by Emily Bourne
Darius narrows his eyes. “She called you?”
“We had a lot to discuss.”
Darius rests his palms on the desk and takes in a lengthy breath. “I don’t understand why she didn’t come to me right away. This decision affects all of us. If you two are planning to marry to run the company, I need to know these things.”
“I know,” Ethan says, lowering to an armchair. “She made me promise not to say anything. In hindsight, it was a bad decision, but I wanted to respect her wishes. I’m sorry I took my anger out on you the other day. It was misplaced. It also hurt me that Jazz left.”
Darius lightens his expression and nods at Ethan. “Of course, you put your heart out on the line for a woman and she leaves on a party yacht.”
“That isn’t a deterrent, Darius. Believe me, I still want to marry your daughter.” He finds his eyes. “I have your blessing?”
Darius takes him in, his mind crunching. “If you can bring her home and tame her childish ways, I’d be overjoyed to have you as a son-in-law.”
Ethan grins. “Thank you, Sir.”
“It will be my pleasure to officially welcome you into the Abadi family.”
Ethan takes in his mentor. The colour has returned to Darius’ face. He has overpowered his illness and remains the strong mentor Ethan always admired. Ethan’s idolisation increases and he fidgets in his seat, buzzing for the moment he is named heir and told by Darius how proud of him he is.
“I will help guide her. Help her become more mature and conduct herself appropriately,” Ethan says. “Lord knows after the scene she made in the bar she could use some help with decorum. Once we are married it will be easier to keep watch of her. I’d be doing it for your sake just as much as hers. You don’t need the stress. Look at what happened by her leaving. Jazz will have a stake in the company, but she’s too much of a loose cannon to hold the reins. You put too much into this company to have her tear it down. I’ll be the Abadi to take the company to a higher level. I foresee takeovers and expansion. Ultimate ME will be bigger and better than ever before.”
Darius smiles, a light dancing in his eyes. He holds out his hand, and Ethan takes it. They shake and Darius says, “I like the sound of that.”
Enough
ADRIAN dashes into Eddy’s office. “I’ve gotta talk with you. Jazz freaked out and left.”
Eddy stands by his desk, phone to his ear, and panic on his face. “Do you know where Gene lives?”
“What? No. Why?”
“He’s gone,” Eddy blurts. “The caseworkers took him.”
Adrian falls back on a chair. “But he was just here.”
“They came back, and he willingly left.” Eddy blows out a breath in frustration. He pulls back his dark blonde hair and shakes his head. “Why would he do that?”
“Maybe this place scared him?” Adrian wonders out loud, thinking over the last twenty-four hours. “Enough to go back?”
Eddy slams his desk. “You saw his face. We can’t let him go back there.”
Adrian stands and moves closer to his friend. “DJ wasn’t your fault. Don’t torture yourself.”
Eddy gulps and shivers. “You didn’t hear the things he said in session. Thinking over everything, I should have caught on.”
“Ed, don’t.”
“We need to find Gene.”
“You’re right. We can’t let him go right back home to abuse. But how do we find him?”
“I dunno. I feel useless.” Eddy looks at him sideways. “You said Jazz left?”
“Mhmm.”
“Why?”
“I told her about my past.”
“That can’t be it.”
“She said something about her mother.”
“Her mother?”
“That I stole her memory.”
Boys
“Gene, you’re alive,” his mother bawls, dragging him into her arms at the front doorway of their home. “I was so worried. Where did you go?”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Gene says, pulling out of the hug. He looks past his mother to his father, who keeps his anger in check for the caseworkers benefit. “Hi Dad.”
His father nods. “Gene.”
“Is everyone ok?” Miss Eden asks from the front step, glancing at her watch.
“Of course,” his mother cheers, briskly rubbing Gene’s arms. “We have our boy back.”
“We can give you some space to talk things through,” Mr Duban says, nodding to Gene’s father.
