Pretty Little Mess

by Rhodes, Carmel

  “It was supposed to be temporary,” I confess. “Until last night, I guess.”

  “What happened last night?” they ask in unison. Something must have happened with the game because the crowd hurls insults at the TV.

  I look up to find one of the Heat players at the free throw line and absently say, “He told me he didn’t want temporary, and I said I don’t want casual. I did the long-term fuck buddy thing with Jamal, and look where that landed me.”

  “A year-long relationship with a man who had a girlfriend,” Erin says in a voice that sounds like an auntie commenting on the fact that you gained weight since the last time she saw you. I reach for the second shot and throw that one back too. My track record with men in general sucks. Before Jamal, there was Doug, who I should have known by name alone was a loser. He had zero ambition, no job, and he lived with his mom. I ended up paying for most of our dates. Doug had a big dick though, which was why we were together so long. If I’m being honest, Max is probably the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, which says more about me than it does him. I don’t even have daddy issues. Just shitty taste, but growth or whatever.

  “Exactly. I told him that if he wanted to keep seeing me then he’d have to give me more than a hard dick.”

  “Ellie, language,” Megan gasps, clutching at pearls she’d taken off around shot number two.

  A man at the other end of the bar calls for Erin, and she rolls her eyes before scampering in his direction. The Knicks score and the bar erupts into a chorus of cheers. Someone bumps into me, and I turn to see a familiar man with tattoos sitting on the stool to my left. “Hey, I know you…Tattoo Trent, right?”

  Megan’s ears perk up and she leans over me to extend her hand. “Tattoo Trent, I’m Megan, and I gotta pee.” She jumps up from her stool and does this wobbly run thing toward the restroom.

  I chuckle and yell, “Lightweight,” to her retreating form.

  “You guys are wasted.” Trent surmises.

  “Yup, you want one?” I point to the tray where the last two shots sit abandoned.

  “I don’t know, your boyfriend isn’t going to throw any more panties at me, will he?”

  “Oh my gosh. I’m so embarrassed. I’m really sorry about that.” My cheeks burn bright red. I hand him the drink as a peace offering. “Max can be a bit overbearing.

  Trent takes the shot, then waves me off. “Don’t be. I get it, he was marking his territory. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if the roles were reversed.”

  His eyes slide down my body and his perusal makes me uncomfortable, so I smack his shoulder a little too hard and roll my eyes. “You sound like a caveman.”

  “In my experience, most women want the caveman. The urge to be desired is just as strong for them as the urge to protect and possess is for men. He thinks you’re his, so he will do whatever he has to in order to keep assholes like me from getting too close.”

  “He thinks?” I arch a brow.

  “The jury’s still out on your end. It seems like he likes you, a little more than you like him.”

  I snort and drink the last shot from the tray. “You don’t know P-Three. He doesn’t like anyone.”

  “I know what I saw, and I’m a pretty good judge of people. He’s infatuated with you, but you’re guarded.”

  “I always thought I was the moon—the one out of place in Max’s perfect world, but I was wrong. It’s been him the whole time. Beautiful, celestial, untouchable. He is the moon and I am just the girl staring up at the sky with stars in her eyes and fire in her soul. I just don’t want a broken heart. He’s infatuated, like you said. I’m a temporary distraction. The pretty little mess that stumbled into his life as it was exploding. Once he’s back among the stars, where’s that leave me?”

  He looks above my head, and I turn to see Megan stumbling back. “It leaves you with a choice to make.” I stare at him as if he has the answers to life, well at least the ones to my life. “Piss or get off the pot.”

  I giggle-snort. “Not very poetic, are you?”

  “I felt like it was a fitting metaphor.” He smiles at me before standing. Warning bells should be going off in my brain, but whiskey and Coors Light dull my reaction time. “See you around, Ellie.”

  We stumble back to my apartment a couple hours later and change into our PJs. Settling onto the couch with a couple of beers and gear up to hate-watch Carrie run off to Paris with The Russian.

