by Ava Harrison
With her hand and mouth working in perfect symphony, it’s a mere matter of minutes before my balls tighten and I know my impending release is imminent. Normally I’d warn her, but seeing as she’s made it clear she’s here for my enjoyment, I just close my eyes and allow myself the blissful relaxation she’s offered.
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Sordid: A Novel
My shaky hand hovers above a document that could sever my already fragile relationship with my family. I watch as it trembles, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this. I should walk away from this deal. It’s not right. This need for vengeance isn’t me. It might have been once, but something inside of me has changed. Ever since last week when I spoke to Spencer at the hospital, I’ve changed.
“What are you waiting for?”
Chelsea’s voice grates on my nerves, threatening to destroy the little composure I have.
“Just give me a minute,” I snap.
“What’s there to think about? Sign the damn papers, Grant. You don’t have a choice. You stand to lose more than Spencer.”
The way she spits his name gives me pause. She’s always hated him. Hated them all. She’s a viper, ready to pounce on anything and everything my family possesses. And right now, I’m feeding her the prey.
“We need this property, Grant. If we don’t go international and we allow Lancaster Holdings to expand before we do, we’ll be sunk. Lancaster is growing too fast. We set this plan in motion, and we’re already in too deep to stop.”
She’s right. Nothing can be changed. I chose this road a long time ago, and it’s too late to turn back now. There’s too much lost time. Once again, I allowed my pride to get in the way of everything. I’ve let time slip through my hands, dissolve like grains of sand in an endless desert until the years passed without a word. I watched those grains transform into mirages. Into something else. Something new. Something miserable.
I’ve watched from afar as others lived their lives. As they found love and happiness, while all I found was bitter disappointment. I’m not proud of who I am. Of who I’ve become. I was weak and foolish and failed myself.
And, in turn, I failed them.
My father was right, and I hated him for that. Loathed how right he was. So I became secluded from everyone. From my parents and from my brothers, Spencer and Pierce.
Built a wall.
I built a fortress until all that was left before me was an empty horizon of regret.
I have so many regrets, and it feels as if I’m drowning . . .
Suffocating.
Without a second thought, I lower my hand to the paper and sign.
Five months later
Three days.
Three, very long days.
Each second stretches out in front of me slowly. Painfully slow. It feels like an eternity. I know it’s not. I’m just anxious for it to begin. For my life to begin.
The future is not something I ever used to worry about. I’ve never really thought about where I’d be and what I’d be doing in ten years, or even five. To be honest, I never really thought where I’d be five minutes from now. But everything has changed. I’m finally ready to live. I’m ready to start my job, and eventually, I’ll take over the world. All I have to do is wait.
And it’s agonizing.
I’m stuck. My life is on pause. But in three more days, I’ll finally start the job over at Barkly Media. Even if it’s only an internship, I can’t help the excitement that courses through my body. It’s as if every molecule of my being is brimming with it. I’ll prove to myself, and to everyone who thought I’d fail, that I’ll succeed. The first step toward the rest of my life. The first step to being more than just Bridget.
Bridget . . .
The daughter who’s always been second, and then third.
The girl who’s followed in her sister’s footsteps her whole life.
For as long as I can remember, it’s been that way. At first, I was just the kid sister of Olivia, but then there was Lynn. Don’t get me wrong, I love Lynn and Olivia. Truly, I do. But it’ll be nice to have something of my own for once. The drama these two have brought into my life has been unbelievable at times. Now, with them both settled and happy, I can focus on me. And that’s just what I plan to do, starting with landing the perfect internship.
Sure, I graduated from UCLA only a few short weeks ago, but I had no time to waste. In the marketing industry, securing a job in Manhattan is close to impossible. Starting as an intern, learning the ropes, and securing the connections I need would land me a job, eventually. Or at least, that’s what all my professors promised me back in school. It better be. Having to do summer semester has set me back, which means I need to work harder to prove myself. Not only to my employer but also to myself. I want to prove I can stand on my own two feet.
I’m mid-daydream about my first day when I notice I missed my phone ringing. Reaching out, I swipe the screen and play back the message. Cassandra from Barkly Media wants me to call her back. I press the call back button and wait for her to answer.
“Barkly Media,” a woman says through the phone.
“Hi, may I please speak to Cassandra?” I reply while nibbling on my lip.
“This is she.” Her voice is ice cold.
“Hi, Cassandra. This is Bridget Miller,” I stammer as I sit down on my bed and wait to hear the reason for her call.
“Hello, Bridget. Thank you for calling back so promptly. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that we will not be needing your help at this time.” She says a few more things, but I can’t make out any of her words as my whole world drops down from underneath me.
It’s over.
My stomach clenches as the realization hits me.
My dream job is gone.
I want to tell her a lot of things. I want to tell her that I need this job. That it’s a necessity. That it’s a goddamn lifeline. I want to add that I just put down first and last month’s rent on a studio apartment. But of course, I say nothing at all. Placing the phone down, I let out the breath I’m holding.
