by Mia Carson
Percival began paying attention when we talked about the yacht. I’d seen expressions like the one he wore on particularly proud parents. I didn’t recall that expression around his daughter at her art show, but gazing at the Nomisma thrilled him. “That’s my baby girl.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“She. All boats are female.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Where exactly are you from, Mackenzie?”
“Iowa,” I said.
“What does your father do?”
Of course the question would make sense in this kind of a context, but I couldn’t help the blush coming to my cheeks. Scott stepped in on my behalf.
“Take it easy on her. She’s new to all this.”
“I just asked what her father did. I didn’t ask for her credit score.” Percival and Anne laughed. I was in for a long few days.
“If you really want to know, my father runs a feed store.”
“Feed?”
“Like cows, pigs, horses. Farm stuff.”
“I suppose that makes sense for Iowa,” Anne said.
I had killed the conversation. Scott squeezed my hand under the table. He interjected, talking about baseball, which was starting soon, and distracted Percival from me.
I gazed around the bar as they spoke. The roof was thatched cabana-style, and a fresh ocean breeze blew in around us. The drinks were strong and good, all made with top-shelf liquor because they probably didn’t have bottom-shelf stuff here. Everyone in the bar was beautiful, and about half the women wore bikinis and varying degrees of cover-ups. The other half, myself and Anne included, wore summery cocktail dresses. Anne’s was a bit stuffier than most, but mine was a light pink halter top with a flouncy skirt. I felt like I fit in until I opened my mouth about Iowa and my dad, who managed to work eighty hours a week and still qualified for food stamps. Percival didn’t need to know that little nugget of information.
I spotted a familiar man at the bar, engrossed in his phone. I tried to remember where I knew him from, why he looked familiar, and it hit me. Isaac Cornell. Pop star. He’d won two Grammys last year for his songs “Lady in the Water” and “Drinks and Dance All Night.”
I tapped Scott’s leg and tried to subtly point. His smile straddled the line between cute and condescending. I decided it was leaning towards cute, but he froze and tensed beside me. Giuliana PostvanderBerg walked around the bar and draped herself over Isaac. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and shifted so he could see the screen of his phone better.
“No way,” I murmured.
Percival’s welcoming smile preemptively announced the couple would be joining us. Scott sunk into his chair.
“Scott, baby!” A glass in one hand, she swooped in to give him a hug, leaning over and giving him—and me because of where I was sitting—an epic view of her fake breasts and sheer, lacy bra. She transitioned to me, wrapping skinny arms around me. I caught a whiff of her drink and realized it wasn’t a glass of water like I’d thought. Isaac slumped into a chair, not looking up from his phone.
“I’m so sorry,” she cooed. “I don’t remember your first name.”
I really had to remember that jab. So simple, so effective. I smiled my prettiest smile and told her my name.
“Giuliana and her friend are coming with us,” Anne announced.
Scott seemed to sink lower in his seat. I shifted in my chair and sipped my mojito. I didn’t know the story between Scott and Giuliana but was reminded of seeing Monica bouncing on top of Lucas.
“I’m going to show Mackenzie the ruins at Tulum this evening. We haven’t had a proper honeymoon yet, so I thought we’d take tonight and do a romantic dinner and outing.”
“You can’t screw her at a historical site,” Giuliana bleated over the rim of her glass. Percival chuckled.
“Let them be. I’m surprised they’d want to spend time with us at all,” Anne said.
“Well, anchors aweigh at 0800 hours exactly. Not a minute later!”
“We’ll be there, don’t you worry.” Scott stood and practically dragged me away from the table, my unfinished (and quite delicious) mojito left behind. I almost asked about Giuliana but decided not to.
The date was everything I could have dreamed of. The ruins were amazing, and dinner delicious. We ate overlooking a beach and an ancient pyramid. I’d never been around something so old, so sacred. Scott was sweet and kind, and the evening felt like an honest-to-goodness first date. We talked about our families, about things we were into. I even opened up about comics a little. How many of them I read, how I loved the stories but when I was finished, I scoured each panel, scrutinizing the art and the composition.
When we got back to the room, we were too tired for sex. I know, I know, I didn’t think it was possible either. We stepped out on the balcony and dropped onto adjacent chaise lounges. He reached for my hand, and I took it. With the lights in the suite off, a million stars glowed over the ocean.
His shopper bought me a few things to sleep in, but I had one of my old college t-shirts, which barely covered my butt. I thought I looked cute, my legs long and bare, the fabric on my nipples keeping them at attention. Too tired for sex, but not too tired to want to look sexy.
Everything was perfect, except one thing bothered me. Common sense told me not to ask. I was of two minds. If what Scott and I had wasn’t a real thing, if it was merely transactional, I had no right to know. But today hadn’t felt like that. Today felt like I had a husband… maybe like a brand-new but weirdly serious boyfriend. I thought of the sex we’d had, the things I’d let him do, trusting him implicitly.
I thought Scott had fallen asleep. I said his name.
“Huh?” Not asleep, just lying in quiet, companionable silence.
I had an idea of the answer before I asked. “What’s the deal with you and Giuliana?” The energy flowing between our clasped hands changed, and I pulled mine away.
