by Megyn Ward
I run a thumb along her jaw and lean in for a soft kiss. When our lips touch, I fight not to pull away.
Close your eyes. Pretend it’s Kylie.
We cuddle and kiss for the next fifteen minutes. My stomach growing more sour with every murmured endearment. I tally the cost of finishing my undergraduate degree. Triple it for post graduate work. I match that up to the total of Liesa kisses I have to endure and try to divide it up to calculate how much I’m being paid for each kiss. Whatever it is, it’s not enough.
Finally, she draws back. “Is there another bottle of wine, or did Margot lie about that, too?”
I retrieve the wine from the kitchen and pour us a glass. I down it quickly and pour myself another.
Liesa snuggles next to me. “When we first met, I have to admit, I wasn’t all that interested in you.”
Where is this going? “Really? The first time I laid eyes on you I was a goner.”
She swats at my leg. “Liar. But now, I can’t imagine not being with you.”
She’s buttering it up nice and thick for the camera. Isn’t she? With Liesa, it’s hard to tell. “You don’t have to. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
She sits up and looks me square in the face, her expression as genuine as I’ve ever seen. “Honestly, Zach. I think I’m falling for you.”
My stomach flips over about three times and ends upside down in a lethal crash. I swear she is serious. And here I am, the biggest shit on the planet, leading her on.
For Kylie.
I give her full-frontal dimples. “Then my plan is working.” I gulp the rest of my wine.
Liesa sipped hers. “I’m really happy we made up.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “Me, too.”
“Because I’m going to need you.”
Uh-oh. “What’s going on?”
She sips. Hesitates.
I figure this was a calculated dramatic pause that could be used for a commercial break, episode cliffhanger, or simply for effect.
She turns to me as if hoping to gauge my response. “Mother arrived in Cayman today.”
Ten
Kylie
I get up before it’s light and dress in a decent shirt and skirt. I debate a long time what to wear. I want to look confident and respectable and avoid looking like a dive bum or trashy bimbo. The perfectly perfect receptionists aren’t going to just let me into Jonas’s office. I’ve devised a plan. Maybe not a great one, but the best I can do. Several times I pick up my phone to call Liesa.
That shocks the hell out of me. I’ve never asked fashion advice from anyone except Mom. I watched the girls at the sorority house exchange clothes, and dress each other for everything from a first date to formal dinners to regular classes. It always irritated me the way they giggled and passed clothes around and made it seem like the most important thing in the world. And here I am, wishing I had someone to give me an opinion. Not just anyone, I specifically think of Liesa.
She’s not your friend.
Guard your heart.
All of my clothes come from the thrift store, or at best Target or Old Navy. Nothing that smacks of taste and money. I finally settle on a black knit skirt and short-sleeved top and hope it will do.
It’ll never do.
I catch an early bus with several cleaning people and service workers. No one speaks in the predawn darkness as the bus stops and takes on people, then starts to dispel them when we make our way into downtown. I step off the bus with two other women and we split off, heading to different office buildings.
It isn’t difficult to skirt around the guard at the parking garage entrance. He slouches in his chair watching a small television and I sneak under his window and into the garage. I wander around the cavernous place until I find the reserved spots. Jonas will park in one of these. I find a low concrete wall and settle in to wait for him.
From where I sit I witness the sunrise through a narrow opening running around the top of the garage.
Zach, are watching the same sunrise?
My nerves jangle in time with my tapping feet. Mom hadn’t wanted me to know about Jonas. She’d kept me ignorant of him. Was it so she’d never have to share me? Was it shame? He’d be glad to know me, wouldn’t he? I was beyond the tough years when he’d have to worry about raising me. Blake’s words tumble in my head. But he’s wrong. What kind of man wouldn’t claim his own daughter?
With each second my heart pounds harder. Not long after sunrise, people start arriving for work. The BMW’s, Mercedes, and Audis with their sparkling clean exteriors expel equally shiny financial workers, in their expensive suits and dresses, their faces hard and full of drive. I watch each car enter the parking level, focusing on spotting a driver with dark hair and distinctive nose. Finally, when the young ambitious workers with something to prove taper off, Jonas buzzes into the garage in his black Ferrari. His wheels squeal as he whips into a prime slot and shuts off the engine.
He pops out and with his usual energy and bounces toward the elevator.
My father.
I don’t know how I manage to move, let alone speak. My mind turns to automatic which allows my voice to sound almost natural. “Jonas Knightly.”
He barely turns, as if people coming up to him in a parking garage happens every day. “Yeah.”
I hurry to intercept him before he gets to the elevator. “I don’t know if you remember me.”
He scrutinizes me a moment and frowns. “Sure. You asked me for a job. Did you speak to HR?”
“No. I….”
He steps around me, like a halfback zagging through the defensive line. “I’m not going to play this game. You’ve got spunk and ingenuity to seek me out personally. Yeah, yeah. So have a dozen other young people. Getting a job with me isn’t a matter of impressing me by how you can break the rules.”
I chase after him. “I’m not here for a job.”
He doesn’t slow his progress.
I inhale deeply and settle myself so the words will come out strong. “I’m here because you’re my father.”
