by R. S. Elliot
Jackson smiles. I want nothing more than to wipe that satisfied grin off his face. “For now.”
He shoves his phone back into his pocket and makes his way toward the exit. “I’ll forward you my account information in the morning.”
A hitman. It would almost be worth the extra money. I cringe at the thought of paying that man anything.
I’ve seen too many of these deals go south quickly. Growing up with millionaires and billionaires all your life, you pick up a few things about the ins and outs of blackmail. Like how the blackmailer always makes copies. He’s never satisfied. And the best thing to do in any situation is to come clean and handle the consequences.
Because it always comes out in the end.
Fine, Jackson. You want to play this game, we will play. The best thing to do is play along, for now, pretend to go along with Jackson and his little scheme. I’ll do damage control. Distance myself from Aly the best I can, at least in the public sphere.
She’s going to hate me. But at least this time, I’ll have a better excuse.
I haven’t told her about Chloe yet. How am I going to explain I’m only dating her to bide time until I can concoct another plan? And now I’ll need to make that relationship as public as possible, anything to draw attention away from this tape. No one would believe it was Aly on the recording, anyway. They have no idea who she is, and I never said her name loud enough to hear.
They would just assume it was Chloe.
Chloe, who everyone is going to see me with at the gala in just over a week. Chloe, who I was with on the same night Aly texted me to come get her from the club. I could make it work somehow.
Deflect suspicion and do damage control for as long as I can.
Then no matter what happens, I’m done pretending. I will find a way out of this mess. I’ll find a way to protect Aly’s reputation and give her the life she deserves.
Then one way or another, Aly will be all mine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aly
“They loved you,” Marianne says.
“They’ve agreed to a substantial contribution, and they even mentioned the idea to some of their colleagues.”
“So, where do we go from here?” I ask, trying to suppress the shaking in my voice. I’m practically trembling with excitement. Our meeting with potential backers for this business endeavor of mine couldn’t have gone any better. I was nervous the entire time, spouted out random statistics without even noticing it. But they smiled all the same, appeared impressed even. I felt good about it all, despite the sheer terror speaking in front of others caused me.
First obstacle down. A million to go.
“We can reach out to these new recommendations,” Marianne explains. She’s seated across from me at her dining room table, nursing a fresh mug of coffee and a slice of cheesecake. “Some of them have already agreed to talk with us over the phone. So we will start with them and move on to other areas of the proposal.”
The bubbling in my chest wells up like a cauldron.
Magical, mysterious, overflowing. For the first time in my life, it feels like everything is finally falling into place. My mother is doing better at taking care of herself. I’m nailing this business proposal. Which means, even if I don’t get the apprenticeship, I’ll have this to fall back on.
The only thing missing from my life is Zach.
I talk to him on the phone, and text him throughout the day, but it’s been over a week, and we still haven’t seen each other. The big news he’d been dying to tell me was never revisited. He simply skirted around the idea and said it was something we would need to discuss in person. And since I have yet to see him face-to-face in all that time, I’m beginning to doubt I ever will.
“Thank you for all your help, Marianne,” I say. I couldn’t have done all of this without her showing me what to do.
“Of course.” Her bright smile fills her face. “Do you know when you’re supposed to hear back from the committee?”
I shake my head. “About a week, maybe? I’m not sure. I submitted it yesterday and received a message back saying that it might be about that long.”
Zach emailed me the day we were supposed to meet for the final revisions, a week after our night together. He mentioned some vague emergency in the family, which prevented us from meeting in person. Red flag number one. Then he explained that there weren’t any recommendations for improving the proposal and that I should just submit it as is. I did my own last-second adjustments before sending it, but I’m still not one hundred percent sure it’s going to wow the committee.
I created something amazing. I am doing something amazing. That’s all that matters.
At the end of the day, this project is happening. With or without the board’s approval. But something still feels off with Zach, and I can’t seem to place my finger on it. He’s been avoiding me. At least face to face. Otherwise, I hear from him every day. It can’t technically be considered ghosting if he’s still texting me on a daily basis. Can it?
“What’s wrong?” Marianne asks suddenly, noticing the sudden change in my demeanor.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Sweetheart. I know that look.” She wags a finger out in front of her. “What’s that dog done to you this time?”
“He hasn’t done anything,” I explain, then grumble under my breath. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Marianne narrows her eyes, a small “v” forming at the center of her forehead. She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips. “Have you talked to him?”
“Yes. I’ve talked to him. Just not face-to-face. He always makes some excuse for why we can’t meet.” This conversation makes no sense to have with Marianne. Even though she claims to like me as an individual, she doesn’t like me dating a man whom she treats like her brother. She hasn’t said it in so many words, and she definitely hasn’t hinted at it recently. Maybe she’s slowly warming up to the idea. But it still doesn’t make this discussion any less awkward.
“I don’t want to approach him at the end of class or in his office,” I add. “We’ve both decided that’s not going to work if we want to keep things quiet for now. But then when are we supposed to have a real conversation?”