“Kenz, don’t.”
His tone confirmed everything I’d dreaded. I tried to be real with myself. I knew he was a man-whore, a total playboy. He was on the gossip sites regularly for hooking up with some Victoria’s Secret Angel, female athlete, actress, or Playboy Bunny. I’d seen how Giuliana looked at him. They’d been together before, I knew that. She was gorgeous, if a little artificial and anorexic. Why wouldn’t he want her? But it seemed like something more.
“I just want to know.”
“We’ve hooked up a few times.”
I nodded, though I hated hearing it. This wasn’t real, I reminded myself. I had no claim on this man. I was helping him make a bunch of money, and he was paying me handsomely for my time. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Kenz?”
“What?”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. I wished I was fine. I really did. But I kept seeing her skinny, vodka stinking face. “Is that it? Just hooked up?”
“Please, babe, let’s not dig up old demons.”
“I’m going to be stuck on a boat with her for a week or more. I think I deserve to know about the history there.”
He sighed, long and low. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the lounge. He clasped his hands between his knees and let his head hang.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Why does she look at you like you’re meat and she’s starving?”
“More like I’m vodka and she hasn’t had a drink in twenty minutes.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“But true.” He was quiet for a moment. I focused on the stars and picked at a loose thread on the edge of the lounge cushion. I didn’t want to hear this and should tell him to never mind. I could kiss him and go to bed. But the reality couldn’t be as bad as what lurked in my imagination. I thought of the things he did to me, the way he dominated me and made me his toy. Had he done the same to her? We sat in silence, and I almost let it go. Willed my body to stand up and go inside. To forget this.
�
��Scott?”
He sighed again, a bigger one than last time, if such a thing was possible. “I’m going to be honest with you. Completely honest. And I bet I’m going to regret it.” Then don’t say it. “You know how Hall wants me married?”
“Yeah.” Oh, maybe this was worse than I thought. Maybe I didn’t want to hear this. No, I knew I didn’t want to hear this at all.
“I’d talked to her about getting married.”
“You were engaged?” I couldn’t keep the shock and outrage out of my voice.
“No. Not really. We talked about getting married because the arrangement would be mutually beneficial. I never loved her, and she never loved me.”
“But you were going to marry her!”
“And then I met you, and we got drunk. I found out you were planning to dick me over, and even that seemed preferable to marrying Giuliana.”
My mouth dried, and I could feel myself withdrawing. I guess that had been a compliment? I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. My palms were sweaty. Once again—why should this bother me? This was business.
“I’m not going to get some Giuliana/Isaac Cornell venereal disease, am I?” The words were snottier than I meant—no, strike that. My statement came out just as snotty as I’d intended, which was pretty snotty.
“This isn’t going to get us anywhere. I thought we were going to take the week and—”
“No.”
He lifted his head and looked at me. “No?”
“I can’t just pretend. I mean, today was great, but I’m still your whore. Your second choice whore, apparently.”
“Kenz—”
“Don’t.”
“We’re both tired. Let’s just go to bed before we say shit we regret.”
I knew he was right, but I didn’t like the icy warning creeping into his tone. I didn’t like being spoken to like that. I stood up and got a flash of breeze where I should have been wearing underwear.
“Why do you keep trying to sugarcoat it? You know I’m basically your whore.”
“Mackenzie.” Jesus, I wanted him to stop saying my name. “You came to Las Vegas to lose me almost a hundred million dollars. You get that, right? I know when we get up into millions and billions it all seems to turn into pretend money, but my business—my family—isn’t going to stay viable without this merger. The entire reason we’re together, the reason you dumped your drink on me to meet me, was to ruin that.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Like I could ever pity him for losing millions against his billions. I stalked to the edge of the balcony and looked out over the sea. Little did he know I’d be fired unless I worked this relationship so he lost all that money.
Scott
I tried to take deep breaths. We were tired. It had been a crazy day. Mackenzie woke up thinking she was going to putter around Long Island Sound and the eastern seaboard, but now she was in a totally different country. The Halls were obnoxious, Giuliana was menacing and maybe a little evil. Our situation was totally miserable. I got it. That said, I couldn’t just stand here while she attacked me.
“Boohoo, Scott. I’m so sorry I’m wrecking your millions. I think you’ve got some to spare.”
“I’m not having this conversation.” I stood up and headed for the suite, sad to leave the tropical night behind.
She blocked my way. “No, we need to have this out. I’m not going to let this hang.” Hands on her hips, she was sexy as hell. The light from inside the suite caught the thin material of her t-shirt and outlined the silhouette of her body enticingly, but I was too pissed to be turned on.
“I’m going to get really angry if we continue this conversation,” I threatened.
“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
I saw red. I balled my fists—not that I was worried about hitting her. I have never and will never hit anyone out of anger unless he hits me first. My mother raised me better than that. “You are, without a doubt, the most selfish, money-grubbing whore I’ve ever met. You’re milking this from both ends and getting a sweet deal most women only dream of. Those two suitcases today? About fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of new clothes. Your fucking passport? Three grand.”
