Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “Incumbrance,” he says, picking a single word to repeat instead of responding to what I had to say. “How old would you say are, Miss Mahoney?”

  “I’m twenty.” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “And do you go to school?”

  “I study law.”

  “Law? Where?”

  “Western Sydney University.”

  “Western Sydney University,” he repeats, his tone tight, unimpressed. “Do you live out there?”

  “I do. I live in Cranebrook.”

  “I don’t even know where that is.”

  “It’s near the regatta centre.”

  “I see. And how long have you been dating my son? How did you meet?”

  “A couple of months. We met through work.”

  He narrows his eyes. Shit. “Through work?”

  “I don’t work there,” I lie, trying to cover my slip. “I work in the same building. We met in the lobby.”

  “How romantic.” He slips the mail he was reading back into the envelope then places the pile in the centre of the coffee table. “Do you know who pays for this apartment, Katrina Mahoney of Cranebrook, Western Sydney? Do you know who pays for Elliot’s comfortable lifestyle, manages his investments, provides his…” He pauses and gestures around. “Everything?”

  I don’t even respond. I already know and that isn’t the point. It’s a power play, letting me know I don’t belong in this world.

  “I do. I provide. I guide. I consent. And I did not consent to you. Nor have I heard a whisper of your name. That tells me you don’t matter.” He pulls his phone from his pocket then sits on the couch. “You can leave the keys with me. I’ll see that he gets them back.”

  My mouth falls open, and I desperately want to throw the keys in his face and call him a fucker. But I know that’s not going to help anything. If I want this thing between Elliot and I to work out, I need to play nice here. So I suck it up, place the keys next to the mail and hold my chin high as I go into Elliot’s room to gather my things. Shockingly, my bag is already sitting on Elliot’s bed packed.

  “What the hell?” Double-checking inside it, I find everything I brought with me stuffed in there. “You’re messed up, by the way,” I say, on the way out, brandishing my bag.

  “Get home safe, Miss Mahoney,” he says, lifting a hand to shoo me out the door.

  The moment it closes, I hear the deadbolt tumble shut. So I hold both my middle fingers up to the door and mouth a few expletives to make me feel better. Arsehole.

  Rushing down the stairs, I pull my phone out to hail an Uber to take me to the train station. While I wait, I put a call into Elliot, wanting to warn him his dad was lying in wait and that I was heading home.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I say when I get his voicemail. “I don’t want to call work in case it goes through to Beth. But I just met your dad. Real nice guy.” I scoff a little as I look back at the building. “Anyway, I’m going to spend tonight at home. I think you have some family shit to deal with when you get back here tonight. Sorry we’re going to miss movie sex like we planned.” I smile into the receiver, calming down a little as I think about our last few sex filled days. “Call me when you can, OK? And keep thinking about me naked. I’ll touch myself thinking about you.” I bite my lip a little, smiling. “Talk soon.” When I disconnect, the Uber turns up almost immediately, and I’m glad to get as far away as I can from Rupert Roberts and his stupid name.

  Twenty-Nine

  I’d like to say I woke up the next morning to a text from Elliot telling me the coast was clear and I could come back. Or even a cute voicemail saying he missed me in his bed last night, or that he was touching himself thinking about me too. But there was none of that. Not even a missed call.

  Zilch. Zip. Zero.

  The moment I walked out of that apartment, Elliot went incommunicado. I called. I texted. I even risked calling the office to see if he was in, but he was gone. Vanished off the face of the earth.

  At first, I was worried, leaving messages like: “Listen, Elliot, I don’t know what happened, or what your dad might have said about me. But I didn’t do anything wrong OK. Just call me and we can sort this out.”

  Then my worry dissolved into paranoia: “This is about David, isn’t it? You found out he visited me? Nothing happened. I mean, it did. He said he loved me, and he kissed me. But I pushed him away. I stopped it from going further because…shit. How do you erase voice messages?”

  But after that, I was just plain angry: “Fuck you, you fucking coward. You don’t get to tell me you’re falling for me then cut me out of your life. I deserve better.” And that’s the state I’ve stayed in since then.

  Five whole days. Nothing.

  With my time off over, I arrive at work on Monday a ball of nerves. I had no idea if I’d see him, or if I could even trust myself to see him. But when I get there and find out he’s not coming in today either, I get Anne to find his personnel file and get me his landline number. Short of asking my mum to contact his mum, I’m not sure what else to do. I need to speak to him and find out what this is about before I crack up completely. David said that Elliot is the only guy I’ve ever dated who’s good enough for me. If this is how a guy who’s good enough treats me, then what the hell does that say about me? It says I’m garbage. It says that men will always throw me away. Fuck. I don’t wan’t to be garbage.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I tell Anne when she hands me the Post-It with his number.

  “You didn’t get it from me, OK?”

  “Promise.” I run my finger over my heart in an X. “Cross my heart.”

  The moment she leaves the library, I pick up the phone, my stomach an uneasy storm as I listen to the ring. Just as I’m about to give up, the line clicks and the wrong voice fills my ear. “Rupert Roberts.”

