by Kat T. Masen
“I never meant to hurt you, Em. I don’t know what happened that night,” he admits quietly. “I know we’re not together but it doesn’t stop me from loving you.”
Letting out a sigh, my eyes meet his with forgiveness. “It’s done, Wes. We need to move on with our lives. We have two more episodes left to film. Cliff said they will show our argument at Scarlett’s party. The cracks are already there for those that want to read between the lines.”
“I know. But you know that season won’t air until the fall. In the meantime, the network doesn’t want to show any cracks in our relationship. They want it to be a surprise. Ratings soar higher that way.”
Of course they would.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I fight the urge to start another argument and remain tight lipped. Wes pulls out his cell and stands behind me, leaning down and kissing my cheek as the camera clicks.
“Let’s ease the rumors.”
He types away, then places his cell in his back pocket. “We both have committed ourselves to the show. Just do this for me, Em. Finish it off with high ratings and then you can walk away.”
He says goodbye and disappears, closing the door behind him as I move to the balcony and watch him drive off. With my cell in hand, I log on and see the photo he posted on Instagram.
How beautiful is my fiancée? Love this woman so much and can’t wait to make her my wife soon. #Beautiful #FutureBabyMama
Great. That last comment would start the rumor mill. It felt like it was one thing after another, never time to just relax without drama.
As predicted, the comments went nuts and Nina’s number flashes on my screen within minutes.
“Are you pregnant?”
“No,” I tell her. “Wes just posted that to ease the rumors about us splitting up.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I hear the relief in her voice. “Thank God. My phone is blowing up.”
“Sorry. I had no idea he wrote that. Call him and get him to post something to shut everyone up. I don’t know . . . I’m over it.”
“I get you’re over it,” she responds with frustration. “But you still have a job to do and I’m busting my ass to get things tied up. Don’t give me extra work to do by posting silly little lies like this.”
“Nina.” My tone is sharp, my patience wearing thin. “I didn’t do this. Take this out on Wesley. I need to go.”
“Em,” she calls out, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my plate. Tomorrow is the magazine article and feature spread of your engagement. The photos of the ring and possible dresses will be made public. Don’t forget to share the article online. We need to push hard or the magazine will retract future deals if we don’t make target.”
“I don’t feel right about this. What is going to happen when everything is called off?”
“Then the tabloids get what they want—controversy, drama. C’mon Em, you know how it all works.”
“I know. I just don’t agree.” I remain sullen, feeling sorry for myself. “How much longer do I need to stay here, with Wes?”
“Look. I know it’s hard. It can’t be easy to stay with a man you don’t love.”
“I never said I didn’t love him,” I interrupt.
“Then what are you saying? You want to marry him? This changes the whole game.”
The game. Two words that impacted my already-fragile emotions. I wanted to run away from it all. Give up and just move to some country town in the middle of nowhere where nobody gives a fuck about who I am. Where I can walk down the street dressed in the grungiest of clothes and people simply did not care or judge me.
“Nina, Wesley and I are over. I know what’s going to happen when this story breaks, I’ll pretty much have to go into hiding till it all dies down. I just don’t get why this article is still going forward. It might not sit well with some people.”
It wouldn’t sit well with Logan. His jealous streak had only gotten worse; a side to him I had never seen. In some ways, it terrified me. I didn’t know what he was capable of. He wasn’t the Logan Carrington I once knew. He was this obsessive creature that didn’t know how to express his feelings.
A quick phone call turns into an hour-long conversation about our upcoming commitments. I could hear the constant beep in the background, knowing everyone would be chasing my tail to see if it’s true. I could kill Wesley with my bare hands right now.
When we hang up the call, I reluctantly check my screen and see only Logan’s name:
You received 10 missed calls from Logan Carrington.
Why won’t you pick up your fucking phone?!!
I’m dead serious Emerson. Answer my calls.
If this is your way of paying me back, we’re fucking over. I never pegged you to be this vindictive but obviously, you are. Have a nice fucking life Mrs Rich.
I didn’t know how to react to such a volatile message. I could have called him. Set the record straight. But I told him to trust me although we left things in the air back in London. Several times I found myself on the verge of dialing his number but quickly retracted, knowing that any communication between us would not end well. I needed time to think about us, away from him because he had a way of confusing my state of mind with his charm and irresistible body.
Sitting on the large wicker chair, I tuck my legs beneath me with George snuggled into my side. The day is slightly overcast with the rare chance of rain in the late afternoon.
The wind picks up a little, yet still warm and refreshing as we continue to sit in silence.
The temptation is too great. With my cell resting on my lap, I grab it and Google Logan Carrington and Louisa Hemmings.
Several images appear of the two of them; mainly at dinners and charity events. Remembering Ash’s comments, I study the photos looking for traces of happiness. Something in Logan’s face that indicates she was or still is the love of his life. Dammit—where was Poppy when you needed her?
I hit dial, and ring her number wanting her to do another one of her face readings.