Hello, Bridget, Miss 3rd place. What are you going to do now?
Pacing, I find myself gnawing on the inside of my cheek. I’d wanted to do this on my own, but as I pace back and forth, I realize it’s time to admit defeat. I pick up my phone and dial my sister’s number. As much as I hate asking for help, time is of the essence, and I don’t have time to let my pride get in the way. Olivia will know what to do. The phone rings once before she answers.
“Hey, babe. Everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean . . . ” I stop and let out a long exhale.
“Well, which is it? You’re confusing me.” Olivia laughs breezily.
“I don’t know,” I huff. “I lost the job,” I admit with a sigh.
“How about you start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
“Fine. I got a call, and the job at Barkly Media fell through.”
“I’m surprised you even got that job,” she mumbles under her breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
“It means, that you waited until the very last moment to choose a major. And the very last moment to apply. Are you surprised it didn’t pan out?”
“I mean . . .” A long gust of air escapes my mouth. “I guess not, I was just hoping—”
“I know. Listen, We all make mistakes. Bridge, what did you expect?” I want to object. I want to say that I’ve worked my ass off to get this far, and it’s not fair that I’m being compared to her mistakes. Olivia was not one to give lectures. Not too long ago she had overdosed on cocaine and ended up in rehab. I’ve tried so hard to not live in the shadows my sisters have cast from their own discretions, but no matter how hard I try it still hovers over me.
“Are you listening to me?” I give my head a little shake and realize
that I had, in fact, drifted off into my own mind. “What did you say?”
“I said I would handle it. Let me talk to Spencer, Bridge.”
“No. No way. I’m not working for your boyfriend.” I know I’m being petty, but all my life everything has been about her. I wanted something that was mine. Just mine. Not scraps she gave me. And that’s what working for her boyfriend would be—scraps.
“You wouldn’t have to work with him.”
“I just . . . I just can’t work for The Lancasters. I appreciate you even thinking about it, but no. It’s fine. I’m fucked, but it’s fine,” I groan.
“What if you didn’t have to work for him? What if I could get you a job somewhere else?”
“Olivia, there is no way anyone is hiring this late in the game. I appreciate it, but unless a miracle happens . . .”
Olivia chuckles on the phone. “Oh ye of little faith. Tell me now, do you have faith in me?”
“Of course I have faith in you. You’re my sister. But how is having faith in you going to help my situation? Unless your modeling agency suddenly opened without you telling me, and even then, I wouldn’t work for you anyway.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers but no. I haven’t opened yet, obviously. But I do think I have a job for you. One that will give you good experience to use toward something else.”
“You do? How? I already told you that me becoming your slave will not help with my life.” I chuckle, but there is no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice. That very option is something I could very well see Olivia suggesting.
“What if I told you I just heard that this fantastic temp agency is looking for some new blood?”
“I’d say tell me more.”
She laughs at my comment. “When I was looking for an assistant to start getting my agency in gear, I worked with the Karen Michelle Temp Agency, and the owner mentioned she is looking for new staff. They are extremely picky and very hard to get into, but she owes Spencer a favor or two. I bet I can get you in with them.”
“Are you sure?” My voice has taken on a slightly higher pitch as it always does when I try to contain my excitement.
“Yes.”
“That’s amazing. Although, I doubt they’ll take me. There are probably millions of people trying to apply.” My voice dips again as reality drops down on me. Just because she has a contact, doesn’t mean I’ll get a position. “But if I get it, I’d love you forever.”
“I will warn you, she’s not warm and fuzzy. She’s a shark. The kind that sniffs for blood and pounces at the first sign of weakness. If anything, she’ll make you want to drink, but she does have the best clients.”
“That’s not a problem, I don’t need warm and fuzzy. I just need a job.”
“You know Mom and Dad won’t—”
“I rented an apartment. I moved out. I’m not taking money from them, so I can put up with a shark as long as I’m getting paid. Make the call. Please.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She chuckles.
“Duly noted.”
“Okay, I’ll text you the details a bit later.”
“Thanks and again, I fucking love you!”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
An hour later and I’ve already received a text from Olivia telling me to be at the temp agency she and Spencer have been working with at eleven. My lips part and a strangled gasp escapes.
Shit. It’s already ten.
I only have an hour. Where did the time go? Peering down, a slew of curses pour out of my mouth in rapid succession. I’m still in my goddamn pajamas. Of all the mornings I could have chosen to be lazy, this isn’t the best one. Or maybe it’s for the best. The less time I have to prepare, the less I can stress about it.
Without a minute to spare, I’m running through my apartment, pulling clothes over my head until I’m naked and in the shower. Once out, I dry off and dress into what I can only hope is something presentable—in other words, something I don’t have to iron. Before long I’m running out the door and making my way to the agency. When I finally arrive, it’s five minutes to eleven.
Breathe.
I can finally breathe.
