by Mimi Strong
“Who told you I was working on new songs?”
“Um. You did, silly.”
He grins. “Oh, right. I thought maybe you’d been talking to Q.”
“Dylan, I told you the truth. I don’t work for him. I don’t even know who he is.”
“You’re cute.”
We reach his car and he holds the door open for me.
Once we’re driving, I hope that he’s going to change his mind and take me to his place. But he drives me to my house and walks me up to the door.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask.
He kicks some pebbles off the front step. “I’ve got to get ready for the meeting on Friday. Unless you have some valuable inside information for me, I should go home.”
I laugh. “Is that all you want from me? Valuable inside information?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and my question hangs in the air. Doubt seeps into my heart. Oh, no. Please say no.
He looks up, locking my gaze with his beautiful brown eyes. “If you do know anything, you can tell me.”
A lump forms in my throat. Even if he is using me, I can’t tell him what Nick said. I can’t look into Dylan’s eyes and tell him that his new work is shit. Besides, I haven’t heard any of the songs.
“Well?” he says.
“They’re looking for something specific. They want heartbreak.”
Dylan takes my hands in his.
“Jess, how can I sing about heartbreak when I’m falling in love?”
WHAT?
My lips move, but no words come out.
He pulls me toward him, closing the space between us. Tenderly, he lowers his lips to mine.
My lips are numb and awkward.
He pulls back enough to murmur, “I might already love you,” and then he kisses me again. We kiss for a minute, but I’m nervous. My mouth goes dry and my lips won’t move right.
I should be happy, but I’m terrified. Everything’s happening so fast. I got some warning from Nick that Dylan might be in love with me, but nothing prepared me for this. And I didn’t believe Nick anyway.
Dylan pulls away and lets go of my hands.
“Sorry to drop so many bombshells on you in one evening. Don’t say a word. I want to remember you like this. You’re a beautiful girl standing on the edge of a cliff. You’re about to spread these amazing wings you have and start to fly. Any minute now.”
He backs away, grinning and pulling his car keys from his pocket.
“I’m ready when you are,” he says, and then he turns and gets into his car.
I wave as he drives away.
Once the red taillights disappear, I turn and walk numbly into the house.
Inside, I find my roommates sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Chinese food takeout containers sit empty on the coffee table.
They both look up at me.
Amanda’s eyes go wide. “Jess! You look like you saw a ghost. What’s wrong?”
I point to the window facing the front street. “Dylan kinda said he loves me.”
Amanda shoves Riley to the end of the sofa and pats the empty space between them. “Details!” she yells.
Chapter 7
I’m sitting on the couch between Amanda and Riley. It’s a bit tight for my liking, but I actually don’t mind.
As much as I get annoyed by Riley, she is family. Having her around is nice sometimes, like now. And I have to admit Amanda’s growing on me.
“I know that look on your face,” Riley says. “You were stunned like that for weeks after Henry went off to slaughter.”
Amanda gasps and sounds like she’s going to start crying.
I turn and tell her, “Henry was a shorthorn steer. Also known as beef.”
Amanda frowns. “Farm kids are fucking weird.”
“Thanks.” I pat her leg. Amanda’s family lived in town, but our hometown is pretty small, so it’s not like she’s much more cultured than me.
“Weird ass farm kids,” she says, repeating herself.
“Amanda, we all said the exact same thing about you ministers’ kids and pastors’ kids.”
She wiggles with excitement on the couch. “Back to Dylan. Look into my eyes and say it to me exactly the way he did.”
Laughing, I turn to her.
Looking into Amanda’s blue eyes, I say, “How can I sing about heartbreak when I’m falling in love?”
Behind me, Riley snorts. “That doesn’t count.”
I turn and face my half-sister. Her brown eyes are scrunched up with doubt.
“He also basically said I love you. He said that right after.”
She frowns. “Did you tell him you loved him, too? You barely know the guy. How would you know what love—”
Amanda interrupts, “Shut your face Riley. You don’t know shit about love. But I’ve been in love five and a half times. Sometimes you know right away.”
Riley rolls her eyes. “Hooking up is not being in love. Do you love Caleb?”
“Of course I do,” Amanda replies.
Riley asks, “Then why do you sleep with other guys? Caleb’s so nice, and he cares about you. Why not be exclusive with him?”
“I don’t know.”
I turn to Amanda and watch her face as she thinks. Does she really not know why she sleeps with other guys? I met Caleb once. He seemed nice. He also reminded me of someone: my best friend, back home.
She says, “I like Caleb, but we’re just buds.”
“I totally get that,” I say, nodding to agree with her. “Sometimes nice isn’t enough.” I sigh and lean forward to rest my chin on my hands. “I don’t even know if I would say Dylan’s nice. He’s a lot of things, but that word doesn’t seem right to describe him.”
The girls both disagree with me, saying Dylan is nice. They ask me to explain what I mean. I guess they only know him from the one dinner, and he was his usual charming self.
I catch them up on everything that happened tonight.
