by Megyn Ward
I think about the contract I signed. It states that I will receive my first chunk of money when ratings increase by five percent. After that initial bump, I won’t get paid again until the ratings maintain market share for four consecutive weeks. After eight consecutive weeks of the new rank, I’ll receive the bulk of the money and be free to leave the show and collect a percentage in the future. Jonas only has rights to the shower scene for this season, after that, he can keep me on the show, but he can’t air the scene.
Basically, once we get viewers engaged, I have two months of hell and then I’ll be free. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be stuck on the show for as long as Jonas wants me there. Shower scene or not, doing time on Liesa’s Life will be a torturous sentence.
All Blake’s pleading only firms my resolve. “I’m not like Zach or Liesa. I’ve worked my whole life for anything I needed or wanted. I’ll do my job for Jonas and in a couple of months, I’ll be free.”
Twenty-Nine
Zach
I might have been able to negotiate a better deal, but the salesman at the used car lot smelled my desperation. It took too long for his mechanic to check her out and declare the engine sound. In the end, I walked out of there with six-thousand in cash for a car he’ll sell for three times that.
I dip into the stash for a taxi to get me to the hospital. The six grand won’t cover the whole bill but it might buy Diana the surgery, with a promise to pay off the balance later. Almost three hours after Kylie’s call, I hope it’s not too late.
When I punch her number, the call immediately goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message and urge the driver to hurry.
I shoot through the glass doors of the hospital, frantically searching for the business office. I resist going to Diana’s room since it’s already after five and I’m afraid the business office will close. Turns out that was a good choice because a young woman in a navy-blue skirt and white shirt is locking the office door, bag slung over her shoulder.
“Wait!”
She startles when I shout and run toward her. Her expression says she doesn’t know whether to run from me or swing her purse in self-defense.
I hold up my hands to reassure her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I need to pay a bill. Now. I need to clear the account because the doctor said he won’t do surgery until it gets paid and I’m here and I’ve got money. Not all of it but I can get more and this is more than half, so here I am.”
I’m jabbering and running sentences together and her face shows I’m clearly some kind of lunatic. I hold out the cash. “Diana Lincoln.”
She presses her back against the door, eyes wide.
I breathe slowly. “I’m sorry. It’s urgent. Diana Lincoln.”
“Diana Lincoln.” Her eyes track me, but wheels are turning in her head. “Sir, that bill was paid earlier.”
“What? Who?”
She takes tentative steps around me, making an escape down the hall I’d run up. “I can’t tell you that. But it’s been taken care of.”
“Is Diana in surgery? Is she okay?”
She’s heading down the hall at a good clip and I stay with her. “I can’t say.”
It nearly kills me to take the time to stop at the front desk to get Diana’s room number and I trot down the corridor, searching the numbers, frantic to get to Kylie. I need to know she’s okay. When I finally find the right room, I stop in the doorway. There seems to be a party and I sort through the people playing dominoes, the two women in beds and food, blankets, pillows and clothes strewn around the room. There is one empty bed and a guy stands next to it, facing away from the door.
It’s Blake. The bed has to be Diana’s and she must be in surgery. But where is Kylie? Blake isn’t a fan of mine, so I don’t disturb him. Instead, I take a cab to Kylie’s house.
She’s not there.
With my heart pounding, I direct the cabbie to The Green Frog. Timothy hasn’t seen Kylie. He tells me she called earlier and said she and Diana had to quit. He’s not happy about the suddenness of their move, but, like me, is worried. It’s not like Kylie to be so flaky.
I’ve got no other choice now but to go back to the hospital.
The party is much subdued when I approach the room. I see why. Diana is tucked into her bed. Even from the doorway I can see the bruises on her face and her gray pallor.
I step into the room searching for Kylie. Where is she?
Blake looks up and his face morphs from concern to aggression. He shoots around Diana’s bed and comes at me full force. I hold up my hands, but he plants both of his palms on my chest and propels me back into the hall.
“You son of a bitch.” He growls it when I know he’d rather shout.
I shove him back and stand my ground. “I’m here to help.”
His fists clench like he wants to hit me. He can try but I can promise it’s not going to go the way he thinks. “Help? You’ve done enough, don’t you think?”
Blake’s a good guy. He’s trying to protect his friends. But I know how he feels about Kylie and he knows how she feels about me.
That means we can never be friends.
But I let it go because this isn’t about either of us. “How is she?” I say, shooting a look at the foot of Diana’s bed.
His face droops a little, as if I slapped him. “The fucker hit her so hard he ruptured her spleen. Raped her and dumped her in our front yard like a bag of trash. She’s broken.”
I look past him, and my gaze settles on the foot of the bed, a thin blanket tented by Diana’s feet. It makes it a little too easy to imagine Kylie in that bed. “Where is he?”
“What?” Blake sounds confused, like I’m speaking in tongues.
“The guy who did it.” I jerk my gaze away from the hospital bed and look at him. “Where is he?”
“Gone.” He frowns at me. “What are you doing here?”
I’m nowhere near satisfied with that answer but I swallow it. It doesn’t go down easy. “I’m here for Kylie. Where is she?”
