by Arell Rivers
“Sounds like a good plan,” Cole replies, his eyes meeting mine. “Thanks, Rose.”
Kim huffs, but joins in as we rearrange the photos as I’ve suggested.
When that’s done, Kim steps back from the table and motions for me to join her. Mentally girding myself against whatever venom she’s about to spew, I walk over to her side but remain facing Cole.
In a hushed tone, she says, “Rosie, you’ve seen your boyfriend. Time for you to stop trying to steal my project and hit the road.”
Yeah, because you were doing such a good job on your own. “Kim, I only stayed because he asked for my help.”
“Is that what you heard?” she sneers. “I heard him being polite, but he certainly didn’t expect you to stick around. He probably feels sorry for you, what with your little girl crush on him.”
From the conference table, Cole says, “Rose, what do you think about these?”
Kim chirps as she walks back to him, “Rose is leaving. Which photos are you looking at?”
He turns and fixes me with a stare that immobilizes me. Is Kim right? Are my feelings for him that evident? Wait, I don’t have any feelings for him anymore . . . right? My headache starts to pound again. While I’m having this internal debate, Kim reaches out and pats him on the shoulder, saying, “I’m here. Let me see the ones you’ve chosen.”
Cole looks down at Kim. They make a striking couple. The sun forms a halo around his highlighted coif and her blonde hair, which is pulled back into a very loose, low ponytail. Her hand slides down from his shoulder, remaining on his arm.
Nearly overwhelmed by my impulse to scratch her eyes out, not to mention my ongoing urge to rail against Cole for what he did to us, I grab my purse and yank the door open. Of course, one of my nails breaks in the effort, but I’m beyond caring. I just need to escape. I rush past the cubicles toward the elevator. I’m sure no one even noticed that I left, except maybe Kim, who probably feels triumphant.
A heavy hand lands on my arm, abruptly halting my progress toward the lobby and freedom. A deep male voice growls in my ear. “I said stop.”
When I look up, angry green eyes bore down into me. Cole glances around and pulls us into an unoccupied office.
“Rose.”
I reply through gritted teeth, “Cole.”
“We need to talk.”
“This isn’t the time or the place.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. His eyes now register hurt and anger in equal measure. My defenses start to lower, so I work double-time to shore them back up. “Ro, this is killing me.”
“You don’t think it’s killing me, too?” Refusing to look back into his eyes, I feign a sudden fascination with my hand, rubbing my broken nail over my index finger. Polish has chipped off that nail, too.
“The photos. Mom. Us. It’s too much.”
“Kim can provide an objective eye. Let her help you.”
He takes hold of my shoulders. “Fuck, I can’t do that. Everything is so out of whack. I need you.”
Refusing to look at him, I close my eyes. Which only intensifies my awareness of him. The heat emanating from his body, the way his fingers tighten and loosen on my shoulders. His musky scent. I could step forward and be in his embrace. It would comfort both of us. But no, he has to go through those photos. I need him to focus on the task at hand.
“Can you please help me with the photos? Nothing more. I just. Can’t. Think.” His large frame shudders.
Julie was a wonderful woman. Those photographs show her love for him. I can’t let him go through this alone.
“Yes,” I whisper, surprising us both.
He wraps me in his embrace. Being surrounded by his arms is heaven. I inhale his intoxicating scent, allowing myself to enjoy being here, my face pressed against his chest, his chin on top of my head.
A few moments pass. I need to stop this. We’re not a couple anymore. The words “Mrs. Starr Manchester” flash before my closed eyes. I know they didn’t get married, but he did go into a hotel room with her.
Clearing my throat, I step back from him. Averting my gaze from his, I say, “I’ll help you select the photos, but that’s it.”
“Thank you, Ro.”
“Now, let’s get back in there before Kim goes postal.”
He opens the door and checks the hallway. “All clear.”
On our way back to the conference room, we pass a breakroom filled with vending machines. “Go ahead, Cole. I’ll be right in.”