How he got angry so fast when I asked him about the photo with Miss Zerobia. How he did mind-blowing things to me in the car. How he took me out for a fancy dinner and spoke French to the waiters. And then… how his wife tried to murder him.
“Why?” asks Riley. “She must have really hated him. Do you think he was abusing her? Oh, Jess. If he ever hits you, that’s the end.”
My stomach makes a weird sound that surprises all of us. “French food,” I say, rubbing my stomach. “About his wife… he said it was for money. Like insurance money, I think. She was fucked up, obviously. She was screwing her student. Teacher and student. Isn’t that sick?”
Riley groans. “Let it go, Jess.” She gets up and stomps out of the room.
I turn to Amanda and cover my mouth with my hand. “Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about Riley sleeping with my teacher. Please tell her that, will you?”
“You two need to sort your sister stuff out for yourselves. I’m not getting involved anymore.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls through her messages. “I think I might call Caleb. That story about you and Dylan in his car turned me on, bigtime.”
I cross my legs, regretting that I told her so many details.
She’s distracted by her phone, and Riley’s off in a mood. I should go apologize, but I can’t handle any more drama today.
I retreat into my bedroom. I sit at the wooden desk, staring at my closed laptop. The duct tape holding it together is sticky at the edges and should be refreshed. I pick at the tape. The last thing I should do right now is go online and look for details about Dylan’s wife.
Yes, it’s the last thing I should do.
I open the laptop and fire it up.
It only takes me ten minutes to find the right news stories.
I read the articles, my stomach knotting up and feeling worse with each awful word.
The young man who stabbed Dylan, who was known as Brandon at the time, isn’t named. He was a minor at the time. He also changed his testimony within days of a confess
ion to police. He swore that he acted alone, and was obsessed with his teacher. He said he made up the whole story about her putting him up to the stabbing.
Within a few weeks of the incident, the stories die out.
I put my hand on the top edge of the screen. The weight of my hand strains the tape and makes the screen flicker. Reading these articles won’t give me answers, just more questions.
One unvisited link catches my eye. It’s a profile about Susan.
Dylan was right about the press being quiet about her death. I haven’t read anything yet about her car accident.
The link calls to me.
Do I want to see photos of Dylan’s dead wife? In the pictures I’ve seen so far, she’s always hiding her face from the press. Do I want to look?
No, I don’t want to, but maybe I need to.
I click the link.
My heart feels like it stops beating.
Dylan never mentioned this.
She’s got dark wavy hair and big brown eyes. She could be a sister to me and Riley.
I look just like her.
Chapter 8
I get to work early so I can ambush Nick.
He tried to scare me away from Dylan, but he did a lousy job. Why didn’t he show me the photos of the dead wife who looks like me? It might not have changed anything with me and Dylan, but I would have appreciated the heads-up.
The elevator doors open. I jump from my chair and get ready to blast him.
To my surprise, he’s not alone.
He’s with Stephanie, the woman in charge of the Eye Candy department on the ninth floor. She’s the one who first sent me to buy skanky clothes and get close to Dylan.
I’d guess she's around forty, and that her red hair is dyed that color. She’s Eye Candy herself, with a pretty face and lots of tanned cleavage. Her perfume wafts into the dusty space, making me sneeze.
My hands close into fists. Now what does she want?
Stephanie smiles warmly at me and holds out her hand. “Jessica! How lovely to see you again.” Her full red lips bunch into a pout. “Why aren’t you wearing your beautiful necklace?”
I shake her hand, then bring my fingertips to my collarbone. I haven’t thought about the expensive pendant she gave me since I tossed it in a drawer that night.
“Why would you care?” I ask suspiciously. “Did you guys put some sort of tracking device in it? Or a hidden microphone?”
She laughs lightly and gives Nick a scolding look. “Nick, you naughty boy. Have you been feeding young Jessica your wild conspiracy theories? I may have to tell your mother what you’ve been up to.”
Nick shakes his head, his pale, pierced face expressionless.
“We just sit down here and digitize the archives,” he says. “If we could get some internet access down here, we probably wouldn’t talk at all.”
Stephanie turns to me, still smiling warmly. She has a paper bag in one hand. From the bag, she pulls out a clear, plastic cup, the size of a small orange juice from a fast food restaurant.
“Have you done a urine test before, Jessica?” she asks sweetly.
I scowl and refuse to take the container she’s handing me.
“What the hell is going on around here?” I demand.
“It’s fairly standard,” she says nonchalantly.
“Did Nick do a urine test?”
“Nick doesn’t work in the same department as you.”
I would argue with her that Nick and I both work in the dusty, boring archives, but I know she’s not talking about that. This new humiliation must have something to do with my Eye Candy assignment.
“I don’t want to be a Talent Coordinator anymore,” I say, using the official term for the department. “I quit. Resign. I’m done. In fact, I’m just about done with the whole internship thing.”
Stephanie’s golden brown eyes stay locked on mine. “You can’t just leave us, sweetie. You signed a contract.”
“An employment contract, yes. But I didn’t sell my soul to the devil.” I pull away from her quietly powerful gaze and narrow my eyes at Nick. “Or did I?”