“Good,” his father says, gesturing to Gene to come further into the house. “Get inside.”
Gene’s blood runs cold. His mother pats his back and pushes him towards the living room. He walks in, keeping his father in the corner of his eye.
When Gene sits on the worn, floral sofa, his father leans over him and wags a finger in his face. “No more funny business from you. You hear me?”
“Funny business?” Gene asks, sinking into the sofa.
“Don’t play games with me,” his father growls. “You are to come back into this house and act normal.”
“Normal?” Gene scampers back on the sofa and turns to his mother, hoping she will remove the dread twisting his insides.
She sits beside him and pats his knee. “Just be like the other boys.”
“What other boys?” Gene asks in a whisper.
His father grabs his collar and yanks him forward. “Don’t back talk. You will be quiet and respectful, and you won’t let any more disgusting vile things out of your mouth.”
“All I said was, I am gay.”
Smack.
Gene’s head hits the backrest after his father’s hand whacks his face. Gene slides his hand over the throbbing wound as his mouth hangs open.
He turns to his mother, whose eyes are brimming with tears. “Mum?”
“Be a good boy,” she pleads through sobs.
“I am,” he replies, sitting up. “Why do I have to live a lie to live here? I don’t want to have to wait until I’m eighteen to be me. Please, don’t make me hide, or they’ll send me to foster care.”
His mother's eyes shift to his father and then back to Gene, expression unchanged.
Gene brushes back her hair. “Remember all the fun times we had when I did your makeovers? I’ll still be the same boy.”
His father shoves him, looming over him to say, “No more sissy stuff. You will act like a man.”
Tears fill Gene’s eyes as he looks to his mother.
His mother’s face is streaked with tears, and she nods with a warbling throat.
“No, Mum...”
“You will do as I say!” his father yells.
“Please,” his mother whispers. “Please be good. I have to stick by my husband.”
Gene’s stomach drops and his heart pounds to a slow beat. A shine to his mother’s eyes says she wants to keep him, but the fear fogging her eyes confirms she’s trapped. Gene grows sick, knowing his mother needs as much help as he does. But maybe if he leaves, his father won’t hit her.
Gene stands and his father steps back, hatred burning in his eyes.
“Goodbye,” Gene murmurs.
“What?” his mother wails.
His father flexes his arms and grits his jaw. “What?”
Gene wipes his face and takes them both in one last time, and then bolts for the front door.
“Don’t you even think about coming back here!” his father yells. “We’re through!”
Gene dodges the social workers as he races to the footpath. They call out to him, but he quickens his pace, dodging potholes and pedestrians as his thoughts struggle to keep up with him.
He catches his breath a few blocks away from his house, bending over and resting on his thighs. His heart cries to return to the shelter, but he reminds himself of the mess left behind when Jazz abruptly walked out on them. Maybe if I make things right between Adrian and Jazz, he will let me stay with him. I’m the reason they fought, so maybe I can make them happy again.
Gene pulls out
his phone as he works on a plan. He opens Collage and taps on a trending post at the top of the feed. His jaw almost unhinges as he takes in the image and the ungodly caption.
“What the hell?” he yelps.
Destroyed
JAZZ pays the driver and retreats into the Abadi Mansion. She forces the heavy front door closed and slams her back against it. Her heart shatters and her tears stream as her mother’s locket swings in her mind. Thoughts of her mother tumble into overdrive.
She slaps her heart and tells herself to snap out of it. Focus on what’s important, you stupid girl.
She dries her face and calls out to her father, stepping through the first floor of the mansion while gazing up at the dual winding staircase to the second floor.
“Father?” she tries again. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Eerie. Not even a housekeeper in sight. Where is everyone?
She stops outside her father’s study and knocks on the door. “Father?”
The door creaks open. “Father?” Jazz peers inside. It’s void of natural sunlight with no one inside.
