by Ava Claire
“Right this way.”
I followed her into the elevator with at least half a dozen questions. “How long have you been working with Jessica?”
She scanned a key card and punched the top floor. “I've known Jess since we were kids. Two bad ass rich kids with chips on their shoulders.” She smiled to herself, like she was conjuring up images of times long past. I didn't point out that Jessica was still living the life with her chip in tow.
After our last meeting she threatened me with some party that would make the headlines and she didn't disappoint. She invited some indie rock band for a private concert on the rooftop of the building. Traffic was backed up for miles with people stopping to look up at the rich decadence, swaying and dancing to their own music, wondering what it would be like to live in Jessica's world.
One look at Esther's face and I knew that it wasn't nearly as fantastic as it seemed. “She needs help.”
I understood. “If she needs to go to rehab-”
“She doesn't need rehab,” Esther snapped, barely waiting for me as she breezed out of the elevator.
The corridor stretched towards a wall of frosted glass. Bamboo floors, wall to ceiling windows on both sides. Esther slammed the brakes and I nearly tumbled into her.
She pointed in the direction of the glass. “She's waiting inside. I know her, and she'll put up a front if I'm there.” She gave me a sobering look. “Ask the right questions.”
Before I could ask what that cryptic question meant, Esther was floating in the opposite direction. I was left alone. Silence wasn't a problem since the closer I inched toward Jessica's apartment, the crisper the music that flowed into the hall was. Classical music. The same kind of music Jacob listened to when he needed to shut the rest of the world off and focus.
When I opened the door, I half expected to be confronted by a smattering of naked bodies, wall to wall of champagne bottles, used condoms, confetti, and wrinkled couture dresses. Instead, her apartment was spotless. Unassuming furnishings, with just the basics. A charcoal gray sectional and ottoman, a dining set. A chair here and there. Artwork framed and leaning against the wall. It looked like a place of transition; like someone had begun the process of building a home but stopped at the bones.
“I'm upstairs!”
I followed her voice up the floating staircase, going into publicist mode. Something told me it was going to be a long afternoon. I expected to be called into her office, made to stand while she sat behind her desk, trying to glare me into submission. There was only one person I submitted to, and that person was not Jessica Lenoir.
I did afford her a courtesy that she denied me and knocked.
“You can come in.”
I tried to not pin too much hope on her cheerful voice. If our last meeting taught me anything it was that nothing was as it seemed. I opened the door and took in a room that was more of the same. There was a mattress up against the wall, stripped and bare. Bleached white walls. And then there was Jessica. She was dressed in a black jumpsuit, her mahogany hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. She was in front of a bay window, the sun shining in and illuminating the canvas in front of her. If the rest of her apartment was a blank slate, an anonymous story to be written, her canvas was her. Angry slashes of red and black and blue. Colors collided and split and ran together like blood. She pivoted toward me, holding a brush and a look so serene that I almost apologized for disturbing her.
The look was fleeting though, along with the urge to apologize when her face darkened with displeasure. “I thought I could do this, but now that you're here...” She turned back to her canvas. “I'd like you to leave.”
I laughed. Just a single, brutal guffaw. Brutal enough that she spun back around to look at me with surprise instead of disgust.
And then the laughs wouldn't stop. They shook me from the inside out. Pouring out of my lips, squeezing my sides. I wiped the tears, trying to turn off the spicket. When I could breathe without giggling and look at her without finding humor in this crazy situation, I started over again.
“I don't belong in this world. Your world. All the money, the fame, the excess. I stick out like a sore thumb.” I walked over to the bed and kicked off my heels and dropped down with a sigh. “The last time I went over to my mother-in-law's she had a servant whose only job was to make sure her wine glass was filled and my water remained cold. But this is my life now. I go to the store and I don't have to look at prices. If I want something, I can have it. There's no need for budgets. No coupons. If I wanted to hop on a plane when I leave here I could set the destination for anywhere in the world.”
Jessica's green eyes were still wide with surprise, but a hefty dash of confusion was in the mix. “...congratulations on the come up? You're the American Dream.”
“No, I'm the fantasy. The chances of me meeting my husband, falling in love, and marrying a billionaire had to be a million to one. At least. Shit like that doesn't happen in real life.” I gestured around us. “This apartment, partying all night, properties from here to Tokyo, that doesn't happen in real life. No one takes you seriously because your life is so far outside of reality. We have to show the world that you're real.”
She held the brush out like a knife. “How the hell do I show the world I'm 'real'?”
“You can start by dropping the act,” I said darkly. “I don't know why you're pretending you're nothing but a socialite, but it's doing you no favors.”
Her face was a storm of emotion. Anger, hurt, and guilt lashed across her eyes. Singed her lips. “You don't know me.”
“And neither does the world,” I answered. I rose from the bed, walking toward her. She backed up a few steps like she was expecting me to hug her, but I looked through her. The indignant, obnoxious girl before me was just as much a front as the party girl. What was on the canvas was closer to the truth. “You painted this?”
She stepped up beside me. “I...yes. It's probably not very good.”
