The Perfect Illusion

by Winter Renshaw

  She licks her lips, glancing to her left, concentrating. “You’ve got to talk to him, Magnolia. Something’s not adding up. Call him. Call him and meet with him again. You two need to talk about this.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I show him an ounce of kindness, he’ll just weasel his way back into my life one sales pitch at a time. He knows what to say to get under my skin. I know what I heard. There’s no excuse for that. I refuse to let him talk himself out of that.”

  “Does he know you heard it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. He said it. That’s all that matters.”

  “I still think you should call him. Find out why.”

  I stand up, reaching for my purse and phone. “I’m going out for some fresh air, and then I have a showing in an hour. I’m done discussing Xavier, okay? Please don’t ask me about him again.”

  Chapter 10

  XAVIER FOX

  “I feel so naughty.” Savannah McClintock giggles across the table as she daintily slips a straw into her mouth.

  We’re having dinner. I wouldn’t exactly say I got suckered into another dinner date with her, but I was hungry. She was hungry. And there was a restaurant with savory scents wafting from the front door.

  “Naughty?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a mischievous smile. “I’m drinking Pepsi. Pepsi was outlawed at our house growin’ up.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Granddaddy McClintock owned stock in Coca-Cola. Daddy owns it now, but we’re strictly a Coca-Cola family.” She takes a long slurp of Pepsi and leans forward. “Don’t go tellin’ anyone now, but I’d take a Pepsi over a Coke any day of the week.”

  “You rebel, you.”

  I pull my napkin and spread it across my lap. I just want to eat dinner and go home. Savannah didn’t like a single apartment I showed her today, picking them apart as best she could. She doesn’t like chrome fixtures. She doesn’t like quartz countertops. Every damn thing she complained about today was cosmetic. She’d deliver her complaints with an apologetic grin and a tiny Southern curtsy. Maybe that works back home, but I’m immune.

  “You should’ve seen my parents when the caterers accidentally served Pepsi at my debutante ball. Georgians should know better, you know?” She swats her hand, her wrist going limp as she leans in and giggles.

  She’s too much, and the shallow small talk is boorish. I sink back in my seat and remind myself an hour from now, I’ll be walking back to my apartment with a full belly, and if I’m lucky, I might be able to catch highlights from the Mets game.

  “Mama would just love you.”

  “Pardon?” I clear my throat.

  “You’re a proper gentleman. Are you from around here? The city?”

  “I’m from upstate New York. Moved here after college.”

  “Well, you’re just so refined and dapper. You’re exactly the kinda man Mama’s always tryin’ to fix me up with. She’d eat you alive. My aunts too. They’d have a field day with you.”

  Her eyes shine like she’s dreaming up some kind of scenario where I’d go home with her some weekend and she gets to show me off to her friends and family.

  Not going to happen.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. If we were at some five-star establishment on an actual date, I might let it go, but the fact that Savannah’s across from me taking a selfie with her lips wrapped seductively around her Pepsi straw tells me she probably won’t mind if I take this.

  “My sister’s gonna flip when she sees this.” Savannah focuses on her phone, smiling wide, and typing something at warp speed. Her French-tipped nails click against the glass screen.

  I slide my phone out, seeing a name flash across the screen that sends my heart into my throat for a second. I haven’t seen that name in years, and I’ve kept it in there specifically for this moment.

  Magnolia Grantham.

  Savannah puts her phone down and turns her focus back to me. I can’t take the call now, and even if I could, I’m not about to speak with her while entertaining a client. I let the call go and slip the phone back into my pocket.

  Besides, I don’t know what I’d say to her at this point. I kissed her. I told her how I felt. And she affirmed she still wanted nothing to do with me.

  It’s funny. For years, I’ve wanted the ball to be in my court. Now that it is, I’m not sure what to even do with it.

  I need to sleep on this.

  Chapter 11

  MAGNOLIA GRANTHAM

  “So what’d you think?” I lock the door to a brownstone in Tribeca and turn to my client, a middle-aged, recently divorced man who, by the looks of his studded jeans, spiked hair, and trendy t-shirt, is clearly going through a midlife crisis.

  “Not bad.” He rakes his hand across his chin, his fingers then trailing down the sides of his mouth and following the outline of his meticulously groomed goatee. “I’d like to see a few more. I need at least three bedrooms. I get my kids every other weekend.”

  “This one had three.” I point toward the door. “That study could also be used as a bedroom.”

  “Closet’s too small. I got a teenage daughter.” His Brooklyn accent crescendos. “What’re you gonna do, you know? They gotta have a place to keep all their crap.”

  “She wouldn’t want the bigger of the two spare bedrooms?”

  “Nah. That goes to my kid. He’s got a lot of toys.”

  “Understood. Not a problem. The search continues.” I offer a smile and grab the railing as we head down the steep stairs and toward the sidewalk.

  My client takes his phone out, making a call and speaking lowly. By the sounds of it, he has a hot date, and judging by the way he spoke earlier, the ink is hardly dry on his divorce papers.

  The second we reach the sidewalk, my stomach drops.

