by Mia Knight
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” he barked.
“I…” Her throat closed.
“Jasmine?”
She shook her head. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.”
“But the money—”
“That’s not the deal on the table. Yes or no? I don’t have time for this.”
She lifted her chin. “I have conditions.”
“You’re not in any position to negotiate.”
Her already heavy heart sank to her toes. She didn’t have anything to negotiate because she didn’t have anything he wanted aside from pussy on demand. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it as the seconds ticked past. He wanted to punish her for leaving him. It was in his words and the way he looked at her. Could she really do this? She could hear the buzz of his voice, but she wasn’t listening. Maybe she—
“Jasmine!”
She put it back to her ear. “Never mind. I don’t think—”
“What are your conditions?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said thickly.
“Tell me.”
She put a hand over her face as her head swam. “You… I don’t think I can do this. You ask too much.”
“What are your conditions?”
His voice was uncharacteristically gentle, but that could have been her imagination.
She took a calming breath. “You give my sisters back a controlling share of Hennessy & Co.”
He said nothing.
“And when we’re finished, you can’t go after them again.”
Still nothing, but that didn’t stop her.
“H-how long do I have to…” She struggled to find the right words and came up blank. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long do I have to whore myself out?” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you have a number in mind or is it over a certain period?” God, it couldn’t be long. She wouldn’t last.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m in a parking garage. Do you agree?”
“What parking garage?”
“Do you agree or not?”
“Give your sisters a controlling share, and I can’t go after them in future. Those are your conditions?”
She must be missing something else. “And you can’t come after my writing business either.”
“I have no interest in it.”
She didn’t trust him. Tires squealed as a car raced past. “How many times, Roth?”
“I’m not talking about this over the phone,” he snapped.
And she wasn’t going to be around him until it was settled. “Just answer me.”
“It won’t be a set number of times.”
“So I’m just supposed to hang around until you get tired of me?”
“I’ll send Mo to pick you up.”
“I’m busy.”
“Your time is now my time.”
“Not until I see a contract.”
“You’re pushing me,” he said in an icy voice.
“Whores always make sure they get paid first.”
He didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she felt like it was a point for her.
“Send me a contract promising to sell back the shares and that you won’t come after them again,” she said in a rush as she started to lose her nerve. “And I want in writing how long I’m supposed to put up with you. I’ll send you my email address.”
She hung up and sagged against the car. When the phone began to ring again, she declined the call and sent him her email address. He immediately texted her.
Roth: Pick up your phone.
She blocked his number again. He wouldn’t be able to get a contract until tomorrow at the earliest. She didn’t want to talk to him any more than she had to, and she needed time to come to terms with what she’d done.
Between Colette, her business with Roth, and how sick she felt, there was no way she would make it back to Tuxedo Park. Instead, she checked into a hotel and asked room service for cold medicine, a notebook, and soup. As soon as she entered the room, she filled the tub with steaming water and soaked her aching muscles. When the knock came, she answered the door in her robe. She accepted her requests and ignored the food and medicine and grabbed the notebook. She flopped on the bed and took a moment to admire the fancy hotel pen that glided over the page easily.
For an hour, the only sound in the room was that of a pen scratching on paper. Writing was a defense mechanism she had developed as a child. Whenever things got rough in real life, she retreated into her imaginary world. Instead of dwelling on her choices and the future consequences of her actions, her mind switched gears and focused on work. Amid her personal hell, she caught a glimmer of a potential storyline for book five and leaped on it. All of a sudden, rearranging words on a page didn’t seem so difficult. This she could control. This made sense. The real world didn’t.
When her fingers cramped, she drank the soup and popped pills before she went back to the page. She contemplated asking room service to buy her a computer but discarded that thought almost immediately. She was wary of interrupting her flow, and there was something about going old school with pen and paper that freed up a different part of her brain. When she finally stopped, she had over twelve pages of dialogue and her forearm was aching. As the meds did their thing and she slid beneath the covers, she floated in the mind of her character, not her own. The character’s voices echoed in her ears as she drifted off to sleep. She clung to them, wanting desperately to be a part of their world instead of her own.
Jasmine woke at noon. Before she got out of bed, she checked her emails but didn’t see anything from Roth. She didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing but decided to view it as a stay of execution. Maybe he was going to take his time getting the contract together. That was fine with her as long as he didn’t do anything to Hennessy & Co in the meantime. She was tempted to unblock his number to see if she had any texts or voicemails, but she didn’t want to discuss it further. It was a straightforward transaction. Sex to atone for her sins and ensure her family’s legacy. Not complicated and a rich man cliché. This was a business transaction and nothing more. Talking would only make things worse. And if they had to negotiate, they could do so through lawyers.
As she slipped out of bed to splash water on her face, she called Lyle. “How is she?”
“They’re monitoring her.”
“Do you want me to come by?”
“Nothing to do here. I brought my laptop, and I’m getting some work done. I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Okay, love you guys.”