I give my name to the receptionist and sit down in the lobby to wait. It’s only then that I realize I know almost nothing about the agency. How am I supposed to seem serious and prove to them that they want me when I don’t know anything about who they could potentially place me with?
I queue up trusty Google from my phone and learn they have the coolest clients ever. Placements are usually in fashion, TV, or luxury hotels. My mouth hits the floor when I see they work with Marie Claire, Vogue, and Gucci, and my lips part into a large smile at the idea of landing a job doing marketing for a fashion house. That would be a dream come true. I’m going to owe Olivia big time.
“Karen is ready to see you now,” the receptionist says while standing. “Let me show you to her office.”
A few seconds later, I’m walking into a brightly lit corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows facing Park Avenue. The room is sterile and void of all emotion, with white walls and white furniture. The focal point is a large Lucite desk, and sitting behind it is a middle-aged brunette with a tight smile. It’s so small I wonder if she’s had too much work done on her pristine face to even crack the surface.
“You must be Bridget,” she grits out, and it’s obvious she’s not happy to have me here.
So it’s not just the effects of too much filler and Botox.
“Spencer Lancaster gave me little information about your credentials.” There’s no dismissing the complete disdain in her voice.
A war starts to wage inside me. I want to tell her where she can stick her pretentious ass, and that I don’t need her job or her handout, but I know that’s just my pride talking. So I can grin and bear it and tolerate this woman’s abuse or . . .
This is the lesser of the two evils.
Sucking in my cheeks, I respond, “That’s probably because I don’t have any. I was supposed to work at—”
“Hand me your résumé.” She holds out her hand impatiently.
Fumbling through my bag, I locate the paper in question. Job-wise it’s pathetic. I don’t have to look to know that. I have little experience. But it doesn’t matter. I know what I have to offer. I’m smart. I have fantastic grades. I’m a natural leader. Let’s just hope Karen can see past my lack of experience. But who knows. She might not just to spite me. Olivia warned me this morning on the phone that this woman was a shark, but she’s so much worse. Maybe a piranha. The way she clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes as she peruses my résumé has me wanting to snap back and tell her why I’d be perfect for any job. I sit up tall, trying my damnedest to show her without words I’m worthy.
“I can do anything. I know my résumé is limited, but I promise you—”
Karen cuts me off with a shake of her head. “You have no experience in anything. This résumé is shit. I can’t work with this,” she grates while waving my résumé in the air. “Fucking Spencer.”
She says the last part under her breath.
“What is it you want to do in the future?”
“Marketing. I-I haven’t thought much past that.”
She scoffs. “You don’t say.” She purses her lips. “Doesn’t matter now. If you want to succeed in any high-profile marketing position, you need experience, and since I owe Spencer, you’re now my problem to deal with.”
My eyes widen, and my hope begins to climb. Is she saying she’ll help me? I’m about to ask when she lasers me with her large caramel eyes.
“Do you know how hard it is to even earn a marketing internship at a magazine or a fashion house?”
I shake my head.
“No, I didn’t think you did. If you did, you would have worked every summer of college.”
She has me there. Instead of working, I’d decided to double major. Anyone else might have been impressed by that, but not Karen.
“Which yo
u didn’t. Any other person with your experience—or lack thereof—would’ve been shredded upon arrival. Alas, you know the right people. Lucky for you I’m good at what I do, so I’ll get you placed.”
I try to control the smile that’s threatening to spread across my face. Something tells me Karen wouldn’t be impressed. “Thank you. I’ll work hard.”
“You better not make me regret this.”
“I won’t. I swear.”
“I expect you to work your ass off so we can leverage it to a full-time position, and I expect to make a sizable commission from this . . . misfortune.”
I ignore her words, happy to have this opportunity and not willing to mess it up before it begins. Regardless of whether she was coerced, she’s going to help me get my life started, and for that I’m grateful.
I’m ready.
A week later, I’m walking through the doors of the world-renowned Axis Agency. The space is phenomenal just as Karen promised. Facing the water, the huge loft space has a beautiful view of The Statue of Liberty.
I arrive early, eager to start, but surprisingly, I’m not the first one there. Standing in the middle of the pristine white loft space is Matthew Lawson, the owner. He looks different than the photos online. He appears to be shorter in person than his pictures suggest and has significantly less hair. Not that it matters what he looks like. From all my reading, he’s supposed to be a genius. He’s known for his cutting-edge ideas, brilliant delivery, and return on investment for his campaigns. He’s so famous they even talked about him in my lectures. He’s also supposed to be impossible to work for, not that it will be a problem for me as I’m a lowly temp. No way will I be placed anywhere near him.
He must hear my heels tap against the floor because he looks up as I enter. His pupils dilate and he runs his gaze from my feet up to my eyes. A chill runs up my spine, but it’s the wicked smirk that bothers me most. It’s as if he’s undressing me, and it feels like spiders are crawling up my body. Being anywhere near this man gives me the creeps. Not that it matters. I’m sure this is the first and last time I’ll see him.