  Xavier walks toward us alongside a pretty blonde whose mouth moves a million miles a minute. He keeps his gaze fixed on the sidewalk, nodding every couple of seconds. Knowing him, I doubt he’s listening.

  My arms fold across my chest. I’m not going to walk away like some nervous coward. We were bound to run into each other sooner or later, and it may as well be the day after he ignored my call.

  “Xavier,” I say.

  His head jerks up. “Hi.”

  The blonde stops chattering and stares back and forth between us.

  “You showing this place?” I point to the brownstone.

  “I am.” His lips flatten. I’m not sure why he’s so mum right now, but it’s really starting to piss me off, despite the fact that I have no grounds to be upset. It’s just that it’s not like him. The tables have turned somehow, and I’m not sure what any of this means.

  “I called you last night.”

  “I know.”

  I know?

  “Come on, Xavier. We don’t have much time.” The blonde tugs on his arm like they’re old chums. She’s got a southern drawl that could rival Paula Deen’s. I bet he likes that. He always did like it when I exaggerated my accent, which usually happened when we’d had too many drinks and too little sleep.

  Xavier gives me a wave and a nod. Nothing more. Nothing less. He climbs up the steps, his back to me.

  For the sake of my sanity, I need to know what this means. All I wanted was to talk to him. Get some closure and some answers.

  Maybe he lied again.

  Maybe the kiss and the whole speech about loving me was just another one of his ploys. My confusion disintegrates the second he and Blondie disappear behind the door. Now I’m good and pissed off.

  Right back where I started.

  Right back to both loving—and loathing—Xavier Fox.

  Chapter 12

  XAVIER FOX

  Friday morning, Savannah McClintock finally chooses an apartment. And Friday afternoon, I’m celebrating with a drink at the sports bar down the street from my place.

  I should call Magnolia ba
ck.

  I know that.

  But, damn if she doesn’t make me want to say and do stupid things.

  I’m not putting myself out there again. It was hard enough to look someone in the eye who hates me and declare that I still love them. It takes a lot of courage to look that pathetic and walk away with straight shoulders and a steady gait.

  My thumb hovers over my phone, itching to call her. She’s probably spent the last couple of days cursing my name, her disdain for me only compounding with every quiet hour that ticked by.

  I pay my tab and head out for some fresh air, knowing full well that I could debate this with myself for the next several hours, thus ruining a perfectly fine Friday night, or I could man up and call her back.

  Screw it.

  I pull her up, press the call button, and bring the phone to my ear. Three and a half rings later, she answers.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s Xavier.”

  “I know.”

  Touché.

  “Sorry.” I blow a breath past my lips. “This week got away from me. I’ve been working with a new client, and she’s got narrow standards and a generous budget, so we’ve been looking at pretty much everything.”

  “Xavier. It’s fine.” The curtness in her words leads me to believe otherwise.

  “Anyway, what’d you need?” I’m setting the tone, and it’s fucking friendly and cordial. I’m not doing this angsty, dramatic bullshit anymore. Either she wants me in her life or she doesn’t.

  And if she doesn’t, then I’ll figure out a way to move on, because I don’t have any other option.

  “I just wanted to maybe get together with you. Sit down. Talk.” Her voice cuts out just before she clears her throat. I can just picture her tracing her fingers over the nervous blotches forming on her neck. “I have some questions.”

  “Fair enough. What are you doing right now?”

  “I-I’m at home. I’m probably going out later, but for now, I’m here.”

  “Same place?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want a drink?”

  I’m standing in Magnolia’s kitchen for the first time in years. Nothing about her condo has changed. It’s still a vision of whites and creams. Spotless from floor to ceiling. A vase of pink roses centers the island, partially obstructing my view of her.

  “I’m good.”

  She turns and pulls out a bottle of Grey Goose, a sliced lime, a container of dipping sugar for the rim, and a can of cranberry juice. Magnolia never could just have a simple cocktail. “Suit yourself.”

  “It’s not like you to be nervous around me.”

  “Who said I was nervous?”

  I scoff. “If you need a drink to be able to talk to me—”

  “I don’t need it. I want it. Big difference.”

  I ignore the hostility in her tone. It’s her defense mechanism.

  “My mistake.” I raise my hands in protest.

  She nods toward her sofa, and we each take a seat on the respective ends. A wide cushion and a couple of throw pillows separate us, but it may as well be an ocean. Everything about her, from her rigid posture to her arctic stare, tells me she’s got her mind tuned to resistance.

  She takes a sip of her cocktail, her eyes finding mine. Locking. Another sip. Then another. “Okay.”

  I mirror her position, lifting my brows and waiting.

  “So,” she says, placing her drink on the coaster of her coffee table. It’s the same Sunday morning flea market find I helped carry back here for her way back when. “What you said the morning after we . . .”

  Her chin tucks. She can’t finish.

  “The morning after we what?”

  “Tallahassee.” Her dark eyes roll. “I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time saying this.”

  “God, you’re acting traumatized. We made love.” I say it with conviction.

  Her head tilts, as if she disagrees with the way I’ve just categorized that night. “Right. After . . . that.”