  A knock on the door causes us to jump, sending popcorn flying in every direction. “Who could that be?” Megan asks, pausing the DVD.

  I stand on wobbly legs. “Maybe Erin forgot her key?”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I’m going to the bathroom, again. Tell her to hurry up so we can yell at the TV together.” I nod then bounce to the door. Rising on my toes, I stare out the peephole and am greeted by the sight of a square jaw covered in a light smattering of stubble and tired blue eyes.

  “No, thank you!” I yell at the door.

  “Who is it?” Megan calls from the bathroom.

  “Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

  “Ohhhhhhhh.” Is the only response I get, like it’s completely normal for Jehovah’s Witnesses to knock on your door at eleven p.m.

  Max bangs again. “Ellie. I’ve had a long day, open the fucking door.”

  I open the door just enough to slide out. “What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t at the apartment.” He looks down at his overnight bag. “And you haven’t responded to any of my emails or texts which I can see now is because you’re hammered. So, after a twelve-hour day, I had to drag my ass to Brooklyn—again.”

  Rosie barks her agreement from behind.

  “You didn’t have to,” I sass. “Also, you need to leave.”

  “Why are you being weird?”

  “Because I’ve got company.” Max’s jaw ticks but before he can do the possessive jerk thing, I hold up a hand. “Megan, from HR. She’s the one who got me the job.”

  “When is she leaving?”

  “She isn’t. We’re having a girls’ night.” I gesture to my PJs. “No boys allowed.”

  “I don’t have time for this shit, Ellie. I’m tired. I just want to bury my cock in your cunt and forget all about this bullshit for a while.”

  “It isn’t bullshit, Max. This is serious allegations and it could affect all of us.”

  “It’s bullshit.”

  “Typical male response.” I roll my eyes and bend down to pick up Rosie. She licks my scar, and I know I must be drunk because I don’t hate the feel of her little doggy head nuzzled against my skin.

  “This isn’t some victim blaming, patriarchal thing. This is bullshit. My dad didn’t rape anyone.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I can’t believe my mother could love someone who is capable of something like that.” He pulls me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I fucking need you, Ellie, okay? I need you like I need air. Maybe even more.”

  Those words—his truth—seal my fate. The shame and anxiety of the day rolls off me in waves. The levee breaks and I drown in his lips, hoping like hell I have enough fight in me to save us both. “I’m here,” I say between kisses. “I got you.”

  He hitches one of my legs over his hip, sandwiching Rosie between us, his tongue colliding with mine in a way that leaves my entire body trembling. His kiss is equal parts passion and devotion and adoration. I am lost in it—in him.

  “Mr. Anderson?” Megan stands in the door, slack-jawed and more sober than I’ve seen her all day.

  “Shit.” I groan

  “Ellie?”

  Time to piss or get off the pot, Ellie. “Megan,” I say slowly, “this is Max”

  “Yeah, I know who he is. Why is he here with his tongue in your mouth?”

  An irritated grunt flies from Max’s lips. “Megan from HR, you aren’t a snitch, are you?”

  She doesn’t back down. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Are you
going to break her heart?”

  Max shakes his head. “I can’t promise I won’t fuck up, but I hope I don’t.”

  “Well, if you do, just know I’ll break your kneecaps, otherwise come on in. Carrie is about to make the worst decision of her life.”

  Max follows Megan inside. I look down at Rosie and can’t help but wonder if Max is my Russian or my Mr. Big?

  “Today in studio we have with us Graham Sullivan, acting CEO of Anderson Capital, and Maxwell Anderson, heir apparent and son of Preston Anderson II, the man behind the controversy surrounding the financial titan. Gentlemen, welcome,” Cooper Jones greets.

  The camera pans to us and Graham smiles. “Thank you for having us.” The harsh studio lights burn down as if we’re in an interrogation room. I guess in a lot of ways, we are. We’re being tried by the court of public opinion for the sins of my father—sins we’ve turned a blind eye to for far too long.