He looks from me to the machines and nods. I make a few selections and return to the conference room, putting the snacks and drinks down on a side table.
Walking up to the main table, I say, “I brought some refreshments. Let’s take a short break and maybe we’ll be able to look at the photos with fresh eyes afterward.”
Everyone, except Kim, walks over to the snacks. She corners me. “I thought I told you that you’re not needed here.” If she could shoot poison daggers from her eyeballs, she would.
“Yes, Kim. I heard you.”
“Greta is going to hear about this stunt.”
Cole walks up behind Kim and asks, “What stunt?”
Kim quickly shifts her demeanor. “Rose and I were just talking about that horrible woman posing as your wife, and the stunt she’s trying to pull with the media.” Gotta hand it to her, Kim’s pretty quick on her feet when she needs to be.
Cole doesn’t look like he buys it, but he just shrugs his shoulders and holds up a bag of pretzels. “Thanks for these, Rose.” I offer him a small smile. “Would you mind helping me over here?”
“Sure thing, Cole,” Kim replies. It would be counterproductive to point out that he asked for me, so I just join them at the table, standing on the other side of Cole this time. He proceeds to pick up some photographs from his toddler years and place them in the pile of finalists. We’re making progress at last, and I can’t help but give Kim a sideways glance.
A while later, I pick up a photo of Cole and his mom on the red carpet at the Grammys. “I love this one.”
Kim looks at it and nods curtly. Cole smiles. The smile reaches his eyes, and I’m happy to see there’s no accompanying sadness.
“That one captures Mom’s spirit. She was so happy that night.”
I remember looking through the box of her special pictures at Cole’s dad’s house—so many of the photos were of the Grammys. “Julie often mentioned it to me when we talked.”
Kim perks up when I mention having a relationship with Cole’s mom, but she doesn’t say anything. For once.
“Do you want to make this photo the song’s signature? The one we use for all promo materials, and in the PSA that you’re filming tomorrow?”
“That’s a great idea, Rose. Yes.”
“The PSA tomorrow,” Kim repeats. “I had forgotten all about that.”
“Greta asked me to be on hand for it,” I respond.
“Recently?”
Keenly aware of Cole’s interest in this conversation, I say, “This week,” hoping it’ll be enough to shut her down. Turning to Cole, I say, “You have just a few more photos to go through. Ready?”
He quirks his eyebrow at me, and I know he’s wondering what’s going on among Kim, Greta and me. Desperate to divert his attention, I pick up a random photo and hand it to him. Thankfully, he becomes engrossed in the photo selection once more.
We finish reviewing the last grouping of photos, and Kim counts the ones in the finalist pile. Twenty-three. Just about right.
Kim reaches out and strokes his arm. “Cole, you did great. There were so many nice photos of you and your mom. I feel like I knew her after looking at them.” She gives me a dirty look before continuing. “Hey, I know you’re beat. How about we go out for some drinks to unwind. Rose can clean up in here.”
Cole gives me a pleading look. Ignoring him, I reply, “Yes, I’ll take care of the photos. You two should go.”
“It will give us the chance to get to know eac
h other better, so I can do the best PR for you,” she coos, oozing saccharine.
Cornered, Cole accepts Kim’s offer and they leave the conference room together. The Platinum people left while we were talking, so it’s just me and photos of the Manchesters in happier days. I put the ones he selected into an envelope and write “Finalists” on the outside. I look at each one of the others, loving how happy everyone looks in their various poses and settings. Jayson was always a ham, and Ken is smiling proudly in every picture. Julie’s smile is infectious. Cole looks, well, adorable as a child, then sort of geeky as a teenager, but by the time he gets to college, he’s well on his way to looking like the man he is today. Carefully, I pack the remaining photos back into the box.
“Rose, are you ready to go?”
I jump and photos from the finalist envelope go flying in all directions. Catching my breath, I say, “Roberto, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I saw Cole and the others leave a while ago, so I wanted to check on you.” He bends to help me collect the photos.