  “Okay, what happened the morning after?” I scratch the side of my head. “You showered. I went down for breakfast. You stopped talking to me after that.”

  “I heard everything.” She reaches for her drink.

  I’m still confused. “Magnolia, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “The conversation you had with Tony, Matthias, and Shawn. At breakfast. The things you said about me . . .” Her bottom lip quivers for a millisecond before she turns away. She’s not going to cry. Magnolia Grantham doesn’t cry. She fights the hell out of it until it goes away. This might be the closest I’ve ever come to seeing her shed a tear. “Those horrible things . . .”

  That morning is foggy in my memory. We’d had a little too much fun the night before and barely slept.

  My face pinches as I struggle to remember what the hell I might have said back then. “Magnolia, I’m sorry, but I really can’t remember anything.”

  “You said I was pathetic. Clingy. Needy. That I’d loved you for years, and you were only doing me a favor by sleeping with me.” She speaks through clenched teeth, gripping the stem of her martini glass with a shaky hand. “Which contradicted everything you told me the night before. About loving me. Wanting me. You broke down my walls, and then you changed your tune the second I was out of sight.”

  Son of a bitch.

  Bits and pieces begin to come together as she jogs my memory. I hang my head in my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. No fucking wonder she hates me.

  “Magnolia.” I lift my gaze to hers, reaching for her hand. She jerks it away. Fair enough. “You didn’t hear the first half of that conversation.”

  Her back straightens.

  “Tony Valotti,” I say. “He’d been telling everyone all week that he was going to hook up with you the final night of the conference. You’d even told me he was hitting on you all week, making you uncomfortable. The guys had a bet going, saying Tony couldn’t get you in bed. All I wanted was to take the focus off you. Make you seem less appealing. So I told them horrible things about you. I stole his glory. I got to you before he could, and I took what was mine because God damn it, Magnolia, you were mine.”

  Her face softens, though her eyes still burn into me. She’s hesitant to believe a word I say. I get that, but I would never lie to her.

  “The thought of any of those pricks touching you, having their way with you.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t let it happen. I meant everything I said to you that night. All of it. I’d been keeping my feelings to myself for years, and when I heard about the bet, I realized I had to act quickly. I didn’t want to lose you, and I didn’t want to see you get hurt. I just didn’t think that by saving you from them, I’d end up hurting you in the process.”

  She draws herself in, crossing her legs and hugging her sides. She’s protecting herself, but there’s no need.

  “I wish you would’ve come to me.” The room is hot, suffocating. I pull in a sharp breath as my shirt collar tightens around my neck. I expected to feel a lot of things coming here tonight, but an intense, burning anger wasn’t one of them.

  The last couple of years . . .

  Living in a bubble of confusion and missing her so much I couldn’t function half the time.

  All of it was over a fucking misunderstanding.

  She says nothing. I don’t get an explanation or an apology. Something, anything, would be nice.

  I rise, and her gaze snaps to me.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  I’m caught between wanting to smash her lips with an unrelenting kiss and wanting to storm out of here.

  “I knew you were stubborn and a little self-righteous, Magnolia, but this fucking takes the cake.”

  With that, I’m gone.

  No clue where I’m going.

  But I can’t stay there.

  Not right now.

  Chapter 13

  MAGNOLIA GRANTHAM

  I’m not going to cry.

  I’m not going to cry.


  I’m not going to cry.

  I take a deep breath and trek across the floor, locking my apartment door that still shakes from the impact of Xavier’s slam.

  Going out tonight no longer appeals to me. I don’t think I could sit in a bar and have a drink and plaster a smile on my face, pretending none of this just happened.

  My fingers shake as I send a text to Skylar.

  THAT WENT WELL.

  She responds a minute later with, REALLY?

  NOT AT ALL.

  I’M COMING OVER, she says.

  BRING WINE.

  “I’m turning into an alcoholic.” I take the wine bottle from Skylar the second she walks in. “I went from drinking once a week to drinking damn near every night.”

  “You’re stressed.” Skylar rests her purse on my counter. Pity wafts off her like an overzealous perfume.

  “I can’t deal with this.” I uncork the bottle like a pro and pour our glasses. “It’s too much.”

  She takes her glass. “When you keep everything bottled up for years, and then life suddenly makes you confront it when you’re least prepared, it can be a lot to handle.”

  “He was defending me.” My voice flattens. I take a heavy swig followed by a hard swallow. “When he said those horrible things, he was protecting me. Some of the guys at the conference made a bet over who could get me into bed. He thought saying those things might turn them off.”

  “Couldn’t he have just told you about the wager? Then you would’ve known not to sleep with any of them.”

  I shake my head. “He doesn’t operate like that. If there’s a problem, he wants to fix it himself. He probably wanted to spare my feelings. What I don’t know, won’t hurt me sort of thing.”

  “Noble.”

  “I know, right?” I scoff. “I’m so upset with myself. He is too.”

  “Upset with himself?”

  “No, with me. He stormed out of here, seething. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

  Skylar pushes her blonde waves from her somber face and covers my hand with hers. “Wow, Magnolia. I-I don’t even know what to say.”