“Em?” She sounds surprised to hear from me. “Is everything okay? What’s with Wes’s baby mama comment? Everyone’s going nuts. I was just filming with Farrah when she read it and the cameras caught Farrah’s very colorful opinion of his post.”
“I didn’t realize he would do that. I’m too tired to think about it. Let people think what they want. The truth will come out in nine months when no baby is on that vagina log ride.”
Poppy’s infectious laugh barrels through the speaker.
“Your brother, honestly.” She sighs.
“Are you okay? You sound a bit off.”
“Who me? I just have . . . a nasty bug. Must have picked it up from traveling.”
“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” I could tell that she is distracted.
“Listen, Em. Can I call you back? I just need to grab some painkillers or something.”
I tell her to call me back whenever she felt up to it. Quickly hanging up the call, I dial Ash’s number next.
“What?” he answers agitated.
“Nice greeting. What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Nothing.” He stalls, then continues. “What’s been happening?”
“Same old. And you?”
“Training, you know, same stuff. So, are you knocked up?”
“What do you think, moron? So . . . how did training go today . . . for you and, um, Logan?”
“Since when did you care so much?” Ash snickers. “Logan bailed. He had something to do that was more important. The cunt pissed me off anyway.”
I scowl at Ash’s choice of words, but wondered why Logan would ditch training.
“That’s odd of him.”
“Fuck yeah. I bet he’s off screwing Louisa since she turned up at our apartment last night.”
My stomach flips, followed by a rapid burning sensation that stops my regular breathing. I couldn’t believe this. He ran back to her and here I am, feeling so fucking sorry for myself because he screw
ed me over. What happened in London was purely to get me into bed. All those words . . . nothing.
Everything we did—nothing.
“Anyway, just wanted to see how you were.”
“You okay Emmy?”
“I will be.”
I tossed and turned that night, lost in a sea of nightmares all involving Logan. When the sun came up, I went for a run along the beach, attempting to clear my head. George came with me—chugging along and not impressed with the early morning run. I was never one to meditate, but sat on the beach with my eyes closed searching for my zen. I established right there and then that I had no zen. Zen could only be achieved with a bottle of tequila. Since it was just after seven in the morning, I figured it might be too early for that and opted for a fruit smoothie. It certainly didn’t have the same affect.
Tayla turns up just after midday, dressed in denim cut-offs and an oversized black tee. Already bored, she begs me to go out so she can explore LA.
“Let’s go out, Emmy. Shopping, drinks . . .”
I smile at her eagerness to grow up. “Shopping yes, drinking no. You’re only sixteen.”
“Sixteen these days is like twenty-one. Besides, I’ve drank before.”
We are driving to The Grove—top down and allowing our skin to soak in the sun. I’m happy to spend time with Tayla; chatting away and talking about all the things girls love to talk about. A nice distraction from my fucked-up love life. Despite it being only us girls, Jimmy said he would be close by in case something happened.
“I don’t want to know why you’ve drank but no drinking on my watch. I need to return you to Mom and Dad in one piece.”
“Argh,” she drags beneath her shades. “You’re just like Mom. What about tonight? Can we at least do something fun?”
“Sure. What do you have in mind?”
“A party?”
I laugh. “Most parties involve alcohol which means no one underage. Leave it with me, I’ll see if Scarlett knows of anything going on tonight.”
“Wow, do you think she’ll be there?”
I shrug, driving in the parking lot where I park the car in the first spot I see available.
We spend the afternoon shopping like crazy. I enjoyed spoiling my sister granted Mom will give me an earful for the clothes I allowed her to purchase. Paparazzi followed, but weren’t too invasive and allowed us to do our own thing. Inside Barneys New York, a few shoppers stopped me to take photos and sign autographs—something I hadn’t done in a while since fans were more eager for photos than my signature.
When my feet became sore and tired, I suggested we stop at Groundwork Coffee for a much-needed caffeine pick me up. I ordered myself a double-shot espresso and something less strong for Tayla.
“So, I spoke to Ash yesterday.” She grins, blowing the foam that steams from the top of her cup. “Logan’s been a bit down in the dumps.”
“Maybe he has his period.”
Tayla laughs, almost spilling her drink all over her cell that sits on the table in front of her. “What happened in London? You don’t need to sugar coat it for me. I’m a big girl.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I thought what happened back at home was a one-time thing? You only have to stalk the two of you online to see somethings going between you guys.”
The bitter taste of espresso goes down my throat the wrong way causing a coughing fit. When I finally come for air (despite the whole restaurant on edge waiting to see if I was okay), I bow my head wanting to keep this conversation confidential.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Here.” She shows me a ton of photos, many of Logan and I together in London that I hadn’t realized had been taken. Most sites made no reference to us being any more than family friends, aside from one. A small blogger from London that documented our every move and suggested we were having an affair.
“We need to get out of here,” I say panicked, the anxiety creeping in as the heat rises beneath my skin.
“Are you okay?” Tayla asks, worried.
“I will be.” My throat closes in and with force, I pull her along, my other arm full of shopping bags, until we’ve reached the car and are sitting inside—just the two of us.
