by M. S. Parker
That seemed like the sort of promise I should be able to keep.
"Motherfucking bastard," I muttered as I pushed back from the table and ran my hands through my hair.
"Anyone I know?" Everett asked as he strolled out of his room. The smug smile on his face told me he'd had a far better night than the one I'd just experienced.
"Just a bit of writer's block." I wasn't completely lying. I was having a hell of a time putting my thoughts into words. Well, words that would be appropriate for public consumption anyway.
"Did you finish your interviews?" he asked as he rummaged through the fridge looking for who knew what. "Maybe you need to get to know your subject better."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him he knew damn well that I knew my subject intimately, but I bit it back. One, it wasn't entirely true. I had sex with Jace, but I wasn't so sure that actually counted as being intimate. And two, I didn't feel like listening to him tell me this was a conflict of interest.
Fortunately, Everett continued without seeming to notice my internal conflict. "Don't you always say that only using one source of information doesn't let you portray things in a truly unbiased light? I mean, I know you're mostly writing about the art, but shouldn't you see if what he's told you matches up with other sources?"
I sighed. He had a point. If I was going to treat Jace like I would any other subject, I needed to be just as skeptical about the truth of what he'd told me. Which meant I needed to dig deeper than I'd gone before, particularly about the parts of Jace's life I thought he glossed over.
"Thanks," I said as I got up to pour myself another cup of coffee. I was going to need massive amounts of caffeine to do this right.
When I started doing some backstory on Jace before I met him, I hadn't been surprised that there wasn't much to find. He tended to keep to the shadows, never making any sort of splash that wasn't related to his work. He wasn't a controversial artist, or one that made the news for getting into trouble. He was insanely wealthy, but stayed out of the limelight there as well. No drawing attention to himself with either entitled or overly philanthropic behavior.
There'd been very little about his relationship with his parents, but his father had been a very private person as well. After hearing Jace's story about how he'd fallen in love with art, I knew there had to be more that wasn't being said. Everything was simply too vague.
So I started to dig.
Online sources. Reaching out to contacts. Sorting fact from fiction and speculation until, by Sunday evening, I had a bit clearer picture of Jace's childhood. As far as I could tell, his mother was still alive. It wasn't her death that had prompted Jace to be sent to live with Benjamin Gooding, and it hadn't been Mr. Gooding's pursuit of custody either. From what I could tell, Gooding hadn't even known about Jace's existence for nearly a decade.
A decade filled with police reports of domestic violence between Veronica Randall and various boyfriends, never anything enough to warrant taking her son away though. Not until he was ten years-old, and she left him for an undetermined amount of time. The child services report stated that it could have been anywhere from five to seven weeks before someone noticed. Jace had been put in a group home for three weeks before his mother had returned.
I could find no record of her trying to regain custody of him. By all accounts, she simply showed up one day with Benjamin Gooding, announced that he was Jace's father, and then left again.
The thought of a mother doing that to her child made my blood boil. It didn't matter that Gooding had taken care of Jace from that point on. I was glad that he had, but I couldn't imagine treating any child like that, let alone my own.
And despite my own anger toward Jace for how he'd behaved, I found myself wondering just how much all of that had left its mark. If perhaps the walls he'd constructed to keep himself safe as a child were the same ones he'd put up to push me away. I knew it was dangerous thinking like that, and that I'd probably end up getting hurt even more deeply than I already was, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking that maybe he just needed someone to fight for him instead of walking away.
Sixteen
Jace
To say that I hadn't gotten much sleep last night would have been an understatement. When I hadn't been plagued by visions of Savannah's gorgeous body, reminded of her scent and the feel of her skin against mine, I'd been thinking about the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that had come when I recognized her, the way my heart had twisted when her expression had fallen, then hardened. My own hot words echoed in my ears, followed by her icy ones.
I'd spent the last hour staring up at the ceiling, wondering if there was any possible way I could have been wrong. I went through it all in my head again.
She'd never been to Gilded Cage before that first night. I was certain of that. Aside from the fact that I would have recognized her prior to the masquerade, I'd seen the innocence in her eyes when she walked into that room with me. She hadn't been a virgin, and she hadn't been completely unaware of what the point of the room had been, but she was a newcomer to the life, that much had been clear.
Was I supposed to think it had been a coincidence that she'd come to see me, and then shown up at the club and come straight to me? I wasn't an idiot. She had to have known, somehow, that I would be there. Had to have recognized me. It couldn't have been random, and I refused to believe it was something like destiny or some shit like that. That kind of fantasy wasn't real. Instant lust, sure. I could agree to that. Hell, I'd been attracted to Savannah from that first moment. Maybe she picked up on that and then somehow figured out where I would be.
It wasn't cynical, to think that she'd gone to the club to look for me, to dig up dirt that she could use in her article. My friends and I had chosen Gilded Cage for its discretion. People were more accepting of this sort of thing, but none of the four of us wanted to be pushed into the limelight. We understood the importance of media, but that didn't mean we wanted to see our personal lives splashed all over it. The Heart of Art liked to regard itself as above tawdry celebrity news that other publications promoted, but they still had to get people to buy their magazine, and some salacious details would do that.