  I frown and look at the receiver in my hand. Every time I hear his name it irks me. “Is Elliot available?” I ask politely, keeping my voice professional.

  “Who’s speaking?” Rupert demands.

  My heart skitters across my chest nervously. I could lie. But I think I’ve proven lying doesn’t work for me. I take a deep breath. “It’s Katrina. Is he there?”

  “Katrina. The Westie girl who seems set upon ruining his career? I don’t think he’s available for you.”

  Closing my eyes, I feel my face burning. “Can you just tell him I called, please?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grunts and hangs up in my ear.

  Fuck.

  ‘Westie girl’? Is that man serious? I understand that Western Sydney comes with its fair share of stereotypes. But, being from there doesn’t automatically make me classless and uncouth.

  Fuming and agitated, I need to talk to someone. I pick up my phone and automatically go to call David. The ingrained habit causes a double blow to my chest when I remember he’s not talking to me either. Fuck. Fuck!

  Who do I talk to?

  I can’t call Mum because I’ve been pretending everything’s fine so she wouldn’t panic. My brother will be at work and unable to talk, and I don’t really have many close girlfriends to talk to. Connor is a good listener, but I don’t have his number. But I do have Kayley. And I also have Carmel who’s in a similar situation to me.

  Weighing my options, I decide on Carmel and go to her office.

  She looks up and smiles when I tap on her door. “Are you busy right now?” I ask.

  “No, not really. Come on in. Is something wrong?” she asks, reacting to the anxious look on my face.

  I keep my voice low so any passers-by won’t overhear what we’re talking about. “It’s kind of relationship stuff. Is that OK? I know it’s the office, and I shouldn’t bring this here, but you’re the only one I know with experience in this stuff. And you’re dating Andrew who knows Elliot, so I’m hoping to find some clarity.”

  “It’s fine, Katrina. Why don’t you shut the door and take a seat?” She gestures to the black leather chair in front of her desk. “What can I
help you with?”

  I tell her briefly how my relationship with Elliot has been progressing, followed by the run in I had with his father, finishing with this morning when he called me a ‘westie girl’ and the fact I can’t contact Elliot at all. “I’m more than a little confused right now. I know we were drinking last weekend, so it probably doesn’t count, but how does he go from saying he’s falling in love with me to not answering his phone? Does his father think I’m some uneducated low-life who’s set upon dragging his son down with me? What the hell difference does it make where I’m from?”

  She balances her chin on her hand. “From what I know, Elliot’s family is pretty powerful. Lots of money, lots of connections. With the exception of his mother, they're all born and bred along the northern beaches and have that upper-class mentality going on. I copped it once from one of Andrew’s friends. I can’t remember what I did, but he said to me, ‘You can take the girl out of Penrith, but you can’t take the Penrith out of the girl’. I was livid, and I wanted to scratch his eyes out for being such a dickhead. But, that just would have proven him right, so I smiled and laughed like it was nothing instead.”

  “What did Andrew do?”

  “Nothing, we had our first major fight and almost broke up over it.”

  “Do you think Elliot would break up with me over this?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t think this is as simple as that, Katrina. Drunk or not, if he was willing to risk everything for you a few days ago, I’m sure his feelings haven’t changed that much. But I’ll talk to Andrew, see if I can find out where Elliot is and what’s going on with him. Maybe just be patient? I’m sure he’ll come around. I’ve never seen a guy look so smitten over a girl before.”

  I run my hand through my hair, releasing a loaded breath. “I hope you’re right.”

  * * *

  A week later, I still haven’t heard from Elliot. He’s returned to the office, but he’s avoiding me. I think it’s time to officially call it: I’ve been ghosted. We’re over.

  I’ve been ghosted and I’m so angry I want to set something on fire and throw it through his office window. Because this feels like shit. Most breakups involve harsh words or at the very least, a lame explanation. There was no crying, no yelling, no nothing. It sucks.

  Time drags at a snail’s pace, and my insides churn, rolling into one big ball of pent-up anger. I’m angry at Elliot for ignoring me. I’m angry at David for leaving me, and I’m angry at myself for getting caught up in another guy when I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.

  I need a new job.

  I can’t keep working here when I feel like this. But at the same time, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of disappearing like he wants me to. I want him to know I’m here, know that I’m better than whatever game he’s playing. I want him to know he can’t break me.

  Still, I don’t exactly have the courage to walk right up to him in the office and hand him the law journals and microfiche like I’m supposed to—I’ll probably need a bit of time to work up that level of boldness—so I purposefully leave them in his office at lunchtime on Friday.

  I’m trying to be as quick as possible; in and out like a ninja. But when I pass Beth’s desk, I’m rooted to the spot, catching sight of a photo pinned to her corkboard. It’s David. She’s in it too, smiling and looking at the camera while he kisses her on the cheek. I’m going to be sick. My head throbs and my stomach twists. The world tilts and I’m not sure if I can keep standing. That photo is everything I ever wanted. David’s love. David’s attention. David’s time. But he chose to give those things to her. He chose to give everything I ever wanted to another woman, and as fate would have it, it happens to be the one woman who thinks I stole her man. And now I have no one. Is that irony? Or is it simple Karma biting me in the arse? I’m not sure, but I desperately want to rip that photo down, tear it into little pieces and stomp it into the floor—maybe even spit on it.