I have enough self-awareness to know flinging numbers at her was super shitty. I haven’t always been rich. I remembered my parents stressing about cash. I didn’t mind doing those things for her for two reasons. One, investing a few grand in her to make me a hundred million was nothing. And two… against my better goddamn judgement, I liked her. I wanted her to be happy, wanted her to wear pretty things and see exciting places.
“You act like none of the chemistry between us means anything, and you’re just put out and wounded. I know you got a raise at your sleazy job. Once I pay off all your debt, you’ll be living well. I’m sorry I brought you to Mexico in my private plane. I’m so sorry I took you to dinner tonight at the finest restaurant in Cancun. You certainly seemed to like me then.”
“It’s all material shit, Scott. I can’t be purchased.”
I wondered if she knew the dress she wore earlier cost over a thousand dollars. The shoes, probably only six hundred. They were just flip-flops, after all.
“Babe, you’ve already been bought. I don’t care how high and mighty you pretend to be, but until you walk out that door and turn your back on this, you’re bought.”
Her whole body stiffened. I could see the rage wheels turning. The light behind her meant I couldn’t see her face, but I knew her eyes flashed with anger. I should have stopped, but I didn’t. “It’s driving you crazy because you’re serving two masters right now. You need to sit down, shut up, put a smile on your pretty face, and suck it up until this is over.”
“Get out,” she said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Get out. I don’t want to see you, don’t want to be around you. I’m sure you can find Giuliana, and she’ll be thrilled to see you. I bet you could get her off two or three times before Isaac Cornell looked up from his phone.”
Man, she said mean things when she was angry. I ran a simple cost-benefit analysis of what I stood to lose by telling her Giuliana couldn’t get off. Not by me, and according to her, not by anyone. Didn’t seem like a good idea, and for the first time that night, I held my tongue. “You know what? Fine. Goodnight, Mackenzie. I hope you sleep well.” My tone of voice did not suggest I was being genuine. I had to push past her to get to the door and could feel her trembling. Rage? Cold? I didn’t care.
I picked up my cell phone and wallet from the table and left the suite. I heard her throw the deadbolt behind me. Out in the hall, out of the sight of the peephole, I froze. Now what the hell was I going to do? I’d been clenching my fists so hard my knuckles were white. I forced them to unfurl and took a deep breath.
I can’t lie. I wondered what Giuliana would do if I knocked on her door. I had a brief impression of the picture Mackenzie painted: me fucking her, her ankles by my ears the way she liked, while Isaac Cornell sat in the other room engrossed in his cell phone.
No. I’d been a player for a long time, but I wasn’t a cheat. I’d get no satisfaction out of going to Giuliana, particularly not when I compared her to what I shared with Mackenzie.
I chose to go to the downstairs bar, the one that wasn’t on the beach but looked out over sharp, jagged rocks. The other bar was the popular one, so only two other folks sat in the room with me, all giving off vibes of wanting to be alone. I bought a beer and nursed it, more to have something in my hands than to get drunk. I missed smoking at times like these.
This resort catered to the wealthy. The very, very wealthy. The three of us, miserable and alone, proved pretty definitively that money didn’t buy happiness.
Waves crashed against the shore with a rhythmic procession, and I lost myself in the sound. I thought about the merger. Was it worth it to kiss Hall’s ass? Why the hell had he invited Giuliana? It was a strategic move, clearly, to drive a wedge between Mackenzie and me. Was being here even wor
th it?
I thought again about Serena. About our parents. I didn’t have a choice, not really. They were relying on me to keep us securely tucked in our tax bracket. I imagined trying to explain that to Mackenzie and knew I couldn’t articulate why I needed the money without sounding unbelievably greedy. I thought about her father. The feed store. Four brothers and sisters. The six of them probably lived for a year on what Serena spent daily.
Two girls pushed through the doors, obviously drunk and clearly missing the vibe of the room. They scanned the patrons. There was an older woman parked at the bar, sipping her drink and wearing a ten-thousand-dollar dress. I’d caught her dabbing at her eyes a few times. A heavy man sat in a corner booth, nose buried in his smart phone. Beads of sweat decorated his brow, and I imagined him teetering on the edge of a heart attack, bankruptcy, or both.
The two girls—I should call them young women, really—wore see-through trendy coverups over minuscule bikinis. They both had perfect brunette ponytails halfway down their backs and immaculate makeup. Their fingernails were manicured flawlessly into colorful claws.
Scott Creed three weeks ago would have had both of them in a hot tub in twenty minutes, max. They were on the prowl, I could tell. But tonight? The crashing waves did a better job of keeping my interest. The girls ordered drinks at the bar, and one of them approached me. Her bikini was red, and the cover up was white mesh, long sleeved and shorter than a mini skirt.
“You look so sad,” she purred, dropping into the chair next to me. She smelled like money: the best perfume, the best hairspray. She was beautiful, and I noticed with some appreciation that her breasts were small and real. Good for her to rock what God gave her.
I thought about Mackenzie’s breasts. Full and very real. They had been shaped just for me, just for my hands. I thought about the way she arched her back and pressed against me when I fondled them.
“You know, I am sad.”
“Oh no! What happened? I’m Jezebel.”