“Can’t you just leave her alone?”
His tone stiffens the back of my neck. Like has the right. Suddenly, we’re back to taking verbal swings at each other. “Kylie and I are none of your business.”
“She’s my friend—that makes it my business.” His face turns to granite. “If you care about her at all, you’d stay the fuck away from her.”
Thirty
Zach
Before my eyes open, I’m thinking about her.
Kylie.
She’d sounded so lost when she asked me to help her. I failed her. Where did she find the money?
Kiley, where are you?
I throw off the sheet and stumble to the tall windows with the amazing ocean view. The morning sun sparkles on gentle swells. Palm trees ruffle their fronds in the soft breeze. Paradise for some, but empty without Kylie.
I’m worthless to her. Blake is right. All I’ve done is bring disaster to her life. I’d tear this island apart to find her and make sure she’s safe, but I’m no good for her.
Shit. I have to stop thinking of her. Jeri and Tom have me under tight surveillance, so I can’t even drink my way to forgetfulness.
I throw on a pair of gym shorts and shirt someone has folded in my drawers, and pad in my bare feet along the tiled hallway, down the stairs and eventually to the dining room. There has to be coffee; Jeri isn’t cruel enough to take that away from me, too.
I’d gladly do without alcohol or coffee for the rest of my life to avoid what hits me as I step into the dining room. Focused on the carafe and cups on the sideboard, next to platters of fresh fruit and pastries, I don’t see the danger until it’s too late.
Simone purrs from where she sits at the table on the opposite side of the room from the coffee. “Morning, sleepy head. Mmmm. Don’t you look delicious when you wake up.”
Don’t gag.
“Just getting some coffee.”
She unfolds from the table, like a spider creeping across her web. She wears
a satin chemise, barely long enough to cover her thighs, with a see-through chiffon robe flowing around her. “Let me pour for you.”
“Got it.” I mumble, not wanting her anywhere near me.
Her lithe body brushes against me as she reaches for the carafe. She angles her arm in the right position to let the chemise gape open, giving me a bird’s eye view of her pert breasts and hard nipples. They’re obviously a plastic surgeon’s masterpiece. Someone else might appreciate them, but not me.
I think of Kylie’s pert breasts and hard nipples and my cock jumps against my shorts. Simone’s eyes drop. A cagey smile slides onto her face. “Good morning to you, too, sir.”
With jerky movements, I grab the coffee carafe and we both hold on, just short of wrestling with it.
The door to the kitchen swings open and a domestic worker emerges carrying a chafing dish of eggs. I see her white nurse-style shoes, then long, tanned legs, the tray of steaming eggs held in lean, well-toned arms... by the time I make it to the blonde ponytail, my blood is already ice.
That’s where she got the money.
Jonas.
Fucking.
Knightly.
Her step falters slightly, but she recovers a stiff, bland look closing over her face. She shifts her eyes away from Simone and me standing close, our hands touching on the carafe.
I jump back as if burned. My mouth opens, to say what, I don’t know. Maybe yell at Kylie to run. Maybe not say anything at all. Maybe I’m just going to knock the eggs out of her hands, throw her over my shoulder and get the hell out of here.
Movement in the doorway shuts my mouth and turns me turn to the sideboard.
Bob the Cameraman makes his way into the room focusing on us. Lurch dangles the boom. Jeri follows and I’m sure Tom hovers in the hall.
Simone’s smile takes on that polished shine and she shoves closer to me. She speaks in a husky voice, overplaying her Mrs. Robinson role. “I like taking care of you.”
Kylie clatters the eggs onto the chaffing tray and fumbles in the pocket of her maid’s dress to pull out a lighter.
“Terrific,” Liesa’s voice screeches into the dining room.
I jump and whirl around to see her standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. With her yellow sundress and blonde hair around her shoulders, her snapping blue eyes, she looks like Kylie, or what Kylie would look like if she weren’t in a stupid maid’s uniform.
But Liesa isn’t paying attention to Kylie, her seething is directed at Simone. She stomps into the room and grabs me by the wrist. “What part of my boyfriend don’t you get?”
Jeri nods with approval at Liesa. Bob and Lurch step closer.
Finished with the chafing dish, Kylie retreats to the kitchen. At least we can avoid a confrontation with Liesa for now.
Jeri frowns.
Simone opens her eyes wide in fake innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She flashes me a wicked grin and winks. “Guess I should get dressed.” She swoops out of the room.
Liesa cups my face, squeezing my cheeks. She plants a noisy kiss on my mouth. “I’m sorry, sweetie. My mother is such a slut.”
There’s nothing I hate more than that cutesy-kissy face thing she does, and don’t even get me started on her calling me sweetie. I want to slap her hand away, but with the cameras rolling, I slide my arm around her back and bring her in for a better kiss. If I can distract her, maybe she won’t find an excuse to call the maid in. “I’ll put up with Simone if it means spending more time with you.”
She steps back and wipes her lipstick from my mouth, another habit of hers I hate. She surveys the sideboard. “This fruit looks yummy.”
Yummy is not a grown-up word. “Let’s take it outside on the deck and watch the ocean.” Get her further away from Kylie.