I stole a look at her, watching the vicious, overly confident person I knew her as hide behind this quiet, self conscious artist. Someone closer to the truth.
“It's great, actually.”
“Right,” she scoffed, like my opinion was worth less than nothing.
I bit back the urge to call her on it. To take her to task for doing everything she could to make me not like her.
Ask the right questions.
“I'm a fixer,” I said, staring at the slashes on the canvas. Letting them cut away the animosity. “It's one of the reasons I went into this field. When I see a disaster, I don't run from it. I run toward it. I like it messy and complicated because I want to be the one that untangles it. But I'm learning that I'm not superwoman. There are some things I can't fix. Sometimes, I have to step back and give other people the agency and responsibility.” I faced her, needing her to look into my eyes and see that I was coming from some place real. “I can't do this for you. I can lead the way, show you the path but you're the one that has to walk it, Jessica. None of this will work unless you're ready to take the reins.” The most important question, the only question that mattered rang in my head. “Do you want to take over your father's company?”
“Yes,” she said, not missing a beat. “But-”
“The but doesn't matter,” I interrupted, pulling out my cell phone. “The artwork downstairs, is that yours as well?”
She nodded, finally at a loss for words.
“Good. We're going to set up an art show for next week. We need to show the world that there's more to you than jet-setting and body shots. Which means no more parties unless they're benefit galas or charity events.” I glanced up to see if this was all sinking in.
Her face was blank, but she nodded, biting her lip then releasing it. “Essie has my calendar.”
“I'll go find her so we can nail down some dates.” I stopped at the door. “And for the record, you're not kind of good. Or merely okay. You're great. Don't forget that.”
I could have been imagi
ning it, or hoping that I somehow got through, but I could have sworn I heard her whisper ‘thanks’.
TWELVE
****
I was back.
The Whitmore estate looked even more foreboding than before because this time, I knew exactly what to expect: Alicia's haughty little grins, her nameless servants, surrounded by her expansive, cold, empty wealth.
I reached over and gripped Jacob's knee. “You know, it's not too late to turn around.” I scrambled for some excuse. “I feel a tickle in my throat. Or maybe you have a headache.”
“Or a stomach bug. Some gnarly affliction that just came on. Interestingly enough, it occurred after the security guard already alerted her to our arrival.” He rounded the circular driveway, killing the engine before he looked at me. I knew he wanted to be here even less than I did, but it didn’t make any of this easier. “Trust me, I don't want to do this either. But the only way to beat my mother at her game is to look her in the face and let her see that she didn't win. I'm not going to hide or avoid her. I need to look her in the face when I tell her to go to hell.”
“And I can smile gleefully as she gnashes her teeth and threatens to reveal whatever skeletons she has left?”
Jacob interlocked our fingers, his eyes going dark with anger. “Unless she has another son or daughter in her back pocket, there's no way she can hurt me more than she already has.”
I lifted our hands to my lips and kissed his skin. “I know it took a lot to come here. I’m proud of you.”
He released me with a bitter chuckle. “The night's still young. My mother has the impressive talent of bringing out the worst in me.”
Like he knew I was about to make a last ditch effort to get the hell out of dodge, Jacob eased out of the car, walking briskly to my side and pulling the door open. There was no escape now.
I reluctantly accepted his hand. “We can do this?”
“We can do this.” He looked like a man ready to go into battle. His suit was his armor, his dark hair slicked back so the enemy could see just how fearless he was. When he pushed me back against the car and gave me a kiss that made the world spin, I realized I was wrong. I was his armor.
He ended the kiss too soon, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and tugging until the throb between my thighs was a consuming ache that could only be sated if he took me. Right there. Right now.
He wet his lips and I swore I could feel his tongue on me. Licking. Flicking. Swirling. Tasting.
His hands skimmed my side, the unspoken language of our bodies taking over. He wasn't really going to—but he had already hiked up my skirt. My panties were already to the side. His fingers dove inside me and I threw my head back, letting loose a moan that was devoured by the darkness. His mouth was on mine, his cock so hard that-
“Ahem.”
Crap.
For the briefest moment, everything ceased to exist but his fingers and lips...and I forgot that we were standing in front of Alicia's house.
Jacob slowly ejected his fingers and my jaw dropped when he didn't acknowledge his mother's existence at all. He looked deep into my eyes and brought his fingers to his lips, suckling each one. Making me quiver for more.
“Honestly, Jacob,” she hissed. “You couldn’t contain yourself long enough to get through dinner?”
He ignored her, holding out his arm to me. Blushing all kinds of red I fixed my skirt and accepted it, deflecting the daggers Alicia was throwing my way with a smile.
“Let's get this over with,” he spat, leading me toward the house.
When I stepped inside I expected to see Miles, but there was an older woman standing beside the door instead. She was dressed in a plain charcoal colored dress, both hands locked at her side, a plastic smile fitting for a mannequin on her face. With the Shirley Temple curls that framed her face and the fact that she literally moved no muscles, it was downright eerie.
I heard Alicia behind us, silent and cussing us out at the same time. I focused on the woman instead, holding out my hand. “Hi! I'm Leila. And you are?”