We’re right back to where we started. Keeping one another at a distance until the semester is over. Or until one of us finally cracks and moves on.
If this was his way of stringing me along, he’s doing an excellent job so far. He might have only made love to me to keep me on the back burner, there just in case he needed me at the end of the semester. I didn’t give him much of a choice. It was either give me what I want, or I’m moving on.
It’s not like I have a line of suitors outside my door ready to take me on the sexual thrill of a lifetime. It’s not like I even wanted to start dating before meeting Zach, but I want the option. If Zach isn’t going to be there for me, isn’t going to be beating down my door to spend time with me, then why am I bothering with him at all?
Because you’re in love with him.
No! I can’t be in love with him. I’ve only known him for a few weeks. And most of that time he’s spent ignoring me.
“I don’t know,” Marianne says. “Derek would know more about that than me. All I know is Zach hasn’t been himself lately. He hasn’t even been by to visit us for a while, and he’s usually here twice a week.”
As if on cue, Derek emerges from the other room. His dark brown eyes examine us like rare, unsettling specimens found in the dark corners of the zoo. “What are you two talking about?”
Marianne turns her face up toward him. “Do you know what’s going on with Zach, lately?”
Derek jolts as though electrocuted and then presses a hand into his thigh. His long fingers reach into his pocket and extract his phone. “Ooo! Sorry, honey. I’ve got to take this call.”
Marianne and I sigh in unison. I am content to let Derek walk away with his secrets, but Marianne is not so easily dissuaded. “Hold it. Hold it. Ho
ld it. Derek Philip Michael Beaucoudray. You better get back over here.”
Derek only stares, the look of a child caught in an outlandish lie. He shoves the phone back into his pocket and saunters over, shuffling his feet and pretending indignance. “Damn, she had to go for the quadruple name slam.”
I laugh.
Marianne only rolls her eyes and asks, “What do you know?”
“I don’t know much.” Derek shakes his head, completely serious again and looking more confused than secretive. He faces me. “I just know Zach likes you. I mean, really likes you. He’s just got a lot going on right now.”
“Like?” Marianne’s words grind out like ice cubes in a dispenser. “Spill it!”
Derek’s gaze passes from me to Marianne. “I don’t know all the details. Just something with his dad.”
“His dad?” A note of fear spikes in Marianne’s voice.
“What’s wrong with his dad?” I ask.
She whips her head around to face me. “Everything! The man is crazy. He treated Zach’s mom like dirt. He even-”
“Honey,” Derek interrupts her. “I’m not sure this is our dirty laundry to be airing.”
Marianne stares up at Derek, almost in shock that he would ask her to keep quiet about something like this. A part of me aches, wanting to know the truth. Hoping it’s not as bad as she’s making it seem.
“It’s not like he keeps it a secret,” she says and turns her attention back to me. “Zach avoids that man like the plague. If he’s around Zach, baby, there has got to be something serious going on. I’d just let Zach be. He might just be trying to spare you from having to deal with that jackass.”
“Ooo. I heard it, Marianne.” One half of Miles’s body juts out from around the corner of the wall, his other half still somewhere in the hallway. “You said a bad word. That’s one quarter in the swear jar for you.”
“What?” Marianne’s mouth drops open. She presses a hand to her chest as if it reinforces her innocence. “Me? Derek said ‘damn’ earlier. How come you didn’t get him?”
“Ooo.” Miles jumps out from behind the wall. Both hands point toward Marianne. “That’s two quarters.”
Marianne’s face pinches into a tight scowl. Her lips press together so tightly they turn white. “This child. I swear.”
She begrudgingly fishes into her pocket and produces the coins. When she stands, she tosses the coins into the jar with a flick of the wrist that’s almost violent. Her eyes level over the two men who stare back at her with mischievous grins.
After thirty seconds, Derek’s grin fades, and he wraps an arm around Miles. He ushers the child toward the door. “Come on, Miles. I’ll take you outside to practice before...something happens to you.”
Marianne’s face relaxes into a smirk. She shakes her head and reclaims her seat across from me at the table.
“I take it the swear jar was your idea?” I ask.
“Yep.” She takes a long drink of her coffee, before adding, “Had I known I’d be contributing to it the most, I wouldn’t have started the da...ng thing.”
Another laugh escapes me. “Did you ever want any children of your own?”
“We couldn’t,” Marianne says soberly, her eyes shifting to the side. “Well, I can’t.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She waves a hand between us. “No, it’s fine. I mean, that’s why we take in foster children as often as we can. I love having kids around.”
“Miles really appreciates it. You’re all he talks about.” That day in the garden, all Miles could do was talk about how much he loved his family, all the things they do together. His face lights up talking about Marianne, and a sense of pride takes hold whenever he mentions Derek. I can only hope to be a role model like that for my children. I don’t want them to feel like they have to take care of me instead.
I silence those thoughts quickly. They have no place in my heart.
“Miles is something special alright,” Marianne says.