“I’m sure you can tinkle in a cup,” Nick says.
Their combined calmness makes me feel like maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just a drug screening, and I know they’re common at some companies.
I swipe the cup from Stephanie’s hand. “Fine. Where do I take it when I’m done?”
“Come with me,” she says, nodding to the elevator. “You can use my private washroom upstairs, and we can talk.”
“Talk?”
She’s already pressing the elevator call button.
I turn to Nick and give him a wide-eyed look. “Nick, I need to talk to you. I wasn’t able to do that thing you asked me to.”
“I know,” he says.
“How do you know?”
“Loverboy was all over YouTube last night with his new love songs. They’re not finished, but they’re clearly shit,” he says.
I step back like I’ve been slapped.
“Like you’d know good music if it bit you on the ass,” I say.
The elevator doors open and I follow Stephanie in.
The doors close, and she says, “Nick’s right. Dylan’s new songs are total shit.”
“So what? They’re rough. He can work with a producer and get them cleaned up.” The elevator travels up steadily. Stephanie doesn’t respond to me.
I look down at the plastic cup in disgust. Whatever good feelings I had about Morris Music are evaporating by the day.
“Dylan doesn’t need a music deal, anyway,” I grumble, as much to myself as to Stephanie.
“Good, because he’s not getting one.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the floor indicator above the elevator’s doors.
“Is that for sure? He has a meeting tomorrow.”
“You’re a selfish little girl. If you really cared about Dylan, you’d do as you are told.”
“Hurting someone on purpose isn’t right.”
She tucks her bright red hair behind her ear and looks over at me.
“He is talented,” Stephanie says softly. “I’m sure he’ll break through sooner or later. Everyone knows that people who dream of being a top musician always get their wishes. That’s why the charts are full of nobodies from nowhere, hitting number one every day.”
Her voice is so sweet that her sarcasm hits me hard. Wow. Stephanie is so much meaner than she looks. I wonder what made her so ruthless.
We get to the ninth floor and I follow her to a private washroom. I produce the sample, cursing Stephanie and Morris Music the whole time. When I step out and hand her the cup, I say, “Just so you know. About a week ago, I might have had my drink spiked. I was on assignment at the time, and it wasn’t intentional.”
She keeps smiling. “Maybe we don’t even test these samples. Maybe it’s just the company’s way of reminding our employees that we hold all the cards.”
Great.
A woman comes over to us. She’s the short assistant I met once before. She takes the sample, then rushes off.
“Well, that was fun,” I say. “I’ll just be off to the archives now.”
“Not so fast, my little Talent Coordinator. I have a new assignment for you. There’s another way you can help Dylan.”
I follow her over to her desk and take a seat across from her.
“Are you ready for your assignment?” she asks.
“Probably not. I can’t break Dylan’s heart. You guys will have to fire me, or do your worst. I don’t care how much money you offer me. He’s already had so many awful things happen to him. If you could just give him some time, and give him feedback, I’m sure he can deliver.” I cross my arms. “Either way, I can’t do this assignment. I won’t.”
Her golden brown eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Jessica, you haven’t even heard the assignment yet.”
I uncross my arms and lean forward. I should storm out of this office and quit, but my curiosity has got the bette
r of me.
“Do you like convertibles?” she asks.
Chapter 9
Sure, I like convertibles.
My new assignment involves driving one. It doesn’t sound too bad.
Stephanie waves her manicured hands daintily and explains my new Eye Candy assignment.
“Any questions?” she asks at the end.
I’m quiet for a moment. I’ve been bracing myself for the worst. I thought she’d ask me to seduce this new guy. But the job sounds simple. Easy.
Too easy.
I must be missing something.
“You want me to take this guy shopping for hats?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Or sunglasses. Your choice.”
I turn my head and give her some serious side-eye. I don’t trust her.
“Why me?” I ask.
Stephanie gets up from her chair and walks around her desk to my side. She perches on the visitor chair next to mine and gazes into my eyes.
“Because you have an amazing personal style,” she says, her voice breathy. She reaches out to straighten the collar of my plain gray jacket. Her perfume surrounds me in a cloudy embrace. She breathes, “I love the detailing on this jacket. You really have an eye for details.”
I squirm in my seat. “This old thing?”
Stephanie abruptly gets up again and circles back around to the other side of the desk.
“That jacket is terrible,” she says coldly.
I straighten up in my chair. I’m both shocked and impressed by how she manipulated me.
“Damn, you’re good,” I say. “I believed you.”
“You’ll have to stop by the boutique for something new before you go on assignment. But remember how good you felt when I flattered you. That’s how you need to make Bryce feel. Shopping for hats is just the excuse. He has a big photo shoot tomorrow. We don’t want to see him with big bags under his eyes from staying up all night crying about how misunderstood he is, or whatever the neurotic little pukebag does.”
“Pukebag?”
She flicks her hand like she’s annoyed with everything. “Fuck my life. Just do the job. Do it well and I’ll put in a good word for your boy, Dylan.”