by Ash, Ingrid
“Tamara?” she asks, wide eyed.
“Hey, yeah, um, hi. How are you?” I stammer nervously.
Her features soften. “I'm okay,” she says hesitantly. “How are you?” she asks pointedly. The deliberate inflection conveys her concern.
“I'm good,” I say with a guilty smile. “I... I just have to say I'm really sorry about the way things ended. Truly. I never wanted to put you in the middle of that.”
She shakes her head as she turns and makes her way around the display towards me. “No, you don't have to be sorry! Not at all, its not like any of that was your fault.” She's one of the last people I ever wanted to run into again, but I'm quite surprised – and relieved – that she isn't upset with me. She looks me square in the eye and asks me again, “but you are doing okay, right?”
I nod my head and say, “things are good,” and I watch as she starts to relax.
“Well, I didn't know you lived out this way now.”
I nod again. “Yeah, I moved out here with my boyf...” my voice trails off awkwardly and I notice her body stiffen again.
“Oh. You're still with him,” she says sounding slightly disappointed.
“He's fine. That's not... how he usually is.”
She nods slowly. “Well, things aren't really the same at the shop without you around.”
“Seriously?”
She giggles and continues. “Yeah, of course! You were awesome, really, a huge help for me. There's a reason why we hired you on the spot.”
That makes me feel awfully good. “Thanks.”
“If you're ever looking for something, just give me a ring, we would love to have you come back.” I watch as she pulls out a scrap of paper and scribbles her number across it before handing it back to me.
“Yeah, absolutely, thanks for this,” I say, fully knowing there's no chance I'll ever use it.
“And if you need anything else, personal or otherwise, just feel free to call me too,” she adds with a soft smile.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” And I do. It’s nice to know that someone cares.
We go off in separate directions. It takes me almost an hour to find everything on my list before I head up to the front of the store to find Ronald there waiting for me.
“Now what took you so long? I gave you the shorter list!” he chides jokingly.
I laugh and reply, “It might have been shorter but you gave me all the weird stuff!”
“I certainly did not!”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Truffle oil?”
He looks confused. “What about it?”
I sigh and shake it off. I’ll never understand how these people live.
CHAPTER 9
I have no idea when, exactly, Mr. Cartwright is set to return. It’s been exactly 30 days since he left— not that I’m counting or anything. It’s gone by pretty quickly, actually. About a week ago Ronald surprised me by giving me the keys to the Ferrari. The Ferrari. Yeah, talk about shocked. He said Mr. Cartwright agreed it was time to give me more “freedom”, which thoroughly ignored the hell out of me, but whatever. I’m not complaining about being able to drive a Ferrari around town.
Today I get up and head downstairs, half expecting to see Mr. Cartwright. I don’t. Instead, the downstairs is filled with commotion, and I’m smack dab in the middle of it. The place is swarming with at least a dozen workers, all of which are hauling things in and out of the house, moving furniture and changing decor. The doors are wide open and I try my best to jump out of the way as a man and woman, who look like caterers, cart in two large silver trays. What the hell is happening? Whatever it is, I certainly was not informed.
“Ronald!” I call out as I rush into the kitchen. Evelyn and Jackie are the only faces in there that I recognize and they're surrounded by a handful of people who also seem to be caterers. Ronald is nowhere to be found.
“Do you guys know what's going on?” I ask.
They look at each other oddly and then back at me. “Mr. Cartwright's gala is tonight. Did you forget?”
Gala? Forget? Yeah, not exactly, since no one freaking told me.
Miffed, I reply, “apparently so. Wait, Mr. Cartwright is back?”
The girls glance oddly at each other again. “He's been back for two days.”
He... what? I seethe. “I, um, alright,” I reply, trying to shake off my anger. “Do either of you know where I can find Ronald?”
Evelyn glances around the room. “He was here just a minute ago. He probably popped out front to check with the rest of the caterers – I'd look for him out there.”
“Thanks,” I say as I barge out of the room again. Exiting the house, the first thing I see is Ronald right in the middle of all the commotion, barking orders at everyone. Just navigating my way through everything is nearly impossible – there are two trucks parked in the driveway with even more people dragging in food, flowers, fixtures and additional furniture.
How nice of Mr. Cartwright to throw such a lavish event and not invite me. I plant myself just a few feet behind him, crossing my arms across my chest and readying my stare of death. He's directing the traffic with the greatest of ease and doesn't trip up a bit until he catches me in his peripheral vision. He turns to me, looking guilty as sin, and I do nothing but raise an eyebrow at him.
“Ms. Pierce, it's nice to see you up at--”
“Cut the crap, Ronald.”
He sighs. “Alright. Just so you know, Mr. Cartwright is throwing a party tonight.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “You don't say?”
“Yes, well he told me explicitly not to tell you. My apologies, if it were up to me I would have done so.”
“Wait, did he really think I wouldn't find out when I live in his house? Like I wouldn't notice there are 20 people basically redecorating the entire place and two Mack trucks in the driveway? Seriously?”
He sighs again, longer and louder this time. “You know Master Cartwright is very stubborn and can't be reasoned with even when basic common sense is staring him in the face,” he says out of the side of his mouth.