“I’m ready to go home.” Looking at my nails as I place the photos back into their envelope, I amend, “Actually, I need to make a detour first.”
Thursday evening
I SIT WITH MY nails under the dryer. At least my boring French manicure looks professional again. Roberto is pretending to read a magazine in one of the dainty chairs in the waiting area of the salon. Looking away, I hide my smile. He’s a good sport. Thankfully, he’s feeling fine.
Two women join me at the drying table. Judging by the ease of their conversation, they must be friends. The long-haired woman says, “What do you make of the marriage?” The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Her blonde companion responds, “He keeps denying it. My guess is she’s just a gold digger. He probably had sex with her and now she has delusions of grandeur.” They have to be talking about Cole.
“You don’t think he got drunk in Vegas and said what the hell? Cole is a huge party boy.” And my confirmation. Great.
“Nah. That man can hold his liquor and still keep it together.” They both snicker. I wiggle my fingers under the dryer. C’mon, nails, hurry up.
“How much did he drink that night? It must have been six or seven beers. Didn’t affect his performance with us one bit.” More laughter from them.
The one with the long hair looks at me. “We’re talking about Cole Manchester. You know who he is, right?”
Ugh. In that moment, I wish I’d never heard his name. Not trusting my voice, I nod my head. Maybe I can blow on my nails to get them to dry faster.
The blonde jumps into the conversation. “That man is crazy talented. And I’m not just talking about his music.” She offers a wink to ensure I understand. Oh, I get it all right.
I already knew Cole was no saint before we got together. Hell, I cleaned up after him for five years, so I’m well acquainted with the drill. But my stomach still churns at the thought of him having a threesome with these two.
Dry or not, I’m out of here. I can’t take another second of this conversation. Carefully plucking the handle on my purse, I say, “I’ll keep that in mind, ladies. Have a good day.”
I rush toward Roberto, leaving the ladies to their memories of my ex-boyfriend.
“Is everything all right?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
I take a deep, calming breath as soon as we step out of the nail salon. Fresh air is good. As I follow Roberto into the parking garage on auto-pilot, my mind replays their conversation. Yes, he used to have threesomes. Yes, he was wild. But then he said he loved me. Despite everything, I still love him. But am I enough for him?
Screw that, he cheated on me. Cheated.
And his actions in Vegas landed me on probation.
Plus, his stalker still has it out for me.
We’re exiting an elevator I don’t even remember boarding when Roberto stops short and grabs my arm. “Stay here.”
I stand stock still under a light and look around. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Roberto approaches my car with measured steps, his head going from side to side, and up and down. When he reaches my vehicle, he bends down and looks at my driver’s side front tire before walking around the car.
Squinting, I realize the front tire is flat. Crap. I must have run over a nail. I start to walk toward my car.
Roberto’s urgent tone catches move off-guard when he puts his arm out and says, “Stay back.”
I stop short and whisper-shout, “What is it?”
Not responding, Roberto pulls out his cell phone and makes a call. After a minute, he hangs up and takes photos of my car. I scan the garage again; no sign of anyone other than us. My pulse races, but I do as instructed. No reason to add to Roberto’s anxiety, even if my fight-or-flight impulse is on full throttle.
A couple of minutes pass, then Roberto puts his phone in his pocket and waves me over. I rush forward to join him.
“What is it?” I repeat.
“Your tire is flat.” I nod. “And she left you a message.”
Trying to control the tingling pinpricks shooting through my body, I squeak, “She? How did she even know I was here?”
“I don’t know. Kates is working on pulling security camera footage.”
I bend down to inspect the tire, holding onto the car for balance. “How? The tire isn’t slashed.”
“The valve stems appear to have been cut. She probably used a box cutter.”
I walk around to the passenger door and grumble in disgust. “And I see that she also used it to gouge my car.” I’m now the proud owner of a car that says, “Starr + Cole.”