  The layer of thick stage makeup makes my face itch. Nelson, our crisis manager, gives us a thumbs-up from offstage. He’s wearing pinstripes and more hair gel than should be legally allowed, but the bastard is good at his job. We’ve spent the week in PR rehab. The Cooper Jones Show is the final act in our apology tour. Cooper is, as he’s known on social media, The Voice of the Resistance. One of the first openly gay newsmen, who has made a name for himself covering social justice pieces. Nelson and our crisis team thought going on his show would be the image rehab we so desperately needed.

  Since the news broke of the allegations surrounding my father, Anderson Capital shares have plummeted, and we’ve been losing clients left and right. On the car ride over, Nelson gave us some bullshit, it’s always darkest before dawn, pep talk but I’m not convinced the sun will ever shine again.

  “Let’s jump right into it. The rumors surrounding former CEO, your father, are quite startling. Especially in today’s post hashtag metoo society. How do you respond to the rumors that Anderson Capital is the kind of workplace that fosters an unsafe environment for women?”

  “Anderson Capital has always prided itself on not only providing our clients with the best financial advice in the world, but also in how we treat our staff. We’ve been included in the best places to work list for ten years straight. There’s an onsite daycare facility, gym, and cafeteria, all because our founder, my late grandfather, cared about the people who worked for him. Those are the ideals we were founded on and they are the same ones we strive to maintain today.”

  “So, you’re denying this young lady’s claims?” Cooper asks. I attempt to catch Nelson’s eye for direction on how best to field this question, but he’s too busy tapping on his phone to notice.

  “It isn’t our job to deny or confirm her claims.” Graham shifts in his seat. “Both parties settled out of court and a nondisclosure has been signed. Our job is to ensure the safety of both our male and female employees going forward.”

  “Is that a job that you think you’ve succeeded at?” Cooper presses.

  “Absolutely.” I nod. I notice Nelson move from the corner of my eye. He whispers something to the director, but before I get a chance to read his lips, Cooper’s producers go in for the kill.

  Images of Ellie and me pop up on screen. Black-and-white stills that span the duration of her time at Anderson Capital. Pictures of me in front of her desk, glaring down at her, ones of me grabbing her ass when I think no one is looking. Pictures of her leaving my office looking freshly fucked. Ones of me ushering her into a waiting town car outside of Woody’s bar. But the last one—the one with tears filling her big ash eyes, as she looks back at my closed office door—it guts even me.

  The pictures tell the story of a man in power, taking advantage of the young and naïve girl. It’s compelling. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d believe I’m the monster. The question is, how?

  “Our sources claim you’ve been engaged in an ongoing sexual relationship with your assistant. An assistant who is currently buried under piles of student debt and a five-hundred-dollar-a-month spike in rent on her one-bedroom Brooklyn apartment.” Cooper pauses, giving me a chance to refute his claims, but how can I when the evidence is splayed across the screen in black and white? “According to the source, Ellie is unhappy with your arrangement but worries angering you would result in her dismissal from the company you started…” He looks down at me from over the rim of his glasses, before turning to face the camera. “…which is a great place to work. How do you respond to those allegations?”

  Graham clears his throat. “Who are these sources?”

  “Another woman has come forward, Lynn Holt. She alleges that the two of you were engaging in a sexual relationship, but it all changed once Ms. Chase joined the team. According to her, you were predatory in your pursuit of her. How do you respond?”

  The blood rushes to my ears and rage paints my vision red. Before I can make things worse with the outburst that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue, Nelson storms onto the stage, shouting, “No comment. Graham, Max, let’s go.”

  I yank the microphone off in a fit of anger and throw it down, storming out of the studio with Graham and Nelson hot on my heels. “What the fuck was that?” I seethe, kicking open the door to the stairwell.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve got a team working on finding this source, but I gotta say the evidence is pretty damning.”

  “Son”—Graham puts a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look him in the eye—“is it true, those pictures?”

  “Yes,” I yell, my voice echoes through the stairwell. “Yes, I’m fucking my assistant, but those pictures are bullshit. Someone is trying to hang me.”