I never should have agreed to do the fucking interview in the first place. I'd never done more than answer a couple questions before, but I'd agreed to do this show to raise awareness and funds for a great cause, which meant I couldn't simply fly below the radar. So, I'd agreed to talk to the press, to do what I could to promote both the show and the sponsoring charity.
But I hadn't seen Savannah coming. Not as a reporter, and certainly not as a lover.
No. She wasn't a lover.
Just someone I had sex with twice.
Even if she didn't have any ulterior motives, that's all she'd ever be. And I still didn't believe that she was innocent in all this.
I had to know.
It was that thought that got me out of bed. As I showered, I thought out exactly how I was going to find the truth. I knew her magazine was legitimate, and I didn't doubt for a moment that she really had been assigned to write a story on me and a critique on the show. Which meant I didn't need to dig into that, but rather look into who she was talking to and what she'd learned about me.
My first calls after I dressed were to the guys. I didn't think they'd be spilling any of my secrets, but I'd told them about the interview, so if Savannah had spoken with them, they probably wouldn't have completely blown her off. Except all three of them said they hadn't answered any questions for anyone about me.
So, if she wasn't talking to them, she had to be doing some digging elsewhere. And I knew of at least one person who'd be more than willing to tell all for whatever cash offered.
Fuck.
I had to call my mother.
The phone rang twice before she picked up. "Jace? Sweetie?"
I closed my eyes and mentally cursed Savannah for one more thing to make my day suck. "Hi, Mom."
"I haven't heard from you in ages, s
weetie. Is everything okay?"
I almost laughed. She was the last person I'd go to if things were bad. Well, maybe next-to-last. I wasn't calling her because I needed a shoulder to cry on – that would never happen.
"I'm doing a show." I wasn't about to do the small talk, pretend we're a real mother and son thing. "For charity, so I'm not getting any money for anything."
"I'd love to come–"
"That's not why I called." I closed my eyes, unable to imagine seeing her again. "There's a reporter who's writing a piece about me and I was wondering if she got in touch with you."
Silence for several long seconds, and I could almost hear the wheels in her head turning.
"I'm sure you don't want the past taking away from everything you're trying to accomplish."
It didn't take a genius to know where she was going with this. In fact, considering my mother's history, an idiot would've been able to figure out what she wanted.
"Has she talked to you or not?"
"No." She sounded almost disappointed.
"If she does, let me know." I gritted my teeth. "Maybe the two of us could discuss it over dinner some time."
"That would be wonderful." The cheery note in her voice told me that she knew exactly what I'd offer her if she kept her mouth shut.
"Thanks, Mom." I quickly continued before she could start talking again, "I have to go, but don't forget to contact me if someone calls asking questions."
I hung up as soon as she agreed and let out a breath. As far as conversations with my mother went, that one actually hadn't been that bad. It was possible that Savannah wouldn't be able to find the woman who had given me life but little else. There'd been more than a few years where I'd gone almost eighteen months or more without knowing where she was.
There was one other person I knew who wouldn't think twice about spilling everything she knew about me...including the fact that I went to Gilded Cage. And she was the only person I knew of who I wanted to talk to less than my mother.
I didn't have her number in my phone, but I didn't need it. I'd dialed it often enough that my fingers still remembered the pattern, even when I wished they didn't.
"I wondered when you'd be calling." Bianca was practically purring when she answered. "I knew you couldn't stay away."
I was glad she couldn't see the look of distaste on my face at the thought of going back to her. No matter how pissed I was at Savannah, I wouldn't let it drive me back into Bianca's arms. I couldn't, however, handle the situation as bluntly as I wanted. I needed to keep Bianca on the phone long enough to find out what I needed to know.
So I ignored her comments and went straight to the point. "Since you've been back, has anyone been asking questions about me? About our prior relationship?"
I could almost hear her smile.
"Why, Jay, have you gone and gotten yourself into trouble? I told you no good would come of your sexual...preferences. Did you beat some poor, unsuspecting girl and she didn't enjoy it?"
As if Bianca hadn't already been involved in the life when we met. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that blowing up at Bianca would just make matters worse. "You and I both know that's not how things work." I let out a slow breath. "But that's not why I called. With this show coming up, I want all of the focus to be on the cause rather than on anything a reporter might dig up. Has anyone contacted you?"
When she took a moment to answer, I was struck by how similar Bianca and my mother were, and how much of an idiot I'd been for dating someone so vapid and shallow.
"There was someone in the lobby of my building yesterday who chatted me up about local artists. When I said I knew you, she seemed really interested."
Shit.
"What did you tell her?" I had to force the question to come out far less harshly than I wanted.
