by Ivy Jordan
“Are you fucking him yet?” she asked, her eyes wild and red.
I ignored her, thumbing through my phone to keep my eye contact from her.
“Yeah. We started fucking. I thought he loved me; hell, I loved him. When I got knocked up, he was so damn happy, but then right after she was born, he tossed me out, had lawyers draw up papers to get rid of me for good,” she said.
Her speech was growing slower, and harder to understand. “I didn’t have anything. He paid me to go away. I had to survive,” she whined.
I watched her sit on the steps, push her head into her hands, and then wobble back and forth as she struggled to stay awake.
Gavin pulled up with another car following him, whom he introduced as his attorney, Greg Clark, when they got out. Caroline started yelling about money, suddenly no longer tired, and the attorney pulled out papers for her to sign.
“I need a name,” Gavin ordered her. “Who told you about the arrangements?” he insisted.
“I was an arrangement,” she snapped.
He laughed. “No. You were never an arrangement; you were a damn mess from day one,” he yelled.
I’d never seen him angry before. He seemed different from the man I’d fallen for. My stomach ached at the admittance of my feelings for this man. I didn’t even know him, not really. I thought I did, but now, this, her, and the others, it was all too much to absorb.
“I don’t have to give you nothing,” Caroline growled, spitting on the ground toward Gavin’s feet.
“If you want this money, you do,” he instructed.
“I just need help,” she started to cry.
“And I’ll help you, but you have to help me,” he pleaded with the cracked-out woman he’d brought a child into this world with.
“I hadn’t thought about you or Isabella in a long time, a long, lung, tume,” her speech started to slur again.
“Okay. Well, why now?” he asked, offering her more compassion than before.
As I watched him wrap his arm around the woman, I knew he had the heart I’d fallen in love with. He was kind, he was compassionate, but I still didn’t know if I could trust him.
“She came to my apartment, told me how much money you have, and that you just throw it away on whores,” she said clear as a bell.
“Who came to your apartment?” he asked.
“Stephanie somebody; she told me what you were doing. She told me that I deserved something. After all, I gave you the daughter you are tryin’ so hard to protect,” she dropped to her knees on the driveway, her head in her hands, and sobbed.
Gavin was furious, that was evident. I watched as he walked away, shoving his own head in his hands, and then take a punch at his shiny black Porsche. “Fuck!” he called out before turning back around.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and bit down on his bottom lip. “She’s wrong. She made it up to hurt me; she’s jealous, you understand?” he spoke loudly to the sobbing woman. “You sign these papers, get your cash, and never return, you hear me?” he yelled.
“Fine!” Caroline yelled back, standing to her feet.
The tears were gone, her emotions intact. She was good. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was the original actress in Gavin’s world, and I was… what, the twelfth? The thirtieth?
The lawyer managed to get the woman to sign the papers. He explained to her, in a much calmer voice, that she would be charged with slander if she even spoke Gavin’s name. He was rich, and powerful. Maybe he did destroy this woman and steal her child.
The lawyer packed Caroline into his car and agreed to take her home, wherever that was. Gavin turned to me once they were gone, his eyes wide and his mouth parted. I knew he didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I knew what to say in that moment. There was so much.
“How many others have there been?” I asked.
He hesitated. I watched as his eyes shifted from mine to the ground. His hands pushed deep into his pockets, and he swayed back and forth as if pacing would help him find an answer. “The truth. It’s simple if you just tell me the truth,” I demanded.
“There were others,” he admitted.
“How many?” I asked, tears welling up in my eyes.
“Five,” he said softly.
“And Caroline?” I asked.
“No. Of course not,” he insisted.
I turned, pushing my way into the front door of Gavin’s house, his whore house. “Stella, it’s not what you think,” he yelled out.
I ran up the stairs to his bedroom, and grabbed the old suitcase I’d came with, slamming it on the bed. “I’m leaving,” I said.
I shoved my clothes into the bag and then grabbed my large duffle of personal items and keepsakes that had never been unpacked. “Don’t leave,” Gavin pleaded, gripping my arm and spinning me toward him.
His eyes were wide and filled with pain. My heart ached for him. I wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms, let him tell me it’s all okay, but I knew I couldn’t. He’d lied. He was probably lying now. “What difference does it make if I leave? You’ll have a new one hired by the end of the week,” I snapped, pulling my arm from his grip.
I gripped my bag and stormed from the room. Gavin pleaded with me until I slammed my driver’s door shut. He stepped back as I pulled from the drive, and my tears flooded my eyes as I made the left to Tiffany’s house. I had nowhere else to go. I was in the car he gave me, using whore money that I didn’t want, and all I could think was, why had I been so foolish?
Chapter Eight
Gavin
It was bittersweet, firing Stephanie. She’d been an excellent employee, and an amazing assistant. I knew she’d be impossible to replace. I couldn’t believe she’d betrayed me the way she had, and just like Caroline, she was given papers to sign that prohibited her from mentioning my name, or my company’s name. I added Stella’s name and Caroline’s into the order, just for assurance.