“Same.”
She called room service for a meal and requested clothes before she showered and wandered back to her notebook. The moment she set pen to paper, the characters came alive. She began to document the conversation in her mind and was just starting to lose touch with reality when there was a knock on the door. She wheeled in a cart and went back to the notebook. At times like this when scenes were unfolding in her mind, writing became an addicting adrenaline rush. Her hand moved over the page of its own accord, and she read the story as it appeared on the page. Most times, she felt more like a transcriber than a creator. She didn’t know where the words came from and didn’t try to analyze the process too closely.
When hunger took precedence over the story, she took a break. She tried on the jeans and button-up shirt delivered by room service. Her dream world vanished in a puff of smoke when the jeans wouldn’t button up all the way, and the shirt gaped over her breasts. She undressed and checked the labels. Apparently, she had put on some weight. She was too embarrassed to call room service again, so she left the top of her jeans unbuttoned and pulled her jacket over the ill-fitted shirt before she left the room.
She got some sideways glances as she walked through the ritzy lobby. The chilly breeze put a spring in her step as she bypassed the line of taxis and made her way t
o 59th Street and Lexington. Her grasp on her dream world dispersed as the city demanded her undivided attention. Autumn in the city was just as stunning as it was in the country. The splash of red, orange, and yellow trees juxtaposed against the brick, glass, and concrete buildings was stunning. The racing pulse of the city invigorated her while the stampede of people forced her to keep up. The eye-catching, festive shop windows reminded her that the holidays were approaching at breakneck speed, and she had yet to buy any gifts for her family. She hunched her shoulders against the cold and eyed a woman’s plaid overcoat enviously. Fall fashion was in full swing, and everyone around her proudly displayed the colors and trends of the season. She was in dire need of a wardrobe update.
As she stopped at a crosswalk, people congregated around her. No one looked at her twice. She loved being anonymous. After growing up in the spotlight, she cherished being able to get lost in a crowd. Most of the people around her would recognize her last name since it was stamped on a good portion of the city. Knowing who her father was would automatically create an image in their minds of who she must be… and she wasn’t that person. She never had been. When Roth offered her an out, she took it. She hoped that she would be a better wife than a Hennessy daughter and employee, but she failed at that too, so she became Thalia Crane. She felt more herself as Thalia than she ever had as Jasmine Hennessy. She would never obtain the same level of success as her father, and she was okay with that. She didn’t want fame or riches. She just wanted to be able to create in peace.
She looked up at the buildings towering overhead. New York never failed to make her feel small. It was scary and liberating at the same time. Her grandfather lived the American dream when he had emigrated from Ireland and made a name for himself. She wasn’t sure how he summoned the strength and determination to succeed in the most cutthroat city in the world. Her grandfather had done amazing things and passed the baton to her father who had accomplished even greater feats. The level of expectation put on her shoulders at such a young age had been crippling. She hadn’t been able to live up to it, but her sisters had. She might not be part of Hennessy & Co, but she could ensure their company didn’t end with the third generation.
When the light changed, she crossed the street with the mob. She had to do some fancy footwork to make her way into Bloomingdale’s. It was busy, hectic, and roused memories of her childhood as she walked along the black and white checkered floor. Generally, she didn’t care to shop. As a child, such a huge emphasis was placed on image that she came to hate clothes shopping. But times had changed. Now, she could wear what she wanted to a certain degree. Since her father’s death, she had been the focus of some media attention, so she would try to look somewhat presentable for her sisters’ sake. Being forced to shop for clothes when her self-esteem was at an all-time low wasn’t the best combination, but she had no choice unless she wanted to drive back to Tuxedo Park.
When she walked into the women’s section, she went up to a smiling sales clerk, and said, “Help me.”
The sales clerk didn’t miss a beat. She was cheery, upbeat, and, apparently, knew exactly what she needed. The clerk put her in a changing room and started bringing clothes that suited her body shape. An hour later, she had a whole new lease on life. The too-small jeans, shirt, and dirty sneakers were gone. In its place were thigh-high suede boots, a skirt, and a camel-colored coat. She looked chic and fashionable and ready to take on the world. The clerk forwarded her packages to the hotel while she moseyed into the kid and baby sections.
She couldn’t resist checking her email three more times. Nothing from Roth. By the time she sent the second load of packages to the hotel, she was high on retail and eager for more. Desperate for more distractions, she caught a cab to Madison Avenue. The chances of being recognized in this area were higher since her father had a building on this block. She crossed the street to avoid her family’s hotel and continued on to the designer shops. Several shop workers recognized her and went out of their way to cater to her. She found some gifts for her sisters before she turned off Madison Avenue and slipped into Black Jade, a high-end boutique.
“Jasmine?”
She stopped in the entrance and pulled off her sunglasses. “Dai?”