"Nothing, of course." Bianca sounded offended, but I knew her well enough to know how much she was enjoying this. "She was bound and determined to get me to talk though, so I doubt she gave up. I wouldn't be surprised if she showed up at your studio, or even the club."
My back stiffened. "Did you tell her about the club?"
"I don't think so, but she was persistent. I couldn't say that she hasn't found out about it on her own. I'd watch yourself, if I were you. Or maybe just avoid the club for a while until she gets tired of trying to track you down."
Fuck.
I barely heard anything else Bianca said, unable to stop all of the negative emotions inside me from boiling into a fury. I shouldn't have been surprised that Savannah had used me like that. Very few people weren't out for only themselves. I thought she was different, and it was that mistake that made my hands clench.
I wasn't going to take this quietly. Come Monday morning, I'd make sure she never fucked with me again.
Seventeen
Savannah
Even though I'd taken extra time this morning to put on more make-up than I usually wore, I still arrived early at work. The bags under my eyes I'd needed to cover had been earned through a sleepless weekend that I feared would lead into a sleepless week. One more night like that and I doubted any amount of concealer would disguise how exhausted I was.
I was already trying to figure out how to stay under Abel's radar through the day when I dropped my purse on my desk. No one else was in yet, but I could hear voices coming from the back. Since the only office back there was Abel's, I figured avoidance was the best policy...until I recognized the second voice.
Jace.
My heart skipped a beat. He was here.
No.
I shook my head. It didn't matter that he was here. He'd been a total ass to me. I didn't think I was blameless, but I definitely didn't deserve to be accused of using him for a story. Certainly not after I'd told him how much his art had meant to me.
Bastard.
But that didn't stop me from taking a step toward the back, toward him. Despite everything he said to me, I still craved his touch. But that was just my body. My brain knew better.
"I mean it," Jace's voice was hard. "Don't make me call my lawyer."
And before I could do bolt or hide, he was coming out of Abel's office, straight toward me. I knew he saw me because I was only a couple feet away, but he didn't even look my way. Only walked by without even acknowledging that I existed.
It shouldn't have hurt to see him go like that. We weren't together. Never had been. We'd had two nights of incredible sex, and that had been one night too many. I always learned from my mistakes, so from here on out, it'd be nothing but professional between the two of us. After his show, I'd never have to see or think of Jace Randall again.
"Savannah!" Abel barked as he stuck his head out of his office. "Get your ass in here!"
What the hell? My boss had always been a jerk, but that seemed to go above and beyond.
Still, I went. I liked having a job that was at least in the ballpark of what I wanted to do. More to the point, I liked it until I found something better.
Abel was sitting behind his desk, hands folded on top of his ample belly, face red. He jerked his chin toward the chair on the other side of his desk, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. The scowl on his face deepened as I sat down.
"You're off the Randall story."
My jaw dropped for a few seconds before I snapped it shut. I waited for him to explain, and I knew he would. Not because he'd feel like I deserved to know, but because he'd want to make sure I knew exactly what I'd done wrong.
"I never should have given you the story to begin with, but I figured no one can screw up an art show for a locally established artist. A little online research, then go critique some pretentious 'new' art that any idiot with a bachelor's degree could write about."
My nails dug into my palms, and I reminded myself that it wouldn't be prudent to insult my boss. Especially not when he wasn't quite finished.
"But somehow, you managed to be unprofessional enough that Mr. Randall felt he had to come down and tell me that he wanted you to stay a
way from him."
"Unprofessional?" I practically sputtered the word. Jace had the gall to call me unprofessional? What the fuck?!
"He didn't go into any details, but you need to know that you won't be going on any assignments for a hell of a long time. You're going to be staying here. Getting coffee. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll let you do some fact checking." Abel pointed toward the door. "Get back to your desk and send me everything you have so far. I'll take the story from here."
Like hell he would.
But I wasn't going to argue that now. I needed to get my shit together first. Calm down so that I didn't go off on Abel or Jace. I needed to think, figure things out logically. Cooler heads prevailed in the end, and right now, I wasn't certain that I could say anything without losing the tenuous grip I had on my self-control. Inhaling deeply, I simply stood and walked out of the office. My hands were shaking, my stomach churning. Emotions flashed through me, one right after the other, too fast for me to process. All I knew for certain was that as quickly as I'd thought my career was finally taking off, I was now just as certain that it was over.
Eighteen
Savannah
Today had been about as much fun as...honestly, there were very few things I could think of that sucked as much as today had. Root canal. Pap smear. Pretty much any medical procedure. That time in eighth grade when I got my period in the middle of English and didn't realize it until Abbie Jamison started laughing. Or when I was seventeen, and Everett was looking in my room for something and found the vibrator I'd just bought but hadn't yet dared to use.
It was too hot to walk, and I didn't feel like taking the subway, so as soon as I stepped outside, I flagged down a taxi. Fortunately, I'd managed to get out ahead of the rush and only had to wait a minute or so. As soon as I was inside the cab, I pulled out my phone and sent a group text. I needed reinforcements before I did something crazy.