Roberto nods. “Yes. She’s gloating.”
“Until next Friday.” Roberto gives me a quizzical look. “The official paperwork has to be filed by then, so her marriage certificate will be exposed as a fake. It’ll all be over for her.”
He nods in understanding. “The police will be here shortly.”
Sighing, I wander over to a spot on the well-lit curb and collapse down onto it. I can’t catch a thought. This is too much.
I don’t know how much time has passed—maybe a minute, maybe an hour—when Roberto joins me. He places his hand on my forearm. “Don’t worry, Rose. We’ll find her.”
“I know. I appreciate everything you’re doing to keep me safe.”
We sit in silence and wait. Both Roberto and I scramble to our feet when a police car drives up.
Detective Mahoney steps out. “Hi, Miss Morgan. Mr. Lopez, glad to see you back on your feet.” He goes over to my car and examines it.
Walking back to us, Detective Mahoney says, “I’m sorry Ms. Nelson continues to harass you. I had thought, hoped, that she would stop after the marriage.”
“You do know that the marriage is fake, right?”
“Yes, that’s the working premise. Lisa Nelson has no priors, so we don’t have much to go on. Other than she’s fixated on you and Mr. Manchester.”
Has she been in contact with Cole, too? I swallow and glance at my car with its scratched body and sad tire. I can empathize—I know how it feels to be bruised and deflated.
“We located Ms. Nelson’s parents in North Dakota, and we’re working with local law enforcement there to monitor if she reaches out to them.”
That’s news to me, although Roberto doesn’t look all that surprised.
“This goes without saying, but it’s important for you to stay close to your bodyguard.”
“Of course.” I need to get a grip and trust that Lisa Nelson will be found soon. It’s the waiting and not knowing that’s killing me.
“Do you have a spare tire, or do you need a tow?” the detective asks.
“I have a spare in my trunk.” Now I have to buy another tire. Great. Not only is she playing with my emotions, she’s making a dent in my pocketbook too, between this and the window in my rental that didn’t meet my ins
urance deductible.
Roberto asks me to wait while he escorts Detective Mahoney to his police cruiser. More freaking sitting and waiting. But I do it, because Detective Mahoney is right. I need to stick with Roberto and do as he says.
Returning to me, Roberto says, “I’m going to change your tire. Then I want you to drive my car to your house, and I’ll drive yours. I’ll feel better if we switch cars for this ride.”
Sensing that any argument I put forth will be for naught, I agree. With practiced ease, he changes the tire and follows me back to my place without incident.
“Hi, McKenna,” I say, announcing my return home.
“Hey there, Rose. Got dinner all ready.”
The relief of normalcy courses through my blood. McKenna is always so upbeat. Even Roberto smiles as we walk into the kitchen.
“Hey there, Roberto. Rose told me what went down yesterday. I’m glad to see you up and about. Want to join us for dinner? We have more than enough.”
I look at the spread and realize immediately that my neighbor has been here. “Have fun with Grandma Gertie again today, McKenna?”
“How did you know?”
“I’d recognize her chicken casserole and biscuits anywhere.”
“Well, we certainly have enough for three.” She giggles and continues, “Or twenty.”
I join her invitation. “Please join us, Roberto. You must be starving.”
“Thanks, ladies. I am a bit hungry. Besides, we can go over what happened today to see if we missed anything.”
McKenna’s eyes fix on me. “What happened?”
While we enjoy Grandma Gertie’s food, Roberto and I fill McKenna in about the tire and message left for me on my car.
“Damn, Rose, that just sucks. Any camera footage?”
“Kates is working on that.” Roberto stands and brings his plate to the sink. “Can I help you ladies clean up?”
I join him in the kitchen. “Thanks, but we’ve got it. I’m glad you’re feeling okay, and that you were with me this afternoon.” On impulse, I give him a kiss on the cheek. His olive complexion takes on a reddish hue.