Any Way You Want It

by Maureen Smith

  Dragging her gaze from his, Zandra watched as Morgan—her newly hired publicist—strode confidently to the podium and read the opening statement she and Zandra had prepared.

  After she finished speaking, all eyes were on Zandra.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked out into the audience. “Thank you all for coming. The first thing I’d like to do is acknowledge the nine individuals sharing the stage with me this morning.” She looked up and down the table, meeting the eyes of each escort flanking her on both sides. “I’m damn proud of these women. Before today, many of them hadn’t told their families, friends or colleagues that they moonlight as professional escorts. It took strength, courage and conviction for them to come forward today to stand with me. I’m tremendously grateful for their support, and I’m honored to not only call them friends, but sisters.”

  Touched by her heartfelt words, the women smiled endearingly and blew kisses at her. Claudia, seated beside Zandra, squeezed her hand and mouthed encouragingly, Give ’em hell.

  Shoulders squared, jaw set with steely determination, Zandra turned her head to address the crowd. “I’d like to start off by addressing the growing allegations that my escort agency, Elite For You Companions, is a brothel. It’s not. Let me repeat that for anyone who might not have heard me the first time. I’m not running a prostitution ring. My escorts are paid to provide companionship to clients, not sex. If Mayor Norwood would like to verify that claim, he doesn’t have to resort to hiring private investigators. If his wife doesn’t object, he’s more than welcome to set up dates with any of the women up here. Although,” Zandra added dryly, “after the way he’s behaved, he might not get a very warm reception.”

  Laughter swept through the audience.

  “Miss Kennedy,” challenged one local reporter, “I think it’s admirable that you speak so highly of your escorts, and you insist that they’re not having sexual relations with clients. But with all due respect, what else would you be expected to say? You’re not exactly going to stand up there and admit to any illegal activity that could send you to prison.”

  “You’re right,” Zandra said smoothly. “I wouldn’t.”

  “So you can understand why someone like me might take your claims of legitimacy with a grain of salt.”

  “Someone like you?” Zandra raked the man with a coolly dismissive glance. “Yes.”

  He frowned, not knowing whether he’d just been vindicated or insulted.

  “Miss Kennedy,” shouted another reporter, “you seemed to suggest that Mayor Norwood engaged in underhanded behavior for political gain. Do you think he deserves to be reelected?”

  “That’s for the voters to decide,” Zandra said mildly. “I don’t have an agenda. I’m not a politician, nor am I affiliated with any campaign. But the mayor brought me into this when he decided to use me as a political pawn. He was sadly mistaken if he thought his attacks on my reputation and business would go unchallenged.”

  “Since you brought up your reputation, Miss Kennedy, would you like to address the elephant in the room?”

  Zandra glanced toward the snide voice. Her favorite reporter again.

  He smirked. “By now we’ve all seen the photo of you leaving a public restroom with Remington Brand. What do you have to say about that?”

  Zandra gave him a look of amused disbelief. “Have you seen Remington Brand?”

  The room erupted with feminine laughter and lusty whistles.

  Remy looked adorably embarrassed as his brothers teased him and playfully slapped him on the back.

  The reporter frowned disparagingly at Zandra. “Come on, Miss Kennedy. As the owner of an escort agency, surely you can agree that your public conduct is a reflection of your business and your escorts?”

  Zandra heaved a sigh of resignation. “Look, if it makes you feel better to call me a slut, a whore, a madam, then do what you must. If it makes you feel morally superior, or if it’ll help you sleep better at night, then by all means get out the pitchforks and burn me at the stake. I can’t concern myself with your opinion of me or what I do. I know what kind of business I’m running and the caliber of women working for me, and that’s all that matters.”

  As murmurs of approval went around the room, the rebuked man turned a deep shade of red. Zandra hoped she’d shut him up for good this time.

  “Any particular reason you’re wearing sunglasses, Miss Kennedy?” a reporter from the Tribune inquired curiously.

  It was the question Zandra had been dreading, though she’d come prepared to answer it.

  She glanced at Morgan, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement.

  She hesitated another moment, then slowly reached up and removed the sunglasses.

  A collective gasp swept through the crowd when her bruised cheek was revealed. The shiner had darkened to purple over the past three days, and probably looked worse than it felt. She’d considered applying concealer that morning, but had changed her mind.

  She’d spent her whole life hiding, trying to mask the scars of her past. Her mother had suffered in silence until the day she died.

  No more hiding. No more silence.

  “What happened to your face, Miss Kennedy?” the reporters shouted simultaneously.

  Zandra smiled sadly. “I had a painful encounter with the past.”

  “Could you elaborate?”

  As an expectant hush fell over the room, she took a deep breath and forged ahead. “Since my father’s campaign surrogates have been making the rounds to put a revisionist spin on the nature of our estrangement, I thought it was time for me to tell my side of the story. Contrary to what you may have heard, I didn’t stop speaking to my father because he disapproved of my escort agency. He was out of my life long before the business even opened.”