The look on Isabella’s face when I told her Stella had left broke my heart. She’d written her a sweet note, explaining she had to help her father, and wasn’t sure if she’d ever return. I appreciated her protecting Isabella from the truth, but the problem was, she didn’t know the entire truth herself.
“I’m going to the studio,” Isabella announced, or Izzy, as she now liked to be called.
“Paint me a masterpiece,” I smiled.
“Daddy?” she asked, stopping at my desk with a sullen look.
“Yes, dear?” I looked up into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
“Is Stella coming back?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, swallowing hard to evacuate the lump growing in my throat.
“I miss her,” she said sadly as her chin dropped to her chest.
“I do, too,” I replied.
“Can’t you go after her?” she asked.
Her eyes were wide with hope. It broke me in half to kill that hope. “I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?” she pushed.
“She has things she needs to take care of,” I answered, hoping that would be the end of this discussion.
No such luck; Izzy was a fighter. I’d never seen her grow so attached to anyone before. The other women, or hired whores as Stella called them, they never bonded with Isabella. I hated to see her lose someone she loved, someone who loved her.
“You could bring her father here, and then she could help him, and wouldn’t have to leave,” she insisted.
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said calmly.
“You never try!” she yelled.
She’d never raised her voice to me before. My heart raced, my bottom lip trembled, and my body started to shake as her bright-blue eyes welled up with tears. “If you loved her, you’d make her come back,” she sobbed.
I pulled her in close to my chest for a tight embrace. Her little body was limp in my arms, shaking from her loud sobs. “I do love her,” I whispered.
My hand smoothed over her silky blonde hair as
she started to calm down. Her eyes were so bright from the tears they weakened my knees just to look into them. “I miss her too,” I said softly.
“Then fix this,” she pouted.
“I will do my best,” I offered up a forced smile, and then winked in her direction.
She giggled. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Oh. Don’t you worry about me, I’m tough. You have a right to be upset,” I assured her, and then patted her on the back.
She picked up her paint supplies and smiled as she turned to walk away. The lump in my throat had grown so wide, I could barely swallow. My eyes burnt, my chest ached, and my mind was reeling as it struggled to come up with a fix.
The doorbell rang, pulling me from my sulking. I rushed to open it, hopeful for a split second that it could be Stella. Instead, I was met with Greg Clark standing in the doorway, his potbelly pushing out several inches from his belt line, and the little hair he had left blowing wildly in the wind. “Greg, to what do I owe this pleasure?” I said, hoping the look of disappointment wasn’t too apparent on my face.
“I’m just making a friendly check-in house call,” he said, making his way through the doorway and into my house.
I wasn’t in the mood for company, but I couldn’t be rude. This man had looked out for my best interests for years, protecting not only me, but my daughter as well. “Come in. Can I get you a drink?” I asked.
“No. I won’t take up too much of your time,” he promised.
Knowing Greg, I knew that wasn’t true. He was long-winded, and it seemed to take him forever to get to the point. This was not the day I wanted to be stuck listening to him. Not today.
“I’ve been worried about you, Gavin,” he said, getting right to the point, and shocking me.
“Worried about me?” I laughed.
“Yes. It’s been three weeks since Stella left, since you fired Stephanie, and you haven’t reached out to me about replacing either,” he said sternly.
“I don’t think I plan to,” I said.
“You need an assistant, and Isabella still needs a mother, unless something’s changed. Did you find someone suitable outside of the contract?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell if his tone was serious or sarcastic. “No. I’ve not found anyone,” I said.
“Then we need to get to work,” he said, his eyes widening with excitement.
“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” I admitted. He tilted his head as he stared at me. “Things just… didn’t go as planned,” I added. “I have Martin prepared to take over Stephanie’s position. He isn’t as nice to look at, but he’s just as smart.”
“Great. That’s great,” Greg said.
“As far as Isabelle, I can’t do this to her again,” I sighed.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
I knew he didn’t get it; hell, I didn’t get it myself. I’d had several other women in and out of Isabella’s life, but they weren’t Stella. She was different, not just for Isabella, but for me as well. Greg had worked the contract to ensure that I’d get a richer, more fulfilling experience than the other times. Maybe he’d worked it too well.
“I don’t want her to get that close to someone again, just to be abandoned and hurt,” I said, my voice starting to shake.
“Well. If it’s Stella she wants, she’s still under obligation by the contract. I spoke to her attorney, Tiffany, and she is staying with her for the time being. I can send an order for her to return with the threat of a lawsuit for breach of contract,” he suggested.
I sighed and pushed my head in my hands. “I don’t want her to be here if she doesn’t want to be,” I said.
“It’s a job; why does it matter what she wants?” he asked.
I lifted my head from my hands and let my eyes linger on his.
“Oh. You developed feelings for this woman,” he said quietly.
“I did,” I admitted for the first time aloud.
“You created this contract to give Isabella what she deserved, right?” he asked.
I nodded.
“And without the feelings, the connection, it didn’t work. So, you found someone who you and she both connected with, both developed true feelings for. Maybe the contract is unnecessary,” he said.