“The help,” Alicia answered for her, closing the door crisply behind her. My mother-in-law was dressed in a pantsuit that matched the color of her heart—black. She waved the woman away. “Please make sure everything is ready for our guests.”
The woman practically curtsied. “Right away, ma'am.”
Jacob sensed my discomfort as I watched the woman hustle away like her life depended on it. “It's just the three of us, mother. Surely we can manage dinner on your own.”
Alicia flicked her bangs to the side like she was discarding that notion. “I know you're playing poor for your wife's benefit, but things have been done a certain way in this home and will be continued to be done as such.” She strutted past me like I was invisible. “I already had to let someone go because he forgot his place.”
I remembered Miles. So terrified to even breathe. Too terrified to even give his name. “You fired him? How could-”
“Leila,” Jacob said gently. His eyes told me to pick my battles, and this was one I'd lose.
The anger was already eating me alive and we hadn't even been here for five minutes. She fired someone to punish me. What kind of person plays games with people's lives that way?
It was all my fault. I just wanted her to see him as a person and it cost his job.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see anything but red. I couldn't move.
“I can't do this,” I said hoarsely, so furious that I could go no further. “I can't sit at a table with her. She makes me sick, Jacob.”
He stepped in front of me, cupping both sides of my face. “I'll be right beside you. Once we say our piece, we'll leave. I promise.”
Alicia stood in the distance, waiting in the doorway of the dining room impatiently. “What are you waiting for, dear? A trumpet? The red carpet treatment?”
“There will be sharp things,” I told Jacob tersely. “I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
He grinned, his face lighting up with amusement. “Duly noted.”
Smiling despite the heartache, I trailed behind Jacob, traveling deeper into the lion's den. I wanted to oohh and ahh over the table. Plates were piled high with fruits and vegetables and meat and pastries, but I kept seeing the blank stare of her staff. It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through for a dinner for three.
Jacob pulled out my chair, then slid me closer to the plates piled high with culinary delights before he joined me. From the scowl on his face, he left his appetite at home.
Alicia assumed the role of gracious host. Once the servant filled her glass she raised it in a toast.
“To my guests.” Her teeth sparkled as brightly as the diamonds in her ears. “To family.”
She couldn't be serious.
I peered over at Jacob and I could tell he was similarly appalled. He didn't raise his glass, but he did give his mother his undivided attention.
“Family,” he said, rounding every syllable of the word. “What an interesting word coming from you. You, who clearly can not comprehend what such a word means.”
I found his hand beneath the table and held tight. He took a breath and squeezed it back, then released. He could do this. He had to do this.
“I met my brother,” Jacob continued, his voice filling the room. “The family that you gave away, then lied about it. To my face.” His eyes smoldered. “Repeatedly.”
The smile was snatched from Alicia's lips. Those striking genes that she passed on to Jacob and Cole hardened to ice. “I thought we agreed that we wouldn't discuss this anymore. I admitted the truth, and you told me you'd drop it. That you didn't want a relationship with the boy, you just wanted to hear the truth.”
I pulled my hand from Jacob. Confusion was catching tonight. “You never told me you didn't want a relationship with Cole-”
“Things changed,” Jacob snapped. His voice softened when he glanced over at me. “You helped me see that I was missing out on something special. The ch
ance to know my little brother.”
“Oh God,” Alicia snorted. She rang her condescending little bell and the servant leapt to action. Alicia nodded at her wine glass. “I'm going to need the whole bottle I'm afraid. My son has gone soft.”
That bitch.
“Are you really that oblivious?” I exclaimed, throwing my napkin on the table. I don't know why I foolishly believed I could hold my peace with Alicia Whitmore in the room, but I wouldn't let her hurt my Jacob. Not again. Never again. “Somehow, your son still loves you. He still cares, even after all the horrible things you've done. And you sit here in your gilded cage and laugh at him. You don't deserve his love. How can someone so lucky, so blessed, be so goddamn evil?!”
“Evil?” Alicia put down her glass and put both hands on the table like she was bracing herself for something big. “I am not perfect, but I am trying-”
“Being honest should not be an Olympic feat,” Jacob spat, rebuffing her sorry attempt at an explanation. “What I asked of you didn't require a limb or your life or anything you were incapable of giving. You chose to lie. You chose to punish me, just like you've punished me all my life.”
“Punish you?!”
I watched in awe as Alicia Whitmore shattered before my eyes. It was night and day. Jekyll and Hyde.
The always poised, always collected woman was in bits and pieces, her shrieks clawing at my ear drums. “I was trying to spare you, Jacob! This truth was my burden to bear!” Her eyes were crazed, glassy with emotion. When the servant came back with the bottle of wine she retreated slowly, like she was all too familiar with this brand of monster and if she got too close, Alicia would tear her to shreds.
“What did he tell you?” she hollered.
Jacob was tense, but I saw the concern in his eyes. The worry. “Calm down-”
“What did Cole tell you?” she battened down the hatches, going full on crazy. “What lies did he fill your head with? Did he tell you what a good family he grew up with? How much he missed you?”