Yeah, tell me about it.
“And you also didn’t bother to tell me he's been back in town for two days.”
Ronald looks startled. “How did you find that out?”
“Evelyn.”
Ronald nearly rolls his eyes. “Ah. Of course,” he replies wryly.
I shrug my shoulders and say, “So I'm guessing I'm not invited.”
He presses his thin lips together tightly, lacing his elbow through mine and walking me towards the door.
“You know I don't mean to speak for Master Cartwright, nor do I mean to intrude, but it seems to me that the two of you don't have the most... conventional relationship,” he says. Well that much is obviously true. “Therefore, it might be a bit confusing on his end, as to how he might introduce you to his friends and family.”
I let out a sigh. Alright, fine. I'll admit it. Ronald does have a point. A very tiny, small, and nearly microscopic one. And ultimately I'm not sure if I'm more disappointed with the fact that he didn't bother to as much as say hello to me for two whole days as I am that he didn't invite me to his party.
“Well, where is Mr. Cartwright right now?” I ask.
“You know I can't tell you that.”
“Is he in the house?”
Ronald purses his thin lips together without an answer.
“So he's in his office?” I press further, but his only response is a blink and a stern look. I sigh, not being able to read him at all.
“You pulled one over on me once, and unfortunately for you it won't happen again,” he says with a wink before heading off.
You know what? Fuck that. I have the keys to the Ferrari, I can go wherever I want, and I can show up at that party tonight and stun everyone. Especially Mr. Cartwright.
*
A lot of damage was done in just eight hours. Half a day and a couple thousand dollars (charged on Mr. Cartwright's credit card, of course) lat
er, I pull back up at the mansion looking like a brand new me. It’s crazy what professional hair, professional make up, and an emerald green draped number by some designer called Lanvin can do. I pull up to the makeshift valet -- my gold jeweled heels hitting the pavement as I throw the keys to the driver. “You can just go ahead and park this back in the garage,” I tell him. The poor boy looks stunned.
The party is already buzzing with well dressed and obviously well monied patrons as I step inside. I put on my game face, which I admit isn’t easy. I may look like a million bucks but on the inside, I'm still that girl from the shelter. I don't fit in here and I'm starting to think I'll never fit into Mr. Cartwright's world. Maybe he was right to not invite me.
I snake my way through the sea of people, fielding small talk and compliments on my dress, noticing the sideways stares from older men with their wives on their arms, who think they're far less conspicuous than they actually are. I might not fit into this world but I damn sure can pretend. Their world, after all, was one of pretense and appearances, and I know how to fake it.
I suddenly jump, feeling a hand on my exposed lower back.
“I don't believe we've met,” the male voice behind me says. I spin around to find an older man standing there. He's tall and dressed in a fine tux with a full head of neatly coiffed white hair. His presence is naturally demanding and he's unapologetic about dissecting me with his intense deep blue eyes “Are you here with someone,” he asks, looking me up and down.
I hesitate. Who does he remind me of?
“I... I'm a guest of...” my voice trails off and my eyes narrow, taking in his features. He's clearly up there in his years, but beneath the finely set lines in his face he looks exactly like an older version of... shit. “Mr. Cartwright.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Well, aren't we all friends of my son.”
I gulp. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“And you know my son through--”
“The agency. Cartwright Modeling Agency.”
He smiles wider. “Ah, now that makes sense. You are very beautiful. I can see why my son would keep you around.”
I press my lips together into a tight smile. Was that a compliment? Because I'm not entirely sure. “Thanks,” I reply. I'm not sure if it's just the way Mr. Cartwright has spoken of him, but everything about the man just gives me a bad vibe.
He glances upward and says, “Well speak of the devil, the man of the hour is here.”
I follow his eye line curiously across the room. There, standing at the top of the stairs, swarmed by admirers, stands Mr. Cartwright, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Damn he looks good – I almost have to remind myself that I'm mad at him right now. I watch him as he begins to turn towards us, and Mr. Cartwright Sr. lifts his hand to catch his son's attention. He looks anything but happy to see his father. Quickly, his gaze shifts to me – his eyes widen and he looks completely caught off guard. I'm not sure if he's angry or just shocked -- possibly both – but I get a kick out of it either way.
I smirk, placing my hand on my hip smugly. That is until he turns and I notice that familiar short blonde right next to him. On his arm. My smile fades. What the hell is he doing here with Veronica? He holds me in his gaze for a moment, before turning and leaning into her, saying something in her ear.
I turn and begin to march off, only to be caught by the arm by Mr. Cartwright Sr. “Now just where are you off to? You'll miss the announcement!”
I pull my arm away and say, “Sorry, I just have to get out of here.”
“Fine. Suit yourself,” he says in his long winded, booming voice. “It’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow, I assure you.”
Whatever it is, I’m sure I can wait until tomorrow to find out. I make my way back through the crowd -- I swear even more people have piled in during the last 20 minutes. The place is jam packed with bodies and I can barely make my way through. I stop, glancing back towards the staircase as I hear the voice of Mr. Cartwright Sr. speaking into the microphone and cutting over the chatter of the party-goers.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight's charity gala. But I have to say, we lied to you just a little bit. Tonight isn’t just a charity ball — it’s also the perfect time to make a very big announcement about my son and this lovely young woman on his arm tonight.”