Jazz creeps inside, looking over her shoulder, still unconvinced she’s alone in the house. She tiptoes around the desk and pans the papers laying on top. She slides a few documents across the desktop and flicks her fingers between the pages of a folder.
Something in here will give me an edge at the board meeting. She wills something to magically appear in front of her and be the key to her success.
She sits on the desk chair and opens the drawer by her legs. She twists her lips, knowing the good stuff would be at the office. She slams the drawers closed and huffs. Something catches her eye by the computer keyboard. She tugs at the paper, examines the header, identifying it as an invoice from Maiden City University Hospital.
Hospital? Jazz’s mouth falls open as she reads the notes about her father’s recent hospital stay. Why didn’t he tell me? She then purses her lips and shakes her head. How could he? I hid purposefully.
She slouches in the chair as the guilt slithers out of her stomach and takes hold of her body. I could have used a phone at the shelter. I could have told him I was ok. She rests her face in her hand as she wonders whether her disappearance caused his condition to worsen.
She sighs and rubs the puffiness under her eyes. She asks herself what she really wants to put forward to the board. How can she really make a difference? She thinks of young Gene with the sparkling brown eyes full of hope and the ugly bruise afflicting his sweet face. A sour taste lines the back of her throat. She never asked him how he got the bruise. But she wanted to know. She wanted to talk to him and help him. Her knuckles crack at the thought of Tessa and her job interview. She never bothered to coach her before she left, even though she could spot in an instance she would fail.
And Adrian.
A good man, she had called him. That is him now. What he did to her was in their childhoods. The locket swings from a chain in her mind, the blue stone shining and bouncing light. She grits her teeth and her stomach knots. Why the locket? She remembers it being a big robbery. Many things were taken, but the locket broke her heart.
She stands from the desk and paces out of the study, across the herringbone floor, and jogs up the staircase to the second floor. She opens the door to her expansive bedroom. The cream walls, plush white carpet, and the oak four-poster bed adorned with delicate opaque white fabric dancing in the breeze, sends a chill to her skin. Her wealth is grotesque. She spent four nights on a lumpy bunk bed mattress, and it was enough. With the surrounding community, there was no need for complaint.
She shakes off the new wave of guilt and moves to the shelf to the left of the desk. As a child, these shelves were a blush pink and filled with trinkets, toys, and picture books. Now they’re cream and stacked with academic textbooks and progress reports from the gym she manages.
She perches on the edge of the bed and stares at the shelves. She closes her eyes and focuses on imagining what they looked like in her childhood. She sees the photographs of her and her father and the portrait of her mother before she was pregnant with her. Her mind pans across the silver jewellery boxes and the hand-sewn teddy bears. A memory resurfaces of the locket in her hands. Her small hands open the locket. Her heart races as her mind reveals the contents of the locket. The raven lock of her mother’s hair. The only part of her mother she ever touched.
Stolen.
The last piece of her mother taken away from her. The moment that destroyed her childhood and forced her on the path of business over emotions. Spreadsheets over romance. A way no one could ever cause her that kind of pain again.
She opens her eyes and flings herself backwards on the cashmere comforter. The boy responsible is now the man who opened her heart to the possibility of romance. Her body tenses from the top of her skull down to her biggest toe. Adrian’s face appears in front of her and she tilts her face to take in his features. He made her feel better about herself. Opened her eyes to bigger possibilities. Ways she could use her education and experience to a better use.
But could she trust him?
She rises from the bed, unable to decide what to do with the mess in her head. She walks into her marble-tiled bathroom. The only thing she’s sure about is she needs a shower and to dress in something from her own wardrobe.
Illusion
GENE uses the map on his phone and lands at the entrance of Ultimate ME Head Quarters. He slips his phone into his pocket, inhales bravery, and walks into the lobby.
“Hold up,” a man in all black with an earpiece tucked around his right ear, says, pushing Gene backwards. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I just...”
The security guard looks Gene up and down, smirking. “I don’t think so.”
Gene takes in his scruffy attire. Fair enough.