  “Who? The girl?” Graham asks.

  “No. Ellie wouldn’t do that, but I wouldn’t put it past you,” I growl, getting in his face. “You would do something like that.”

  “I was just as blindsided by that as you were.” He pushes back. “I know you think I want your company, but that has never been my play. If it were, don’t you think I would have taken it from your father while he was busy fucking everything with a warm hole?” His eyes are fire and brimstone. The reason Jalen and I dubbed him Crypt Keeper in the first place. He would bring the wrath of hell upon anyone who’d ever wronged him. It was the reason he and my father worked so well together for so long.

  “Then what is your play?” I narrow my gaze. “You don’t have to go down with the ship? Why are you fighting hard to save it?”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” His jaw ticks.

  We stand in silence for a beat, neither willing to back down or show weakness. “If it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Ellie, then who?”

  The sound of his cell phone ringing breaks our staredown. “Sullivan,” he barks into the phone. “Now?” His face contorts into a scowl. “Fine. We’re on our way.”

  “What?” I ask reading the tension in his posture.

  “The board is ready to vote.”

  Of course they are.

  Graham and I take the stairs two at a time. Adrenaline surges through my veins. I was on top of the world. The Prince of Manhattan. Now my kingdom lies in rubble at my feet and I only have myself to blame. We slide into the waiting car idling in front of the side door. A man with a camera notices us and jogs our way. “Mr. Anderson,” he begins. I slam the door in his face.

  “Fucking vultures,” Graham seethes.

  The car lurches into traffic. With any luck, we’ll make it back to the Anderson Building by lunchtime. By then I’m sure the news of Ellie’s and my relationship will have spread like wildfire. I need to call her. She needs to hear it from me. I swipe open my phone to find a new email.

  To:Max Anderson, Anderson Capital

  CC: Jalen Thomas, Anderson Capital

  From: Vann Attar, Creative Director of Attar Design.

  Subject: The News.

  In light of recent events, I don’t think it’s best we do business at this time. It’s nothing personal. I really like you guys, but doing business with And
erson Capital isn’t in the best interest of my brand.

  I hope you understand.

  Vann.

  “Fuck!” I scream. “Fuck.” I chuck the phone out the window and punch the back of the seat. This is the worst fucking day of my life.

  “Care to tell me what that was about?” Graham smooths his tie and cocks his head in my direction.

  “Vann bailed.”

  “We just need to weather the storm, son. It’s always darkest before dawn,” Graham says, repeating Nelsons mantra. He’s like a quote of the day calendar, spouting nonsense about fish and bushes and bullshit.

  “Weather the storm?” I growl. “I don’t need you to speak to me in proverbs, Graham. I’m not sixteen and you aren’t my father.”

  “No, I’m not your father. Your father is the reason we are in this mess. I’m the one trying to clean it up, so you’ll listen to my bullshit proverbs and whatever else I tell you to do from here on out, do you understand?”

  I sigh, but I know he’s right. Graham has always been the one to clean up after my father. It’s a big part of the reason I resent him so much. “Why are you so loyal to him? What does he have on you?”

  “It isn’t him I’m loyal to.”

  “More cryptic bullshit,” I murmur, and reach for my phone before I realize I threw it out the window. “I need your phone.”

  His icy eyes turn to me and I can feel another lecture brewing. “I think it’s best you minimize contact with the Chase girl.”

  “Nonnegotiable.” Ellie is the one good in my life at the moment. I’d minimize contact with my wallet before I minimize contact with my girl.

  “I thought we agreed you were going to listen to me.” He sounds tired. Hell, he looks tired. Like dealing with the Anderson men and our fuckups for so many years has aged him.

  “Look…” I do my best to remove the edge from my tone. Graham isn’t the enemy, but ten years fighting back is a hard habit to break. “I don’t want her finding out before I get a chance to talk to her.”

  “So, coercion, wonderful.” Graham throws his hands up in frustration. “It’s like you just want to lose everything.”