  “We took that at my friend’s birthday party last weekend,” Beth says from behind me. I didn’t even hear her walk up.

  Taking a calming breath, I plaster a fake smile on my face, before I turn around. “It’s a great picture,” I say, briefly meeting her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she says, walking over to it and touching it. “I think we look great together, don’t you?” Is she goading me?

  I don’t have the energy for this.

  “You make a cute couple,” I reply, trying not to bring vomit up with the words. Then I point in the direction of the library and walk away.

  “I’ll tell David you said hi. I’m about to meet him for lunch.”

  I turn and offer a small smile. “Tell him he was wrong.”

  “About?” She shrugs, not understanding.

  “Everything.”

  Picking up my step, I desperately need to get out of the office to clear my head. I can’t think in here. The air is too cramped and I just need to see the sky and watch the birds, walk along the harbour until my mind can function again.

  Grabbing my bag, I catch the lift downstairs, gratefully alone as I ride it to the ground floor. When I step out, that’s no longer the case. David is waiting on the circular lounge in the foyer. Couldn’t they meet somewhere else? Tears surge in my eyes, so I smile tightly and start directly for the door.

  He jumps up. “Katrina, wait a second.” Just the fact he calls me by my full name now hurts.

  “I’m late,” I say, speeding towards the door, trying to keep it together. God, why does the sight of him always make me want to cry?

  He catches me by the arm, stopping me in my tracks. I stop moving but keep my face turned away from him. I’m barely holding myself together and David knows me well enough to read my emotions. “Is everything OK?”

  “What the fuck do you care?” I say, snatching my arm from his grip.

  “Just because I need space, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing my emotions back down inside of me, doing a terrible job as a tear drops, anyway. “You love me but need your space. You love me but you’d rather date Beth. You love me but I’m too good for you, so you have to walk away.” I shake my head as I wipe at my face. “It’s all bullshit. You ended our friendship and left me because that’s what you wanted to do. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.” Turning away, I storm out the door, squeezing my eyes shut to keep any more tears at bay.

  For the next hour, I walk at top speed through the streets of the city, trying to work away my anger and disappointment. When I think about Elliot or David, I want to cry or scream out my rage. They both deserted me. I wasn’t good enough for either of them. Neither fought. Neither took a real risk in order to have me. They just took my offered heart and decided it was too heavy to hold.

  Fuck them.

  Fuck them. The only person who seems willing to commit to his feelings for me is Christopher. He hurt me physically, but he never stopped fighting for me. He never took away his love. For a brief moment, I can almost imagine myself giving him another chance. We were good together before drugs got involved, and I do believe he’d never hurt me again. But it’s hard to think about him and not be re-visited with flashbacks of the attack.

  But at least he cares enough to keep trying. I have to give him that.

  I get back to work late, my mind still in a fog as I walk through reception just as Bianca finishes with a call. “Long lunch?” she says, her expression cold as she taps on her keyboard.

  “Something like that.”

  “You know, you seem depressed lately. I hope we’re not going to see any new scars because you can’t handle losing.”

  Pressing my lips together, I let out a slow breath then approach the reception desk, resting my forearms on the cool surface as I lean towards her. “Didn’t your mother teach you never to assume, Bianca?”

  “I don’t have a mother. But thank you for reminding me.”

  A jolt of empathy hits me, a sliver of unde
rstanding blooms. Maybe that’s why she’s so angry all the time.

  “Well, I suppose that was a prime example wasn’t it? I assumed you had a mother to teach you manners, and you assumed I got these scars because I’m mentally unstable.”

  She looks at me and tilts her head.

  “How did you lose your mother?”

  Her catlike eyes narrow. “I didn’t lose her. She left when I was young. My dad raised me.”

  “See? Now I have a little understanding of you.”

  “You don’t know jack shit.”

  “Would you like to know how I got these scars?”

  “Why not?”

  “My boyfriend picked me up and threw me through a glass sliding door.”

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Was he trying to kill you?”

  I bounce a shoulder. “He doesn’t know. Drugs were involved, and he didn’t know what he was doing until he came out of it.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. So maybe, the next time you meet someone with unsightly scars, don’t use those scars to torment them. We already feel shitty about them, and unless you know exactly how they got there, you probably shouldn’t assume.”

  “I…I’m sorry,” she says, her expression softening.

  I nod then leave for my desk. At least that’s one less pile of bullshit I need to deal with.

  Throwing myself into work, I motor through everything in my tray, searching the office for missing books then asking Priya if there’s any more for me to do since I was at a loss.

  “Why don’t you just go home?” she says, glancing at the time. “There’s less than an hour and you’ve done more than enough today.”

  “Thank you.” Relief fills my chest because it also means I won’t have to risk spotting David in the station crowd heading home. Feeling a tiny bit lighter than I was this morning, I grab my things, taking the door that leads to the copy machines so I get out of here unnoticed.