  She paused for a moment, meeting Remy’s gaze. The tender ferocity in his eyes brought an ache to her throat, forcing her to swallow hard before she glanced away and continued speaking. “I grew up in a house ruled by fear. Not fear of the violence that plagued my neighborhood. Fear of violence from my own father. He verbally and physically abused my mother, and because of that, I grew up afraid of him. I feared the sight of his car pulling into the driveway. The thump of his footsteps. The sound of his voice. As long as he was around, I knew that my mother wasn’t safe from his anger, and I never felt safe either.”

  She paused to sip from the glass of water that had been poured before the press conference began. The room was deafeningly silent. So silent she could hear herself swallow.

  Her hand trembled slightly as she set the glass down, but her voice was steady as she resumed speaking. “In my father’s house, femininity was something to be ashamed of, and beauty was a curse. He demanded modesty from me and my mother. Modesty to the point of invisibility. Not only should women not be seen, they shouldn’t be heard. It wasn’t until I left home for college that I realized just how warped this was, how dangerously oppressive.

  “When I decided to open an escort agency, one of my goals was to ensure that the women I hired would be seen and heard. They aren’t arm candy. They’re strong, intelligent, capable women with voices that matter. I’m proud of them, and if my agency were to be shut down tomorrow, I’d have no regrets about the way I ran the business. If my father wants to publicly scold me for running what he deems a brothel...well,” she murmured, touching her bruised cheek, “I’ll let others decide whose sins are greater.”

  At the end of her speech, a low murmur of sympathy ran through the audience. She could feel an undercurrent of shock and anger, could see several female reporters dabbing at the corners of their eyes.

  “I just have to say something.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Claudia, whose blue eyes were glistening with tears. She picked up Zandra’s hand and held it as she solemnly addressed the crowd. “Zandra is a very private person, so I know how difficult it was for her to share what she just did. The painful experience she so eloquently spoke of was my reality for the eight years I was marrie
d. My husband beat me, and he made me feel worthless and unattractive because I wasn’t a perfect size four...or six...or— Well, I think you guys get the point.”

  This drew appreciative chuckles that brought some levity to the room.

  “Anyway,” the petite blonde went on, “my husband preyed on my fears and insecurities and convinced me that he was the only man who would ever want me. We have two daughters, and when my oldest started having body-image issues—” Claudia’s voice hitched, and she rapidly blinked back tears and inhaled a shaky breath before continuing “—it broke my heart, but it was part of the wakeup call I’d been needing. When I finally found the courage to take my girls and leave their father, I honestly didn’t know whether we could make it on our own.”

  She turned to Zandra, warm gratitude shimmering in her eyes. “This young lady was my advocate when no one else cared. Becoming one of her escorts created opportunities for me I wouldn’t have had. And you know what? No client has ever made me feel less than beautiful for not being a perfect size four. So I just want to thank you, Zandra, for giving me the fresh start I desperately needed.”

  Humbled by the moving tribute, Zandra squeezed Claudia’s hand and mouthed, Thank you.

  As the two women turned back to the audience, Zandra said quietly, “I hope that the stories we’ve shared today will help others come forward. If you’ve never been a victim of abuse, you might not understand just how paralyzing fear can be, and how it can keep people trapped in destructive relationships. My mother lived in constant fear of my father, and she suffered until the day she took her own life.”

  Zandra paused, her voice thickening with emotion. “Growing up, I was very fortunate to have the love and support of a very special family—” She met the caring gazes of each member of the Brand clan “—and to them I am eternally grateful. It’s too late for my mother, but if this message helps anyone out there who has been suffering in silence, then maybe Autumn Kennedy’s death wasn’t in vain.”

  As the press conference ended, someone began clapping.

  Zandra looked out into the audience.

  It was Remy, standing on his feet, his eyes glowing with fierce pride and adoration.

  Her heart lurched into her throat.

  Then others started clapping, and within moments the applause had swelled to a thunderous roar.

  As Zandra exchanged quiet, triumphant smiles with the other women on the stage, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay from now on.

  Even though she knew better.

  Several hours after the press conference, Zandra received an email from Heath.

  Just saw the video. You were positively amazing. Couldn’t be more proud. I’m coming to Chicago on business next month. If you’re not available for dinner—and I suspect you’re not—perhaps you could put me in touch with the cheeky blonde. You know I’ve always had a fondness for feisty women.

  A delighted grin swept across Zandra’s face. Without thinking twice, she wrote back, Claudia is indeed feisty. And you’re going to love her....

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Three days later, Landis Kennedy issued a statement announcing his withdrawal from the mayoral race. The decision came as no surprise to anyone who’d watched or heard about Zandra’s emotional press conference. Her revelations about her father’s history of violence had, as one political analyst put it, “singlehandedly demolished the shortest-lived campaign” Chicagoans had ever seen.

  An hour after Landis made his announcement, Johanna Kennedy filed for divorce. After the news broke, she sent Zandra a cryptic text message. Just three words that spoke chilling volumes: You were right.