Gene backs away and darts out the front glass doors. He moves to the side of the building, dropping to the ground and unzipping his backpack. He would need to look the part in order to sneak in. He pulls out a silk scarf, hair products, black square sunglasses, and a fitted ash denim jacket.
He works product through his hair, watching through the phone’s camera he propped against the steps. He takes a makeup wipe from the front pocket of his bag and swipes it across his face. Under his eyes, get three wipes. On closer inspection of his pores, he eews his reflection. He slings the scarf around his neck and ties it delicately at the front. He props the jacket on his shoulder and fits the sunglasses on the bridge of the nose, giving the illusion they may tip and provide someone the privilege of looking into his eyes.
He blows a kiss at his reflection and then slips the phone into his pocket. He stashes his backpack behind a dumpster and dusts his pant legs. He tilts his chin up and angles his shoulders back as he swans into the lobby. He reaches the elevator and peers over his shoulder, checking security is still in the building. The guard from earlier stands tall by the reception desk, hands clasped to his front and staring ahead.
The doors open, and Gene steps inside with cool confidence and hits the button for the top floor. The elevator doors close and his exhale blows like a mighty wind. Phew.
The doors ping open, and Gene steps onto the floor like he’s meant to be there. He dips his sunglasses and eyes the secretary.
“Hey babe,” he sing-songs as he swishes his hips her way. He twirls the jacket with a flick of his wrist and drapes it over his forearm. “Almost knock off time? I’m just here to see the big guy.”
The mousy secretary’s shoulders droop as she scans her calendar. “I have no more meetings scheduled. You are?”
Gene plants a palm on her desk and juts a hip, smiling. “Boy, I love your highlights. Where did you get them done?”
The secretary scrunches her hair with confusion. “I don’t have highlights.”
Gene clutches his chest, feigning shock. “You’re kidding me. It’s gorgeous.” He bounces from the desk and skips to her side. “If you tell me it’s natural, I’ll just drop dead right here.�
��
The secretary giggles nervously. “I’ve never dyed my hair.”
“Oh my goodness,” Gene gasps, running a hand through her hair. He smiles, thinking back on how easy it was to get in Holly’s good graces. “I’m literally dying. You have to let me style it.” He moves to face her. “That’s why I’m here. I’m a stylist. I have a meeting with Mr Abadi because I’m supposed to start work on some models for the next campaign. Are you telling me he hasn’t got my appointment scheduled?”
“Unless it’s a mix up from when Mr Roth took over?” she suggests.
“Come again?”
The elevator pings open.
“Here he is now,” the secretary says, gesturing to the man walking off the elevator. Gene already knows who he is from Collage. Ethan Roth. Jazz’s competition.
“Mr Roth,” the secretary says, “this is the stylist for the next campaign.” She gestures to Gene, looking lost. “Sorry, your name again?”
“Yes, I’d love to know,” Ethan says, removing a cufflink, “considering the CEO doesn’t oversee the marketing campaigns.”
The secretary’s cheeks burn red, and she lowers her gaze to her keyboard.
“Ah, I need to talk to Mr Abadi,” Gene says flatly.
Ethan cocks an eyebrow, looking Gene up and down. He nods at his office, removing his other cufflink. “Follow me.”
Gene’s courage gurgles to the pit of his stomach. His shoulders lock as he moves into the office behind Ethan.
“Shut the door,” Ethan says, tossing the cufflinks on the desk and sliding off his jacket. “So, who are you really?”
Gene closes the door and mutters, “I... I...”
“It’s easy to sweet talk Heather out there,” he says, smiling to himself as he moves towards the floor-length mirror. “She might be one of the few women hired here not for her looks. Hmm, maybe I’ll change that after they confirm my position at the board meeting tomorrow. Ha, maybe that can be Jazz’s new job.”
Gene touches his phone, remembering the post he saw when he left his house. “You’d do that to your fiancé?”
