask innocently.
"Since when did you have a problem signing these things, Blythe? These all have to do with Ethan, and with you being his wife soon, it means there'll be more papers to sign. It's tiring, I know, but it has to be done, and the last thing you want is to bother Ethan with it. You do want him to get to the top 20, don't you? And eventually, the top 10?"
"Of course, I do," I say, sliding past her since she hasn't moved aside. "Why don't we make a deal? I'll sign them later, alright? I don't want to be late. And weren't you supposed to get something for Jackson? What did he need? Maybe Ethan knows-”
“It’s nothing important,” Charlene says, though I swear I see doubt on her face. “Why don’t you wait here while I grab it? Then we can ride back to the country club together. Just a second.”
I don't wait. As she disappears into the bedroom, I hurry to the door, quietly open it and step outside. But I freeze just outside the door, horrified to see that I’m barefoot. Shit, I left my shoes behind in the bedroom!
But just as I turn towards the suite again, I catch sight of Jackson from the window, hurrying through the garden outside. This time, I know there’s no way I can pull off my act, not when I’m in panic mode. I walk as f
ast as I can towards the opposite direction, but in my panic, I can’t remember which way Heath’s suite is.
The door behind me opens just before I get to the corner.
“Billie!” Charlene calls out, and I almost freeze in my tracks. “You stop right there!”
But there’s no way I’m stopping, not when Charlene knows who I am. I keep going, hoping desperately I can make it back to the suite safely. When I get to Heath’s suite, I’m shaking too much that I can barely slip the card through the slot. But I do, and I push open the door and rush inside.
"Miss Delphine! Where did you go? I’ve been looking all over for you!”
I must look and sound hysterical that Fred gently pulls me towards the couch and lets me sit down. Then his gaze travels to my bare feet.
"Where are your shoes?" he asks, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons on the keypad before slipping it back into his pants pocket.
“My shoes! I left them behind!”
“Behind where? I can get them for you.”
"No!" I say, reaching out to stop him and as I do so, the stack of letters slips from inside the folded sketch and fall to the floor. I reach down to grab it, but Fred gets to the stack first, staring at it with a stricken expression.
"Where did you get this?”
The door bursts open before I can say anything, and Heath walks into the suite. Dressed in a blue shirt that plays up his eyes and jeans, the sight of him makes me catch my breath even though there’s anger written all over his face. As I stand up, he grabs hold of my shoulders.
"Where the hell have you been? And why are Jackson and Charlene looking for you out there? They’re claiming you stole something from Ethan’s suite.”
When I don’t answer, he turns to face Fred. “You were supposed to keep her out of trouble.”
Fred’s face is impassive. “She was holding this when she got back.”
Heath lets go of me and snatches the letters from Fred. He stares at the letters like he can’t believe like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.