Daiyu Wu was the daughter of one of China’s largest automakers and a fashion designer who had made a splash during Fashion Week while she was still in college. They had grown up in the same circles and attended the same college for a short time before Dai went off to Paris to pursue fashion. Jasmine heard from her sisters that Dai had opened up this boutique but hadn’t been able to visit until now.
The small woman threw herself at Jasmine and gave her a bone-crushing hug.
“Oh my gosh! How are you?” Dai asked.
Before she could answer, Dai pulled back and gripped both of her hands.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“I’ve taken some time for myself.”
Dai nodded thoughtfully and then switched her attention to Jasmine’s clothes. Without preamble, she spread the coat wide.
“Is this retail?” Dai asked.
“Yes.”
Dai’s lip curled. “You’re wearing retail?”
“Yes,” she drawled. “I live in the country most of the time. I don’t need custom pieces.”
“Your father wouldn’t approve,” Dai said.
She snickered. “Probably not.”
“You can do better than this,” Dai said, tugging on her shirt.
She slapped her hand. “Hey! I like this outfit, and I got catcalled three times on the way here.”
“You can rock it, but this…” She tugged on the hem of the skirt. “If it were just an inch longer, it would look better, and if I took it in here”—she pinched the sides and then smacked her butt—“your ass would look amazing.”
Apparently, age hadn’t toned down Dai’s outrageous personality. “Seriously, Dai?”
“Listen to me. Haven’t you heard I’m a genius? It was in this month’s Vogue, page thirty-six.”
“Congratulations. What are you doing in your store? I didn’t think you’d actually be here.”
“I had a celebrity request, so I came in. I’m going into the wedding market. Did you see?” Dai pushed her toward the mannequin in the middle of the store and gestured to the dress on display. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“It is,” she agreed.
The ethereal wedding gown was a mix of traditional and modern and fit for a princess. Knowing Dai, it was hand stitched, one of a kind, and cost a fortune. The dreamy tulle skirt rustled as a customer entered the store, bringing a cold breeze in with her.
“You’ve done well for yourself. I’m proud of you,” she said.
“And you? What are you up to?” Dai asked.
She hesitated. Although Dai was a friend, she was also a notorious gossip and thrived on drama. Telling her about her books would be tantamount to putting an article in the newspaper. Like everyone in the billionaire’s circle, Dai was well-acquainted with her and Roth’s past and would figure out who the series was based on in a snap.
“I’m handling some things for my father,” she said.
“Back in the business world, huh?”
She let out a non-committal noise and looked around the boutique. “This is my first time here.”
“You’re a bad friend,” Dai admonished before she went to the entrance and spread her arms wide. “When you come in, I want you to be dazzled and imported into another world. Were you dazzled?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” she said crisply and took two steps forward. “I want to design it all. Edgy street wear all the way to elegant wedding gowns. I don’t want to be put into a box. I want to be everything and nothing, you see?”
Dai embodied the attitude of a New York artist—defiant, vulnerable, poetic, and vibrant. Dai’s black shirt was two sizes too big for her an
d hung off one shoulder. She wore ripped yoga pants and dirty sneakers with a metallic gold fanny pack as a belt that jutted out on her tiny hip. She had a blunt bob with jagged bangs that hung in her eyes and oversized hoop earrings. Jasmine would bet money that the half-moon spectacles on the edge of her nose weren’t prescription.
Black Jade was beautifully done with chandeliers, gleaming floors, and amazing lighting. The large shop windows featured everything from grunge and punk clothes to avant-garde pieces. The clothes were categorized by color, which paired formal pieces beside jackets covered in spikes or fringe.
“Let’s get you out of those hideous clothes,” Dai said and pushed her toward a riot of color.
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. That’s why you were drawn to my shop. Your fashion sense knew it needed me. Okay, what are you looking for?”
“I’m not—”
“Never mind. You don’t know what you need. I do.”
Dai walked along the racks and started yanking stuff off at random without looking at sizes.
“I’ve gained some weight.”
Dai looked at her over her half-moon glasses. “Am I a genius or not?”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I am. I know exactly what size you are. Now, get in the dressing room.”
She stared at her for thirty seconds before she decided to obey. The dressing room at the back of the shop was just as glamorous as the rest of Black Jade. In the middle of four rooms were an oversized ottoman that could seat up to six people and a platform to model clothes in front of a massive three-fold mirror. The luxe dressing room had a unique ottoman covered in white satin and gold studs. She surveyed herself in the mirror. She didn’t look bad.
Dai banged the door open and tossed the clothes on the cushion. “Take off that ugly coat. I’m bringing back velvet.”
She held up a cranberry coat that Jasmine had to admit looked divine. Unlike Bloomingdale’s, Dai’s clothes were all about the details and texture. Dai brought her a cascade of colors from an olive corduroy jacket to a cherry-colored vinyl trench coat. Despite Dai’s bossiness, she was having a great time and had to admit the clothes looked amazing on her.