Welp, now you have my attention.
“I’m very proud to be able to announce the engagement of my son, and Veronica Spencer, tonight.”
Everything after that is a total blur to me. It’s like a see everything in tunnel vision for a split second -- like there’s commotion all around me, but it’s a total blur. And for a moment I wonder if what I heard was real. I snap back to reality and realize it was -- every word of it.
Everyone is cheering except for Mr. Cartwright, who barely moves a muscle. His eyes scan the crowd until they find me, and that’s when something just snaps. I turn on my heel and force my way through the crowd until I’m out of it completely. I make my way through the kitchen, bypassing the caterers until I find the back stair case. All I want is to get to my room, pack my things, and get out of this place. I’ll process it all later.
“Tamara.”
I hear that familiar voice boom from behind me in the hallway and instinctively come to a halt. Wait, what? No. Why am I stopping for him? Not after all the shit he pulled tonight.
“Tamara, wait. I can explain,” Mr. Cartwright says as he follows hot on my heels down the hall.
“Go away. There's nothing you can explain, I heard it all.”
He takes me by the arm and pulls me roughly towards him. I scowl back at him and pull back from him. It take a good amount of force to get away from his grip but I'm sick of being groped by Cartwrights tonight. “Listen to me,” he says through gritted teeth, grabbing me by the shoulders and holding me firmly in place.
“Alright, fine. I'm listening. Why don't you explain to me why you're suddenly engaged, and not to just anyone but the one woman you swore you weren't in a relationship with. Why don't you explain that to me?”
“All of that was my father's idea.”
I scoff. “Right, I'm supposed to believe your father is forcing you into an arranged marriage. Seriously?”
“No, you don't understand.”
“Make me understand, then,” I say.
I can see him becoming more and more frustrated. “I'm trying to but you won't fucking listen.”
I nod my head. “I'm listening now. Explain.”
“She and I are not engaged. He wants us to be, he has nearly forever -- he’s the one who set us up the first time. But we’re not.”
I roll my eyes. Does he think I'm stupid? “Right, and that's why you came in with her on your arm?”
He sighs. “That was my father's idea too.”
I put my hands up, brushing his off of me. “How old are you again?” I ask with a bark of laughter.
He frowns and his lids lower. “Don't mock me. I don't like that. You have no idea what it’s like for me.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you tell me what it’s like to have the whole world at your feet but not be able to say no to your own father.”
He breathes hard and says, “it’s not that simple. There are expectations that come with this stature that you wouldn’t understand.”
I raise an eyebrow and say, “So you are engaged to her?”
“There’s no way in hell I would ever marry her. You know me better than that.”
No, honestly, I don’t know him well at all. My eyes narrow at him -- everything about him says otherwise.
“Are you so sure about that?” I hear another voice interject. We’re both startled by the sudden presence of Mr. Cartwright Sr. who comes up behind us. He walks towards his son and says, “Don't you have your party to get back to?”
I watch Mr. Cartwright as his entire body language changes – it's bizarre and I've never seen him like this. He's always so dominant, his presence is commanding, and I guess I know where he gets
that from now. Because in the presence of his father he's almost like a child. Mr. Cartwright sucks it up, adjusting the lapels of his blazer. He glances at me and says, “We’ll deal with this later,” before marching off with his father in tow.
Sick of it all, I make my way to my room, slumping against the foot of the bed. I look up, glancing at myself in the mirror on the other side of the room and it might as well be another person staring back. With my hair done up to the nines and contours that would make any beauty guru jealous, I can barely even recognize myself. What the hell am I doing here? Why do I keep putting myself through this?
And why am I mad exactly? Sure maybe he lied to me, but I lied to him too. He's not my boyfriend, he's not my fiance, and he sure as hell won't ever be my husband. We have an agreement – an arrangement, and it is what it is. I don't feel anything for him. It's just about sex.
Wait...so why am I mad again?
*
There’s no sign of Mr. Cartwright the next morning. The party has long ended as the clean up crew comes in the next morning and removes the installations, restoring the mansion back to its original state. I don’t say much to Ronald and he doesn't say much to me, but his silence is enough to clue me in to the fact that he knows fully what happened last night.
I anticipate his return all evening, but he never comes. I somehow manage to miss him the next day as well, and that’s when I realize he’s avoiding me on purpose. I get up early the following morning, waiting on the edge of the stairs where he can’t see me. There’s a certain look of shock on his face when he comes bounding around the corner in the wee hours to find me there waiting for him.
“Are we going to talk or are you going to keep avoiding me?” I ask.
He twists his mouth and looks away from me. “Not now,” he replies, as he begins to climb the stairs.
I get up and follow. “Really, it’s been two days. I think that’s enough time.”
“I said, not now,” he repeats as he heads through the hallway, making a sharp right and heading towards the east wing. “And I really suggest you stop following me now as you know this part of the house is off limits to you,” he adds, not bothering to turn towards me as he speaks.