The smile beaming across her face tells everything you’d ever need to know. “You know, you take these kids, and you open your hearts to them, and you just love them. But sometimes there’s just that one kid that really stands out to you. And you just know your life is never going to be the same without him.”
There is a dream-like enchantment in her gaze that fills my heart with warmth. Even without being the recipient of that love, even without knowing what it feels like first-hand, I feel as though I’m a part of something special just by watching her.
I leave a few minutes later, with nothing but my thoughts to accompany me. Dark and sad thoughts, that I tried to bury years ago. When I walk through my door, Lyndsey is on her computer, sitting cross-legged on the couch. She smiles in that troublesome way. Kind of like how a human speaks to a dog before a trip to the vet.
“Hey, how you holding up?” she asks.
My eye twitches at the corner. What a curious question. Holding up from what? How am I supposed to answer that? “Well, I’m not dead. So thanks for asking?”
“No, I just mean…” She pauses. Her copper eyes soften, wanting to convey messages I should be able to read. But I am just as perplexed as she looks trying to uncover the meaning behind her worried state. “Where’ve you been all day?”
I toss down my things and join her on the couch. “I worked this morning, then went to Marianne’s house to discuss how our pitch went.”
“And?”
“They want in. So we get to start putting it all together now.”
Lyndsey perks up immediately. Though it still doesn’t feel like the real Lyndsey is talking. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”
I eye her suspiciously.
“So, how are things with you and Zach?”
Crap. What does she know?
“We’re fine.” I roll one lazy shoulder forward. “I still haven’t seen him in over a week, but I talk to him every day. I guess there’s something going on with his dad.”
“His dad.” She looks surprised. “Have you met his dad?”
“No, we’re not quite at that stage yet.” We’re not even at the stage where Zach will meet me, let alone his family.
“But you know who he is.”
The icy fingers of terror slide down my spine. That’s the second person who’s freaked out about Zach’s dad in one day. “What is it? I mean, is he in the mob? Should I be worried about someone throwing a sheet over my head in the parking lot one evening after work?”
Lyndsey’s nose wrinkles upward. “No. They don’t do that.”
“How would you know?”
“I dated this guy a couple of years ago, and you know.” She waves two frantic hands out in front of her as if erasing words off a whiteboard. “Nevermind. It’s not important. You know how they have that Huntingdon Gala every year?”
“No. Why would I know that?”
“Well, everyone who’s anyone goes there,” Lyndsey explains. “Rich people, like...filthy rich.”
I twist a hand in the air, unimpressed. Why can’t she just get to the point? Put me out of my misery already. “Great. Lots of rich people all in one place. What’s your point?”
“Did you know that Zach’s father is the owner of Hawthorne Enterprises?” she asks. The name is only vaguely familiar. Lyndsey’s thumbs move over the surface of her phone so quickly, I don’t even have a moment to contemplate what she’s doing before she shoves the phone into my face.
She’s opened up an article about the Hawthorne family and their business ventures. The article continues with photos of the patriarch, a snowy-haired gentleman with an immaculately groomed mustache. His haughty bearing and polished appearance reminds me of something straight out of an advertisement for yachts. The word “pretentious” comes to mind. If this is Zach’s father, I can’t imagine them being anything alike.
The journalist adds something about Hawthorne’s son taking over the business when his father retires. As I scroll down further, a photo of Zach bes
ide Hawthorne appears on the screen, and I’m just as confused as I was when we started this whole conversation.
Had this always been Zach’s plan? Had he turned to teaching for something just to pass the time? If this was the type of family Zach came from, there is no doubt, at some point in the future, he will return to those roots. He will leave teaching, abandon any volunteering he claims he wants to continue, and return to the glittering world in which he was born.
I will be no more than a distant memory. Because girls who came from dirt poor families who can’t even make their rent payments, do not marry billionaires.
“His family is worth over ten billion dollars,” Lyndsey says. Her eyes continue to shine light beacons on a foggy night.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. “I mean he has money, but not like that.”
“You didn’t know who he was?”
“Well, did you?” I ask. “Did anyone on campus? All the stories I heard were about how he feeds off the souls of his students!”
We were all so blinded by his terrifying reputation that no one thought to look the man up. Even that doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t all rich, wealthy bachelors be widely known across the country? They should especially be recognizable in their own backyard.
As if anticipating the questions circulating in my mind, Lyndsey shakes her head wildly. “No, he’s not easy to find. If you read through the article, they call him Rider Hawthorne. His middle name it looks like. And any other sites where you would expect to find that information seem to be mysteriously deleted from the record. These rich people don’t mess around with their privacy.”
I’m still processing all of this information when she reaches out to take my hand. “Aly, that isn’t everything.”
“There’s more?” Unbelievable. More than the reality that the man I’ve fallen for is so incredibly unattainable he might as well live on the moon?
Her features shrivel into a pitiful pout. The sympathy I see there forces a second trail of chills to glide down my spine. Lyndsey is never this upset. The woman caught her boyfriend cheating on her and then attended the couple’s wedding the following year. I steel myself for what I’m about to see.