She pecks at my lips, making way more noise than contact. “Great idea.” She picks up a plate and silver tongs and with the deliberation of a surgeon working on a craniotomy, begins selecting. She captures a chunk of watermelon, holds it up for inspection, sets it back down and tries another. The process repeats with pineapple, strawberries, and kiwi until I want to scream. I manage to keep from checking the kitchen door every second so Liesa won’t suspect anything.
I quickly fill my plate with a croissant and a random pile of fruit. When I lift the lid to the eggs and start to scoop them onto my plate, Liesa gasps. “Oh my god!”
I almost drop my plate. “What?”
She slaps a hand over her heart as if it’s stopped beating. “I can see from here those eggs are dry. I’ve warned Cook about this before.”
I slam the lid down. “They’re fine. You’re not going to eat them anyway.”
She leans in for another quick kiss and I can’t help jerking my head back. It isn’t enough to stop the kiss but maybe enough to hint that I’m tired of being pecked at. “Standards, Zach. We can’t have the help getting lazy.” Before I can protest again, she struts to the kitchen door and swings it open.
Jeri rolls her hand at Bob to follow, her grin stretching like a hungry lion.
Silence drops on the dining room and I race toward the kitchen door. Jeri throws herself in front of me and I ram into her.
“Not a chance, lover boy. Save it for later.”
Bob doesn’t get a chance to catch any interaction, though. Before he can get in the kitchen, the door swings open again. With a sense of artificial calm, Liesa floats back into the dining room with a strained expression. She lifts her plate and with a smile as fake as Simone’s boobs, she says, “Going to join me on the deck?”
I scramble to collect my plate and coffee and we settle on the patio table under the bright umbrella. I shovel food into my mouth, nervous and unsure how to manage the situation. I should have known Liesa would plunge ahead.
She doesn’t pretend to be interested in all that fruit she’s so carefully chosen. Clearly upset, she speaks in a tight voice. “You brought her here, didn’t you?”
It surprises me she’ll start this where Bob can capture it. But Kylie is here and obviously part of the storyline. “I didn’t know. I had nothing to do with it.”
We need to speak in code now. The viewers aren’t supposed to know about storylines and plots and scripts. “It’s not an accident your ex-girlfriend is suddenly working in my home. Days after you move in.”
I shove my plate away. “Look, Kylie isn’t my ex-girlfriend. I hardly know her.”
She narrows her eyes. “It didn’t look like that to me when we ran into her at the Blue Heron.”
I roll my eyes specifically for the camera, even if I don’t see Bob and Jeri, I have no doubt they lurk somewhere. “You’re the only girl I’m interested in. I swear. I love you.”
She studies me, for a long moment before she softens her face into that little girl pout I hate and apparently, the viewers love. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” I leaned over the table and grasp her abandoned fork. I select a juicy chunk of pineapple while I speak. “You are everything I could have hoped for and I am the luckiest guy in the world.”
Tears spring to her eyes and for the life of me, I swear they aren’t manufactured for TV. She looks almost sad but before I can react, she blinks them away. “I’m glad you’re mine.”
I hold the speared pineapple to her lips. “Now eat your breakfast. It’s my job to take care of you.”
Thirty-One
Kylie
Shit. Damn. Hell. Fuck. I slam the egg dish into the sink and run hot water. This is going to be so much harder than I thought. When I signed up with Jonas, I assumed he’d use the shower tape and as much as I hate that, I accepted the terms. For Diana.
But I didn’t know he was going to force me to play a goddamned servant complete with old-fashioned uniform. Although he’d made damned sure it’s so short that if I bend over, my ass is front and center in America’s living rooms.
Absolutely, Diana is worth the humiliation of not only being a maid but having to watch Zach salivate a
ll over Liesa and her mother. Truthfully, the maid issue is my problem. Domestic work is a legit way to make a living and nothing to be ashamed of. I know this and believe it. I have no problem slinging drinks or working with tourists as a dive master for an honest wage. It’s not about being a servant.
It’s about being their servant.
I scrub the egg pan, fighting the lump rising in my throat. Mom would be so disappointed in me. She might have understood me falling for Zach, after all, she’d gotten pregnant from Jonas.
But she’d faced her situation on her own, with her head held high. She’d had me and raised me and never lowered herself to the subterranean level where I stand now.
“Hey, I know you.”
I hadn’t heard anyone enter the kitchen but when I spin around a perky young woman with dark hair, blue eyes, and a set of dimples that match Zach’s stands at the door to the outside. Heat climbs up my neck when I remember the only time I’d seen her. The morning Zach and I woke up on the beach together. Our first time.
What can I possibly say? “Hi, Alicia.” I turn back to the pan and scrub, though it’s already clean.
She bounces around to the counter beside me and plops up on it. “Kylie, right? What the fuck are you doing here in that stupid uniform?”
In Tom’s briefing he’d been clear I’m barred from mentioning the role I play for the show. “I work here.”
She eyes me. “Oh, I get it, you work for Liesa’s Life, not as domestic help, right?”
Sue me, Tom. I don’t really care if Alicia knows that reality doesn’t mean real. “Something like that.”