I stared into my attorney’s beady, dark eyes. He was well over fifty, married thirty years to the same woman, and appeared happy. “The contract kept things from getting messy,” I said.
He laughed. “Yes, and how did that work out for you?” he chuckled. “Look. Life is messy. If there is no love, sure, there’s no mess. But without love, there’s no life.”
They were wise words from a wise man. He was right.
“Thanks for coming, Greg,” I said, patting him on his wide back.
“You’re running me off, eh?” he teased, standing with a loud grunt.
“Yes. I made a promise to my little girl tonight, and you just helped me figure out how to keep that promise,” I smiled.
“Well. I don’t know what I did, but I’m glad to hear Isabella won’t be let down,” he returned the pat to my back, and then waddled toward the door.
“How’s Marge?” I asked, knowing he and his wife had a big anniversary coming up soon.
“She’s a nag. Won’t let me have salt, lunchmeat, and even took my bacon away. Says she wants me to live longer or something. I figured she’d be sick of me by now,” he joked.
I laughed. I knew how much he loved his wife, and even while trying to tease her, he couldn’t help but smile. That twinkle in his eye was love. “Has it been a messy thirty years?” I asked lovingly.
He turned at the door and smiled. “I wear rubber boots most of the time just to keep my shoes clean,” he laughed.
“Thanks, Greg,” I said.
“Anytime,” he said, and then he left, leaving me to work on keeping my promise to Isabella. I was going to fix this.
Chapter Nine
Stella
“Greg Clark called my office this morning,” Tiffany announced as she sipped on her glass of wine.
“Isn’t that Gavin’s attorney?” I asked.
“Yes. He wanted to know how to get in touch with you. I let him know you were staying with me,” she leaned back in her chair, slid her finger along the stem of her wine glass, and waited for my reaction.
“Why does he need to know where I am?” I snapped.
She laughed. “Sweetie, you did sign an iron-clad contract for eight years,” she informed me.
I pushed my wine glass toward the center of the table and pushed my head into my hands. “Can he make me go back?” I asked.
“They can sue for breach of contract if you don’t,” her voice was filled with concern.
“They can have all the money back. I don’t want it,” I sighed.
“Have you spent any of it?” she asked.
I shook my head. I’d still been driving the little red sports car, but only because Gavin had me return mine. The allowances that I was given for incidentals covered any expenses I’d had and allowed me to save some of that money as well. “It’s all in my account,” I said.
“I’m sure we could work something out, if they intend to sue, that is,” she stated.
“I feel so bad for Isabella. I just want to see her,” I sulked.
“You know you can’t do that. You handled leaving with her as best you could,” Tiffany smiled warmly.
I didn’t feel as though I’d handled it well at all. Telling her that I was taking care of my father, that I didn’t know if I was coming back. What was that? The poor girl. She must feel abandoned. “After all those women came in and out of her life, and her own mother pushed out of her life, I hate that I continued the pattern for her,” I whined.
“I’m truly sorry that I pushed you toward signing that contract,” Tiffany said, finishing her glass of wine.
“You didn’t. My mind was made up before I called you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have called you at all,” I admitted.
“I
told you not to let your feelings get involved, for him, or the girl,” she sighed.
“I know,” I pushed my head back into my hands.
All I wanted to do was sleep, and hopefully for long enough that when I awoke, I’d have forgotten all about Gavin and Izzy.
Tiffany had been in and out, each time trying to get me on my feet. I’d grumble at her, pulling the blankets back over my head, and refuse to get up. I knew it’d been at least two days that I wallowed in that bed. I still hadn’t forgotten; if anything, I was missing them both more.
“Get up!” Tiffany yelled, flipping on the guest room light. It had become my haven, my place for seclusion that had depression thick in the air.
“I was up earlier,” I argued, knowing it was only to grab a container of ice cream and get back into the bed.
“I have a letter here from Greg Clark. It’s thick,” she said, waving a white envelope in her hand.
I sat up, stared at the letter with remorse, anger, and fear in my gut. Fuck! What if they are forcing me to go back there?
“Have you read it?” I asked, propping myself up against the headboard of the bed.
“No. I wanted to wait until I was with you,” she said.
She moved toward the bed, taking a seat on the edge. I was embarrassed by the stench I’d created with empty food containers, snotty tissues, and lack of showering.
“Open it,” I insisted.
Her eyes were filled with compassion as her finger slid across the flap of the envelope, her sharp nails slicing through the paper with ease. The sound was eerie, causing my skin to feel as though it were crawling.
I watched her carefully as she pulled the thick, folded letter from inside. She unfolded it and read it, her expression blank as she studied the words. It was killing me. “What does it say?” I barked.
Tiffany pushed the paper away from her eyes, lying in on the bed near my feet. “You’re off the hook,” she sighed.
A strange mixture of relief and disappointment fell over me as she spoke. I was off the hook. I didn’t have to go back. I’d never have to see Gavin Bellefonte or his daughter Izzy again.