I guess I expected him to freeze. I thought the words would ring through the quiet garage. He’d slowly lift his eyes to mine and study me. From there, I hadn’t thought too far. Maybe tears would form in his eyes. Maybe he’d ask for proof. Whatever I thought might happen, I don’t expect this.
He keeps walking toward the elevator. He reaches out and pushes the button.
I squeeze around him to stand between him and door. “Did you hear me?”
He huffs out an irritated breath and steps back, as if resigning himself to having to deal with me. “Yes. I heard you.”
What? I don’t know if I heard him right. “I’m your daughter.”
His head tips to the side and a look of boredom covers his features. “That’s how it works if I’m your father.”
“You know about me?”
The elevator dings behind me and the doors slide open with a whoosh but I don’t turn around. Jonas glances at his escape then back at me. “More or less.”
I can’t find my voice and can only squeak. “How? When?”
He shifts impatiently. “Let’s see. The first time? Maybe a few months after you were conceived. Then when you were born. When you broke your arm in the second grade. After your mother lost her job as a secretary at the law firm.”
He knew? All along, he knew.
“Or do you mean when you showed up in my office all wide-eyed and tongue-tied and gave me a stupid lie about wanting a job?”
“You knew I was lying?”
He smiles. “You look so much like your mother. At least, how she looked when I knew her. An idiot could figure out who you are. And I’m not idiot.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He waves me off. “Why should I? With any luck, you’d lose your nerve and scoot on home and save us both an unpleasant incident like the one we’re having right now.”
My jaw unhinges and I try to put it together. “Mom conta
cted you?”
He gives a contemptuous chuckle. “Why not? Jonas Knightly and his millions could certainly afford to help out a poor woman and her daughter.”
My stomach twists. “But you didn’t help, did you?”
A hard glint enters his eyes. “I tried. When she told me she was pregnant, I offered to send her to a very nice clinic. A resort, really. She’d have had a procedure, spent several weeks at their spa getting pampered, and gone on with her life.”
Clinic.
He’d wanted her to have an abortion.
To get rid of me.
I feel sick. “You wanted her to have an abortion?”
He retreats a few steps, probably giving up on the idea of getting to his office soon. “Look, I liked your mother. She was fun and smart. We both loved to dive and loved to fuck.”
That last seems to be stuck in there for shock value. It works. I can barely breathe.
He shrugs. “Sorry, but it’s true. I had just gotten married. I doubt your mother knew that, but I never promised her anything except a good time for as long as we were both in Cayman.”
“But…” I don’t know what I plan to say after that.
He plows through my hesitation. “When she decided to go ahead with having the baby—” He stops and assesses me. “you, apparently, I told her she’d have to do it on her own. I’ve got a wife and we’d planned to have a family. I couldn’t afford to have any embarrassing issues from my past creeping up.” He glares at me. “Sort of like you’re doing now.”
My throat aches with what I can’t say. “But I’m your daughter.” I hold out the DNA report.
He doesn’t even look at it. “Because of one determined sperm?” He laughs. “My responsibility ended when your mother chose not to have the abortion I offered to pay for.”
He steps around me and pushes the elevator button again.
I hear the desperation in my voice. “I’ll go to your wife. Show her the DNA report.”
He looks at the light marking the progress of the elevator. “It’s harder to get to her than it is to me, but it can be done. Especially by one as resourceful as yourself. But you aren’t the first one to try this. She doesn’t like to hear it and it usually costs me diamonds and vacations to help her get over the shock, but she loves me—or at least loves the lifestyle I provide—so she forgives me.”
“I’ll go…”
“To the press? They don’t care. I’m not a celebrity, you know. I’m just a rich guy. And rich guys get to do what they want.”
The elevator door opens and he places a hand on my arm to move me out of the way.
I stumble and watch him step inside. He doesn’t look at me as the doors slide shut and the light gives me the indifferent accounting of his climb to the top of the building.
Eleven
Zach
I hold the sweating cut crystal glass that now contains only ice since I’d downed the gin and tonic. Jonas ordered me to meet him this afternoon to check my progress with Liesa. He seems on edge, as if something nags at him.
After harassing me for the last fifteen minutes on acting more spontaneous and keeping my goddamned eyes off Bob and Lurch while filming, I’ve had enough. “Is everything alright? You seem touchy.”
Bad lab results?
We can hope.
He sits back with a surprised expression, as if stunned I’d interrupted him. “I’m fine. Just had a nasty encounter this morning. It doesn’t matter. I’m over it now.”
I don’t believe him. “Good.”
He knows I’m skeptical and probably doesn’t like it because he gives me one final jab. “Jeri’s been working on a scene to get you and Simone together.”
“Fuck that.” I hold up my hand. “That woman is crazy.”
Jonas laughs. “Don’t I know it. Still, that makeup scene didn’t give us the boost we expected so we need to add something.”
I imagine his face as home plate and using my crystal glass to pitch a strike.
Jonas punches a key on his computer keyboard and turns his attention there. His stupid sports metaphors continue and instead of saying good bye, or even get the hell out, he says, “Break!”