“What the hell happened back there?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I cry openly. “It’s so messed up. I don’t know what to do. Whichever way I look at it, I’m hurting someone.”
“But you knew this,” Tayla reminds me softly. “Your life is not ordinary. Whatever you do is seen by everyone. Can I ask you something?”
I nod quietly, grabbing the tissue that she hands to me.
“How serious are things with Logan?”
Letting out a long-winded sigh, I tell her my feelings not holding anything back. “I think I love him. I mean, I’ve always loved him as family but not like this.”
“Do you think he loves you?”
“I can’t answer that.” I fall into a digestive silence, closing my eyes and remembering his words in London. “He’s really complicated and to be honest I just don’t know.”
“It’s hard for me to even think of Logan in any way besides a brother figure. Him and Ash are douches, you know. This side of him that you see, I can’t even imagine it.”
I can’t hide my smile. “When we’re alone, there’s this spark. Like we’re battling but a good battle. Does that make sense?”
Tayla frowns, pulling her hair out of the bun that sits on top of her head, only to place it in a bun again. “Ah, not really. Like a sex battle?”
“Sometimes.” I chuckle softly.
“La, la, la, la,” she sings, pressing against her ears. “Are you done with the sex talk?”
I roll my eyes at her, blowing my nose at the same time. “There was no sex talk.”
“Listen.” She shuffles to her side, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tight. “We’ve got a ton of new dresses and shoes. Let’s go out tonight and pretend Logan or Wesley don’t exist. Just a girls’ night out with dancing and no drinks, at least for me. You can get wasted.” She laughs.
“You know what?” I smile through my tears. “It sounds like the perfect plan.”
Scarlett hooked us up with a party but it was all the way in Orange County. We arrived late to find that the party was in full swing—hosted by a popular DJ that frequented celebrity hot spots.
The house is a mansion. All white with glass windows everywhere you looked. It sat on the beach, surrounded by a massive garden with an Olympic-sized pool.
I had never seen Tayla so excited—her cell in hand Snapchatting the whole night. She tried to explain to me how it works, but I was only half-listening, eager to unwind and get my hands on the blue cocktails that the waiters were handing out.
With a cocktail finally in hand, I quickly remind her to stick by me and no drinking whatsoever. It was somewhere into my second cocktail that a familiar voice calls my name.
Farrah.
“Oh my God . . . look who it is. Without Wesley, of course.”
She kisses my cheek—a kiss of death. She reeked of perfume and plastic, dressed in a skimpy strapless red dress that made her tits look like watermelons. Her body is drowning in jewels; well over a million dollars draped around her neck.
“Wesley is in Cabo.”
“I think he may have mentioned it.” Her normally confident manner is slightly off; her fingers nervously fidgeting with her necklace. “So, you’re here . . . alone? No man to keep you warm?”
“My sister, Tayla.” I briefly introduce them and could see that Tayla already had her resting bitch face. I knew she didn’t like Farrah, not that many people did.
“Right. Nice to meet you. You’ll have to excuse me, I have people to mingle with.”
I’m glad she leaves us alone, walking away to another crowd desperate for her presence—making her the center of attention.
We hang out near the front lawn where the marquee is set up and beats blasting through the large spe
akers. Losing ourselves to the music, we dance for a long time, letting loose and being free. My purse is hung across my body and begins to vibrate against my hip. I pull out my cell while trying to sway my body, to see missed calls from Logan.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
There’s a group of guys and girls beside us that look about Tayla’s age. One guy in particular takes to Tayla and begins dancing with her. To prove I wasn’t at all like Mom, I let her move away and dance with him while I continue to dance with a very handsome older man that happens to be near me. He’s kinda sexy and reminds me of McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy—a silver fox with ripped muscles and a cocky grin.
My purse continues to vibrate.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
He appears harmless, a flirtatious smile and keeping his hands to himself. So fucking what. I’d only had a few cocktails and wouldn’t take him to bed, screw the fucking tabloids! I would dance with this man and that was that.
The DJ mixes some awesome tunes, a remix of Lady Gaga’s “Telephone.” I sway my body to the rhythm of the music until harmless man places his hands on my hips. I ignore his touch, and use my vibrating purse as an excuse to ask him to move his hand away.
I place my finger on my ear, trying to listen to the call. “Hello?”
“Emerson.” My name is said in a cold and heartless tone, but the noise makes it difficult to hear anything else. “Walk. Away. Now.”
“Huh?” I pull the cell away from my ear and see the caller ID—Logan.
Jesus, even from England he has the worst timing. What the hell was his problem? Didn’t he understand that I didn’t want anything to do with him after the Louisa love-of-his-life-over-breakfast incident?
The whole purpose of going out tonight was to have fun with Tayla who had conveniently disappeared. I tell handsome man that I need to go find my sister, walking away from him and out of the marquee until I’m on the lawn that meets the sand. I can see her with the group of friends she made, waving back as they all sit in a circle near the shoreline. A few of them chase each other on the sand, laughing and carefree like typical teenagers.