  Later that morning, Zandra was in her office when Christine sauntered through the doorway. “She is woman, hear her roar.”

  Zandra glanced up distractedly from the email message she’d been composing on her computer. “Hmm?”

  “That was the headline from the latest editorial about you,” Christine explained, lowering herself into the chair across from Zandra’s desk. Her manicured fingers slid across her smartphone, scrolling through pages. “These are just some of the other headlines that have graced articles about you, and I admit some are more corny than clever. Zandra: Warrior Princess. A Daughter’s Triumphant Vengeance. The Slap Heard Around the World. Bullies Beware. Hell Hath No Fury Like a Madam Scorned.” Christine paused with a chuckle. “The girls are getting some great press, too. Oh, and they’ve been dubbed Zandra’s Angels.”

  Zandra made a pained face. “Hadn’t heard that one.”

  Christine grinned. “Three days later, you’re still one of the top trending topics on Twitter, and your Google ranking is even higher than that other famous Kennedy.”

  Zandra shook her head, lamenting the societal tendency to sensationalize any story, no matter how tragic or deeply personal. But she’d understood what came with the territory when she’d agreed to hold the press conference. She’d forfeited any expectation of privacy the moment she’d looked into those cameras and invited the world into her life. But she had no regrets. Not if her actions helped other victims.

  “You’re being hailed as a feminist heroine,” Christine said warmly.

  Zandra heaved a sigh. “I’m not a heroine.”

  But apparently others thought so. Since the press conference, she’d been flooded with calls and invitations for speaking engagements. She’d been contacted by every organization under the sun, from battered women’s shelters to civil rights groups.

  It was both humbling and overwhelming.

  Which was another reason she needed to get away. To that end, she was taking a month-long sabbatical to St. Lucia. Her flight was scheduled to depart in three hours, but she still had one last important thing to do before she left.

  Christine winked at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to stick around and bask in your new celebrity status?”

  “I’m sure,” Zandra said wryly.

  Christine’s expression softened. “Thanks for entrusting the agency to me while you’re gone.”

  Zandra smiled. “You’ve been with me from the beginning, and you love this agency as much as I do. Who else would I leave in charge?”

  “Not Morgan, thank God.” Christine gave a mock shudder. “Love her, but she’s bossy as hell.”

  Zandra laughed.

  After the press conference, Morgan had resigned from her job to officially become Zandra’s publicist. She’d be earning more than she had ever imagined, which would enable her to save money toward opening her public relations business.

  “Well, I’d better get back to the phone,” Christine said, rising from the chair. “We’ve been getting nonstop calls, and not just from reporters. The girls are in demand even more than ever. We’d better hire Lena’s replacement soon.”

  “I know,” Zandra agreed with a sigh. “I’m working on it.”

  After Christine left, Zandra returned her attention to her unfinished email.

  It was the most difficult message she’d ever had to compose, because she knew how much pain she would cause by sending it.

  But she had to. Or at least that’s what she’d been telling herself.

  Zandra hesitated another moment, then resumed typing.

  Ten minutes later, eyes brimming with tears, she stopped and read over what she’d written.

  Rem,

  I wanted you to know that I’ve rented a beach house on St. Lucia, where I’ll be spending the rest of the summer. By the time you receive this message, I’ll already be gone. I planned it that way. Only a few people know where I’m going, and I considered swearing them to secrecy so you wouldn’t follow me. But I knew that was pointless because you’d crack them too easily.

  My mother used to say that she and I were nothing alike, and that was a source of great relief to her. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe we’re more alike than she ever thought. Maybe I’m a coward for sending you this letter after I’ve already skipped town. But I didn’t want to see you, Remy. I didn’
t want you to try to talk me out of leaving. And I was afraid that if we talked, I might have said things I’d later regret.

  Let me savor that last image of you, standing and applauding at the end of the press conference.

  Please don’t come to me. So much has happened. I need time and distance to process everything. I think you understand that better than anyone.

  I love you, Remy. No matter what happens between us, my love for you will never change.

  Be well,

  Z

  Zandra stared at the blurred words on the screen, her hand hovering over the mouse.

  Am I doing the right thing? she wondered for the umpteenth time. Am I?

  After the press conference, she’d seen Remy only briefly because he’d had to catch a flight to Mexico. He’d only be gone a few days, he’d told her, but he wanted them to get together and talk when he got back.

  She hadn’t refused. But as she’d watched him leave, she already knew she would be gone when he came home.

  Zandra closed her eyes, sighing heavily. Fatigue had settled between her shoulder blades, weighing her down. Spending a month on a tropical island would do her mind and body good. Her heart...well, her broken heart was a different ailment that only time could cure.

  After wavering another moment, she scheduled the email to be delivered after she was safely on the plane. Out of reach.

  Swallowing a hard lump that had lodged in her throat, she shut down the computer and grabbed her purse and attaché case.

  She paused at the door, glancing around the office to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  Then she turned off the light and walked out.

  * * *

  Remy sat behind his desk, the glow from the computer screen the room’s only illumination.