I stomp down the hall and don’t even spare a grunt for the IR, not that she talks to me, anyway.
This whole scenario is so fucked up. The only thing in the world I want is to be with Kylie. I want to see that smile that light up her face with a brilliance that floods me with happiness. To see those faint freckles along her nose and to watch the way her eyes go from sunny aqua like the shallows in the morning, to dark navy of the deepest ocean when she’s about to come.
Be honest, dude.
You want to fuck her.
Yes. I do. I want to fuck her.
And here I am, trying to plot a manufactured scenario where I’ll court Liesa like some old-fashioned romance novel to make TV viewers swoon and cream themselves. Bullshit.
It’s all a bunch of bullshit.
Yeah, it’s bullshit.
But you’re not doing it for you.
You’re doing it for Kylie.
The elevator opens on the ground floor and instead of taking the next one to the garage, I storm across the lobby and out the front doors. Without thought, just wanting to burn off frustration, I head around the block, drawn by the sound of the ocean. Seagulls screech overhead and soon the sound of traffic fades. Sand dunes replace sidewalks.
This is a private bit of beach. Not good for sun-tanners or swimmers, it’s only a sliver between condos that line the canals.
Coming here isn’t random.
You’ve been here before.
The day I fell for Kylie. She’d somehow slipped into the elevator with Liesa and ran headlong in to Jonas. She asked him for a job and he’d laughed at her. I’d followed her as she fled from the building, watching as her shoes were crushed by a speeding sports car. In her humiliation and distress, she’d taken off on a dead run.
Of course I ran after her. It was my fault her life had been thrown in such a mess.
And I wanted her. Even then.
Only her.
And I’m still making trouble for her. What if Jonas succeeds in finding out she’s the shower girl? The only way I can stop him is to deliver the ratings. And the only way to deliver ratings is to play the Liesa’s Life game.
When I’d been forced into this job for Jonas, it was because Niles had promised Mom he’d put an end to my drunken and debauched lifestyle. He’d done that by signing me into indentured servitude to Jonas with my inheritance as the payout. If I could get Liesa into bed, I’d get paid a bundle and get to keep my inheritance. If I failed, I got booted out of the Lowery family. Disowned and penniless.
It didn’t seem like a bad deal. Until I met Kylie. She’d changed everything. She made me forget about my first love, Lexi, and she’s made it impossible for me to do the job I have to do to save my future.
Only you, Kylie.
But my future doesn’t seem worthwhile if I have all the money in the world but no Kylie. I kick sand on my way closer to the water. When I stand on the concrete barrier that acts as a seawall, I see a figure sitting in the sand with her back against the wall. It looks as if she wears a skirt and her bare legs stretch before her. A brown bag obviously hiding a bottle rests next to her. The image before me wavers and I freeze. It must be a mirage or some fantasy from my imagination.
Kylie.
She doesn’t look like she’s in good shape. What is she doing here? Why does she look so bad?
I hop down to the damp sand and race toward her. “Kylie.”
Her head rests on the wall and she slowly pivots it in my direction without lifting it. As if she has no strength. She rolls it back to stare at the sea.
Salt tracks down her cheeks showing where she’s been crying. The skirt and blouse, not her usual shorts or sundress, look like she’s been sitting out here for hours and like they’ll probably need to be tossed. This is not the fiery Kylie I know. She looks as if someo
ne has stolen her bones.
I slide down the wall next to her and take the bottle from her hand. Surprised at the weight, I peel the bag down. “It’s full. You haven’t even cracked the lid.”
“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounds flat.
I could lie, tell her I walk out here a lot. Maybe I was working at the office and needed a break. “I’m here because of you.”
She snorts and flicks her eyes toward me and away again. “If you keep that shit up, I’m going to have to start drinking.”
There were few times in the last year that I didn’t think everything would be improved by a good strong shot, and the island rum in the bottle had been one of my favorites. But I snatch the bottle away and settle it by my side, away from her. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing.” Again, the flat tone. She stares at the water. “Not a fucking thing. Ever. Never.”
Don’t hurt her.
I put a hand on her chin and she doesn’t resist as I tug her to look at me. “Tell me what happened.”
“Don’t you need to get back to Liesa? She probably has a spectacular afternoon of cocktails and pool time planned.”
I deserve that.
Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though.
I let go of her chin and she turns back to the ocean. I want to tell her there is no Liesa and me. That it is always and only a financial relationship. But telling her might expose her to Jonas somehow. It’s better to let her believe I’m with Liesa. “A sunset booze cruise later.”
She snorts again. “How delightful.”
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. Why you’re out here, wearing those clothes.”
“What? These clothes? She suddenly jumps up, all fury and fight. “You don’t like them? They aren’t good enough for you and your kind?” She grabs the blouse and rips it open, buttons flying and plopping into the sand.
What the fuck?
I’m on my feet, arms out, trying to stop her. “Wait. What are you doing?”
She steps backwards, away from me. “This skirt? Sooo cheap and tacky. The kind of thing some low-class slut would wear when she’s trying to look respectable, right?” She reaches behind her and unzips it, shimming out and bending over to snatch it up, wad it in her hands and wing it into the waves.